By Abbie Farwell Brown
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BOSTON AND NEW YORK
THE STAR JEWELS AND OTHER
WONDERS
[Illustration: WAVILOCKS AND THE CRAB (Page 10)]
THE STAR JEWELS
AND OTHER WONDERS
BY
ABBIE FARWELL
BROWN
PICTURES BY ETHEL C. BROWN
[Illustration]
BOSTON AND NEW YORK
HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY
The Riverside Press, Cambridge
1905
COPYRIGHT 1905 BY ABBIE FARWELL BROWN
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
_Published September 1905_
_To the Mermaid of the Pink Grotto_
Thanks are due to the publishers of _The Churchman_ for permission
to reprint “The Star Jewels,” “The Balloon Boy,” “Trees,” and “Child
or Fairy;” to _The Interior_ for “Karl and the Dryad;” and to _The
Congregationalist_ for “The Green Cap.”
“Why nature loves the number five,
And why the star-form she repeats.”
FORE-WORD
In the land of Far-away,
In the time of Used-to-be,
Wonders happened, so folk say,
Which we all should like to see.
But perhaps, if we knew how,
In the pleasant land of Here,
In the lovely time of Now,
We could witness sights as queer.
Oh, for Faith without an end,
And the blessed eyes to see!
Let us beg the Fairies send
Such a gift to You and Me.
CONTENTS
_Stories_
PAGE
THE STAR JEWELS 1
THE BALLOON BOY 23
THE GREEN CAP 41
KARL AND THE DRYAD 65
THE INDIAN FAIRY 95
_Rhymes_
FOREWORD ix
OCEAN WONDERS 21
BALLOONS 40
CHILD OR FAIRY 64
TREES 93
FAIRIES 134
_Pictures_
WAVILOCKS AND THE CRAB _Frontispiece_
THE LITTLE MAN 31
THE OLD WOMAN IS SURPRISED 55
KARL AND THE DRYAD 73
ROB AND THE INDIAN FAIRY 131
THE STAR JEWELS
[Illustration]
THE STAR JEWELS
Once upon a time there was a little mermaid who lived down at the
bottom of the sea in a cave of pink coral. Her cheeks were as pink
as the coral itself; her teeth were like a row of the pearls which
hung around her neck; and her hair--which was very long and wavy--was
as green as the greenest seaweed you ever saw. And though green hair
sounds strange to us, it was accounted a mermaid’s greatest beauty.
Her name was Wavilocks. Also she had instead of two rosy feet a funny
little scaly tail with which she steered herself through the water. She
was a famous swimmer.
Wavilocks was a pretty little mermaid, and old Triton, her father,
doted upon her and spoiled her, as foolish papas sometimes do. He gave
his little daughter everything that she wanted,--everything in the
wide ocean which a sea-child could wish. She had her own little coral
playroom, with its toys of shell and sponge; and her pets among the
fishes and curious ocean creatures. She had a living flower-garden
of beautiful sea anemones, pink and purple, yellow and red. She had
a little chariot all her own, in which to ride about the sea, like
the grown-up ocean folk. It was of pinky, pearl-lined shell, most
beautiful, and it was drawn by a span of sea-horses, the sweetest
little fellows in the whole kingdom of Neptune.
She had also the prettiest things for her toilet,--golden combs, with
which to comb her long green hair, mirrors of polished pearl, and
fans of coral, scarves of silky seaweed, and ornaments of shell. But
the thing of which she was most proud was the beautiful necklace of
pearls which her father had given her. All the mermaids wore lovely
necklaces, but Wavilocks had the most beautiful of any. Old Triton,
who knew every cave and corner of the sea, had scoured and scraped the
ocean treasuries to find the finest pearls for his little daughter.
She wore always about her neck a long rope of them, wound around and
around, such as the Sea Queen herself could not match. Some of the
pearls were as big as kernels of corn; some were as big as grapes; and
a few were like hen’s eggs, as large and smooth, and twice as white as
the whitest. Nobody ever saw such pearls as Wavilocks wore about her
neck every day of her life. The sea-mothers found fault with doting old
Triton, and said he had no business to let a little mermaid wear such
gorgeous jewels. But when he told Wavilocks of this, she chuckled and
said that they were jealous because they had no such jewels themselves.
She may have been partly right about this, but they were right too in
what they said.
Now you would think that Wavilocks must have been contented and happy
in her lovely home, where she had everything that a little mermaid
could wish. And she was happy so long as she could have her own way.
But there came a time when she could not have her own way, and then she
grew sulky and discontented. For days and days she moped in her coral
playroom, and nothing that poor old Triton could do made her smile.
What do you suppose she wanted? She had happened to sit up one night
later than a little young mermaid should, and she had seen the diamond
stars twinkling in the sky. She wanted them for a necklace! She
declared that she _must_ have them for a necklace. She was tired of her
beautiful rope of pearls, and vowed that she would not wear it any more
unless she could have the starry one to wear with it. This made poor
Triton very unhappy, for he had taken great pride in his beautiful gift
to his little daughter, but now she cared nothing at all for it, and
demanded something which he could not give her.
The naughty little mermaid teased and wept and refused to be good. “I
shall cry always, always, until I have those lovely stars. Boo-hoo!”
she sobbed. Her father was at his wit’s end. He worried and worried
because it would be dreadful to have Wavilocks always crying for
something which he could not give her. He worried until his green hair
began to turn white, and his poor old eyes looked as wild as those of a
cuttle-fish. Then he said to himself:
“I will go to King Neptune and see whether he can help me or no.
Perhaps he will tell me how I can get the stars from the sky for
Wavilocks, for I am sure I do not know.”
That very night Triton went to the King’s beautiful palace in the
deepest, greenest part of the sea, and told him how his little daughter
needed a starry necklace which he could not get for her. And he begged
the Sea King to tell him what must be done. But Neptune looked very
stern.
“Tell your child,” he said, pulling his sea-green beard, which waved to
and fro in the water, “tell her that she is an ungrateful daughter, and
that I forbid her to think any longer of the far-off jewels. Already
she has the most beautiful necklace in the sea,--such a one as not
even my Queen can match. A starry necklace is fit only for the Sky
Queen to wear. No other may possess those wonderful jewels. There are
fair enough gems in the sea for any mermaid’s use. If she cannot be
content with them she shall be punished.”
Old Triton was alarmed at these words, for he could not bear to think
of his dear daughter being punished. Very sadly he went home, and very
sadly he told Wavilocks what the King had said.
“He does not wish me to have the starry necklace, because the Queen has
none,” pouted the naughty little mermaid. “But I must have it, I _will_
have it, or I shall cry always and always.”
Instead of spanking her, as he should have done, Triton only shook his
head and said sadly,--
“I would gladly give it to you if I might, dear daughter. But the King
has spoken. The stars are not for you; you must not even think of them
again. Never go out when they are shining in the sky. Be a good girl,
and to-morrow I will bring you a beautiful new coral belt, such as no
mermaid ever before wore.”
But Wavilocks sulked and sniffed and declared that she did not want
a coral belt, and she would not kiss her kind father good-night. He
sighed and went away, poor merman, to his thinking-place in a rocky
cavern.
Now there was one creature who had overheard the talk between Wavilocks
and her father, and his little eyes gleamed wickedly at mention of the
starry necklace. The Crab was the most evil of all the sea-creatures,
and old Triton had forbidden Wavilocks ever to play with him or
listen to his words. The sea-folk hated the Crab because of his
mischievousness and because of his wicked history. He had not always
been the sneaking nuisance of the sea. Once, long before, he had lived
in the sky. He was a cousin of the great Sky Crab, the guardian of
the star jewels, and once he too had helped to take care of them. But
because he had tried to steal a few for his own use, the big Sky Crab
had indignantly cast him out of heaven, down to the lowest depths of
the sea. Oh, yes, the Crab knew all about the stars which Wavilocks so
longed to own!
Wavilocks had never been told this story, but she knew that she must
never have anything to do with the ugly, crawling fellow. And so, when
she heard his harsh voice close beside her cradle, she ought not to
have listened.
“Hist!” said the voice. “Hist!”
Wavilocks knew who it was, and she knew that sly whisper meant
mischief. She herself was feeling very naughty.
“What is it, Crab?” she whispered.
“I have accidentally overheard what you were saying to Master Triton,”
he hissed, “and I do not blame you at all. The King is wrong. You,
fairest Mermaid, ought to wear the starry necklace,--it is your right.
The jewels are said to be even more beautiful when closely seen. But
they are hardly fair enough for you!”
So spoke the wicked old Crab with a flattering tongue. Wavilocks was
pleased. “I should like to see them closely,” she said.
“One could climb up there, I think,” said the Crab slyly.
“Oh, how? Tell me how it can be done, dear Crab?” cried Wavilocks
eagerly. The Crab winked one eye.
“There is a silver staircase that leads up to the moon. Sometimes one
can see it, sometimes not. To-night it is very bright. The moon is a
round silver doorway through which streams light, and beyond it is a
beautiful land where my cousin, the Sky Crab, lives and has charge of
the star jewels. I have always wanted to go up there and see him, but I
do not care to go alone. If I could find some one to go with me--” The
Crab stopped and sighed.
“Oh, how I should like to go with you, Crab!” exclaimed Wavilocks,
sitting up on the edge of her cradle. “But my father and the King have
forbidden me even to think of the starry jewels.”
“Nonsense!” whispered the Crab. “Come with me to-night, and for my
sake my cousin will give you all the stars you wish.”
“Oh, I dare not go!” sighed Wavilocks. “The King will punish me for
disobeying him.”
“Pooh!” snorted the Crab. “He would never know. Let us go this very
night. I long to see my dear cousin. I can scarcely wait another
minute!” (What a wicked story that was!)
Wavilocks slipped out of her cradle. “I can hardly wait another minute
to have those star jewels!” she cried. “Yes, I will go. Come then, wise
Crab, and show me the way.”
“I will take you upon my back,” said the Crab. “We shall travel faster
so, since you have no feet for climbing.”
Wavilocks seated herself upon his broad shell, and away he crawled, the
wicked fellow, very stealthily, so as not to be seen by the grown-up
sea people, and especially by old Triton.
Up and up they went until they came to the surface of the sea, where
the big silver moon was shining upon the water, glorious and bright.
“Look where the flight of silver stairs comes down to the sea,” said
the Crab, pointing with his claw. “We will climb up there, Wavilocks,
and pay a visit to my dear cousin. How glad he will be to see us!” And
he chuckled wickedly to think how he was going to repay the Big Crab
for having turned him out of the sky.
Out to the bright spot upon the water where the silver moonbeam
staircase touched the sea crept the Crab, with Wavilocks upon his
back. And no one saw them go. They reached the foot of the stairs and
began to climb,--up and up, step by step, while the little mermaid’s
green hair streamed out behind. Her long pearl necklace she used as a
bridle, and so she drove her strange steed up the steep way, until they
reached the silver gateway of the moon. The door was open, and from the
wonderful sky-land beyond the light streamed out, so that Wavilocks was
dazzled. But she was even more dazzled when they had passed through
the gateway and came out upon the wide sky floor, where burned and
flashed, with a thousand rainbow colors, the five-pointed star jewels
which she had seen shining from afar.
“Oh, the beautiful diamond stars!” cried Wavilocks. “Let us make haste
to find your cousin, the Big Crab, that he may give us some for my
necklace.”
But the Crab winked his eye. “We need not wait for that,” he said. “My
cousin loves me so well that I am sure of his generosity to you. Let
us pick all we wish first, and then we will go to him. But hist! We
must be very quiet about it, or the other sky-people will learn what is
being done, and will be jealous.”
The two set eagerly to work, gathering up the jewels which lay
sprinkled over the velvet sky-carpet like daisies in a meadow. The Crab
gathered them star by star with his clumsy claw, as one would pick
berries. Wavilocks scooped the five-pointed stars by handfuls, and
poured them into the great conch shell which she had brought for the
purpose, until it was brimming over with rainbow flashes.
“Oh, what a wonderful necklace I shall have,--grander than any one ever
saw before!” cried the greedy little mermaid.
“Oh, how angry the old Crab will be when he sees how we have robbed his
treasure!” chuckled her wicked companion to himself; and they went to
work even faster than before.
Suddenly there was a loud noise behind them.
“Wooh! Hooh!” cried a terrible voice. “Robbers, wretched robbers, what
are you doing with my jewels?”
Wavilocks screamed and the Sea Crab gave a snort of fear. There behind
them was the Big Crab, sprawling his enormous ugly shape among the
stars. His great claws were snapping viciously, and his goggle eyes
were glaring at the pair, as he crawled nearer and nearer.
“It is the Crab!” gasped Wavilocks’ companion. “I am lost!” and away he
scuttled as fast as his claws would take him, while the little mermaid
clung to his back as well as she could, for he had quite forgotten her.
Then began a dreadful race to the shining staircase. The great Sky
Crab clattered after them, puffing and blowing out fire.
“Wicked Sea Crab,” he cried, “so it is you who again are seeking to
rob me of the precious stars entrusted to my care. You have come up
here from your nasty, moist den in the sea, to which I tossed you.
Moreover, you have brought this strange sea-creature to help you steal
the jewels. Ah! this time I will punish you both.”
They could feel the flaming breath of the Big Crab. It scorched, it
sizzled, it melted the hard shell of the Sea Crab until it became soft
and useless. It crisped the mermaid’s pretty green hair, which streamed
out behind her in their rapid flight. Wavilocks screamed. Her awkward
steed hissed with terror, dislodging many stars from their settings
as he scrambled among them. At last they were almost safe at the head
of the staircase, when Wavilocks felt the great claw of the Big Crab
seize the necklace of pearls which hung about her neck. Snap! The
string broke, and the pearls went flying helter-skelter over the sky,
scattering themselves among the stars.
“My necklace, oh, my necklace!” wailed she, but they could not stop to
gather up the lost pearls.
They had reached the stairs. The Crab plunged forward, and they tumbled
and rolled and slid down from the sky to the sea, into which they fell
with a great splash. Glad enough they were to cool their poor scorched
bodies in the wetness. Down, down, they sank together to the bottom of
the ocean, two very miserable creatures.
Now the Crab had shriveled and shrunk and become the tiniest, most
pitiful little fellow you ever saw. Moreover he was now quite helpless
and unprotected.
For his hard shell, which had served him as a shield against his
enemies, was now melted and soft, and was no longer of any use to
him. He was at the mercy of the whole sea, which was indignant at his
new wickedness. Thenceforth he must slink and hide away wherever he
could, an outcast thief. He became the Hermit Crab, whom to-day one
finds borrowing the shells which other tiny creatures have abandoned,
creeping away into dim corners, and always carrying his home upon his
back, because he is afraid to venture his poor, unprotected body out of
doors.
Neptune decreed that the wicked Crab needed no other punishment worse
than this. As for Wavilocks, she also had been punished enough. The
beautiful green hair which had been her pride was scorched into an ugly
brown. Sobbing with shame, she cut it off--all its splendid length,
and tossed it away into the sea. Sometimes you may find strands of it
nowadays, washed ashore by the tide. Long, long afterward her green
hair grew again; but for months and years she was laughed at and teased
about her short mop of brown hair, so unfashionable in the sea-kingdom.
A sad little mermaid she was in those days. For not only had she
lost her wavy locks, but the lovely rope of pearls was gone forever,
scattered among the jewels of the sky. You can see some of them to this
day if you look hard among the flashing stars; bright jewels they are,
but they do not twinkle like the others. The Big Crab now watches over
them also with his other treasures, and it would have to be a sly thief
indeed who could steal them back again. Wavilocks must go without any
necklace, although the other mermaids wear theirs proudly. Yes, she has
no necklace at all. For what do you think became of the stars which she
went so far to steal and had so sad a time in gathering?
Wavilocks had clung closely to the conch shell which held her stolen
treasure during all the terrible time of her fall down the silver
staircase. And when she came to the bottom of the sea she still held
it fast. But alas! When the poor little scorched mermaid came to look
at the stars which she had hoped to wear about her neck, she found
that they had sadly changed. The shell was full of something living,
something squirming and cold. One by one she took out the five-pointed
stars which had been so beautiful, and they had come alive; they were
star-fish! The first star-fish that had ever been seen in the ocean.
How Wavilocks screamed when the moist, writhing feelers touched her
hand! So this was the end of the lovely necklace which she had hoped
to wear so proudly,--a conch shell full of ugly, wriggling sea-stars.
She tossed them away as far as she could, and fled sobbing to her poor
old father, who tried to comfort her, and forgot to punish her for
disobeying him.
Poor little sea-stars! One cannot help pitying them, who used to be
the beautiful jewels of the sky. One sees them sometimes lying in the
pools, red and purple, blue, pink and yellow; beautiful colors indeed,
such as jewels have, but no longer sparkling and clear, as once they
were. They lie and stare up wistfully through the green water, up at
the sky which was once their home, up at the other stars of which they
were once the shining brothers.
And it was all the fault of the naughty little mermaid, who was not
wise enough to know when she was happy.
OCEAN WONDERS
Far below the purple waves,
In the hidden ocean caves,
Floating softly to and fro,
Wonder-creatures come and go.
Monsters hideous and queer,
Curious lovely shapes and dear
Dwell beneath the silent tide,
Where the rainbow fishes glide.
Who can say what things may be
In the mystic, magic sea?
In the depths so cool and green
Which no man has ever seen?
And what wonders happen there
Such as mortals may not share?
But a bit of pearly shell,
Or of sea-weed green, may tell
Just a hint of secret lore
As we walk along the shore.
THE BALLOON BOY
[Illustration]
THE BALLOON BOY
Carlo was the brown-skinned boy who stood on the corner of the Avenue
every morning with a great bunch of red and blue balloons tied to a
stick. Carlo used to wait smiling for the children to come up with
their nurses and pick out the balloons with which they loved to play.
The balloons bobbed and danced above Carlo’s head as if they wanted to
fly away. Indeed, one of them once succeeded in escaping, just after it
had been bought by little Johnny Parker. Johnny had forgotten to hold
it tight, and _Pouf!_ Off it sailed over the trees. No one ever knew
what became of that little red balloon, which soared up far beyond
the reach of Johnny’s wailing. But the other little balloons were
always trying to follow after, and sometimes they pulled so hard at the
strings that they seemed almost ready to lift Carlo off his feet and
bear him with them over the tree-tops.
Carlo was a happy boy, for he had come from a happy country where the
people still believe in fairies, and he had not lived in this land long
enough to catch the disease which makes one believe that there are “no
such things as the Little People.” Carlo was a kind boy, and he loved
the little children who bought balloons of him and paid their pennies
into his rough, brown hand. Carlo had a little sister at home in the
old country, and when he had earned money enough by selling red and
blue balloons he meant to send for Nita to come and live with him, so
they could have a little home of their own.
One morning it rained hard, oh, very hard! Carlo did not go out to the
Avenue, for he knew that the children would all stay indoors that day,
playing in their nurseries with their house toys. But in the afternoon,
after dinner-time, the rain cleared away and the sun came out, hot and
bright and beautiful, so that the sidewalks were soon as dry as dry.
Then Carlo took his bunch of balloons and trudged to the corner, where
he always stood. For he knew that all the nurses and all the babies,
tired of being in the house, would soon be hurrying out for an airing
in the Park. And of course they would need balloons.
Carlo took up his station as usual on the corner where the Avenue stops
short before the high gates, and wishes it could go on into the Park.
This was where the children looked to find him every day, and he had
never yet disappointed them.
It was just the hour when the big boys are let out of school. Carlo had
forgotten this. He did not like big boys. Suddenly--with a rush and a
whoop--a crowd of them came tearing around the corner from the next
street. They raced up and down the Avenue, shouting and laughing and
full of mischief, for they had been shut up all this rainy day and
were glad to be out of doors once more. As they came running back down
the Avenue, one of them spied Carlo standing on the corner.
“Hallo! Balloons!” shouted the boy, and immediately the noisy crowd
rushed upon Carlo and surrounded him.
“Give me a red one!”
“Hi! Blue’s my color!”
“Pass me down a red one, quick, or I’ll cut the whole string!” But they
offered him no money in exchange. Carlo held back, trying to defend his
balloons from their snatching fingers. Then one boy cried,--
“Ho! Let’s cut the whole string, anyway, and see them go!” And quick
as a flash, before Carlo had time to do anything, a sharp penknife
had severed the string above the stick, and away went forty balloons,
sailing over the trees merrily, glad to be free.
The boys gave a yell and danced up and down. But some one cried,
“Look out! Here’s a policeman!” and off they scampered in every
direction, before Carlo fairly knew what they had done. Yes, there was
a policeman, but he had not seen what had happened, and already he was
turning the corner. Even if Carlo could catch up with him he could not
speak enough English to tell the man his troubles. Besides, not even a
policeman could bring back those flying balloons.
Poor Carlo! No customers for him this day. He looked down at the bare
stick in his hand, and then up to where he could just see some tiny
specks on the blue sky, far, far away. The balloons were seeking their
little brother who escaped long before. Carlo’s eyes filled with tears,
for he was not a very big boy, and this was a dreadful thing which had
happened to him. Already the procession of babies was coming down the
Avenue, eager to buy Carlo’s balloons. But he had nothing to sell them
this afternoon.
Slowly and sadly he turned away and slunk down a side street toward
another entrance to the Park. But the children wondered what had become
of their balloon boy, who was always waiting for them on the corner,
smiling pleasantly.
Carlo wandered into the Park and walked about the twisting paths,
wondering what he should do. He had no money to buy more balloons. How
could he start out afresh in business? He had sent his last earnings
back across the water to the little sister in the land where they still
believed in fairies, and she had saved almost enough to bring her here
to him. But now, what was he to do now? How buy food and lodging, and
especially how buy more balloons with which to pile up future pennies?
Carlo wandered about for a long time, thinking and puzzling, until the
shadows began to lengthen, and it was almost night. Then he went to
a little arbor in the Park, far from the place where the nurses and
children mostly gathered. It was a spot that he loved, for it was full
of grape-vines, which reminded him of the beautiful home from which he
had come,--the country where the fairies still lived. He was very tired
and hungry, and he curled up on a settee in the arbor and went to
sleep.
[Illustration: THE LITTLE MAN]
He must have slept a long time, for when he woke the Park was quite
dark, save where the electric lights made queer patches of brightness
among the leaves and on the grass and gravel walks. In the arbor itself
hung a light which made the grape-vine with its half-ripened clusters
look strange but very beautiful.
Carlo awoke with a start, for he had certainly felt something touch his
knee. Yes! Carlo looked again, and rubbed his eyes. There at his knee
stood a little man,--a little, thick man in a queer long gown, with
a rope about his waist,--one of the very same Little Men of whom his
mother had often told him in the land across the sea!
“What is the matter, Carlo?” asked the Little Man, in Carlo’s own home
language. And Carlo answered in the same soft tongue:
“The boys have cut my balloons away, and I have nothing left with which
to earn my living, that I may send money to Nita.”
“That is too bad!” exclaimed the Little Man. “What can we do about it?”
Carlo stared hard at him, for he had always wanted to see a Little Man.
His hat was tall and had a broad brim, and on his feet were sandals.
His brown gown clung tight about him, like the skin upon a russet
apple, seeming ready to burst with the plumpness inside. His cheeks,
too, seemed ready to burst with laughing, even when Carlo told him the
story of the boys’ wicked deed.
“That is too bad!” he cried again, but not sadly. “What can we do about
it?”
He glanced thoughtfully around the arbor in which they were sitting.
It was a grape arbor, as I have said, and already the grapes were
beginning to turn red and purple in the autumn coolness, though some
were still green.
“The bad boys will steal them,” said the Little Man to himself,
looking at the grapes. “They will not bring good to any one, only
stomach-aches.” Carlo wondered what he could possibly mean. Still the
Little Man stared around the arbor, nodding his head slowly up and
down, as if making up his mind about something very important. At last
he turned to Carlo and asked suddenly,--
“Do you know where I came from?”
“No,” said Carlo. “I have been wondering. You do not seem to belong to
this country at all.”
“I don’t,” said the Little Man. “They don’t even believe in me here,
so they never, never see me--how could they? The babies who play
over there,”--and he twisted his thumb toward the fountain and the
sand-heap,--“even if they were to come in here now, could not see me.
For their stupid nurses have told them that I don’t exist. Perhaps
there might be one or two who still believe; and of them I should have
to be very careful. For I don’t want to be discovered. But they do not
often come here.”
“I come here often,” said Carlo.
“Of course,” chuckled the Little Man, “naturally!”
“But how happens it that you are here?” asked Carlo, eagerly.
“Why, I came with you, to be sure. I am the Little Man of your father’s
house. And when you left the dear old country over the sea you brought
me with you.” The Little Man sighed. Carlo sighed too. But quickly he
remembered to be polite. “It was very good of you to come,” he said.
“Not at all,” answered the Little Man. “I had to follow. Some of them
bring poison creatures in the fruit which they sell,--tarantulas and
scorpions. Some of them bring measles, and the evil-eye, and other
dreadful things. But you brought _me_, and I have been watching over
you ever since. I am glad you come here every day, so I can live in
this very nice place. Now I am going to help you.”
Carlo thanked him, but he seemed not to hear. Nimbly as a squirrel he
was climbing up the vine which draped the arbor with its leaves and
grapes. Presently down he came again, and in his hand he held a fine
bunch of grapes, purple and red and green.
“It is not stealing,” he said, in a whisper, “for this bunch has
stopped ripening; I can tell by signs which a fairy knows. It would
soon wither, and would not even attract the bad boys. So I will use it
for my purposes. Now, please give me your stick.”
Carlo handed him the shorn stick, wondering. With a few deft knots the
Little Man tied the bunch of grapes to the handle, where the balloons
used to bob.
“What!” he cried, nodding delightedly, “There you are! Now of course
you must go to sleep again. I cannot let you see how the last touches
are done.” He tapped Carlo three times on the forehead. Immediately
Carlo’s eyes began to close, his head nodded, and before he knew it he
was lying on the bench in the arbor, snoring lustily and forgetting all
his troubles.
Then the Little Man must have done something very strange and wonderful
and marvelous; though no one saw him, and so no one knows just what
that something was. But when in the morning Carlo awoke with a start, a
baby in a pink dress stood in the arbor holding out a little hand in
which was a silver dime, and he was saying,--
“Please, Boy, give me a _green_ balloon!”
Carlo jumped up and reached for the stick, which was propped between
the bars of the seat beside him. And what do you think? The bunch of
purple and red and green grapes seemed to have grown and grown, and
swelled and swelled, until each grape had turned into a beautiful big
balloon of the same color! And that is why on that particular day
Carlo had some green balloons in his bunch, although the children had
never seen any like them before. And he sold one to the pink baby, and
others to the other babies who came crowding around when he went out
upon the Avenue, until the green balloons were all gone. For of course
the babies wanted the unusual kind first. But after that he sold off
the ordinary blue and red ones, and went home with his pockets full of
dimes, and with nothing more on the end of his stick than when the bad
boys let loose his bunch of balloons. But now there were no tears in
his eyes--no, indeed!
Now I do not know just what happened next. But Carlo always looks
smiling and happy about something. The children buy his balloons every
day, and every night he carries home a pocketful of silver. Carlo is
growing rich. And now little Nita has come across the sea to be with
him. When the cold weather comes I daresay the Little Man will go to
live in their house, as he did in their old home in the land where
people still believe in fairies. But you may be sure that as long as
he can he will stay in the pretty grape-vine arbor. If you are one of
the wise children who believe in him, perhaps you will see him there
yourself, some day. At any rate, whether you believe in the Little Man
or not, if you go at the right time you will be sure to see the Balloon
Boy, sitting on the bench and smiling happily at something, with the
bunch of red and blue balloons bobbing over his head. And if you pay
ten cents you may have a balloon all for your own, which will tug and
tug and will try to get away, just as little Johnny Parker’s did.
BALLOONS
Where do they go,
I want to know,
The little balloons which fly, and fly,
Over the trees and up so high
Into the sky?
Do they sail as far as Heaven’s gate,
Where chubby cherubs watch and wait,
Who stretch out their hands with an eager cry
As the little balloons come floating by?
Do the cherubs play with the pretty things,
Flitting about on their baby wings,
While the little balloons bob to and fro,
Just as they did in the world below?
They never come back the tale to tell,
So no one knows what each befell.
But if they can stay
In that Land for aye,
Where the sun ever shines and the sky is blue,
I do not blame them for longing to fly
Over the trees and up so high;
And when mine goes I will not boo-hoo,--
Will you?
THE GREEN CAP
[Illustration]
THE GREEN CAP
Once upon a time in the far East, where people live upon rice and tea,
a little old woman dwelt all alone in a tiny hut on the edge of the
forest. The little old woman was very, very poor; but she was a brave
soul, and so long as there was a little tea in her little teapot, a
little rice in her little rice bucket, and a little water in her well
she would smile a little smile and say, “Oh, I have enough, and that is
all which any one needs in this world. I am doing very well indeed.”
But there came an evil time for the poor little old woman. There was a
drought in the land, and all the wells ran dry. There was a famine,
and no more rice nor tea were to be had for love or money. One night
the little old woman went about to get her evening meal and she was
very, very hungry. First she went to draw a dipper of water from the
well. But when she peered down into the well she saw that it was almost
dry.
“Alack!” she cried, “when I have used this last dipper of water there
will be none left for to-morrow. After that I must go dry. And how long
can I live so?”
Slowly and sadly she went back to the house and took her little rice
bucket down from the shelf on the wall. But when she opened it she saw
only a few grains of rice scantily covering the bottom of the bucket.
“Alack!” she cried, “when I have taken out the handful for my supper
there will be no more left for to-morrow. After that I must go hungry.
And how long can I live so?”
She shook her head mournfully and went to her little teapot, which hung
before the fire. But when she took off the cover thereof she cried
again, “Alack and alas! Now even my tea is gone, and whatever shall I
do? There is but a drop in the pot, and when I have eaten my supper
there will be none left for the morrow. After that I must go thirsty.
But so I cannot live. Day after to-morrow I shall die!” And the poor
little old woman shed a tear which almost fell into the teapot to salt
the last drop of tea which remained there.
Now she sat down to her scanty supper and hesitated to take the first
mouthful, for it would so soon be gone. She gave a sigh and a groan as
she lifted the little teapot to pour out the last drop of tea, for the
little old woman loved her tea best of all.
Just at that moment there came a knock on the door, a low-down knock
such as a very little child might reach to give.
“Tap--tap!”
“Come in!” said the little old woman, and she set down the teapot
carefully.
The latch clicked, the door opened, and in came a queer little creature
the size of a child and walking upright upon two legs; but it was not
a child. It was a funny little monkey, with a wee black face and a
curled-up handy tail, and on its head it wore a tiny green cap.
“Ugh!” cried the little old woman, who did not like monkeys, “Ugh, go
away!”
But the monkey skipped briskly across the floor to the fireplace, and
stood there shivering and holding out its small hands to the blaze
quite as a little child might have done. The old woman stared at it in
surprise. “Bless my stars, how ugly it is!” she said. “But the poor
thing seems cold. Let it stay and warm itself if it wishes.”
At these words the monkey turned about and made a low courtesy to the
little old woman.
“Bless my stars!” said she again, for she had never seen so remarkable
an animal, even in the land where monkeys were common.
Now the monkey had ceased to shiver, and it came skipping up to the
table where the old woman sat, ready to eat her supper.
“Ugh! Go away!” cried the little old woman. “Go away, you ugly
creature!”
But the monkey rested its chin upon the board and looked wistfully at
the supper. “May I not share with you?” it seemed to say, though it
spoke no word, and it put its little hands out towards the old woman,
beggar-fashion.
“Bless my stars!” cried the old woman again, “it has the way of a
child. But what an ugly child! Ugh! I cannot bear to have it near me.
Yet--it is hard even for a monkey to be hungry.” She looked at her
scanty dipper of water, at her little dish of rice, at her teapot with
its drop of tea.
“I have but one dipper of water left, one handful of rice, one drop
of tea,” she said ruefully. “When these are gone I know not whence
to-morrow’s food will come; yet, little creature with the hands of a
child, you shall share with me so long as I have a morsel. I cannot
refuse those hands. But do not come too near, for I love not monkeys.”
Now the monkey seemed to understand every word the old woman spoke,
although it could not answer in words. It bowed gratefully over its
clasped hands as the old woman helped it to half the scanty meal,--half
the dipper of water, half the rice, half a drop squeezed from the
little teapot. The monkey ate hungrily, and when it had finished patted
its little stomach and grinned happily at the old woman as if to say,
“That was very good!”
“I am glad you are satisfied,” said the old woman with a sigh; “and now
will you begone? There is nothing more in the house for guest or for
host.”
But the monkey laid its head to one side upon its little hands and
closed its eyes, showing that it was fain of sleep. Then again it held
out its hands, beseeching the old woman.
“Oho!” said she, “you want to sleep here, too? Well-a-day! That ever I
should have an ugly monkey napping in my hut! But I cannot turn a poor
creature out into the cold night. You may stay, but keep as far from me
as maybe, at the other corner of the cottage. Come, now, let us sleep
and try to forget that to-morrow must be a hungry day.”
So they slept, the old woman on her hard little cot and the monkey
curled up on the floor, which was no whit harder. And the old woman
dreamed wonderful and beautiful dreams.
When it was light she opened her eyes, and at first she thought she
must still be dreaming, for she had forgotten the happenings of the
last night. There was the monkey with its little green cap on one side
frisking about the cottage, sweeping the hearth, tidying the corners
and setting things to rights.
“Bless my stars!” cried the little old woman. At these words the monkey
turned, and with a grin beckoned towards the table, where dishes were
already set out as if for a meal. Then the old woman remembered what
had happened the evening before. But she remembered also the empty
cupboard, and sighed wearily.
“Breakfast!” she grumbled; “it is little breakfast we shall have this
day. Did we not share yestereven the last dipper of water, the last
handful of rice, the last drop of tea? There will scarcely be any
breakfast for me this day, and you, who are strong and frisky, had
best seek one elsewhere, leaving me to die.”
But the monkey shook its head, grinning knowingly, and still beckoned
to the table. It lifted the dipper and showed how it was still full of
water. It lifted the cover from the rice dish, and lo! there was a mess
of steaming white rice. It shook the little teapot, and a drop trickled
from the spout.
“Bless my stars!” cried the little old woman, “last night my eyes must
have cheated me. I certainly thought there was not another mouthful
in the hut. Well, here is indeed a goodly meal,” and she sat down to
the table. The monkey looked on wistfully, but did not venture near.
Presently the old woman looked up.
“What!” she cried, “shall you not share, little guest, you who so
cleverly prepared my breakfast? Did I not say that you should share so
long as I had a morsel upon the board? Come, then, and eat.”
The monkey grinned happily and drew to the table. The scanty meal was
sufficient for them both. When they had finished, the old woman nodded
her head at the monkey and said,--
“Even a morsel tastes better when one shares it with company. But
little I thought that a monkey would prove so pleasant a guest.”
At these words the monkey squirmed with happiness and frisked about
the cottage like a mad thing. After that it went on with the household
duties, quite like a handy little maid. But when it had finished these
it skipped out of the door and disappeared into the forest.
“Now it is gone forever,” said the old woman with a little sigh, “and
I shall be left alone to die of hunger and cold. For even my store
of firewood is gone, and I have not strength to go to the forest for
more.” And she sat down and cried bitterly, for the poor old woman’s
courage was quite gone.
The daylight dimmed and the night came on, and the old woman sat
rocking herself to and fro, trying to forget how hungry she was.
But presently the door burst open and in came the monkey, staggering
with arms full of fagots for the fire. It made a bright blaze on the
hearth and then came timidly up to the old woman and laid a hand upon
her knee. This time the old woman did not shrink or cry out, “Ugh! Go
away!” for she seemed no longer to hate monkeys as once she had done.
She looked up with half a smile and said:
“Ah, you have come back, little guest! I thought you had deserted me.
I know you think it is supper-time; but nay, there will be no supper
to-night. There is naught in the house for us to eat, or I would gladly
share it with so willing a helper.”
But the monkey shook its head and drew the old woman gently by the
skirts towards the door.
“There is no use in going to the well,” said the old woman; “it is
quite dry.” But the monkey continued to pull her dress, and at last the
old woman rose, shaking her head because she knew that the quest was
useless. The two went out to the well, and the monkey let down the
bucket. When it came up the old woman thrust in the dipper, and lo! she
brought it out full once more with clear, cool, sparkling water.
“Bless my stars!” she cried in astonishment, “there is witchcraft
here,” and she looked at the monkey suspiciously. But the little
creature only grinned.
Once more it pulled at her skirts, as though it would lead her back
to the house. Wondering, the old woman followed, dipper in hand. The
monkey led her straight to where the rice bucket stood on the shelf.
The old woman shook her head hopelessly as she took down the bucket,
because she knew that it was as empty as a last year’s bird’s nest. But
when she drew off the cover she nearly dropped it with surprise. There
was still a handful of rice in the bottom of the bucket.
“Bless my stars!” cried the old woman, and she looked again at the
monkey. But the monkey only grinned and pointed towards the teapot.
“That at least I know to be empty,” said the old woman positively,
“for I squeezed out the last drop with my own hand.” But what was her
amazement when she tilted the spout and out came an amber drop of
comfort.
“Bless my stars!” again cried the old woman. “Here is really enough
for another meal. Witchcraft or no, you have certainly brought me good
luck, little guest, and though we may die of hunger to-morrow we should
greatly rejoice now, for we thought to be dead, even this same day.”
So that night passed, and another and still others. Every morning, as
at first, the monkey prepared breakfast for the little old woman ere
she was awake. And still there remained a dipperful of water in the
well, a handful of rice in the bucket, and a drop of tea in the teapot.
Every night the old woman found the same for their supper.
[Illustration: THE OLD WOMAN IS SURPRISED]
She was growing very fond of this queer little creature who helped
her so heartily, and she wondered how she could ever have disliked
monkey-folk. She even forgot that she had once thought her guest ugly,
for the small face seemed, indeed, to have changed and to have
become more human. The old woman had made for the monkey a pretty dress
of green to match the green cap which her guest ever wore upon its
head. The long tail which once she had used as an extra strong hand had
shrunk away and disappeared beneath the pretty dress; perhaps it was
gone altogether--for the monkey was certainly changing in many ways,
though the poor old woman was too weak-eyed to see how greatly this was
so.
Now the weeks passed, and the months passed, and it was exactly a year
and a day from the time when the monkey had first appeared. On that
morning the old woman woke up and saw as usual the little green figure
flitting about the cottage, making things neat and tidy, and preparing
the tiny breakfast which was always the same,--scanty and simple, but
sufficient for the two, with kindness and good feeling to eke it out.
This morning, when the old woman was ready to get up, the busy little
creature came skipping up to the cot. And as it stood looking down,
smiling kindly, the old woman suddenly blinked and rubbed her eyes.
“Bless my stars!” she cried. “How big you are! How pretty you have
grown! What! Who is this? You are not my little monkey, you are a
lovely girl smiling at me.”
“Good morning, Mother,” said a sweet voice. “I am your little guest. I
am the same poor creature whom you took in out of kindness, and whom
you have allowed to dwell with you this long year, sharing your scanty
store. I owe you more than words can say.”
“Words!” cried the old woman, “and how long since a monkey could use
words?” She sat staring blankly.
“You see I am really the same,” said the pretty girl. “I still wear the
green dress which you made for me and the green cap which I had upon
my head when I came to you. In that green cap lies my secret. I am a
Fairy, Mother.”
Then she told the old woman a strange story,--how because she was
naughty the Fairy Queen had punished her by giving her that ugly
monkey-shape, which she must wear for a year and a day. But at the end
of that time she could take her own shape and go back to Fairyland. And
now the time had come.
“But you have been so kind to me, dear Mother, that I may give you one
wish before I go back to my beautiful home,” said the Fairy maiden.
Then the old woman burst into tears and flung her arms around the neck
of her little guest. “Oh, do not leave me, kind Fairy-child!” she said.
“I love you very dearly, and how shall I live without you? I loved you
when I thought you were only a little monkey, but now I love you a
thousand times more.”
Gently the Fairy kissed her and said, “Now hear what the gift is
that I may give you. I may give you one wish of three, and you shall
choose between them. You shared your simple food with a poor little
animal-guest. Now for the first wish: Would you live always on princely
fare? If you so choose you may have more than you need to eat. You
may have meats and fruit, fine wheaten bread and choice sweets, such
as are set upon palace tables. You may have everything that a dainty
palate could desire, and every day a different feast of goodies. This
you may choose, if you so will. Or, if you think the second choice a
better one, you may become young again as I am now, for I am a picture
of your lost youth which you have forgotten. You may have health and
strength, and appetite to enjoy life, and the hearty meals which you
will be able to earn. That is a goodly gift, is it not?”
The old woman nodded, but still her eyes were unsatisfied.
“Then there is the third choice,” said the Fairy, and her voice was
very soft. “But that one it seems selfish for me to name, because it is
a wish for my happiness.”
“What is the third wish?” asked the old woman eagerly.
“You may wish, if you choose--and the wish will be granted by the Fairy
Queen--that all may remain as it now is; you will be what you are, a
dear old woman living still in this little hut, with your little well
in which there will ever be one dipperful of water, no more; with your
little bucket in which there will ever be one handful of rice, no more;
with your little teapot in which there will ever be one drop of tea,
no more. It is scanty fare for one, Mother; yet withal, if you would
have one to share it, I will do so still, as I have done so long. I
will become your child--no longer a Fairy-child, but your little human
girl-child, such as I seem now. I will live with you always, love you
and take care of you always and share your scanty portion.”