LITTLE SAINT ELIZABETH

And Other Stories

BY FRANCES HODGSON BURNETT

1888

CONTENTS

Little Saint Elizabeth

The Story of Prince Fairyfoot

The Proud Little Grain of Wheat

Behind the White Brick

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

FROM DRAWINGS BY REGINALD B. BIRCH

"There she is, " they would cry. 

It was Aunt Clotilde, who had sunk forward while kneeling at prayer

The villagers did not stand in awe of her

"Uncle Bertrand, " said the child, clasping her hands

"Why is it that you cry?" she asked gently

Her strength deserted her--she fell upon her knees in the snow

"Why, " exclaimed Fairyfoot, "I'm surprised"

"What's the matter with the swine?" he asked

Almost immediately they found themselves in a beautiful little dell

Fairyfoot loved her in a moment, and he knelt on one knee

"There's the cake, " he said

"Eh! Eh!" he said. "What! What! Who's this Tootsicums?"

LITTLE SAINT ELIZABETH

She had not been brought up in America at all. She had been born inFrance, in a beautiful _château_, and she had been born heiress to agreat fortune, but, nevertheless, just now she felt as if she was verypoor, indeed. And yet her home was in one of the most splendid houses inNew York. She had a lovely suite of apartments of her own, though she wasonly eleven years old. She had had her own carriage and a saddle horse, atrain of masters, and governesses, and servants, and was regarded by allthe children of the neighborhood as a sort of grand and mysterious littleprincess, whose incomings and outgoings were to be watched with thegreatest interest. 

"There she is, " they would cry, flying to their windows to look at her. "She is going out in her carriage. " "She is dressed all in black velvetand splendid fur. " "That is her own, own, carriage. " "She has millions ofmoney; and she can have anything she wants--Jane says so!" "She is verypretty, too; but she is so pale and has such big, sorrowful, black eyes. I should not be sorrowful if I were in her place; but Jane says theservants say she is always quiet and looks sad. " "Her maid says she livedwith her aunt, and her aunt made her too religious. "

She rarely lifted her large dark eyes to look at them with any curiosity. She was not accustomed to the society of children. She had never had achild companion in her life, and these little Americans, who were so veryrosy and gay, and who went out to walk or drive with groups of brothersand sisters, and even ran in the street, laughing and playing andsquabbling healthily--these children amazed her. 

Poor little Saint Elizabeth! She had not lived a very natural or healthylife herself, and she knew absolutely nothing of real childish pleasures. You see, it had occurred in this way: When she was a baby of two yearsher young father and mother died, within a week of each other, of aterrible fever, and the only near relatives the little one had were herAunt Clotilde and Uncle Bertrand. Her Aunt Clotilde lived inNormandy--her Uncle Bertrand in New York. As these two were her onlyguardians, and as Bertrand de Rochemont was a gay bachelor, fond ofpleasure and knowing nothing of babies, it was natural that he should bevery willing that his elder sister should undertake the rearing andeducation of the child. 

"Only, " he wrote to Mademoiselle de Rochemont, "don't end by training herfor an abbess, my dear Clotilde. "

[Illustration: "THERE SHE IS, " THEY WOULD CRY. ]

There was a very great difference between these two people--the distancebetween the gray stone _château_ in Normandy and the brown stone mansionin New York was not nearly so great as the distance and differencebetween the two lives. And yet it was said that in her first youthMademoiselle de Rochemont had been as gay and fond of pleasure as eitherof her brothers. And then, when her life was at its brightest andgayest--when she was a beautiful and brilliant young woman--she had had agreat and bitter sorrow, which had changed her for ever. From that timeshe had never left the house in which she had been born, and had livedthe life of a nun in everything but being enclosed in convent walls. Atfirst she had had her parents to take care of, but when they died she hadbeen left entirely alone in the great _château_, and devoted herself toprayer and works of charity among the villagers and country people. 

"Ah! she is good--she is a saint Mademoiselle, " the poor people alwayssaid when speaking of her; but they also always looked a littleawe-stricken when she appeared, and never were sorry when she left them. 

She was a tall woman, with a pale, rigid, handsome face, which neversmiled. She did nothing but good deeds, but however grateful herpensioners might be, nobody would ever have dared to dream of loving her. She was just and cold and severe. She wore always a straight black sergegown, broad bands of white linen, and a rosary and crucifix at her waist. She read nothing but religious works and legends of the saints andmartyrs, and adjoining her private apartments was a little stone chapel, where the servants said she used to kneel on the cold floor before thealtar and pray for hours in the middle of the night. 

The little _curé_ of the village, who was plump and comfortable, and whohad the kindest heart and the most cheerful soul in the world, used toremonstrate with her, always in a roundabout way, however, never quite asif he were referring directly to herself. 

"One must not let one's self become the stone image of goodness, " he saidonce. "Since one is really of flesh and blood, and lives among flesh andblood, that is not best. No, no; it is not best. "

But Mademoiselle de Rochemont never seemed exactly of flesh andblood--she was more like a marble female saint who had descended from herpedestal to walk upon the earth. 

And she did not change, even when the baby Elizabeth was brought to her. She attended strictly to the child's comfort and prayed many prayers forher innocent soul, but it can be scarcely said that her manner was anysofter or that she smiled more. At first Elizabeth used to scream at thesight of the black, nun-like dress and the rigid, handsome face, but incourse of time she became accustomed to them, and, through living in anatmosphere so silent and without brightness, a few months changed herfrom a laughing, romping baby into a pale, quiet child, who rarely madeany childish noise at all. 

In this quiet way she became fond of her aunt. She saw little of anyonebut the servants, who were all trained to quietness also. As soon as shewas old enough her aunt began her religious training. Before she couldspeak plainly she heard legends of saints and stories of martyrs. She wastaken into the little chapel and taught to pray there. She believed inmiracles, and would not have been surprised at any moment if she had metthe Child Jesus or the Virgin in the beautiful rambling gardens whichsurrounded the _château_. She was a sensitive, imaginative child, and thesacred romances she heard filled all her mind and made up her littlelife. She wished to be a saint herself, and spent hours in wandering inthe terraced rose gardens wondering if such a thing was possible inmodern days, and what she must do to obtain such holy victory. Her chiefsorrow was that she knew herself to be delicate and very timid--so timidthat she often suffered when people did not suspect it--and she wasafraid that she was not brave enough to be a martyr. Once, poor littleone! when she was alone in her room, she held her hand over a burning waxcandle, but the pain was so terrible that she could not keep it there. Indeed, she fell back white and faint, and sank upon her chair, breathless and in tears, because she felt sure that she could not chantholy songs if she were being burned at the stake. She had been vowed tothe Virgin in her babyhood, and was always dressed in white and blue, buther little dress was a small conventual robe, straight and narrow cut, ofwhite woollen stuff, and banded plainly with blue at the waist. She didnot look like other children, but she was very sweet and gentle, and herpure little pale face and large, dark eyes had a lovely dreamy look. Whenshe was old enough to visit the poor with her Aunt Clotilde--and she washardly seven years old when it was considered proper that she shouldbegin--the villagers did not stand in awe of her. They began to adoreher, almost to worship her, as if she had, indeed, been a sacred child. The little ones delighted to look at her, to draw near her sometimes andtouch her soft white and blue robe. And, when they did so, she alwaysreturned their looks with such a tender, sympathetic smile, and spoke tothem in so gentle a voice, that they were in ecstasies. They used totalk her over, tell stories about her when they were playing togetherafterwards. 

"The little Mademoiselle, " they said, "she is a child saint. I have heardthem say so. Sometimes there is a little light round her head. One dayher little white robe will begin to shine too, and her long sleeves willbe wings, and she will spread them and ascend through the blue sky toParadise. You will see if it is not so. "

So, in this secluded world in the gray old _château_, with no companionbut her aunt, with no occupation but her studies and her charities, withno thoughts but those of saints and religious exercises, Elizabeth liveduntil she was eleven years old. Then a great grief befell her. Onemorning, Mademoiselle de Rochemont did not leave her room at the regularhour. As she never broke a rule she had made for herself and herhousehold, this occasioned great wonder. Her old maid servant waitedhalf an hour--went to her door, and took the liberty of listening tohear if she was up and moving about her room. There was no sound. OldAlice returned, looking quite agitated. "Would Mademoiselle Elizabethmind entering to see if all was well? Mademoiselle her aunt might be inthe chapel. "

Elizabeth went. Her aunt was not in her room. Then she must be in thechapel. The child entered the sacred little place. The morning sun wasstreaming in through the stained-glass windows above the altar--a broadray of mingled brilliant colors slanted to the stone floor and warmlytouched a dark figure lying there. It was Aunt Clotilde, who had sunkforward while kneeling at prayer and had died in the night. 

That was what the doctors said when they were sent for. She had been deadsome hours--she had died of disease of the heart, and apparently withoutany pain or knowledge of the change coming to her. Her face was sereneand beautiful, and the rigid look had melted away. Someone said shelooked like little Mademoiselle Elizabeth; and her old servant Alice weptvery much, and said, "Yes--yes--it was so when she was young, before herunhappiness came. She had the same beautiful little face, but she wasmore gay, more of the world. Yes, they were much alike then. "

Less than two months from that time Elizabeth was living in the home ofher Uncle Bertrand, in New York. He had come to Normandy for her himself, and taken her back with him across the Atlantic. She was richer than evernow, as a great deal of her Aunt Clotilde's money had been left to her, and Uncle Bertrand was her guardian. He was a handsome, elegant, cleverman, who, having lived long in America and being fond of American life, did not appear very much like a Frenchman--at least he did not appear soto Elizabeth, who had only seen the _curé_ and the doctor of the village. Secretly he was very much embarrassed at the prospect of taking care of alittle girl, but family pride, and the fact that such a very little girl, who was also such a very great heiress, _must_ be taken care of sustainedhim. But when he first saw Elizabeth he could not restrain an exclamationof consternation. 

[Illustration: It was Aunt Clotilde, who had sunk forward while kneelingat prayer. ]

She entered the room, when she was sent for, clad in a strange littlenun-like robe of black serge, made as like her-dead aunt's as possible. At her small waist were the rosary and crucifix, and in her hand she helda missal she had forgotten in her agitation to lay down--

"But, my dear child, " exclaimed Uncle Bertrand, staring at her aghast. 

He managed to recover himself very quickly, and was, in his way, verykind to her; but the first thing he did was to send to Paris for afashionable maid and fashionable mourning. 

"Because, as you will see, " he remarked to Alice, "we cannot travel as weare. It is a costume for a convent or the stage. "

Before she took off her little conventual robe, Elizabeth went to thevillage to visit all her poor. The _curé_ went with her and shed tearshimself when the people wept and kissed her little hand. When the childreturned, she went into the chapel and remained there for a long time. 

She felt as if she was living in a dream when all the old life was leftbehind and she found herself in the big luxurious house in the gay NewYork street. Nothing that could be done for her comfort had been leftundone. She had several beautiful rooms, a wonderful governess, differentmasters to teach her, her own retinue of servants as, indeed, has beenalready said. 

But, secretly, she felt bewildered and almost terrified, everything wasso new, so strange, so noisy, and so brilliant. The dress she wore madeher feel unlike herself; the books they gave her were full of picturesand stories of worldly things of which she knew nothing. Her carriage wasbrought to the door and she went out with her governess, driving roundand round the park with scores of other people who looked at hercuriously, she did not know why. The truth was that her refined littleface was very beautiful indeed, and her soft dark eyes still wore thedreamy spiritual look which made her unlike the rest of the world. 

"She looks like a little princess, " she heard her uncle say one day. "Shewill be some day a beautiful, an enchanting woman--her mother was so whenshe died at twenty, but she had been brought up differently. This one isa little devotee. I am afraid of her. Her governess tells me she rises inthe night to pray. " He said it with light laughter to some of his gayfriends by whom he had wished the child to be seen. He did not know thathis gayety filled her with fear and pain. She had been taught to believegayety worldly and sinful, and his whole life was filled with it. He hadbrilliant parties--he did not go to church--he had no pensioners--heseemed to think of nothing but pleasure. Poor little Saint Elizabethprayed for his soul many an hour when he was asleep after a grand dinneror supper party. 

He could not possibly have dreamed that there was no one of whom shestood in such dread; her timidity increased tenfold in his presence. When he sent for her and she went into the library to find himluxurious in his arm chair, a novel on his knee, a cigar in his whitehand, a tolerant, half cynical smile on his handsome mouth, she couldscarcely answer his questions, and could never find courage to tellwhat she so earnestly desired. She had found out early that AuntClotilde and the _curé_ and the life they had led, had only aroused inhis mind a half-pitying amusement. It seemed to her that he did notunderstand and had strange sacrilegious thoughts about them--he did notbelieve in miracles--he smiled when she spoke of saints. How could shetell him that she wished to spend all her money in building churchesand giving alms to the poor? That was what she wished to tell him--thatshe wanted money to send back to the village, that she wanted to giveit to the poor people she saw in the streets, to those who lived in themiserable places. 

But when she found herself face to face with him and he said some wittything to her and seemed to find her only amusing, all her courage failedher. Sometimes she thought she would throw herself upon her knees beforehim and beg him to send her back to Normandy--to let her live alone inthe _château_ as her Aunt Clotilde had done. 

One morning she arose very early, and knelt a long time before the littlealtar she had made for herself in her dressing room. It was only a tablewith some black velvet thrown over it, a crucifix, a saintly image, andsome flowers standing upon it. She had put on, when she got up, thequaint black serge robe, because she felt more at home in it, and herheart was full of determination. The night before she had received aletter from the _curé_ and it had contained sad news. A fever had brokenout in her beloved village, the vines had done badly, there was sicknessamong the cattle, there was already beginning to be suffering, and ifsomething were not done for the people they would not know how to facethe winter. In the time of Mademoiselle de Rochemont they had always beenmade comfortable and happy at Christmas. What was to be done? The _curé_ventured to write to Mademoiselle Elizabeth. 

[Illustration: The villagers did not stand in awe of her. ]

The poor child had scarcely slept at all. Her dear village! Her dearpeople! The children would be hungry; the cows would die; there would beno fires to warm those who were old. 

"I must go to uncle, " she said, pale and trembling. "I must ask him togive me money. I am afraid, but it is right to mortify the spirit. Themartyrs went to the stake. The holy Saint Elizabeth was ready to endureanything that she might do her duty and help the poor. "

Because she had been called Elizabeth she had thought and read a greatdeal of the saint whose namesake she was--the saintly Elizabeth whosehusband was so wicked and cruel, and who wished to prevent her from doinggood deeds. And oftenest of all she had read the legend which told thatone day as Elizabeth went out with a basket of food to give to the poorand hungry, she had met her savage husband, who had demanded that sheshould tell him what she was carrying, and when she replied "Roses, " andhe tore the cover from the basket to see if she spoke the truth, amiracle had been performed, and the basket was filled with roses, sothat she had been saved from her husband's cruelty, and also from tellingan untruth. To little Elizabeth this legend had been beautiful and quitereal--it proved that if one were doing good, the saints would take careof one. Since she had been in her new home, she had, half consciously, compared her Uncle Bertrand with the wicked Landgrave, though she was toogentle and just to think he was really cruel, as Saint Elizabeth'shusband had been, only he did not care for the poor, and loved only theworld--and surely that was wicked. She had been taught that to care forthe world at all was a fatal sin. 

She did not eat any breakfast. She thought she would fast until she haddone what she intended to do. It had been her Aunt Clotilde's habit tofast very often. 

She waited anxiously to hear that her Uncle Bertrand had left his room. He always rose late, and this morning he was later than usual as he hadhad a long gay dinner party the night before. 

It was nearly twelve before she heard his door open. Then she wentquickly to the staircase. Her heart was beating so fast that she put herlittle hand to her side and waited a moment to regain her breath. Shefelt quite cold. 

"Perhaps I must wait until he has eaten his breakfast, " she said. "Perhaps I must not disturb him yet. It would, make him displeased. Iwill wait--yes, for a little while. "

She did not return to her room, but waited upon the stairs. It seemed tobe a long time. It appeared that a friend breakfasted with him. She hearda gentleman come in and recognized his voice, which she had heard before. She did not know what the gentleman's name was, but she had met him goingin and out with her uncle once or twice, and had thought he had a kindface and kind eyes. He had looked at her in an interested way when hespoke to her--even as if he were a little curious, and she had wonderedwhy he did so. 

When the door of the breakfast room opened and shut as the servants wentin, she could hear the two laughing and talking. They seemed to beenjoying themselves very much. Once she heard an order given for the mailphaeton. They were evidently going out as soon as the meal was over. 

At last the door opened and they were coming out. Elizabeth ran down thestairs and stood in a small reception room. Her heart began to beatfaster than ever. 

"The blessed martyrs were not afraid, " she whispered to herself. 

"Uncle Bertrand!" she said, as he approached, and she scarcely knew herown faint voice. "Uncle Bertrand--"

He turned, and seeing her, started, and exclaimed, ratherimpatiently--evidently he was at once amazed and displeased to see her. He was in a hurry to get out, and the sight of her odd little figure, standing in its straight black robe between the _portières_, the slenderhands clasped on the breast, the small pale face and great dark eyesuplifted, was certainly a surprise to him. 

"Elizabeth!" he said, "what do you wish? Why do you come downstairs? Andthat impossible dress! Why do you wear it again? It is not suitable. "

"Uncle Bertrand, " said the child, clasping her hands still more tightly, her eyes growing larger in her excitement and terror under hisdispleasure, "it is that I want money--a great deal. I beg your pardon ifI derange you. It is for the poor. Moreover, the _curé_ has written thepeople of the village are ill--the vineyards did not yield well. Theymust have money. I must send them some. "

Uncle Bertrand shrugged his shoulders. 

"That is the message of _monsieur le curé_, is it?" he said. "He wantsmoney! My dear Elizabeth, I must inquire further. You have a fortune, butI cannot permit you to throw it away. You are a child, and do notunderstand--"

[Illustration: "UNCLE BERTRAND, " SAID THE CHILD, CLASPING HER HANDS. ]

"But, " cried Elizabeth, trembling with agitation, "they are so poor whenone does not help them: their vineyards are so little, and if the year isbad they must starve. Aunt Clotilde gave to them every year--even in thegood years. She said they must be cared for like children. "

"That was your Aunt Clotilde's charity, " replied her uncle. "Sometimesshe was not so wise as she was devout. I must know more of this. I haveno time at present, I am going out of town. In a few days I will reflectupon it. Tell your maid to give that hideous garment away. Go out todrive--amuse yourself--you are too pale. "

Elizabeth looked at his handsome, careless face in utter helplessness. This was a matter of life and death to her; to him it meant nothing. 

"But it is winter, " she panted, breathlessly; "there is snow. Soon itwill be Christmas, and they will have nothing--no candles for the church, no little manger for the holy child, nothing for the poorest ones. Andthe children--"

"It shall be thought of later, " said Uncle Bertrand. "I am too busy now. Be reasonable, my child, and run away. You detain me. "

He left her with a slight impatient shrug of his shoulders and the slightamused smile on his lips. She heard him speak to his friend. 

"She was brought up by one who had renounced the world, " he said, "and she has already renounced it herself--_pauvre petite enfant_! Ateleven years she wishes to devote her fortune to the poor and herselfto the Church. "

Elizabeth sank back into the shadow of the _portières_. Greatburning tears filled her eyes and slipped down her cheeks, fallingupon her breast. 

"He does not care, " she said; "he does not know. And I do no onegood--no one. " And she covered her face with her hands and stood sobbingall alone. 

When she returned to her room she was so pale that her maid looked at heranxiously, and spoke of it afterwards to the other servants. They wereall fond of Mademoiselle Elizabeth. She was always kind and gentle toeverybody. 

Nearly all the day she sat, poor little saint! by her window looking outat the passers-by in the snowy street. But she scarcely saw the people atall, her thoughts were far away, in the little village where she hadalways spent her Christmas before. Her Aunt Clotilde had allowed her atsuch times to do so much. There had not been a house she had not carriedsome gift to; not a child who had been forgotten. And the church onChristmas morning had been so beautiful with flowers from the hot-housesof the _château_. It was for the church, indeed, that the conservatorieswere chiefly kept up. Mademoiselle de Rochemont would scarcely havepermitted herself such luxuries. 

But there would not be flowers this year, the _château_ was closed; therewere no longer gardeners at work, the church would be bare and cold, thepeople would have no gifts, there would be no pleasure in the littlepeasants' faces. Little Saint Elizabeth wrung her slight hands togetherin her lap. 

"Oh, " she cried, "what can I do? And then there is the poor here--somany. And I do nothing. The Saints will be angry; they will not intercedefor me. I shall be lost!"

It was not alone the poor she had left in her village who were a grief toher. As she drove through the streets she saw now and then haggard faces;and when she had questioned a servant who had one day come to her to askfor charity for a poor child at the door, she had found that in parts ofthis great, bright city which she had not seen, there was said to becruel want and suffering, as in all great cities. 

"And it is so cold now, " she thought, "with the snow on the ground. "

The lamps in the street were just beginning to be lighted when her UncleBertrand returned. It appeared that he had brought back with him thegentleman with the kind face. They were to dine together, and UncleBertrand desired that Mademoiselle Elizabeth should join them. Evidentlythe journey out of town had been delayed for a day at least. There camealso another message: Monsieur de Rochemont wished Mademoiselle to sendto him by her maid a certain box of antique ornaments which had beengiven to her by her Aunt Clotilde. Elizabeth had known less of the valueof these jewels than of their beauty. She knew they were beautiful, andthat they had belonged to her Aunt Clotilde in the gay days of hertriumphs as a beauty and a brilliant and adored young woman, but itseemed that they were also very curious, and Monsieur de Rochemont wishedhis friend to see them. When Elizabeth went downstairs she found themexamining them together. 

"They must be put somewhere for safe keeping, " Uncle Bertrand was saying. "It should have been done before. I will attend to it. "

The gentleman with the kind eyes looked at Elizabeth with aninterested expression as she came into the room. Her slender littlefigure in its black velvet dress, her delicate little face with itslarge soft sad eyes, the gentle gravity of her manner made her seemquite unlike other children. 

He did not seem simply to find her amusing, as her Uncle Bertrand did. She was always conscious that behind Uncle Bertrand's most seriousexpression there was lurking a faint smile as he watched her, but thisvisitor looked at her in a different way. He was a doctor, shediscovered. Dr. Norris, her uncle called him, and Elizabeth wondered ifperhaps his profession had not made him quick of sight and kind. 

She felt that it must be so when she heard him talk at dinner. She foundthat he did a great deal of work among the very poor---that he had ahospital, where he received little children who were ill--who had perhapsmet with accidents, and could not be taken care of in their wretchedhomes. He spoke most frequently of terrible quarters, which he calledFive Points; the greatest poverty and suffering was there. And he spokeof it with such eloquent sympathy, that even Uncle Bertrand began tolisten with interest. 

"Come, " he said, "you are a rich, idle fellow; De Rochemont, and we wantrich, idle fellows to come and look into all this and do something forus. You must let me take you with me some day. "

"It would disturb me too much, my good Norris, " said Uncle Bertrand, witha slight shudder. "I should not enjoy my dinner after it. "

"Then go without your dinner, " said Dr. Norris. "These people do. Youhave too many dinners. Give up one. "

Uncle Bertrand shrugged his shoulders and smiled. 

"It is Elizabeth who fasts, " he said. "Myself, I prefer to dine. And yet, some day, I may have the fancy to visit this place with you. "

Elizabeth could scarcely have been said to dine this evening. She couldnot eat. She sat with her large, sad eyes fixed upon Dr. Norris' face ashe talked. Every word he uttered sank deep into her heart The want andsuffering of which he spoke were more terrible than anything she had everheard of--it had been nothing like this in the village. Oh! no, no. Asshe thought of it there was such a look in her dark eyes as almoststartled Dr. Norris several times when he glanced at her, but as he didnot know the particulars of her life with her aunt and the strangetraining she had had, he could not possibly have guessed what was goingon in her mind, and how much effect his stories were having. Thebeautiful little face touched him very much, and the pretty French accentwith which the child spoke seemed very musical to him, and added a greatcharm to the gentle, serious answers she made to the remarks he addressedto her. He could not help seeing that something had made littleMademoiselle Elizabeth a pathetic and singular little creature, and hecontinually wondered what it was. 

"Do you think she is a happy child?" he asked Monsieur de Rochemont whenthey were alone together over their cigars and wine. 

"Happy?" said Uncle Bertrand, with his light smile. "She has been taught, my friend, that to be happy upon earth is a crime. That was my goodsister's creed. One must devote one's self, not to happiness, butentirely to good works. I think I have told you that she, this littleone, desires to give all her fortune to the poor. Having heard you thisevening, she will wish to bestow it upon your Five Points. "

When, having retired from the room with a grave and stately littleobeisance to her uncle and his guest, Elizabeth had gone upstairs, it hadnot been with the intention of going to bed. She sent her maid away andknelt before her altar for a long time. 

"The Saints will tell me what to do, " she said. "The good Saints, who arealways gracious, they will vouchsafe to me some thought which willinstruct me if I remain long enough at prayer. "

She remained in prayer a long time. When at last she arose from her kneesit was long past midnight, and she was tired and weak, but the thoughthad not been given to her. 

But just as she laid her head upon her pillow it came. The ornamentsgiven to her by her Aunt Clotilde somebody would buy them. They were herown--it would be right to sell them--to what better use could they beput? Was it not what Aunt Clotilde would have desired? Had she not toldher stories of the good and charitable who had sold the clothes fromtheir bodies that the miserable might be helped? Yes, it was right. Thesethings must be done. All else was vain and useless and of the world. Butit would require courage--great courage. To go out alone to find a placewhere the people would buy the jewels--perhaps there might be some whowould not want them. And then when they were sold to find this poor andunhappy quarter of which her uncle's guest had spoken, and to give tothose who needed--all by herself. Ah! what courage it would require. Andthen Uncle Bertrand, some day he would ask about the ornaments, anddiscover all, and his anger might be terrible. No one had ever been angrywith her; how could she bear it. But had not the Saints and Martyrs borneeverything? had they not gone to the stake and the rack with smiles? Shethought of Saint Elizabeth and the cruel Landgrave. It could not be evenso bad as that--but whatever the result was it must be borne. 

So at last she slept, and there was upon her gentle little face sosweetly sad a look that when her maid came to waken her in the morningshe stood by the bedside for some moments looking down upon herpityingly. 

The day seemed very long and sorrowful to the poor child. It was full ofanxious thoughts and plannings. She was so innocent and inexperienced, soignorant of all practical things. She had decided that it would be bestto wait until evening before going out, and then to take the jewels andtry to sell them to some jeweller. She did not understand thedifficulties that would lie in her way, but she felt very timid. 

Her maid had asked permission to go out for the evening and Monsieur deRochemont was to dine out, so that she found it possible to leave thehouse without attracting attention. 

As soon as the streets were lighted she took the case of ornaments, andgoing downstairs very quietly, let herself out. The servants were dining, and she was seen by none of them. 

When she found herself in the snowy street she felt strangelybewildered. She had never been out unattended before, and she knewnothing of the great busy city. When she turned into the more crowdedthoroughfares, she saw several times that the passers-by glanced at hercuriously. Her timid look, her foreign air and richly furred dress, andthe fact that she was a child and alone at such an hour, could not failto attract attention; but though she felt confused and troubled she wentbravely on. It was some time before she found a jeweller's shop, andwhen she entered it the men behind the counter looked at her inamazement. But she went to the one nearest to her and laid the case ofjewels on the counter before him. 

"I wish, " she said, in her soft low voice, and with the pretty accent, "Iwish that you should buy these. "

The man stared at her, and at the ornaments, and then at her again. 

"I beg pardon, miss, " he said. 

Elizabeth repeated her request. 

"I will speak to Mr. Moetyler, " he said, after a moment of hesitation. 

He went to the other end of the shop to an elderly man who sat behind adesk. After he had spoken a few words, the elderly man looked up as ifsurprised; then he glanced at Elizabeth; then, after speaking a few morewords, he came forward. 

"You wish to sell these?" he said, looking at the case of jewels with apuzzled expression. 

"Yes, " Elizabeth answered. 

He bent over the case and took up one ornament after the other andexamined them closely. After he had done this he looked at the littlegirl's innocent, trustful face, seeming more puzzled than before. 

"Are they your own?" he inquired. 

"Yes, they are mine, " she replied, timidly. 

"Do you know how much they are worth?"

"I know that they are worth much money, " said Elizabeth. "I have heardit said so. "

"Do your friends know that you are going to sell them?"

"No, " Elizabeth said, a faint color rising in her delicate face. "But itis right that I should do it. "

The man spent a few moments in examining them again and, having done so, spoke hesitatingly. 

"I am afraid we cannot buy them, " he said. "It would be impossible, unless your friends first gave their permission. "

"Impossible!" said Elizabeth, and tears rose in her eyes, making themlook softer and more wistful than ever. 

"We could not do it, " said the jeweller. "It is out of the question underthe circumstances. "

"Do you think, " faltered the poor little saint, "do you think that nobodywill buy them?"

"I am afraid not, " was the reply. "No respectable firm who would paytheir real value. If you take my advice, young lady, you will take themhome and consult your friends. "

He spoke kindly, but Elizabeth was overwhelmed with disappointment. Shedid not know enough of the world to understand that a richly dressedlittle girl who offered valuable jewels for sale at night must be astrange and unusual sight. 

When she found herself on the street again, her long lashes were heavywith tears. 

"If no one will buy them, " she said, "what shall I do?"

She walked a long way--so long that she was very tired--and offered themat several places, but as she chanced to enter only respectable shops, the same thing happened each time. She was looked at curiously andquestioned, but no one would buy. 

"They are mine, " she would say. "It is right that I should sell them. "But everyone stared and seemed puzzled, and in the end refused. 

At last, after much wandering, she found herself in a poorer quarter ofthe city; the streets were narrower and dirtier, and the people began tolook squalid and wretchedly dressed; there were smaller shops and dingyhouses. She saw unkempt men and women and uncared for little children. The poverty of the poor she had seen in her own village seemed comfortand luxury by contrast. She had never dreamed of anything like this. Nowand then she felt faint with pain and horror. But she went on. 

"They have no vineyards, " she said to herself. "No trees andflowers--it is all dreadful--there is nothing. They need help more thanthe others. To let them suffer so, and not to give them charity, wouldbe a great crime. "

She was so full of grief and excitement that she had ceased to notice howeveryone looked at her--she saw only the wretchedness, and dirt andmisery. She did not know, poor child! that she was surrounded bydanger--that she was not only in the midst of misery, but of dishonestyand crime. She had even forgotten her timidity--that it was growinglate, and that she was far from home, and would not know how toreturn--she did not realize that she had walked so far that she wasalmost exhausted with fatigue. 

She had brought with her all the money she possessed. If she could notsell the jewels she could, at least, give something to someone in want. But she did not know to whom she must give first. When she had lived withher Aunt Clotilde it had been their habit to visit the peasants in theirhouses. Must she enter one of these houses--these dreadful places withthe dark passages, from which she heard many times riotous voices, andeven cries, issuing?

"But those who do good must feel no fear, " she thought. "It is only tohave courage. " At length something happened which caused her to pausebefore one of those places. She heard sounds of pitiful moans and sobbingfrom something crouched upon the broken steps. It seemed like a heap ofrags, but as she drew near she saw by the light of the street lampopposite that it was a woman with her head in her knees, and a wretchedchild on each side of her. The children were shivering with cold andmaking low cries as if they were frightened. 

Elizabeth stopped and then ascended the steps. 

"Why is it that you cry?" she asked gently. "Tell me. "

The woman did not answer at first, but when Elizabeth spoke again shelifted her head, and as soon as she saw the slender figure in its velvetand furs, and the pale, refined little face, she gave a great start. 

"Lord have mercy on yez!" she said in a hoarse voice which soundedalmost terrified. "Who are yez, an' what bees ye dow' in a place theloike o' this?"

"I came, " said Elizabeth, "to see those who are poor. I wish to helpthem. I have great sorrow for them. It is right that the rich should helpthose who want. Tell me why you cry, and why your little children sit inthe cold. " Everybody had shown surprise to whom Elizabeth had spokento-night, but no one had stared as this woman did. 

"It's no place for the loike o' yez, " she said. "An' it black noight, an'men and women wild in the drink; an' Pat Harrigan insoide bloind an' madin liquor, an' it's turned me an' the children out he has to shlape inthe snow--an' not the furst toime either. An' it's starvin' weare--starvin' an' no other, " and she dropped her wretched head on herknees and began to moan again, and the children joined her. 

[ILLUSTRATION: "WHY IS IT THAT YOU CRY?" SHE ASKED GENTLY. ]

"Don't let yez daddy hear yez, " she said to them. "Whisht now--it's comeout an' kill yez he will. "

Elizabeth began to feel tremulous and faint. 

"Is it that they have hunger?" she asked. 

"Not a bite or sup have they had this day, nor yesterday, " was theanswer, "The good Saints have pity on us. "

"Yes, " said Elizabeth, "the good Saints have always pity. I will go andget some food--poor little ones. "

She had seen a shop only a few yards away--she remembered passing it. Before the woman could speak again she was gone. 

"Yes, " she said, "I was sent to them--it is the answer to my prayer--itwas not in vain that I asked so long. "

When she entered the shop the few people who were in it stopped what theywere doing to stare at her as others had done--but she scarcely saw thatit was so. 

"Give to me a basket, " she said to the owner of the place. "Put in itsome bread and wine--some of the things which are ready to eat. It isfor a poor woman and her little ones who starve. "

There was in the shop among others a red-faced woman with a cunning lookin her eyes. She sidled out of the place and was waiting for Elizabethwhen she came out. 

"I'm starvin' too, little lady, " she said. "There's many of us that way, an' it's not often them with money care about it. Give me something too, "in a wheedling voice. 

Elizabeth looked up at her, her pure ignorant eyes full of pity. 

"I have great sorrows for you, " she said. "Perhaps the poor woman willshare her food with you. "

"It's the money I need, " said the woman. 

"I have none left, " answered Elizabeth. "I will come again. "

"It's now I want it, " the woman persisted. Then she looked covetously atElizabeth's velvet fur-lined and trimmed cloak. "That's a pretty cloakyou've on, " she said. "You've got another, I daresay. "

Suddenly she gave the cloak a pull, but the fastening did not give way asshe had thought it would. 

"Is it because you are cold that you want it?" said Elizabeth, in hergentle, innocent way, "I will give it to you. Take it. "

Had not the holy ones in the legends given their garments to the poor?Why should she not give her cloak?

In an instant it was unclasped and snatched away, and the woman was gone. She did not even stay long enough to give thanks for the gift, andsomething in her haste and roughness made Elizabeth wonder and gave her amoment of tremor. 

She made her way back to the place where the other woman and her childrenhad been sitting; the cold wind made her shiver, and the basket was veryheavy for her slender arm. Her strength seemed to be giving way. 

As she turned the corner, a great, fierce gust of wind swept round it, and caught her breath and made her stagger. She thought she was going tofall; indeed, she would have fallen but that one of the tall men who werepassing put out his arm and caught her. He was a well dressed man, in aheavy overcoat; he had gloves on. Elizabeth spoke in a faint tone. "Ithank you, " she began, when the second man uttered a wild exclamation andsprang forward. 

"Elizabeth!" he said, "Elizabeth!"

Elizabeth looked up and uttered a cry herself. It was her Uncle Bertrandwho stood before her, and his companion, who had saved her from falling, was Dr. Norris. 

For a moment it seemed as if they were almost struck dumb with horror;and then her Uncle Bertrand seized her by the arm in such agitation thathe scarcely seemed himself--not the light, satirical, jesting UncleBertrand she had known at all. 

"What does it mean?" he cried. "What are you doing here, in this horribleplace alone? Do you know where it is you have come? What have you in yourbasket? Explain! explain!"

The moment of trial had come, and it seemed even more terrible than thepoor child had imagined. The long strain and exertion had been too muchfor her delicate body. She felt that she could bear no more; the coldseemed to have struck to her very heart. She looked up at Monsieur deRochemont's pale, excited face, and trembled from head to foot. A strangethought flashed into her mind. Saint Elizabeth, of Thuringia--the cruelLandgrave. Perhaps the Saints would help her, too, since she was tryingto do their bidding. Surely, surely it must be so!

"Speak!" repeated Monsieur de Rochemont. "Why is this? The basket--whathave you in it?"

"Roses, " said Elizabeth, "Roses. " And then her strength deserted her--shefell upon her knees in the snow--the basket slipped from her arm, and thefirst thing which fell from it was--no, not roses, --there had been nomiracle wrought--not roses, but the case of jewels which she had laid onthe top of the other things that it might be the more easily carried. 

[ILLUSTRATION: HER STRENGTH DESERTED HER--SHE FELL UPON HER KNEES INTHE SNOW. ]

"Roses!" cried Uncle Bertrand. "Is it that the child is mad? They are thejewels of my sister Clotilde. "

Elizabeth clasped her hands and leaned towards Dr. Norris, the tearsstreaming from her uplifted eyes. 

"Ah! monsieur, " she sobbed, "you will understand. It was for thepoor--they suffer so much. If we do not help them our souls will be lost. I did not mean to speak falsely. I thought the Saints--the Saints---" Buther sobs filled her throat, and she could not finish. Dr. Norris stopped, and took her in his strong arms as if she had been a baby. 

"Quick!" he said, imperatively; "we must return to the carriage, DeRochemont. This is a serious matter. "

Elizabeth clung to him with trembling hands. 

"But the poor woman who starves?" she cried. "The little children--theysit up on the step quite near--the food was for them! I pray you giveit to them. "

"Yes, they shall have it, " said the Doctor. "Take the basket, DeRochemont--only a few doors below. " And it appeared that there wassomething in his voice which seemed to render obedience necessary, forMonsieur de Rochemont actually did as he was told. 

For a moment Dr. Norris put Elizabeth on her feet again, but it wasonly while he removed his overcoat and wrapped it about her slightshivering body. 

"You are chilled through, poor child, " he said; "and you are not strongenough to walk just now. You must let me carry you. "

It was true that a sudden faintness had come upon her, and she could notrestrain the shudder which shook her. It still shook her when she wasplaced in the carriage which the two gentlemen had thought it wiser toleave in one of the more respectable streets when they went to explorethe worse ones together. 

"What might not have occurred if we had not arrived at that instant!"said Uncle Bertrand when he got into the carriage. "As it is who knowswhat illness--"

"It will be better to say as little as possible now, " said Dr. Norris. 

"It was for the poor, " said Elizabeth, trembling. "I had prayed to theSaints to tell me what was best I thought I must go. I did not mean to dowrong. It was for the poor. "

And while her Uncle Bertrand regarded her with a strangely agitated look, and Dr. Norris held her hand between his strong and warm ones, the tearsrolled down her pure, pale little face. 

She did not know until some time after what danger she had been in, thatthe part of the city into which she had wandered was the lowest andworst, and was in some quarters the home of thieves and criminals ofevery class. As her Uncle Bertrand had said, it was impossible to saywhat terrible thing might have happened if they had not met her so soon. It was Dr. Norris who explained it all to her as gently and kindly as waspossible. She had always been fragile, and she had caught a severe coldwhich caused her an illness of some weeks. It was Dr. Norris who tookcare of her, and it was not long before her timidity was forgotten in hertender and trusting affection for him. She learned to watch for hiscoming, and to feel that she was no longer lonely. It was through himthat her uncle permitted her to send to the _curé_ a sum of money largeenough to do all that was necessary. It was through him that the poorwoman and her children were clothed and fed and protected. When she waswell enough, he had promised that she should help him among his own poor. And through him--though she lost none of her sweet sympathy for thosewho suffered--she learned to live a more natural and child-like life, andto find that there were innocent, natural pleasures to be enjoyed in theworld. In time she even ceased to be afraid of her Uncle Bertrand, and tobe quite happy in the great beautiful house. And as for Uncle Bertrandhimself, he became very fond of her, and sometimes even helped her todispense her charities. He had a light, gay nature, but he was kind atheart, and always disliked to see or think of suffering. Now and then hewould give more lavishly than wisely, and then he would say, with hishabitual graceful shrug of the shoulders--"Yes, it appears I am notdiscreet. Finally, I think I must leave my charities to you, my goodNorris--to you and Little Saint Elizabeth. "

THE STORY OF PRINCE FAIRYFOOT

PREFATORY NOTE

"THE STORY OF PRINCE FAIRYFOOT" was originally intended to be the firstof a series, under the general title of "Stories from the LostFairy-Book, Re-told by the Child Who Read Them, " concerning which Mrs. Burnett relates:

"When I was a child of six or seven, I had given to me a book offairy-stories, of which I was very fond. Before it had been in mypossession many months, it disappeared, and, though since then I havetried repeatedly, both in England and America, to find a copy of it, Ihave never been able to do so. I asked a friend in the CongressionalLibrary at Washington--a man whose knowledge of books is almostunlimited--to try to learn something about it for me. But even he couldfind no trace of it; and so we concluded it must have been out of printsome time. I always remembered the impression the stories had made on me, and, though most of them had become very faint recollections, Ifrequently told them to children, with additions of my own. The story ofFairyfoot I had promised to tell a little girl; and, in accordance withthe promise, I developed the outline I remembered, introduced newcharacters and conversation, wrote it upon note paper, inclosed it in adecorated satin cover, and sent it to her. In the first place, it wasre-written merely for her, with no intention of publication; but she wasso delighted with it, and read and reread it so untiringly, that itoccurred to me other children might like to hear it also. So I made theplan of developing and re-writing the other stories in like manner, andhaving them published under the title of 'Stories from the LostFairy-Book, Re-told by the Child Who Read Them. '"

The little volume in question Mrs. Burnett afterwards discovered to beentitled "Granny's Wonderful Chair and the Tales it Told. "

THE STORY OF PRINCE FAIRYFOOT

PART I

Once upon a time, in the days of the fairies, there was in the far westcountry a kingdom which was called by the name of Stumpinghame. It was arather curious country in several ways. In the first place, the peoplewho lived there thought that Stumpinghame was all the world; they thoughtthere was no world at all outside Stumpinghame. And they thought that thepeople of Stumpinghame knew everything that could possibly be known, andthat what they did not know was of no consequence at all. 

One idea common in Stumpinghame was really very unusual indeed. It was apeculiar taste in the matter of feet. In Stumpinghame, the larger aperson's feet were, the more beautiful and elegant he or she wasconsidered; and the more aristocratic and nobly born a man was, the moreimmense were his feet. Only the very lowest and most vulgar persons wereever known to have small feet. The King's feet were simply huge; so werethe Queen's; so were those of the young princes and princesses. It hadnever occurred to anyone that a member of such a royal family couldpossibly disgrace himself by being born with small feet. Well, you mayimagine, then, what a terrible and humiliating state of affairs arosewhen there was born into that royal family a little son, a prince, whosefeet were so very small and slender and delicate that they would havebeen considered small even in other places than Stumpinghame. Grief andconfusion seized the entire nation. The Queen fainted six times a day;the King had black rosettes fastened upon his crown; all the flags wereat half-mast; and the court went into the deepest mourning. There hadbeen born to Stumpinghame a royal prince with small feet, and nobody knewhow the country could survive it!

Yet the disgraceful little prince survived it, and did not seem to mindat all. He was the prettiest and best tempered baby the royal nurse hadever seen. But for his small feet, he would have been the flower of thefamily. The royal nurse said to herself, and privately told his littleroyal highness's chief bottle-washer that she "never see a infant as tooknotice so, and sneezed as intelligent. " But, of course, the King andQueen could see nothing but his little feet, and very soon they made uptheir minds to send him away. So one day they had him bundled up andcarried where they thought he might be quite forgotten. They sent him tothe hut of a swineherd who lived deep, deep in a great forest whichseemed to end nowhere. 

They gave the swineherd some money, and some clothes for Fairyfoot, andtold him, that if he would take care of the child, they would send moneyand clothes every year. As for themselves, they only wished to be sure ofnever seeing Fairyfoot again. 

This pleased the swineherd well enough. He was poor, and he had a wifeand ten children, and hundreds of swine to take care of, and he knew hecould use the little Prince's money and clothes for his own family, andno one would find it out. So he let his wife take the little fellow, andas soon as the King's messengers had gone, the woman took the royalclothes off the Prince and put on him a coarse little nightgown, and gaveall his things to her own children. But the baby Prince did not seem tomind that--he did not seem to mind anything, even though he had no namebut Prince Fairyfoot, which had been given him in contempt by thedisgusted courtiers. He grew prettier and prettier every day, and longbefore the time when other children begin to walk, he could run about onhis fairy feet. 

The swineherd and his wife did not like him at all; in fact, theydisliked him because he was so much prettier and so much brighter thantheir own clumsy children. And the children did not like him, becausethey were ill natured and only liked themselves. 

So as he grew older year by year, the poor little Prince was more andmore lonely. He had no one to play with, and was obliged to be alwaysby himself. He dressed only in the coarsest and roughest clothes; heseldom had enough to eat, and he slept on straw in a loft under theroof of the swineherd's hut. But all this did not prevent his beingstrong and rosy and active. He was as fleet as the wind, and he had avoice as sweet as a bird's; he had lovely sparkling eyes, and brightgolden hair; and he had so kind a heart that he would not have done awrong or cruel thing for the world. As soon as he was big enough, theswineherd made him go out into the forest every day to take care of theswine. He was obliged to keep them together in one place, and if any ofthem ran away into the forest, Prince Fairyfoot was beaten. And as theswine were very wild and unruly, he was very often beaten, because itwas almost impossible to keep them from wandering off; and when theyran away, they ran so fast, and through places so tangled, that it wasalmost impossible to follow them. 

The forest in which he had to spend the long days was a very beautifulone, however, and he could take pleasure in that. It was a forest sogreat that it was like a world in itself. There were in it strange, splendid trees, the branches of which interlocked overhead, and whentheir many leaves moved and rustled, it seemed as if they were whisperingsecrets. There were bright, swift, strange birds, that flew about in thedeep golden sunshine, and when they rested on the boughs, they, too, seemed telling one another secrets. There was a bright, clear brook, withwater as sparkling and pure as crystal, and with shining shells andpebbles of all colours lying in the gold and silver sand at the bottom. Prince Fairyfoot always thought the brook knew the forest's secret also, and sang it softly to the flowers as it ran along. And as for theflowers, they were beautiful; they grew as thickly as if they had been acarpet, and under them was another carpet of lovely green moss. The treesand the birds, and the brook and the flowers were Prince Fairyfoot'sfriends. He loved them, and never was very lonely when he was with them;and if his swine had not run away so often, and if the swineherd had notbeaten him so much, sometimes--indeed, nearly all summer--he would havebeen almost happy. He used to lie on the fragrant carpet of flowers andmoss and listen to the soft sound of the running water, and to thewhispering of the waving leaves, and to the songs of the birds; and hewould wonder what they were saying to one another, and if it were true, as the swineherd's children said, that the great forest was full offairies. And then he would pretend it was true, and would tell himselfstories about them, and make believe they were his friends, and that theycame to talk to him and let him love them. He wanted to love something orsomebody, and he had nothing to love--not even a little dog. 

One day he was resting under a great green tree, feeling really quitehappy because everything was so beautiful. He had even made a little songto chime in with the brook's, and he was singing it softly and sweetly, when suddenly, as he lifted his curly, golden head to look about him, hesaw that all his swine were gone. He sprang to his feet, feeling verymuch frightened, and he whistled and called, but he heard nothing. Hecould not imagine how they had all disappeared so quietly, without makingany sound; but not one of them was anywhere to be seen. Then his poorlittle heart began to beat fast with trouble and anxiety. He ran here andthere; he looked through the bushes and under the trees; he ran, and ran, and ran, and called and whistled, and searched; but nowhere--nowhere wasone of those swine to be found! He searched for them for hours, goingdeeper and deeper into the forest than he had ever been before. He sawstrange trees and strange flowers, and heard strange sounds: and at lastthe sun began to go down, and he knew he would soon be left in the dark. His little feet and legs were scratched with brambles, and were so tiredthat they would scarcely carry him; but he dared not go back to theswineherd's hut without finding the swine. The only comfort he had on allthe long way was that the little brook had run by his side, and sung itssong to him; and sometimes he had stopped and bathed his hot face in it, and had said, "Oh, little brook! you are so kind to me! You are myfriend, I know. I would be so lonely without you!"

When at last the sun did go down, Prince Fairyfoot had wandered so farthat he did not know where he was, and he was so tired that he threwhimself down by the brook, and hid his face in the flowery moss, andsaid, "Oh, little brook! I am so tired I can go no further; and I cannever find them!"

While he was lying there in despair, he heard a sound in the air abovehim, and looked up to see what it was. It sounded like a little bird insome trouble. And, surely enough, there was a huge hawk darting after aplump little brown bird with a red breast. The little bird was utteringsharp frightened cries, and Prince Fairyfoot felt so sorry for it that hesprang up and tried to drive the hawk away. The little bird saw him atonce, and straightway flew to him, and Fairyfoot covered it with his cap. And then the hawk flew away in a great rage. 

When the hawk was gone, Fairyfoot sat down again and lifted his cap, expecting, of course, to see the brown bird with the red breast. But, in. Stead of a bird, out stepped a little man, not much higher than yourlittle finger--a plump little man in a brown suit with a bright red vest, and with a cocked hat on. 

"Why, " exclaimed Fairyfoot, "I'm surprised!"

"So am I, " said the little man, cheerfully. "I never was more surprisedin my life, except when my great-aunt's grandmother got into such a rage, and changed me into a robin-redbreast. I tell you, that surprised me!"

"I should think it might, " said Fairyfoot. "Why did she do it?"

"Mad, " answered the little man--"that was what was the matter with her. She was always losing her temper like that, and turning people intoawkward things, and then being sorry for it, and not being able to changethem back again. If you are a fairy, you have to be careful. If you'llbelieve me, that woman once turned her second-cousin's sister-in-law intoa mushroom, and somebody picked her, and she was made into catsup, whichis a thing no man likes to have happen in his family!"

[Illustration: "WHY, " EXCLAIMED FAIRYFOOT, "I'M SURPRISED!"]

"Of course not, " said Fairyfoot, politely. 

"The difficulty is, " said the little man, "that some fairies don'tgraduate. They learn to turn people into things, but they don't learn howto unturn them; and then, when they get mad in their families--you knowhow it is about getting mad in families--there is confusion. Yes, seriously, confusion arises. It arises. That was the way with mygreat-aunt's grandmother. She was not a cultivated old person, and shedid not know how to unturn people, and now you see the result. Quiteaccidentally I trod on her favorite corn; she got mad and changed me intoa robin, and regretted it ever afterward. I could only become myselfagain by a kind-hearted person's saving me from a great danger. You arethat person. Give me your hand. "

Fairyfoot held out his hand. The little man looked at it. 

"On second thought, " he said, "I can't shake it--it's too large. I'll siton it, and talk to you. "

With these words, he hopped upon Fairyfoot's hand, and sat down, smilingand clasping his own hands about his tiny knees. 

"I declare, it's delightful not to be a robin, " he said. "Had to go aboutpicking up worms, you know. Disgusting business. I always did hateworms. I never ate them myself--I drew the line there; but I had to getthem for my family. "

Suddenly he began to giggle, and to hug his knees up tight. 

"Do you wish to know what I'm laughing at?" he asked Fairyfoot. 

"Yes, " Fairyfoot answered. 

The little man giggled more than ever. 

"I'm thinking about my wife, " he said--"the one I had when I was a robin. A nice rage she'll be in when I don't come home to-night! She'll have tohustle around and pick up worms for herself, and for the children too, and it serves her right. She had a temper that would embitter the life ofa crow, much more a simple robin. I wore myself to skin and bone takingcare of her and her brood, and how I did hate 'em!--bare, squawkingthings, always with their throats gaping open. They seemed to think aparent's sole duty was to bring worms for them. "

"It must have been unpleasant, " said Fairyfoot. 

"It was more than that, " said the little man; "it used to make myfeathers stand on end. There was the nest, too! Fancy being changed intoa robin, and being obliged to build a nest at a moment's notice! I neverfelt so ridiculous in my life. How was I to know how to build a nest!And the worst of it was the way she went on about it. "

"She!" said Fairyfoot

"Oh, her, you know, " replied the little man, ungrammatically, "my wife. She'd always been a robin, and she knew how to build a nest; she liked toorder me about, too--she was one of that kind. But, of course, I wasn'tgoing to own that I didn't know anything about nest-building. I couldnever have done anything with her in the world if I'd let her think sheknew as much as I did. So I just put things together in a way of my own, and built a nest that would have made you weep! The bottom fell out of itthe first night. It nearly killed me. "

"Did you fall out, too?" inquired Fairyfoot. 

"Oh, no, " answered the little man. "I meant that it nearly killed me tothink the eggs weren't in it at the time. "

"What did you do about the nest?" asked Fairyfoot. 

The little man winked in the most improper manner. 

"Do?" he said. "I got mad, of course, and told her that if she hadn'tinterfered, it wouldn't have happened; said it was exactly like a hen tofly around giving advice and unsettling one's mind, and then complain ifthings weren't right. I told her she might build the nest herself, ifshe thought she could build a better one. She did it, too!" And hewinked again. 

"Was it a better one?" asked Fairyfoot. 

The little man actually winked a third time. "It may surprise you to hearthat it was, " he replied; "but it didn't surprise me. By-the-by, " headded, with startling suddenness, "what's your name, and what's thematter with you?"

"My name is Prince Fairyfoot, " said the boy, "and I have lost mymaster's swine. "

"My name, " said the little man, "is Robin Goodfellow, and I'll findthem for you. "

He had a tiny scarlet silk pouch hanging at his girdle, and he put hishand into it and drew forth the smallest golden whistle you ever saw. 

"Blow that, " he said, giving it to Fairyfoot, "and take care that youdon't swallow it. You are such a tremendous creature!"

Fairyfoot took the whistle and put it very delicately to his lips. Heblew, and there came from it a high, clear sound that seemed to piercethe deepest depths of the forest. 

"Blow again, " commanded Robin Goodfellow. 

Again Prince Fairyfoot blew, and again the pure clear sound rang throughthe trees, and the next instant he heard a loud rushing and tramping andsqueaking and grunting, and all the great drove of swine came tearingthrough the bushes and formed themselves into a circle and stood staringat him as if waiting to be told what to do next. 

"Oh, Robin Goodfellow, Robin Goodfellow!" cried Fairyfoot, "how gratefulI am to you!"

"Not as grateful as I am to you, " said Robin Goodfellow. "But for you Ishould be disturbing that hawk's digestion at the present moment, insteadof which, here I am, a respectable fairy once more, and my late wife(though I ought not to call her that, for goodness knows she was earlyenough hustling me out of my nest before daybreak, with the unpleasantproverb about the early bird catching the worm!)--I suppose I should saymy early wife--is at this juncture a widow. Now, where do you live?"

Fairyfoot told him, and told him also about the swineherd, and how ithappened that, though he was a prince, he had to herd swine and live inthe forest. 

"Well, well, " said Robin Goodfellow, "that is a disagreeable state ofaffairs. Perhaps I can make it rather easier for you. You see that is afairy whistle. "

"I thought so, " said Fairyfoot. 

"Well, " continued Robin Goodfellow, "you can always call your swine withit, so you will never be beaten again. Now, are you ever lonely?"

"Sometimes I am very lonely indeed, " ananswered the Prince. "No onecares for me, though I think the brook is sometimes sorry, and tries totell me things. "

"Of course, " said Robin. "They all like you. I've heard them say so. "

"Oh, have you?" cried Fairyfoot, joyfully. 

"Yes; you never throw stones at the birds, or break the branches of thetrees, or trample on the flowers when you can help it. "

"The birds sing to me, " said Fairyfoot, "and the trees seem to beckon tome and whisper; and when I am very lonely, I lie down in the grass andlook into the eyes of the flowers and talk to them. I would not hurt oneof them for all the world!"

"Humph!" said Robin, "you are a rather good little fellow. Would you liketo go to a party?"

"A party!" said Fairyfoot. "What is that?"

"This sort of thing, " said Robin; and he jumped up and began to dancearound and to kick up his heels gaily in the palm of Fairyfoot'shand. "Wine, you know, and cake, and all sorts of fun. It begins attwelve to-night, in a place the fairies know of, and it lasts untiljust two minutes and three seconds and a half before daylight. Wouldyou like to come?"

"Oh, " cried Fairyfoot, "I should be so happy if I might!"

"Well, you may, " said Robin; "I'll take you. They'll be delighted to seeany friend of mine, I'm a great favourite; of course, you can easilyimagine that. It was a great blow to them when I was changed; such aloss, you know. In fact, there were several lady fairies, who--but nomatter. " And he gave a slight cough, and began to arrange his necktiewith a disgracefully consequential air, though he was trying very hardnot to look conceited; and while he was endeavouring to appear easy andgracefully careless, he began accidentally to hum, "See the ConqueringHero Comes, " which was not the right tune under the circumstances. 

"But for you, " he said next, "I couldn't have given them the relief andpleasure of seeing me this evening. And what ecstasy it will be to them, to be sure! I shouldn't be surprised if it broke up the whole thing. They'll faint so--for joy, you know--just at first--that is, the ladieswill. The men won't like it at all; and I don't blame 'em. I suppose Ishouldn't like it--to see another fellow sweep all before him. That'swhat I do; I sweep all before me. " And he waved his hand in such a finelarge gesture that he overbalanced himself, and turned a somersault. Buthe jumped up after it quite undisturbed. 

"You'll see me do it to-night, " he said, knocking the dents out of hishat--"sweep all before me. " Then he put his hat on, and his hands on hiships, with a swaggering, man-of-society air. "I say, " he said, "I'm gladyou're going. I should like you to see it. "

"And I should like to see it, " replied Fairyfoot. 

"Well, " said Mr. Goodfellow, "you deserve it, though that's saying agreat deal. You've restored me to them. But for you, even if I'd escapedthat hawk, I should have had to spend the night in that beastly robin'snest, crowded into a corner by those squawking things, and domineeredover by her! I wasn't made for that! I'm superior to it. Domestic lifedoesn't suit me. I was made for society. I adorn it. She neverappreciated me. She couldn't soar to it. When I think of the way shetreated me, " he exclaimed, suddenly getting into a rage, "I've a greatmind to turn back into a robin and peck her head off!"

"Would you like to see her now?" asked Fairyfoot, innocently. 

Mr. Goodfellow glanced behind him in great haste, and suddenly sat down. 

"No, no!" he exclaimed in a tremendous hurry; "by no means! She has nodelicacy. And she doesn't deserve to see me. And there's a violence anduncertainty about her movements which is annoying beyond anything you canimagine. No, I don't want to see her! I'll let her go unpunished for thepresent. Perhaps it's punishment enough for her to be deprived of me. Just pick up your cap, won't you? and if you see any birds lying about, throw it at them, robins particularly. "

"I think I must take the swine home, if you'll excuse me, " saidFairyfoot, "I'm late now. "

"Well, let me sit on your shoulder and I'll go with you and show you ashort way home, " said Goodfellow; "I know all about it, so you needn'tthink about yourself again. In fact, we'll talk about the party. Justblow your whistle, and the swine will go ahead. "

Fairyfoot did so, and the swine rushed through the forest before them, and Robin Goodfellow perched himself on the Prince's shoulder, andchatted as they went. 

It had taken Fairyfoot hours to reach the place where he found Robin, butsomehow it seemed to him only a very short time before they came to theopen place near the swineherd's hut; and the path they had walked in hadbeen so pleasant and flowery that it had been delightful all the way. 

"Now, " said Robin when they stopped, "if you will come here to-night attwelve o'clock, when the moon shines under this tree, you will find mewaiting for you. Now I'm going. Good-bye!" And he was gone before thelast word was quite finished. 

Fairyfoot went towards the hut, driving the swine before him, andsuddenly he saw the swineherd come out of his house, and stand staringstupidly at the pigs. He was a very coarse, hideous man, with bristlingyellow hair, and little eyes, and a face rather like a pig's, and healways looked stupid, but just now he looked more stupid than ever. Heseemed dumb with surprise. 

"What's the matter with the swine?" he asked in his hoarse voice, whichwas rather piglike, too. 

"I don't know, " answered Fairyfoot, feeling a little alarmed. "What _is_the matter with them?"

"They are four times fatter, and five times bigger, and six timescleaner, and seven times heavier, and eight times handsomer than theywere when you took them out, " the swineherd said. 

"I've done nothing to them, " said Fairyfoot. "They ran away, but theycame back again. "

The swineherd went lumbering back into the hut, and called his wife. 

"Come and look at the swine, " he said. 

And then the woman came out, and stared first at the swine and then atFairyfoot. 

"He has been with the fairies, " she said at last to her husband; "or itis because he is a king's son. We must treat him better if he can dowonders like that. "

[Illustration: "WHAT'S THE MATTER WITH THE SWINE?" HE ASKED. ]

PART II

In went the shepherd's wife, and she prepared quite a good supper forFairyfoot and gave it to him. But Fairyfoot was scarcely hungry at all;he was so eager for the night to come, so that he might see thefairies. When he went to his loft under the roof, he thought at firstthat he could not sleep; but suddenly his hand touched the fairywhistle and he fell asleep at once, and did not waken again until amoonbeam fell brightly upon his face and aroused him. Then he jumped upand ran to the hole in the wall to look out, and he saw that the hourhad come, and the moon was so low in the sky that its slanting lighthad crept under the oak-tree. 

He slipped downstairs so lightly that his master heard nothing, and thenhe found himself out in the beautiful night with the moonlight so brightthat it was lighter than daytime. And there was Robin Goodfellow waitingfor him under the tree! He was so finely dressed that, for a moment, Fairyfoot scarcely knew him. His suit was made out of the purple velvetpetals of a pansy, which was far finer than any ordinary velvet, and hewore plumes and tassels, and a ruffle around his neck, and in his beltwas thrust a tiny sword, not half as big as the finest needle. 

"Take me on your shoulder, " he said to Fairyfoot, "and I will showyou the way. "

Fairyfoot took him up, and they went their way through the forest. Andthe strange part of it was that though Fairyfoot thought he knew ill theforest by heart, every path they took was new to him, and more beautifulthan anything he had ever seen before. The moonlight seemed to growbrighter and purer at every step, and the sleeping flowers sweeter andlovelier, and the moss greener and thicken Fairyfoot felt so happy andgay that he forgot he had ever been sad and lonely in his life. 

Robin Goodfellow, too, seemed to be in very good spirits. He related agreat many stories to Fairyfoot, and, singularly enough, they were allabout himself and divers and sundry fairy ladies who had been so verymuch attached to him that he scarcely expected to find them alive atthe present moment. He felt quite sure they must have died of grief inhis absence. 

"I have caused a great deal of trouble in the course of my life, " hesaid, regretfully, shaking his head. "I have sometimes wished I couldavoid it, but that is impossible. Ahem! When my great-aunt's grandmotherrashly and inopportunely changed me into a robin, I was having a littleflirtation with a little creature who was really quite attractive. Imight have decided to engage myself to her. She was very charming. Hername was Gauzita. To-morrow I shall go and place flowers on her tomb. "

"I thought fairies never died, " said Fairyfoot. 

"Only on rare occasions, and only from love, " answered Robin. "Theyneedn't die unless they wish to. They have been known to do it throughlove. They frequently wish they hadn't afterward--in fact, invariably--and then they can come to life again. But Gauzita--"

"Are you quite sure she is dead?" asked Fairyfoot. 

"Sure!" cried Mr. Goodfellow, in wild indignation, "why, she hasn't seenme for a couple of years. I've moulted twice since last we met. Icongratulate myself that she didn't see me then, " he added, in a lowervoice. "Of course she's dead, " he added, with solemn emphasis; "as deadas a door nail. "

Just then Fairyfoot heard some enchanting sounds, faint, but clear. Theywere sounds of delicate music and of tiny laughter, like the ringing offairy bells. 

"Ah!" said Robin Goodfellow, "there they are! But it seems to me theyare rather gay, considering they have not seen me for so long. Turn intothe path. "

Almost immediately they found themselves in a beautiful little dell, filled with moonlight, and with glittering stars in the cup of everyflower; for there were thousands of dewdrops, and every dewdrop shonelike a star. There were also crowds and crowds of tiny men and women, allbeautiful, all dressed in brilliant, delicate dresses, all laughing ordancing or feasting at the little tables, which were loaded with everydainty the most fastidious fairy could wish for. 

"Now, " said Robin Goodfellow, "you shall see me sweep all before me. Put me down. "

Fairyfoot put him down, and stood and watched him while he walked forwardwith a very grand manner. He went straight to the gayest and largestgroup he could see. It was a group of gentlemen fairies, who werecrowding around a lily of the valley, on the bent stem of which a tinylady fairy was sitting, airily swaying herself to and fro, and laughingand chatting with all her admirers at once. 

She seemed to be enjoying herself immensely; indeed, it was disgracefullyplain that she was having a great deal of fun. One gentleman fairy wasfanning her, one was holding her programme, one had her bouquet, anotherher little scent bottle, and those who had nothing to hold for her werescowling furiously at the rest. It was evident that she was very popular, and that she did not object to it at all; in fact, the way her eyessparkled and danced was distinctly reprehensible. 

[Illustration: ALMOST IMMEDIATELY THEY FOUND THEMSELVES IN A BEAUTIFULLITTLE DELL. ]

"You have engaged to dance the next waltz with every one of us!" said oneof her adorers. "How are you going to do it?"

"Did I engage to dance with all of you?" she said, giving her lily stemthe sauciest little swing, which set all the bells ringing. "Well, I amnot going to dance it with all. "

"Not with _me_?" the admirer with the fan whispered in her ear. 

She gave him the most delightful little look, just to make him believeshe wanted to dance with him but really couldn't. Robin Goodfelllow sawher. And then she smiled sweetly upon all the rest, every one of them. Robin Goodfellow saw that, too. 

"I am going to sit here and look at you, and let you talk to me, " shesaid. "I do so enjoy brilliant conversation. "

All the gentlemen fairies were so much elated by this that they began tobrighten up, and settle their ruffs, and fall into graceful attitudes, and think of sparkling things to say; because every one of them knew, from the glance of her eyes in his direction, that he was one whoseconversation was brilliant; every one knew there could be no mistakeabout its being himself that she meant. The way she looked just provedit. Altogether it was more than Robin Goodfellow could stand, for it wasGauzita who was deporting herself in this unaccountable manner, swingingon lily stems, and "going on, " so to speak, with several parties at once, in a way to chill the blood of any proper young lady fairy--who hadn'tany partner at all. It was Gauzita herself. 

He made his way into the very centre of the group. 

"Gauzita!" he said. He thought, of course, she would drop right off herlily stem; but she didn't. She simply stopped swinging a moment, andstared at him. 

"Gracious!" she exclaimed. "And who are you?"

"Who am I?" cried Mr. Goodfellow, severely. "Don't you remember me?"

"No, " she said, coolly; "I don't, not in the least. "

Robin Goodfellow almost gasped for breath. He had never met with anythingso outrageous in his life. 

"You don't remember _me_?" he cried. "_Me_! Why, it's impossible!"

"Is it?" said Gauzita, with a touch of dainty impudence. "What'syour name?"

Robin Goodfellow was almost paralyzed. Gauzita took up a midget of aneyeglass which she had dangling from a thread of a gold chain, and shestuck it in her eye and tilted her impertinent little chin and looked himover. Not that she was near-sighted--not a bit of it; it was just one ofher tricks and manners. 

"Dear me!" she said, "you do look a trifle familiar. It isn't, it can'tbe, Mr. ----, Mr. ----, " then she turned to the adorer, who held herfan, "it can't be Mr. ----, the one who was changed into a robin, youknow, " she said. "Such a ridiculous thing to be changed into! What washis name?"

"Oh, yes! I know whom you mean. Mr. ----, ah--Goodfellow!" said the fairywith the fan. 

"So it was, " she said, looking Robin over again. "And he has been peckingat trees and things, and hopping in and out of nests ever since, Isuppose. How absurd! And we have been enjoying ourselves so much since hewent away! I think I never _did_ have so lovely a time as I have hadduring these last two years. I began to know you, " she added, in a kindlytone, "just about the time he went away. "

"You have been enjoying yourself?" almost shrieked Robin Goodfellow. 

"Well, " said Gauzita, in unexcusable slang, "I must smile. " And shedid smile. 

"And nobody has pined away and died?" cried Robin. 

"I haven't, " said Gauzita, swinging herself and ringing her bells again. "I really haven't had time. "

Robin Goodfellow turned around and rushed out of the group. He regardedthis as insulting. He went back to Fairyfoot in such a hurry that hetripped on his sword and fell, and rolled over so many times thatFairyfoot had to stop him and pick him up. 

"Is she dead?" asked Fairyfoot. 

"No, " said Robin; "she isn't. "

He sat down on a small mushroom and clasped his hands about his knees andlooked mad--just mad. Angry or indignant wouldn't express it. 

"I have a great mind to go and be a misanthrope, " he said. 

"Oh! I wouldn't, " said Fairyfoot. He didn't know what a misanthrope was, but he thought it must be something unpleasant. 

"Wouldn't you?" said Robin, looking up at him. 

"No, " answered Fairyfoot. 

"Well, " said Robin, "I guess I won't. Let's go and have some fun. Theyare all that way. You can't depend on any of them. Never trust one ofthem. I believe that creature has been engaged as much as twice since Ileft. By a singular coincidence, " he added, "I have been married twicemyself--but, of course, that's different. I'm a man, you know, and--well, it's different. We won't dwell on it. Let's go and dance. But wait aminute first. " He took a little bottle from his pocket. 

"If you remain the size you are, " he continued, "you will tread on wholesets of lancers and destroy entire germans. If you drink this, you willbecome as small as we are; and then, when you are going home, I will giveyou something to make you large again. " Fairyfoot drank from the littleflagon, and immediately he felt himself growing smaller and smaller untilat last he was as small as his companion. 

"Now, come on, " said Robin. 

On they went and joined the fairies, and they danced and played fairygames and feasted on fairy dainties, and were so gay and happy thatFairyfoot was wild with joy. Everybody made him welcome and seemed tolike him, and the lady fairies were simply delightful, especiallyGauzita, who took a great fancy to him. Just before the sun rose, Robingave him something from another flagon, and he grew large again, andtwo minutes and three seconds and a half before daylight the ball brokeup, and Robin took him home and left him, promising to call for him thenext night. 

Every night throughout the whole summer the same thing happened. Atmidnight he went to the fairies' dance; and at two minutes and threeseconds and a half before dawn he came home. He was never lonely anymore, because all day long he could think of what pleasure he would havewhen the night came; and, besides that, all the fairies were his friends. But when the summer was coming to an end, Robin Goodfellow said to him:"This is our last dance--at least it will be our last for some time. Atthis time of the year we always go back to our own country, and we don'treturn until spring. "

This made Fairyfoot very sad. He did not know how he could bear to beleft alone again, but he knew it could not be helped; so he tried to beas cheerful as possible, and he went to the final festivities, andenjoyed himself more than ever before, and Gauzita gave him a tiny ringfor a parting gift. But the next night, when Robin did not come for him, he felt very lonely indeed, and the next day he was so sorrowful that hewandered far away into the forest, in the hope of finding something tocheer him a little. He wandered so far that he became very tired andthirsty, and he was just making up his mind to go home, when he thoughthe heard the sound of falling water. It seemed to come from behind athicket of climbing roses; and he went towards the place and pushed thebranches aside a little, so that he could look through. What he saw was agreat surprise to him. Though it was the end of summer, inside thethicket the roses were blooming in thousands all around a pool as clearas crystal, into which the sparkling water fell from a hole in the rockabove. It was the most beautiful, clear pool that Fairyfoot had everseen, and he pressed his way through the rose branches, and, entering thecircle they inclosed, he knelt by the water and drank. 

Almost instantly his feeling of sadness left him, and he felt quitehappy and refreshed. He stretched himself on the thick perfumed moss, and listened to the tinkling of the water, and it was not long before hefell asleep. 

When he awakened the moon was shining, the pool sparkled like a silverplaque crusted with diamonds, and two nightingales were singing in thebranches over his head. And the next moment he found out that heunderstood their language just as plainly as if they had been humanbeings instead of birds. The water with which he had quenched his thirstwas enchanted, and had given him this new power. 

"Poor boy!" said one nightingale, "he looks tired; I wonder where hecame from. "

"Why, my dear, " said the other, "is it possible you don't know that he isPrince Fairyfoot?"

"What!" said the first nightingale--"the King of Stumpinghame's son, whowas born with small feet?"

"Yes, " said the second. "And the poor child has lived in the forest, keeping the swineherd's pigs ever since. And he is a very nice boy, too--never throws stones at birds or robs nests. "

"What a pity he doesn't know about the pool where the red berries grow!"said the first nightingale. 

PART III

"What pool--and what red berries?" asked the second nightingale. 

"Why, my dear, " said the first, "is it possible you don't know about thepool where the red berries grow--the pool where the poor, dear PrincessGoldenhair met with her misfortune?"

"Never heard of it, " said the second nightingale, rather crossly. 

"Well, " explained the other, "you have to follow the brook for a day andthree-quarters, and then take all the paths to the left until you come tothe pool. It is very ugly and muddy, and bushes with red berries on themgrow around it. "

"Well, what of that?" said her companion; "and what happened to thePrincess Goldenhair?"

"Don't you know that, either?" exclaimed her friend. 

"No. "

"Ah!" said the first nightingale, "it was very sad. She went out with herfather, the King, who had a hunting party; and she lost her way, andwandered on until she came to the pool. Her poor little feet were so hotthat she took off her gold-embroidered satin slippers, and put them intothe water--her feet, not the slippers--and the next minute they began togrow and grow, and to get larger and larger, until they were so immenseshe could hardly walk at all; and though all the physicians in thekingdom have tried to make them smaller, nothing can be done, and she isperfectly unhappy. "

"What a pity she doesn't know about this pool!" said the other bird. "Ifshe just came here and bathed them three times in the water, they wouldbe smaller and more beautiful than ever, and she would be more lovelythan she has ever been. "

"It is a pity, " said her companion; "but, you know, if we once let peopleknow what this water will do, we should be overrun with creatures bathingthemselves beautiful, and trampling our moss and tearing down ourrose-trees, and we should never have any peace. "

"That is true, " agreed the other. 

Very soon after they flew away, and Fairyfoot was left alone. He had beenso excited while they were talking that he had been hardly able to liestill. He was so sorry for the Princess Goldenhair, and so glad forhimself. Now he could find his way to the pool with the red berries, andhe could bathe his feet in it until they were large enough to satisfyStumpinghame; and he could go back to his father's court, and his parentswould perhaps; be fond of him. But he had so good a heart that he couldnot think of being happy himself and letting others remain unhappy, whenhe could help them. So the first thing was to find the PrincessGoldenhair and tell her about the nightingales' fountain. But how was heto find her? The nightingales had not told him. He was very muchtroubled, indeed. How was he to find her?

Suddenly, quite suddenly, he thought of the ring Gauzita had given him. When she had given it to him she had made an odd remark. 

"When you wish to go anywhere, " she had said, "hold it in your hand, turnaround twice with closed eyes, and something queer will happen. "

He had thought it was one of her little jokes, but now it occurred to himthat at least he might try what would happen. So he rose up, held thering in his hand, closed his eyes, and turned around twice. 

What did happen was that he began to walk, not very fast, but stillpassing along as if he were moving rapidly. He did not know where he wasgoing, but he guessed that the ring did, and that if he obeyed it, heshould find the Princess Goldenhair. He went on and on, not getting inthe least tired, until about daylight he found himself under a greattree, and on the ground beneath it was spread a delightful breakfast, which he knew was for him. He sat down and ate it, and then got up againand went on his way once more. Before noon he had left the forest behindhim, and was in a strange country. He knew it was not Stumpinghame, because the people had not large feet. But they all had sad faces, andonce or twice, when he passed groups of them who were talking, he heardthem speak of the Princess Goldenhair, as if they were sorry for her andcould not enjoy themselves while such a misfortune rested upon her. 

"So sweet and lovely and kind a princess!" they said; "and it reallyseems as if she would never be any better. "

The sun was just setting when Fairyfoot came in sight of the palace. Itwas built of white marble, and had beautiful pleasure-grounds about it, but somehow there seemed to be a settled gloom in the air. Fairyfoot hadentered the great pleasure-garden, and was wondering where it would bebest to go first, when he saw a lovely white fawn, with a golden collarabout its neck, come bounding over the flower-beds, and he heard, at alittle distance, a sweet voice, saying, sorrowfully, "Come back, my fawn;I cannot run and play with you as I once used to. Do not leave me, mylittle friend. "

And soon from behind the trees came a line of beautiful girls, walkingtwo by two, all very slowly; and at the head of the line, first of all, came the loveliest princess in the world, dressed softly in pure white, with a wreath of lilies on her long golden hair, which fell almost to thehem of her white gown. 

She had so fair and tender a young face, and her large, soft eyes, yetlooked so sorrowful, that Fairyfoot loved her in a moment, and he knelton one knee, taking off his cap and bending his head until his own goldenhair almost hid his face. 

"Beautiful Princess Goldenhair, beautiful and sweet Princess, may I speakto you?" he said. 

The Princess stopped and looked at him, and answered him softly. Itsurprised her to see one so poorly dressed kneeling before her, in herpalace gardens, among the brilliant flowers; but she always spoke softlyto everyone. 

"What is there that I can do for you, my friend?" she said. 

"Beautiful Princess, " answered Fairyfoot, blushing, "I hope very muchthat I may be able to do something for you. "

"For me!" she exclaimed. "Thank you, friend; what is it you can do?Indeed, I need a help I am afraid no one can ever give me. "

"Gracious and fairest lady, " said Fairyfoot, "it is that help Ithink--nay, I am sure--that I bring to you. "

"Oh!" said the sweet Princess. "You have a kind face and most true eyes, and when I look at you--I do not know why it is, but I feel a littlehappier. What is it you would say to me?"

Still kneeling before her, still bending his head modestly, and stillblushing, Fairyfoot told his story. He told her of his own sadness andloneliness, and of why he was considered so terrible a disgrace to hisfamily. He told her about the fountain of the nightingales and what hehad heard there and how he had journeyed through the forests, and beyondit into her own country, to find her. And while he told it, herbeautiful face changed from red to white, and her hands closely claspedthemselves together. 

"Oh!" she said, when he had finished, "I know that this is true from thekind look in your eyes, and I shall be happy again. And how can I thankyou for being so good to a poor little princess whom you had never seen?"

"Only let me see you happy once more, most sweet Princess, " answeredFairyfoot, "and that will be all I desire--only if, perhaps, I mightonce--kiss your hand. "

She held out her hand to him with so lovely a look in her soft eyes thathe felt happier than he had ever been before, even at the fairy dances. This was a different kind of happiness. Her hand was as white as a dove'swing and as soft as a dove's breast. "Come, " she said, "let us go at onceto the King. "

[Illustration: FAIRYFOOT LOVED HER INA MOMENT, AND HE KNELT ONONE KNEE. ]

Within a few minutes the whole palace was in an uproar of excitement. Preparations were made to go to the fountain of the nightingalesimmediately. Remembering what the birds had said about not wishing to bedisturbed, Fairyfoot asked the King to take only a small party. So no onewas to go but the King himself, the Princess, in a covered chair carriedby two bearers, the Lord High Chamberlain, two Maids of Honour, andFairyfoot. 

Before morning they were on their way, and the day after they reached thethicket of roses, and Fairyfoot pushed aside the branches and led the wayinto the dell. 

The Princess Goldenhair sat down upon the edge of the pool and put herfeet into it. In two minutes they began to look smaller. She bathed themonce, twice, three times, and, as the nightingales had said, they becamesmaller and more beautiful than ever. As for the Princess herself, shereally could not be more beautiful than she had been; but the Lord HighChamberlain, who had been an exceedingly ugly old gentleman, afterwashing his face, became so young and handsome that the First Maid ofHonour immediately fell in love with him. Whereupon she washed her face, and became so beautiful that he fell in love with her, and they wereengaged upon the spot. 

The Princess could not find any words to tell Fairyfoot how gratefulshe was and how happy. She could only look at him again and again withher soft, radiant eyes, and again and again give him her hand that hemight kiss it. 

She was so sweet and gentle that Fairyfoot could not bear the thought ofleaving her; and when the King begged him to return to the palace withthem and live there always, he was more glad than I can tell you. To benear this lovely Princess, to be her friend, to love and serve her andlook at her every day, was such happiness that he wanted nothing more. But first he wished to visit his father and mother and sisters andbrothers in Stumpinghame! so the King and Princess and their attendantswent with him to the pool where the red berries grew; and after he hadbathed his feet in the water they were so large that Stumpinghamecontained nothing like them, even the King's and Queen's seeming small incomparison. And when, a few days later, he arrived at the StumpinghamePalace, attended in great state by the magnificent retinue with which thefather of the Princess Goldenhair had provided him, he was received withunbounded rapture by his parents. The King and Queen felt that to have ason with feet of such a size was something to be proud of, indeed. Theycould not admire him sufficiently, although the whole country wasilluminated, and feasting continued throughout his visit. 

But though he was glad to be no more a disgrace to his family, it cannotbe said that he enjoyed the size of his feet very much on his ownaccount. Indeed, he much preferred being Prince Fairyfoot, as fleet asthe wind and as light as a young deer, and he was quite glad to go to thefountain of the nightingales after his visit was at an end, and bathe hisfeet small again, and to return to the palace of the Princess Goldenhairwith the soft and tender eyes. There everyone loved him, and he lovedeveryone, and was four times as happy as the day is long. 

He loved the Princess more dearly every day, and, of course, as soon asthey were old enough, they were married. And of course, too, they used togo in the summer to the forest, and dance in the moonlight with thefairies, who adored them both. 

When they went to visit Stumpinghame, they always bathed their feet inthe pool of the red berries; and when they returned, they made them smallagain in the fountain of the nightingales. 

They were always great friends with Robin Goodfellow, and he was alwaysvery confidential with them about Gauzita, who continued to be as prettyand saucy as ever. 

"Some of these days, " he used to say, severely, "I'll marry anotherfairy, and see how she'll like that--to see someone else basking in mysociety! _I'll_ get even with her!"

But he _never_ did. 

THE PROUD LITTLE GRAIN OF WHEAT

There once was a little grain of wheat which was very proud indeed. Thefirst thing it remembered was being very much crowded and jostled by agreat many other grains of wheat, all living in the same sack in thegranary. It was quite dark in the sack, and no one could move about, andso there was nothing to be done but to sit still and talk and think. Theproud little grain of wheat talked a great deal, but did not think quiteso much, while its next neighbour thought a great deal and only talkedwhen it was asked questions it could answer. It used to say that when itthought a great deal it could remember things which it seemed to haveheard a long time ago. 

"What is the use of our staying here so long doing nothing, and neverbeing seen by anybody?" the proud little grain once asked. 

"I don't know, " the learned grain replied. "I don't know the answer tothat. Ask me another. "

"Why can't I sing like the birds that build their nests in the roof? Ishould like to sing, instead of sitting here in the dark. "

"Because you have no voice, " said the learned grain. 

This was a very good answer indeed. 

"Why didn't someone give me a voice, then--why didn't they?" said theproud little grain, getting very cross. 

The learned grain thought for several minutes. 

"There might be two answers to that, " she said at last. "One might bethat nobody had a voice to spare, and the other might be that you havenowhere to put one if it were given to you. "

"Everybody is better off than I am, " said the proud little grain. "Thebirds can fly and sing, the children can play and shout. I am sure I canget no rest for their shouting and playing. There are two little boys whomake enough noise to deafen the whole sackful of us. "

"Ah! I know them, " said the learned grain. "And it's true they are noisy. Their names are Lionel and Vivian. There is a thin place in the side ofthe sack, through which I can see them. I would rather stay where I amthan have to do all they do. They have long yellow hair, and when theystand on their heads the straw sticks in it and they look very curious. Iheard a strange thing through listening to them the other day. "

"What was it?" asked the proud grain. 

"They were playing in the straw, and someone came in to them--it was alady who had brought them something on a plate. They began to dance andshout: 'It's cake! It's cake! Nice little mamma for bringing us cake. 'And then they each sat down with a piece and began to take great bitesout of it. I shuddered to think of it afterward. "

"Why?"

"Well, you know they are always asking questions, and they began to askquestions of their mamma, who lay down in the straw near them. She seemedto be used to it. These are the questions Vivian asked:

"'Who made the cake?'

"'The cook. '

"'Who made the cook?'

"'God. '

"'What did He make her for?'

"'Why didn't He make her white?'

"'Why didn't He make you black?'

"'Did He cut a hole in heaven and drop me through when He made me?'

"'Why didn't it hurt me when I tumbled such a long way?'

"She said she 'didn't know' to all but the two first, and then heasked two more. 

"'What is the cake made of?'

"'Flour, sugar, eggs and butter. '

"'What is flour made of?'

"It was the answer to that which made me shudder. "

"What was it?" asked the proud grain. 

"She said it was made of--wheat! I don't see the advantage ofbeing rich--"

"Was the cake rich?" asked the proud grain. 

"Their mother said it was. She said, 'Don't eat it so fast--it isvery rich. '"

"Ah!" said the proud grain. "I should like to be rich. It must be veryfine to be rich. If I am ever made into cake, I mean to be so rich thatno one will dare to eat me at all. "

"Ah?" said the learned grain. "I don't think those boys would be afraidto eat you, however rich you were. They are not afraid of richness. "

"They'd be afraid of me before they had done with me, " said the proudgrain. "I am not a common grain of wheat. Wait until I am made into cake. But gracious me! there doesn't seem much prospect of it while we are shutup here. How dark and stuffy it is, and how we are crowded, and what astupid lot the other grains are! I'm tired of it, I must say. "

"We are all in the same sack, " said the learned grain, very quietly. 

It was a good many days after that, that something happened. Quite earlyin the morning, a man and a boy came into the granary, and moved the sackof wheat from its place, wakening all the grains from their last nap. 

"What is the matter?" said the proud grain. "Who is daring todisturb us?"

"Hush!" whispered the learned grain, in the most solemn manner. "Something is going to happen. Something like this happened to somebodybelonging to me long ago. I seem to remember it when I think very hard. Iseem to remember something about one of my family being sown. "

"What is sown?" demanded the other grain. 

"It is being thrown into the earth, " began the learned grain. 

Oh, what a passion the proud grain got into! "Into the earth?" sheshrieked out. "Into the common earth? The earth is nothing but dirt, and I am _not_ a common grain of wheat. I won't be sown! I will _not_be sown! How dare anyone sow me against my will! I would rather stay inthe sack. "

But just as she was saying it, she was thrown out with the learned grainand some others into another dark place, and carried off by the farmer, in spite of her temper; for the farmer could not hear her voice at all, and wouldn't have minded if he had, because he knew she was only a grainof wheat, and ought to be sown, so that some good might come of her. 

Well, she was carried out to a large field in the pouch which the farmerwore at his belt. The field had been ploughed, and there was a sweetsmell of fresh earth in the air; the sky was a deep, deep blue, but theair was cool and the few leaves on the trees were brown and dry, andlooked as if they had been left over from last year. "Ah!" said thelearned grain. "It was just such a day as this when my grandfather, or myfather, or somebody else related to me, was sown. I think I remember thatit was called Early Spring. "

"As for me, " said the proud grain, fiercely, "I should like to see theman who would dare to sow me!"

At that very moment, the farmer put his big, brown hand into the bag andthrew her, as she thought, at least half a mile from them. 

He had not thrown her so far as that, however, and she landed safely inthe shadow of a clod of rich earth, which the sun had warmed through andthrough. She was quite out of breath and very dizzy at first, but in afew seconds she began to feel better and could not help looking around, in spite of her anger, to see if there was anyone near to talk to. Butshe saw no one, and so began to scold as usual. 

"They not only sow me, " she called out, "but they throw me all bymyself, where I can have no company at all. It is disgraceful. "

Then she heard a voice from the other side of the clod. It was thelearned grain, who had fallen there when the farmer threw her out ofhis pouch. 

"Don't be angry, " it said, "I am here. We are all right so far. Perhaps, when they cover us with the earth, we shall be even nearer to each otherthan we are now. "

"Do you mean to say they will cover us with the earth?" asked theproud grain. 

"Yes, " was the answer. "And there we shall lie in the dark, and the rainwill moisten us, and the sun will warm us, until we grow larger andlarger, and at last burst open!"

"Speak for yourself, " said the proud grain; "I shall do no such thing!"

But it all happened just as the learned grain had said, which showed whata wise grain it was, and how much it had found out just by thinking hardand remembering all it could. 

Before the day was over, they were covered snugly up with the soft, fragrant, brown earth, and there they lay day after day. 

One morning, when the proud grain wakened, it found itself wet throughand through with rain which had fallen in the night, and the next daythe sun shone down and warmed it so that it really began to be afraidthat it would be obliged to grow too large for its skin, which felt alittle tight for it already. 

It said nothing of this to the learned grain, at first, because it wasdetermined not to burst if it could help it; but after the same thing hadhappened a great many times, it found, one morning, that it really wasswelling, and it felt obliged to tell the learned grain about it. 

"Well, " it said, pettishly, "I suppose you will be glad to hear that youwere right, I _am_ going to burst. My skin is so tight now that itdoesn't fit me at all, and I know I can't stand another warm shower likethe last. "

"Oh!" said the learned grain, in a quiet way (really learned peoplealways have a quiet way), "I knew I was right, or I shouldn't have saidso. I hope you don't find it very uncomfortable. I think I myself shallburst by to-morrow. "

"Of course I find it uncomfortable, " said the proud grain. "Who wouldn'tfind it uncomfortable, to be two or three sizes too small for one's self!Pouf! Crack! There I go! I have split up all up my right side, and I mustsay it's a relief. "

"Crack! Pouf! so have I, " said the learned grain. "Now we must begin topush up through the earth. I am sure my relation did that. "

"Well, I shouldn't mind getting out into the air. It would be a changeat least. "

So each of them began to push her way through the earth as strongly asshe could, and, sure enough, it was not long before the proud grainactually found herself out in the world again, breathing the sweet air, under the blue sky, across which fleecy white clouds were drifting, andswift-winged, happy birds darting. 

"It really is a lovely day, " were the first words the proud grain said. It couldn't help it. The sunshine was so delightful, and the birdschirped and twittered so merrily in the bare branches, and, morewonderful than all, the great field was brown no longer, but was coveredwith millions of little, fresh green blades, which trembled and benttheir frail bodies before the light wind. 

"This _is_ an improvement, " said the proud grain. 

Then there was a little stir in the earth beside it, and up through thebrown mould came the learned grain, fresh, bright, green, like the rest. 

"I told you I was not a common grain of wheat, " said the proud one. 

"You are not a grain of wheat at all now, " said the learned one, modestly. "You are a blade of wheat, and there are a great many otherslike you. "

"See how green I am!" said the proud blade. 

"Yes, you are very green, " said its companion. "You will not be so greenwhen you are older. "

The proud grain, which must be called a blade now, had plenty of changeand company after this. It grew taller and taller every day, and made agreat many new acquaintances as the weather grew warmer. These werelittle gold and green beetles living near it, who often passed it, andnow and then stopped to talk a little about their children and theirjourneys under the soil. Birds dropped down from the sky sometimes togossip and twitter of the nests they were building in the apple-trees, and the new songs they were learning to sing. 

Once, on a very warm day, a great golden butterfly, floating by on hislarge lovely wings, fluttered down softly and lit on the proud blade, whofelt so much prouder when he did it that she trembled for joy. 

"He admires me more than all the rest in the field, you see, " it said, haughtily. "That is because I am so green. "

"If I were you, " said the learned blade, in its modest way, "I believe Iwould not talk so much about being green. People will make suchill-natured remarks when one speaks often of one's self. "

"I am above such people, " said the proud blade "I can find nothing moreinteresting to talk of than myself. "

As time went on, it was delighted to find that it grew taller than anyother blade in the field, and threw out other blades; and at last theregrew out at the top of its stalk ever so many plump, new little grains, all fitting closely together, and wearing tight little green covers. 

"Look at me!" it said then. "I am the queen of all the wheat. Ihave a crown. "

"No. " said its learned companion. "You are now an ear of wheat. "

And in a short time all the other stalks wore the same kind of crown, andit found out that the learned blade was right, and that it was only anear, after all. 

And now the weather had grown still warmer and the trees were coveredwith leaves, and the birds sang and built their nests in them and laidtheir little blue eggs, and in time, wonderful to relate, there came babybirds, that were always opening their mouths for food, and crying "peep, peep, " to their fathers and mothers. There were more butterflies floatingabout on their amber and purple wings, and the gold and green beetleswere so busy they had no time to talk. 

"Well!" said the proud ear of wheat (you remember it was an ear by thistime) to its companion one day. "You see, you were right again. I am notso green as I was. I am turning yellow--but yellow is the colour of gold, and I don't object to looking like gold. "

"You will soon be ripe, " said its friend. 

"And what will happen then?"

"The reaping-machine will come and cut you down, and other strange thingswill happen. "

"There I make a stand, " said the proud ear, "I will _not_ be cut down. "

But it was just as the wise ear said it would be. Not long after areaping-machine was brought and driven back and forth in the fields, anddown went all the wheat ears before the great knives. But it did not hurtthe wheat, of course, and only the proud ear felt angry. 

"I am the colour of gold, " it said, "and yet they have dared to cut medown. What will they do next, I wonder?"

What they did next was to bunch it up with other wheat and tie itand stack it together, and then it was carried in a waggon and laidin the barn. 

Then there was a great bustle after a while. The farmer's wife anddaughters and her two servants began to work as hard as they could. 

"The threshers are coming, " they said, "and we must make plenty of thingsfor them to eat. "

So they made pies and cakes and bread until their cupboards were full;and surely enough the threshers did come with the threshing-machine, which was painted red, and went "Puff! puff! puff! rattle! rattle!" allthe time. And the proud wheat was threshed out by it, and found itself ingrains again and very much out of breath. 

"I look almost as I was at first, " it said; "only there are so many ofme. I am grander than ever now. I was only one grain of wheat at first, and now I am at least fifty. "

When it was put into a sack, it managed to get all its grains together inone place, so that it might feel as grand as possible. It was so proudthat it felt grand, however much it was knocked about. 

It did not lie in the sack very long this time before something elsehappened. One morning it heard the farmer's wife saying to thecoloured boy:

"Take this yere sack of wheat to the mill, Jerry. I want to try it when Imake that thar cake for the boarders. Them two children from Washingtoncity are powerful hands for cake. "

So Jerry lifted the sack up and threw it over his shoulder, and carriedit out into the spring-waggon. 

"Now we are going to travel, " said the proud wheat "Don't let us beseparated. "

At that minute, there were heard two young voices, shouting:--

"Jerry, take us in the waggon! Let us go to mill, Jerry. We want togo to mill. "

And these were the very two boys who had played in the granary and madeso much noise the summer before. They had grown a little bigger, andtheir yellow hair was longer, but they looked just as they used to, withtheir strong little legs and big brown eyes, and their sailor hats set sofar back on their heads that it was a wonder they stayed on. Andgracious! how they shouted and ran. 

"What does yer mar say?" asked Jerry. 

"Says we can go!" shouted both at once, as if Jerry had been deaf, whichhe wasn't at all--quite the contrary. 

So Jerry, who was very good-natured, lifted them in, and cracked hiswhip, and the horses started off. It was a long ride to the mill, butLionel and Vivian were not too tired to shout again when they reached it. They shouted at sight of the creek and the big wheel turning round andround slowly, with the water dashing and pouring and foaming over it. 

"What turns the wheel?" asked Vivian. 

"The water, honey, " said Jerry. 

"What turns the water?"

"Well now, honey, " said Jerry, "you hev me thar. I don't know nuffin'bout it. Lors-a-massy, what a boy you is fur axin dif'cult questions. "

Then he carried the sack in to the miller, and said he would wait untilthe wheat was ground. 

"Ground!" said the proud wheat. "We are going to be ground. I hope it isagreeable. Let us keep close together. "

They did keep close together, but it wasn't very agreeable to be pouredinto a hopper and then crushed into fine powder between two big stones. 

"Makes nice flour, " said the miller, rubbing it between his fingers. 

"Flour!" said the wheat--which was wheat no longer. "Now I am flour, andI am finer than ever. How white I am! I really would rather be white thangreen or gold colour. I wonder where the learned grain is, and if it isas fine and white as I am?"

But the learned grain and her family had been laid away in the granaryfor seed wheat. 

Before the waggon reached the house again, the two boys were fast asleepin the bottom of it, and had to be helped out just as the sack was, andcarried in. 

The sack was taken into the kitchen at once and opened, and even in itswheat days the flour had never been so proud as it was when it heard thefarmer's wife say--

"I'm going to make this into cake. "

"Ah!" it said; "I thought so. Now I shall be rich, and admired byeverybody. "

The farmer's wife then took some of it out in a large white bowl, andafter that she busied herself beating eggs and sugar and butter alltogether in another bowl: and after a while she took the flour and beatit in also. 

"Now I am in grand company, " said the flour. "The eggs and butter are thecolour of gold, the sugar is like silver or diamonds. This is the verysociety for me. "

"The cake looks rich, " said one of the daughters. 

"It's rather too rich for them children, " said her mother. "But Lawsey, Idunno, neither. Nothin' don't hurt 'em. I reckon they could eat a panelof rail fence and come to no harm. "

"I'm rich, " said the flour to itself. "That is just what I intended fromthe first. I am rich and I am a cake. "

Just then, a pair of big brown eyes came and peeped into it. Theybelonged to a round little head with a mass of tangled curls all overit--they belonged to Vivian. 

"What's that?" he asked. 

"Cake. "

"Who made it?"

"I did. "

"I like you, " said Vivian. "You're such a nice woman. Who's going to eatany of it? Is Lionel?"

"I'm afraid it's too rich for boys, " said the woman, but she laughed andkissed him. 

"No, " said Vivian. "I'm afraid it isn't. "

"I shall be much too rich, " said the cake, angrily. "Boys, indeed. I wasmade for something better than boys. "

After that, it was poured into a cake-mould, and put into the oven, where it had rather an unpleasant time of it. It was so hot in therethat if the farmer's wife had not watched it carefully, it would havebeen burned. 

"But I am cake, " it said, "and of the richest kind, so I can bear it, even if it is uncomfortable. "

When it was taken out, it really was cake, and it felt as if it was quitesatisfied. Everyone who came into the kitchen and saw it, said--

"Oh, what a nice cake! How well your new flour has done!"

But just once, while it was cooling, it had a curious, disagreeablefeeling. It found, all at once, that the two boys, Lionel and Vivian, had come quietly into the kitchen and stood near the table, looking atthe cake with their great eyes wide open and their little red mouthsopen, too. 

"Dear me, " it said. "How nervous I feel--actually nervous. What greateyes they have, and how they shine! and what are those sharp whitethings in their mouths? I really don't like them to look at me inthat way. It seems like something personal. I wish the farmer's wifewould come. "

Such a chill ran over it, that it was quite cool when the woman came in, and she put it away in the cupboard on a plate. 

But, that very afternoon, she took it out again and set it on the tableon a glass cake-stand. She put some leaves around it to make it looknice, and it noticed there were a great many other things on the table, and they all looked fresh and bright. 

"This is all in my honour, " it said. "They know I am rich. "

Then several people came in and took chairs around the table. 

"They all come to sit and look at me, " said the vain cake. "I wish thelearned grain could see me now. "

There was a little high-chair on each side of the table, and at firstthese were empty, but in a few minutes the door opened and in came thetwo little boys. They had pretty, clean dresses on, and their "bangs" andcurls were bright with being brushed. 

"Even they have been dressed up to do me honour, " thought the cake. 

[ILLUSTRATION: "THERE'S THE CAKE, " HE SAID. ]

But, the next minute, it began to feel quite nervous again, Vivian'schair was near the glass stand, and when he had climbed up and seatedhimself, he put one elbow on the table and rested his fat chin on his fathand, and fixing his eyes on the cake, sat and stared at it in such anunnaturally quiet manner for some seconds, that any cake might well havefelt nervous. 

"There's the cake, " he said, at last, in such a deeply thoughtful voicethat the cake felt faint with anger. 

Then a remarkable thing happened. Some one drew the stand toward them andtook the knife and cut out a large slice of the cake. 

"Go away, " said the cake, though no one heard it. "I am cake! I am rich!I am not for boys! How dare you?"

Vivian stretched out his hand; he took the slice; he lifted it up, andthen the cake saw his red mouth open--yes, open wider than it could havebelieved possible--wide enough to show two dreadful rows of little sharpwhite things. 

"Good gra--" it began. 

But it never said "cious. " Never at all. For in two minutes Vivian hadeaten it!!

And there was an end of its airs and graces. 

BEHIND THE WHITE BRICK

It began with Aunt Hetty's being out of temper, which, it must beconfessed, was nothing new. At its best, Aunt Hetty's temper was none ofthe most charming, and this morning it was at its worst. She had awakenedto the consciousness of having a hard day's work before her, and she hadawakened late, and so everything had gone wrong from the first. There wasa sharp ring in her voice when she came to Jem's bedroom door and calledout, "Jemima, get up this minute!"

Jem knew what to expect when Aunt Hetty began a day by calling her"Jemima. " It was one of the poor child's grievances that she had beengiven such an ugly name. In all the books she had read, and she had reada great many, Jem never had met a heroine who was called Jemima. But ithad been her mother's favorite sister's name, and so it had fallen to herlot. Her mother always called her "Jem, " or "Mimi, " which was muchprettier, and even Aunt Hetty only reserved Jemima for unpleasant stateoccasions. 

It was a dreadful day to Jem. Her mother was not at home, and would notbe until night. She had been called away unexpectedly, and had beenobliged to leave Jem and the baby to Aunt Hetty's mercies. 

So Jem found herself busy enough. Scarcely had she finished doing onething, when Aunt Hetty told her to begin another. She wiped dishes andpicked fruit and attended to the baby; and when baby had gone to sleep, and everything else seemed disposed of, for a time, at least, she was sotired that she was glad to sit down. 

And then she thought of the book she had been reading the night before--acertain delightful story book, about a little girl whose name was Flora, and who was so happy and rich and pretty and good that Jem had likenedher to the little princesses one reads about, to whose christening feastevery fairy brings a gift. 

"I shall have time to finish my chapter before dinner-time comes, " saidJem, and she sat down snugly in one corner of the wide, old fashionedfireplace. 

But she had not read more than two pages before something dreadfulhappened. Aunt Hetty came into the room in a great hurry--in such ahurry, indeed, that she caught her foot in the matting and fell, strikingher elbow sharply against a chair, which so upset her temper that themoment she found herself on her feet she flew at Jem. 

"What!" she said, snatching the book from her, "reading again, when I amrunning all over the house for you?" And she flung the pretty little bluecovered volume into the fire. 

Jem sprang to rescue it with a cry, but it was impossible to reachit; it had fallen into a great hollow of red coal, and the blazecaught it at once. 

"You are a wicked woman!" cried Jem, in a dreadful passion, to AuntHetty. "You are a wicked woman. "

Then matters reached a climax. Aunt Hetty boxed her ears, pushed her backon her little footstool, and walked out of the room. 

Jem hid her face on her arms and cried as if her heart would break. Shecried until her eyes were heavy, and she thought she would be obliged togo to sleep. But just as she was thinking of going to sleep, somethingfell down the chimney and made her look up. It was a piece of mortar, andit brought a good deal of soot with it. She bent forward and looked up tosee where it had come from. The chimney was so very wide that this waseasy enough. She could see where the mortar had fallen from the side andleft a white patch. 

"How white it looks against the black!" said Jem; "it is like a whitebrick among the black ones. What a queer place a chimney is! I can see abit of the blue sky, I think. "

And then a funny thought came into her fanciful little head. What a manythings were burned in the big fireplace and vanished in smoke or tinderup the chimney! Where did everything go? There was Flora, forinstance--Flora who was represented on the frontispiece--with lovely, soft, flowing hair, and a little fringe on her pretty round forehead, crowned with a circlet of daisies, and a laugh in her wide-awake roundeyes. Where was she by this time? Certainly there was nothing left of herin the fire. Jem almost began to cry again at the thought. 

"It was too bad, " she said. "She was so pretty and funny, and I didlike her so. "

I daresay it scarcely will be credited by unbelieving people when I tellthem what happened next, it was such a very singular thing, indeed. 

Jem felt herself gradually lifted off her little footstool. 

"Oh!" she said, timidly, "I feel very light. " She did feel light, indeed. She felt so light that she was sure she was rising gently in the air. 

"Oh, " she said again, "how--how very light I feel! Oh, dear, I'm goingup the chimney!"

It was rather strange that she never thought of calling for help, but shedid not. She was not easily frightened; and now she was only wonderfullyastonished, as she remembered afterwards. She shut her eyes tight andgave a little gasp. 

"I've heard Aunt Hetty talk about the draught drawing things up thechimney, but I never knew it was as strong as this, " she said. 

She went up, up, up, quietly and steadily, and without any uncomfortablefeeling at all; and then all at once she stopped, feeling that her feetrested against something solid. She opened her eyes and looked about her, and there she was, standing right opposite the white brick, her feet on atiny ledge. 

"Well, " she said, "this is funny. "

But the next thing that happened was funnier still. She found that, without thinking what she was doing, she was knocking on the white brickwith her knackles, as if it was a door and she expected somebody to openit. The next minute she heard footsteps, and then a sound, as if some onewas drawing back a little bolt. 

"It is a door, " said Jem, "and somebody is going to open it. "

The white brick moved a little, and some more mortar and soot fell;then the brick moved a little more, and then it slid aside and left anopen space. 

"It's a room!" cried Jem, "There's a room behind it!"

And so there was, and before the open space stood a pretty little girl, with long lovely hair and a fringe on her forehead. Jem clasped her handsin amazement. It was Flora herself, as she looked in the picture, andFlora stood laughing and nodding. 

"Come in, " she said. "I thought it was you. "

"But how can I come in through such a little place?" asked Jem. 

"Oh, that is easy enough, " said Flora. "Here, give me your hand. "

Jem did as she told her, and found that it was easy enough. In an instantshe had passed through the opening, the white brick had gone back to itsplace, and she was standing by Flora's side in a large room--the nicestroom she had ever seen. It was big and lofty and light, and there wereall kinds of delightful things in it--books and flowers and playthingsand pictures, and in one corner a great cage full of lovebirds. 

"Have I ever seen it before?" asked Jem, glancing slowly round. 

"Yes, " said Flora; "you saw it last night--in your mind. Don't youremember it?"

Jem shook her head. 

"I feel as if I did, but--"

"Why, " said Flora, laughing, "it's my room, the one you read aboutlast night. "

"So it is, " said Jem. "But how did you come here?"

"I can't tell you that; I myself don't know. But I am here, andso"--rather mysteriously--"are a great many other things. "

"Are they?" said Jem, very much interested. "What things? Burned things?I was just wondering--"

"Not only burned things, " said Flora, nodding. "Just come with me andI'll show you something. "

She led the way out of the room and down a little passage with severaldoors in each side of it, and she opened one door and showed Jem what wason the other side of it. That was a room, too, and this time it was funnyas well as pretty. Both floor and walls were padded with rose color, andthe floor was strewn with toys. There were big soft balls, rattles, horses, woolly dogs, and a doll or so; there was one low cushioned chairand a low table. 

"You can come in, " said a shrill little voice behind the door, "only mindyou don't tread on things. "

"What a funny little voice!" said Jem, but she had no sooner said it thanshe jumped back. 

The owner of the voice, who had just come forward, was no otherthan Baby. 

"Why, " exclaimed Jem, beginning to feel frightened, "I left you fastasleep in your crib. "

"Did you?" said Baby, somewhat scornfully. "That's just the way with yougrown-up people. You think you know everything, and yet you haven'tdiscretion enough to know when a pin is sticking into one. You'd knowsoon enough if you had one sticking into your own back. "

"But I'm not grown up, " stammered Jem; "and when you are at home you canneither walk nor talk. You're not six months old. "

"Well, miss, " retorted Baby, whose wrongs seemed to have soured herdisposition somewhat, "you have no need to throw that in my teeth; youwere not six months old, either, when you were my age. "

Jem could not help laughing. 

"You haven't got any teeth, " she said. 

"Haven't I?" said Baby, and she displayed two beautiful rows with somehaughtiness of manner. "When I am up here, " she said, "I am suppliedwith the modern conveniences, and that's why I never complain. Do Iever cry when I am asleep? It's not falling asleep I object to, it'sfalling awake. "

"Wait a minute, " said Jem. "Are you asleep now?"

"I'm what you call asleep. I can only come here when I'm what you callasleep. Asleep, indeed! It's no wonder we always cry when we have tofall awake. "

"But we don't mean to be unkind to you, " protested Jem, meekly. 

She could not help thinking Baby was very severe. 

"Don't mean!" said Baby. "Well, why don't you think more, then? How wouldyou like to have all the nice things snatched away from you, and all theold rubbish packed off on you, as if you hadn't any sense? How would youlike to have to sit and stare at things you wanted, and not to be able toreach them, or, if you did reach them, have them fall out of your hand, and roll away in the most unfeeling manner? And then be scolded andcalled 'cross!' It's no wonder we are bald. You'd be bald yourself. It'strouble and worry that keep us bald until we can begin to take care ofourselves; I had more hair than this at first, but it fell off, as wellit might. No philosopher ever thought of that, I suppose!"

"Well, " said Jem, in despair, "I hope you enjoy yourself when youare here?"

"Yes, I do, " answered Baby. "That's one comfort. There is nothing toknock my head against, and things have patent stoppers on them, so thatthey can't roll away, and everything is soft and easy to pick up. "

There was a slight pause after this, and Baby seemed to cool down. 

"I suppose you would like me to show you round?" she said. 

"Not if you have any objection, " replied Jem, who was rather subdued. 

"I would as soon do it as not, " said Baby. "You are not as bad as somepeople, though you do get my clothes twisted when you hold me. "

Upon the whole, she seemed rather proud of her position. It was evidentshe quite regarded herself as hostess. She held her small bald head veryhigh indeed, as she trotted on before them. She stopped at the first doorshe came to, and knocked three times. She was obliged to stand upontiptoe to reach the knocker. 

"He's sure to be at home at this time of year, " she remarked. "This isthe busy season. "

"Who's 'he'?" inquired Jem. 

But Flora only laughed at Miss Baby's consequential air. 

"S. C. , to be sure, " was the answer, as the young lady pointed to thedoor-plate, upon which Jem noticed, for the first time, "S. C. " in verylarge letters. 

The door opened, apparently without assistance, and they entered theapartment. 

"Good gracious!" exclaimed Jem, the next minute. "Good_ness_ gracious!"

She might well be astonished. It was such a long room that she could notsee to the end of it, and it was piled up from floor to ceiling with toysof every description, and there was such bustle and buzzing in it that itwas quite confusing. The bustle and buzzing arose from a very curiouscause, too, --it was the bustle and buzz of hundreds of tiny men and womenwho were working at little tables no higher than mushrooms, --the prettytiny women cutting out and sewing, the pretty tiny men sawing andhammering and all talking at once. The principal person in the placeescaped Jem's notice at first; but it was not long before she saw him, --alittle old gentleman, with a rosy face and sparkling eyes, sitting at adesk, and writing in a book almost as big as himself. He was so busy thathe was quite excited, and had been obliged to throw his white fur coatand cap aside, and he was at work in his red waistcoat. 

"Look here, if you please, " piped Baby, "I have brought some oneto see you. "

When he turned round, Jem recognized him at once. 

"Eh! Eh!" he said. "What! What! Who's this, Tootsicums?"

Baby's manner became very acid indeed. 

"I shouldn't have thought you would have said that, Mr. Claus, " sheremarked. "I can't help myself down below, but I generally have myrights respected up here. I should like to know what sane godfather orgodmother would give one the name of 'Tootsicums' in one's baptism. Theyare bad enough, I must say; but I never heard of any of them calling aperson 'Tootsicums. '"

"Come, come!" said S. C. , chuckling comfortably and rubbing his hands. "Don't be too dignified, --it's a bad thing. And don't be too fond offlourishing your rights in people's faces, --that's the worst of all, Miss Midget. Folks who make such a fuss about their rights turn them intowrongs sometimes. "

Then he turned suddenly to Jem. 

"You are the little girl from down below, " he said. 

"Yes, sir, " answered Jem. "I'm Jem, and this is my friend Flora, --out ofthe blue book. "

"I'm happy to make her acquaintance, " said S. C. , "and I'm happy tomake yours. You are a nice child, though a trifle peppery. I'm veryglad to see you. "

"I'm very glad indeed to see you, sir, " said Jem. "I wasn't quite sure--"

But there she stopped, feeling that it would be scarcely polite to tellhim that she had begun of late years to lose faith in him. 

But S. C. Only chuckled more comfortably than ever and rubbed hishands again. 

[Illustration: "Eh! Eh!" he said. "What! What! Who's this, Tootsicums?"]

"Ho, ho!" he said. "You know who I am, then?"

Jem hesitated a moment, wondering whether it would not be taking aliberty to mention his name without putting "Mr. " before it: then sheremembered what Baby had called him. 

"Baby called you 'Mr. Claus, ' sir, " she replied; "and I have seenpictures of you. "

"To be sure, " said S. C. "S. Claus, Esquire, of Chimneyland. How doyou like me?"

"Very much, " answered Jem; "very much, indeed, sir. "

"Glad of it! Glad of it! But what was it you were going to say you werenot quite sure of?"

Jem blushed a little. 

"I was not quite sure that--that you were true, sir. At least I have notbeen quite sure since I have been older. "

S. C. Rubbed the bald part of his head and gave a little sigh. 

"I hope I have not hurt your feelings, sir, " faltered Jem, who was a verykind hearted little soul. 

"Well, no, " said S. C. "Not exactly. And it is not your fault either. Itis natural, I suppose; at any rate, it is the way of the world. Peoplelose their belief in a great many things as they grow older; but thatdoes not make the things not true, thank goodness! and their faith oftencomes back after a while. But, bless me!" he added, briskly, "I'mmoralizing, and who thanks a man for doing that? Suppose--"

"Black eyes or blue, sir?" said a tiny voice close to them. 

Jem and Flora turned round, and saw it was one of the small workers whowas asking the question. 

"Whom for?" inquired S. C. 

"Little girl in the red brick house at the corner, " said the workwoman;"name of Birdie. "

"Excuse me a moment, " said S. C. To the children, and he turned to the bigbook and began to run his fingers down the pages in a business-likemanner. "Ah! here she is!" he exclaimed at last. "Blue eyes, if youplease, Thistle, and golden hair. And let it be a big one. She takes goodcare of them. "

"Yes, sir, " said Thistle; "I am personally acquainted with several dollsin her family. I go to parties in her dolls' house sometimes when she isfast asleep at night, and they all speak very highly of her. She is mostattentive to them when they are ill. In fact, her pet doll is a cripple, with a stiff leg. "

She ran back to her work and S. C. Finished his sentence. 

"Suppose I show you my establishment, " he said. "Come with me. "

It really would be quite impossible to describe the wonderful things heshowed them. Jem's head was quite in a whirl before she had seen one-halfof them, and even Baby condescended to become excited. 

"There must be a great many children in the world, Mr. Claus, "ventured Jem. 

"Yes, yes, millions of 'em; bless 'em, " said S. C. , growing rosier withdelight at the very thought. "We never run out of them, that's onecomfort. There's a large and varied assortment always on hand. Fresh onesevery year, too, so that when one grows too old there is a new one ready. I have a place like this in every twelfth chimney. Now it's boys, nowit's girls, always one or t'other; and there's no end of playthings forthem, too, I'm glad to say. For girls, the great thing seems to be dolls. Blitzen! what comfort they _do_ take in dolls! but the boys are forhorses and racket. "

They were standing near a table where a worker was just putting thefinishing touch to the dress of a large wax doll, and just at thatmoment, to Jem's surprise, she set it on the floor, upon its feet, quite coolly. 

"Thank you, " said the doll, politely. 

Jem quite jumped. 

"You can join the rest now and introduce yourself, " said the worker. 

The doll looked over her shoulder at her train. 

"It hangs very nicely, " she said. "I hope it's the latest fashion. "

"Mine never talked like that, " said Flora. "My best one could only say'Mamma, ' and it said it very badly, too. "

"She was foolish for saying it at all, " remarked the doll, haughtily. "Wedon't talk and walk before ordinary people; we keep our accomplishmentsfor our own amusement, and for the amusement of our friends. If youshould chance to get up in the middle of the night, some time, or shouldrun into the room suddenly some day, after you have left it, you mighthear--but what is the use of talking to human beings?"

"You know a great deal, considering you are only just finished, " snappedBaby, who really was a Tartar. 

"I was FINISHED, " retorted the doll "I did not begin life as a baby!"very scornfully. 

"Pooh!" said Baby. "We improve as we get older. "

"I hope so, indeed, " answered the doll. "There is plenty of room forimprovement. " And she walked away in great state. 

S. C. Looked at Baby and then shook his head. "I shall not have to takevery much care of you, " he said, absent-mindedly. "You are able to takepretty good care of yourself. "

"I hope I am, " said Baby, tossing her head. 

S. C. Gave his head another shake. 

"Don't take too good care of yourself, " he said. "That's a badthing, too. "

He showed them the rest of his wonders, and then went with them to thedoor to bid them good-bye. 

"I am sure we are very much obliged to you, Mr. Claus, " said Jem, gratefully. "I shall never again think you are not true, sir". 

S. C. Patted her shoulder quite affectionately. 

"That's right, " he said. "Believe in things just as long as you can, my dear. Good-bye until Christmas Eve. I shall see you then, if youdon't see me. "

He must have taken quite a fancy to Jem, for he stood looking at her, andseemed very reluctant to close the door, and even after he had closed it, and they had turned away, he opened it a little again to call to her. 

"Believe in things as long as you can, my dear. "

"How kind he is!" exclaimed Jem full of pleasure. 

Baby shrugged her shoulders. 

"Well enough in his way, " she said, "but rather inclined to prose and beold-fashioned. "

Jem looked at her, feeling rather frightened, but she said nothing. 

Baby showed very little interest in the next room she took them to. 

"I don't care about this place, " she said, as she threw open the door. "It has nothing but old things in it. It is the Nobody-knows-where room. "

She had scarcely finished speaking before Jem made a little spring andpicked something up. 

"Here's my old strawberry pincushion!" she cried out. And then, withanother jump and another dash at two or three other things, "And here'smy old fairy-book! And here's my little locket I lost last summer! Howdid they come here?"

"They went Nobody-knows-where, " said Baby. 

"And this is it. "

"But cannot I have them again?" asked Jem. 

"No, " answered Baby. "Things that go to Nobody-knows-where stay there. "

"Oh!" sighed Jem, "I am so sorry. "

"They are only old things, " said Baby. 

"But I like my old things, " said Jem. "I love them. And there is mother'sneedle case. I wish I might take that. Her dead little sister gave it toher, and she was so sorry when she lost it. "

"People ought to take better care of their things, " remarked Baby. 

Jem would have liked to stay in this room and wander about among her oldfavorites for a long time, but Baby was in a hurry. 

"You'd better come away, " she said. "Suppose I was to have to fall awakeand leave you?"

The next place they went into was the most wonderful of all. 

"This is the Wish room, " said Baby. "Your wishes come here--yoursand mother's, and Aunt Hetty's and father's and mine. When did youwish that?"

Each article was placed under a glass shade, and labelled with the wordsand name of the wishers. Some of them were beautiful, indeed; but thetall shade Baby nodded at when she asked her question was trulyalarming, and caused Jem a dreadful pang of remorse. Underneath it satAunt Hetty, with her mouth stitched up so that she could not speak aword, and beneath the stand was a label bearing these words, in largeblack letters--

"I wish Aunt Hetty's mouth was sewed up, Jem. "

"Oh, dear!" cried Jem, in great distress. "How it must have hurt her!How unkind of me to say it! I wish I hadn't wished it. I wish it wouldcome undone. "

She had no sooner said it than her wish was gratified. The old labeldisappeared and a new one showed itself, and there sat Aunt Hetty, looking herself again, and even smiling. 

Jem was grateful beyond measure, but Baby seemed to consider herweak minded. 

"It served her right, " she said. 

"But when, after looking at the wishes at that end of the room, they wentto the other end, her turn came. In one corner stood a shade with a babyunder it, and the baby was Miss Baby herself, but looking as she veryrarely looked; in fact, it was the brightest, best tempered baby onecould imagine. "

"I wish I had a better tempered baby. Mother, " was written on the label. 

Baby became quite red in the face with anger and confusion. 

"That wasn't here the last time I came, " she said. "And it is right downmean in mother!"

This was more than Jem could bear. 

"It wasn't mean, " she said. "She couldn't help it. You know you are across baby--everybody says so. "

Baby turned two shades redder. 

"Mind your own business, " she retorted. "It was mean; and as to thatsilly little thing being better than I am, " turning up her small nose, which was quite turned up enough by Nature--"I must say I don't seeanything so very grand about her. So, there!"

She scarcely condescended to speak to them while they remained in theWish room, and when they left it, and went to the last door in thepassage, she quite scowled at it. 

"I don't know whether I shall open it at all, " she said. 

"Why not?" asked Flora. "You might as well. "

"It is the Lost pin room, " she said. "I hate pins. "

She threw the door open with a bang, and then stood and shook her littlefist viciously. The room was full of pins, stacked solidly together. There were hundreds of them--thousands--millions, it seemed. 

"I'm glad they _are_ lost!" she said. "I wish there were more ofthem there. "

"I didn't know there were so many pins in the world, " said Jem. 

"Pooh!" said Baby. "Those are only the lost ones that have belonged toour family. "

After this they went back to Flora's room and sat down, while Flora toldJem the rest of her story. 

"Oh!" sighed Jem, when she came to the end. "How delightful it is to behere! Can I never come again?"

"In one way you can, " said Flora. "When you want to come, just sit downand be as quiet as possible, and shut your eyes and think very hardabout it. You can see everything you have seen to-day, if you try. "

"Then I shall be sure to try, " Jem answered. She was going to ask someother question, but Baby stopped her. 

"Oh! I'm falling awake, " she whimpered, crossly, rubbing her eyes. "I'mfalling awake again. "

And then, suddenly, a very strange feeling came over Jem. Flora and thepretty room seemed to fade away, and, without being able to account forit at all, she found herself sitting on her little stool again, with abeautiful scarlet and gold book on her knee, and her mother standing bylaughing at her amazed face. As to Miss Baby, she was crying as hard asshe could in her crib. 

"Mother!" Jem cried out, "have you really come home so early as this, and--and, " rubbing her eyes in great amazement, "how did I come down?"

"Don't I look as if I was real?" said her mother, laughing and kissingher. "And doesn't your present look real? I don't know how you came down, I'm sure. Where have you been?"

Jem shook her head very mysteriously. She saw that her mother fancied shehad been asleep, but she herself knew better. 

"I know you wouldn't believe it was true if I told you, " she said;"I have been BEHIND THE WHITE BRICK. "