yellow heads in the sun, the Fairy said: “I must go home now. You have
been very good to me. You may have three wishes.” And she waved her
little wand and flew away.
[Illustration]
Now, the white rats had often longed to be free, to run about under
the haystacks, and bring up large lively families, like the brown farm
rats. So now they said—
“Oh! I wish we were out of the hutch!” And in a minute they found
themselves among the hayricks.
“Oh! how big and beautiful the world is,” they said.
And then a dreadful thing happened. A great brown rat jumped out at
them.
“Get along with you!” it said. “We don’t want any toy-rats here.” And
it showed its sharp teeth and looked so fierce that Mrs. Whiterat
trembled to the end of her grey tail, as she cried out—
“Oh! I wish we were safe in the hutch!” And the same instant, there
they were at home again.
And the third wish? Well, they haven’t made up their minds about that
yet. It gives them something to talk about in the winter evenings!
_E. Nesbit._
[Illustration]
THE FASHIONABLE FUR.
MR. and Mrs. Stoat lived with their children in a comfortable home.
They were very well off—they always had plenty to eat, and their fur
coats always fitted beautifully and were never shabby.
Every day, when Mrs. Stoat was busy with the house work, she used to
send the children out for a walk, and one day, when the children were
walking in the wood, they saw two ladies coming down the path.
The little Stoats hid in a hole in the mossy root of a tree, and as the
ladies went by, one of them said: “I wonder what fur will be worn next
winter?”
“They say,” answered the other lady, “that nothing will be worn
except-—-”
But the little Stoats could not hear what fur it was that was to be
worn next winter. They did not like to think of other people wearing
fur, for fear their own fur coats should be taken from them. “Oh! how
cold we should be without our coats!” they said, shivering; but then
the most sensible Stoat said: “It can’t matter to us what big people
wear! Our coats wouldn’t fit _them_, you know.”
But the smallest Stoat of all felt quite anxious to know what fur would
be worn, because she was a vain little person, and felt it would be
very sad if Stoat-fur coats were not the fashion.
So when she went home to dinner she asked Mrs. Stoat the question.
“Mother dear, you know everything. Do tell us what fur will be worn
next winter.”
[Illustration]
“Why, Stoat-fur, of course,” the Mother answered, laughing; “unless-—-”
She stopped short and looked at Mr. Stoat, who nodded and then they
both laughed, and everyone sat down to dinner. But that silly smallest
Stoat of all couldn’t sleep for thinking of that “unless.” What could
it mean but that perhaps some other fur would be worn? And then
_unfashionable_! It was a dreadful thought. Before morning she had made
up her mind to go out into the great world and find out what fur was to
be worn next winter. So she said nothing to anybody, but she started
off alone; and perhaps she would soon have seen how silly she was and
have come running back again, but, alas! she was caught in a trap,
and the keeper who caught her would have killed her, only his little
daughter begged so hard that the keeper agreed to spare the little
creature’s life. So the smallest Stoat of all was kept in a hutch.
[Illustration]
And there she stayed for weeks and weeks; and when it grew very cold
the hutch was put in the stable, so that she was always warm; but she
longed to get home again.
“I don’t think I should care about not being in the fashion,” she said
sadly to herself, “if only I could go back to my dear Mammy and the old
home!”
Now, one day two ladies took refuge from a snowstorm in the keeper’s
house, and as they passed the stable the smallest Stoat of all heard
one of them say: “You see, I was right. Nothing is being worn but
_ermine_!”
And the little person in the hutch recognised the voices of the two
ladies she had seen in the wood. So now she had found out the great
secret! And it so happened that the very next day someone left the door
of her hutch open, and she slipped out very cautiously, lifting up her
little head and turning it from side to side, and sniffing to make sure
that there was no danger near.
Then she started to run across the snowy fields to her old home. But as
she ran she heard feet behind her—and ran faster and faster—a little
brown streak on the snow. And the feet came faster too. They were a
dog’s feet—and she heard the dog’s quick breathing close behind her as
she rushed into the old home, and knew she was safe. As soon as she
had got over her fright enough to look about her, she received another
shock; she was in the midst of a number of strangers all dressed in
creamy white fur dresses who were only like her as to their neat black
tails.
“I’m sure I beg your pardon,” she said; “I thought this was the house
where my Father and Mother lived.”
“So it is,” cried the white furry people, laughing. “Don’t you know
us?” And then she saw that these were really her own relations, only
their dresses were new.
“We are wearing ermine now,” said Mrs. Stoat proudly.
“Oh, Mother, can’t I have an ermine dress too?” cried the youngest
Stoat of all. “Nothing is being worn but ermine. I heard them say so.”
“Something else is being worn by _you_, at any rate,” said Mrs. Stoat
sternly. “You’ve been living in some warm nasty place. If you’d stayed
here in the cold like a good little Stoat, instead of running away from
home, you would have had an ermine dress like everyone else.”
“Don’t you know, silly child,” said Mr. Stoat, “that we always get
ermine coats in very cold winters? Then dogs can’t see us so well in
the snow. It’s very cold still. If you try hard perhaps you can get an
ermine coat like the rest of us.”
But the smallest Stoat of all never got her ermine coat, for the spring
came quite soon, and there has not been a really hard winter since.
_E. Nesbit._
[Illustration]
NELL’S SECRET.
NELL had disappeared, and no one could find her anywhere. Poor Baby
cried till his pretty eyes were all swollen and red, for Nell was his
favourite playmate, and he missed her dreadfully.
“Never mind, old man,” said Mother, kissing him. “She’ll come back
again some day.” And so she did.
One day a little half-starved ragged-looking dog came creeping up to
the nursery, and Baby uttered a shout of joy. “Mamma, Mamma,” he cried,
“Nell’s come back.”
The good little dog licked Baby’s hands and face, and wagged her tail
by way of saying, “How are you, darling Babs, after all this long time?”
But, when Mother set a dish of food before her, she gobbled it up in no
time, and then, scarcely waiting to say “Thank you,” she ran out of
the nursery, downstairs, and after that no one knew what had become of
her, for she was lost again.
However, the next day she came back again, and the next, and the next,
and one fine morning she trotted up to the nursery, dragging with her
the sweetest little puppy you ever saw.
Poor doggie! she was very proud of her little son, but oh! so
frightened lest any harm should come to him.
Mother picked up the fat little fellow and put him on a chair, and then
lifted Baby up to look, and Nell jumped upon the chair beside her son,
and looked piteously up into Mother’s face.
“All right, old dog,” said Mother; “I wouldn’t harm your baby for
anything, because you are always so good to mine.” Nell understood in
a moment what Mother had said, jumped down from the chair, and ran
towards the door, whining and looking back.
[Illustration]
Mother knew she was meant to follow; so she and Baby went with the
little dog, who led them down the garden towards the stables, and
then up into the hayloft, and there, behind a large truss of hay,
they found four other dear little puppies, just like the one Nell had
brought to the nursery.
They carried them into the house, and Baby was allowed to keep one,
which he trained to become a very clever doggie, and the others were
sent to the Home Farm.
And why do you think Nell had kept her secret so well? She had been
afraid that someone would rob her of her darlings; so she had hidden
them up until they were old enough to trot about nicely, and were so
sweet and pretty that she was sure no one would have the heart to harm
them.
_L. L. Weedon._
[Illustration]
HIDE AND SEEK
HIDE-AND-SEEK is a jolly game when you play it out of doors and there
are a good many of you; but when you have to play it indoors and there
are only two of you, you have to make the dolls play too. Molly and I
used to each be captain of a side; she had nine dolls and I had only
seven; so our side had much more looking to do than hers.
One very snowy day, when we couldn’t play in the garden, we had tried
all the games we could think of, and Molly was getting crosser and
crosser because she could not draw Selina properly, when I said:
“Let’s play hide-and-seek.” Molly said: “All right, only I don’t know
where half my dolls are. You must lend me some of yours. I’ll have the
talking one and the one that shuts its eyes.”
I didn’t like this very much, but I gave in. “And our side will hide
first,” said Molly. I didn’t like that either, but I gave in again.
I said good-bye to my dear Rosalie and Selina, and handed them over to
Molly; then I turned my pinafore over my head and waited while she hid
them.
“Cuckoo! cuckoo!” cried Molly, as a signal that all were hidden.
I soon found Molly; she was behind the window curtain, and made it
stick out, of course; and I soon found her dolls and my Selina. Molly
had hidden her in the coal-scuttle, and though she had wrapped her
in a piece of paper, I didn’t think it was quite nice of her; but
I couldn’t find Rosalie, the squeaking doll, anywhere. I looked in
Nurse’s work-basket, I looked in the doll’s house, I looked everywhere
you could think of—_no_ Rosalie! Just then Molly had to go and have her
dress “tried on.”
Hide-and-seek is no fun by yourself, but I couldn’t bear to think of
Rosalie being hidden somewhere all alone, so I went on looking. It
was beginning to get dark, and Nurse had gone down to her tea, and I
felt very miserable and forsaken, when suddenly in the quiet Nursery I
heard Rosalie’s well-known squeak. The dear doll, she was calling to
me! The sound came from the chest-of-drawers. The drawers themselves
we were forbidden to open, but I pulled out Nurse’s work-drawer,
and there, lying on the cut-out flannel petticoats, was my precious
Rosalie. What I had so often wished had come true, no doubt. Rosalie
had squeaked by herself. If she could squeak she could talk, and what
interesting talks we should have! I told Nurse all about it when she
came up from her tea.
[Illustration]
“Bless you, my lambie,” she said; “dollies don’t squeak without
something to make them.”
She went to the work-drawer and pulled it open. Lying curled up at the
back was pussy.
“It was the cat you heard,” said Nurse; “or perhaps pussy sat on the
doll’s squeak.”
It was a dreadful blow, but after all, I don’t think I quite believed
that pussy had anything to do with it; and for a long time I used to
take Rosalie into quiet corners whilst Molly was busy making her dolls
new dresses, and beg her to squeak just a little for me, so that no one
else should hear; but she never did, so that perhaps Nurse _was_ right
after all.
_E. Nesbit._
[Illustration]
TWELFTH NIGHT FAIRY.
FAIRIES are all pretty, we know, but the Twelfth Night Fairy was
really lovely. She wore a white frock and a wreath of pink roses. She
had no shoes or stockings, and stood on the tip of one toe and waved
the other foot in the air. Teddy thought she was lovely, and he felt
hungry when he looked at her, although he had just eaten his supper
of bread-and-butter and milk. How he wished he were grown up instead
of being only five years old, so that he had to be sent to bed like a
baby, instead of sitting up for Mother’s party!
“I could eat her every bit; she’s only sugar,” said Teddy regretfully.
“Never mind, old man,” said Mother; “you shall have a nice slice of the
cake to-morrow.” So Teddy sighed deeply, mounted the nursery stairs,
and was soon far away in Dreamland.
But the Fairy went to Dreamland too. Teddy met her as soon as he
crossed the threshold, and she told him she had been running after him
ever since he left the supper-room.
“I wanted to tell you that I’m not sugar,” she said. “I’m a real live
Fairy. And, oh! please, _please_ don’t eat me! I heard your Mother say
that she would give me to you, because you had been a good boy and went
to bed without making a fuss.”
There were tears in the Fairy’s eyes, and she looked so piteously at
Teddy that he felt inclined to cry too.
“I won’t eat you, dear little thing!” he said, kissing her. “If Mother
gives you to me, I’ll keep you for ever and ever. But, oh dear! suppose
someone else should eat you before morning?”
This was a dreadful idea, and the Fairy began to sob outright, so
tender-hearted little Ted thought he would go at once and make his
Mother promise that she would not let anyone touch the poor little
pink-and-white Fairy.
It was not very far from Dreamland to the dining-room, and the little
boy soon stood by his Mother’s side, with the bright light from the
waxen candles shining upon his golden curls and lighting up his pretty
blue eyes. The room was quite full of people, but Teddy, who was a
shy boy generally, didn’t mind a bit. “Oh! Mother dear,” he cried
earnestly, “_promise_ that no one shall eat the little Fairy.”
[Illustration]
Mother picked him up and kissed him, and then someone put the
Fairy—who had followed him downstairs—into his hand, and in a moment
he was fast asleep.
When he awoke in the morning the first thing he saw was his little
friend, smiling at him from the top of the Nursery chest-of-drawers.
Teddy _was_ so glad she was safe and sound, and he wouldn’t have eaten
her for the world now, because, although she looked so sweet, he knew
she was not made of sugar.
He grew very fond of her and carried on long one-sided conversations
with her. She never answered him during the day, but at night she met
him very often in Dreamland, and danced with him, and sang him the
sweetest, quaintest songs, and Teddy says, when he’s a grown man, he’s
going to marry the pink-and-white Fairy.
_L. L. Weedon._
[Illustration]
THE PEN FAIRY
_THERE_ was once a Fairy who lived in the hollow part of a quill pen.
It was a very pretty palace for a fairy, with half-transparent walls.
And hers was a happy life. The only thing that troubled her was that
the man who used the pen only wrote logic and grammar and really
sensible things.
“Why can’t he write poetry and fairy stories?” she used to say. “Oh,
what beautiful things this dull man could write if he only knew that
there was a Fairy in his pen!”
So one day when the man who used the pen had gone to a dull lecture,
she wrote on the blotting-paper:—“_There is a fairy in your pen!_” “And
now,” she thought, “he will surely let me help him to write poetry and
fairy stories.”
But the stupid man thought the children had written the words on his
blotting-paper, so he sent them to bed, and the Fairy cried till the
ink was quite pale from having so many tears mixed with it.
[Illustration]
And the man, finding that his pen wrote worse and worse, threw it into
his waste-paper basket. His housekeeper picked it out. “I’ll mend this
pen,” she said, “and use it for my books.”
“Oh! now,” thought the Fairy, “someone really is going to write fairy
stories and poetry with me.”
But the housekeeper only used the pen for adding up the baker’s and
butcher’s bills, and the Fairy got very angry. So she left the quill
pen and came to live with me. And I try to be kind to her, and never
hurt her feelings by writing logic or grammar or anything really
sensible.
_E. Nesbit._
[Illustration]
THE LITTLE DANCING GIRL
THERE was once a little girl who was so fond of dancing that she never
did anything else.
She danced whilst she took her breakfast, so that her nice
bread-and-milk was spilt upon the ground; she danced on her way to
school, and was late in consequence; she danced when she took her
dinner, and dropped the soup down her pretty frock and spoilt it; and
even when she was tucked up in bed at night, her little feet kept
dancing up and down beneath the bed-clothes, and she dreamt that she
was treading a minuet with the King of the Fairies.
Now, of course this was very wrong indeed of the little girl. It is all
very well to dance at the proper time, but out of time and season, as
this little girl danced, it is a very bad thing indeed.
Her mother reasoned with her, coaxed her, scolded her; but it was all
of no use, for she danced the more.
[Illustration]
The little girl’s mother was very poor, and there were ever so many
little brothers and sisters who wanted taking care of, but she was too
selfish to think of anyone but herself; sometimes her mother would
ask her to take the baby and hush him to sleep, but she pouted and
grumbled and made a terrible fuss. If she did take him up in her arms
for a while, she kept dancing round the room with the poor sleepy
little fellow, till she wakened him up, and then he would scream and
cry, and would not be soothed till his mother took him again.
So you see, the foolish little girl was of no use to anyone.
One day when she was dancing to school as usual, she met an old woman
upon the way. And because she stood in the pathway and the dancing
maiden could not pass her easily, she danced across the old woman’s
toes.
Now, it happened that the old woman was a fairy, and she was so angry
and offended with the little girl that she determined to punish her.
“You shall have dancing enough to last you all the days of your
life,” she said, and with a wave of her wand, she turned her into a
chimney-cowl, which, as everyone knows, does nothing the livelong day
but whirl round and round till it almost makes one giddy to watch it.
And the next time you go out for a walk, you have only to look upwards
to where the chimneys grow, and you may see for yourself the little
dancing-girl, who was so rude as to tread upon the fairy’s toes, going
whirl, whirl! the whole day long, whether she will or no.
And the moral of this story is—“Don’t dance out of time and season, and
don’t tread upon old women’s toes, or there is no knowing but what you
may be turned into a chimney-cowl also.”
_L. L. Weedon._
[Illustration]
DOLLY’S VOYAGE.
IT’S a dreadful thing to be a doll, children are so inconsiderate. I
myself have lost an arm and a leg through their rough handling, and
once I trembled for the safety of my head. Master Johnny wanted to play
at Mary Queen of Scots being executed.
I was quite relieved when Dolly said that Mary Queen of Scots had been
very beautiful and that I could never be made to look like her; it was
not flattering, perhaps, but it was safe.
They gave up that idea and then Johnny said they would go out and fly
his parachute. I thought that now I should be left in peace for a
short time, but no! Johnny caught me up, tied a string round my waist
and fastened me to the end of the parachute, and then those two cruel
children climbed up to the top of the garden wall and dropped me over.
[Illustration]
It is not altogether unpleasant to sail through the air with a
parachute, but the bump when you reach the ground is terrible. I think
I must have fainted away, for I remember nothing more until I found
myself lying on a bed of violets with a tiny little creature sitting
beside me who asked me how I felt. The string which bound me to the
parachute had broken and I was free again, but I felt very stiff and
uncomfortable.
However, I managed to reply politely to the little elf’s question,
and having explained how I came to be lying there, on the wrong side
of the garden wall, I added that I trusted I should never have to go
back again. “What!” cried the elf, “you would really be contented to
remain here always?” I answered that I should, and he then ran off
and consulted with a group of elves who had been watching us from a
distance.
When he returned he told me that he and his companions had long been
wanting a queen, and seeing that I was so much larger and handsomer
than they, they had decided to offer me the crown.
Of course, I was obliged to hesitate for a short time—it isn’t good
manners to appear too eager about anything—but I meant to accept in
the end, and was just preparing a nice little speech, when I was
grabbed—yes, _grabbed_ by a dirty little hand and thrown over the wall,
where Dolly caught me. Of course it was Johnny—that boy always was the
bane of my life, and it was like him to spoil all my prospects.
However, Dolly was so glad to have me back again that I was a little
comforted, though I have never quite got over the shock of my voyage
over the garden wall.
_L. L. Weedon._
[Illustration]
THE LOVE MATCH.
YOU would never think, to see the Matches lying so quietly in their box
in the daytime, that they really have rather a pleasant life, and very
exciting adventures. But they do. Every night the Matches creep out of
their box and hide it, and put on pretty paper frocks and coats, and go
and dance with their friends. That is why you can hardly ever find a
match-box in the dark, and if you do it is almost always an empty one.
Well, at one of the Match parties a young wooden Match with a red head
fell in love with the sweetest little Princess of a Wax Match you ever
saw. She wore a white smooth frock, and her head was brown.
“How I love you!” said the Red-headed Match.
“And I you!” said the brown-headed little lady. “But they tell me your
box is in the kitchen. That is very low.”
“Never mind,” said the lover; “I will come and live with you.”
So when the party was over the two went to live in the mother-of-pearl
box in the drawing-room. And that was high life indeed.
But the Queen of the Wax Matches was very angry.
“She has married beneath her,” she cried; “off with her head!”
And sure enough at that moment the housemaid came to light the fire,
and she struck the little white Princess Match against the bar of the
grate, and her brown head fell off! The wooden Match did not want
to live now his lady was beheaded, so he pressed forward into the
housemaid’s hand—and she struck him and lit the fire with him; and what
was left of him fell beside his white lady. So the two faithful lovers
were buried together in the ashes.
_E. Nesbit._
[Illustration]
THE LITTLE GREEN MAN
_JUST_ as the Mother was going to make the tea, she heard a funny,
faint voice from the tea-pot, crying:
“Oh, please don’t scald me with the boiling water! Take me out! Take me
out!”
The Mother, greatly astonished, peeped into the tea-pot—it was one
which she had not used for some time—and saw there a queer little man,
dressed all in green, with a green cap upon his head.
“How did you get into my tea-pot?” asked she.
“A cruel Fairy put me here,” replied the little man; “please, oh,
_please_ take me out!”
The Mother took him out, and placed him upon the table. How delighted
the children were to see him trotting round and round, taking tiny sips
from their cups, and crumbs from their plates!
“Is it a doll, Muvver?” asked Baby.
“A doll, indeed!” exclaimed the little green man; “I am no _doll_! Did
you ever see a doll walk, or hear a doll talk? I am a _man_!” And he
stood on tip-toe and straightened himself up in such an amusing fashion
that all the children laughed.
When bed-time came, the little green man was put to bed in the doll’s
house. But early in the morning, Dora was awakened by something
tickling her nose. Opening her eyes, she saw the green man standing
upon her pillow.
“You darling!” said Dora; “you shall go into the garden with me, and
see my pretty white rabbits.”
Jumping out of bed, she dressed herself as quickly as possible; then,
with the little man standing on one hand, and some green food for her
pets in the other hand, she ran down the garden. When she got to the
hutch, she fed the rabbits with the nice, fresh, juicy cabbage-leaves,
while the little man looked on with much interest. The rabbits were
very hungry, and when they had eaten all the leaves, one of them made
a sudden snatch at the little green man, and ate _him_ up also. Being
rather short-sighted, it mistook the green man for a leaf.
Such was the sad fate of the little green man!
_E. Dyke._
[Illustration]
THE RUBBER FAIRY.
“THERE are no fairies, did you say? Why, whatever are we coming to?”
said Uncle James.
“But I’ve never seen one,” said Harry.
“I daresay not, but what do you suppose makes your ball bounce? Why,
the fairy inside it, to be sure.”