A Fairy's Visit
THE Princess was better. She was no longer in bed. Mrs. Kay had helped
her to rise and dress herself; and now, in her shabby, threadbare
frock, with thin, broken shoes on her feet, she sat on a hard, wooden
chair, beside the little handful of fire which Bert had managed to
kindle in the rusty grate.
She was a very miserable princess. She had felt ill enough as she lay
on her comfortless bed, but she felt far worse now as she tried to sit
upright on the hard chair, with its straight, uneasy back. Her limbs
ached, her head throbbed, and every now and then she was conscious of a
sick, giddy sensation, when the room seemed to go round with her, and
she had to clutch at the chair to keep herself from falling. If only
she had had a mother to care for her, and could have felt the comfort
of a mother's love in the sore depression which was the result of
weakness!
Mrs. Kay was well-meaning; but since she knew the young patient to be
out of danger, her manner had grown stern again. Her better self, the
self of long ago, had re-asserted itself during the days when Prin
needed to be watched and tended from hour to hour; but already the good
influence was past. Evil habits had resumed their sway over her. She
was the "cross old woman" again, and when she was not at the laundry,
where she earned her living, she was drinking in the public-house over
the way.
Bert was kneeling by the fire, dividing his attention between a small
saucepan, which was simmering on the hob, and his sister, on whom, from
time to time, he cast glances expressive of anxiety.
"Do you feel better, Prin?" he asked, not for the first time.
"I do wish you wouldn't keep asking me if I feel better," she answered
pettishly; "I feel worse, I tell you, a great deal worse than I did
when I was in bed. Can't you believe me?"
"But you can't really be worse," said Bert, seeking to reassure
himself. "The doctor says you are better, and Mrs. Kay says so, so you
must be better."
"I suppose they know my feelin's better than I do," replied the
Princess scornfully; "I tell you I am worse, and I ought to know, I
should think."
"Well, p'raps you'll feel better to-morrow," said Bert cheerfully.
"No, I shan't; I shall never feel well again. I only wish I was dead."
"Oh, Prin!" exclaimed Bert reproachfully. "When I want you so much to
live! What could I do without you?"
"You would do just as well without me as with me," she said.
"I shouldn't do at all. I should die too," said Bert. "But don't talk
of dying; just wait till you've had some of this beef-tea, and you'll
feel as fit as possible."
As he spoke he lifted the lid of the saucepan, and a savoury odour was
emitted. Bert's nostrils inhaled it with avidity. He was so hungry
that he could have despatched in a few minutes all that the saucepan
contained. But he had no intention of tasting more than a few drops,
just to assure himself of the success of his cookery. Bert was feeling
rather proud of his first attempt at making beef-tea. He had spent the
last of the doctor's shilling on the beef—which was not of the primest
quality—had got a hint from Mrs. Kay how to set to work, and the result
was now to be tested. But the odour which Bert found so savoury only
sickened the Princess, and to his keen disappointment she could not
drink the weak, greasy decoction which he presently set before her.
"Take it away," she cried impatiently; "I don't like it; I don't want
it."
And then to Bert's dismay, her head sank forward on her hands, and
she began to sob helplessly. This was unlike the Princess, who was
usually quick and imperious in her ways, and, though by no means
sweet-tempered, perfectly self-controlled.
She signed to Bert to help her back to bed, and he obeyed. She sank
down, hid her face in the pillow, and sobbed with hysterical violence,
crying between her sobs,—"I wish I were dead. I do—I do!"
Bert stood looking at her in utter helplessness. He was devoted to his
sister; but he was wont to regard her as one far stronger and more
spirited than himself. She was his ruler, and her government was not of
the gentlest description; but her faithful slave never rebelled. Their
father had always petted and indulged her, while he made small account
of Bert, whose appearance was mean and insignificant. The Princess
was ever the Princess, to be treated with the first consideration,
and given the best of everything it was possible to obtain. Bert had
learned the lesson well. It never occurred to him to question her right
to supremacy. He was as obedient to her now as he had been in the days
when his father was at hand to insist upon his doing as she told him.
It was positively alarming to Bert to see his sovereign thus prostrate.
"Don't cry, Princess," he pleaded; "oh, please, don't cry! It ain't
no manner of use to cry. If things is bad to-day, they'll be better
to-morrow."
"They will never be better for us," sobbed the Princess. "Look what a
hole we live in! Could any one be well here?"
Bert thought he might be well enough there, if only he had something to
stay the gnawing pain of hunger, of which he was just then disagreeably
conscious. But he did not speak of his own feelings.
"If only you could go into the country, you would soon be well," he
remarked; "the doctor said so."
"What is the good of saying it when I can't go?" asked the Princess
peevishly. "You make me feel worse by talking of it. Oh, I am so
thirsty! If only I had an orange!"
Bert looked around him in despair. He wished he had bought oranges
instead of beef! Now he had not a penny left. His eyes searched for
something that he could pawn; but there seemed nothing of any value
that could be spared. Bert, however, was a boy of hopeful spirit.
"Just take a drink of this now," he said, bringing his sister a mug of
water, "and I'll see if I can't get you an orange by-and-by."
The Princess drank a little of the water. Bert made a clumsy but
well-meaning attempt to set her pillows comfortably, and then was off
into the street. There was a metropolitan station not far from the
street in which he lived. Bert made for this, in the hope of earning a
penny by carrying a parcel or calling a cab. But there was no such luck
for him this afternoon. Numbers of persons passed out of the station
while he waited; but none of them wanted a boy. The ladies seemed to
prefer to carry their own parcels, and there was no demand for cabs. He
had no capital with which to start paper or match-selling.
He waited till the March evening closed in, and then, chill and weary,
and hungrier than ever, he went home to see how the Princess was faring.
He halted for a moment at the top of the area steps. He did not like to
present himself to the Princess without the orange which he had hoped
to bring her. He dreaded her reproaches, and still more her tears. But
there was no help for it. Slowly he opened the door and stole in. But
the sight that met his eyes made him think for a moment that he had
mistaken the house. He stood on the threshold and fairly gasped with
surprise.
The first thing that met his astonished eyes was a heap of golden
oranges lying on the dingy coverlid of the Princess's bed. Then he
saw that the little rickety table beyond was spread with quite festal
fare, and Prin, looking like her old self, and wearing a wonderful
pink flannel jacket, was presiding over the feast, while Mrs. Kay, her
bonnet on one side and her face suspiciously flushed, stood before the
bright little fire engaged in toasting what looked remarkably like a
muffin.
"Oh, come along, Bert!" exclaimed the Princess. "Here you are at last!
I thought you never were coming!"
"Oh, Prin," gasped Bert, "where did you get those oranges and all those
things?"
"Ah, you may well ask. There's been a fairy here since you went
away. She brought me those oranges, and some tea and sugar, and that
strengthening jelly; and she gave Mrs. Kay money to get firing and
milk. Oh, you needn't look like that, Bert; it's quite true."
"A fairy!" stammered Bert. "There ain't no such things."
"Oh, ain't there! That's all you know. This fairy came in her carriage;
but she wasn't a bit proud. She spoke as kind as kind to me. She said
she'd heard of me from Dr. Hurst, and how I should never be better till
I got into the country, and she's going to send me into the country.
I'm going to-morrow, Bert. Only think of that!"
There was no need to bid Bert think of it. The news was startling in
its unexpectedness.
"To-morrow," he repeated; "do you mean that you are going away
to-morrow, Prin?"
"Yes, to-morrow," she repeated delightedly. "There's a nurse coming to
fetch me, and I'm to have new clothes, and to go away in a cab. Won't
it be lovely?"
"Yes," he said slowly, "it's the best thing possible for you. The
doctor said the country would make you well."
He tried to think that he was glad, very glad, that Prin was going; but
his heart felt strangely heavy.
"Where are you going, Prin?"
"Oh, I don't know—somewhere in Hampshire, I think the lady said. Oh,
do take that muffin from Mrs. Kay, Bert; she'll burn it, to a dead
certainty."
Bert rescued the muffin from Mrs. Kay's unsteady hand. It appeared that
she had spent some of the lady's money at the public-house, though she
explained that she was suffering from a swimming of the head caused by
a chill on the liver.
"Come and have some tea, Mrs. Kay?" said Prin, beginning to pour out
the beverage from a brown teapot with a broken spout.
Mrs. Kay consented, but she did not drink the tea Prin poured out for
her. She fell asleep with her head lolling uncomfortably on the back of
the chair.
"Isn't that muffin done yet?" asked Prin presently. "What are you
thinking of, Bert? I declare you are as bad as Mrs. Kay."
"Yes, it's done," said Bert, bringing it to the table. "I was thinking
of you, Prin. You're better already, just for the thought of going."
"Of course I am. I feel almost well," replied Prin. "Now let us have
some tea; I guess you're hungry."
There could be no question of that. Bert began to eat with keen
appetite, and when the meal was over he felt much better for it. But
there was still a weight on his mind.
"What time are you going to-morrow, Prin?" he asked.
"Eleven o'clock," she answered promptly.
"And how long will you be away?"
"Oh, I don't know—all the summer, p'raps, the lady said."
"And what'll I do?" asked Bert.
"You? Oh, I don't know," replied his sister.
"Stay here with Mrs. Kay, I suppose."
"Didn't the lady say nothing about me?" he asked wistfully.
"Why, no, she didn't," said Prin; "I don't think she knew I had a
brother."
"Didn't you tell her?" he said.
"I never thought of it," she said. "I could think of nothing but what
she was a-saying about the fields, and the trees, and the flowers, and
the good the country air would do me. You should have been here."
Bart heaved a deep sigh.
"Well," he said slowly, "if you come back strong and rosy, I shall be
very glad that you went."
"Of course you will," she said.
"And I am glad now," he said slowly. "Oh yes, I am glad that you are
going."
But his tone was hardly joyful.