great blue egg among our little white ones," said the linnet to her mate
as they came back from their breakfast one day and found the nest full.
"It is not a cuckoo's egg, my dear," answered the father bird, shaking
his head, "some fairy must have put it here, and we must take care of it
or they may be angry and do harm to our little ones by and by. Sit
carefully on it, and see what will follow."
So Mamma Linnet sat patiently on the five eggs for many days more, and
then out came her four small children and began to chirp for food. But
the big blue egg still lay there, and no sound of a little bill pecking
inside was heard.
"Shall we throw it out of the nest and make room for our babies?" asked
the mother, finding her nursery very crowded.
"Not yet," said the careful papa, standing on one leg to rest, being
very tired of bringing worms for his family. "Wait two more days, and
then if the egg does not break, we will push it out."
He was a wise bird, and they were always glad that they waited; for on
the seventh day the blue egg suddenly flew open, and there lay the
smallest, prettiest little girl ever seen,--three inches long, but rosy,
gay, and lively as she popped up her curly head and looked about her as
if much surprised to find herself in a nest swinging on the branch of a
tree.
"Who are you?" asked the father linnet, while all the young ones stared
at her with their big eyes, and opened their beaks as if to eat her up.
"I'm little Bud," answered the tiny creature, smiling at them so sweetly
it was impossible to help loving her at once.
"Where do you come from?" said the mother.
"I don't know."
"Are you a fairy?"
"No; for I have no wand."
"A new kind of bird?"
"I have no feathers or wings."
"A human child?"
"I think not; for I have no parents."
"Bless the dear! what can she be? and what shall we do with her?" cried
both the birds, much amazed at this new child of theirs.
Bud did not seem to be troubled at all, but lay rocking in her blue
cradle and laughing at the young linnets who peeped curiously over the
edge of it.
"She must have something to eat," said the papa, flying off.
"And some clothes," added the mamma, bustling about.
But when a nice, fat worm was brought, Bud covered her face and cried
with a shiver,--
"No, no! I cannot eat that ugly thing."
"Get a strawberry," said the mamma; and she tried to wrap the largest,
softest feather that lined her nest round the naked little maid.
But Bud kicked her small legs out of it at once, and stood up, saying
with a laugh,--
"I'm not a bird; I cannot wear feathers. Give me a pretty green leaf for
a gown, and let me look about this big world where I find myself all at
once."
So the linnet pulled a leaf and pecked two holes for Bud's arms, and put
it on like a pinafore; for she never had dressed a baby and did not know
how, her own children being born with down coats which soon changed to
gray feathers. Bud looked very pretty in her green dress as she sat on
the edge of the nest staring about with her blue eyes and clapping her
hands when the papa came flying home with a sweet wild berry in his
bill for her breakfast. She ate it like an apple, and drank a drop of
dew that had fallen in the night; then she began to sing so sweetly that
all the neighbors came to see what sort of bird Dame Linnet had hatched.
Such a twittering and fluttering as went on while they talked the matter
over, asked many questions, and admired the pretty little creature who
only knew her name and nothing more!
"Shall you keep her?" asked the robin, as he puffed out his red
waistcoat and looked very wise.
"We dare not send her away," said the linnets.
"She will be a great deal of care," said the wren.
"You never can teach her to fly, and what will you do when your own
children are gone?" asked the wood dove, who was very tender-hearted.
"You will have to make a new frock every day, and that will be so much
work," said the yellow-bird, who was very proud of her own gay gown and
black velvet hood.
"I think some bad elf put her here to bring you trouble. I'd push her
out of the nest and let her take care of herself," advised the
woodpecker, wondering if the plump child would be as good to eat as the
worms he hammered out of the trees.
"No, no!" cried the brown thrush; "she is too pretty to bring harm. Keep
her till you see what she can do, and perhaps she may be a good sprite
after all."
"She sings almost as well as I do, and I shall like to add her songs to
the many I already know," said the blackbird, who had lovely concerts in
the meadow all by himself.
"Yes, we will wait a little; and if we cannot decide, by and by we will
ask your advice, neighbors," said the linnets, beginning to feel rather
proud of the curious stranger, since her coming made such a stir in the
wood.
The birds flew away; and Bud settled down as one of the family, making
herself so pleasant that all loved her and willingly crowded together to
make room for her in the nest. The mother brooded over her at night, and
made her fresh gowns every day when the old ones withered up; the
father brought her dew to wash in and to drink, and flew far and wide to
find ripe berries for her to eat; while the young birds were never tired
of hearing her sing, watching her dance on the edge of the nest, or
learning the pretty plays she taught them. Every one was very kind and
waited patiently to see what would come. But when at last the little
birds flew away, the parents wanted to go with them, and did not like to
leave Bud all alone.
"I'm not afraid," she said, "for now I am strong enough to take care of
myself. All the birds know me, and I shall not be lonely. Carry me down
to the grass below, and let me run about and find my own food and
clothes as your children do. I won't forget you, but you need not
trouble about me any more."
So Papa Linnet took her on his back, as often before, and flew down to
the softest place below, and there they left her with a tender good-by;
for they had to watch over their young ones, who were trying their wings
and wandering far and wide.
"I shall be taken care of as the flowers are," said Bud, when she found
herself sitting on a pebble beside the path that went through the
pleasant wood, full of happy little creatures busy with their work or
play.
"I wish I were a bird, then I could fly about and see the world; or a
fairy, then I could do splendid things; or even a flower for some one to
love and carry away. I wonder what I was made for, and what I can
do,--such a little thing in this great world! I'm sure I don't know; but
I can be happy and kind, and try to help all I see, then I shall make
friends and not feel lonely very long."
As she said this, brave Bud looked about her to see whom she could help
first, and spied an ant tugging a large white bundle along. It looked as
if he were taking clothes to some fairy washerwoman; but the bundle was
an egg, and the ant-nurse was bringing it up from the nest to lie awhile
in the warm sun to grow.
He told Bud all about it when she offered to help, and very gladly let
her watch this egg while he and the other nurses went down for many
more. Soon they lay all about in the quiet corner where the sun shone on
them, and Bud went to and fro, turning them, and keeping guard over
them lest some hungry bird should snap them up.
"Now I'm useful," she said, quite happy in her new work, though she was
only a nursery-maid, and had no wages but the thanks of the busy ants.
By and by the eggs were carried down, and she was free to go on her
travels again. The grass was like a forest to her, the mounds of moss
were high hills, a little brook a great river, and a patch of sand a
desert to be crossed.
"First, I will dress myself nicely," said Bud; and coming to a wild
rosebush she gathered up several of the fallen leaves, and tried to
fasten them together with the thorns. But her little hands could not
manage the pretty pink skirt, and the thorns pricked her tender flesh as
she folded the leaves over her bosom; so she was about to give up in
despair and put on the faded green one again, when a wood-spider, who
sat in his hole near by, said kindly,--
"Come here, little lady! I can spin and weave, and I'll sew your dress
for you with pleasure. I saw you helping my neighbors the ants; so I
will help you."
Bud was very glad of this kind offer, and watched the spider at his work
as he sewed the pink leaves together with his silver thread as neatly as
a seamstress, put a line of embroidery all round the hem, and twisted a
silken cord to tie it at the waist.
"Oh, how pretty you are!" cried the spider when the dress was on. "You
must have a veil to keep the sun out of your eyes. Here is my last web;"
and he threw the shining gauze over her head, making her look like a
little bride under the silvery veil.
Bud thanked him very much, and went happily on till she came to a party
of columbines dancing in the wind. They thought she was the spirit of a
rose come to visit them, and lowered their scarlet horns to offer her
the honey in the tower ends.
She was just wondering where she should find some dinner, and here was a
delicious feast all ready for her, thanks to the pretty dress which made
the columbines think her a flower. She threw up her veil and told them
her story, which they thought very interesting and rather sad.
"Stay and live with us, little darling!" they cried. "You are too
delicate to go about all alone. The wind will blow you away, some foot
will crush you, or some cruel wasp kill you with its sting. Live here,
and we will be your friends, and feed and care for you."
"You are very kind, and your home is very pleasant; but I must go on. I
feel sure that I have something to do, that somewhere I shall find my
place, and sometime have a pair of wings, and be either a bird or a
fairy," answered Bud, as she rested by the rock round which the flowers
grew.
"Here comes our good friend Honey-bag, the bee. He is very wise; perhaps
he can tell you where you should go and what you are," said the
columbines, nodding joyfully as the brown velvet bee came buzzing along,
for he was their postman and brought the daily news.
Eagerly they told him all about their little guest, and asked him if he
had heard anything of a featherless bird, a strayed elf, or a human
changeling hidden in a blue egg.
The bee said he once heard a humming-bird tell about some little
creatures who were neither children nor fairies, because they were made
out of the fancies in people's heads. These poor mites never could be
real boys and girls; but if they tried very hard, and were very good,
wings would grow and they would be elves at last.
"I will, I will!" cried Bud. "I know I am one of those creatures, and I
want to be a fairy and find my home by and by. How shall I do it?"
"I think you have begun very well; for I've heard of you from several
friends as I came through the wood, and all say good words of you. Go
on, and I am sure you will find your wings at last. See! I will do my
part, and give you something to eat as you travel along."
As the kind bee spoke he began to mix the yellow pollen and honey he had
gathered, and soon handed Bud a nice little loaf of bee-bread to carry
with her. She folded it up in white violet leaves, like a sweet-scented
napkin, and with a horn of honey from the columbines set out again with
many thanks and full of hope and courage.
Presently a cloud of gay butterflies came flocking round her, crying
out,--
"Here's a rose! I smell honey! Come and taste! No, it is an elf! Dance
with us, little dear!"
Bud admired them very much, and felt very glad and proud when they
lighted all over her, till she looked like one great butterfly with
wings of every color.
"I cannot play with you because I am not an elf; but if you will carry
me on my way toward Fairyland I will give you my honey and my bread, for
I go very slowly and want to get along as quickly as I can," said Bud,
thinking that these pretty insects might help her.
The butterflies were idle things and hated to work, but they wanted the
dainty loaf and the flower sweets; so they said they would try to carry
Bud and save her tired little feet. They held tightly to her belt, her
hair, her frock, and all flew up at once, lifting her a little way above
the ground and carrying her along in a cloud of blue and yellow, red and
brown wings fluttering as they went. It was hard work, and soon the
smaller ones let go; so Bud began to fall, and they were forced to lay
her down on the grass while they rested and ate the bee-bread every
crumb.
"Take me a little farther, and then you shall have the honey," said wise
Bud, who was anxious to get on, and saw that the lazy flies would leave
her as soon as her provisions were gone.
"Up again!" cried the great black and golden one; and away they went,
all tugging stoutly. But though the tiny maid was as light as a feather,
they had little strength in either legs or wings, and soon dropped her
bump in the dusty path below.
"Thanks! Here's the horn; now let me rest and get over my fall," said
Bud, making up her mind that her own feet were safest, after all.
The butterflies flew away, and the small traveller sat up to see where
she was. A dismal groaning caught her ear; and close by she saw a rusty
old beetle feebly trying to dig a hole in the sand.
"What is the matter?" asked Bud.
"It is time to die, and I want to bury myself; but I'm so weak I'm
afraid I shall not get my grave ready in time, and then I shall be eaten
up by some bird, or crushed by some giant's foot," answered the beetle,
kicking and shovelling away as hard as he could.
"But if you were dead you would not know it," said Bud.
"Stupid child! if I'm killed in that way I cannot live again; but if I
bury myself and lie asleep till spring, I come up a grub or a young
beetle, I don't know which, but I am sure of some change. So I want a
good grave to rest in; for dying is only a sleep before we wake up in
another shape."
"I'm glad of that!" cried Bud. "I'll help you dig, and I'll cover you
nicely, and hope you will be some pretty insect by and by."
So she threw off her veil, and worked busily with a little wooden shovel
till a deep grave was made. The old beetle tumbled in with a gruff
"Thank you, child," and died quite comfortably, with the warm sand over
him. Bud piled little stones above the place, and left him to his long
sleep, happy to be able to help, and full of wonder as to whether she
too would have to die before her change came.
The sun was going down now; for the butterfly party and the beetle's
funeral had taken a long time, and twilight was coming on.
"I must find a place to sleep," said Bud, rather anxiously; for this was
her first night alone, and she began to miss Mother Linnet's warm wings
brooding over her.
But she kept up her courage and trudged on till she was so tired she was
forced to stop and rest on a bank where a glow-worm had just lighted its
little lamp.
"Can I stay here under this big leaf?" she asked, glad to see the
friendly light and bathe her tired feet in the dewy grass.
"You cannot go much farther, for the marsh is close by, and I see you
have no wings, so you never could get on," answered the worm, turning
his green lamp full upon the weary little wanderer.
Bud told her story, and was just going to ask if there was anything to
eat, for she was sadly hungry, when some very sweet voices called down
to her from a tall bush over her head,--
"Come to us, dear! We are the marsh-honeysuckles, cousins of the
columbines you met to-day. Here is supper, with a bed, and a warm
welcome for the good little creature Honey-bag the bee told us about."
Bud put up her arms to a great cluster of white flowers bending down to
her, and in a moment lay in a delicious place, full of sweetest
fragrance, while the honeysuckles fed and petted and rocked her to sleep
before she could half thank them for their kindness.
There was time for a good nap and a lovely dream before a harsh voice
waked her up, and she heard a bat talking as it hung near by, with its
leathery wings over its eyes to shut out the light of the glow-worm
still strolling about on the bank.
"Yes, the poor little boy wandered into the bog and was nearly drowned,"
said the bat. "It was that naughty Willy Wisp playing tricks again, and
leading people out of the right path to splash into the mud. I've
scolded him many a time, but he _will_ do it; for he loves to make the
woodmen and the children think he is the light in their cottage windows
till they fall into the marsh, and then he hides and leaves them to get
out as they can."
"What a wicked fellow!" cried Bud, rubbing her eyes and sitting up to
listen.
"Of course he wouldn't mind you, for he knows you hate light, and he
likes to teaze you by flashing his lantern in your eyes," said the
glow-worm.
"Yes, I do hate light of all kinds, and wish it were always night,"
scolded the bat.
"I don't! I love sunshine and stars and fireflies and glow-worms and all
the bright things; so perhaps if _I_ went and talked to Willy Wisp he
would stop playing these naughty pranks," said Bud, much interested, and
feeling that this would be a very good work to do for the dear children.
"You couldn't keep him out of mischief unless you told stories all
night. He loves tales dearly, but won't stay still and listen unless
they are always new and _very_ charming," said the bat, peeping out with
one eye to see who the stranger might be.
"I know hundreds! for I was born of a fancy, and my head is full of
lovely ones, and I sing such merry songs all the birds used to listen to
me for hours. If I could only reach this Willy Wisp I think I could
amuse him till the people got safely home," said Bud.
"Come and try; I'll carry you," said the bat, shutting his wings and
looking like a black mouse as he crept nearer for Bud to mount.
"No, no; stay with us, and don't go to that dismal marsh full of ugly
things and bad air," cried the honeysuckles, trying to hold her fast
with soft, sticky hands.
But Bud was eager to do all the good she might, and bravely mounted her
new horse, singing as she flew away,--
"On the bat's back I do fly
After summer, merrily."
"She won't do it," said the glow-worm, putting out his lamp as he went
to bed.
"Alas, no! Poor little thing! she will die over there, and never be a
fairy," sighed the flowers, looking like sad white ghosts in the dim
light.
A cloud of fireflies danced over the marsh, where frogs croaked,
mosquitoes hummed, and tall yellow lilies rang their freckled bells. The
air was damp and hot; a white mist rose from the water that glimmered
between the forests of reeds and the islands of bog moss, and sleek
muskrats and bright-eyed snakes glided about, while wild ducks slept
with their heads under their wings in quiet corners.
A strange, shadowy place, and Bud's heart died within her as she thought
of staying here alone. But she did want to see if she could make the bad
Willy behave better and not lead poor people into danger; so she held
fast while the bat skimmed to and fro looking for the naughty fellow.
Soon he came dancing toward them,--a dark little body with a big head
like a round lantern, all shining with the light inside.
"What have you brought me, old Leather-wing?--a pretty bride to cheer up
the marsh, or an elf to dance at my ball to-night?" he said, looking at
Bud with delight as she sat on the dusky bat, with her pink dress and
silvery veil glimmering in the brightness, that now shone over her like
moonlight.
"No; it is a famous story-teller, come to amuse you when you are tired
of whisking about and doing mischief. Be very polite or I will take her
away again," answered the bat, setting Bud down on a small green island
among the bulrushes and tall marsh moss.
"Let us hear one. Stop croaking, Speckle-back, and do you ladies quit
dancing while I listen. Go along, Leather-wing; she shall stay till
to-morrow and see what she can do," said Willy Wisp, seating himself
near Bud, while the frogs grew still and the fireflies settled on the
leaves like little lamps, making the island as light as day.
"It is late now; so when you hear the clock strike twelve you can stop
and go to sleep, for the people will all be safe at home and Willy can
do no harm. I'll come again soon. Good-night."
And away skimmed the bat, glad to find the darkest part of the marsh and
hunt gnats for supper.
Bud immediately began to tell the story of "The Merry Cockchafer," and
it proved so very interesting that soon a circle of frogs surrounded the
island, laughing with their great mouths and winking their bright eyes
as they listened. The wild ducks woke up and came to hear also; a
water-snake glided nearer, with his neighbor the muskrat; while the
fireflies grew so thick on the reeds and moss that everything sparkled,
and Willy Wisp nodded his bright head joyfully as he sat like a king
with his court about him.
Just in the most exciting place, when the Cockchafer and the Stag-beetle
were going to fight a duel about the lovely white Moth, the clock struck
twelve, and Bud, who was very tired, stopped short, saying,--
"I will finish to-morrow at twilight. The last part is the best, for the
Lady-bug and the wicked Grasshopper do terrible things in it."
They all begged eagerly for the end, but Bud was hoarse and must go to
sleep; so every one went away to talk about this new and charming
creature who had come to make the long nights pleasant. Willy Wisp went
zigzagging to and fro, trying to imagine what would come next, and Bud
laid her head on a bulrush pillow to dream of stars till morning.
She was rather troubled, when daylight came, to find herself a prisoner;
for deep water was all round her island, and there was no way of
escaping. She asked a pretty white duck to take her to a larger place,
for here there was nothing to eat but the soft green buds of the sweet
flag and the little sour balls of the wild-cranberry vines.
"I'm not a steamer, and I don't carry passengers," answered the duck,
paddling away; for he wanted Bud to stay and tell more tales.
So there she had to live for many days, watching the long-legged herons
as they stalked about fishing in the pools, seeing how the rats built
their curious houses, the frogs leaped and dived, the snakes glided to
and fro, and the ducklings ate flies all day long. She talked with the
yellow lilies, learned the song of the whispering reeds, and climbed up
the tall stems of the bulrushes to look out over the marsh and long to
be on the firm ground again. The bat forgot to come and see her, and
Willy grew so fond of her stories that he would sit for hours while she
told them; so no one came to harm, and Bud felt that she was really
doing a good thing all alone there in the dreary bog. Every one loved
her and wanted her to stay; but by and by the summer was over, the
fireflies died, and Willy Wisp grew pale and lazy and fell asleep easier
each night, as if he too were ready to fade away till hot weather
should make him lively and bright again.
"Now I might go if I could find any friend to help me," said Bud, when
the wild ducks said good-by and the herons stalked away.
"I will help you," said a water-snake, popping his head up with a kinder
look than one would fancy such fiery eyes could wear.
"You!" said Bud, much surprised; for she had never liked the snake very
well, though she had always been kind to him.
"I am your friend if you will have me. No one cares for me, I am so ugly
and have had a bad name ever since the world began; but I hope when I
shed my skin I may be handsomer or change to something better, so I try
to be a good snake and do what I can to make my neighbors happy."
"Poor thing! I hope you will be a pretty green adder, and live among the
flowers like one I once knew. It must be hard to be contented here, and
you are very kind to want to help me," said Bud, laying her little warm
hand on the ugly head of the snake, who had crept up to bask in the
sun.
That pleased Forked-tongue very much; for no one ever petted him, and
his eyes shone like jewels as he coiled his slender body nearer Bud's
feet, and lifted up his head to answer her.
"You want to go away and you shall. We shall all miss you sadly, but it
will soon be cold and you need stay no longer; so I will ask my friend
Sleek to gnaw these strong rushes till they fall and make bridges across
the pools. You can go safely over them and find some warm, pretty place
to live in till the summer comes again."
"That is a fine plan! Thank you, dear friend; let us do it at once while
Willy is asleep and no one sees us," cried Bud.