Chapter XII: Part TWO: Fairy Stories (4)

“I know all,” she said; “I have been in Fairyland. Disguised as a bird, I have watched all your steps. When you first went to the grotto, I begged the Queen to grant your wish.”

Ever after the sisters lived lovingly together. It was the remark of every one: “How handsome Marion has grown! The ugly scowl has departed from her face, her eyes are so clear and gentle, her mouth is so pretty and smiling. To my taste she is as handsome as Rose.”

_Lydia Maria Child_ (_Adapted_)

THE STORY OF CHILDE CHARITY

Once upon a time there lived in the west country a little girl who had neither father nor mother; they both died when she was very young, and left their daughter to the care of her uncle, who was the richest farmer in all that country. He had houses and lands, flocks and herds, many servants to work about his house and fields, a wife who had brought him a great dowry, and two fair daughters.

All their neighbours, being poor, looked up to the family--insomuch that they imagined themselves great people. The father and mother were as proud as peacocks; the daughters thought themselves the greatest beauties in the world, and not one of the family would speak civilly to anybody they thought low.

Now it happened that though she was their near relation, they had this opinion of the orphan girl, partly because she had no fortune, and partly because of her humble, kindly disposition. It was said that the more needy and despised any creature was, the more ready was she to befriend it: on which account the people of the west country called her Childe Charity, and if she had any other name, I never heard it.

Childe Charity was thought very mean in that proud house. Her uncle would not own her for his niece; her cousins would not keep her company; and her aunt sent her to work in the dairy, and to sleep in the back garret, where they kept all sorts of lumber and dry herbs for the winter. The servants learned the same tune, and Childe Charity had more work than rest among them. All the day she scoured pails, scrubbed dishes, and washed crockeryware. But every night she slept in the back garret as sound as a Princess could in her palace chamber.

Her uncle’s house was large and white, and stood among green meadows by a river’s side. In front it had a porch covered with a vine; behind, it had a farmyard and high granaries. Within, there were two parlours for the rich, and two kitchens for the poor, which the neighbours thought wonderfully grand. And one day in the harvest season, when this rich farmer’s corn had been all cut down and housed, he condescended so far as to invite his neighborhood to a harvest supper. The west country people came in their holiday clothes and best behaviour. Such heaps of cakes and cheese, such baskets of apples and barrels of ale, had never been at feast before.

They were making merry in kitchen and parlour, when a poor old woman came to the back door, begging for broken victuals and a night’s lodging. Her clothes were coarse and ragged; her hair was scanty and grey; her back was bent; her teeth were gone. She had a squinting eye, a clubbed foot, and crooked fingers. In short, she was the poorest and ugliest old woman that ever came begging.

The first who saw her was the kitchen-maid, and she ordered her to be gone for an ugly witch. The next was the herd-boy, and he threw her a bone over his shoulder. But Childe Charity, hearing the noise, came out from her seat at the foot of the lowest table, and asked the old woman to take her share of the supper, and sleep that night in her bed in the back garret.

The old woman sat down without a word of thanks. All the company laughed at Childe Charity for giving her bed and her supper to a beggar. Her proud cousins said it was just like her mean spirit, but Childe Charity did not mind them. She scraped the pots for her supper that night and slept on a sack among the lumber, while the old woman rested in her warm bed.

And next morning, before the little girl awoke, the old woman was up and gone, without so much as saying “Thank you,” or “Good morning.”

That day all the servants were sick after the feast, and mostly cross too--so you may judge how civil they were; when, at supper time, who should come to the back door but the old woman, again asking for broken victuals and a night’s lodging.

No one would listen to her or give her a morsel, till Childe Charity rose from her seat at the foot of the lowest table, and kindly asked her to take her supper, and sleep in her bed in the back garret. Again the old woman sat down without a word. Childe Charity scraped the pots for her supper, and slept on the sack.

In the morning the old woman was gone; but for six nights after, as sure as the supper was spread, there was she at the back door, and the little girl regularly asked her in.

Childe Charity’s aunt said she would let her get enough of beggars. Her cousins made continual game of what they called her genteel visitor. Sometimes the old woman said: “Child, why don’t you make this bed softer? and why are your blankets so thin?” but she never gave her a word of thanks, nor a civil good morning.

At last, on the ninth night from her first coming, when Childe Charity was getting used to scrape the pots and sleep on the sack, her accustomed knock came at the door, and there she stood with an ugly ashy-coloured dog, so stupid-looking and clumsy that no herd-boy would keep him.

“Good evening, my little girl,” she said when Childe Charity opened the door. “I will not have your supper and bed to-night--I am going on a long journey to see a friend. But here is a dog of mine, whom nobody in all the west country will keep for me. He is a little cross, and not very handsome; but I leave him to your care till the shortest day in all the year. Then you and I will count for his keeping.”

When the old woman had said the last word, she set off with such speed that Childe Charity lost sight of her in a minute. The ugly dog began to fawn upon her, but he snarled at everybody else. The servants said he was a disgrace to the house. The proud cousins wanted him drowned, and it was with great trouble that Childe Charity got leave to keep him in an old ruined cow-house.

Ugly and cross as the dog was, he fawned on her, and the old woman had left him to her care. So the little girl gave him part of all her meals, and when the hard frost came, took him privately to her own back garret, because the cow-house was damp and cold in the long nights. The dog lay quietly on some straw in a corner. Childe Charity slept soundly, but every morning the servants would say to her:--

“What great light and fine talking was that in your back garret?”

“There was no light, but the moon shining in through the shutterless window, and no talk that I heard,” said Childe Charity.

And she thought they must have been dreaming. But night after night, when any of them awoke in the dark and silent hour that comes before the morning, they saw a light brighter and clearer than the Christmas fire, and heard voices like those of lords and ladies in the back garret.

Partly from fear, and partly from laziness, none of the servants would rise to see what might be there. At length, when the winter nights were at the longest, the little parlour-maid, who did least work and got most favour, because she gathered news for her mistress, crept out of bed when all the rest were sleeping, and set herself to watch at a crevice of the door.

She saw the dog lying quietly in the corner, Childe Charity sleeping soundly in her bed, and the moon shining through the shutterless window. But an hour before daybreak there came a glare of lights, and a sound of far-off bugles. The window opened, and in marched a troop of little men clothed in crimson and gold, and bearing every man a torch, till the room looked bright as day. They marched up with great reverence to the dog, where he lay on the straw, and the most richly clothed among them said:--

“Royal Prince, we have prepared the banquet hall. What will Your Highness please that we do next?”

“Ye have done well,” said the dog. “Now, prepare the feast, and see that all things be in our first fashion: for the Princess and I mean to bring a stranger who never feasted in our halls before.”

“Your Highness’s commands shall be obeyed,” said the little man, making another reverence; and he and his company passed out of the window.

By and by there was another glare of lights, and a sound like far-off flutes. The window opened, and there came in a company of little ladies clad in rose-coloured velvet, and carrying each a crystal lamp. They also walked with great reverence up to the dog, and the gayest among them said:--

“Royal Prince, we have prepared the tapestry. What will Your Highness please that we do next?”

“Ye have done well,” said the dog. “Now, prepare the robes, and let all things be in our first fashion: for the Princess and I will bring with us a stranger who never feasted in our halls before.”

“Your Highness’s commands shall be obeyed,” said the little lady, making a low curtsy; and she and her company passed out through the window, which closed quietly behind them.

The dog stretched himself out upon the straw, the little girl turned in her sleep, and the moon shone in on the back garret.

The parlour-maid was so much amazed, and so eager to tell this great story to her mistress, that she could not close her eyes that night, and was up before cock-crow. But when she told it, her mistress called her a silly wench to have such foolish dreams, and scolded her so that the parlour-maid durst not mention what she had seen to the servants.

Nevertheless Childe Charity’s aunt thought there might be something in it worth knowing; so next night, when all the house were asleep, she crept out of bed, and set herself to watch at the back garret door.

There she saw exactly what the maid told her--the little men with the torches, and the little ladies with the crystal lamps, come in making great reverence to the dog, and the same words pass, only he said to the one, “Now prepare the presents,” and to the other, “Prepare the jewels.”

And when they were gone the dog stretched himself on the straw, Childe Charity turned in her sleep, and the moon shone in on the back garret.

The mistress could not close her eyes any more than the maid from eagerness to tell the story. She woke up Childe Charity’s rich uncle before cock-crow. But when he heard it, he laughed at her for a foolish woman, and advised her not to repeat the like before the neighbours, lest they should think she had lost her senses.

The mistress could say no more, and the day passed. But that night the master thought he would like to see what went on in the back garret: so when all the house were asleep, he slipped out of bed, and set himself to watch at the crevice in the door.

The same thing happened again that the maid and the mistress saw: the little men in crimson with their torches, and the little ladies in rose-coloured velvet with their lamps, came in at the window, and made an humble reverence to the ugly dog, the one saying, “Royal Prince, we have prepared the presents,” and the other, “Royal Prince, we have prepared the jewels.”

And the dog said to them all: “Ye have done well. To-morrow come and meet me and the Princess with horses and chariots, and let all things be in our first fashion: for we will bring a stranger from this house who has never travelled with us, nor feasted in our halls before.”

The little men and the little ladies said: “Your Highness’s commands shall be obeyed.”

When they had gone out through the window the ugly dog stretched himself out on the straw, Childe Charity turned in her sleep, and the moon shone in on the back garret.

The master could not close his eyes any more than the maid or the mistress, for thinking of this strange sight. He remembered to have heard his grandfather say, that somewhere near his meadows there lay a path leading to the Fairies’ country, and the haymakers used to see it shining through the grey Summer morning as the Fairy bands went home. Nobody had heard or seen the like for many years; but the master concluded that the doings in his back garret must be a Fairy business, and the ugly dog a person of great account. His chief wonder was, however, what visitor the Fairies intended to take from his house; and after thinking the matter over he was sure it must be one of his daughters--they were so handsome, and had such fine clothes.

Accordingly, Childe Charity’s rich uncle made it his first business that morning to get ready a breakfast of roast mutton for the ugly dog, and carry it to him in the old cow-house. But not a morsel would the dog taste. On the contrary, he snarled at the master, and would have bitten him if he had not run away with his mutton.

“The Fairies have strange ways,” said the master to himself. But he called his daughters privately, bidding them dress themselves in their best, for he could not say which of them might be called into great company before nightfall.

Childe Charity’s proud cousins, hearing this, put on the richest of their silks and laces, and strutted like peacocks from kitchen to parlour all day, waiting for the call their father spoke of, while the little girl scoured and scrubbed in the dairy.

They were in very bad humour when night fell, and nobody had come. But just as the family were sitting down to supper the ugly dog began to bark, and the old woman’s knock was heard at the back door. Childe Charity opened it, and was going to offer her bed and supper as usual, when the old woman said:--

“This is the shortest day in all the year, and I am going home to hold a feast after my travels. I see you have taken good care of my dog, and now if you will come with me to my house, he and I will do our best to entertain you. Here is our company.”

As the old woman spoke there was a sound of far-off flutes and bugles, then a glare of lights; and a great company, clad so grandly that they shone with gold and jewels, came in open chariots, covered with gilding, and drawn by snow-white horses.

The first and finest of the chariots was empty. The old woman led Childe Charity to it by the hand, and the ugly dog jumped in before her. The proud cousins, in all their finery, had by this time come to the door, but nobody wanted them. And no sooner was the old woman and her dog within the chariot than a marvellous change passed over them, for the ugly old woman turned at once to a beautiful young Princess, with long yellow curls and a robe of green and gold, while the ugly dog at her side started up a fair young Prince, with nut-brown hair, and a robe of purple and silver.

“We are,” said they, as the chariots drove on, and the little girl sat astonished, “a Prince and Princess of Fairyland, and there was a wager between us whether or not there were good people still to be found in these false and greedy times. One said ‘Yes,’ and the other said ‘No’; and I have lost,” said the Prince, “and must pay the feast and presents.”

Some of the farmer’s household, who were looking after them through the moonlight night, said the chariots had gone one way across the meadows, some said they had gone another, and till this day they cannot agree upon the direction.

But Childe Charity went with that noble company into a country such as she had never seen--for Primroses covered all the ground, and the light was always like that of a Summer evening. They took her to a royal palace, where there was nothing but feasting and dancing for seven days. She had robes of pale green velvet to wear, and slept in a chamber inlaid with ivory.

When the feast was done, the Prince and Princess gave her such heaps of gold and jewels that she could not carry them, but they gave her a chariot to go home in, drawn by six white horses. And on the seventh night, which happened to be Christmas time, when the farmer’s family had settled in their own minds that she would never come back, and were sitting down to supper, they heard the sound of her coachman’s bugle, and saw her alight with all the jewels and gold at the very back door where she had brought in the ugly old woman.

The Fairy chariot drove away, and never came back to that farmhouse after. But Childe Charity scrubbed and scoured no more, for she grew a great lady, even in the eyes of her proud cousins.

_Frances Browne_

THE SHINING CHILD AND THE WICKED MOUCHE

HOW THE RICH COUSINS CAME

Once upon a time a noble but poor Count lived in the lovely land of Alsace. He dwelt in a charming little house on a hill. All around the house the graceful trees stretched out their leafy branches like arms, as if they were saying: “Welcome! Welcome among us!” Not far from the house was a thick green wood filled with birds and flowers and scented grasses. The good Count did not live alone in this delightful spot; no indeed, his wife and his two children, Fanchon and Frederic, lived with him, happy and contented.

Now, one Summer the news arrived that a wealthy and distinguished nobleman, cousin of the Count, was coming the next day, with his family, to call upon his poor relatives.

The following morning the Countess got up very early, and baked a cake into which she put more almonds and raisins than she ever put into her Easter cakes, so that its delicious fragrance filled the house. The Count dusted and brushed his old green waistcoat; while Fanchon and Frederic, dressed in their best clothes, sat waiting for the guests to come.

“You must not run about in the wood, as you usually do,” said the Count to them, “but sit very still so that you will look clean and neat when your cousins arrive.”

So the poor children were forced to stay in the house. The morning sun was peeping bright and smiling from behind a cloud, and was darting his rays in at the window. Out in the wood the breeze was blowing sweet and fresh, and the robins, the thrushes, the goldfinches, and the nightingales, were all warbling their loveliest songs. Poor Fanchon sat still and listened, sometimes smoothing the bow on her pink sash, and sometimes knitting a bit, and all the while longing to run away to the wood. As for Frederic, he was looking at a picture book, but he kept jumping up every minute to gaze out at the window; for the big house dog Pepin was barking and bounding before the window, as if to say: “Aren’t you coming out? What in the world are you doing in that stuffy room?”

And so Fanchon and Frederic had to remain in the house; and this was all the more painful, because the company-cake, which was on the table, gave out the most delicious spicy odours, yet might not be cut until the cousins came. “Oh! that they would only come!--would only come!” the children cried, and almost wept with impatience.

At last the loud tramping of horses was heard, and the rumble of wheels, then a carriage approached, so brilliant and so covered with golden ornaments that the children were amazed, for they had never seen anything like it. The carriage stopped before the house, and a very tall, thin gentleman glided out with the help of a footman, and fell into the arms of the Count, to whose cheek he gently pressed his lips. Then the footman aided a stout, red-faced woman to alight, while two children, a boy and a girl, stepped languidly down after her.

When they were all safely in the house, Fanchon and Frederic came forward and curtsied politely, as their father had told them to do. Then each seized a hand of the tall gentleman, saying: “We are glad you are come, noble Cousin!” After which they permitted the red-faced lady to embrace them; then they went up to the children, but stood before them silent and amazed. Indeed, these rich children were wonderfully dressed! The boy wore a little jacket of scarlet cloth, embroidered with gold and ornamented with gold tassels. A bright little sword hung at his side. On his head was a curious red cap with a white feather, from under which peeped his yellow face and bleared eyes.

The little girl had on a white dress all ribbons, lace, and bows, and her hair was frizzled and curled into a knot, on top of which was a shining coronet. Fanchon plucked up courage, and was going to take the little girl’s hand, but she snatched it away in such a hurry and looked so tearful and angry, that Fanchon was frightened and let her alone.

Frederic wished to have a closer look at the boy’s sword, and put out his hand to touch it, when the youngster began to shout and cry: “My sword! My sword! He is going to take my sword!” and ran to his father and hid behind him.

After that Fanchon and Frederic stood back quietly, while their mother cut the cake, and the older people talked. The two rich children sat munching dry crackers, for their parents said that cake was not good for them. But Fanchon and Frederic each had a large slice, which their dear mother gave them.

After they had finished eating, the guests arose to say good-bye, and the glittering carriage was driven to the door. The footman took from it two large bandboxes. These, the rich children handed with condescending pride, to Fanchon and Frederic. And just as the guests were about to take their leave, the dog Pepin, Frederic’s faithful friend and darling, came dancing and barking around them. The rich children screamed, and had to be lifted, kicking with fright, into the carriage, which immediately drove away.

So ended the visit of these wealthy, distinguished, and noble cousins.

THE NEW PLAYTHINGS

After the carriage containing the wealthy cousins had rolled down the hill, the Count threw off his green waistcoat, and put on his loose jacket, and ran his fingers through his hair. The children, too, quickly got out of their best clothes, and felt light and happy.

“To the wood! To the wood!” shouted Frederic, jumping as high as he could for joy.

“But don’t you wish to see what is in these handsome bandboxes your cousins gave you?” asked his mother.

And Fanchon, who had been gazing at the bandboxes with longing eyes, cried out: “Can’t we open them first, and go to the wood afterward?”

But Frederic was hard to convince. “Surely that stupid boy could not have brought anything worth while,” said he scornfully, “nor his ribbony sister! He talked so boldly about bears and lions, but when my dear Pepin barked, he forgot his sword and hid under the table! A brave sportsman he!”

“Oh, dear, good brother!” cried Fanchon, “just let us take one peep at what is in the boxes!”

So Frederic, who always did what he could to please his sister, gave up the idea of being off to the wood at once, and sat down patiently beside the table where the bandboxes were.

The mother opened them--and then--oh, my dear readers, if you could have seen what lay within! The loveliest toys were in those boxes! and candies, and sweet cakes, and nuts! The children clapped their hands again and again, crying: “Oh, how nice! Oh, how delicious!”

They took them all out of the boxes, and piled them on the table. None of the toys caused Frederic such satisfaction as did a little hunter who, when a string that stuck out from his jacket was pulled, put a gun to his shoulder, and fired at a target. Next to him in Frederic’s affections, was a little fellow who bowed, and twanged on a harp, whenever Frederic turned a tiny handle. And, what pleased him nearly as much, was a shotgun of wood and a hunting pouch and belt.

Fanchon was equally delighted with a beautiful doll, a trunk filled with doll’s dresses, tiny shoes, hats, and other lovely clothes, and a set of charming doll’s furniture.

The two children forgot all about the wood, and enjoyed themselves with their playthings until quite late in the evening. They then went to bed and slept soundly.

WHAT HAPPENED TO THE PLAYTHINGS IN THE WOOD

The next morning, the children got their boxes and took out the playthings, and began to play. Then, just as on the day before, the sun shone brightly in at the window, the trees rustled in the breeze, and the birds sang their loveliest songs. At last Frederic cried out:--

“Why do we sit here in this stuffy room? I’ll tell you what we’ll do! Come, Fanchon, let us be off to the wood!”

Fanchon had just undressed her doll, and was going to put it to bed. “Why can’t we stay here?” she begged, “and play a little longer, Frederic?”

“I’ll tell you what we’ll do,” he replied. “We’ll take our toys out to the wood. I’ll put on my pouch and belt, and carry my gun. I’ll be a real sportsman! The hunter and the harper may come, too. And you may take your doll. Come along! Let’s be off!”

Fanchon hastened to dress her doll, then they both ran out of the house, and off to the wood. There they sat down on a nice grassy spot. And after they had played a while, Fanchon said:--

“Do you know, Frederic, that harper of yours does not play very well. Just listen how funny his harp sounds out here in the wood--with that eternal _ting! ting! ping! ping!_”

Frederic turned the handle more violently. “You’re right, Fanchon,” said he. “What the little fellow plays sounds quite horrible. He must make a better job of it!”

And with that he unscrewed the handle with such force, that--_crack! crack!_--the box on which the harper stood flew into a thousand splinters, and the arms of the little fellow were broken and hung useless at his sides.

“Oh! Oh!” cried Frederic.

“Ah, the poor little harper!” sighed Fanchon.

“Well, he was a stupid creature!” said Frederic. “He played very poor music, and bowed, and made faces like our yellow-faced cousin who gave him to us.” And as Frederic spoke, he threw the harper into a thicket.

“What I like, is my hunter,” he continued. “He hits the bull’s eye every time he fires.” And with that Frederic jerked the string so violently that--_twang! twang!_--the target was broken and the little man’s arms hung limp and motionless.

“Ah! Ah!” cried Frederic. “You could shoot at your target in-doors, but out here, you can’t shoot at all!” And so saying, Frederic, with all his might, shied the hunter after the harper into the thicket.

“Come, let us run about a bit,” said he to Fanchon.

“Ah, yes! let us,” said she. “This lovely doll of mine shall run with us. It will be great fun!”

So Fanchon and Frederic took each an arm of the doll, and off they ran through the bushes, on and on, until they came to a small lake. There they stopped, and Frederic said:--

“Suppose we wait a minute. I have a gun now, and perhaps I may hit a duck among the rushes.”

At that moment, Fanchon screamed out: “Oh! just look at my doll! What’s the matter with her?”

Indeed, the poor thing was in a miserable condition. Neither Fanchon nor Frederic had been paying any attention to her, and the bushes had torn all the clothes off her back; both her legs were broken; while her pretty waxen face was covered with so many scratches that it was hideous to look at.

“Oh! my beautiful, beautiful child!” sobbed Fanchon.

“There, you see what a stupid creature that doll of yours is!” cried Frederic. “She can’t even take a little run, but she must tear and spoil her clothes! Give her to me!”

And before Fanchon could say a word, or cry: “Oh! Oh!” Frederic snatched the doll, and flung her into the lake.

“Never mind, Fanchon!” said he consolingly. “Never mind, if I can shoot a duck, you shall have the most beautiful wing-feathers.”

Just then a noise was heard among the rushes, and Frederic instantly took aim with his wooden gun. But he dropped it quickly from his shoulder, saying:--

“Am I not an idiot! How can a fellow shoot a duck without powder and shot? What’s the use of this stupid wooden thing, anyway?” With that he flung the gun and his pouch and belt into the lake.

But poor Fanchon was weeping at the loss of her doll, and Frederic was annoyed at the way things had turned out, so they both crept back sadly to the house. And when their mother asked them what had become of the playthings, Frederic truthfully related how they had been deceived by the harper, the hunter, the doll, and all.

“Ah! you foolish children!” cried their mother half in anger, “you do not deserve to have nice toys!”

But the Count, who had been listening to Frederic’s tale, said: “Let the children alone. I am really glad that they are fairly rid of those playthings. There was something queer about them.”

But neither the children nor their mother understood what the Count meant.

THE STRANGER CHILD

Soon after these events very early one morning Fanchon and Frederic ran off to the wood. They were feeling sad, for their mother had told them that they must return home soon to study, so as to be ready for the tutor that their rich cousin had promised to send them. For the tutor was expected shortly.

“Let us run and jump as much as we can now,” said Frederic, when they reached the wood, “for in a little while we shall not be allowed to stay out here at all!”

So they began to play hide-and-seek, but everything went wrong. The wind carried Frederic’s hat into the bushes. He stumbled and fell on his nose as he was running. Fanchon found herself hanging by her clothes on a thorn-tree, and she banged her foot against a sharp stone so that she shrieked with pain. In fact the children could not understand what was the matter with them on this particular day; and they gave up their game, and slunk dejectedly through the wood. Frederic threw himself down under a shady tree, and Fanchon followed his example. And there the two children lay gloomy and wretched, gazing on the ground.

“Ah!” said Fanchon, “if we only had our playthings!”

“Nonsense!” said Frederic, “what should we do with them? I’ll tell you what it is, Fanchon, Mother is right, I suspect. The toys were good enough, but we didn’t know how to play with them. If we were as learned as our rich cousins, we should be so wise that all our toys would now be whole; and we should know how to play with them rightly.”

And at that Fanchon began to sob and cry bitterly, and Frederic joined her; and they both howled and lamented until the wood rang again and again: “Oh! poor, unfortunate children that we are! Oh! that we were as wise as our cousins!”

But suddenly they both stopped crying, and asked each other in amazement:--

“Do you hear anything, Fanchon?”

“Do you hear anything, Frederic?”

For out of the deepest shade of the dark thicket in front of the children, a wonderful brightness began to shine, playing like moonlight over the leaves that trembled as if in joy. Then through the whispering trees came a sweet musical note, like the sound of a harp. The children lay motionless with awe. All their sorrow passed away from them, and tender, happy tears rose into their eyes.

As the radiance streamed brighter and brighter through the bushes, and the marvellous music grew louder and louder, the children’s hearts beat high. They gazed eagerly at the brightness. Then they saw, smiling at them from the thicket, the most beautiful face of a child, with the sun beaming on it in splendour.

“Oh! come to us!--Come to us!--darling Shining Child!” cried Fanchon and Frederic, stretching out their arms; and their hearts were filled with an indescribable longing.

“I am coming! I am coming!” a sweet voice cried from the bushes.

And then, as if borne on the wings of the breeze, the Stranger Child seemed to float hovering toward Fanchon and Frederic.

HOW THE SHINING CHILD PLAYED WITH FANCHON AND FREDERIC

“What is the matter, dear children?” asked the Stranger Child. “I heard you crying and lamenting, and I was very sorry for you! What do you want?”

“Ah!” said Frederic, “we did not know what we wanted; but now I see that we wanted _you_--just you yourself!”

“That’s it!” chimed in Fanchon. “Now that you are with us, we are happy again! Why were you so long in coming?”

In fact both children felt as if they had known and played with the Stranger Child all their lives, and that their unhappiness had been because their beloved playmate was not with them.

“You see,” Frederic added, “we have no toys left, for I, like a stupid dolt, broke all our fine things, and shied them into the thicket.”

At this the Stranger Child laughed merrily, and cried: “Why, Fanchon and Frederic, you are lying this minute among the loveliest playthings that ever were seen!”

“Where?--Where are they?” Fanchon and Frederic both cried.

“Look around you,” said the Stranger Child.

Then Fanchon and Frederic saw how out of the thick grass and moss all sorts of glorious flowers were peeping, with bright eyes gleaming. And between them many coloured stones and crystal shells sparkled and shone. While little golden insects danced up and down humming gentle songs.

“Now we will build a palace!” said the Stranger Child. “Help me to get the stones together.” And it stooped down and began to pick up stones of many pretty colours.

Fanchon and Frederic helped, and the Stranger Child placed the beautiful stones one upon another, and soon there rose tall pillars shining in the sun, while an airy golden roof stretched itself from pillar to pillar. Then the Stranger Child kissed the flowers that were peeping from the grass, and whispered to them lovingly, and they shot up higher and higher, and, twining together, formed sweet-scented arbours and covered walks in which the children danced about, full of delight and gladness.

The Stranger Child clapped its hands, and immediately the golden roof, that was made of insects’ golden wings, fell to pieces with a hum, and the pillars melted away into a splashing silver stream, on whose banks flowers grew and peeped into the water.

Then the Stranger Child plucked little blades of grass and gathered twigs from trees, strewing them on the ground before Fanchon and Frederic. The blades of grass turned into the prettiest little live dolls ever seen, and the twigs became gay little huntsmen.

The dolls danced around Fanchon, and let her take them in her lap, and they whispered in such delicate little voices: “Be kind to us! Love us, dear Fanchon.”

The huntsmen shouted: “Halloa! Halloa! the hunt’s up!” and blew their horns, and bustled about. Then tiny hares came darting out of the bushes, with tiny dogs after them, and the huntsmen pursued them with shouts. This was delightful!

Then suddenly these wonders disappeared. And Fanchon and Frederic cried out: “What has become of the dolls? Where are the huntsmen?”

The Stranger Child answered: “Oh, they are always here waiting for you! They are close beside you, so you may have them at any minute. But just now would you not rather go with me through the wood?”

“Oh, yes! yes!” cried Fanchon and Frederic.

The Stranger Child took hold of their hands, crying: “Come! Come!”

And with that off they went! The children felt themselves floating along lightly and easily, through the trees; while all the birds flew fluttering beside them, singing and warbling their sweetest songs. Then suddenly up they soared into the air. Higher and higher they mounted like birds, skimming above the tops of the trees. Frederic shouted with delight, but Fanchon was frightened.

“Oh, my breath is going! I shall tumble!” she cried.

And just at that moment the Stranger Child let them down gently to the ground, and said: “Now I shall sound my Forest-Song. Then good-bye for to-day.”

And the Stranger Child took out a little horn of wreathed gold, and began to sound it so beautifully that the whole wood reëchoed wondrously with its lovely music; while a host of nightingales came flocking to the branches above the children’s heads, and sang their most melodious songs.

But all at once the music grew fainter and fainter, and only a soft whispering seemed to come from the thicket into which the Stranger Child had vanished.

“To-morrow! To-morrow! I will come again!” the children heard breathed gently as if from a distance. Then they sighed with joy, for, though they could not understand it, never had they known such happiness in all their lives.

“Oh! I wish it was to-morrow, now!” they both cried, as they hastened home to their parents.

HOW THE FOREST TALKED TO FANCHON AND FREDERIC

“I should fancy that the children had dreamed all this,” said the Count to his wife, when Fanchon and Frederic, who could think of nothing else but the Stranger Child, and the wonderful events, and the exquisite music, had told all that had happened. “I should fancy that they had dreamed all this, if they had not both seen the same things! I cannot get to the bottom of it all!”

“Don’t bother your head about it, my dear,” answered his wife. “I think this Stranger Child was nobody but the schoolmaster’s son from the village. We must take care that he is not allowed to put any more such nonsense into the children’s heads.”

But the Count could not agree with her, for he called the children to him again, to tell how the Stranger Child was dressed and looked. Fanchon and Frederic both agreed that its face was fair as lilies, that it had cheeks like roses, cherry lips, bright blue eyes, and locks of gold; and that it was more beautiful than words could tell.

But what they said about its dress sounded absurd. For Fanchon said that its dress was wondrous beautiful, shining and gleaming, as if made of the petals of flowers; while Frederic insisted that its garments were of sparkling golden-green, like spring-leaves in the sunshine.

And Frederic thought that the Stranger Child was a boy; while Fanchon was sure that it was a girl. And these contradictions confused their parents; and the Count shook his head wonderingly.

The next day, Fanchon and Frederic hastened to the wood, and found the Stranger Child waiting for them. If their play had been glorious the day before, it was ten times more glorious to-day; for the Stranger Child did such marvellous things that Fanchon and Frederic shouted for joy.

While they played, the Stranger Child talked sweetly to the trees, flowers, and birds, and to the brook that ran through the wood; and they all answered so clearly that Fanchon and Frederic understood everything they said.

“Dear children!” cried the Alder-thicket, “why were you not here early, when my friend the Morning Breeze came rustling over the blue hills, and brought us thousands of greetings and kisses from the Golden Queen of the Dawn, and plenty of wing-waftings full of sweet perfumes!”

“Oh silence!” the flowers broke in. “Do not mention that robber, the Morning Breeze! Does he not steal our perfumes! Never mind the Alders, children, let them lisp and whisper. Listen to us! We love you so! We dress ourselves in the loveliest colours just for you!”

“And do we not love _you_, you beautiful flowers!” said the Stranger Child tenderly.

But Fanchon knelt down on the grass, and stretched out her arms, as if she would take all the bright flowers to her heart, and cried: “Ah! I love you! I love you every one!”

Then came a sighing out of the tall dark firtrees, and they said: “We shade the flowers from the hot sun, and shelter human children when the storm comes rushing through the woods, but who loves us in return?”

“Groan and sigh,” cried Frederic, “and murmur as much as you like, you green giants that you are! It is then that the real woodsman’s heart rejoices in you! I love all, the green bushes, the flowers, and you trees!”

“You are quite right!” splashed the brook as it sparkled over its stones. “Come sit down among this moss, dear children, and listen to me. I come from afar; out of a deep, cool, dark rock I gush. Look into my waves, and I will show you the loveliest pictures in my clear mirror, the blue of the sky, the fleecy clouds, bushes, trees, and blossoms; and your very selves, dear children, I draw tenderly into my transparent bosom!”

“Fanchon and Frederic,” said the Stranger Child, looking around with wondrous blissfulness. “Only listen how they all love us! But the redness of evening is rising behind the hills, and the nightingale is calling me home!”

“Oh, but first let us fly a little, as we did yesterday!” begged Frederic.

“Yes,” said Fanchon, “but not quite so high. It makes my head giddy.”

Then the Stranger Child took them each by the hand again, and they went soaring up into the golden purple of the evening sky, while the birds crowded and sang around them.

Among the shining clouds, Frederic saw, as if in wavering flame, beautiful castles all of rubies and other precious stones.

“Look! Look! Fanchon!” he cried, full of rapture. “Look at those splendid palaces! Let us fly along as fast as we can, and we shall soon get to them.”

Fanchon, too, saw the castles, and forgot her fear, and kept looking upward.

“Those are my beloved castles-in-the-air,” the Stranger Child said. “But we must go no farther to-day!”

Fanchon and Frederic seemed to be in a dream, and could not make out how they suddenly came to find themselves with their father and mother.

THE PALACE OF THE FAIRY QUEEN

It was the next day. In the most beautiful part of the wood beside the brook, between whispering bushes, the Stranger Child had set up a glorious tent made of tall slender lilies, glowing roses, and tulips of every hue. And beneath this tent, Fanchon and Frederic were seated with the Stranger Child, listening to the forest brook as it whirled, and rippled, and sang its wonderful stories.

“Tell us,” said Fanchon, “darling Shining Child, where your home is, and all about your father and mother.”

The Stranger Child looked sorrowfully at the sky. “Ah, my dear,” it said with a sigh, “is it not enough that I come to you each day? Why must you then ask about my home? Though you were to travel day after day, forever and ever, even to beyond the utmost range of the purple hills, you could not reach it!”

“Ah me!” sighed Fanchon. “Then you must live hundreds and hundreds of miles away from us! Is it only on a visit that you are here?”

“Fanchon, beloved,” said the Stranger Child, “whenever you long for me with all your heart, I am with you immediately, bringing you all those plays and wonders. Is that not as good as being in my home?”

“Not at all,” said Frederic, “for I believe that you live in a most glorious place. I do not care how hard the road is to your home, I mean to set out this minute for it.”

“And so you shall!” said the Stranger Child smiling; “for when you see all this so clearly before you, and make up your mind to be there, it is as good as done! The land where I live, in truth, is so beautiful and glorious that I can give you no description of it. It is my mother who reigns over that land,--all glory and loveliness--as Queen.”

“Ah! you are a Prince!” cried Frederic.

“Ah! you are a Princess!” cried Fanchon.

“I certainly am,” said the Stranger Child. “My mother’s palace is far more beautiful than those glittering castles you saw in the evening clouds. For the gleaming pillars of her palace are of the purest crystal, and they soar slender and tall into the blue of heaven. Upon them rests a great, wide blue canopy. Beneath the canopy sail the shining white clouds, hither and thither on golden wings. And the red of the evening and the morning rises and falls, and the sparkling stars dance in a singing circle around her palace.

“You have heard of the Fairies who can bring about great wonders. My mother is Queen of the Fairies. Very often she holds a feast for little children. It is then that the Elves, belonging to my mother’s Kingdom, fly through the air weaving shining rainbows from one end of her palace to the other. Under these rainbows they build my mother’s diamond throne,--that in appearance and perfume is like lilies, roses, and carnations.

“My mother takes her place upon the throne, and the Elves sing, and play on golden harps. As soon as their music begins, everything in the palace and in the woods and gardens, moves and sings. And all around there are thousands of beautiful little children in charming dresses, shouting with delight.

“The children chase each other among the golden trees, and throw blossoms at each other. They climb the trees where the wind swings and rocks them. They gather gold-glittering fruit, and they play with tame deer and other gentle wild creatures, that come bounding up to them and lick their hands. Then the children run up and down the rainbows; or they ride on the backs of great Purple Birds that fly up among the gleaming clouds.

“How delightful that must be!” cried Fanchon and Frederic, with rapture. “Oh! take us with you to your home, beautiful Shining Child! We want to stay there always!”

“That may not be,” said the Stranger Child.

And Fanchon and Frederic cast down their eyes sadly to the ground.

THE WICKED MOUCHE

“Ah,” said the Stranger Child, “you might not be so happy at my mother’s Court. Indeed, it would be a great misfortune for you to try to go to her Kingdom. There are many children who cannot bear the singing of the Purple Birds, and, if they hear their songs, they die. Then too, destruction might overtake you before you could reach my mother’s Court. Even I am not safe on my way thither.

“There was a time when I was safe anywhere. But now a bitter enemy of my mother, whom she banished from her Kingdom, goes raging about the world; and I cannot be safe from being watched, pursued, and molested. Powerless as this bitter enemy is when I am at home, nothing can protect me from him, when I am flying abroad.”

“What sort of a hateful creature is it,” asked Fanchon, “that can do you so much harm?”

“I have told you,” said the Stranger Child, “that my mother is the Fairy Queen. Among her many Elves are some who hover in the sky, or dwell in the waters, and others who serve at the Fairy Court. Once, a long while ago, there came among those that served at Court, a stranger who called himself Papillon. He said that he was learned in all the sciences of the world, and could accomplish great things among us. My mother made him prime minister.

“Papillon soon showed his natural spite and wickedness. He pretended to the Queen that he loved children and could make them very happy. But instead of doing so, he hung himself like a weight of lead on the tails of the Purple Birds, so that they could not fly aloft. And when the children climbed the rose-trees, he dragged them down by the legs. Then he knocked their noses on the ground, and made them bleed. When the children sang, he crammed all sorts of nasty stuff down their throats; for sweet and happy singing he could not abide. And worst of all, he had a way of smearing the sparkling precious stones of the palace, and the lilies and roses, and even the shining rainbows, with a horrible black juice, so that everything beautiful became sorrowful or dead.

“And when he had done all this, he gave a loud hissing laugh, and said that everything was now as he wished it to be. Then, shouting that he was greater than my mother, he went flying up into the air, in the shape of an enormous fly with flashing eyes, and a long snout. After which he went humming and buzzing around my mother’s throne, in a most abominable fashion.

“When the Queen my mother and her Elves saw this, they knew that he had come among them under a false name, and that he was none other than Mouche, the gloomy King of the Gnomes. The entire Fairy Court thereupon rushed against him beating him with their wings, while the Purple Birds seized him with their glittering beaks and gripped him so tightly that he screamed with agony and rage. After which the birds shook him violently, and threw him down to the earth. He fell straight onto the back of his old Aunt, who was a great blue toad. And she carried him off to her hole.

“But five hundred of the children in the Fairy Court armed themselves with fly-flappers, to defend themselves against Mouche if he should ever venture to return. Now after he was gone, all the black juice disappeared, and everything became as shining and glorious as before.

“So you see, dear Children,” continued the Stranger Child, “what kind of a creature I have to fear. This horrible Mouche follows me about, and, if I did not hide myself quickly, he would injure me. And I assure you that if I were to take you with me to my home, Mouche would lie in wait for us, and kill us.”

Fanchon wept bitterly at the danger to which the Stranger Child was exposed. But Frederic said: “If that horrible Mouche is nothing but a great fly, I’ll soon hit him with father’s big fly-flapper! And if once I give him a good crack on his nose, Aunty Blue Toad will have a job carrying him to her hole again!”

HOW TUTOR INK ARRIVED TO TEACH THE CHILDREN

Fanchon and Frederic ran home as fast as they could, shouting as they went:--

“Oh! the Shining Child is a beautiful Princess!”

“Oh! the Shining Child is a beautiful Prince!”

They wanted, in their delight, to tell this to their parents, but their father came to meet them with a most extraordinary man walking by his side. This stranger kept muttering to himself:--

“What a nice pair of stupids these are! Ah! Ah!”

The Count took him by the hand, and said to the children: “This gentleman is the tutor whom your kind Cousin has sent to teach you. So now shake hands with him, and bid him welcome.”