said Wee. "This is Mrs. Epeira Diadema; and she is a respectable,
industrious little neighbor. She spreads her tent, but sits under a leaf
near by, waiting for her breakfast. She wraps her eggs in a soft silken
bag, and hides them in some safe chink, where they lie till spring. The
eggs are prettily carved and ornamented, and so hard that the baby
spiders have to force their way out by biting the shell open and poking
their little heads through. The mother dies as soon as her eggs are
safely placed, and the spiderlings have to take care of themselves."
"How do you know about it, Aunt Wee? You talk as if Mrs. Eppyra--or
whatever her name is--had told you herself. Did she?" asked Daisy,
feeling more interested in the brown spider.
"No; I read it in a book, and saw pictures of the eggs, web, and family.
I had a live one in a bottle; and she spun silken ladders all up and
down, and a little room to sleep in. She ate worms and bugs, and was
very amiable and interesting till she fell ill and died."
"I should like to see the book; and have a spider-bottle, so I could
take care of the poor little orphans when they are born. Good-by, ma'am.
I shall call again; for you are 'most as good as a fairy there in your
pretty tent, with a white clover for your bed."
Daisy walked on a few steps, and then stopped to say:
"What does that bird mean by calling 'Hurry up, hurry up?' He keeps
flying before us, and looking back as if he wanted to show me
something."
"Let me hear what he says. I may be able to understand him, or the
bob-o-link that swings on the alder by the brook."
Wee listened a moment, while the birds twittered and chirped with all
their hearts. Presently Wee sang in a tone very like the bob-o-link's:
"Daisy and Wee,
Come here, and see
What a dainty feast is spread:
Down in the grass
Where fairies pass,
Here are berries ripe and red.
"All wet with dew,
They wait for you:
Come hither, and eat your fill,
While I gayly sing,
In my airy swing,
And the sun climbs up the hill."
"Did he really say that?" cried Daisy, watching the bob-o-link, who sat
swaying up and down on the green bough, and nodding his white-capped
head at her in the most friendly manner.
"Perhaps I didn't translate it rightly; for it is very hard to put
bird-notes into our language, because we haven't words soft and sweet
enough. But I really think there are berries over there, and we will see
if what he says is true," said Wee.
Over the wall they went, and there, on a sunny bank, found a bed of the
reddest, ripest berries ever seen.
"Thank you, thank you, for telling me to hurry up, and showing me such a
splendid feast," said Daisy, with her mouth full, as she nodded back at
the birds. "These are so much sweeter than those we buy. I'd carry some
home to mamma, if I only had a basket."
"You can pick this great leaf full, while I make you a basket," said
Wee.
Daisy soon filled the leaf, and then sat watching her aunt plait a
pretty basket of rushes. While she waited she looked about, and kept
finding something curious or pleasant to interest and amuse her. First
she saw a tiny rainbow in a dewdrop that hung on a blade of grass; then
she watched a frisky calf come down to drink on the other side of the
brook, and laughed to see him scamper away with his tail in the air.
Close by grew a pitcher-plant; and a yellow butterfly sat on the edge,
bathing its feet, Daisy said. Presently she discovered a little ground
bird sitting on her nest, and peeping anxiously, as if undecided whether
to fly away or trust her.
"I won't hurt you, little mother. Don't be afraid," whispered the child;
and, as if it understood, the bird settled down on her nest with a
comfortable chirp, while its mate hopped up to give her a nice plump
worm for breakfast.
"I love birds. Tell me something about them, Aunt Wee. You must know
many things; for they like you, and come when you call."
"Once upon a time," began Wee, while her fingers flew and the pretty
basket grew, "there was a great snow-storm, and all the country was
covered with a thick white quilt. It froze a little, so one could walk
over it, and I went out for a run. Oh, so cold it was, with a sharp
wind, and no sun or any thing green to make it pleasant! I went far away
over the fields, and sat down to rest. While I sat there, a little bird
came by, and stopped to rest also.
"'How do you do?' said I.
"'Chick-a-dee-dee,' said he.
"'A cold day,' said I.
"'Chick-a-dee-dee,' said he.
"'Aren't you afraid of starving, now the ground is covered and the trees
are bare?'
"'Chick-a-dee-dee, ma'am, chick-a-dee-dee!'" answered the bird in the
same cheerful tone. And it sounded as if he said, 'I shall be cared for.
I'm not afraid.'
"'What will you eat? There's nothing here or for miles round. I really
think you'll starve, birdie,' said I.
"Then he laughed, and gave me a merry look as he lit on a tall, dry weed
near by. He shook it hard with his little bill; when down fell a shower
of seeds, and there was dinner all ready on a snow-white cloth. All the
while he ate he kept looking up at me with his quick, bright eyes; and,
when he had done, he said, as plainly as a bird could say it:
"'Cold winds may blow,
And snows may fall,
But well we know
God cares for all.'"
"I like that little story, and shall always think of it when I hear the
chick-a-dee-dee." Daisy sat a moment with a thoughtful look in her eyes;
then she said slowly, as if sorry for the words:
"It isn't a stupid, grown-up world. It's a very pleasant, young world;
and I like it a great deal better this morning than I did last night."
"I'm glad of that; and, even if we don't find our fairy to-day, you will
have found some sunshine, Daisy, and that is almost as good. Now put in
the berries, and we'll go on."
How they hunted! They climbed trees to peep into squirrel-holes and
birds'-nests; they chased bees and butterflies to ask for news of the
elves; they waded in the brook, hoping to catch a water-sprite; they ran
after thistle-down, fancying a fairy might be astride; they searched the
flowers and ferns, questioned sun and wind, listened to robin and
thrush; but no one could tell them any thing of the little people,
though all had gay and charming bits of news about themselves. And Daisy
thought the world got younger and happier every minute.
When they came in to breakfast, papa and mamma looked at Daisy, and then
nodded with a smile at Aunt Wee; for, though Daisy's frock was soiled,
her boots wet, and her hair tumbled, her cheeks were rosy, eyes bright,
and voice so cheerful that they thought it better music than any in the
summer world without.
"Hunting fairies is a pleasant play, isn't it, Daisy?" said papa, as he
tasted the berries, and admired the green basket.
"Oh, yes! and we are going again to-morrow. Aunt Wee says we must try
seven days at least. I like it, and mean to keep on till I really find
my fairy."
"I think you will find something better than 'little vanishers,' dear,"
said mamma, filling up the bowl of bread and milk which Daisy was fast
emptying; for she certainly _had_ found an appetite.
"There it is again!" cried Daisy, flying out of bed the next morning
still earlier than the day before. Yes, there it was, the fairy music,
as blithe and sweet as ever; and the morning-glories rung their delicate
bells as if keeping time. Daisy felt rather sleepy, but remembered her
promise to Aunt Wee, and splashed into her tub, singing the bob-o-link's
song as she bathed.
"Where shall we go to-day?" she asked, as they went out into the garden.
"I think we'd better try a new place; so we'll go to the farmyard; and,
while we feed the hens, I'll listen to their chat, and perhaps can learn
something from it," replied Wee soberly.
"Do hens know about fairies? I thought they were very dull things, and
didn't care for any thing but eating corn and laying eggs," said Daisy,
surprised.
"Oh, dear, no! they are very sensible creatures, and see a deal of the
world in their daily walks. Hunting for insects gives them an excellent
chance to see fairies, if there are any. Here is some corn for the
biddies; and, after we have fed them, we will look for eggs, and so may
find a brownie or two."
Such a clatter as there was when they came to the barnyard; for every
thing was just awake, and in the best spirits. Ducks were paddling off
to the pond; geese to the meadow; and meek gray guinea-hens tripping
away to hunt bugs in the garden. A splendid cock stood on the wall, and
crowed so loud and clear that all the neighboring chanticleers replied.
The motherly hens clucked and scratched with their busy broods about
them, or sat and scolded in the coops because the chicks would gad
abroad. Doves cooed on the sunny roof, and smoothed their gleaming
feathers. Daisy's donkey nibbled a thistle by the wall, and a stately
peacock marched before the door with all his plumage spread. It made
Daisy laugh to see the airs the fowls put on as she scattered corn, and
threw meal and water to the chicks. Some pushed and gobbled; some stood
meekly outside the crowd, and got what they could; others seized a
mouthful, and ran away to eat it in a corner. The chicks got into the
pan entirely, and tumbled one over the other in their hurry to eat; but
the mammas saw that none went hungry. And the polite cock waited upon
them in the most gentlemanly manner, making queer little clucks and
gurgles as if he said:
"Allow me, madam, to offer you this kernel;" or, "Here, my dear, try
that bit." And sometimes he pecked a little, with a loud quaver,
evidently saying, "Come, come, children, behave yourselves, and don't
eat like pigs."
"What is she saying?" asked Daisy, pointing to an old gray hen in a
black turban, who was walking about alone, muttering to herself, as hens
often do in their promenades.
"She says a cat has made a nest, and hatched three kits up on the loft,
near her own nest; and she doesn't like it, because their mewing annoys
her," said Wee, after listening a minute.
"How nice! let's go and find them. But do you learn anything about the
fairies from the hen's chat?"
"No: they have been so busy setting, they have had no time for picnics
yet. But they will let us know, if they discover any."
In the barn, the cows were being milked; and Daisy had a mugful of it,
warm and sweet, out of the foaming pail.
"We'll take some to Mrs. Purr; for, I dare say, she doesn't like to
leave the kits long, and will enjoy a sip of something comfortable,"
said Wee, as Daisy climbed the ladder, and went rustling over the hay
to a corner, whence came a joyful "Mew!" What a charming sight it was,
to be sure! a snow-white cat lying in a cosy nest, and, by her, three
snow-white kits, wagging three very small gray tails.
"There never was any thing so lovely!" cried Daisy, as she sat with the
three downy balls in her lap, while the mamma gratefully lapped the new
milk from Aunt Wee's cup.
"Are they better than fairies?"
"Almost: for I know about pussies, and can cuddle them; but I couldn't a
fairy, you know, and they might be afraid of me. These dears are not
afraid, and I shall have such fun with them as they grow up. What
_shall_ we name them, auntie?"
"Snowball, Patpaw, and Wagtail would do, I think," said Wee, stroking
the cat, who rubbed against her, purring very loud.
"Yes: I like those names for my pets. But what is Mrs. Purr saying, with
her mouth up to your ear?" asked Daisy, who firmly believed that Aunt
Wee knew every thing.
"She tells me that when she went on a grasshopper hunt the other day, as
she ran through the meadow, she saw some lovely creatures all in blue,
with gauze wings, flying about over the river, and sitting in the
water-lilies. She thinks they may be fairies, and advises us to go and
look."
"So we will to-morrow," said Daisy. "Ask her, please, if I may take the
kits into the house, if I'll be very careful and give them a nice big
bed to sleep in."
"She says you may; but she must go too, else the kits will cry," said
Wee, after listening to Pussy's purr a minute.
Much pleased with her new pets, Daisy took them in her apron, and,
followed by their confiding mamma, marched to the house, and established
them in the old cradle which used to be hers. Pussy got in also; and,
when they were settled on a soft cushion, Daisy rocked them gently to
and fro. At first Mrs. Purr opened her yellow eyes, and looked rather
anxious: but, as nothing uncomfortable happened, she composed herself,
and soon quite liked the motion; for she fell asleep, and made a pretty
picture as she lay with her downy white babies on her downy white
breast.
When the sun rose next morning, he saw Daisy and Wee floating down the
river in their boat. "Bless me! here's company," said the sun, and began
at once to make them welcome in his most charming manner. He set the
waves to sparkling with a sudden shimmer; he shot long rays of light
through the dark hemlocks, till they looked like fairy trees; he touched
Daisy's hair and it turned to gold; he chased away the shadows that
lurked among the hills; he drew up the misty curtain that hovered over
the river; and, with the warmth of his kisses, waked the sleeping
lilies.
"Look, look, Aunt Wee! how they open, one by one, as the light shines on
them! We shan't have to wait any longer; for they get up with the sun,
as you do." As she spoke, Daisy caught a half-open lily, and drew it up,
fragrant and dripping, fresh from its sleep.
"They look like a fleet of fairy ships, anchored in this quiet harbor,
with sails half furled, and crews asleep. See the little sailors, in
their yellow jackets, lifting up their heads as the wind blows its
whistle, like a boatswain, to 'pipe all hands.'"
Daisy laughed at Aunt Wee's fancy, and stirred up the crew of the
Water-sprite, as she called her flower, till the white sails were all
set, and it was ready for a summer voyage.
"It is time we saw the fairies in blue, unless old Madam Purr deceived
us. I hope we _shall_ find one; for, though I enjoy every thing we see,
I do want my elf too."
"What is that?" cried Wee; and Daisy flew up so quickly that the boat
rocked like a cradle. A slender creature, in a blue dress, with gauzy
wings, darted by, and vanished among the rushes that nodded by the bank.
"Go nearer,--softly! softly!--and maybe it will fly out again. I really
think it was a fairy; for I never saw any thing like it before,"
whispered Daisy, much excited.
Wee rowed in among the green rushes and purple water-weeds, and out flew
half-a-dozen of the blue-bodied creatures. They didn't seem afraid, but
skimmed about the boat, as if curious to see what it was; and Daisy sat,
and stared with all her might. Presently one of the lovely things lit on
the lily in her hand, and she held her breath to watch it. A little
shadow of disappointment passed over her face as she looked; but it was
gone at once, and her voice was full of delight as she said softly:
"It's not a fairy, Aunt Wee; but it is very beautiful, with its slender
blue body, its lacy wings, and bright eyes. What name does it have?"
"We call it a dragon-fly; and it could tell you a pretty little story
about itself, could you understand it. In May the tiny eggs are dropped
on the water, and sink to the bottom, where little creatures are
born,--ugly, brown things, with six legs and no wings. They feed on
water-insects, and for a long time swim about in this state. When ready,
they climb up the stem of some plant, and sit in the sun till the ugly
brown shells drop away, and the lovely winged creatures appear. They
grow in an hour to be perfect dragon-flies, and float away to lead happy
lives in the sunshine by the river."
As if only waiting till the story was done, the dragon-fly flew off with
a whirr, and darted to and fro, hunting for its breakfast, glittering
splendidly as it flashed among the leaves or darted close above the
water. Daisy forgot her disappointment in a minute, and went fishing for
lilies; while the turtles came up to sun themselves on the rocks, the
merry little tadpoles wiggled in the shallow places, and a wild duck
paddled by with a brood of ducklings following in her wake.
"Oh, dear! it rains; and we can't go fairy-hunting at all," said Daisy
next morning, as the patter on the window-pane woke her up, and Aunt Wee
came in to dress her.
"Yes, we can, dear; jump up, and see what a funny place I'll take you
to."
Daisy thought the rain would be a capital excuse for lying in bed; for
she still liked to cuddle and drowse in her cosey, warm nest. But she
was curious to know where the curious place was; so she got up and
followed.
"Why, Aunt Wee, this is the garret; and there isn't any thing nice or
funny here," she said, as they climbed the stairs, and came into the big
attic, filled with all manner of old things.
"Isn't there? We'll soon see." And so they did: for Aunt Wee began to
play; and presently Daisy was shouting with fun as she sat on an old
saddle, with a hair-covered trunk for a horse, a big old-fashioned
bonnet on her head, and a red silk petticoat for a habit. Then they went
to sea in a great chest, and got wrecked on a desert island, where they
built a fort with boxes and bags, hunted bears with rusty guns, and had
to eat dried berries, herbs and nuts; for no other food could be found.
Aunt Wee got an old fiddle, and had a dancing-school, where Daisy
capered till she was tired. So they rummaged out some dusty books, and
looked at pictures so quietly that a little mouse came out of a drawer
and peeped about, thinking no one was there.
"Let's find the nest, since we don't find any fairy," said Wee; and,
opening the drawer, she turned over the things till she came to a pair
of old velvet shoes; and there in the toe of one, nicely cuddled under a
bit of flannel, lay four pink mites, which woke up, and stretched their
tiny legs, and squeaked such small squeaks one could hardly hear them.
"How cunning they are! I wish they would let me put them with the kits,
and have a nursery full of babies. Wouldn't it be nice to see them all
grow up?" said Daisy.
"I'm afraid they wouldn't grow up, if Mrs. Purr lived with them," began
Wee, but got no further; for just then the cat bounced into the drawer,
and ate up the mouselings in four mouthfuls. Daisy screamed; the
mother-mouse gave a doleful squeak, and ran into a hole; and Aunt Wee
tried to save the little ones. But it was too late: Purr had got her
breakfast, and sat washing her face after it, as if she had enjoyed it.
"Never mind, Daisy: she would have caught them by and by, and it's as
well to have them taken care of before they do any harm. There is the
bell: don't cry, but come and tell papa what a fine romp we've had."
"It doesn't rain, but it's dreadfully wet; so we'll go to the dairy, and
see if any sprites are hiding there," said Wee next day; and to the
dairy they went.
A pleasant place it was,--so clean and cool, and as full of sweet odors
as if the ghosts of buttercups and clover still haunted the milk which
they had helped to make. Dolly was churning, and Polly was making up
butter in nice little pats. Both were very kind, and let Daisy peep
everywhere. All round on white shelves stood the shining pans, full of
milk; the stone floor was wet; and a stream of water ran along a narrow
bed through the room, and in it stood jars of butter, pots of cream, and
cans of milk. The window was open, and hop-vines shook their green bells
before it. The birds sang outside, and maids sang inside, as the churn
and the wooden spatters kept time:
"Brindle and Bess,
White-star and Jess--
Come, butter, come!
Eat cowslips fine,
Red columbine--
Come, butter, come!
Grasses green and tall,
Clover, best of all,--
Come, butter, come!
And give every night
Milk sweet and white--
Come, butter, come!
Make the churn go,
See the lumps grow!--
Come, butter, come!"
Daisy sang also, and turned the handle till she was tired; then she
helped Polly with the butter, and made four little pats,--one stamped
with a star for papa, one with a rose for mamma, a strawberry for Aunt
Wee, and a cow for herself. She skimmed a pitcher of cream with a
shallow shell, and liked the work so much she asked to have a little pan
of milk put by for her to take care of every day. Dolly promised, and
gave her a small shell and a low shelf all to herself. When she went in,
she carried her pretty pats in one hand, the cream-pot in the other, and
entered the breakfast room looking as brisk and rosy as a little
milkmaid.
It was a lovely morning when Daisy was next roused by the fairy music,
and the ponies were standing at the door. "Are we going far?" she
asked, as Wee put on her riding-skirt, and tied back her hair.
"Up to the mountain-top: it's only a mile; and we shall have time, if we
ride fast," answered Wee.
Away they went, through the green lane, over the bridge, and up the
steep hillside where the sheep fed and colts frisked as they passed by.
Higher and higher climbed Dandy and Prance, the ponies; and gayer and
gayer grew Daisy and Wee, as the fresh air blew over them, and the
morning-red glowed on their faces. When they reached the top, they sat
on a tall stone, and looked down into the valley on either side.
"This seems like a place to find giants, not fairies, it is so high and
big and splendid up here," said Daisy, as her eye roamed over river,
forest, town, and hill.
"There are giants here; and I brought you up to see them," answered Wee.
"Mercy, me! where are they?" cried Daisy, looking very curious and
rather frightened.
"There is one of them." And Wee pointed to the waterfall that went
dashing and foaming down into the valley. "That giant turns the wheels
of all the mills you see. Some of them grind grain for our bread, some
help to spin cloth for our clothes, some make paper, and others saw
trees into boards. That is a beautiful and busy giant, Daisy."
"So it is, and some day we'll go and see it work. Show me the others: I
like your giants 'most as well as those in the fairy-books."
"On this side you'll see another, called Steam. He is a very strong
fellow; for, with the help of gunpowder, he will break the granite
mountain in pieces, and carry it away. He works in the other mills, and
takes heavy loads of stone, cloth, paper, and wood all over the country.
Then, on the right of us is a third giant, called Electricity. He runs
along those wires, and carries messages from one end of the world to the
other. He goes under the sea and through the air; he brings news to
every one; runs day and night, yet never tires; and often helps sick
people with his lively magic."
"I like him best, I think; for he is more like a real, wonderful giant.
Is there any on that side of us?" asked Daisy, turning round to look
behind her.
"Yes: the best and most powerful of all lives in that big house with the
bell on the roof," said Wee, smiling.
"Why, that's only the schoolhouse."
"Education is a long word, dear; but you know what it means, and, as you
grow older, you will see what wonders it can work. It is a noble giant;
for in this country rich and poor are helped by it, and no one need
suffer for it unless they choose. It works more wonders than any other:
it changes little children into wise, good men and women, who rule the
world, and make happy homes everywhere; it helps write books, sing
songs, paint pictures, do good deeds, and beautify the world. Love and
respect it, my little Daisy, and be glad that you live now when such
giants lend a hand to dwarfs like us."
Daisy sat still a long time, looking all about her on the mountain-top;
and, when she rode away, she carried a new thought in her mind, which
she never forgot.
"This is the last day of the seven, and no fairies have been found. Do
you think I _ever_ shall see one?" said Daisy, on the Sunday morning
that ended her week's hunt.
"Not the kind you think of, for there are none such, Daisy; but you have
found two better and more beautiful ones than any fanciful sprites,"
said Wee.
"Have I? Where are they? What are their names?"
Aunt Wee drew her to the glass, and said, as she pointed to Daisy's
face:
"Here they are, and their names are Health and Happiness. There are many
ways of losing them, and they are hard to catch when once lost. I wanted
you to keep both, and tried to show you how. A happy, healthful hour in
the morning sweetens and brightens the whole day; and there is no
fairy-book half so wonderful as the lovely world all about us, if we
only know how to read it."
"Then all these mornings we were hunting after health and happiness,
instead of fairies, were we?"
"Yes: haven't you enjoyed it, and don't you think you have caught my
fairies?"
Daisy looked from a little picture of herself, which Wee had drawn some
time ago, to her image in the glass. One was dull and sad, pale and
cross; the other, rosy, gay, and smiling,--the likeness of a happy,
hearty little girl, wide-awake and in good tune. She understood the kind
joke; and, turning, kissed Aunt Wee, as she said, gratefully: