Chapter II: Part 2

Another little cry and another came from the grass, and the water sprite sang out again:

“They’re _all_ crying! They’re _all_ coming to! They’re _all_ right! Hurrah!”

He picked up the three babies and bundled them in his arms, and without another word gave a leap into the water and splash! went down and out of sight, babies and all.

Florrie laughed, Winnie laughed, and Pennie and Merrimeg laughed too.

“But I’m sorry his house is ruined,” said Merrimeg.

“Oh, he’ll mend it in no time,” said Florrie. “But see, Merrimeg, you’re all wet!”

“Goodness!” said Merrimeg. “I’d forgotten all about it.”

“Stand here,” said Florrie, and she and the other two fairies placed Merrimeg in the middle and turned their backs to her.

Their wings began to flutter gently, and then began to move faster and faster, making a strong breeze which blew all over Merrimeg. Fanned in this way by the great butterfly wings, she was soon dry.

“Good-by, Merrimeg,” said Florrie.

“Good-by, dear Merrimeg,” said each of the others.

“Thank you for my star,” said Winnie. “You must think of us whenever you look up at the stars.”

“Indeed I will,” said Merrimeg.

The starlight fairies stood on tiptoe for a moment, and fluttered their wings; and then they rose quietly in the air, and flew straight up. When they were above the tree tops, they began to circle round and round, going higher and higher; far, far up through the night they went on circling; and long after Merrimeg could see them no more, she could see the star, bright as a diamond, go circling up and up....

She ran away home, and crept in quietly at the front door, and lay down in her bed and snuggled under the covers. Her mother was still asleep. She must have gone to sleep herself presently; she woke up and thought of the lost star, and remembered that she had not waited to see if it was in its place. She got out of bed and tiptoed to the window, and putting her head out looked up.

A star was sparkling just overhead, where there had been none before. The star was in its place.

“I’m glad of that,” she said out loud.

“What did you say?” said her mother, waking up.

“I was only saying--only saying----”

“Never mind what you were saying. Go back to bed, and go to sleep. You’ll catch your death of cold.”

“Yes, mother,” said Merrimeg.

_MERRIMEG AND THE ECHO DWARFS_

“Now, Merrimeg,” said Merrimeg’s mother, “take this basket and go to the brook in the woods, and bring me back a basketful of water cress for supper. And be sure to come straight back.”

“Yes, mother,” said Merrimeg. And she went off down the village street singing, with her basket on her arm. But first she put in her pocket the blue saltcellar from the kitchen, full of salt.

She walked a long way into the woods, and at last she came to a little brook running along over the stones. There in the clear water she found plenty of fresh green water cress growing. She pulled it up by the handful and filled her basket with it.

She knew that she ought to go straight home, but this was not one of her days for being good. She left the basket on the grass, and took out of her pocket the saltcellar with the salt in it. Then she looked around for birds.

A blue bird came hopping by on the ground, and Merrimeg stole up behind it on tiptoe, and sprinkled a little salt right down over its tail. But just at that minute the bird flew up into a tree, and Merrimeg was too late.

Off went the bird from tree to tree, and Merrimeg ran after it as fast as she could, holding out her saltcellar. Pretty soon the bird hopped down onto the ground again, and Merrimeg tiptoed up behind it and sprinkled her salt down over its tail. But she was just a bit too late, and the bird flew up into a tree.

Merrimeg followed the bird a long, long way, and whenever it hopped down onto the ground she tried to sprinkle a little salt on its tail; but she was always just a wee bit too late.

At last, when she was at the foot of a hill that rose up out of the woods, she stamped her foot and cried out:

“Oh, you good-for-nothing naughty bird!”

“Naughty bird!” came back her own voice to her from the top of the hill.

Merrimeg was astonished. She had never heard an echo before.

She thought she would try it again, so she called out:

“Oh, you naughty bird, come down here!”

Her own voice came back to her from the same place up the hill, but it didn’t quite repeat her words; it said:

“Come on down!”

The echo must have made a mistake. Merrimeg was more than ever astonished. She waited a minute, and then the same voice came down to her from the top of the hill, and it said:

“Down here!”

The echo had got it right this time. Evidently it must have been a very young echo indeed.

Merrimeg forgot all about the blue bird, and she began to climb the hill to find out who it was that was mocking her.

She didn’t know it, but there was an Echo Dwarf who lived in a cave near the top of the hill, and there lived with him his little boy, a very little boy, who was just learning how to make echoes. Big Hark was the father’s name. Little Hark was the little boy’s name. Big Hark had a great deal of trouble in teaching Little Hark to make echoes, for Little Hark often forgot, and instead of calling back the same words he had heard, he would often call back words of his own. Besides, if the words he had to call back were big words, he always got them mixed up. His father never knew when he was going to make a mess of everything. And when he did that, it made Big Hark so angry he could hardly speak.

Merrimeg went on up the hill, and pretty soon she called out again:

“Why couldn’t I catch the bird with my salt?”

“Too slow!” came back the voice from the top of the hill.

Merrimeg couldn’t understand this at all. She listened for a minute, and then she heard another voice up above her:

“My salt! Oxtragob borgs, gooblik!”

This was Little Hark’s father, and when he said “Oxtragob borgs, gooblik!” he meant, in the private language of the Echo Dwarfs, “Wrong again, stupid!”

Big Hark and Little Hark were standing in front of their cave, and Big Hark was letting Little Hark practice at making echoes, as Merrimeg came up the hill. Not many people came that way, and Big Hark was glad of the chance to give his little boy a lesson.

Merrimeg came on further and further up the hill, and after a while she stopped and called out again:

“Are you still there?”

“Still there!” came back the voice.

This made her quite angry. She did not like to be mocked every time she opened her mouth. She cried out:

“Stop mocking me!”

“Mocking me!” came back the voice.

This made her very angry indeed. Without saying anything more she clambered on up the hill and stopped all out of breath on a little ledge before the mouth of a cave. There a little further on along the path was standing Little Hark himself, with his hands up to his mouth, all ready to shout back an echo. His father had gone inside the cave.

Little Hark was very small indeed, and Merrimeg looked quite like a giant beside him. She ran to him and stood over him and shook her finger at him and said:

“What do you mean by mocking me all the time?”

“All the time?” said Little Hark, looking very much frightened.

“Yes, all the time!” said Merrimeg. “What do you mean by it?”

“Mean by it?” said the little Echo Dwarf.

“Don’t you dare repeat everything I say to you!” cried Merrimeg. “You naughty thing, you’re mocking me!”

“You’re mocking me!” said Little Hark, beginning to cry.

“Why, you awful little thing, I’m not!” cried Merrimeg. “How dare you say such a thing? How dare you?”

“How dare you?” said Little Hark, crying harder.

This made Merrimeg very angry, so angry that she could not say another word. She seized hold of Little Hark’s arm and shook him. There she was shaking him, pretty hard too, and Little Hark was bawling out loud, when Big Hark, his father, came out of the cave and hurried towards them to see what was the matter.

Big Hark was very strong, though he was not very big. He threw his arms around Merrimeg and dragged her away from Little Hark and hauled her along to the cave and pulled her into it. Before she knew it her arms were bound up tight with tough vines which Big Hark had snatched down from the wall.

Big Hark made her sit down on the floor with her back against the wall, and he and Little Hark stood before her. Little Hark looked at his father and said:

“Kormsdee lokspit calliper?”

This meant, in the private language of the Echo Dwarfs, “What are you going to do with her?”

“Lokspit meegs,” said Big Hark, “doomdog askbiddle beddagog diskorfunjax krissmuss.”

This meant, “I am going to keep her here for seven Christmases, for you to practice your echo lessons on.”

“Snexterbean?” asked Little Hark. This meant, “What then?”

“Lokspit snexter,” said Big Hark, “flambilly noformikin beskeem.” This meant, as you may imagine, “I am then going to give her to the Fire Bubbles at the back of the cave.”

Merrimeg tried to get her arms loose, and cried out:

“I want to go home! I want to go home!”

Big Hark nudged Little Hark, reminding him to practice his echo, and Little Hark said:

“Go home!”

“All right, then, I will!” cried Merrimeg, and she struggled to her feet and started to run towards the mouth of the cave. But Big Hark caught her and held her, and she cried out:

“Let me go! Let me go!”

“Go!” said Little Hark, echoing her words, and Merrimeg cried:

“I can’t! He won’t let me!”

Now Little Hark should have said “Let me!” But he forgot all about echoing her words, and he shouted out two words of his own.

“Run back!” he cried, and this was what gave Merrimeg her chance to escape. For Big Hark was so angry at Little Hark’s forgetting to echo back Merrimeg’s own words, and calling back words of his own instead, which was strictly forbidden, that he let go of Merrimeg and turned round on Little Hark and shook his finger at him and shouted, “Let me! Oxtragob borgs, gooblik!” and boxed Little Hark’s ears with all his might and main.

Little Hark broke out crying, and Merrimeg dashed away into the dark at the back of the cave, and ran on faster and faster into the darkness. Pretty soon she heard Big Hark shout out something in his own language, and she knew that he was running after her. So she ran on faster than before, and in a moment she struck against a wall in the dark, and feeling it with her hands she turned a corner and saw something which almost made her stop breathing.

It was a stream of sparkling red fire, running across the ground right in her path.

As she looked at it, an enormous bubble, like a soap bubble, but red-hot and shining like fire, rose from the stream and floated up in the air towards her. She crouched down, and the Fire Bubble floated up to the ceiling and burst with a loud crack and a shower of sparks; and then another one rose from the stream and floated towards her and broke against the ceiling; and then another and another, one right after the other.

Merrimeg was frightened so that she couldn’t move. She didn’t dare to go on, and she didn’t dare to go back. She heard the voice of Big Hark behind her in the dark, crying out: “Sdig! sdig!” And at that moment she----

Well, she heard another voice, from the other side of the Fire Bubbles, and it said:

“I believe it is, brother, I believe it is.”

Merrimeg clapped her hands with joy and cried: “Here I am! Help me! Help me!”

Big Hark’s voice behind her echoed her words, “Help me!” and the other voice, on the far side of the Fire Bubbles, said:

“I suppose we’d better help her, brother Nibby.”

“I’m quite of your opinion, brother, quite,” said the voice of brother Nibby.

“Quite,” said Big Hark, in echo, just behind Merrimeg. As he said this he threw his arms around her and began to drag her back into the cave. Little Hark came running up, and he tugged at his father’s coat and said, “Skeems non doogdag, himpotter,” which meant, “Please don’t hurt her, father.”

But he hadn’t any more than said these words than Malkin and Nibby, the two gnomes, rushed across the stream of fire, knocking the Fire Bubbles right and left with their hands, and Malkin picked up Little Hark, slung him on his shoulder, and ran back with him across the stream of fire, knocking the Fire Bubbles right and left as he ran.

“Ishkameerz! O ishkameerz!” cried Big Hark, and he let go of Merrimeg and rushed down to the stream of fire, holding out his hands towards the little boy on the other side. But he did not dare go near the fire.

“I believe now maybe he’ll give her up,” said Malkin from the other side of the fire.

“Give her up!” said Little Hark, struggling on Malkin’s shoulder.

“Fee skimble fen bitkin, fee skimble fen moklin!” shouted Big Hark, which meant, “If you’ll give up the boy, I’ll give up the maiden!”

“Good!” cried Malkin.

“Good!” said Little Hark.

Nibby the gnome ran to Merrimeg and unfastened the vines that bound her arms, and lifted her up and carried her across the stream of fire, knocking the Fire Bubbles away with his hand, so that she wasn’t harmed in the least; and at the same time brother Malkin crossed the stream of fire and put down Little Hark beside his father.

“Hurry! hurry!” cried Merrimeg, and pulled the two gnomes away into the darkness beyond the fire.

“Farewell!” cried Malkin.

“Good-by!” called back Little Hark, and his father shook him by the shoulder and said, “Oxtragob borgs, gooblik!” which meant, as you know, “Wrong again, stupid!”

“Take me home quick,” said Merrimeg as she went on between the two gnomes deeper and deeper into the darkness.

“She’s not very polite to-day, brother,” said Malkin.

“Not very, brother, not very, indeed,” said Nibby. “She really ought to say ‘Please,’ I think.”

“Maybe something’s happened to bother her,” said Malkin.

“Maybe so, maybe so,” said Nibby. “I wonder what it could be.”

They went down into the earth for a long way, and then they went up under the earth for a long way, and at last they stopped.

“Here we are, brother Nibby,” said Malkin, and he appeared to be opening a door.

“Home again, brother Malkin,” said Nibby, and the three of them climbed a ladder, and Nibby raised a door overhead, and the next minute they were in the gnomes’ kitchen.

Malkin and Nibby sat themselves down at their little table, where a candle was burning, and Malkin said:

“I suppose we’d better ask her to stay to supper, brother.”

“Just what I was thinking,” said Nibby. “But which one of us will ask her?”

“Oh, _you_ must be the one to do that, brother.”

“Oh, no, you can do it so much better, brother Malkin. _You_ must----”

“Goodness gracious me!” said Merrimeg. “You don’t need to ask me. I can’t stay anyway.”

“Not very polite to-day, brother, not very polite,” said Malkin.

“I’m afraid not, brother, I’m afraid not,” said Nibby.

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” said Merrimeg. “Please excuse me. I really have to go home. And I’m ever so much obliged to you.”

She climbed the ladder to the ceiling and went up through the little door there, and calling down good-by she stepped out onto the roof of the gnomes’ house, and closed down the door after her.

She ran as fast as she could through the woods, until she came to the brook where she had left her basket. There it was, full of water cress, just as she had left it. She snatched it up and ran all the way home.

When she came in at the kitchen door of her house, her mother was rummaging in the cupboard, as if she were looking for something she had lost.

“Well, Merrimeg, you’ve been a precious long time getting a little basketful of water cress. I’ve lost my blue saltcellar with the salt in it. Do you think you can find it?”

Merrimeg suddenly found that the saltcellar was no longer in her pocket. She must have lost it somewhere in the woods.

“No, mother,” said she.

_MERRIMEG AND THE RAG-BONE MAN_

“Rags! bones! old iron!”

Merrimeg put her head out of the front window and looked down the street.

A queer man with a dirty face was coming along, and he was bending down under a heavy sack which he was carrying on his back.

“Rags! bones! old iron!” he cried, and all the children who were playing in the street ran indoors in a fright.

It was the Rag-Bone Man. Everybody said that if you didn’t look sharp he’d snatch you up and stuff you in his sack and carry you off and never, never bring you back any more; so all the children in that village were terribly afraid of him, and whenever they saw him coming they simply took to their heels and fled.

“Rags! bones! old iron!” cried the Rag-Bone Man.

“Oh, pshaw,” said Merrimeg, “_I’m_ not afraid.”

She went out into the street and watched him coming. He came on nearer and nearer. He reached the house next door and stopped there and stared at Merrimeg.

“Rags! bones! old iron!” he shouted out, at the top of his voice, and quick as a wink Merrimeg sprang back into the house and banged the door and bolted it and ran to her room and buried her head under the pillows. It was a long time before she came out again.

When she did come out, she didn’t go into the street, because the Rag-Bone Man was still there, probably. She went into the cabbage garden, where her mother was hanging up clothes.

“Where are you going, Merrimeg?” said her mother.

“Nowhere,” said Merrimeg.

“You’d better go over to Tish’s house now. They’re expecting you to have supper with them. And don’t get your dress soiled, and don’t stay too late.”

“No’m,” said Merrimeg.

“Before you go, take these handkerchiefs and spread them out on the rose bushes in the sun to dry.”

“Yes’m,” said Merrimeg.

Her mother kissed her, and went into the kitchen; and Merrimeg, carrying the wet handkerchiefs, walked over to the apple orchard, thinking about apples, and forgetting all about the rose bushes. She always liked to eat apples just before meals.

In the orchard she stopped under a tree and reached up towards the lowest branch, and just at that moment she heard the sound of some one crying. It seemed to come from the other side of the tree. She tiptoed around the tree to see who it was.

It was the Rag-Bone Man. He was sitting on the ground, with his back against the tree, and his sack beside him, and he was crying to himself pretty loud, and sniffling and wiping away the tears with the back of his hand.

Merrimeg was so frightened that she could not move.

“Gimme a handkerchief, quick,” said the Rag-Bone Man, and he snatched the handkerchiefs out of her hand and put one of them to his nose.

“Oh!” he said, and threw the handkerchiefs down. “They’re wet! They won’t do! What good is a wet handkerchief? Haven’t you got a dry one?”

“No, sir,” said Merrimeg, in a shaky little voice.

“Then it’s no use,” said the Rag-Bone Man. “I reckon I’ll have to stop crying. You can’t cry without a handkerchief. Why didn’t you bring me a dry one?”

“I didn’t know you wanted one,” said Merrimeg.

“Well, you didn’t think I could cry into a wet one, did you? You don’t expect me to do that, do you? Do you, or don’t you?”

“No, sir,” said Merrimeg.

“The next time you come around me when I’m crying, you bring me a dry one, d’you understand?”

“Yes, sir,” said Merrimeg.

“Don’t say ‘yes, sir’ and ‘no, sir’ all the time. Why don’t you ask me what I’m crying about?”

“Yes, sir,” said Merrimeg, twisting her apron. “I mean--if you please----”

“I’m crying about--I’m crying about--oh, dear! I’m going to cry again, I _know_ I am! And I _never_ have any handkerchief!”

He burst into tears again, and Merrimeg began to feel sorry for him.

“Yes, sir?” said she.

He wiped his face with the back of his hand, and smeared the dirt all over it most terribly.

“It’s--it’s--about the children,” he said, crying out louder than before. “I can’t--I can’t--help it. It’s because they--they won’t come near me--they’re afraid of me--they won’t speak to me--they won’t let me tell ’em about Rags--they run away from me--oh, it’s too hard, it’s too hard!”

He sniffled and gulped. Merrimeg felt very sorry for him indeed.

“Please, sir,” said she, “do you want----”

“I want a handkerchief. Look in that bag and see if you can find one. Oh, dear! If the children would only let me speak to ’em! Then I could tell ’em all about Rags! Why don’t you hurry? Can’t you see I need a handkerchief? Will you, or won’t you?”

Merrimeg quickly opened the sack. She put her head down into it and looked in; and before she knew what was going on her heels were lifted up and she was plopped down head first into the bag, and there she was, tied up tight inside the rag-bone sack.

She kicked and screamed, but it wasn’t any use. The Rag-Bone Man slung the sack on his back and made off through the orchard as fast as he could go.

Merrimeg stopped kicking, when she found it wasn’t any use, and after a long time she came down on the ground with a bump, and she heard the Rag-Bone Man call out, “Open the door!”

The sack was untied, and she stood up. She was standing before a little house in the woods, and the trees about it were dark and gloomy, and the sun had gone down.

The door of the little house opened, and a little girl, smaller than Merrimeg, stood in the doorway. She was a very ragged little girl, and her face was dirty and sad. She looked at Merrimeg with big solemn eyes.

“I’ve brought you one at last!” cried the Rag-Bone Man. “Here she is! I’ve got one for you at last! Somebody to play with! Here she is, and she’s going to stay with you and play with you, and never go home any more! Now we’ve got her we’ll _keep_ her. Now you’ll have company! Ain’t she a pretty one, though? Ain’t I a good father? Come in, come on in!”

He seized the two little girls by the hand and ran into the house with them.

It was a tiny house, with only two rooms, one in front and one behind. The Rag-Bone Man began to get out plates and knives and forks and set them about on a table in the front room. The two little girls stood staring at each other.

“What’s your name?” said the Rag-Bone Man’s little girl.

“Merrimeg,” said she.

“My name is Rags. That’s my father. He’s been trying for a long, long time to bring me somebody to live with me here and play with me, but they always ran away from him. You’re the first. Are you lonely?”

“No,” said Merrimeg.

“I am. But I won’t be any longer. I’ve got you to play with me now.”

“Can’t I--ever--go home--any more?” said Merrimeg.

“Oh, father!” said little Rags. “She wants to go home already!”

“Go home?” cried the Rag-Bone Man. “Are you talking about going home already? Oh, dear, _don’t_ make me cry again! If you talk like that, I’ll cry, I _know_ I will! You _can’t_ leave us! It wouldn’t do! No, no! Sit down and eat your supper. Oh, dear, she wants to go home!”

They sat down at the table, but Merrimeg couldn’t eat; and after supper Rags and Merrimeg went to bed together in a little bed in the back room. The stars shone in through the window.

“To-morrow,” said Rags, pulling the covers up over Merrimeg, “we’ll have a grand play in the woods all day. Oh, won’t I be happy, though! I know where there’s a lot of wild strawberries, and a brook with crawly things on the bottom, and--oh, I’m so glad you’ve come! And father won’t ever let you leave me as long as you live! Oh, isn’t it jolly! I’ll never be lonely any more!”

She sighed with happiness, and nestled her head down on the pillow, and went to sleep.

But Merrimeg didn’t go to sleep. She thought about her mother, and what would happen if she never went home any more, and how she would miss her mother, and what the other children in the village would say after she’d been away for years and years, and--she sat up in bed. The little house was very still. She made up her mind that if she was ever going to get home, she had better try to steal away now. She got up quietly and dressed herself, and opened the door of the front room on a crack and peeked in.

A candle was burning on the table in there, and the Rag-Bone Man was over at the other side of the room, opening the drawers of a bureau one after another, and rummaging about inside. He was sniffling dreadfully.

“I can’t find ’em,” he was saying to himself. “Where are the plaguey handkerchiefs, anyway? To think that after I’ve tried so hard, and brought one of ’em here at last, she wants to go right away home, before she’s been here ten minutes! They’re all alike, that’s what it is. They don’t like me, and they run away from me, and when one of ’em comes here at last she wants to go right off home again. There ain’t one of ’em can abide the sight of me, and it’s a cruel shame, that’s what it is. It’s _cruel_. Oh, dear, I’m going to cry again--I just _know_ I am--it’s coming on--I can feel it--_where_ are those handkerchiefs, anyway?”

He opened another drawer, and rummaged about inside, and then sat down on a chair with his head on his hands.

“Plague take it,” said he, “I just _know_ I’m going to cry. And there’s no handkerchiefs in the house. _Why_ do they all run away from me? And she wants to go home before she’s been here ten minutes, and there’s no handkerchiefs in the house--boo-hoo-hoo!”

“I believe he’s crying,” said a voice outside.

“I believe he is, brother, I believe he is,” said another voice.

“How would it do to go in?” said the first voice.

“That’s a very clever idea, brother, very clever,” said the other voice.

The front door opened, and in walked the two gnomes.

“I believe she’s here, too, brother Nibby,” said Malkin. “I can see her peeking in through the door.”

“Then,” said brother Nibby, “I wonder why she doesn’t come in?”

“I _will_ come in,” said Merrimeg. “Oh, but I’m glad you’ve come!” And she stepped into the room.

“But she wants to go home!” said the Rag-Bone Man, wiping his eyes and nose with the back of his hand. “Have you got a dry handkerchief?”

“Have you got a handkerchief, brother Nibby?” said Malkin.

“Oh dear no,” said Nibby. “I always forget it.”

“Do you know where you left it, brother?” said Malkin.

“Oh dear yes,” said Nibby. “In the ice box under the kitchen sink.”

“Then please!” said the Rag-Bone Man. “Please! Take me there and give it to me! Oh, oh! When I think of all the children running away from me, and now she wants to go home, and no handkerchiefs in the house,--I’m going to cry again, I’m going to cry again, I just _know_ it!” And sure enough, he began to cry, harder than ever.

“Maybe he’d feel better,” said Malkin, “if we took him home and got him a handkerchief.”

“Maybe he would, there’s something in that,” said Nibby.

“Then let’s do it,” said Malkin.

“But oh, dear!” said the Rag-Bone Man, pointing at Merrimeg. “I can’t leave _her_ here. She’d run away.”

“Then we’d better take her with us, brother Nibby,” said Malkin. “What do you say?”

“Just what I was thinking,” said Nibby. “You took the words out of my mouth.”

“All right,” said the Rag-Bone Man. “When I’ve gotten the handkerchief I’ll bring her back again. Now then,” said he to Merrimeg, picking up his bag, “jump into the sack. Quick. Will you, or won’t you?”

“No, no!” said Merrimeg. “I don’t like the sack. I won’t!”

“Not very polite to-day, brother Nibby,” said Malkin. “I think she ought to do what the gentleman says.”

“You’re right, brother, you’re always right,” said Nibby.

“Well,” said Merrimeg, “if you say I ought to do it, I will. But I don’t want to.”

She stepped into the bag, and at that moment a voice sounded from the back door. “No, no! Don’t go away!”

It was little Rags, in her nightgown. She ran to Merrimeg and threw her arms around her and clung to her tight.

“Don’t go, don’t go!” cried little Rags. “Don’t leave me! Stay and play with me! Oh please, oh please!”

“She’s coming back,” said her father. “I’ll bring her back as soon as I get the handkerchief. She’d run away if I left her here. She’ll be back.”

Merrimeg put her arm around little Rags and kissed her.

“Good-by,” said she. “Don’t cry. I’ve got to go now. Don’t cry. Good-by.”

The Rag-Bone Man pulled the sack up over Merrimeg and hoisted it up on his back.

“Don’t go, don’t go!” said little Rags, and put her head down on her arm.

The door closed behind the Rag-Bone Man and his sack, and the two gnomes; and little Rags in her nightgown stood all alone in the room, weeping.

The Rag-Bone Man walked so far and so long that Merrimeg fell asleep in the sack. When she woke up she was standing on the mossy roof of the gnomes’ house, rubbing her eyes; and in a moment they were all four going down the ladder into the gnomes’ kitchen.

Nibby ran to the ice box under the sink, and put his hand in.

“It’s no use, brother, it isn’t here,” said Nibby.

“Then we’d better look somewhere else, brother,” said Malkin.

They looked in the coffeepot, and the bread box, and in the oven, and everywhere; but they couldn’t find the handkerchief.

“Oh, dear!” said the Rag-Bone Man. “It’s enough to make a person cry his eyes out, that’s what it is. Oh, what a day I’ve had! What are you going to do now?”

“_I’ll_ tell you,” said Merrimeg. “I left a lot of them in the apple orchard at home, and they’re all dry by now. Let’s go there!”

“Do you think they’re dry?” said the Rag-Bone Man.

“Of course they are!” said Merrimeg. “Come along! Hurry!”

She led them up the ladder, and when they were outside she got into the sack again. The Rag-Bone Man swung her onto his back, and before very long she was dropped to the ground with a bump, and she got out of the sack. They were standing in the apple orchard behind her house, and there on the ground were the handkerchiefs, where the Rag-Bone Man had thrown them.

The Rag-Bone Man picked them up. They were wet.

“Oh, dear! oh, dear!” he cried. “They’re all wet! I _knew_ they wouldn’t be dry! They’re no earthly good! What’ll I do? No handkerchiefs, and all the children running away from me, and--Oh, dear! I’m going to cry again! Oh, what a day I’ve had! What’ll I do? What’ll I _do_?”

“Bless my soul, brother Nibby,” said Malkin. “_I_ know where our handkerchief is. I put it there myself. It’s in the handkerchief box on the bureau. I wonder why we didn’t think to look for it there?”

“I believe you’re right, brother,” said Nibby. “It’s the last place I would have thought of looking for it.”

“Then we’d better take him back to get it before he cries again,” said Nibby. “Let’s go.”

“Oh, dear!” said the Rag-Bone Man. “_Such_ a lot of running back and forth in the middle of the night! Come along,” he said to Merrimeg, “jump into the sack again, and let’s go back. Oh, dear! So much trouble, nothing but trouble! Quick, jump into the sack.”

“No, no!” cried Merrimeg, starting to run. “I’m home now. I’m not going back! Good-by!” And she ran away as fast as her feet would carry her, through the apple orchard, across the cabbage garden, and in at the kitchen door.

“Funny how we came to bring her back right to her own home, brother,” said Malkin.

“Very funny, very funny indeed,” said Nibby.

“Oh! oh! oh!” said the Rag-Bone Man. “What’ll my poor little Rags do now? Oh, what a terrible day I’ve had! Oh, dear! oh, dear!”

He put his head down and burst out crying, and the two gnomes led him away.

In the front room, Merrimeg’s mother was sitting at the window sewing.

“Well,” she said. “I thought you were never coming home! I told you not to stay at Tish’s so late. Did you have a nice supper? Get ready for bed, and next time don’t stay so long.”

“Yes, mother,” said Merrimeg.

_MERRIMEG AND THE APPLE-SEED ELF_

Merrimeg was sitting in an apple tree in the orchard. She sat there as still as a mouse.

Her mother came to the kitchen door and called: “Merrimeg!”

But Merrimeg sat in the apple tree as quiet as a mouse; and answered never a word.

“Merrimeg!” called her mother. “Where are you?”

Still Merrimeg said nothing. It was not one of her days to be good.

“Come dry the dishes! Come dry the dishes!” called her mother.

But Merrimeg did not want to dry dishes, so she sat in the apple tree among the green leaves and red apples, and said never a word.

Her mother went back into the kitchen, and closed the door behind her.

Then Merrimeg reached out her hand and plucked the biggest and reddest apple near her, and took a great bite out of it.

“Oh, you naughty child!” piped up a little thin squeaking voice. “Are you trying to bite my head off?”

She looked at the apple in her hand, and there, in the place where she had bitten it, was a tiny head with little black eyes.

“Let me out!” cried the voice again. “Suppose you’d bitten my head off, what then, eh?”

Merrimeg held up the apple and looked close at the tiny head.

“I’m sorry,” said she. “How can I let you out?”

“Why, you stupid thing,” said the little creature, “_eat_ me out, of course!”

“Oh!” said Merrimeg, and she carefully ate all around the outside of the apple, and out came into her hand the tiniest little man in the world, no bigger than an apple core, and dressed in a coat made of apple seeds all fastened together.

“I heard your mother calling you!” said this little elf. “First you won’t answer your mother, and then you nearly bite my head off. What do you mean by it?”

“I don’t like to dry dishes,” said Merrimeg.

“Oh, she doesn’t like to dry dishes! Oh, no indeed! She mustn’t do anything she doesn’t want to do! Not she! I’ll tell you what; I suppose you’d like to do nothing all day but eat and be outdoors, and never have to bother about washing and dressing and sweeping and dusting and running errands,--I suppose that’s what you’d like?”

“Well,” said Merrimeg, “I _would_ like it pretty well. I hate to sweep and----”

“All right!” cried the Apple-Seed Elf, and he sprang from her hand onto a branch near her shoulder. “I’ll fix it for you! I’ll see to it! You’ll never have to dress or do any lessons any more,--now then! Caterpillar! Go away, child, and come up, caterpillar! Come up, caterpillar! Come, come, come!”

As he finished saying this, Merrimeg disappeared. There was no little girl sitting on the branch any longer, but in her place was a fat yellow caterpillar, wriggling along the bark. She was turned into a caterpillar, and she would never have to dress herself or learn any lessons any more.

The Apple-Seed Elf hopped down behind the caterpillar and pushed it with his foot.

“Ha, ha, ha!” he laughed. “No more dishes to dry for you! Ha, ha!”

At that moment a blackbird swooped down over the caterpillar and made a dart at it with his beak and nearly got it. But he missed it, just, and if he hadn’t missed it that would surely have been the end of Merrimeg forever.

She wasn’t out of danger, however. The blackbird meant to have that caterpillar, and he came back directly, and this time he swooped down straight over it and opened his beak and---- But at that instant he was knocked sideways by something which shot out at him from among the branches.

It was a tiny lady with gauzy wings, a sparkling little lady, not quite so big as the blackbird, and she darted at the bird with a flash like the flash of diamonds, and knocked him sideways just as he was about to snap up the caterpillar.

“Ha, ha, ha!” laughed the Apple-Seed Elf, still standing on the branch behind the caterpillar. He seemed to be having a thoroughly good time.

The blackbird wasn’t going to give up so soon. He dashed at the caterpillar again, and the sparkling little lady dashed at the blackbird; and she knocked him sideways, and he flew off and turned round and came back again. He was the stubbornest blackbird in the world. He came back a dozen times. And each time the sparkling lady, with her wings buzzing like a bumblebee’s, knocked him sideways and sent him off. But the thirteenth time she missed him. Just as he was pouncing on the caterpillar she flashed by him, too late. She wheeled around and cried out, “Go away, caterpillar! Come up, butterfly!” And the caterpillar turned instantly into a beautiful butterfly, and the butterfly floated away off the branch just in time.

The blackbird snatched up the Apple-Seed Elf in its beak by the back of his coat, and dashed off with him. The elf screamed and kicked, but it wasn’t any use; the blackbird flew off with him out of sight among the trees, and did not come back any more.

Merrimeg was a butterfly, a beautiful butterfly, with pointed wings all white and blue and brown. It fluttered here and there in the sunshine for a moment, then it sailed out from the orchard as if it knew where it was going, and floated off across the cabbage garden to the kitchen window, and in through the kitchen window straight into the kitchen, where Merrimeg’s mother was washing the dishes.

“Oh!” said Merrimeg’s mother. “What a beautiful butterfly! I must try to catch it for Merrimeg.”

The butterfly sailed round the kitchen, and Merrimeg’s mother held up her apron and tiptoed after it, and almost caught it, but not quite. It flew off into the front room, and when Merrimeg’s mother came in it was resting quietly on Merrimeg’s bed, fluttering its wings. Oh, if that butterfly could only have said one word!

Merrimeg’s mother held her apron over it, but it rose in the air, and as she ran after it it flew out of the front window into the street and was gone. Merrimeg’s mother went back to her washing in the kitchen.

“I wonder where that Merrimeg is,” said she, and she went to the kitchen door and called, “Merrimeg!” But there was no answer, and she turned back into the kitchen again, and threw her hands up and said, “Why, bless me, there’s that butterfly again!”

Sure enough, the butterfly was hovering around, here and there, quite as if it could not make up its mind to go away. Merrimeg’s mother held up her apron again and tried to catch it; but she only drove it into the front room, and when she followed it there, waving her apron, it flew out of the window into the street.

“Oh, pshaw,” she said, “I can’t bother with you all day.” And she closed the window.

The butterfly rose higher and sailed off down the street in the direction of the woods.

Merrimeg’s mother went back to her washing.

Now it happened, after a while, that the two gnomes, brother Malkin and brother Nibby, were sitting on the moss beside the roof of their house, with their back against a tree. A butterfly, with pointed wings all white and blue and brown, came fluttering towards them through the woods.

It alighted on a bush directly before them, and rested there for a long time, waving its wings up and down. The gnomes sat staring at it. Oh, if that butterfly could only have said one word!

Suddenly Malkin looked up at the sky and said:

“What’s that blackbird carrying, brother?”

“Why, I believe it’s--it’s----” began Nibby.

A blackbird was flying just above them, and as they spoke something dropped from its beak right down onto the bush beside the butterfly. It was the Apple-Seed Elf.

“Bless my soul, brother,” said Malkin in surprise, but before he could say anything else the Apple-Seed Elf hopped over to the butterfly and rubbed his tiny hands quickly over its beautiful wings, all white and blue and brown.

“Oh, the wicked little villain!” cried Malkin, and the two gnomes made a dash at the Elf; but he skipped away in a hurry, laughing “Ha, ha, ha!” and disappeared from sight under the bush.

The butterfly flapped its wings, trying to fly, but it couldn’t. All the powder, the soft delicate powder with its beautiful colors, which covered its wings, was brushed off; and without this powder on its wings the butterfly could not fly.

The gnomes looked about carefully, and on the leaves of the bush they found the powder, and they dusted it off into an acorn cup. But they didn’t know how to put it on again.

“What’ll we do about it?” said Nibby.

“We’d better go to the Paint Shop,” said Malkin.

“That’s a good idea, brother,” said Nibby. “I declare you do think of everything.”

“Then let’s go,” said Malkin, and he picked up the poor butterfly gently. It wasn’t beautiful any longer, and it couldn’t fly.

“I’ll carry the powder,” said Nibby, and he took the acorn cup in his hands, full of a powder all white and blue and brown, mixed up together.

They made off through the woods as fast as they could. By and by they came to a brook, and on the other side of the brook, among the trees, was a tiny house, with an open door no taller than the gnomes, and over the door was a sign, and it said:

“Butterflies Painted Here.”

The gnomes crossed the brook and went in at the little door; and as they did so a big butterfly, gorgeously painted, came flying out.

Inside, in a little room, a little old man with a long white beard and goggle-eyes was sitting behind a little table. On the table before him was row after row of acorn cups, hundreds of them, each one filled with a colored powder, and every color different from all the others. The little old man was a Painter of Butterflies. He dipped a tiny hair brush into one of the cups of powder, and said:

“Wait a minute, please. I’ve got to finish this wing.”

A butterfly was lying on the table before him, all finished except for a spot on one wing; and dozens of other butterflies were waiting their turns on a bench by the wall; these last had no colors on their wings at all.

The Painter of Butterflies touched up the wing before him with an orange-colored powder, and said:

“Now you’ll do. Off with you!”

The butterfly fluttered, rose in the air, and sailed out through the door.

“You’re next,” said the Painter.

Malkin put down his butterfly on the table, and Nibby laid down his cup of powder.

“Aha!” said the Painter. “Let me look at that butterfly! Something queer about that butterfly! Wait a minute!”

He put on a pair of thick shiny spectacles and bent down over the butterfly.

“Aha!” he said. “I thought so! This isn’t a butterfly. I ought to know a butterfly when I see one. This is something else entirely. Did you ever see a butterfly with a pink sash?”

He took off his spectacles and gave them to the gnomes, and they looked at the butterfly through the spectacles, one after the other. There, around the butterfly’s body, was a thread of pink ribbon, tied with a bow. When they took the spectacles off they couldn’t see it any longer.

“Bless my soul, brother Nibby,” said Malkin, “I believe it’s----”

“I believe it is, brother, I believe it is,” said Nibby. “I’ve seen her wear a pink sash. However did she get changed into a butterfly?”

The little old Painter picked up the acorn cup which Nibby had brought, and looked into it.

“Aha!” he said. “White and blue and brown. She must have had a white skin and blue eyes and brown hair. Wait a minute.”

He poured the powder from the cup onto the table, and held his brush over it.

“White, white, come up!” he said; and all the white powder flew up onto the brush. He painted the butterfly’s wings with this, so that they became white all over.

“Blue, blue, come up!” he said, and all the blue powder flew up onto the brush. With this he painted a round blue eye on each wing.

“Brown, brown, come up!” he said, and the brown powder flew up on to the brush. With this he painted brown streaks like hair on each wing.

“Now,” he said, “fly!”

The butterfly rose and flew around the room, and then settled down on Nibby’s shoulder.

“That’s done,” said the Painter, “now we’d better go and see old Sappy the Owl about it.”

He got up, and the two gnomes followed him out of the door, the butterfly coming along on Nibby’s shoulder.

They came, after a while, to a great hollow oak tree in the woods, and the Painter stuck his head into a hole at the bottom of the tree and shouted up inside: “Sappy! Come down!” Then he stood up, and in a moment a large gray owl was standing in the opening at the bottom of the tree.

“Here’s a butterfly with a pink sash,” said the Painter.

“We’d better tell him, brother,” said Malkin, “about the Elf with the apple-seed coat, who brushed all the powder off the butterfly’s wings.”

“Suppose you tell him, brother,” said Nibby. But Sappy didn’t wait to be told; he had evidently heard all he needed to hear. He gave a slow wink with one eye, ruffled his feathers, and flew away among the trees without a word.

“He’ll be back,” said the Painter, and in a little while old Sappy came back, and he was carrying in his beak the Apple-Seed Elf.

“Let me go!” cried the Elf, kicking and squirming, and owl dropped him to the ground and stood over him.

“What do you want?” piped the Elf, evidently frightened almost to death.

“Say the words!” growled the owl, in a deep hoarse voice. “Say the words that’ll change the butterfly back again, and say ’em before I count ten, or else I’ll eat you. One, two, three, four,----”

The Apple-Seed Elf started to scamper off through the grass, but the owl put his foot on him, quick as a wink.

“Five, six, seven,----”

“Let me go!” cried the Elf, struggling to get loose.

“Eight, nine,----”

“Go away, butterfly!” cried the Elf, in his shrill voice. “Come up, child! Go away, butterfly! Come up, child!”

The minute he had said this, Nibby cried out, “My stars, brother, here’s a go!” And there, on Nibby’s shoulder, in place of the butterfly, sat Merrimeg herself, with her feet dangling to the ground.

“Let me go!” screamed the Apple-Seed Elf, and Sappy the Owl gave him a kick with his foot and sent him off scampering through the grass.

“I believe she’s here, brother,” said Malkin.

“I’m sure of it, brother, I’m sure of it,” said Nibby, as Merrimeg slipped from his shoulder and stood on her feet.

“Take me home!” said Merrimeg. “Take me home quick! Don’t stand there all day, I want to go home!”

“Not very polite to-day, brother Nibby,” said Malkin.

“Not very, indeed,” said Nibby.

“Excuse me,” said Merrimeg, “but my mother’s been calling me, and I mustn’t keep her waiting.”

“Well,” said the little old Painter of Butterflies, “I guess I’d better get back to my work.”

“Why don’t you go, then?” growled Sappy the Owl.

“I _must_ go,” said Merrimeg. “Mother wants me to help her with the dishes, and there’s some sweeping to be done, too, and----”

“Come along, brother,” said Malkin, and the two gnomes led Merrimeg away in the direction of their house.

When they reached it, Merrimeg thanked them, very politely, and ran away home; and when she opened the kitchen door her mother was peeling the potatoes for supper.

“Why, Merrimeg!” said her mother. “Wherever have you been? I’ve been looking for you everywhere. Will you sit down and finish peeling these potatoes for me?”

“Yes, mother,” said Merrimeg.

_MERRIMEG AND THE MAY-DEW_

“Don’t be long,” said Merrimeg’s mother.

“No, mother,” said Merrimeg, and she ran off down the village street, into the woods.

It was May-day, and she was going May-dewing. You know if you wash your face with dew, early on May-morning, it will keep you fair and sweet to look on, almost forever. That is what she was going to do.

She didn’t do it at once, however, because she had to run after a good many rabbits and squirrels. She stopped out of breath beside a pretty little brook, and then she bethought herself that she hadn’t yet washed her face with May-dew. The woods were all about her, and the brook was dropping down over its stones between moss and ferns. It was singing a little song to itself. Merrimeg stopped to listen. She dipped her bare foot in the water, and as she did so she noticed that there was a waterfall, quite a tall one, a little way up the stream, pouring down smoothly into a pool.

She thought she might as well wash her face now with dew, and she stooped down. At that moment the song of the brook became quite loud, and she looked up in surprise. From the pool at the bottom of the waterfall a head was looking out at her, the head of a little girl.

The head nodded at her. Merrimeg stared with both eyes. The head rose up, and the next moment the little girl that it belonged to was standing in shallow water to her knees. She was singing. She was making precisely the same sound as the brook itself, only louder.

She was smaller than Merrimeg. If she hadn’t been so pale, she would have been very pretty indeed. What looked like the stubs of two wings stuck out a trifle from her shoulder-blades. Her little slim body was glistening wet.

She stopped singing, and the instant she did so the brook stopped singing too. It positively fell silent as a pond.

“I know who you are,” said the little girl. “You’re Merrimeg.”

“Are you--?” said Merrimeg. “Are you a--?”

“Yes, of course. I live under the waterfall. I’m Myrma. I’m the fairy of this brook. I’m the one that makes it sound as if the brook was singing. You know the brook can’t sing, really; it’s me. Do you want to hear me do it?”

Merrimeg said “Yes,” and came closer to her. Myrma the fairy opened her mouth, and the sound she made was exactly the little song of a brook, and it seemed to come from the brook itself. She stopped, and the brook was silent again.