Seven Little People and their Friends Part 8

"Why didn't you make one out of a log, then?" he asked laughing. But Yulee was too busy collecting her treasures to answer his foolish question. She got them all safely on board at last, Miss Phely being unceremoniously huddled into the boat without waiting to be dressed.

Now Yulee was reminded of her poor unfortunate range; but she said nothing about it, only gathering up its ruins and taking especial care of it.

Yulee was very talkative at first, but her father was grave and silent, and her brothers teased her, so that she soon stopped talking and began wondering in her mind how she ever was to get the range mended, and whether there was a cave in the grove of trees which she was very sorry now she had not explored; she secretly determined to make a second trip to the island for that purpose as soon as possible.

But when they came to the sh.o.r.e and walked up to the house, and when Yulee found her mother half wild with thinking she had been drowned, and her grandfather, old Benjy Robin, crooning in his arm-chair and saying he had been the death of them,--she began to think it was not so fine, and lay down that night penitently in her little bed and promised over and over never to be cast away again. As for Bo, he would do just as Yulee said, but he privately resolved never to follow her to sea at any rate. Even Miss Phely appeared so much the worse for her knocking about that I think she must have been better satisfied with her corner in the nursery; but as for repenting of her folly or blaming Yulee, I never heard of her doing so. She always looked contented and indifferent.

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A Faery Surprise Party.

LILLIE'S STORY.

A Faery Surprise Party.

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My name is Jack Frost, and I have a story to tell. If you don't know who I am, ask my friend North East Wind, Esq., and he will tell you, and whistle a tune which he made up about me. I am Painter to her Beauty Mab, Queen of the Faeries. She gives me plenty of work to do; in the summer-time I go North, like other artists, to take sketches, but when the winter comes then I come back and paint my pictures. I paint chiefly on gla.s.s, though sometimes on pottery, the night is the time I like best to work in, for in the day-time the sun tries to put some colour into the paintings, which spoils them; white is the only colour I ever use.

I was going to tell you, however, a story about what I saw the other night. Queen Mab sent a snow-flake to me with a message. I was to paint eight large squares of gla.s.s in a certain window of a certain house. I might paint what I chose only it must be done in good season, for the Queen was to visit the painting when it was finished. So I was at the gla.s.s and at work early--'twas only a little after sundown; my friend, North East Wind, jolly old fellow! was whistling a tune right merrily as I handled my brush.

There was a light inside the room, and I could see everything that was going on there; I could hear everything too, for there was a crack in one of the panes of gla.s.s; these cracks spoil my paintings--I never can make any mark on the gla.s.s close to them--but how ever, here was this crack, and I could make out through it everything that was going on. A nurse was putting a little girl named Milly to bed, and they talked incessantly. Milly was to have a party the next day, which was her sixth birth-day; it was to be her first party. All things had been made ready for it; she had had a new dress, white with red spots like wafers all over it, and she was to wear a red sash and bronze kid slippers. Twelve little girls had been invited, but only eleven were sure to come; Susan Peabody was sick, and might not be there.

All this I heard, and I saw Milly tucked up in bed and left to go to sleep. Then I worked with a will, for I had no time to spare. I begged my jolly friend, N. E. Wind, to be off with himself, as he interrupted my work. So he gave one long wheugh! and away he went.

At twelve o'clock my painting was done. It was the best piece I had done in a long while; one square of gla.s.s in particular was superb, though I say it that ought not say it. It was a picture of the palace of Queen Mab; towers and spires were there, hung with crystal bells; the castle was set round with trees, some slim, shooting up above the towers, some stunted throwing out their branches in every direction. The whole glittered most brilliantly. There was a network over all, as if a spider had spun silver threads in front of it. I very often put that on afterwards to add to the effect, though my friend North East Wind pooh-poohs at it; but he knows nothing about art.

It was twelve o'clock, as I said, and the moon was shining brightly; as it rose higher, a moon-beam pa.s.sed through the window, and through the very square of gla.s.s that I had taken such pains with. It pa.s.sed like a carriage-way right by the great door of the Queen's palace, while the other end rested on the bed where Milly was sleeping. I was standing on the window sash, just touching up the work a little, when, all of a sudden, what should I see but her Beauty Queen Mab with eleven attendants; she came out of the great door of the palace I had painted--that was the finest effect of all.

She got into her sleigh which is made of a dove-feather, curling up in front, and which is drawn by twelve lady birds: the lady birds all had on robes of caterpillar fuz to keep them warm. The retinue of eleven Faeries were all riding on milk-white steeds of dandelion-down. The Queen held the reins herself, and cracking the whip which is made of a musquito leg, away they went over the moon-beam. The Queen saw me just as they left the palace, and gave me a nod. She is very gracious! It did not take them long to reach the bed, I can tell you, and they reined up at the other end of the moon-beam, which rested on Milly's breast.

I wondered what they were going to do here, but it was very soon evident. It seems the Queen knew of the party Milly was to have, and meant to get the better of her by giving her a surprise party first. So she had brought the eleven Faeries with her--just the number of little girls Milly was to have the next day.

The Queen got out of her sleigh, and tied the ladybirds to the strings of Milly's night-cap, that they might not run away. Then she walked along very carefully till she came to Milly's chin. She climbed up it and rested there for a minute, to get breath, and then went on, until she was safely perched on Milly's red lip, where she was nearly blown away, Milly breathed so hard.

Here she beckoned to the eleven and they, leaving their horses below, all set out to reach Milly's forehead, where she told them to gather. A hard time they had of it, too! some of them tried to get up by the nose, but the wind coming out of two great caves was too strong for them; others more wisely crept round by the corners of the eyes, and scrambled up the precipice there. But those who fared worst were a few who tried to get through the hair. They got lost in the forest, and wandered about for a long time, halloing and trying to find the top. You may wonder why they didn't fly--I suppose you think Faeries always do--but I know better. When winter comes they always take off their wings, and put them carefully away where the moths can not touch them--chiefly in old nut-sh.e.l.ls; then in spring, their mantua-makers and milliners, the caterpillars and spiders, get them out and put them in repair, or else make new ones.

However, they all at last safely reached the forehead. That was a fine large play-ground for them--the forest behind, and the hill and precipices below. Here they formed a ring and took hold of hands.

Round the ring run, Pa.s.s in and out, Melt into one, Puff! turn about!

cried Queen Mab, and in a twinkling the ring of Faeries was going round and round, till it looked just like a glittering ring, perfectly still; then all in a moment they had stopped, and each Faery in turn ran across the ring, ducked between two Faeries, was back again, then between two more, and so on, till I got perfectly confused, and couldn't tell one from another, they seemed so mixed up; they kept getting more and more in a maze, and nearer and nearer to each other, until it was just one solid ball of Faeries; spinning round like a top; then suddenly the ball seemed to burst, and the Faeries to scatter in every direction, but really there was a perfect ring again, and whirling round in just the opposite direction. And then the same thing was done over again, till I should have thought they would all have been ready to drop.

But that came to an end after a while, for they heard the Queen scream, and they stopped to see what the matter might be. It was nothing, though the Queen was a good deal frightened at first. Milly, who was probably dreaming about them, smiled very prettily in her sleep, and as the lip moved, the Queen perched on it almost lost her balance, and came as near as possible to falling into the pit that was open before her. If she had fallen in, she would have struck against Milly's teeth, and that might have been the death of her. She got over her fright soon, and moved a little farther back to get out of harm's way. This put an end to the dance.

After some games of hide and seek when they hid in the eyebrows and the edge of the forest, they had a Tableau. The subject was "The Faery's Sacrifice." That is a favourite story with them. I myself have painted it on gla.s.s. A Faery--so the story runs--was once in great danger from a Musquito; it would certainly have caught her and killed her, though she was winged and flying very swiftly; but just then a horse of dandelion-down came gliding by; she jumped on it and they two together were too swift for the Musquito and she escaped; but they went so fast through the wind that the poor horse lost almost all his down and finally dropped upon the ground from sheer inability to go further. The Faery loved him so for saving her that she pulled out her own wings and fastened them on the horse;--away he went, and she had to creep home as well as she could. But she did right though she suffered for it; she was never sorry, and the story is told by the Faeries to their children.

This was the story that they played in the Tableau. There were two scenes; in the first the Faery is just mounting the horse to escape the Musquito--the Musquito of course they had to make believe was there, in the second the horse lies panting on the ground and she is leaning over it weeping. There should have been a third, as there usually is, where she puts the wings on the horse, but they had no material with them for that scene.

Then came a Charade. The word was a very easy one--I guessed it myself--it was _Duty_. It was divided into two parts; the first was _dew_. Dew is a drink of the Faeries in summer-time. Half a dozen Faeries sat in a circle. The hat of one of them which was made of a bit of rose-leaf, they twisted and turned till it looked a little like the cup of a violet, though the colour wasn't exact. This they put in the middle; but where was the dew? there was none of course, so one of the Faeries had crept down, got on a dandelion-down horse's back and ridden over the moon-beam to the window. In the crack of the sash he got a wee bit of ice that made part of a drop of water when he held it in his hand. It looked like dew, and he managed to get it safely back without spilling much. This had been put in the hat or pretended violet cup.

Each of the Faeries, according to custom, took a spoon in hand and slowly stirred the dew in the cup. The spoons they use are made of pieces of the stamens of different flowers; here they had make-believe spoons made out of bits of hair from Milly's eyebrows. They stirred the dew in the cup, and as they stirred they sang the Dew drinking chorus:--

"The shining Dew in the Violet cup Flows round and round in a silvery flood:-- Against the sides we'll dash the dew up,-- Then drink! and cool our summer-hot blood."

But though they each in turn lifted the cup, they only pretended to drink, for it was icy cold.

That was for _du_; next came _ty_.

This was done thus. They had a marriage-scene. Two little Faeries stood up together, and the one that was to marry them took a hair from each of their heads, and fastening the ends together, made a long string; with this he tied them together in a true-lover knot; for such is the way the Faeries do when they are married.

This was for _ty_; then came the whole word.

A Faery is seen busily occupied with weaving; she is making a veil for a human maiden which shall keep her from seeing sin; the Faery is singing to herself. Presently up comes a little Brownie--a male Faery that is--most daintily dressed and in the gayest mood. He wants the little weaving Faery to come with him; there is to be a most delicious little gathering in a clover-field on purpose to sip clover-honey--white clover-honey! Now of all things the little busy Faery loves clover-honey; it would be so delightful to be there this charming afternoon. She thinks she will go, but then she remembers the task which the Queen has given her to do--to go would be to disobey. The Brownie still begs, but she is firm--no, she will not go.

That was the whole word--_Duty_.

All this was very simple; a good many would have thought it very childish, but it pleased the Faeries and it pleased the Queen, and that was enough.

But the party had lasted a long time now--much longer than it has taken me to tell of it. The moon path was of course altered, but it didn't make much matter. The Queen ordered them all to take to their horses, and giving Milly a kiss on her rosy lips, she clambered down and untying the lady birds from the strings of the night-cap got into her sleigh.

She cracked her musquito-leg whip, away went the lady birds and they pa.s.sed through the window--how, I don't know, but I'm sure I saw them do it. The Queen saw me again as she pa.s.sed out, and nodded to me. I had just time to nod back and they were out of sight.

That is all, and if it's not true then my name isn't Jack Frost; and if you don't believe me, ask North East Wind, who is my friend, and he will tell you the same thing.

Wheugh!

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The Rock Elephant.

The Rock-Elephant.

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There is a tradition among the Elephants that some one of the race will one day mount up to the sky and dwell among the stars. Once a young elephant thought that he must be the one, for a great stone becoming detached from a cliff fell upon his head. He instantly exclaimed, "I see stars all around me. I am surely the Elephant foretold!" and for a few moments actually thought he must have "gone up;" but those standing by saw him rambling round with uncertain step and laughed at him. When he got over the effects of the blow on his head, he had to acknowledge that he was still upon the earth, though he always solemnly declared that for a few moments he really had been in the sky among the stars. Of course he had not "gone up," and each still continued to hope that he was the one destined to immortality. The Lion, they said, was among the stars, and the Bear and even the senseless Dipper. But none knew that to live among the stars one must go through a great deal of suffering.

There were two Elephants living a long time since who were remarkably sagacious. They were married and it was their earnest desire that their son, if they ever had any, should be the one who should climb the sky and live among the stars. They often talked over the best way of securing this good, and ate up an immense number of different kinds of trees because they had heard that there was a particular kind of tree which, when eaten, would furnish the necessary knowledge. Whether they ever ate the right tree or not it is difficult to say, but one night as they were considering the matter, the father-Elephant noticed a strange light in the north.