THE Fairy Fluffikins lived in a warm woolly nest in a hole down an old
oak tree. She was the sweetest, funniest little fairy you ever saw. She
wore a little, soft, fluffy brown dress, and on her head a little red
woolly cap; she had soft red hair and the brightest, naughtiest,
merriest, sharpest brown eyes imaginable.
What a life she led the animals! Fairy Fluffikins was a sad tease; she
would creep into the nests where the fat baby dormice were asleep in bed
while Mamma dormouse nodded over her knitting and Papa smoked his little
acorn pipe; and she would tickle the babies till they screamed with
laughter and nearly rolled out of bed, and Mamma scolded, and Papa said
in a gruff voice—“What a plague you are, you little dors; go to sleep
this minute or I will fetch my big stick.”
And then the babies would shake, for they were afraid of the big stick;
and naughty Fairy Fluffikins would dance off to find some fresh piece of
mischief.
One night she had fine fun. She found a little dead mouse in a field;
and at first she was sorry for the mouse, and thought she would bury it
and plant a daisy on its grave; but then an idea struck her. She hunted
about till she found a piece of long, strong grass, and then she took the
little mouse, tied the piece of grass round its tail, and ran away with
it to the big tree where the Ancient Owl lived. There was a little hole
at the bottom of the tree and into it Fairy Fluffikins crept, leaving the
mouse outside in the moonlight. Presently she heard a gruff voice in the
tree saying—
“I smell mouse, I smell mouse.” Then there was a swoop of wings, and
Fairy Fluffikins promptly drew the mouse into the little hole and stuffed
its tail into her mouth so that she might not be heard laughing; and the
gruff voice said angrily—
“Where’s that mouse gone? I smelt mouse, I know I smelt mouse!”
She grew tired of this game after a few times, so she left the mouse in
the hole and crept away to a new one. She really was a naughty fairy.
She blew on the buttercups so that they thought the morning breeze had
come to wake them up, and opened their cups in a great hurry. She buzzed
outside the clover and made it talk in its sleep, so that it said in a
cross, sleepy voice—“Go away, you stupid busy bee, and don’t wake me up
in the middle of the night.”
She pulled the tail of the nightingale who was singing to his lady-love
in the hawthorn bush, and he lost his place in his song and nearly
tumbled over backwards into the garden. Then to her joy she met an
elderly, domestic puss taking an evening walk with a view to field-mice.
Here was sport. Fluffikins hid in the grass and squeaked; and when the
elderly cat came tearing up she pulled his whiskers and flew away (I
forgot to tell you that she had little, soft wings), and the elderly cat
jumped and said—
“Mouse-traps and mince-meat! Fancy a cat of my age and experience taking
a bat for a mouse! But by my claws I heard a mouse’s squeak.”
Fairy Fluffikins often met the poor elderly cat, and always led him some
dreadful dance, now and then taking a ride on his back into the bargain,
till he thought he must have got the nightmare.
One day Fairy Fluffikins was well paid out for some of her naughtiness.
She was flying away from a tree where she had just wrapped a sleeping
bat’s head up in a large cobweb, when she heard the sweep of wings, felt
a sharp nip—and in less time than it takes to tell found herself in the
nest of the Ancient Owl.
“My wig!” said the Ancient Owl, much surprised, “I thought you were a
bat.” And he called his wife and three children to look.
Now when Fairy Fluffikins saw five pairs of large round eyes blinking and
staring at her she lost her head and cried out—“Please, please, Mr
Ancient Owl, don’t be angry with me and I will never play tricks with
mice any more,” and so told the Ancient Owl what he had never even
suspected before.
Then the Ancient Owl was MOST DREADFULLY ANGRY and read Fairy Fluffikins
a long sermon about the wickedness of deceiving Ancient Owls. The sermon
took two hours and a half; and when it was over all the owls hooted at
her and pecked her; and Fairy Fluffikins was very glad indeed when at
last Mrs Ancient Owl gave her a push and said—
“Go along, you impertinent brown minx,” and she was able to go out into
the night.
Even this sad adventure did not cure Fairy Fluffikins of getting into
mischief—although she never teased the owls any more, you may be sure of
that—she took to tormenting the squirrels instead. She used to find
their stores of nuts and carry them away and fill the holes with pebbles;
and this, when you are a hard-working squirrel with a large family to
support, is very trying to the temper. Then she would tie acorns to
their tails; and she would clap her hands to frighten them, and pull the
baby-squirrels’ ears; till at last they offered a reward to anyone who
could catch Fairy Fluffikins and bring her to be punished.
No one caught Fairy Fluffikins; but she caught herself, as you shall
hear.
She was poking about round a haystack one night, trying to find something
naughty to do, when she came upon a sweet little house with pretty wire
walls and a wooden door standing invitingly open. In hopped Fluffikins,
thinking she was going to have some new kind of fun. There was a little
white thing dangling from the roof, and she laid hold of it. Immediately
there was a bang; the wooden door slammed; and Fluffikins was caught.
How she cried and stamped and pushed at the door, and promised to be a
good fairy and a great many other things! But all to no purpose: the
door was tight shut, and Fluffikins was not like some fortunate fairies
who can get out of anywhere.
There she remained, and in the morning one of the labourers found her,
and, thinking she was some kind of dormouse, he carried her home to his
little girl; and if you call on Mary Ann Smith you will see Fairy
Fluffikins there still in a little cage. They give her nuts and cheese
and bread, and all the things she doesn’t like, and there is no one to
tease and no mischief to get into; so if there is a miserable little
Fairy anywhere it is Fairy Fluffikins, and I’m not sure it doesn’t serve
her quite right.
The Story of the Tinkle-Tinkle.
Once upon a time there lived a Tinkle-Tinkle. I cannot tell you what he
was like, because no man knows, not even the Tinkle-Tinkle himself.
Sometimes he lived on the ground, sometimes in a tree, sometimes in the
water, sometimes in a cave; and I can’t tell you what he lived on, for no
man knows, not even the Tinkle-Tinkle himself.
One day the Tinkle-Tinkle was going through a wood, when he heard a
piteous weeping. He stopped, for he was a kindly Tinkle-Tinkle, and
found two small dormice sobbing under a tree because they had been
cruelly deserted by their parents. He wiped their eyes tenderly and took
them to his cave home; but I cannot tell you how he went, for no man
knows, not even the Tinkle-Tinkle. However, when he got there he put the
dormice to bed in his grandmother’s boots, for which he had never found
any use before, and fed them on periwinkles and tea, and was very kind to
them; and when they grew older he bought them caps and aprons, and they
became the Tinkle-Tinkle’s housemaid and parlourmaid.
Now I must tell you that it was a great grief to the Tinkle-Tinkle not to
know what he was, or how he lived, or where he was going to; and it often
made him depressed, but he always concealed it from the dormice,
appearing a most cheerful and contented creature.
One day he found a poor green bird lying on the ground with its leg
broken. Fortunately Tinkle-Tinkle had his grandmother’s black silk
reticule with him which had never been of any service to him before. He
gently placed the green bird in the bottom and carried it to the cave.
The dormice laid the poor sufferer on a soft bed and put the broken leg
up carefully in plaster of Paris; and they nursed the green bird with the
greatest attention so that it was soon well enough to hop about on
crutches; and it sang so beautifully that all the inhabitants round gave
it money, and its fame spread abroad; but it was so tenderly attached to
the Tinkle-Tinkle and the dormice that it would not leave them.
Now it happened on a certain evening that the Tinkle-Tinkle was
travelling over the sea, when suddenly in the depths he caught sight of a
most beautiful Creature. It was all sorts of colours—white, rosy pink,
and deep crimson, and pale blue fading into white and gold. It had no
face but a bright light; and it had quantities of beautiful iridescent
wings, like the rainbow; and the most lovely voice you ever heard, like
the sighing of the waves in the hollow of the sea.
The Tinkle-Tinkle was so astonished and entranced that he stopped, and
the beautiful Creature cried out to him, and its voice made Tinkle-Tinkle
remember a dream he had once had of sunshine, and forest trees, and the
song of birds; and the Creature said, “Ah, Tinkle-Tinkle! you are lonely
and perplexed and sad, and you do not know whence you came nor why you
are here; but the dormice know and the green bird knows, and I know, and
we are glad for your being. Go on, Tinkle-Tinkle, and do not sorrow, for
some day you shall come back to me, and I will wrap you in my wings and
take you where you belong, and then you will understand.”
When the Tinkle-Tinkle heard this he was glad with a new strange
gladness, and he went back to his cave; but not alone, for the spirit of
hope went with him.
The Tinkle-Tinkle had one gift—he could sing—how, no man knew, not even
the Tinkle-Tinkle himself; and this is how he discovered his gift.
One day in a secluded spot in the forest he found a dying stag, and the
Tinkle-Tinkle was moved with great compassion and yet could do nothing.
The great stag’s head drooped lower and lower till even the sun melted in
a mist of pity, and the trees sighed, and the breezes hushed their
voices. Then suddenly the Tinkle-Tinkle crept close and began to sing,
why or how he knew not. As he sang, the birds and the stream were
silenced and the breezes ceased, and the great stag’s breathing grew less
and less laboured, and his eyes brightened, and presently he rose slowly
to his feet and paced away to join the rest of the herd, and the
Tinkle-Tinkle went with him.
When the stag’s companions heard the story, they wept for all that had
befallen their leader, but rejoiced also and blessed the Tinkle-Tinkle;
and he sang once more for them, and the Star-spirits leaned out of their
bright little windows to listen, and the night was glad.
Many were the adventures of the Tinkle-Tinkle, and countless the
creatures he cheered and helped, yet he never fancied himself any use or
knew why he was in the world. He brought home a poor old crab without a
claw, and the green bird and the dormice found a hook and screwed it in,
and the poor old crab used to carry parcels for the neighbours; but he
still lived with the Tinkle-Tinkle.
Another time it was a snail with a broken shell; for him they built a
beautiful little house, and he made little rush brooms and sold them to
the passers-by; but he lived ever after close to the Tinkle-Tinkle’s
front door.
So it went on till all the Tinkle-Tinkle’s homes were full of strange
occupants, and he began to feel very old and worn and weary. Then he
remembered the promise of the beautiful Creature, and went slowly over
the sea hoping the time had come for it to be fulfilled, and it had. The
beautiful Creature stretched out its lovely rose and purple wings and
wrapped the Tinkle-Tinkle in their warm soft greatness, and bore him down
and down through the depths till they came to the Great Gate. At the
beautiful Creature’s voice it swung slowly back, and they passed down the
Blue Pathway, which is all ice, cut and carved into lovely pinnacles and
spires, very blue with the blue of the summer sky and the southern seas.
The Tinkle-Tinkle could just see it from between the beautiful Creature’s
wings, stretching away in the blue distance, and at the end one star.
Presently—and though the time had been one thousand years it had not
seemed long to the Tinkle-Tinkle—they came out into a beautiful place
that was nothing but light, and the beautiful Creature set the
Tinkle-Tinkle down; he looked around him and saw many other
Tinkle-Tinkles, and he knew them for what they were and loved their
beauty; and the Creature gently swept one of its purple pinions across
him, and the Tinkle-Tinkle took form. He had many, many little soft,
strong hands and many little white feet, and long sweeping wings and a
face which shone with something of the light of the beautiful Creature;
and the Tinkle-Tinkle saw and understood and sang for joy.