Once upon a time, two little Fairies went out into the world, to seek
their fortune. Thistledown was as gay and gallant a little Elf as ever
spread a wing. His purple mantle, and doublet of green, were
embroidered with the brightest threads, and the plume in his cap came
always from the wing of the gayest butterfly.
But he was not loved in Fairy-Land, for, like the flower whose name and
colors he wore, though fair to look upon, many were the little thorns
of cruelty and selfishness that lay concealed by his gay mantle. Many a
gentle flower and harmless bird died by his hand, for he cared for
himself alone, and whatever gave him pleasure must be his, though happy
hearts were rendered sad, and peaceful homes destroyed.
Such was Thistledown; but far different was his little friend,
Lily-Bell. Kind, compassionate, and loving, wherever her gentle face
was seen, joy and gratitude were found; no suffering flower or insect,
that did not love and bless the kindly Fairy; and thus all Elf-Land
looked upon her as a friend.
Nor did this make her vain and heedless of others; she humbly dwelt
among them, seeking to do all the good she might; and many a houseless
bird and hungry insect that Thistledown had harmed did she feed and
shelter, and in return no evil could befall her, for so many friends
were all about her, seeking to repay her tenderness and love by their
watchful care.
She would not now have left Fairy-Land, but to help and counsel her
wild companion, Thistledown, who, discontented with his quiet home,
WOULD seek his fortune in the great world, and she feared he would
suffer from his own faults for others would not always be as gentle and
forgiving as his kindred. So the kind little Fairy left her home and
friends to go with him; and thus, side by side, they flew beneath the
bright summer sky.
On and on, over hill and valley, they went, chasing the gay
butterflies, or listening to the bees, as they flew from flower to
flower like busy little housewives, singing as they worked; till at
last they reached a pleasant garden, filled with flowers and green, old
trees.
“See,” cried Thistledown, “what a lovely home is here; let us rest
among the cool leaves, and hear the flowers sing, for I am sadly tired
and hungry.”
So into the quiet garden they went, and the winds gayly welcomed them,
while the flowers nodded on their stems, offering their bright leaves
for the Elves to rest upon, and fresh, sweet honey to refresh them.
“Now, dear Thistle, do not harm these friendly blossoms,” said
Lily-Bell; “see how kindly they spread their leaves, and offer us their
dew. It would be very wrong in you to repay their care with cruelty and
pain. You will be tender for my sake, dear Thistle.”
Then she went among the flowers, and they bent lovingly before her, and
laid their soft leaves against her little face, that she might see how
glad they were to welcome one so good and gentle, and kindly offered
their dew and honey to the weary little Fairy, who sat among their
fragrant petals and looked smilingly on the happy blossoms, who, with
their soft, low voices, sang her to sleep.
While Lily-Bell lay dreaming among the rose-leaves, Thistledown went
wandering through the garden. First he robbed the bees of their honey,
and rudely shook the little flowers, that he might get the dew they had
gathered to bathe their buds in. Then he chased the bright winged
flies, and wounded them with the sharp thorn he carried for a sword; he
broke the spider’s shining webs, lamed the birds, and soon wherever he
passed lay wounded insects and drooping flowers; while the winds
carried the tidings over the garden, and bird and blossom looked upon
him as an evil spirit, and fled away or closed their leaves, lest he
should harm them.
Thus he went, leaving sorrow and pain behind him, till he came to the
roses where Lily-Bell lay sleeping. There, weary of his cruel sport, he
stayed to rest beneath a graceful rose-tree, where grew one blooming
flower and a tiny bud.
“Why are you so slow in blooming, little one? You are too old to be
rocked in your green cradle longer, and should be out among your sister
flowers,” said Thistle, as he lay idly in the shadow of the tree.
“My little bud is not yet strong enough to venture forth,” replied the
rose, as she bent fondly over it; “the sunlight and the rain would
blight her tender form, were she to blossom now, but soon she will be
fit to bear them; till then she is content to rest beside her mother,
and to wait.”
“You silly flower,” said Thistledown, “see how quickly I will make you
bloom! your waiting is all useless.” And speaking thus, he pulled
rudely apart the folded leaves, and laid them open to the sun and air;
while the rose mother implored the cruel Fairy to leave her little bud
untouched.
“It is my first, my only one,” said she, “and I have watched over it
with such care, hoping it would soon bloom beside me; and now you have
destroyed it. How could you harm the little helpless one, that never
did aught to injure you?” And while her tears fell like summer rain,
she drooped in grief above the little bud, and sadly watched it fading
in the sunlight; but Thistledown, heedless of the sorrow he had given,
spread his wings and flew away.
Soon the sky grew dark, and heavy drops began to fall. Then Thistle
hastened to the lily, for her cup was deep, and the white leaves fell
like curtains over the fragrant bed; he was a dainty little Elf, and
could not sleep among the clovers and bright buttercups. But when he
asked the flower to unfold her leaves and take him in, she turned her
pale, soft face away, and answered sadly, “I must shield my little
drooping sisters whom you have harmed, and cannot let you in.”
Then Thistledown was very angry, and turned to find shelter among the
stately roses; but they showed their sharp thorns, and, while their
rosy faces glowed with anger, told him to begone, or they would repay
him for the wrong he had done their gentle kindred.
He would have stayed to harm them, but the rain fell fast, and he
hurried away, saying, “The tulips will take me in, for I have praised
their beauty, and they are vain and foolish flowers.”
But when he came, all wet and cold, praying for shelter among their
thick leaves, they only laughed and said scornfully, “We know you, and
will not let you in, for you are false and cruel, and will only bring
us sorrow. You need not come to us for another mantle, when the rain
has spoilt your fine one; and do not stay here, or we will do you
harm.”
Then they waved their broad leaves stormily, and scattered the heavy
drops on his dripping garments.
“Now must I go to the humble daisies and blue violets,” said Thistle,
“they will be glad to let in so fine a Fairy, and I shall die in this
cold wind and rain.”
So away he flew, as fast as his heavy wings would bear him, to the
daisies; but they nodded their heads wisely, and closed their leaves
yet closer, saying sharply,—
“Go away with yourself, and do not imagine we will open our leaves to
you, and spoil our seeds by letting in the rain. It serves you rightly;
to gain our love and confidence, and repay it by such cruelty! You will
find no shelter here for one whose careless hand wounded our little
friend Violet, and broke the truest heart that ever beat in a flower’s
breast. We are very angry with you, wicked Fairy; go away and hide
yourself.”
“Ah,” cried the shivering Elf, “where can I find shelter? I will go to
the violets: they will forgive and take me in.”
But the daisies had spoken truly; the gentle little flower was dead,
and her blue-eyed sisters were weeping bitterly over her faded leaves.
“Now I have no friends,” sighed poor Thistledown, “and must die of
cold. Ah, if I had but minded Lily-Bell, I might now be dreaming
beneath some flower’s leaves.”
“Others can forgive and love, beside Lily-Bell and Violet,” said a
faint, sweet voice; “I have no little bud to shelter now, and you can
enter here.” It was the rose mother that spoke, and Thistle saw how
pale the bright leaves had grown, and how the slender stem was bowed.
Grieved, ashamed, and wondering at the flower’s forgiving words, he
laid his weary head on the bosom he had filled with sorrow, and the
fragrant leaves were folded carefully about him.
But he could find no rest. The rose strove to comfort him; but when she
fancied he was sleeping, thoughts of her lost bud stole in, and the
little heart beat so sadly where he lay, that no sleep came; while the
bitter tears he had caused to flow fell more coldly on him than the
rain without. Then he heard the other flowers whispering among
themselves of his cruelty, and the sorrow he had brought to their happy
home; and many wondered how the rose, who had suffered most, could yet
forgive and shelter him.
“Never could I forgive one who had robbed me of my children. I could
bow my head and die, but could give no happiness to one who had taken
all my own,” said Hyacinth, bending fondly over the little ones that
blossomed by her side.
“Dear Violet is not the only one who will leave us,” sobbed little
Mignonette; “the rose mother will fade like her little bud, and we
shall lose our gentlest teacher. Her last lesson is forgiveness; let us
show our love for her, and the gentle stranger Lily-Bell, by allowing
no unkind word or thought of him who has brought us all this grief.”
The angry words were hushed, and through the long night nothing was
heard but the dropping of the rain, and the low sighs of the rose.
Soon the sunlight came again, and with it Lily-Bell seeking for
Thistledown; but he was ashamed, and stole away.
When the flowers told their sorrow to kind-hearted Lily-Bell, she wept
bitterly at the pain her friend had given, and with loving words strove
to comfort those whom he had grieved; with gentle care she healed the
wounded birds, and watched above the flowers he had harmed, bringing
each day dew and sunlight to refresh and strengthen, till all were well
again; and though sorrowing for their dead friends, still they forgave
Thistle for the sake of her who had done so much for them. Thus,
erelong, buds fairer than that she had lost lay on the rose mother’s
breast, and for all she had suffered she was well repaid by the love of
Lily-Bell and her sister flowers.
And when bird, bee, and blossom were strong and fair again, the gentle
Fairy said farewell, and flew away to seek her friend, leaving behind
many grateful hearts, who owed their joy and life to her.
Meanwhile, over hill and dale went Thistledown, and for a time was kind
and gentle to every living thing. He missed sadly the little friend who
had left her happy home to watch over him, but he was too proud to own
his fault, and so went on, hoping she would find him.
One day he fell asleep, and when he woke the sun had set, and the dew
began to fall; the flower-cups were closed, and he had nowhere to go,
till a friendly little bee, belated by his heavy load of honey, bid the
weary Fairy come with him.
“Help me to bear my honey home, and you can stay with us tonight,” he
kindly said.
So Thistle gladly went with him, and soon they came to a pleasant
garden, where among the fairest flowers stood the hive, covered with
vines and overhung with blossoming trees. Glow-worms stood at the door
to light them home, and as they passed in, the Fairy thought how
charming it must be to dwell in such a lovely place. The floor of wax
was pure and white as marble, while the walls were formed of golden
honey-comb, and the air was fragrant with the breath of flowers.
“You cannot see our Queen to-night,” said the little bee, “but I will
show you to a bed where you can rest.”
And he led the tired Fairy to a little cell, where on a bed of
flower-leaves he folded his wings and fell asleep.
As the first ray of sunlight stole in, he was awakened by sweet music.
It was the morning song of the bees.
“Awake! awake! for the earliest gleam
Of golden sunlight shines
On the rippling waves, that brightly flow
Beneath the flowering vines.
Awake! awake! for the low, sweet chant
Of the wild-birds’ morning hymn
Comes floating by on the fragrant air,
Through the forest cool and dim;
Then spread each wing,
And work, and sing,
Through the long, bright sunny hours;
O’er the pleasant earth
We journey forth,
For a day among the flowers.
“Awake! awake! for the summer wind
Hath bidden the blossoms unclose,
Hath opened the violet’s soft blue eye,
And wakened the sleeping rose.
And lightly they wave on their slender stems
Fragrant, and fresh, and fair,
Waiting for us, as we singing come
To gather our honey-dew there.
Then spread each wing,
And work, and sing,
Through the long, bright sunny hours;
O’er the pleasant earth
We journey forth,
For a day among the flowers!”
Soon his friend came to bid him rise, as the Queen desired to speak
with him. So, with his purple mantle thrown gracefully over his
shoulder, and his little cap held respectfully in his hand, he followed
Nimble-Wing to the great hall, where the Queen was being served by her
little pages. Some bore her fresh dew and honey, some fanned her with
fragrant flower-leaves, while others scattered the sweetest perfumes on
the air.
“Little Fairy,” said the Queen, “you are welcome to my palace; and we
will gladly have you stay with us, if you will obey our laws. We do not
spend the pleasant summer days in idleness and pleasure, but each one
labors for the happiness and good of all. If our home is beautiful, we
have made it so by industry; and here, as one large, loving family, we
dwell; no sorrow, care, or discord can enter in, while all obey the
voice of her who seeks to be a wise and gentle Queen to them. If you
will stay with us, we will teach you many things. Order, patience,
industry, who can teach so well as they who are the emblems of these
virtues?
“Our laws are few and simple. You must each day gather your share of
honey, see that your cell is sweet and fresh, as you yourself must be;
rise with the sun, and with him to sleep. You must harm no flower in
doing your work, nor take more than your just share of honey; for they
so kindly give us food, it were most cruel to treat them with aught
save gentleness and gratitude. Now will you stay with us, and learn
what even mortals seek to know, that labor brings true happiness?”
And Thistle said he would stay and dwell with them; for he was tired of
wandering alone, and thought he might live here till Lily-Bell should
come, or till he was weary of the kind-hearted bees. Then they took
away his gay garments, and dressed him like themselves, in the black
velvet cloak with golden bands across his breast.
“Now come with us,” they said. So forth into the green fields they
went, and made their breakfast among the dewy flowers; and then till
the sun set they flew from bud to blossom, singing as they went; and
Thistle for a while was happier than when breaking flowers and harming
gentle birds.
But he soon grew tired of working all day in the sun, and longed to be
free again. He could find no pleasure with the industrious bees, and
sighed to be away with his idle friends, the butterflies; so while the
others worked he slept or played, and then, in haste to get his share,
he tore the flowers, and took all they had saved for their own food.
Nor was this all; he told such pleasant tales of the life he led before
he came to live with them, that many grew unhappy and discontented, and
they who had before wished no greater joy than the love and praise of
their kind Queen, now disobeyed and blamed her for all she had done for
them.
Long she bore with their unkind words and deeds; and when at length she
found it was the ungrateful Fairy who had wrought this trouble in her
quiet kingdom, she strove, with sweet, forgiving words, to show him all
the wrong he had done; but he would not listen, and still went on
destroying the happiness of those who had done so much for him.