The Piskey Purse Part 21

'How can I give you back your eyes and your ears?' asked the child helplessly. 'The Wise Woman put them in, and she isn't here to take them out.'

'Say, "Little Blue Eyes, go back to your homes," and, "Little Pink Ears, return to your places," and they will do as you tell them,'

answered the little fairy.

Bessie Jane, though very reluctant to give back what had given her so much pleasure, knew she would be dreadfully selfish if she did not do as she was told, and after gazing full five minutes on the wonderful sight--the circle of sea-fairies, the wee white horses, and scallop-shaped carriage, the like of which she might never see again--and letting her last gaze rest on her first friend waiting so patiently for the return of her eyes and ears, her clear young voice rang out:

'Dear Little Blue Eyes, go back to your homes; dear Little Pink Ears, go back to your holes.'

As she spoke a blue spark leapt out of her eyes, followed by a whizzing of something pink, and when she opened her eyes again, the radiant circle of sea-fairies round the mother-of-pearl carriage, the dazzling white steeds with flowing manes and tails, were all gone, and she only saw the usual sights of eventide on the beach: the gulls flying over the hillocks and across the sands to their sleeping-places in the cliffs; a man driving the cows up the bay to be milked; the stems of the tamarisk on the hedges, scarlet in the sun-glow; and the vast luminous sky over it all. Beautiful as everything was, it was not nearly so beautiful, Bessie Jane thought, as were those little sea-fairies and horses on the pathway of crimson fire!

She stood close to the edge of the water till the line of light was gone, and then she turned away from the sea and went up the beach towards Tamarisk Lane, to tell Old Annis what she had heard and seen.

As she was going up, she met the same old man and his donkeys she had seen the day before. He was coming down for his last pannier of sand. He stopped and spoke to her, and asked why she was looking so happy.

'I have seen the Small People,' answered the child, 'and the dear little fairies that live in the sea.'

'You don't mean to say so?' cried the old man. 'You are a lucky little maid to have seen all they little dears!' as Bessie Jane nodded. ''Tis not often folks do see 'em nowadays; but they did backalong, my mother told me. What was 'em like, Miss Bessie Jane?'

'I cannot stop to tell you now,' said the child. 'It is rather late, and I want to go and see the Wise Woman in Tamarisk Lane. You are late getting sand, arn't you?'

'Iss fy, I be. 'Tis for your father--Maister Rosewarne--and I must make haste and get it. My donkey do want his supper, and so do I.'

Old Annis was at her cottage gate watching for her little friend's return, and when the child came up she listened with the greatest interest to all she had to tell her, and said how pleased she was that she had seen and heard so much.

'It is a reward,' she added, 'for being so kind to a poor lonely old woman.'

Bessie Jane never saw any more of the Little People, and never went shrimping again with the shrimping-net made by a Wise Woman out of Piskey-wool spun by the Small People, for the simple reason she lost the net the day after she saw the dear Wee Folk and the sea-fairies with her borrowed eyes. How she lost it, or where, she did not know, and the Wise Woman, wise as she was, could not tell her. But she was ever afterwards grateful for having seen them, especially the sea-fairies, and she showed her grat.i.tude by being kinder than ever to her poor, lonely old friend.

THE LITTLE WHITE HARE

When our great-great-grandmothers were young, a small lad called William John Pendarvey went on a visit to his Great-Aunt Ann, a very silent, austere old maid, who lived by herself in the Vale beautiful of Lanherne.

Great-Aunt Ann being old and very quiet, was the last person in the world that a tender-hearted, sensitive little chap as William John was should have gone to stay with.

The house where she lived was rather small and very gloomy, and had nothing nice about it, but it possessed a large and beautiful orchard, protected from the rough and cutting winds by the escarpment of the downs that rose above it and the valley.

But delightful as this orchard was, n.o.body except Great-Aunt Ann--and she not often--ever went into it, because it was known to be haunted by something, in the shape of a little White Hare which had been seen there from time unknown, wandering like a shadow over the gra.s.s, and in and out amongst the trees, or sitting motionless at the foot of a blasted apple-tree.

Who or what this apparition was n.o.body could tell, but not a man, woman or child in the Vale, except Great-Aunt Ann, would have gone into that orchard for all they were worth.

Little William John might never have known there was an orchard belonging to the gloomy old house if he had not wandered into a bedroom at the back of the house overlooking the entrance to the orchard and peeped out of the window.

He asked to be allowed to go and play there, as it looked so bright and sunny in its open s.p.a.ces, but Great-Aunt Ann said: 'Not to-day.'

It was always 'Not to-day' whenever he asked to go into that orchard, and probably he would never have gone into it at all if the old maid had not occasion one day to go to St. Columb, a small market town three miles from where she lived.

She could not take the boy with her, she said, and so she left him at home to take care of the house.

Looking after a house was not in little William John's line, and Great-Aunt Ann had not been gone more than an hour before he found himself at the small wicket-gate opening into the orchard, where to his joy he saw a great mult.i.tude of golden-headed daffadillies rising out of the lowly gra.s.s, and a light that was softer than silver moving mysteriously in and out amongst the trees.

The temptation to go into that sun-lighted, fascinating spot was irresistible, and finding the gate unlocked, little William John opened it and went in.

It was the spring of the year, and the spring was late, and there were as yet no carmine buds on the apple trees, but their upper branches were misty with the silvery green of budding leaves. And the pear trees were in virgin whiteness, and so were the plum and cherry trees, which made a shining background to all the yellow lilies in blossom there.

'It makes me feel happy only to be here,' whispered little William John to himself; 'and oh! the daffies are making golden dawns under the trees!'

He wandered about to his heart's content, staying his young feet now and then to listen to a blackbird's liquid pipe, and to touch with reverent hand a daffadilly's drooping head, or to watch with puzzled eyes that thing of brightness moving on in front of him amongst the trees and blossoms.

He lost sight of this wandering light when he had gone the length of the orchard; but he saw it again as he turned across to its top, and when he got close he saw, to his astonishment, it was a little Hare of silvery whiteness.

It was sitting on its haunches under the blasted tree, and did not move away as the boy drew near.

A thrill of gladness filled William John's kind young heart at so fair and strange a vision, and his delight was even greater when the small White Hare suffered him to stroke its fur.

'Oh, you dear little soft thing!' he cried. 'I am so glad you are not afraid of me; I love all animals, and would not hurt any of them for worlds, nor a hair of your beautiful white coat.'

'I knew you would not,' answered the little White Hare. 'I was sure your heart was gentle and good the moment I saw you.'

'What! Can you talk?' asked little William John in amazement. 'I never knew animals could speak like human beings before. I am so glad you can. It is so nice to have someone to talk to. n.o.body hardly ever speaks to me here, and I have felt so lonely.'

'Poor boy!' said the little White Hare; 'I can sympathize with you, for I know what it is to be lonely and have n.o.body to speak to. You are the first human being who has spoken to me since a wicked Witch turned me into the shape of a hare.'

'What! Are you not really a hare?' asked little William John, more and more amazed.

'No,' answered the little creature sadly; 'I am a maiden in the shape of a hare, and I have had to bear the hare-shape ever since the Witch worked a spell upon me, which was back in the days of the "giants."'

'What a shame!' cried the boy. 'Whatever made her turn you into a hare?'

'She had a spite against me because I would not be wicked like herself.'

'How dreadful of her!' cried little William John indignantly. 'Will you never be able to get back your real shape, you poor little thing?'

'I am afraid not,' said the little White Hare sadly, 'unless somebody who is really sorry for me, and is not afraid of me, can find the Magic Horn--by the blast of which Jack the Giant-Killer overthrew the Giant Galligantus and Hocus-Pocus the Conjurer--and blow over me three strong, clear blasts.'

'Where is the Magic Horn?' asked little William John.

'I do not know the exact spot, but it is buried somewhere in the ruins of an old castle called the Castle of Porthmeor, which is on a cliff above Porthmeor Cove.'

'Why, that old castle is mine, or will be, I am told, when I am of age!' cried little William John. 'It is not a great way from where I live, and often I go there to play. I wish I wasn't only a little boy, and could look for the Magic Horn,' he added, after a moment's silence.

'Age is no barrier to your seeking it,' said the little White Hare. 'All that is needed to loosen the wicked old Witch's spell is what I have now told you.'