before will hardly believe it. Sweet-One-Darling was lying in her
little cradle with her eyes wide open, and she was trying to make up
her mind whether she should go to sleep or keep awake. This is often a
hard matter for little people to determine. Sweet-One-Darling was
ready for sleep and dreams; she had on her nightgown and her nightcap,
and her mother had kissed her good-night. But the day had been so very
pleasant, with its sunshine and its play and its many other diversions,
that Sweet-One-Darling was quite unwilling to give it up. It was high
time for the little girl to be asleep; the robins had ceased their
evening song in the maple; a tree-toad croaked monotonously outside,
and a cricket was chirping certain confidences to the strange shadows
that crept furtively everywhere in the yard and garden. Some folk
believe that the cricket is in league with the Dream-Fairies; they say
that what sounds to us like a faint chirping merely is actually the
call of the cricket to the Dream-Fairies to let those pretty little
creatures know that it is time for them to come with their dreams. I
more than half believe this myself, for I have noticed that it is while
the cricket is chirping that the Dream-Fairies come with their
wonderful sights that seem oftentimes very real.
Sweet-One-Darling heard the voice of the cricket, and may be she knew
what it meant. There are a great many things which Sweet-One-Darling
knows all about but of which she says nothing to other people; although
she is only a year old, she is undoubtedly the most knowing little
person in all the world, and the fact that she is the most beautiful
and the most amiable of human beings is the reason why she is called by
that name of Sweet-One-Darling. May be--and it is quite likely
that--with all the other wonderful things she knew, Sweet-One-Darling
understood about the arrangement that existed between the cricket and
the Dream-Fairies. At any rate, just as soon as she heard that cricket
give its signal note she smiled a smile of gratification and looked
very wise, indeed--as much as to say: "The cricket and I know a thing
worth knowing."
Then, all of a sudden, there was a faint sound as of the rustle of
gossamer, silken wings, and the very next moment two of the cunningest
fairies you ever saw were standing upon the window-sill, just over the
honeysuckle. They had come from Somewhere, and it was evident that
they were searching for somebody, for they peered cautiously and
eagerly into the room. One was dressed in a bright yellow suit of
butterfly silk and the other wore a suit of dark-gray mothzine, which
(as perhaps you know) is a dainty fabric made of the fine strands which
gray moths spin. Each of these fairies was of the height of a small
cambric needle and both together would not have weighed much more than
the one-sixteenth part of four dewdrops. You will understand from this
that these fairies were as tiny creatures as could well be imagined.
"Sweet-One-Darling! oh, Sweet-One-Darling!" they cried softly. "Where
are you?"
Sweet-One-Darling pretended that she did not hear, and she cuddled down
close in her cradle and laughed heartily, all to herself. The
mischievous little thing knew well enough whom they were calling, and I
am sure she knew what they wanted. But she meant to fool them and hide
from them awhile--that is why she did not answer. But nobody can hide
from the Dream-Fairies, and least of all could Sweet-One-Darling hide
from them, for presently her laughter betrayed her and the two
Dream-Fairies perched on her cradle--one at each side--and looked
smilingly down upon her.
"Hullo!" said Sweet-One-Darling, for she saw that her hiding-place was
discovered. This was the first time I had ever heard her speak, and I
did not know till then that even wee little babies talk with fairies,
particularly Dream-Fairies.
"Hullo, Sweet-One-Darling!" said Gleam-o'-the-Murk, for that was the
name of the Dream-Fairy in the dark-gray mothzine.
"And hullo from me, too!" cried Frisk-and-Glitter, the other
visitor--the one in the butterfly-silk suit.
"You have come earlier than usual," suggested Sweet-One-Darling.
"No, indeed," answered Frisk-and-Glitter; "this is the accustomed hour,
but the day has been so happy that it has passed quickly. For that
reason you should be glad to see me, for I bring dreams of the day--the
beautiful golden day, with its benediction of sunlight, its grace of
warmth, and its wealth of mirth and play."
"And _I_," said Gleam-o'-the-Murk, "_I_ bring dreams, too. But _my_
dreams are of the night, and they are full of the gentle, soothing
music of the winds, of the pines, and of the crickets! and they are
full of fair visions in which you shall see the things of Fairyland and
of Dreamland and of all the mysterious countries that compose the vast
world of Somewhere away out beyond the silvery mist of Night."
"Dear me!" cried Sweet-One-Darling. "I should never be able to make a
choice between you two, for both of you are equally acceptable. I am
sure I should love to have the pleasant play of the daytime brought
back to me, and I am quite as sure that I want to see all the pretty
sights that are unfolded by the dreams which Gleam-o'-the-Murk brings."
Sweet-One-Darling was so distressed that her cunning little underlip
drooped and quivered perceptibly. She feared that her indecision would
forfeit her the friendship of both the Dream-Fairies.
"You have no need to feel troubled," said Frisk-and-Glitter, "for you
are not expected to make any choice between us. We have our own way of
determining the question, as you shall presently understand."
Then the Dream-Fairies explained that whenever they came of an evening
to bring their dreams to a little child they seated themselves on the
child's eyelids and tried to rock them down. Gleam-o'-the-Murk would
sit and rock upon one eyelid and Frisk-and-Glitter would sit and rock
on the other. If Gleam-o'-the-Murk's eyelid closed first the child
would dream the dreams Gleam-o'-the-Murk brought it; if
Frisk-and-Glitter's eyelid closed first, why, then, of course, the
child dreamt the dreams Frisk-and-Glitter brought. It would be hard to
conceive of an arrangement more amicable.
"But suppose," suggested Sweet-One-Darling, "suppose both eyelids close
at the same instant? Which one of you fairies has his own way, _then_?"
"Ah, in that event," said they, "neither of us wins, and, since neither
wins, the sleeper does not dream at all, but awakes next morning from a
sound, dreamless, refreshing sleep."
Sweet-One-Darling was not sure that she fancied this alternative, but
of course she could not help herself. So she let the two little
Dream-Fairies flutter across her shoulders and clamber up her cheeks to
their proper places upon her eyelids. Gracious! but how heavy they
seemed when they once stood on her eyelids! As I told you before their
actual combined weight hardly exceeded the sixteenth part of four
dewdrops, yet when they are perched on a little child's eyelids (tired
eyelids at that) it really seems sometimes as if they weighed a ton!
It was just all she could do to keep her eyelids open, yet
Sweet-One-Darling was determined to be strictly neutral. She loved
both the Dream-Fairies equally well, and she would not for all the
world have shown either one any partiality.
Well, there the two Dream-Fairies sat on Sweet-One-Darling's eyelids,
each one trying to rock his particular eyelid down; and each one sung
his little lullaby in the pipingest voice imaginable. I am not
positive, but as nearly as I can remember Frisk-and-Glitter's song ran
in this wise:
Dream, dream, dream
Of meadow, wood, and stream;
Of bird and bee,
Of flower and tree,
All under the noonday gleam;
Of the song and play
Of mirthful day--
Dream, dream, dream!
This was very soothing, as you would suppose. While Frisk-and-Glitter
sung it Sweet-One-Darling's eyelid drooped and drooped and drooped
until, goodness me! it seemed actually closed. But at the critical
moment, the other Dream-Fairy, Gleam-o'-the-Murk, would pipe up his
song somewhat in this fashion:
Dream, dream, dream
Of glamour, glint, and gleam;
Of the hushaby things
The night wind sings
To the moon and the stars abeam;
Of whimsical sights
In the land o' sprites
Dream, dream, dream!
Under the spell of this pretty lullaby, the other eyelid would speedily
overtake the first and so for a goodly time there was actually no such
thing even as guessing which of those two eyelids would close sooner
than the other. It was the most exciting contest (for an amicable one)
I ever saw. As for Sweet-One-Darling, she seemed to be lost presently
in the magic of the Dream-Fairies, and although she has never said a
word about it to me I am quite sure that, while her dear eyelids
drooped and drooped and drooped to the rocking and the singing of the
Dream-Fairies, it was her lot to enjoy a confusion of all those
precious things promised by her two fairy visitors. Yes, I am sure
that from under her drooping eyelids she beheld the scenes of the
mirthful day intermingled with peeps of fairyland, and that she heard
(or seemed to hear) the music of dreamland harmonizing with the more
familiar sounds of this world of ours. And when at last she was fast
asleep I could not say for certain which of her eyelids had closed
first, so simultaneous was the downfall of her long dark lashes upon
her flushed cheeks. I meant to have asked the Dream-Fairies about it,
but before I could do so they whisked out of the window and away with
their dreams to a very sleepy little boy who was waiting for them
somewhere in the neighborhood. So you see I am unable to tell you
which of the Dream-Fairies won; maybe neither did; may be
Sweet-One-Darling's sleep that night was dreamless. I have questioned
her about it and she will not answer me.
This is all of the wonderful tale I had to tell. May be it will not
seem so wonderful to you, for perhaps you, too, have felt the
Dream-Fairies rocking your eyelids down with gentle lullaby music;
perhaps you, too, know all the precious dreams they bring. In that
case you will bear witness that my tale, even though it be not
wonderful, is strictly true.
SWEET-ONE-DARLING AND THE MOON-GARDEN
One time Sweet-One-Darling heard her brother, little Our-Golden-Son,
talking with the nurse. The nurse was a very wise woman and they called
her Good-Old-Soul, because she was so kind to children. Little
Our-Golden-Son was very knowing for a little boy only two years old, but
there were several things he did not know about and one of these things
troubled him a good deal and he went to the wise nurse to find out all
about it.
"Tell me, Good-Old-Soul," said he, "where did I come from?"
Good-Old-Soul thought this a very natural question for little
Our-Golden-Son to ask, for he was a precocious boy and was going to be a
great man some time.
"I asked your mother that very question the other day," said
Good-Old-Soul, "and what do you think she told me? She told me that the
Doctor-Man brought you! She told me that one night she was wishing all
to herself that she had a little boy with light golden hair and dark
golden eyes. 'If I had such a little boy,' said she, 'I should call him
Our-Golden-Son.' While she was talking this way to herself, rap-tap-rap
came a knock at the door. 'Who is there?' asked your mother. 'I am the
Doctor-Man,' said the person outside, 'and I have brought something for
you.' Then the Doctor-Man came in and he carried a box in one hand. 'I
wonder what can be in the box!' thought your mother. Now what do you
suppose it was?"
"Bananas?" said little Our-Golden-Son.
"No, no," answered Good-Old-Soul, "it was nothing to eat; it was the
cutest, prettiest little baby boy you ever saw! Oh, how glad your mother
was, and what made her particularly happy was this: The little baby boy
had light golden hair and dark golden eyes! 'Did you really bring this
precious little boy for me?' asked your mother. 'Indeed I did,' said the
Doctor-Man, and he lifted the little creature out of the box and laid him
very tenderly in your mother's arms. That 's how you came, little
Our-Golden-Son, and it was very good of the Doctor-Man to bring you, was
n't it?"
Little Our-Golden-Son was much pleased with this explanation. As for
Sweet-One-Darling, she was hardly satisfied with what the nurse had told.
So that night when the fairies--the Dream-Fairies--came, she repeated the
nurse's words to them.
"What _I_ want to know," said Sweet-One-Darling, "is this: Where did the
Doctor-Man get little Our-Golden Son? I don't doubt the truth of what
Good-Old-Soul says, but Good-Old-Soul does n't tell how the Doctor-Man
came to have little Our-Golden-Son in the box. How did little
Our-Golden-Son happen to be in the box? Where did he come from before he
got into the box?"
"That is easy enough to answer," said Gleam-o'-the-Murk. "We
Dream-Fairies know all about it. Before he got into the Doctor-Man's box
little Our-Golden-Son lived in the Moon. That's where all little babies
live before the Doctor-Man brings them."
"Did I live there before the Doctor-Man brought me?" asked
Sweet-One-Darling.
"Of course you did," said Gleam-o'-the-Murk. "I saw you there a long,
long time before the Doctor-Man brought you."
"But I thought that the Moon was a big, round soda-cracker," said
Sweet-One-Darling.
That made the Dream-Fairies laugh. They assured Sweet-One-Darling that
the Moon was not a soda-cracker, but a beautiful round piece of silver
way, way up in the sky, and that the stars were little Moons, bearing the
same relationship (in point of size) to the old mother Moon that a dime
does to a big silver dollar.
"And how big is the Moon?" asked Sweet-One-Darling. "Is it as big as
this room?"
"Oh, very, very much bigger," said the Dream-Fairies.
"I guess it must be as big as a house," suggested Sweet-One-Darling.
"Bigger than a house," answered Gleam-o'-the-Murk.
"Oh, my!" exclaimed Sweet-One-Darling, and she began to suspect that the
Dream-Fairies were fooling her.
But that night the Dream-Fairies took Sweet-One-Darling with them to the
Moon! You don't believe it, eh? Well, you wait until you 've heard all
about it, and then, may be, you not only will believe it, but will want
to go there, too.
The Dream-Fairies lifted Sweet-One-Darling carefully out of her cradle;
then their wings went "whir-r-r, whir-r-r"--you 've heard a green fly
buzzing against a window-pane, have n't you? That was the kind of
whirring noise the Dream-Fairies' wings made, with the pleasing
difference that the Dream-Fairies' wings produced a soft, soothing music.
The cricket under the honeysuckle by the window heard this music and saw
the Dream-Fairies carrying Sweet-One-Darling away. "Be sure to bring her
back again," said the cricket, for he was a sociable little fellow and
was very fond of little children.
You can depend upon it that Sweet-One-Darling had a delightful time
riding through the cool night air in the arms of those Dream-Fairies; it
was a good deal like being a bird, only the Dream-Fairies flew very much
faster than any bird can fly. As they sped along they told
Sweet-One-Darling all about the wonderful things they saw and everything
was new to Sweet-One-Darling, for she had never made any journeys before
except in the little basket-carriage which Good-Old-Soul, her nurse,
propelled every sunny morning up and down the street. Pretty soon they
came to a beautiful river, which looked as if it were molten silver; but
it was n't molten silver; it was a river of moonbeams.
"We will take a sail now," said Gleam-o'-the-Murk. "This river leads
straight to the Moon, and it is well worth navigating."
So they all got into a boat that had a sail made out of ten thousand and
ten baby-spiders' webs, and away they sailed as merrily as you please.
Sweet-One-Darling put her feet over the side of the boat and tried to
trail them in the river, but the moonbeams tickled her so that she could
n't stand it very long. And what do you think? When she pulled her feet
back into the boat she found them covered with dimples. She did n't know
what to make of these phenomena until the Dream-Fairies explained to her
that a dimple always remains where a moonbeam tickles a little child. A
dimple on the foot is a sure sign that one has been trailing in that
beautiful silver river that leads to the Moon.
By and by they got to the Moon. I can't begin to tell you how large it
was; you 'd not believe me if I did.
"This is very lovely," said Sweet-One-Darling, "but where are the little
babies?"
"Surely you did n't suppose you 'd find any babies here!" exclaimed the
Dream-Fairies. "Why, in all this bright light the babies would never,
never go to sleep! Oh, no; we 'll have to look for the babies on the
other side of the Moon."
"Of course we shall," said Sweet-One-Darling. "I might have guessed as
much if I 'd only stopped to think."
The Dream-Fairies showed Sweet-One-Darling how to get to the edge of the
Moon, and when she had crawled there she held on to the edge very fast
and peeped over as cautiously as if she had been a timid little mouse
instead of the bravest Sweet-One-Darling in all the world. She was very
cautious and quiet, because the Dream-Fairies had told her that she must
be very sure not to awaken any of the little babies, for there are no
Mothers up there on the other side of the Moon, and if by any chance a
little baby is awakened--why, as you would easily suppose, the
consequences are exceedingly embarrassing.
"Can you see anything?" asked the Dream-Fairies of Sweet-One-Darling as
she clung to the edge of the Moon and peeped over.
"I should say I did!" exclaimed Sweet-One-Darling. "I never supposed
there could be so beautiful a place. I see a large, fair garden, filled
with shrubbery and flowers; there are fountains and velvety hillocks and
silver lakes and embowered nooks. A soft, dim, golden light broods over
the quiet spot."
"Yes, that is the light which shines through the Moon from the bright
side; but it is very faint," said the Dream-Fairies.
"And I see the little babies asleep," continued Sweet-One-Darling. "They
are lying in the embowered nooks, near the fountains, upon the velvety
hillocks, amid the flowers, under the trees, and upon the broad leaves of
the lilies in the silver lakes. How cunning and plump and sweet they
are--I must take some of them back with me!"
If they had not been afraid of waking the babies the Dream-Fairies would
have laughed uproariously at this suggestion. Just fancy
Sweet-One-Darling, a baby herself, undertaking the care of a lot of other
little babies fresh from the garden on the other side of the Moon!
"I wonder how they all came here in this Moon-Garden?" asked
Sweet-One-Darling. And the Dream-Fairies told her.
They explained that whenever a mother upon earth asked for a little baby
of her own her prayer floated up and up--many leagues up--and was borne
to the other side of the Moon, where it fell and rested upon a lily leaf
or upon a bank of flowers in that beautiful garden. And resting there
the prayer presently grew and grew until it became a cunning little baby!
So when the Doctor-Man came with his box the baby was awaiting him, and
he had only to carry the precious little thing to the Mother and give her
prayer back to her to keep and to love always. There are so very many of
these tiny babies in the Moon-Garden that sometimes--he does n't do it of
purpose--but sometimes the Doctor-Man brings the baby to the wrong
mother, and that makes the real mother, who prayed for the baby, feel
very, very badly.
Well, I actually believe that Sweet-One-Darling would gladly have spent
the rest of her life clinging to the edge of the Moon and peeping over at
the babies in that beautiful garden. But the Dream-Fairies agreed that
this would never do at all. They finally got Sweet-One-Darling away by
promising to stop on their journey home to replenish her nursing bottle
at the Milky Way, which, as perhaps you know, is a marvellous lacteal
ocean in the very midst of the sky. This beverage had so peculiar and so
soothing a charm that presently Sweet-One-Darling went sound asleep, and
when she woke up--goodness me! it was late in the morning, and her
brother, little Our-Golden-Son, was standing by her cradle, wondering why
she did n't wake up to look at his beautiful new toy elephant.
Sweet-One-Darling told Good-Old-Soul and little Our-Golden-Son all about
the garden on the other side of the Moon.
"I am sure it is true," said Good-Old-Soul. "And now that I come to
think of it, that is the reason why the Moon always turns her bright side
toward our earth! If the other side were turned this way the light of
the sun and the noise we make would surely awaken and frighten those poor
little babies!"
Little Our-Golden-Son believed the story, too. And if Good-Old-Soul and
little Our-Golden-Son believed it, why should n't you? If it were not
true how could I have known all about it and told it to you?
SAMUEL COWLES AND HIS HORSE ROYAL
The day on which I was twelve years old my father said to me: "Samuel,
walk down the lane with me to the pasture-lot; I want to show you
something." Never suspicioning anything, I trudged along with father,
and what should I find in the pasture lot but the cunningest,
prettiest, liveliest colt a boy ever clapped eyes on!
"That is my birthday present to you," said father. "Yes, Samuel, I
give the colt to you to do with as you like, for you 've been a good
boy and have done well at school."
You can easily understand that my boyish heart overflowed with pride
and joy and gratitude. A great many years have elapsed since that
time, but I have n't forgotten and I never shall forget the delight of
that moment, when I realized that I had a colt of my own--a real, live
colt, and a Morgan colt, at that!
"How old is he, father?" I asked.
"A week old, come to-morrow," said father.
"Has Judge Phipps seen him yet?" I asked.
"No; nobody has seen him but you and me and the hired man."
Judge Phipps was the justice of the peace. I had a profound respect
for him, for what he did n't know about horses was n't worth knowing; I
was sure of this, because the judge himself told me so. One of the
first duties to which I applied myself was to go and get the judge and
show him the colt. The judge praised the pretty creature inordinately,
enumerating all his admirable points and predicting a famous career for
him. The judge even went so far as to express the conviction that in
due time my colt would win "imperishable renown and immortal laurels as
a competitor at the meetings of the Hampshire County Trotting
Association," of which association the judge was the president, much to
the scandal of his estimable wife, who viewed with pious horror her
husband's connection with the race-track.
"What do you think I ought to name my colt?" I asked of the judge.
"When I was about your age," the judge answered, "I had a colt and I
named him Royal. He won all the premiums at the county fair before he
was six year old."
That was quite enough for me. To my thinking every utterance of the
judge's was ex cathedra; moreover, in my boyish exuberance, I fancied
that this name would start my colt auspiciously upon a famous career; I
began at once to think and to speak of him as the prospective winner of
countless honors.
From the moment when I first set eyes on Royal I was his stanch friend;
even now, after the lapse of years, I cannot think of my old companion
without feeling here in my breast a sense of gratitude that that
honest, patient, loyal friend entered so largely into my earlier life.
Twice a day I used to trudge down the lane to the pasture-lot to look
at the colt, and invariably I was accompanied by a troop of boy
acquaintances who heartily envied me my good luck, and who regaled me
constantly with suggestions of what they would do if Royal were their
colt. Royal soon became friendly with us all, and he would respond to
my call, whinnying to me as I came down the lane, as much as to say:
"Good morning to you, little master! I hope you are coming to have a
romp with me." And, gracious! how he would curve his tail and throw up
his head and gather his short body together and trot around the
pasture-lot on those long legs of his! He enjoyed life, Royal did, as
much as we boys enjoyed it.