THISTLEDOWN
“Well,” commenced Letty cheerfully, “it began like this:
“Thistledown was a roguish elf and, I am afraid, rather a selfish little
fellow. The sight of good examples did not make him want to be useful or
helpful at all. Indeed, nothing could make him work except to threaten
to take away his liberty. For Thistledown prized his liberty dearly. Not
from the high, noble motives of honor and self-respect that are the
reasons why most people insist upon having their rights, but because to
Thistledown his liberty meant his happiness. It meant nice long, warm
hours in which to float idly about the great sunshiny world with never a
thought or care in his feather-brained head.
“He was not a bothersome elf, as idle folk are so apt to be. He was too
lazy to tease—except to give an occasional passing tickle to the long nose
of some serious old gnome bent over his work, when Thistledown’s merry
laugh at the goblin’s sneeze and start of surprise was so jolly that the
gnome had to laugh too, and so no cross words were spoken.
“The breezes were Thistledown’s best friends. They were as lazy and
careless as himself, and the kindred spirits got on splendidly together.
The breezes would carry him on long, swift rides astride their backs, or
float with him lazily along over sweet-smelling fields of flowers.
Sometimes they would dip him in the brook, but Thistledown did not mind
that, for he shed water like a duck and the little plunge served finely
to cool him off on hot summer days.
“But lazy folk are bound to be punished sooner or later, for it is not
right to be lazy, and everything that is not right in the world is sure
to be punished some time or other. And so it happened—but I am going to
let Thistledown tell his story in his own way. (Yes, Kit, that is just
the way it was in the magazine.)
“One day as Thistledown was floating over a field of daisies, he spied a
spot of yellow among the flowers that was very much larger than any of
the daisy centres, and much shinier and softer. Too lazy to wonder what
the new kind of blossom could be, but thinking that it looked like a
snug, silky place for a nap, he dropped down upon it. Immediately his
downy wings became mixed up in a soft tangle of long golden threads that
curled and twined about in a distressfully confusing way, all around
him.
“Thistledown became frightened, but the more he struggled to free
himself the more tangled he became in the golden mesh. At last he saw
approaching him what he knew to be a person’s hand and his little heart
sank within him as he felt this new prison closing about him. The touch
of the small hand was very gentle so that not one of Thistledown’s
feathers was crushed. But he was very much frightened nevertheless, poor
little fellow, and closed his eyes tight for a minute.
“When he dared to open them again he found himself being surveyed very
seriously by a pair of big blue eyes.
“‘Now, sir,’ said the little girl (I am sure you have guessed before now
that Thistledown’s golden prison was a little girl’s curls), ‘Now, sir,’
she said, ‘before I let you go, you must tell me a story, please.’
“She was a very polite little girl and although she knew that she held
Thistledown in her power and that he simply had to do whatever she told
him to, whether he wanted to or not, still she said ‘sir’ and ‘please’
when she asked for her story, for she was a very polite little girl.
“The politeness pleased Thistledown—as nice manners always do please
every one—but his little wits could not think of anything like a story.
“‘I’m afraid I don’t know any story,’ he replied, trying to be as polite
as the little girl.
“‘Oh, yes, you do. You’re sure to,’ she declared, with a grave little
nod of her head. ‘Tell me about your ad-ven-tures!’
“This was a very big word for such a little girl, but she got it out
quite correctly. Besides, she knew very well what the word meant,
because she had seen it so often on the back of a book on her sister’s
book-shelf. ‘Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland.’
“Thistledown squirmed and wriggled and began to grow warm and cross.
“‘I don’t know any stories. And I never had any adventures—except once,’
he added, remembering something all at once.
“‘Oh, please do tell me about it,’ coaxed the little girl.
“She looked so pretty, and besides, she held him so firmly, that
Thistledown saw that the sooner he told his story the sooner he would be
free, so he began at once:
“‘It happened so long ago that I may forget parts, but I’ll tell it the
best I know how. I was flying home from a party one afternoon and as it
was almost dark I was in a good deal of a hurry. Pretty soon, down at
the edge of a field of tall grasses, I saw an old firefly poking about
as if he were looking for something. I stopped to see what was the
matter, for it was too dark to hope to find anything, and the old
firefly’s lantern gave out hardly any light at all.
“‘I supposed his light was dim because the old fellow was too lazy to
make it shine brighter. I had seen the gnomes blowing up their forge
fires with a pair of bellows to make them burn brighter and I supposed
the firefly’s lantern worked the same way. So I got behind the old
fellow as he stooped to look under a clump of violet leaves, and I gave
a quick, sharp little blow—pouf—like that, at his lantern. But what do
you suppose happened? It went out!
“‘I was terribly surprised and a bit frightened, for that horrid old
firefly thought that I had done it on purpose. He whirled around before
I could spread my wings, and caught hold of me.
“‘“You wicked, wicked little sprite!” he exclaimed, almost squeezing the
breath out of me. “How dared you, oh, how dared you!”
“‘I never dreamed he could move so fast and I was too surprised to get
out of his way. If you have ever had a firefly on your hand you know how
sticky their legs feel. Well, the old firefly held me by all his legs,
squeezing me tight and mussing my party feathers. Lifting me off the
ground, he flew away with me, scolding all the while.
“‘“You are a vicious little vagabond,” he said. I don’t know what he
meant, but those are the very words he used and I know they meant
something disagreeable. He thought I had blown out his light, just for
mischief. “But you shall be punished for it,” he went on. “I’ll see to
it. I shall take you to the King himself!”
“‘I grew more and more frightened. His voice was so very cross and he
clutched me so tight. Then, too, we were flying along through the dark
over fields I had never visited before. I have always been afraid in the
dark’ (here the little girl nodded her head understandingly and looked
about her at the bright sunshine gratefully). ‘And the grasses rustled
so queerly. I began to be afraid that they, too, meant to do me harm.
“‘At last, after we had been flying for what seemed to me to be hours,
we reached a sort of open place, all bare and cold looking, with high
rocks all about it. There were thousands of fireflies inside this place,
all with their lanterns brightly burning. On one side a great many flies
were bunched together to light a kind of throne, and on this throne sat
the King and Queen of the Fireflies. My heart was in my mouth as my
captor carried me across to them, for the King was ever so much bigger
than any of the other fireflies and I did not know what he might do to
punish me.
“‘There were two or three other fireflies talking to the King, but they
all stopped and moved aside when they saw the old firefly coming up with
his lantern gone out, and carrying me.
“‘“Why, what’s this, what’s this?” asked the King in a surprised voice
as the fly sank down, all out of breath, at the foot of the throne.
“‘“Oh, Your Majesty,“ he gasped, as soon as he could get breath enough
to speak, “I was hunting for corn-flowers down in the big meadow, trying
to find enough honey to finish my supper before it grew too dark, for
you know I am growing old and my light was giving out.”
“‘“Yes, yes, I know,” replied the King kindly. “We have all felt very
sorry about it. And I am greatly shocked to see that it has now gone out
altogether.”
“‘“Ah, but hear how that happened, Your Majesty. I was hunting about,
very busy and never dreaming of the dreadful thing that was to happen,
when this little creature”—he did not call me a vicious little vagabond
to the King, but his voice sounded as if he would like to—“stole up
behind me and blew out my light!”
“‘Everybody exclaimed at this and crowded about the old firefly to tell
him how sorry they were. I was sorry too, as sorry as I could be, for I
had not known that the firefly’s light was dim because he was growing
old. I had not meant any harm, but rather to help him. I tried to
explain this to the fireflies but no one would listen when I talked
about the gnomes and their forge fires. I thought the Queen was
listening, for she kept looking at me; but she did not say anything.
“‘The King ordered me off to prison, and appointed the old fly, whose
light I had blown out, to be my keeper. There were two other guards to
the prison too, and it was horrid. My prison was a long, narrow crack in
one of the brown rocks and I don’t know how long a time I spent there.
It seemed like years. At the back, very cold and dark indeed, was my
bed. The front looked down on the open space which, I learned, was
called the throne glade, and one could see everything that went on. But
the two keepers always sat one on each side of the door, and the old fly
in the middle so that I could not see out. If the King went by, or
anything interesting happened, I would try to peep over their shoulders,
but the guards scolded me so and made such unkind remarks that I was
ready to cry.
“‘It was a dreadful time. I was getting thinner, for I was not used to
living in the dark and I did not like the things they gave me to eat. My
wings were getting so weak from not being used that I began to be afraid
they would never hold me up again.
“‘The only thing that was at all pleasant was a visit from the Queen.
She was very kind and said that she had heard what I said about not
meaning to injure the old fly, but that I must understand that almost as
much harm and sorrow happened in the world through “not meaning to” as
from real naughtiness. She said that it is always dangerous to meddle
with things we don’t know about and most dangerous of all to meddle with
fire. And I promised her that I would never do it again.
“‘The keepers were a little more kind to me after the Queen’s visit and
I tried to show the old firefly, whose lamp I had blown out, that I was
sorry. I was hoping that the Queen would send some one to set me free,
but she did not and it was very lonely. I began to be afraid I should
have to stay in that gloomy prison all the rest of my life.
“‘Then, one day, a young firefly came bustling up to the prison in great
excitement. The King and Queen had been invited to a big party given by
the June beetles, and all the fireflies were asked to go along to help
light up the party. The June beetle’s country was pretty far off and the
fireflies would have to start early in the afternoon to reach it before
dark. Every single one of them was to go except my old keeper, who was
left to guard me.
“‘“Of course I would not be wanted anyhow,” I heard him say crossly.
“I’m of no use without my lantern.”
“‘I was very sorry that the poor old fly had to stay behind and miss the
party, but I realized that my chance had come to escape. So, every day,
while the three guards sat in the doorway, busy watching what went on
below and talking about the party, I stayed in the dark corner beside my
bed and exercised my wings by lifting myself up to the ceiling and down
again on them, to bring back the strength.
“‘At last the day of the party arrived and every single firefly had gone
except my old keeper and me. We sat side by side in the doorway and
watched the sun go down. I really think the old fly was as unhappy to
have me sit in the doorway as he had been to miss the party. But he
could not fill up the whole doorway by himself, although he crowded me a
great deal, nor could he forbid me to stay there, so I sat and looked
down at the throne glade and tried to see where the opening was that led
back to the world.
“‘It always got dark early in this place and as soon as the sun had set,
the old fly got up and said I must go to bed. I got up without saying
anything and he turned around and started back toward my bed, thinking
that I was following right behind. You remember that his light was out
and he could not see.
“‘But I did not lose a second of time. The instant his back was turned I
spread my wings and flew down into the throne glade. My poor wings were
so weak that I almost fell, but they soon got stronger as I skimmed
through the fresh air. The old fly did not miss me at first, and I had
time to get out through the narrow opening of the glade before he
realized what had happened and started to follow me.
“‘My wings grew stronger every minute, and I was oh, so happy to be free
and on my way back to my own dear, sunshiny world again, that I did not
feel a bit frightened when presently I heard the blind old fly coming
after me. He was oh, so cross! He could not see me at all and could only
tell where I was by the rustle of my wings. But although he was older
than I he was stronger and could fly faster. I heard him coming closer
and closer. What if I should be captured again! I should die, I knew!
“‘On I flew, faster and faster, and at last I found myself again in the
field of high grasses near the edge of which I had first seen the old
fly. The noises and darkness of the grasses had frightened me then, but
now they seemed like home to me. I was too tired to fly another inch, so
I just dropped down, right into the middle of a clump of grasses.
“‘It was now much too dark to see anything and the grasses made such a
rustle in the wind that the old firefly did not miss the sound of my
wings at first and had flown quite some distance ahead before he
realized that I was not in front of him any longer. Then, how angry he
was! He knew that I must be hiding somewhere near by, and he went
bumping back and forth over the field, hitting his poor head against
stalks and getting crosser every minute. He flew quite close to me two
or three times and I held my breath for fear he would pounce upon me.
But after a long, long time he gave up hunting for me and flew angrily
away.
“‘And not any too soon, either, for the moon came out presently and
shone so bright that he could have seen me down in the clump of grasses
at once. I waited until I was quite sure that he was out of sight and
would not come back, then I sprang up and flew home as fast as my poor
weak wings would carry me. And you may be sure that I have kept out of
the way of fireflies ever since.’
“Thistledown stopped talking, quite out of breath and tired with his
long story.
“‘It was a very interesting story,’ said the little girl, ‘and I thank
you very much for telling it to me. And I’ll remember, too, what the
Queen of the Fireflies told you about not meddling,’ she added
thoughtfully.
“Then the little girl stood up, still holding Thistledown gently in her
chubby hand.
“‘I am going to do what you did to the firefly—only I hope it won’t hurt
you,’ she said. ‘Get behind you and say pouf—like that,’ and puffing out
her rosy cheeks, she sent Thistledown sailing merrily away through the
warm, sunshiny air.”
Letty ended her story with a little laugh.
“I feel as out of breath as Thistledown did, when he had finished his
adventure,” she laughed.
“Ho!” ejaculated Christopher, who had nearly burst in his effort to keep
his promise not to interrupt. “He couldn’t have blown out the old
firefly’s lamp. They’re not made that way. They’re a part of the
firefly—the light they make, I mean. The person who wrote that story did
not know very much about beetles and things.”
The curtains parted in an up-stairs window and a smiling face looked
down upon them.
“I know who wrote the story, Kit,” called Mrs. Hartwell-Jones. “Can you
guess?” she asked merrily.
Letty looked up with her face all aglow, enlightened by Mrs.
Hartwell-Jones’s expression.
“Oh, Mrs. Hartwell-Jones,” she exclaimed, “you don’t mean to say that
you wrote it!”
“Yes,” laughed the lady gayly. “I wrote it ever so many years ago. How
wonderfully you remembered it, my dear.”
“I loved it,” replied Letty simply. “But I should never have believed it
then if any one had told me that some day I should know the writer,” and
she sighed happily.
“I’ll write another one some time—just for you and Janey,” promised Mrs.
Hartwell-Jones. “And now wouldn’t you children like to drive Punch and
Judy into the village to carry some of my things to Mr. Parsons’ house?”
The twins jumped up with a whoop. They were always delighted to go for a
drive in the pony carriage.