THE FAIRY PRINCE
Very proud, very rich, very aristocratic was Sir Percival Grandison.
Very proud and handsome was the Lady Gabrielle Grandison, who came of
the ancient house of Earlscourt, England. Proud and well educated was
Lucretia, only daughter of Sir Percival and Lady Gabrielle. Rich,
haughty, and pretty was Rosamond Earlscourt, niece of Lady Grandison,
and a kind of ward, for Rosamond had no parents, and spent much time at
Ingleside.
Last, but not least, first, in fact, in our story, comes Lionel, only
and deeply beloved son of the Grandison household.
Lionel, no doubt, like the rest of the family, was proud of his good
lineage. He had deep blue eyes, fair hair, a slightly beaky nose, and
curved mouth, which gave his features a look of great pride. He walked,
too, with the air of a prince, bravely flinging his young crest to the
soft airs and stanch patriotism of his native Southern colony.
Yet no one called Lionel proud. If anything went wrong at "the
quarters," where were the cabins of the black servants, the boys and
girls were beginning to go with their troubles to "Mars' Lion" sooner
than to "ole Mars" or "Mistis."
They were all boys and girls, those black people, until they were past
fifty; then they were generally called "mammy," "aunt," or "uncle."
And there was not a rood of ground, a horse, colored person, gate or
wall, but was an attraction to Maid Sally, so long as it belonged to
Ingleside.
And were it but said that Master Lionel was coming along, she would
manage to lurk near the corner, or catch a glimpse from the window of
Sir Percival's grand young son.
It was June, hot, balmy, fragrant June. And only of late had Sally
found the place in the hedge where she could venture through. But now it
would indeed have been a strong power that could have kept her long away
from the charmed spot.
It mattered nothing that before the early supper she must build up the
smart wood fire, get down the great spider, and stew herself along with
the sizzling rashers, or mix the ash-cake or corn pone; oh, no matter
for anything that must be done before supper, because now, as soon as it
was over, off she could run to her enchanted ground!
But on the night when ended the Fairy tale we have seen that a new Sally
began springing into life. Ah, it was true, the child could scarcely
read, could neither write nor spell, and all at once--Sally cared!
And if it were strange, it yet were true, that she grew dignified, and
correct in manner and speech, as she asked herself new, hard questions.
She had come, oh, very slowly and very soberly, back through Shady Path
and Lover's Lane, to the piece of woods lying to the left of Slipside
Row.
Pretty soon Mistress Cory Ann's sharp voice would call her in, and order
her to bed in the close attic. Sitting on the warm, mossy turf, under
the great pine-trees, she talked aloud in quaint, old-fashioned speech:
"Now, what, prithee, Sally, are we to do? Neither reading, writing, or
spelling are properly known to Sally Dukeen, and what are the words that
have just come to my ears?"
She repeated in low tones, and with a good show of memory: "'Who would
wish to live without being useful? How can one be fitted to live
properly without learning? It is the learning that comes through study
and books that one must have to rightly understand things. The lad or
the maid who is determined to learn can find the way! The lad or the
maid who pushes through everything that would hinder, and _will get_
learning, is the one to succeed and to be admired.'"
Then up glowed the picture again: the manly figure on the wall, the
glory of the setting sun lighting up the proud young face, the clothes
he wore, his lace-shadowed hands, the shining ring on his finger. All
the scene flamed up before her keen imagination as the child glanced
down at her brown little hands, her scanty dress, and her rough, bare
feet.
And the child-sorrow that is very hard to bear, burst forth in a deep,
choking sound, as slipping to the ground, face down, Sally cried out:
"O Fairy Prince! Fairy Prince! You stand so high, so high above my place
on the ground. You are in the sun at the top of the garden wall. I am
under the hedge in the shadow, out of sight. Thou art the eagle, Fairy
Prince, and I the brush bird. You live at Ingleside, I at Slipside Row.
You have a proud, fine name. I am only poor Sally Dukeen. What can I do?
What can I do?"
She shook all over with the sobs that came hard and fast.
Ah, but it was _because_ Sally was more of a little maid and woman than
she knew, that she cried and shook with sobs under the pine-trees. She
had not noticed nor known that the brown fingers in her lap were pointed
at the ends, and had deep, round nails. She did not know that the bare
brown feet had high, arched insteps that meant good blood somewhere not
far back in her poor little history. She did not know that the lank form
under her shabby dress had graceful lines and supple curves that would
fill out some day and stand for something better than Slipside Row knew
of.
She did not know that it was _because_ a new Sally was becoming ashamed
of the old one that she was crying so bitterly.
After a time the little maid lay so still that she did not hear Mistress
Cory Ann calling her to come into the house. But as there was no reply,
and it was getting late, Mistress Brace thought that Sally had gone to
bed already, and so she troubled her head no more about her. She bolted
the loose front door, put out the dim candles, and was soon asleep.
And Sally was sound asleep, too. Flat on her face, lying on the soft,
dry moss, she slept as sweetly under the quiet stars as though she had
been on her small husk mattress. The gentle winds stirred the red gold
of her curly hair, and cooled her heated cheeks. She might have slept on
until morning had it not been that an owl, perched high in one of the
pine-trees, hooted in loud, solemn tones, "Too-whit? too-hoo! Too-whit?
Too-hoo!"
Then Sally opened her eyes, raised her head, and looked around. She
remembered where she was, but was not the least afraid. Many a time, in
midsummer's heat, had she thrown an old shawl about her, and slept
sweetly under the pines the whole night through.
But Sally did not go right to sleep again. Instead of that she sat up
against a tree, and began talking aloud to herself.
"Now, what am I to do? My Fairy Prince said that any one could get
learning who was bound to find out a way."
Sally again looked around, as she said, "My Fairy Prince," as if afraid
to have even the winds hear her.
"I care not," she said, "I will call him my Fairy Prince. No one can
hear, and it doth surely help me in a way. It is unseemly, I dare say,
but I must, I must, and will! But, however am I to get learning? Could
I only go to a dame school, but, chicks and crows! as well might I seek
to fly to the moon."
She giggled in a healthy, childish way, sure sign that she was feeling
better, and that her sweet nature was coming up to her help.
All at once she drew herself up, held high her head, breathed hard a few
times, then said, slowly:
"I am a maid that is determined to get learning,--and I will!"
At that she lay down again, and slept until the sun was high. Then up
she jumped, crept into the kitchen, and began setting the table while
Mistress Brace was down at the spring getting fresh water.
All the hot morning Sally was busy at her scrubbing and cleaning, and
it must be told that not as happy or as sure did she feel as in the
morning, because the hot sun and the wood fire had taken down her
spirits.
And so, as she rested for a little in the afternoon, on the steps she
had scrubbed in the morning, it in truth much cheered her to see Mammy
Leezer come trundling along, and to know she would hear the dulcet
voice. Her face lighted up, but not before Mammy had seen the sober,
longing look she had worn a moment before.
[Illustration: "IT IN TRUTH MUCH CHEERED HER TO SEE MAMMY LEEZER COME
TRUNDLING ALONG."]
"What a-matter, honey?" The question was in the caressing voice of the
old Mammy.
"I was wishing," said Sally.
"What for?"
"For things I must wait long before getting."
"And you want 'em bad, honey?"
"Oh, dreadfully."
Mammy shook like a jelly-bag. "You look a-here," she said, "you jus'
look a-here; jus' as shore as a lil young one have a clef in de middle
ob her chin way down, she a-goin' fo' to get what she want'n. You mind
now! I neber seen a lil pick'ninny, white or brack, have a split long de
lower story ob her chin, but firs' or last she's gett'n' her own way.
Doan't yo' fret now, but 'member what I tole you, and you's all right.
And yo' lil chin is most split'n' in half. Lorr! it a mercy it hole
togedder so long!"
Mammy went rolling along, still shaking with laughter, while away ran
Sally for a peep into her fragment of a mirror.
"My chin _is_ split along the middle way down low," she said, "and
perhaps Mammy knows!"
She felt happy again when it came time to put the leaf up against the
wall, get down the plates from the old dresser, mix the ash-cakes for
supper, and set the rashers to sizzling.