Produced by Heather Clark and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This book was
produced from scanned images of public domain material
from the Google Print project.)
DAISY;
OR,
THE FAIRY SPECTACLES.
BY THE AUTHOR OF
"VIOLET; A FAIRY STORY."
BOSTON:
PHILLIPS, SAMPSON, AND COMPANY.
1857.
Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1856, by
PHILLIPS, SAMPSON, AND COMPANY,
In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District of
Massachusetts.
Stereotyped at the
Boston Stereotype Foundry.
PUBLISHERS' ADVERTISEMENT.
The universal commendation bestowed upon the exquisite little story of
"VIOLET," published last year, has led to the issue of this second book,
by the same author. It will be found to possess the same delightful
simplicity of style, the same sympathy with nature, the same love of the
good and the true, which characterized its predecessor. To those parents
who would bring their children into contact with a mind of perfect
purity, strong in correct principles, loving and liberal in nature, and
refined in tastes and sympathies, the publishers commend this little
volume.
DAISY;
OR THE
FAIRY SPECTACLES.
CHAPTER I.
THE OLD FAIRY.
There was a great forest, once, where you might walk for miles, and
never hear a sound except the tapping of woodpeckers, the hooting of
owls, or the low bark of wolves, or the strokes of a woodman's axe.
For on the borders of this wild, solitary place one man had built his
little house, and lived there. It was very near the trees which he spent
his time in cutting down; and Peter thought this all he cared about.
But when the summer wore away, and the cold, lonely winter months came
on, and there was no one to keep his fire burning and the wind from
sweeping through his home, and no one to smile upon him and comfort him
when he came back tired from his hard day's work, Peter grew lonely, and
thought he must find a wife.
So he went to a market town, a whole day's journey off; for he knew it
was a fair-day, and that all the young women of his acquaintance would
be there, and many more beside.
At first he looked about for the most beautiful, and asked her if she
would be his wife; but the beauty tossed her head, and answered, not
unless he lived in a two-story house, and had carpets on his floors, and
a wagon in which she could drive to town when she chose.
All this, was very unlike the home of poor Peter, who had nothing in the
world but his rough little cabin and a barrow in which he wheeled his
wood.
The next maiden told him he had an ugly scar on his face, and was not
good looking enough for her; and, besides, his clothes were coarse. The
next declared that she was afraid of wolves, and would rather marry one
of the village youths, and live where she could hear the news, and on
fair-days watch the people come and go.
So Peter started for his lonely home again, with a sadder heart than he
left it; for there was no chance that he could ever grow handsome or
rich, and therefore he thought he must always dwell alone; instead of
the music of kind voices, with which he had hoped to make his evenings
pleasant, he was still to hear only the cracking of boughs, and hissing
of snakes, and the barking of wolves.
But suddenly he met in the road some people who seemed more wretched
than himself--an old, bent woman, clad in rags, and with such an ugly
face that, strong man as he was, Peter could not look at her without
trembling, and a girl whom she led, or rather dragged along, through
the dusty road.
The girl looked as if she had been weeping and was very tired; she did
not raise her swollen eyes from the ground while Peter talked with her
companion. The old dame said she was a silly thing, crying her eyes out
because her mother was dead, when she ought to be thankful to be rid of
one so old, and sick, and troublesome.
The girl began to cry again, and the woman to scold her loudly. "Just so
ungrateful people are," she said; "when I have promised to find a place
where you can live at service, and earn money to buy a new gown, you
must needs whimper about the old body that's well enough in her grave."
"Perhaps the poor child is lonely," said Peter, who had a kind heart
under his rough coat, and knew, besides, from his own experience, what a
hard thing it is to live with no one to love us and be grateful for our
care.
[Illustration: SHE PUT THE GIRL'S HAND INTO HIS.]
The girl looked up at Peter with her pale, sad face; but her lips
trembled so that she could not thank him. And he began to think how this
poor beggar must have a gentle and loving heart, because she had taken
such good care of her old mother, and, notwithstanding she was so
troublesome, had been grieved at losing her.
So he made bold to ask once more what he had been refused so many times
that day, and had never thought to ask again, whether she would marry
him, and live in his little cabin, and cook his meals, and keep his
fires burning, and smile and comfort him when he should come home tired
from his work.
And at these words a bright smile came into the face of the old woman,
and seemed for an instant to take its ugliness away. She put the girl's
hand into his, and said to her, "One who can forget his own trouble in
comforting another will make you a good husband, Susan."
All at once the old woman had disappeared; and Peter and Susan, hand in
hand, were travelling towards the cabin in the wood. They looked about
in every direction; but she was gone. Then they looked in each other's
faces, and seemed to remember that they had seen each other before; at
least, Peter knew he had always meant to have exactly such a wife as
Susan, and Susan was sure that, if she had looked through the world, she
could have found no one so manly, and kind, and generous as Peter.
I may as well tell you a secret, to begin with--that it was no accident
which led the young woman into Peter's path, but a plan of the old dame.
And she was not the withered hag she seemed, but the youngest and most
beautiful fairy that ever entered this earth--the strongest, too, and
richest, for the earth itself is only a part of her treasure; and should
she forsake it for a moment, our world would wither like a flower cut
from its stem, and be blown away with the first wind that came.
But you must find out for yourselves the fairy's name.