same reason. Lusmore helped them with the song because he thought they
might be the better for his help, and that was all the reason. And he
did it in a way that wouldn't disturb them. But the other did it only
to help himself, because he thought that he'ld get a great reward for
it, and he had no real wish to do them any kindness. Don't you see the
difference between the two of them?"
"Stuff!" said Terence.
[Illustration: ]
VIII
THE STARS IN THE WATER
This is to be another sort of chapter altogether. I am going to tell
you now what happened. The eighteen years are gone now and we have
come to the time when there is something to tell.
When those eighteen years began, you know, Kathleen and Terence were
not much more than born. So, if you have got as far as addition and
can add eighteen to nothing and find that it makes eighteen, you will
see that by this time they were about eighteen years old. John O'Brien
and his mother and Kathleen did not live on the east side of Central
Park any more. John had got on better and better with the work that he
was doing. After a while, instead of having to do work of common kinds
any more, he had been put in charge of other men who were doing it.
After another while he learned so much about the work and how it was
done and how it ought to be done, that he was made one of the partners
in the company that did it. So he got a good deal more money and he
was able to take his mother and Kathleen out of the little tenement
where she was born, and to live in a better place. Then he had a house
of his own, over on the west side of the Park, and it was there that
Kathleen lived when she was eighteen years old.
Peter had not got along so well. John himself employed him, but Peter
knew enough to go only just so far, and there he stuck. He lived in a
little better place than he did at first, but he could never make his
way like John. And then Terence, as he grew up, made a good deal of
trouble. He never would learn anything useful and he never would do
anything useful. He never helped his father at all, and always his
father had to help him. If there was any fight or any accident or
anything troublesome or wrong within a mile, Terence was always in the
midst of it. He was constantly getting his head and his ribs broken,
and Peter was always having to pay for other people's things that he
had broken, from their heads to their windows.
Ellen's excuse for him, that he was never well and had never been
quite himself since he was born, was pretty well worn out. For,
people said, he had always been exactly the same ever since he was
born, and if that same was not himself, who was it? But Ellen kept
saying it none the less. Many a time Mrs. O'Brien tried to make her
believe that the boy was a changeling, and not her child at all, and
many a time she begged Ellen to let her only try a charm to see if he
was, but Ellen never would hear of it. She always said what she had
said at first, that nobody knew him but her. She saw him better when
she dreamed about him, for then she saw him as he really was, without
all the harm that had been done to him by all the sickness that had
been on him one time and another.
You might suppose that anybody who could play the fiddle as well as
Terence need not have any trouble in making his own living. He might
have found a place in a theatre, like the man whose fiddle he had
played on first. He might have taught others to play. Or he might have
played all by himself, and hundreds of people would have paid to hear
him. But he would play only when he chose, and he would never do
anything useful with his fiddle. And everybody said he played so
wonderfully--everybody except Kathleen.
And this brings us back to Kathleen. Terence heard before he was many
years old something about the plan that Peter and John had made, that
he and Kathleen should be married when they grew up, if they both
liked the plan. He seemed to forget all about this last part, "if they
both liked the plan." He liked the plan himself and he seemed to think
that that was enough. He had talked about it to Kathleen many times,
before they were both eighteen years old, and it troubled Kathleen so
that she tried never to see Terence when she could possibly help it.
She had always disliked him, though she had always tried not to show
it; but as they got a little older and she found that there was no
other way to keep away from him at all, she had to tell him so.
But do you suppose that made any difference with Terence? Well, it did
make a difference with him, but he did not let anybody see that it
did. When Kathleen told him for the first time that she did not like
him at all, he went away by himself. He went straight to the hill that
is in the north end of the Park, and there he threw himself down on
his face on the grass. For hours he lay there, trembling and crying,
and beating the ground with his feet and his fists. And it would take
another book as large as this to tell all that he was saying to
himself or to the grass, or to something under the grass--how can I
tell? And you would not want to read the book. It is not likely that
you will ever see anybody in such a rage as he was in. But at the end
of it he stood up and looked just as he usually did, and went straight
to the O'Briens' and stayed all the evening and kept as near Kathleen
as he could, and stared at her all the time. And he talked to her then
and afterward, just as if she had told him that she liked him better
than anybody else that she knew.
So Kathleen had to go to her grandmother, as she always did when she
was in any trouble, and tell her all about it. And her grandmother
told her that she and Terence were both a good deal too young to think
of anything of the sort, and that she would do all that she could to
help her. But she could not do much. She told John about it, and he
said that he should be sorry if the plan that he and Peter had made
could not be carried out, but he would forbid it himself, as long as
Terence was so lazy and so worthless and so bad as he was now. When he
got a little older, he hoped that everything would be better, and
there was no hurry about anything.
And though Terence made her so much trouble, Kathleen had many other
things to think about. She went to school and learned a great deal,
and her grandmother taught her a great deal more. Her grandmother told
her stories still, and, though she was nearly eighteen and felt that
she was getting so dreadfully old, she still liked stories. Then she
had a good many friends, and she spent much of her time with them. She
visited Ellen often, too, going to see her at times when she thought
that Terence would not be at home. Ellen and Peter still lived on the
east side of the Park, and some of her friends lived there, too, so
that Kathleen often walked through the north end of the Park, near
that hill that I have told you about so many times before.
Kathleen was fond of this part of the Park, as everybody is who knows
it. But especially she was fond of one little spot that nobody else
seemed to notice much. So Kathleen got a feeling that this one place
belonged to her, and she was all the more fond of it because of that.
It was a tiny little basin of water, near the path, but up a grassy
bank. On the side toward the path it was all open, but on the other
side there were rocks, and out of a little cleft in the rocks ran a
bit of a stream of water that fed the little basin. Then, around the
rocks and over them there was more grass, and the hill rose at both
sides and above. On the edge of the hill, right over the basin, was a
pine-tree, and around it were other trees. Their branches came
together over the water and almost shut out the sky from it, but not
quite.
Every time that Kathleen passed it, she went up the bank and looked
into the still water. She had a feeling that if she ever went by and
did not do this the water would miss her and would feel hurt. When she
did this by daylight and in summer, if she stood up and looked into
the water, she could see a patch of branches and green leaves and blue
sky through them, about as big as the basin itself, and that was
scarcely larger than a fair-sized tub. But if she stooped down close
to the water and looked into it, she saw that there was a great deal
of sky under it, below the trees, which grew upside down. There was
almost as much sky under the water as she could see above it, and she
believed that there would prove to be quite as much if she could only
get her head where she could see it.
She used to look in at night sometimes, too, and try to see if there
were any stars in that sky; but in the summer she never could see any,
because the leaves on the trees were so thick that they almost hid the
sky, and they seemed to be thicker and to hide the sky more by night
than they did by day. In the winter it was different. Then there were
no leaves, but only branches and twigs, which covered the sky like
lace work, and through these Kathleen sometimes thought that she could
see a star or two in the water, but she was seldom quite sure. Yet she
never passed the place without looking in it, to see the green leaves
and the blue sky or the black leaves and the almost black sky, or the
stars, if she could find any.
* * * * *
On a certain day--the last day of April it was--there was a good deal
of excitement in the fairy palace under the hill. The reason of it was
that a new fairy had come to live there. Perhaps you never heard of a
baby fairy. I have read a good many stories about fairies that said
nothing about any such thing. Now, you needn't try to be so bright
about it and say that of course there must be baby fairies, or there
could not be any grown-up fairies. That isn't so at all. Fairies are
not like men about growing old and dying and other fairies taking
their places. I have heard of a fairy funeral, but I can't imagine how
it happened, and I think that the story about it must have been a
mistake. If you have read this book as far as here, you know that most
fairies are thousands of years old, and you know, too--for Naggeneen
has told you--what is likely to become of them in the end. Still,
there is no sort of doubt that now and then a new fairy is born, and
there was one born on this day. He was the son of the King and the
Queen, and you can guess well enough that a fairy prince is a person
of some consequence.
"What will we do at all for a nurse for the baby?" said the Queen.
"What will we do at all?" said the King.
"It never would do for me to have the care of him at the first," said
the Queen.
"Never a bit," said the King; "it would ruin him."
"How would it ruin him?" said the Queen.
"Never a know I know, no more nor you," said the King, "but you know
as well as I it would ruin him."
"Why can't I care for my own child?" said the Queen, "the same as a
human mother does?"
"I dunno," said the King, "only we know you can't. We've never dared
try, to see what would happen. He must have a human nurse. Maybe it's
something to do with them things Naggeneen was always talking about
our having no souls--"
"Don't be talking about Naggeneen," said the Queen, "and me not well
at all." Then she was silent for a little while and then she went on
talking about Naggeneen herself. "Are you sorry he left us?"
"Who?" said the King.
"Naggeneen," said the Queen.
"I'm not sorry," said the King. "We've more peace without him. Though
he was clever and he often told us the right thing to do and he might
tell us the right thing to do now."
"Did he tell us the right thing to do when he told us to bring Terence
here to learn the ways of men and to teach them to us?"
"Sure Terence is a good boy," said the King, "and he plays the fiddle
as well as Naggeneen himself, so we don't miss Naggeneen for the only
thing that he was good for. And Terence is easier to have about other
ways."
"But has he ever learned the ways of men and taught them to us?" the
Queen asked.
The King was getting annoyed. "He has learned them, I think," he said,
"but he has never taught them to us. And you know Naggeneen himself
said the plan would be no use."
"He did," said the Queen; "only you would try it. And just so all this
talk is no use. What will we do for a nurse for the baby?"
"We'll find one some way," the King answered. "Was you thinking of
anyone in particular?"
"I was not thinking of anyone in particular."
"How would Kathleen O'Brien do, do you think?" the King asked.
"I don't want to be troubling the O'Briens," the Queen said, "and they
always so kind to us."
"It would not be troubling them much; we'ld only keep her a little
while and they'ld hardly miss her."
"If she was once here," said the Queen, "some one of your men would
want to keep her, and it would break the heart of her grandmother. So
it would her father's, too, but I'm not thinking so much of him."
"We'll not keep her," said the King, "only as long as the child needs
her."
"You say that now," said the Queen; "it would be different if she was
once here--I'ld like to have her as well as anyone I know."
"We could find no one else so good," said the King. "It's May Eve, you
mind. There's no time when we have more power, and few when we have so
much. We'll all be dancing to-night, and Kathleen often passes along
just about dark. It's likely we could get her to dance with us, and
then we'ld be sure enough of her. If that fails, there's other ways.
Our power lasts till sunrise."
"And you think we'ld not be keeping her long?" said the Queen.
"We'ld have her home almost before she was missed," the King answered.
"I wouldn't mind if you tried," said the Queen.
Kathleen had been to visit Ellen. She was on her way home through the
Park, and she had meant to get there before dark, but it was a little
later than she had thought, and she saw the red in the sky before her
getting darker and duller every minute. As she walked along she saw
two other girls of about her own age, whom she knew, in front of her.
She overtook them and the three walked on together, though the others
could scarcely keep up, Kathleen hurried so.
When they were nearly through the Park they came to the little basin
where the water ran down out of the rock. Though she wanted to get
home so quickly, she could not pass this place without going up the
bank and looking into the water, because she felt so sure that if she
did not the water would miss her and feel hurt. She ran up the bank
and looked into the still little pool. The other girls went on, and
she heard one of them call after her: "Thought you were in a hurry!"
Kathleen did not mind them, but only looked into the water, which was
almost black, it was getting so dark all around. She had not seen the
water look so dark in a long time. She looked up over her head and she
saw that it was because the little new leaves had begun to come out on
the trees and were beginning to hide the sky. She saw one or two of
the brightest stars, that had already come out in the sky, and she
looked back into the water and tried to see them there, but she could
not find them. There was nothing but the little, still, black pool.
She went back to the path and ran on after the other girls. She saw
them walking on slowly, only a little way ahead of her. Just as she
had nearly come up with them she stood still to look at a wonderful
sight. She just thought dimly that it was strange that the other girls
were not watching it, too, but the sight itself excited her so that
she had not much time to think of that. On the grass, close beside the
path, there were ever so many boys and girls--at least she thought at
first that they were boys and girls--dancing. The grass in that place
sloped upward from the path, and the ground was a little hollowed, in
a sort of shell shape. All around the place, except where the path
was, trees and bushes hung over the grass. The buds were just opening
here, too, and the air was full of the smell of the new spring grass
and leaves, which always grows stronger in the evening.
Kathleen stood gazing at the boys and girls dancing. There were so
many of them that she could not count them. She thought that they
seemed to be a little younger and smaller than herself. The boys all
wore green jackets and red caps. When she looked at them more closely
she could not tell whether they were boys at all or not. They looked
more like old men. And she could scarcely believe that either, because
they danced so fast and seemed so lively. Her father could not dance
like that, she was sure, and he was not an old man.
But she had no doubt that the girls were girls. Usually she could not
tell a pretty girl from an ugly one, any more than any other girl can,
but she knew that these were pretty. Anybody would. They had long,
golden hair that hung all loose and free and came down to their knees,
when the little wind did not blow it away in some other direction.
They had deep, soft eyes. They were dressed in long, white gowns, so
white that they shone, now like a sheet of pale light and now with a
hundred little sparkles, as the water of the sea does sometimes, when
it is broken into foam by the prow of a ship. All the men carried
lanterns and all the girls had something that looked like long
flower-stems, only there were tiny lights on the ends of them, instead
of flowers. These and the lanterns did not seem to trouble them at all
in dancing, and if Kathleen had seen the lights and had not seen the
dancers, she would have thought that they were a swarm of fireflies.
She had scarcely stood there for a minute before one of the men came
up to her and asked her to dance with him. Kathleen's first thought
was that she ought to be afraid, and her second thought was that she
was not afraid a bit. She liked dancing and she had just been wishing
that she could dance with these boys and girls. Then she wondered if
it was quite right. Then she could not see what there could be wrong
about it. Then she let the little man take her hand and she stepped
off the path upon the grass and began to dance. She heard the other
girls calling to her again, farther up the path. She called back to
them: "I am coming in a minute! Wait for me!" And then she went on
dancing.
When she had been only looking on, the dancing had seemed to Kathleen
to be quite wonderful, but now she found that she could do it all
nearly as well as the little boys and girls. She thought that it might
be because the little old man was a better partner for dancing than
she had ever had before. They danced around by themselves, moving in
and out among the others, no matter how close together they were, and
always finding their way, now in the midst of the whole company and
now out beyond the very edge of it, and then suddenly all the dancers
would join hands and whirl about in a great circle, so fast that
Kathleen could not tell whether her feet were touching the ground at
all.
It seemed to her that she had never done anything so delightful
before. She did not think of going on with the other girls any more.
She did not think of getting home early, or of anything but the
dancing. She could not tell at all how long she had been dancing, but
it was all dark, except for the little lanterns and the little lights
on the flower-stems, and the stars were all out in the sky. And then
somebody said: "It is time to go."
The man who had been dancing with Kathleen whispered to her: "You are
to go with us."
And Kathleen thought of nothing but of going with the queer little old
men and the beautiful little girls. They all left the shell-shaped
grass-plot and moved along together--Kathleen could scarcely tell even
now whether her feet were on the ground or not--over the grass, till
they came to a little pool of water--Kathleen's own little pool.
She looked down into it, and there was no doubt about the stars now.
There were hundreds of them down under the water, shining up through
it from as far below, it seemed, as the stars in the sky were up
above. The dancers who came to it first stepped on the surface of the
pool, and it bore them up as if it had been a floor of glass. Then
Kathleen saw that the rocks behind the pool were not as she had ever
seen them before. There was an opening straight into the hill, and
when she came nearer still she saw that the water was no longer a
little pool. It was more like a long, narrow lake, and it covered the
bottom of the opening that led into the hill. All the people were
going in, walking along the path of water as easily as if it had been
a path of ice.
Again it seemed to Kathleen that she ought to be afraid, and again it
seemed to her, still more clearly, that she was not afraid. When she
came to the water she put her foot upon it and walked along it as
easily as the others were doing. She thought that she would remember
that this water could be walked on, and would try it the next day. She
had never thought of trying it before.
But now she and the others were moving along the path into the hill.
It was still dark, except for the lights that they carried and the
stars that shone up through the water. And these were not the
reflection of any stars in the sky, for there was no sky to be seen
over them now--only rocks. Then there was a pale violet light shining
on the walls of the passage ahead of them. Then, as Kathleen looked
down at the water again, to see if she were really walking on it, she
saw that there were no more stars, but the water was of a faint,
shining yellow, and in a moment she was not walking on water any more,
but on a floor, that seemed to her to be all of gold.
She could do nothing now but stand still and look around at the
wonderful sight. All around her were walls of silver, so bright that
they reflected everything in the great hall, and she could not tell at
all how large it was. But she made out that in the middle was a great
dome, held up by the most wonderful gleaming columns of gold and
silver, first a column of gold and then a column of silver, and these
she saw again and again in the walls all about. She could not see the
top of the dome from where she stood, it was so high, but all around
the sides of it she saw great diamonds and rubies and emeralds, some
of them as big as her head, that poured down soft white and red and
green lights, and these she saw, too, shining up, a little dimmer,
from the gold of the floor, which was almost as good a mirror as the
walls.
The sides of the dome, in which the jewels were set, were all of bands
and lines and ribbons of gold and silver, wonderfully woven together
into shapes and patterns which she could not follow or trace out with
her eyes, because they seemed to be always slowly moving--turning and
twisting and winding and wreathing about, never for a moment the same,
but always new and always beautiful. And when this was reflected in
the golden floor it was like the wavering shapes in water that is
almost still, but yet has little waves that dance and break up every
reflection that is seen in it.
And still, although she saw no lamps except the great white and red
and green gems, there came from somewhere--perhaps from the top of the
dome, she thought--that violet light that she had seen first on the
walls of the passage, and it filled the whole hall, like the glow of a
glorious sunset that never faded. And all this was inside a hill that
Kathleen had known all the years of her life, and she had never seen
anything wonderful about it.
* * * * *
While Kathleen is wondering at the fairy palace I will explain to you
the subject which you have been wondering about. If you only knew more
we could get on with the story so much faster. It is most annoying.
And you have been brought up so well too! I don't see that it is
anybody's fault but your own. You have been wondering all along how it
was that the fairies seemed to Kathleen to be, as I said, only a
little smaller than herself, when you have always heard that fairies
were so very little.
Well, to think of your not understanding that! I am bound to say that
when I was of your age I was just as ignorant about it as you are now,
but then, children now have a good many more advantages than they had
in my day. Considering how few advantages we had, it is a great credit
to people of my age that we know anything at all, and, considering how
many of them you have, it is a disgrace to you that you do not know
everything.