of the world--and one generally imagines that it is in mountainous
districts that the weather is the most uncertain--the country where the
farm-house, now Merran's home, stood, was extraordinarily trying in this
respect. It was very fertile, as it was well watered, but changeable
past description, quite enough to try the farmers' tempers, not to speak
of little girls'. Never, for two days together, could even the oldest
inhabitants, naturally supposed to be the most weather-wise, prophesy
with any security what was coming. Barometer after barometer proved all
but useless. I believe it was in a fit of irritation that Farmer Mac had
knocked over the old "rain-house," and broken it, because he imagined
"the pair who tell the weather" had misled him. They had not done so, as
you will hear, and it would have been better for him if he had not
treated them as he did. But of this Merran knew nothing.
"Yes," she repeated angrily, for it seemed to her that the figure had
moved forward a little and was really looking down at her as if it were
alive, "yes," she said, "_you_ wouldn't like it, I can tell you, so you
needn't stare at me so. If only I could get up to you, I'd tell you
things that would make even you, a silly wooden doll, sorry for me."
To her amazement, a voice replied to her.
"Close your eyes," it said, and even if Merran had felt inclined to
disobey, I doubt if she could have done so. "Hold out your
hands--upwards," it went on, and then the child became aware that
whoever it was that spoke was somewhere above her, and again she
obeyed, stretching up her hands as far as she could reach. Then for a
third time came a command. "Spring," said the voice, "spring, high, into
the air. Yes, that is right," and as she gave the leap upwards, instead
of at once dropping down again as one naturally would, she felt her
fingers grasped, gently but firmly, and in another moment her feet
touched ground again, and the same voice now said gently, "Good girl.
Now, Merran, you may look about you."
You may be sure she lost no time in availing herself of the permission.
But--just at first, she did not feel sure that her eyes were not somehow
or other playing her a trick. What she saw, the place where she found
herself, seemed so strange; still more so the person who, still holding
her by the hands, was looking down at her, smiling.
"Who are you?" said Merran, drawing away a little, for she felt half
frightened.
"Don't you know? Look at me well--you have often done so, though you
never saw me so plainly before."
It was the same voice, and though sweet and gentle it had to be obeyed.
So Merran looked at her, and gradually she began to understand, though
vaguely.
"Yes," she said, "I seem to know your face, and your dress,
and--and--but yet you can't be the figure in the rain-house. You are so
pretty, so very pretty, and even your dress--oh what lovely stuff it's
made of."
And so it was. The "doll-woman," as Merran had called her, was attired
in a short, queerly spotted red skirt, with a white jacket--only painted
wood, of course, to mortal eyes--and a kind of kerchief on her head. Now
the skirt had changed into fine, rose-coloured silky stuff, beautifully
embroidered all over with tiny daisies; the hard stiff upper dress was
of snowy, delicate muslin, such as Merran had never before seen or
dreamt of; the head-gear a gauzy scarf of golden tissue; the little feet
were shod with slippers of the same lovely red as the skirt, gleaming
against the whitest and finest of stockings.
"Oh," exclaimed Merran again, "how pretty, oh how _very_ pretty you are;
your dress too! I can't believe you're the doll-woman. I didn't think
her at all pretty, and yet----" she felt too puzzled to explain, and no
wonder, for the face still smiling at her was so very charming. Blue
eyes like forget-me-nots; cheeks like delicate blush roses; lovely
bright brown hair, some ends of which came straying out of the graceful
head-dress, and above all such a sweet and kindly expression!
"Yet," said the fairy lady, for that this she was the little girl began
to feel sure, "yet, Merran, your idea is right. I am the same, and this
place where you are standing is what you have called the 'rain-house.'
Look about you--this is only the entrance--and then I will take you
inside and you shall see my husband, who will welcome you as I do. We
have expected you for a long time, but till you spoke to me in your
trouble I had no power to bid you come."
Then Merran turned and gazed around her, and strange as it had seemed at
first, she began to recognise the roughened walls, the branches wreathed
round the porch with its two open doorways, even the flooring on which
she stood, painted to look like tiles.
"Yes," she exclaimed, "it _is_ like the rain-house, as much as I could
see of it. But--" and then for the first time a new perplexity struck
her, "if it really is it," she asked, "how can I be in it? How can I be
littler even than you? Why I could have held you in my hand when I was
down in the garret, if I could have got you? Have you grown big, or
have I grown tiny?"
The Sunshine fairy--we can call her by her name now--laughed, and oh how
pretty her laugh was!
"My dear Merran," she said, "it doesn't matter. Perhaps, however, it is
less confusing for you to think you have grown tiny. But I needn't
puzzle you if you understand that to all intents and purposes you are in
fairyland--as much there as it is well for a mortal child to be. Your
old rain-house is one of its entrances. Come now, and you shall see
more."
She opened a door in the back of the hut--or what seemed the back--and
led Merran through. The little girl gave a cry of pleasure. They were
standing in the prettiest room you could imagine. It was all brightness
and cosiness, the chairs and tables of white wood, the carpet like green
moss, the walls hung with soft pink silk, and above all the
"window-doors," as Merran called them to herself, opened on to--surely
the loveliest garden that ever was seen, "out of fairyland" I was going
to say, forgetting that it was, if not fairyland itself, just at the
entrance to it. It did not seem a very large garden, or rather one could
not quite tell how far it extended, for at the farther end it sloped
down rather suddenly and beyond, a great thicket of beautiful trees and
bushes gave a misty, vague appearance, through which Merran only caught
sight of gleams of sky and sunshine--almost, she fancied, of blue hills
far in the distance.
"That must be the real fairyland," she thought. But she did not feel
much curiosity about it; the pretty room and lovely garden were too full
of delight. And as she gazed, another object attracted her. This was a
fountain in the centre of one of the velvety lawns. She had never seen a
fountain before, but she was a clever child in her own way, and she
remembered pictures which she had seen, of which the dancing silvery
drops reminded her.
"Is that a--a waterfall?" she asked.
The fairy lady shook her head.
"Not exactly," she replied, "though for a little girl like you it is a
very good guess. No, it is the fountain by which we know about the rain
and showers. We send messages far and wide by its means. You could not
understand if I explained. But we work very hard. Fairy folk are not
idle, as some foolish mortals imagine. See--my husband is coming to
speak to you. He and I work together, though behind there in your world
people fancy we don't! Rain without sunshine, or sunshine without rain,
would make a sad state of things."
"Yes, indeed," said a merry voice, and from behind the mist and dazzle
of the fountain Merran perceived a new-comer--a man with a nice brown
face, dressed something like a charming old china figure which her aunt
greatly treasured--brown velvet jacket and breeches, flowered waistcoat,
a scarlet cap on his short curls--altogether quite the right sort of
person to match the lovely Sunshine fairy.
He doffed his cap as he came forward, Merran gazing at him in surprise.
She would much have liked to ask him how ever he managed to keep so
beautifully clean and smart if he was always working away at the water,
but she felt rather shy, and only gazed.
"So you have come at last, little maiden," he said pleasantly. "We have
been waiting here a good while for you."
[Illustration: "So you have come at last, little maiden."]
Merran felt greatly astonished and puzzled.
"Yes," said the Sunshine fairy, "our queen knows all about you. She
always cares for lonely or unhappy children more than for any others,
though they may not be aware of it. And she told us to stay here till
the time came for us to be of service to you, poor little Merran. Not
that it matters much to us where we live. Rain and I can do our work
wherever we are, and move our abode in less time than it would take you
to run downstairs."
"I wish you would stay here always and let me come and live with you,"
pleaded Merran. "Nobody cares for me down there," and she nodded towards
where she supposed the farm must be. "Couldn't you--couldn't your queen
turn me into a fairy for good? I shouldn't ever want to be a real little
girl again, and nobody would mind. They'd just think I'd got
lost--they'd never imagine I'd gone to fairyland."
"Would nobody mind--would nobody miss you?" the Sunshine fairy asked
gently.
Merran's eager face fell. She hesitated.
"P'r'aps Dirk would have minded once, before he went away," she said
ruefully. "But not now--oh no--they say he's grown so fine and strong
like the others. He won't care for me any more, I'm sure. That's another
reason why I wish you'd let me stay with you and never go back to the
farm again. Aunt says I grow stupider and stupider, and uglier too, I
daresay she thinks, though she doesn't exactly say so. And just look at
me"--she held out her shabby old skirt as she spoke--"this horrid dress
is only fit for a beggar girl, and I'll have to wear it all the week,
though it wasn't my fault that I dirtied my nice clean one. The lane was
so slippery, and so muddy. It had been raining so hard."
The Sunshine fairy smiled.
"Yes," she said, "but you don't know what it would be like in your
country if it didn't rain a good deal."
"I know it has to, of course," said Merran, "but if only we knew better,
everything would be easier. Uncle Mac often says there never was such
changeable weather as we have. I don't believe he'd be so cross and
surly if he wasn't always worrying about what the sky's like and what
it's going to do. And if _I_ knew, I'd take care not to go out without
an umbrella, if it was going to be wet, nor along that muddy lane."
The Rain fairy had gone back to the fountain while Merran was speaking,
and by this time she had quite lost all feelings of shyness with the
pretty Sunshine lady. Just then the sound of the rushing water stopped
suddenly. The fairy looked up and called out. The words seemed strange,
and Merran could not understand them, nor the reply which came back. But
Sunshine turned to her.
"You will find bright weather on your return," she said, "and I promise
you a pleasant surprise as well. So do not be low-spirited, little
Merran. You have been watched over in ways you know not of, and you may
cheer up from now."
But it was difficult for the child to believe this all at once.
"Oh mayn't I stay with you, dear kind fairy?" she pleaded again. "It
wouldn't matter to me how the time passed. I shouldn't be like little
Bridget, who found her friends all gone, for you see I should never want
to go back at all. Oh do let me stay. Can't you turn me into a fairy
altogether?" she repeated. "I'd be your servant or anything you like."
Still Sunshine shook her head.
"No, my little maiden," she replied. "What you ask is impossible. You
can never become one of us--a human child you are, a woman you must
before long become. But a happy woman you may be, and to help you to be
happy is the task that has been appointed to us. Long ago, but for love
and pity for you, the old rain-house, as you call it, would have fallen
to pieces, and we should have deserted the farm altogether, as indeed
its master deserved after his treatment of us. He has been punished for
it, however, and now by your means great and unusual good fortune may be
before him and his. And this I will now explain to you, but on one
condition."
Merran felt a little frightened.
"Is it something very difficult that I have to do?" she asked timidly.
The Sunshine lady shook her head.
"No, indeed," she replied. "It is simply to keep carefully two gifts
which we have prepared for you, and to use them as I will describe.
But--there is the condition."
"What is it?" said Merran eagerly. "I'm sure you wouldn't want me to do
anything wrong, or to promise anything I can't be sure of being able
for, so I do promise now, this very minute, even before you tell me."
She was rewarded by a smile.
"You do right to trust me," said the fairy. "All I bind you to is
this--to tell no one of the magic gifts, to keep your possession of them
a complete secret, until----"
"Till when?" Merran interrupted.
"Till you are grown up, and only then if you marry and love your husband
dearly. For I know that without complete confidence, little rifts are
sadly apt to come between even those who love each other most truly."
"I don't think I'll ever marry," said the poor little maiden. "I'm too
ugly and stupid. But still, if ever I did, I know I'd love my husband,
'cos you see it would be so kind of him to love _me_. And then it would
be nice to tell him the secret, if it would do him good too. Oh I do
wonder what it is you're going to give me!"
Fairy Sunshine slipped her hand into the front of her bodice and drew
out something. At the same moment the Rain brownie, or gnome--no, he was
too handsome to be a gnome--or whatever you like to call him, came
forward again, and he too was holding something. Together the pair
presented their gifts, and Merran gave a little cry of delight as she
saw what they were. One was a tiny umbrella, a real umbrella, not a sham
toy one, or a gold or silver "charm," such as ladies hang by their
watch-chains, no, a real, exquisitely made and finished umbrella of
green silk and with a beautifully carved ivory handle.
"I have made it myself," said the Rain man. "It will never wear out and
never lose its power, unless you forget your promise."
"And for my gift I say the same," echoed Fairy Sunshine. Hers was even
prettier, for it was a parasol, smaller of course than the umbrella, but
just as beautifully perfect--of rose-coloured gauze, lined with white,
and the handle was in the form of a daisy, of silver and enamel.
Merran was silent with pleasure and admiration.
"Oh thank you, thank you," she was beginning, but the fairy stopped her.
"Wait a moment," she said, "wait till you learn the real value of these
two things. They are not merely pretty toys. It would be foolish to give
them to you if they were nothing better than that. But they are much
better. We have endowed them with fairy power. See here--if you want to
know what the weather is going to be, you must test them--by yourself,
of course, and when no one can see you, for magic gifts belong to their
owner alone. You must test by trying to open them. If the umbrella
refuses to spread itself, you will know that it is not going to rain. If
so, turn to the parasol. If it opens quite widely you may count on
plenty of sunshine; if only partly, then though the day will be dry, it
will not be very bright. But you must be gentle; it would be useless to
try to force either of them, for then they would break and you would
have lost them for ever."
Merran's eyes were gleaming with delight.
"I will be very gentle, I promise you. Oh it will be splendid always to
know about the weather, and uncle and all of them will never again think
me stupid or useless if they find I can foretell it. It will make them
much nicer to me, won't it?"
"Yes," replied her friend. "That is the reason of our giving you this
secret power. But I must tell you a little more. You must not only be
gentle in touch, you must have gentle feelings in your heart, otherwise
you will fail. Neither umbrella nor parasol will open if you apply to
them with any unkind feeling or wish. For instance, if the farmer or his
sons have been sharp or rough to you and you wish it _would_ rain just
to vex them, it would be no good at all for you to try to open
either--and if your aunt has been cross to you some very hot day----"
"She often is when it is very hot," interrupted Merran. "More than when
it's cold. She gets headaches in summer."
"Just so--then if you take hold of the parasol with a secret hope that
the sun is going to blaze away all day, without any cooling summer rain,
so that the dame will be punished for scolding you--no--it would be no
good at all! Inside your heart must be the _hope_ that the wishes of
others shall be fulfilled, whether it come to pass or not; otherwise all
the magic will be gone for the time," and at this Merran looked grave,
very grave, for she had known what it was to long for power to annoy
others. But the fairy's next words cheered her. "I don't think there is
much fear of your having those unkind feelings," she said. "I know that
you are going to be a much happier little girl than ever before, and
remember to begin with, I have promised you a pleasant surprise when you
go home to-day."
"I wonder what it will be," thought Merran, and she felt so anxious to
know, that it took away part of her reluctance to leave the charming
"rain-house," as just then the Sunshine fairy, taking her hand, added,
"I will show you now how to find your way back."
They were turning to enter the house again when a sudden thought struck
Merran, who was carrying her new treasures with the greatest care.
"Where shall I hide them?" she asked anxiously. "I _am_ so afraid of any
one finding them, or taking them, and there's nowhere in the little room
where I sleep that I can lock up. Aunt comes in any time and looks all
about, to see that I keep things tidy."
"Quite right of her," said the fairy. "I can help you to keep your
treasures in perfect safety, much more so than if you locked them up in
the strongest box that ever was made. Hold them out--one in each hand."
Merran did so--the fairy touched them both, first the umbrella, then the
parasol, murmuring some word or words that the child could not hear.
"Now," she said, "I have made them become invisible to all eyes but your
own, or those of the one to whom you may some day confide your secret,
as you have permission to do. See--just to prove it to you, I will for a
moment make them invisible even to yourself. Shut your eyes."
Merran did so.
"Open," said the Sunshine lady.
Merran obeyed, but gave a cry of dismay.
"They've gone, they've gone," she exclaimed, "and yet I didn't feel you
touching them."
The fairy laughed.
"Wink your eyes," she said. "Now look again," and there sure enough were
the magic gifts safe and sound.
Merran laughed too.
"So you don't need to be afraid of any one stealing them," said her
friend.
"N-no," said the child. "But still--where had I best keep them? For you
see in my own room they might get knocked or brushed away, even without
being seen?"
"How about the garret?" asked the fairy. "No one ever interferes with
you there--they are used to your playing there by yourself, aren't
they?"
"Oh yes," Merran replied. "Only sometimes aunt goes up to look over
things, or dust a little. Why the other day she said she was going to
throw away the rain-house, as it was no use. I was glad she didn't, for
I have always liked seeing it. And fancy! if she had, I should never
have come up here and seen this lovely place and you, dear Sunshine
fairy, or the Rain fairy, or got your magic gifts! How dreadful to think
of!" But her friend only smiled.
"She could not have done it," she said. "She had no power to touch it
while we were still here, while it was still one of the secret entrances
to fairyland. But as to a hiding-place for your charms," she went on.
"Have you ever peeped up at the eaves above the little storm-window
where you are so fond of sitting?"
"Yes, often," said Merran. "There is an old swallows' nest there, but,"
and she shook her head sadly, "they have quite deserted it for the last
two years. I used to love to watch them and to hear their twittering."
"Nevertheless the old nest will serve your purpose perfectly," said the
fairy lady. "Hide your treasures in it; you can easily reach up without
any danger of falling, as there is a good stretch of flat roof outside.
And then, if by any chance you were seen there, it would only be
supposed that you were looking out of the window at the view--trying to
catch the peep of the sea, as you often do."
"Yes, yes," replied Merran, greatly pleased. "What a good idea, and how
clever of you to think of it! How do you know so much about me and the
garret and everything, dear Sunshine fairy? I suppose you really could
see me when you were the little toy woman in the rain-house? But it
won't be easy to believe she's you! You are _so_ pretty compared with
her. Mayn't I come up here again and see you as you really are?"
The fairy shook her head.
"Our task here is accomplished," she said. "You will not need to puzzle
about the toy woman, and how she and I can be the same and yet not the
same. And this way into fairyland will now be closed. But when the
sunshine peeps in at your window and lights up your fair hair and puts
some colour into your cheeks, you may believe, my little maiden, that I
am kissing you. Or when some drops of rain make you start by their cool
touch, you may say to yourself that the Rain fairy is sending you his
greeting. Both of us, first one and then the other, working together.
That is how it is and should be. And now," she went on, "we will see you
safe home again," and glancing up, Merran saw that beside the lovely
lady stood the picturesque figure of the Rain fairy, with his dark but
kindly face. "Together," for once, "the pair that tell the weather."
They turned and entered the pretty room, passing through it, however,
till at the other side, where a door led into the familiar "rain-house,"
or hut, they stood still, beckoning to Merran, who had followed them in
silence, feeling excited and happy, and yet a little sad. Then each took
one of her hands--her gifts were safely nestling inside her bodice--and
whispering softly, in a sort of musical murmur, which made her close her
eyes half sleepily:
"Farewell, little Merran, farewell. In sunshine or in rainy weather,
little maiden, fare thee well."
And before she had time to look round or wonder what was going to happen
to her, she felt herself gently pushed over the edge of the rain-house,
like a fledgling which the parent birds are training to fly, and though
she had no wings, fly or flutter she did, down, down, till she found
herself standing safely on the floor of the old garret, just in front of
the storm-window, in her favourite nook.
She rubbed her eyes. Was it all a dream?
She might almost have thought so, but--feeling in her bodice for her
handkerchief, her fingers touched something, and she drew out the fairy
gifts. Yes--there they were all right, and evidently changed in size
like her own small self, for they lay in her hands in the same way as
above in the fairy house, "and up there," said Merran, "I must have been
much, much littler than I am now, for I could go in and out quite
easily."
The thought made her glance at the high shelf where ever since she could
remember had stood the toy hut, with the woman's figure just peeping
out. But what she now saw made her start.
The rain-house had fallen--its walls and roof were in pieces, as if a
fairy earthquake had shattered them! Merran felt half inclined to cry,
but before she had decided if she should do so or not she caught sight
of a tiny figure peering at her from behind the rubbish. It was the toy
woman, just as she had always been, dress and all, but as Merran gazed,
the stiff wooden doll seemed to melt away, giving place to the lovely
Sunshine fairy, who smiled and waved her hand as if in farewell, and the
little girl, feeling that this was indeed her last sight of the so long
unknown friends, who had watched over and cared for her, allowed some
tears to trickle down her face unchecked, while she waved and kissed her
hand in return till the pretty vision disappeared and nothing was left
to tell her that her visit had not been all a dream, except the broken
bits of painted wood and cardboard which she had called the rain-house!
[Illustration: She caught sight of a tiny figure peering at her from
behind the rubbish.]