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[Illustration: Cover]
[Illustration: The Fairies
and the Christmas
Child]
[Illustration]
[Illustration: _Fr._ "We rocked the cradle"
(_Page 182_)]
[Illustration: Title Page]
The
Fairies and
the Christmas Child
By Lilian Gask
The Illustrations are by
Willy Pogany
T. Y. Crowell & Co
New York
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
Contents
Chapter Page
I. The Fairy Ring 1
II. The Princess with the Sea-Green Hair 25
III. Rose-Marie and the Poupican 45
IV. The Bird at the Window 67
V. The White Stone of Happiness 89
VI. The Seven Fair Queens of Pirou 109
VII. In the Dwarf's Palace 133
VIII. The Silver Horn 157
IX. The Little White Feather 175
X. The Wild Huntsman 197
XI. The White Princess 217
XII. The Favourite of the Fates 239
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
List of Illustrations
"We rocked the cradle" _Frontispiece_
Page
"I fancied that I had seen those wee brown men" 11
"The Fairy Ring was thronged with dancing Elves" 20
"Here a Fairy Princess awaited him" 33
Rose-Marie and the Poupican 54
"They tossed him three times in the air" 63
"She hid herself behind a curtain" 83
"What ails you, Madame Marguerite?" 99
"The Lord of Argouges threw himself on his knees" 114
"They instantly changed into snow-white birds" 129
"The Dwarf invited me to be seated" 141
"Elberich had jeered him finely" 151
"'She is yours, O Otnit!' cried the Dwarf" 154
"In the old man's place sat a little Dwarf" 167
"A little white feather danced above their heads" 189
"'How now?' cried a reassuring voice" 196
"He entreated the maiden to come down" 205
"Went shyly down to meet him" 212
"Lowered herself from her window by means of a rope
of pearls" 224
"He tickled the monster's nose" 233
"Pepita rushed into his arms" 253
[Illustration: _To
"The Doctor"
and
Mrs. Macnaughton-Jones
my "Good Fairies"
and best of
Friends_]
[Illustration]
Chapter I
The Fairy Ring
The worst of being a Christmas Child is that you don't get birthday
presents, but only Christmas ones. Old Naylor, who was Father's
coachman, and had a great gruff voice that came from his boots and was
rather frightening, used to ask how I expected to grow up without proper
birthdays, and I thought I might have to stay little always. When I told
Father this he laughed, but a moment later he grew quite grave.
"Listen, Chris," he said. And then he took me on his knee--I was a small
chap then--and told me things that made me forget old Naylor, and wish
and wish that Mother could have stayed with us. The angels had wanted
her, Father explained; well, we wanted her too, and there were plenty
of angels in heaven, anyway. When I said this Father gave me a great
squeeze and put me down, and I tried to be glad that I was a Christmas
child. But I wasn't really until a long time afterwards, when I had
found the Fairy Ring, and met the Queen of the Fairies.
This was how it happened. Father and I lived at one end of a big town,
in a funny old house with an orchard behind it, where the sparrows ate
the cherries and the apple trees didn't flower. Once upon a time, said
Father, there had been country all round it, but the streets and the
roads had grown and grown until they drove the country away, and now
there were trams outside the door, and not a field to be seen. I often
thought that our garden must be sorry to be so crowded up, and that this
was why it wouldn't grow anything but weedy nasturtiums and evening
primroses.
Father is a doctor, and most awfully clever. If you cut off the top of
your finger, he'd pop it on again in no time, and he used to cure all
sorts of illnesses with different coloured medicines he made himself
behind a screen.
But though he had lots and lots of patients--sometimes the surgery was
full of them, 'specially on cold nights when there was a fire--they
didn't seem to have much money to give him, and sometimes they ran
away with their furniture in the night so's not to pay their bills.
This worried Father dreadfully, and even Santa Claus was scared away
by the things he said. On Christmas Eve the old fellow quite forgot
to fill my stocking. It was all limp and empty when I woke in the
morning, and if I hadn't remembered that when I grew up I was going to
be a Commander-in-Chief, I should never have swallowed that lump in my
throat.
Father couldn't even take me to hear "Hark The Herald Angels" at the big
church down the road that day, for someone sent for him in a hurry, and
when he didn't come in for dinner, I wished it wasn't Christmas at all.
Nancy Blake, who kept house for us and was most stingy over raisins,
banged the kitchen door when I said I would make her some toffee, and
I couldn't find anything else to do. I looked at all my books and
pretended I was a soldier in a lonely fort; then I thought I would make
up medicine myself, so's to save Father trouble when he came home. But I
burnt my fingers with some nasty stuff in a green bottle, and it hurt a
good deal. So I determined to go to meet him, and tell him what I'd
done.
[Illustration: "Nancy Blake."]
The trams were running as usual, and as I had a penny left out of my
pocket money--I hadn't spent it before as it had got stuck in some
bulls' eyes--I took the car to the corner; then I jumped out and walked.
There wasn't a sign of Father all down the road, and I remembered at
last that he had said he must look in at the Hospital, which was in
quite a different direction. I should have gone home then, if it hadn't
been so dull with no one but Nancy Blake.
"He won't be back until tea time anyhow," I thought, and I made up my
mind to be a boy scout, and go and explore.
It was a splendid day, and the roofs of the shops and houses glittered
from millions of tiny points, just as you see on Christmas cards. I
walked on and on, feeling gladder every moment, for my fingers had left
off hurting me and I knew that I couldn't be far from the woods, which
were just outside the town. I had been there once with Father, and it
was lovely; so I hurried on as quickly as I could.
When I got there they made me think of Fairyland. The trees were
sparkling with the same frost-diamonds I had noticed on the roofs, and
through the criss-cross branches above my head the sky was as blue as
blue. A jolly little robin was twittering in a bush, enjoying himself no
end; his bright red breast reminded me of the holly I had stuck over
Father's mantelpiece, and I began to feel sad again. For it did seem
hard lines that though Christmas was my birthday, no one, not even
Father, had thought of it.
"I wish that I hadn't been born on Christmas Day!" I said aloud, when I
had reached the very heart of the wood, and I sat down to rest on the
stump of a tree close to a little circle of bright green. It was here
I had come that day with Father, and he had told me that though it was
called a "Fairy Ring," it was really made by the spread of a very small
fungus, or mushroom. I liked the idea of the fairy ring much better, and
as I touched it with my foot I wished again that I wasn't a Christmas
child. And then I heard a sigh.
It wasn't the robin, for he was still twittering on his bush, and it
wasn't the wind, for the air was quite sheltered behind the bank, which
was sweet with wild thyme in summer. The next moment I heard another
sigh, and this seemed to come from a frond of bracken just outside the
fairy ring. It was brown and withered, but the frost had silvered it all
over, and as I looked at it I saw the loveliest little creature you can
imagine clinging to the stem. She was only about three inches high, but
her tiny form was full of grace, and her eyes so bright and beautiful
that they shone like stars. Her hair was the palest silver-gold, and
she had a crown of diamonds and an amethyst wand that sparkled when she
moved it. The scarf wreathed round her shoulders flashed all the colours
of mother-of-pearl, and throwing it from her she hummed to herself a
little song about violets and eglantine, and sweet musk roses. Her notes
were as clear as the lark's, and as if she had called them, more Fairies
showed amidst the bracken.
They were lovely too, though not so lovely as she. One was dressed in
pink, like a pink pea; another had a long grey coat, spangled with drops
of dew, while the third had wings like a big grey moth, and the smallest
Elf was all in brown.
"It is Titania who sings," chirped the robin in my left ear; "Titania,
the Queen of the Fairies, though some call her the fair Queen Mab!" And
he hopped to the foot of the frond of bracken and made a funny little
duck with his head.
"Good bird!" cried Titania, breaking off her song. "You, too, sing
through the winter gloom, and are here to welcome the sweet o' the
year." Then she pointed her gleaming wand at me, and shook her head.
"O Christmas child," she said reproachfully, "it is well that it was I
who heard you, and not my brave lord Oberon, who has less patience with
mortal folly. So you wish you had not been born on Christmas Day? Why,
'tis the day most blessed in all the year--the day when the King of
Kings sent peace and goodwill to Man in the form of the Christ Child. It
is His birthday as well as yours, and in memory of Him the Fairies show
themselves to Christmas children, if they are pure in heart and word and
deed. Your Mother knew this, and she was glad. She called you 'Chris' to
remind you always which day you came."
And then I was sure that I hadn't been dreaming after all, though Nancy
said, "Stuff and Nonsense," when I fancied that I had seen those wee
brown men busy about the house on winter mornings, or flitting in
shadowy corners at night, before she lit the gas. I had never spoken to
them, for I thought if I did they might run away; but I was pleased to
know they had been real.
"You would have seen us before," said Titania, "but you live in a big
town, and your eyes were dimmed with smoke and fog. My dainty Elves love
dales and streams, and the depths of forests; in spring they throng
the meadows, decking the cowslips' coats of gold at early dawn with
splotches of ruby, my choicest favours, and hanging pearls in their
dainty ears. In summer they sleep in the roseleaves, and ride behind
the wings of butterflies, while in winter they hush the babble of the
brooks, and powder the branches of the trees with frost to hide their
nakedness. Away with you, Peas-blossom, Cobweb, Moth, and Mustard-seed!
Go, freeze the fingers of Father Time into glassy icicles, and forget
not to seek for crimson berries on which our friends the birds may feed
at morn!"
[Illustration: I fancied that I had seen those wee brown men]
[Illustration]
She clapped her hands, and the Fairies fled. I wondered why she did not
fall, since she no longer clung to the frond of bracken; but her tiny
feet were firmly planted in the fork of a leaf, and behind her glinted a
pair of wings which had been invisible before. As I watched her I
thought of a question I had often wanted to ask.
"Where do Fairies come from?" I said, hoping she would not be offended.
"Ah," she replied, "that is more than I may tell you. But we were here,
in these very islands, long before the people of the woods, and the
white-haired Druids who worshipped the God of the Oak. There were
spirits then, as now, in streams and rivers, and sweet-voiced Sirens in
the deep blue sea. Some Fairies rode on magic horses, and some were even
smaller than I, and lived in the ears of the yellow corn. Dagda then was
the King of the Fairies, a mighty spirit whose cauldron was supposed
to be the vast grey dome of the sky. Those were the days of Witches,
Dwarfs, and Giants, and little people who lived in the hills, and many
other Fairies known by different names.
We are found in various guises all over the world, but our home is said
first to have been in Persia. There dwelt the ancient Jinn who haunted
the mountain recesses and the forest wilds ages before the first man
trod the earth. Here, too, were Deevs, malicious creatures of terrible
strength who warred with our sisters, the Peries. These exquisite
creatures abode at Kaf, in the deep green mountains of Chrysolite, the
realm of Pleasure and Delight, wherein was the beauteous Amber City.
Some day you may go to Persia, and then, if you meet a Peri, she will
tell you how a mortal man once came to her sisters' rescue, and
conquered the wicked Deevs."
The thought of meeting a Peri took my breath away, for I had read about
them on winter evenings.
"Do you mean that wherever I go I shall see the Fairies, just as I see
you now?" I cried.
"Wherever you go!" she said, nodding her head, "and soon I believe you
will cross the sea and travel through other lands. But you must not
think," she went on earnestly, "that the Fairies in your own country are
less worth knowing, for you might spend your life in making friends with
them, and yet have much to learn."
I can't remember half of all that Titania told me after this, but she
spoke of fair White Elves who live among the trees, and are ruled by a
King who rides abroad in a beautiful little coach with trappings of gold
and silver; of mischievous Black Elves who live underground, and haunt
people with nasty tempers; of Nymphs and Gnomes and sad-faced Trolls,
and of Brownies and Portunes and Pixies. I should have liked to hear
more about the Brownies and Portunes, but it was fun to learn how the
Brownies play tricks on lazy people who lie in bed and won't get up,
pulling the clothes right off them, and throwing these on the floor,
and of how they help the farmers' wives to bake and brew if they are
clean and neat. Titania said that Fairies dislike people who are untidy,
and I hoped that she hadn't seen my playbox or my chest of drawers. I
made up my mind that directly I got home I would put them straight, and
so that she might not notice how red I had grown, I asked her to tell me
what Portunes were.
[Illustration: The "Portunes" were queer creatures.]
"Queer little wrinkled creatures with faces like old men," she said.
"They wear long green coats covered with darns and patches, and are only
found now in the depths of the country. They like to live on prosperous
farms, and though some of them are barely an inch high, they can lift
heavier weights than the strongest labourer. Like the Brownies, they can
be mischievous as well as helpful. A farmer once offended a Portune by
speaking disrespectfully of his kindred, and the next time that the good
man rode home from market in the dusk, the little fellow sprang on to
the horse's reins, and guided him into the bog. Both horse and man had
to flounder out as best they could, and the farmer was careful
henceforth to mind his tongue."
"And what are Pixies like?" I asked. She had said that I reminded her of
one of these, so of course I was curious about them.
"They are much taller than we are, and very fair," answered Titania,
"with blue-grey eyes like yours. If you want to meet them, you must go
to Devonshire, for it is there that they make their home. They love the
ferns and the heather, and the rich red earth, and live in a Pixy-house
in a rock. They, also, are ruled by a King, who commands them as I do
my Elves and Fays, despatching them hither and thither to do his will.
Sometimes he sends them down to the mines, to show the men who work
there where the richest lode is to be found; and if the miners grumble,
or are discontented, the Pixies lead them astray by lighting false
fires. On other occasions they are told off to help the villagers with
their housework, and their attentions are warmly welcomed by the Devon
folk. One good dame was so pleased with the help a ragged little Pixie
who had torn her frock on a sweet-briar bush gave her with her spinning,
that she made her a new set of clothes of bright green cloth, and laid
these by the spinning wheel. The Pixy put them on at once, and singing
"Pixy fine, Pixy gay,
Pixy now will run away!"
sped out of the house in broad daylight, and, alas! she never came back
again."
"Ho! ho! ho!" laughed a merry voice, and a shock-headed little fellow
swung himself down from a bough just behind me, and turned a somersault
on the ground.
"Welcome, gay Puck!" Titania cried. "Whence do you come, and what do you
do this night?"
"I come from the court of King Oberon, sweet Titania," answered the Elf,
"and to-night I plait the manes and tails of Farmer Best's grey horses.
At early dawn I shall skim the cream off the milk in his good wife's
dairy, since yester-e'en she grudged a drink of it to an orphan child.
'Robin Goodfellow has been here!' she will cry when she sees what I have
been after, and her greedy old eyes will fill with tears. That is one
of my pet names, Wide-eyes," he added, hopping on to my shoulder and
pinching my ear. "I am also Pouke, Hobgoblin, and Robin Hood. But where
are the Urchins, my merry play-fellows? It is high time that they were
here, for the lady moon has hung her lamp i' the sky."
[Illustration: "The Fairy Ring was thronged with dancing Elves"]
The clouds were all tinted a deep rose pink, and behind the trees, just
where the moon had risen, was a haze of purple. I knew by this that it
must be nearly tea-time, and I was just going to say that I must go,
when Titania left the frond of bracken, and alighted in the centre of
the Fairy Ring. Waving her wand, she summoned her "gladsome sprites,"
and next moment the Fairy Ring was thronged with dancing Elves who wore
red caps and silver shoes, with bright green mantles buttoned with bobs
of silk. Puck flew to join them, but Peas-blossom, Cobweb, Moth, and
Mustard-seed, who sprang from nowhere, danced in an inner circle round
the Fairy Queen. They sang as they danced, and this is their song. I
found it afterwards in a book of Father's, which he said had in it more
wonderful things than all books in the world but one:
"By the moon we sport and play,
With the night begins our day.
As we frisk the dew doth fall,
Trip it, little urchins all.
Lightly as the little bee,
Two by two and three by three,
And about goe wee, goe wee."
"And about goe wee, goe wee!" echoed down the glade, and then the
Elves suddenly disappeared, with Puck and Titania and her attendants.
The wood was growing darker every minute, but the sparkles of frost were
glittering still, and lit my way. At the end of the scrub I saw Father
coming to meet me, swinging down the road with such long steps that he
looked like a kindly big giant. He had guessed where I had gone, and he
was so pleased to find me that he forgot to say I mustn't explore any
more without him, as I was afraid he would. He took my hand, and we both
ran; it was lovely at home by the fire.
I meant to have told him about Queen Titania while we were having tea,
but Nancy had made such scrumptious cakes that there wasn't time at
first, and before I had finished he began to open the letters that had
come just after he left that morning. They seemed to be all bills, and
Father sighed as he looked them over, his forehead puckered into rucks
and lines. Presently he came to a big blue envelope, and he turned
this round and round as if he thought there might be something horrid
inside. The paper crackled like anything as he drew it out, and when it
was unfolded he sat looking at it for a long time, though there didn't
seem to be much writing. At last he gave an odd kind of gasp, and took
my face between his hands. He pressed it so hard that he made me say
"O!" though I didn't want to do this, and I wondered what had happened.
"Your great-aunt Helen is dead, Chris," he said at last, as he let me
go. "I haven't seen her for years and years.... She was not over kind to
me when I was a lad, though I believe she meant well.... And now she's
left us all her money. We shan't be poor any more."
This was the beginning of ever so many surprises. First, Father and I
had warm new overcoats, with woolly stuff inside them that felt like
blankets, only much more soft and fluffy, and Nancy had the blue silk
dress she always vowed that she should buy when her ship came home.
There was a fire every night in Father's study, and I had one in my
bedroom. More patients came up for soup than they did for medicine, and
they said "God bless you, Sir!" to Father so often that he wanted to run
away. The children in the hospital had the biggest tree that the ward
would hold, and all the old men and women in the workhouse had a big
tea, and shawls and mufflers.
A few weeks later a strange young man with a very shiny collar and a new
brown bag came to stay with us. Father said he was a "locum," but Nancy
said it ought to be "locust," for his appetite was enormous, and she
couldn't make enough buttered toast to please him. He had come to take
care of Father's patients until someone bought all the medicines and
things in the surgery, and I was awfully glad to hear we were going
away.
"We'll go straight to the sunshine, Chris," said Father, "where there
are trees and flowers instead of long rows of houses, and the air isn't
full of smoke."
And that night I dreamt all about fairies, and of what I was going to
see and hear in foreign lands.
[Illustration: The "Locust."]
[Illustration]