THE DAME'S BUNDLE.
As soon as her mother smiled once more, Daisy asked her what had become
of the splendid fairy, and when she would be back again, and how it
happened that the light and music had gone with her from their home.
Susan had seen no fairy, and could not believe that Daisy was thinking
of the poor old wrinkled dame. When she told the story of her journey to
the cave, and the loaf of fairy bread, and the old dame's sudden change,
the mother stroked Daisy's hair, and said that this was only another of
her wonderful dreams, and that, instead of going to the rain, the rain
had come to her, pelting upon the window so hard, it had, perhaps,
sprinkled her face--that was all; and the light of the fairy was, she
supposed, the light of the morning sun, that had pried her little sleepy
lids apart, at last.
Daisy felt bewildered and sorrowful at this, for she did not like to
give up her new friend; but her mother told her how long she had known
the dame; how she had put her hand in Peter's, years ago; and afterwards
put Daisy in his arms, a little thing, no larger than her wooden doll,
that could only lie in the grass or swing in its nest among the boughs,
and look up at the sky.
Daisy thought, if she could have such another dear little thing to play
with, and love, and tell her stories to, she should be contented with
her home, and willing to wait for her father, and forget the vision of
the fairy that had folded her so tenderly in her arms.
So she went on asking questions about the dame; and then her mother
remembered the gift of the iron spectacles. Of course Daisy wished to
see them; but where they were no one knew. And Susan consoled her by
saying they were but homely and worthless things.
"All things are worthless unless we make use of them," said the shrill
voice of the dame, who in her sudden way appeared all at once in the
room.
"I only wonder that I don't grow tired of helping you," she said; "for
you give me nothing except ingratitude. Here, take this, and see what
fault you can find with it."
She tossed a bundle into Susan's arms, put a loaf on the table, and
pointed Daisy to the rubbish heap outside the door; then frowning
angrily at Susan, "Pretty extravagance! to make believe you are poor,
and throw away what is worth more than all the gold on earth. Why didn't
you make the child wear my gift?"
"She was homely enough, at first, without it," Susan answered; "and
after she grew better looking, why should I waste my time looking up
those old rusty spectacles, to make her a fright again?"
"You will have no such trouble with the other one." As the fairy spoke,
a lovely little face peeped out from the bundle in Susan's arms. "Now,
tell what I shall give her, with her name."
Susan had never seen such a beautiful child, and, poor as she was, felt
grateful to the dame for this new gift; but she begged for leave to name
the little one herself.
"I will call it Peterkin, after my husband. Ah, how the dear man would
have loved it!" And Susan began to cry.
"Then her name will not match her face; if you want a Peterkin, I will
bring you one instead of this; but her name must be Maud."
So Susan gave up the name for the sake of the child's good looks, and
begged the dame to keep her always so beautiful, and to make her rich.
"That's easy enough; you should have asked me, Susan, to make her heart
rich and beautiful. Yet rich she shall be; and no one in all the earth
shall have so handsome a face. But, remember, it is on one condition I
promise--that Maud and Daisy shall always live together, rich or poor;
that they shall never spend a night apart, until Daisy goes to live with
her father again."
Susan promised, and was thanking the dame with all her heart, though
looking at the lovely little face that nestled in her bosom, when Daisy
flew into the room.
"O mother, mother! I've seen her again, and prettier than she was at
first. She smiled at me, and stroked my hair, and then went floating off
among the trees, like all the faces in my dream."
"Then she and the dame are not one; for, look!"
"Look where? Has the dame been here again?"
"To be sure; I was talking with her when you came; and the door has not
been opened since."
But no old woman was in sight; Daisy looked under the table, and in the
closet, and every dark corner; but she was not there; and the little
girl told her mother that she must have been dreaming, now.
But Susan showed her what the dame had brought, and even put the little
thing in Daisy's arms. It was hardly larger than a bird, and pretty as a
flower, and as helpless, too.
And Daisy almost forgot the fairy in this new delight; she thought that
all the visions in the air were not so sweet and lovely as her sister's
face. She could not look at it enough; and at length taking out from her
pocket a pair of spectacles, gravely put them on, and looked at her
sister again.
Susan laughed; she couldn't help it, Daisy looked so drolly. She saw
that the spectacles were the very ones the dame had brought; for she
thought there could hardly be another pair so old and rusty in the
world.
The little girl said she had found them in a dust heap, where Susan
remembered that she had emptied the rubbish from some old boxes, the day
before. Daisy had but just cleaned the glasses with her apron, and was
holding them up to find if they were clear, when she saw, through them,
the beautiful fairy floating by, and smiling on her as she passed.
She thought, after all, it might have been the glasses that had
changed the sour old woman into a smiling fairy; but when she looked
at her sister's sweet little face through them, it was not half so
beautiful--it seemed cold and hungry, and the smile was gone.
Susan felt very sure that the dame was real, for all about her were the
care and trouble she had brought; and had she not dragged her on through
cruel storms, and scolded her when she was trying to do her best? And if
the beautiful smiling vision was real, why did it always float away?
Susan forgot that the dame, too, floated away when her errands were
done.
So Daisy did not know but she had been dreaming again, though with her
eyes wide open; and yet she could not forget how softly she had been
folded once in the fairy's arms.
Perhaps it was because the little girl believed in her, and was always
watching and hoping to see her again, that the beautiful bright form
sometimes floated past her eyes.