were odd, and no one knew what to make of her. She would eat nothing
but fruit and shell-fish, and drink nothing but salt water. She didn't
like tight clothes; but would have run about in a loose, green robe,
with bare feet and flying hair, if Uncle Fact would have allowed it.
Morning, noon, and night, she plunged into the sea,--no matter what the
weather might be; and she would sleep on no bed but one stuffed with
dried sea-weed. She made lovely chains of shells; found splendid bits of
coral; and dived where no one else dared, to bring up wonderful plants
and mosses. People offered money for these things; but she gave them all
to Fancy and Aunt Fiction, of whom she was very fond. It was curious to
see the sort of people who liked both Fancy and her friend,--poets,
artists; delicate, thoughtful children; and a few old people, who had
kept their hearts young in spite of care and time and trouble. Dashing
young gentlemen, fine young ladies, worldly-minded and money-loving men
and women, and artificial, unchildlike children, the two friends avoided
carefully; and these persons either made fun of them, neglected them
entirely, or seemed to be unconscious that they were alive. The others
they knew at a glance; for their faces warmed and brightened when the
children came, they listened to their songs and stories, joined in their
plays, and found rest and refreshment in their sweet society.
"This will do for a time; as Fancy is getting strong, and not entirely
wasting her days, thanks to me! But our holiday is nearly over; and, as
soon as I get back to town, I'll take that child to the Ragged Refuge,
and see what they can make of her," said Uncle Fact, who was never quite
satisfied about Lorelei; because he could find out so little concerning
her. He was walking over the beach as he said this, after a hard day's
work on his encyclopaedia. He sat down on a rock in a quiet place; and,
instead of enjoying the lovely sunset, he fell to studying the course of
the clouds, the state of the tide, and the temperature of the air, till
the sound of voices made him peep over the rock. Fancy and her friend
were playing there, and the old gentleman waited to see what they were
about. Both were sitting with their little bare feet in the water;
Lorelei was stringing pearls, and Fancy plaiting a crown of pretty green
rushes.
"I wish I could go home, and get you a string of finer pearls than
these," said Lorelei; "but it is too far away, and I cannot swim now as
I used to do."
"I must look into this. The girl evidently knows all about herself, and
can tell, if she chooses," muttered Uncle Fact, getting rather excited
over this discovery.
"Never mind the pearls: I'd rather have you, dear," said Fancy lovingly.
"Tell me a story while we work, or sing me a song; and I'll give you my
crown."
"I'll sing you a little song that has got what your uncle calls a moral
to it," said Lorelei, laughing mischievously. Then, in her breezy little
voice, she sang the story of--
THE ROCK AND THE BUBBLE.
Oh! a bare, brown rock
Stood up in the sea,
The waves at its feet
Dancing merrily.
A little bubble
Came sailing by,
And thus to the rock
Did it gayly cry,--
"Ho! clumsy brown stone,
Quick, make way for me:
I'm the fairest thing
That floats on the sea.
"See my rainbow-robe,
See my crown of light,
My glittering form,
So airy and bright.
"O'er the waters blue,
I'm floating away,
To dance by the shore
With the foam and spray.
"Now, make way, make way;
For the waves are strong,
And their rippling feet
Bear me fast along."
But the great rock stood
Straight up in the sea:
It looked gravely down,
And said pleasantly,--
"Little friend, you must
Go some other way;
For I have not stirred
This many a long day.
"Great billows have dashed,
And angry winds blown;
But my sturdy form
Is not overthrown.
"Nothing can stir me
In the air or sea;
Then, how can I move,
Little friend, for thee?"
Then the waves all laughed,
In their voices sweet;
And the sea-birds looked,
From their rocky seat,
At the bubble gay,
Who angrily cried,
While its round cheek glowed
With a foolish pride,--
"You _shall_ move for me;
And you shall not mock
At the words I say,
You ugly, rough rock!
"Be silent, wild birds!
Why stare you so?
Stop laughing, rude waves,
And help me to go!
"For I am the queen
Of the ocean here,
And this cruel stone
Cannot make me fear."
Dashing fiercely up,
With a scornful word,
Foolish bubble broke;
But rock never stirred.
Then said the sea-birds,
Sitting in their nests,
To the little ones
Leaning on their breasts,--
"Be not like Bubble,
Headstrong, rude, and vain,
Seeking by violence
Your object to gain;
"But be like the rock,
Steadfast, true, and strong,
Yet cheerful and kind,
And firm against wrong.
"Heed, little birdlings,
And wiser you'll be
For the lesson learned
To-day by the sea."
"Well, to be sure the song _has_ got a moral, if that silly Fancy only
sees it," said Uncle Fact, popping up his bald head again as the song
ended.
"I thank you: that's a good little song for me. But, Lorelei, are you
sorry you came to be my friend?" cried Fancy; for, as she bent to lay
the crown on the other's head, she saw that she was looking wistfully
down into the water that kissed her feet.
"Not yet: while you love me, I am happy, and never regret that I ceased
to be a mermaid for your sake," answered Lorelei, laying her soft cheek
against her friend's.
"How happy I was the day my play-mermaid changed to a real one!" said
Fancy. "I often want to tell people all about that wonderful thing, and
let them know who you really are: then they'd love you as I do, instead
of calling you a little vagabond."
"Few would believe our story; and those that did would wonder at
me,--not love me as you do. They would put me in a cage, and make a show
of me; and I should be so miserable I should die. So don't tell who I
am, will you?" said Lorelei earnestly.
"Never," cried Fancy, clinging to her. "But, my deary, what will you do
when uncle sends you away from me, as he means to do as soon as we go
home? I can see you sometimes; but we cannot be always together, and
there is no ocean for you to enjoy in the city."
"I shall bear it, if I can, for your sake; if I cannot, I shall come
back here, and wait till you come again next year."
"No, no! I will not be parted from you; and, if uncle takes you away,
I'll come here, and be a mermaid with you," cried Fancy.
The little friends threw their arms about each other, and were so full
of their own feelings that they never saw Uncle Fact's tall shadow flit
across them, as he stole away over the soft sand. Poor old gentleman! he
was in a sad state of mind, and didn't know what to do; for in all his
long life he had never been so puzzled before.
"A mermaid indeed!" he muttered. "I always thought that child was a
fool, and now I'm sure of it. She thinks she is a mermaid, and has made
Fancy believe it. I've told my wife a dozen times that she let Fancy
read too many fairy tales and wonder-books. Her head is full of
nonsense, and she is just ready to believe any ridiculous story that is
told her. Now, what on earth shall I do? If I put Luly in an asylum,
Fancy will break her heart, and very likely they will both run away. If
I leave them together, Luly will soon make Fancy as crazy as she is
herself, and I shall be mortified by having a niece who insists that her
playmate is a mermaid. Bless my soul! how absurd it all is!"
Aunt Fiction had gone to town to see her publishers about a novel she
had written, and he didn't like to tell the queer story to any one else;
so Uncle Fact thought it over, and decided to settle the matter at
once. When the children came in, he sent Fancy to wait for him in the
library, while he talked alone with Lorelei. He did his best; but he
could do nothing with her,--she danced and laughed, and told the same
tale as before, till the old gentleman confessed that he had heard their
talk on the rocks: then she grew very sad, and owned that she _was_ a
mermaid. This made him angry, and he wouldn't believe it for an instant;
but told her it was impossible, and she must say something else.
Lorelei could say nothing else, and wept bitterly when he would not
listen; so he locked her up and went to Fancy, who felt as if something
dreadful was going to happen when she saw his face. He told her all he
knew, and insisted that Lorelei was foolish or naughty to persist in
such a ridiculous story.
"But, uncle, I really did make a mermaid; and she really did come alive,
for I saw the figure float away, and then Lorelei appeared," said Fancy,
very earnestly.
"It's very likely you made a figure, and called it a mermaid: it would
be just the sort of thing you'd do," said her uncle. "But it is
impossible that any coming alive took place, and I won't hear any such
nonsense. You didn't see this girl come out of the water; for she says
you never looked up, till she touched you. She was a real child, who
came over the beach from somewhere; and you fancied she looked like
your figure, and believed the silly tale she told you. It is my belief
that she is a sly, bad child; and the sooner she is sent away the better
for you."
Uncle Fact was so angry and talked so loud, that Fancy felt frightened
and bewildered; and began to think he might be right about the mermaid
part, though she hated to give up the little romance.
"If I agree that she _is_ a real child, won't you let her stay, uncle?"
she said, forgetting that, if she lost her faith, her friend was lost
also.
"Ah! then you have begun to come to your senses, have you? and are ready
to own that you don't believe in mermaids and such rubbish?" cried Uncle
Fact, stopping in his tramp up and down the room.
"Why, if you say there never were and never can be any, I suppose I
_must_ give up my fancy; but I'm sorry," sighed the child.
"That's my sensible girl! Now, think a minute, my dear, and you will
also own that it is best to give up the child as well as the mermaid,"
said her uncle briskly.
"Oh! no: we love one another; and she is good, and I can't give her up,"
cried Fancy.
"Answer me a few questions; and I'll prove that she isn't good, that you
don't love her, and that you _can_ give her up," said Uncle Fact, and
numbered off the questions on his fingers as he spoke.
"Didn't Luly want you to deceive us, and every one else, about who she
was?"
"Yes, sir."
"Don't you like to be with her better than with your aunt or myself?"
"Yes, sir."
"Hadn't you rather hear her songs and stories than learn your lessons?"
"Yes, sir."
"Isn't it wrong to deceive people, to love strangers more than those who
are a father and mother to you, and to like silly tales better than
useful lessons?"
"Yes, sir."
"Very well. Then, don't you see, that, if Luly makes you do these wrong
and ungrateful things, she is not a good child, nor a fit playmate for
you?"
Fancy didn't answer; for she couldn't feel that it was so, though he
made it seem so. When Uncle Fact talked in that way, she always got
confused and gave up; for she didn't know how to argue. He was right in
a certain way; but she felt as if she was right also in another way,
though she could not prove it: so she hung her head, and let her tears
drop on the carpet one by one.
Uncle Fact didn't mean to be unkind, but he did mean to have his own
way; and, when he saw the little girl's sad face, he took her on his
knee, and said, more mildly:
"Do you remember the story about the German Lorelei, who sung so
sweetly, and lured people to death in the Rhine?"
"Yes, uncle; and I like it," answered Fancy, looking up.
"Well, my dear, your Lorelei will lead you into trouble, if you follow
her. Suppose she is what you think her,--a mermaid: it is her delight to
draw people into the water, where, of course, they drown. If she is what
I think her,--a sly, bad child, who sees that you are very simple, and
who means to get taken care of without doing any thing useful,--she will
spoil you in a worse way than if you followed her into the sea. I've got
no little daughter of my own, and I want to keep you as safe and happy
as if you were mine. I don't like this girl, and I want you to give her
up for my sake. Will you, Fancy?"
While her uncle said these things, all the beauty seemed to fall away
from her friend, all the sweetness from their love, and all her faith in
the little dream which had made her so happy. Mermaids became
treacherous, unlovely, unreal creatures; and Lorelei seemed like a
naughty, selfish child, who deceived her, and made her do wrong things.
Her uncle had been very kind to her all her life; and she loved him, was
grateful, and wanted to show that she was, by pleasing him. But her
heart clung to the friend she had made, trusted, and loved; and it
seemed impossible to give up the shadow, even though the substance was
gone. She put her hands before her face for a moment; then laid her arms
about the old man's neck, and whispered, with a little sob:
"I'll give her up; but you'll be kind to her, because I was fond of her
once."
As the last word left Fancy's lips, a long, sad cry sounded through the
room; Lorelei sprung in, gave her one kiss, and was seen to run swiftly
toward the beach, wringing her hands. Fancy flew after; but, when she
reached the shore, there was nothing to be seen but the scattered
pebbles, shells, and weeds that made the mock mermaid, floating away on
a receding wave.
"Do you believe now?" cried Fancy, weeping bitterly, as she pointed to
the wreck of her friend, and turned reproachfully toward Uncle Fact, who
had followed in great astonishment.
The old gentleman looked well about him; then shook his head, and
answered decidedly:
"No, my dear, I _don't_. It's an odd affair; but, I've no doubt, it will
be cleared up in a natural way sometime or other."
But there he was mistaken; for this mystery never _was_ cleared up.
Other people soon forgot it, and Fancy never spoke of it; yet she made
very few friends, and, though she learned to love and value Uncle Fact
as well as Aunt Fiction, she could not forget her dearest playmate. Year
after year she came back to the sea-side; and the first thing she always
did was to visit the place where she used to play, and stretch her arms
toward the sea, crying tenderly:
"O my little friend! come back to me!"
But Lorelei never came again.
THE END.
* * * * *
LOUISA M. ALCOTT'S FAMOUS BOOKS
[Illustration: "Sing, Tessa; sing!" cried Tommo, twanging away with all
his might.--PAGE 47.]
AUNT JO'S SCRAP-BAG: Containing "My Boys," "Shawl-Straps," "Cupid and
Chow-Chow," "My Girls," "Jimmy's Cruise in the Pinafore," "An
Old-Fashioned Thanksgiving." 6 vols. Price of each, $1.00.
ROBERTS BROTHERS, PUBLISHERS, _Boston_.
* * * * *
LOUISE CHANDLER MOULTON'S STORIES.
[Illustration]
BED-TIME STORIES.
MORE BED-TIME STORIES.
NEW BED-TIME STORIES.
WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY ADDIE LEDYARD.
Three volumes in a box. Price, $3.75.
_ROBERTS BROTHERS_, _Publishers_, BOSTON.
* * * * *
AUNT JO'S SCRAP-BAG.
CUPID AND CHOW-CHOW, ETC.
[Illustration: SCRAP-BAG. VOL III.]
BY LOUISA M. ALCOTT,
AUTHOR OF "LITTLE WOMEN," "AN OLD-FASHIONED GIRL," "LITTLE MEN,"
"HOSPITAL SKETCHES."
BOSTON:
ROBERTS BROTHERS.
1881.
* * * * *
Jean Ingelow's Prose Story Books.
In 5 vols. 16mo, uniformly bound.
STUDIES FOR STORIES FROM GIRLS' LIVES. Illustrated, Price, $1.25.
"A rare source of delight for all who can find pleasure in
really good works of prose fiction.... They are prose poems,
carefully meditated, and exquisitely couched in by a teacher
ready to sympathize with every joy and sorrow."--_Athenaeum._
STORIES TOLD TO A CHILD. Illustrated. Price, $1.25.
STORIES TOLD TO A CHILD. Second Series. Illustrated. Price, $1.25.
"This is one of the most charming juvenile books ever laid on
our table. Jean Ingelow, the noble English poet, second only to
Mrs. Browning, bends easily and gracefully from the heights of
thought and fine imagination to commune with the minds and
hearts of children; to sympathize with their little joys and
sorrows; to feel for their temptations. She is a safe guide for
the little pilgrims; for her paths, though 'paths of
pleasantness,' lead straight upward."--_Grace Greenwood in "The
Little Pilgrim."_
A SISTER'S BYE-HOURS. Illustrated. Price, $1.25.
"Seven short stories of domestic life by one of the most popular
of the young authors of the day,--an author who has her heart in
what she writes,--Jean Ingelow. And there is heart in these
stories, and healthy moral lessons, too. They are written in the
author's most graceful and affecting style, will be read with
real pleasure, and, when read, will leave more than momentary
impressions."--_Brooklyn Union._
MOPSA THE FAIRY. A Story. With Eight Illustrations. Price, $1.25.
"Miss Ingelow is, to our mind, the most charming of all living
writers for children, and 'Mopsa' alone ought to give her a kind
of pre-emptive right to the love and gratitude of our young
folks. It requires genius to conceive a purely imaginary work
which must of necessity deal with the supernatural, without
running into a mere riot of fantastic absurdity; but genius Miss
Ingelow has, and the story of Jack is as careless and joyous,
but as delicate, as a picture of childhood.
"The young people should be grateful to Jean Ingelow and those
other noble writers, who, in our day, have taken upon themselves
the task of supplying them with literature, if for no other
reason, that these writers have saved them from the ineffable
didacticism which, till within the last few years, was
considered the only food fit for the youthful
mind."--_Eclectic._
_Sold everywhere. Mailed, postpaid, by the Publishers._
ROBERTS BROTHERS, BOSTON.
* * * * *
_Messrs. Roberts Brothers' Publications._
CASTLE BLAIR:
A STORY OF YOUTHFUL DAYS.
BY FLORA L. SHAW.
16mo. Cloth. Price $1.00
"There is quite a lovely little book just come out about
children,--'Castle Blair!' ... The book is good, and lovely, and
true, having the best description of a noble child in it
(Winnie) that I ever read; and nearly the best description of
the next best thing,--a noble dog," says John Ruskin, the
distinguished art critic.
"'Castle Blair,' a story of youthful days, by Flora L. Shaw, is
an Irish story. A charming young girl--half French, half
English--comes from France, at the age of eighteen, to live with
her bachelor uncle at Castle Blair, which is in possession of
five children of an absent brother of this uncle. The children
are in a somewhat wild and undisciplined condition, but they are
as interesting children as can be imagined, and some of them
winning to an extraordinary degree. They are natural children,
in manner and in talk; but the book differs from some American
books about children, in that it is pervaded by an air of
refinement and good-breeding. The story is altogether
delightful, quite worthy, from an American point of view, of all
Mr. Ruskin says of it; and if circulation were determined by
merit, it would speedily outstrip a good many now popular
children's books which have a vein of commonness, if not of
vulgarity."--_Hartford Courant._
"It is not too much to say that nothing more interesting or more
wholesome is offered this year for older boys and girls. It is a
charming story, in which the author has delineated character as
carefully, and with as keen an artistic sense, as if she had
been writing a novel. Her book is a novel, indeed, with children
and the lives of children, instead of men and women and their
lives, for its theme."--_New York Evening Post._
_Our publications are to be had of all Booksellers. When not to be
found, send directly to_
ROBERTS BROTHERS, PUBLISHERS, =BOSTON.=
* * * * *
_Messrs. Roberts Brothers' Publications._
NELLY'S SILVER MINE.
BY H. H.
With Illustrations. 16mo, cloth. Price $1.50.
"The sketches of life, especially of its odd and out-of-the-way
aspects, by H. H. always possess so vivid a reality that they
appear more like the actual scenes than any copy by pencil or
photograph. They form a series of living pictures, radiant with
sunlight and fresh as morning dew. In this new story the fruits
of her fine genius are of Colorado growth, and though without
the antique flavor of her recollections of Rome and Venice, are
as delicious to the taste as they are tempting to the eye, and
afford a natural feast of exquisite quality."--_N. Y. Tribune._
"This charming little book, written for children's entertainment
and instruction, is equally delightful to the fathers and
mothers. It is life in New England, and the racy history of a
long railway journey to the wilds of Colorado. The children are
neither imps nor angels, but just such children as are found in
every happy home. The pictures are so graphically drawn that we
feel well acquainted with Rob and Nelly, have travelled with
them and climbed mountains and found silver mines, and know all
about the rude life made beautiful by a happy family, and can
say of Nelly, with their German neighbor, Mr. Kleesman, 'Ach
well, she haf better than any silver mine in her own
self.'"--_Chicago Inter-Ocean._
"In 'Nelly's Silver Mine' Mrs. Helen Hunt Jackson has given us a
true classic for the nursery and the school-room, but its
readers will not be confined to any locality. Its vivid
portraiture of Colorado life and its truth to child-nature give
it a charm which the most experienced cannot fail to feel. It
will stand by the side of Miss Edgeworth and Mrs. Barbauld in
all the years to come."--_Mrs. Caroline H. Dall._
"We heartily commend the book for its healthy spirit, its lively
narrative, and its freedom from most of the faults of books for
children."--_Atlantic Monthly._
_Our publications are to be had of all Booksellers. When not to be
found, send directly to_
ROBERTS BROTHERS, BOSTON.
End of Project Gutenberg's Aunt Jo's Scrap-Bag VI, by Louisa M. Alcott