“AU REVOIR.”
THE next morning all was excitement at the palace. The news of our
return had spread abroad, and in the morning copy of the _Daily Whyer_,
which his Majesty found on the breakfast-table when we went down, a
full and, I must say, surprisingly accurate account of the interview
appeared, together with the information that his Majesty would attend
Parliament in state in the afternoon, and that an address from the
throne would be read, in which certain changes in the Government would
be suggested. There was also a paragraph about A. Fish, Esquire’s,
lecture upon the “Unreasonableness of ability,” which the editor
advised everybody to try and hear.
His Majesty was in quite a fluster, and we spent several hours in
preparing an elaborate written speech which he was to read out in
the afternoon; and then, having settled this and other matters to
our satisfaction, we took Kis-Smee out for a little walk just before
luncheon.
One of the first persons we met was the Crocodile at the Lodge. He
looked once or twice at his Majesty, as if in doubt, and then at
Kis-Smee.
On seeing the latter his eyes sparkled, and he came up and spoke at
once.
“Hullo, Wallypug!” he began unceremoniously.
His Majesty bowed, a little distantly I thought.
“_What_ a fine fat dog!” exclaimed the Crocodile, pointing to Kis-Smee.
“Is he for sale?”
“Certainly not,” said the Wallypug.
The Crocodile sighed. “Just my luck,” he remarked, “I love dogs and I
should so enjoy taking this one home to tea with me. Perhaps you will
let him visit me sometimes. What’s his name?”
[Illustration: “OH! REALLY, WALLYPUG, THIS IS SO SUDDEN.”]
“Kis-Smee,” said his Majesty.
“Oh! really Wallypug, this is so sudden,” said the Crocodile, smirking,
“I’d no idea you were so affectionate. I’m so bashful, too. I couldn’t
really think of kissing you in public.”
“No, no!” explained his Majesty hastily—“Kis-Smee is the dog’s name;
you asked me what his name was, you know.”
“Oh!” said the Crocodile, looking greatly disappointed. “I
misunderstood you. Very sorry, I’m sure. Well, what are you going to do
now?”
His Majesty told him of the meeting in the afternoon, and the Crocodile
promised to come.
“That is,” he added, “if I may bring my invalid with me.”
“Who is that?” asked the Wallypug.
“Oh! a very feeble old joke I’ve got staying with me,” said the
Crocodile. “I could bring him in the perambulator, you know—the one I
used to wheel the weak cup of tea about in—he’s such a nice old man.”
“What is he, did you say?” asked his Majesty.
“An old joke,” repeated the Crocodile, “his name is Joe Miller, and
he eats nothing but chestnuts, and even they have to be very ancient
before he can digest them. Oh! he’s a character, I can tell you. Make
you die of laughing the _first_ time you meet him; but as he always
says the same thing over and over again—for hours and hours, he is
rather trying at times. However, I will bring him along, and you can
judge for yourself.”
We left the Crocodile then and went back to luncheon—after which we
set out for the House of Words.
We found that quite a lot of Creatures were waiting in the lobby for
the doors to open.
There was the Doctor-in-Law, telling a funny story to the Pig,
for which he afterwards made a charge of one pound nineteen and
elevenpence, describing it as _Professional Attendance_—and wording
the bill as follows:
To One pig, one guinea (guinea-pig), £1 1 0
“Laugh and grow fat,” one joke, 0 6 8
————————
£1 19 11
And to the Mole, who happened to overhear the joke, he made another
charge; but the Mole got out of paying for it on the plea that he
_couldn’t see it_; but whether he meant the bill or the joke I could
never find out, Moles are notoriously blind.
Oom-Hi was there and the Turtle too, and A. Fish, Esq., listened,
open-mouthed, while they discussed the state of affairs.
The Cockatoo, irrepressible as ever, held forth on the subject of
Socialism to an interested audience, consisting of the Crocodile
and the Rabbit. While the Crow filled in a few spare moments by
interviewing the Pelican. The Creatures stood aside very politely to
allow his Majesty and myself to enter, Kis-Smee growling ominously at
the Cockatoo, who screamed, “Down with domestic animals,” as he passed.
This remark of hers gave offense to the Pig also, who demanded to know
if she was referring to him.
[Illustration: Oom-Hi was there and the Turtle too, and A. Fish,
Esq., listened, open-mouthed, while they discussed the state of
affairs.—Page 192.
_Wallypugland._]
“Of course not,” replied the Cockatoo; “you’re not a domestic animal,
are you?”
“Sure an I am that same in me own counthry,” said the Pig, who was
evidently of Irish descent.
“Och down with the dirthy landlords thin,” screamed the Cockatoo, which
caused the Pig to laugh and put him in a good temper again.
“I couldn’t bring the old joke along after all,” whispered the
Crocodile to me, as we squeezed through the door; “he is more feeble
than ever.” “How’s Kis-Smee?”
“Quite well, I think, thank you,” I replied.
“Isn’t he delightfully fat,” whispered the Crocodile, smacking his
lips. “About three nice large mouthfuls, I should say,” he concluded
mysteriously, winking one eye at me.
I haven’t the remotest idea what he meant, and besides I hadn’t time to
think about it then, for the meeting was about to commence.
We all found seats, and A. Fish, Esq., being called upon to
open the proceedings, he commenced his learned treatise upon the
“Unreasonableness of Misunderstandability.”
What it was all about I haven’t the remotest idea, for what with his
extraordinary way of talking, and the continual interruptions of the
animals, who would keep shouting, “Hear! hear!” “Question!” “Withdraw!”
“Order! order!” etc., at all kinds of odd moments, I could not hear
a word that was being said. Moreover, the hall was unaccountably hot
and stuffy, and for some time I had the greatest difficulty in keeping
awake; and at last my head sank down and I dozed off, awaking at
intervals when the Cockatoo was unusually energetic; but at last even
her voice was silenced, and I remember no more till I awoke with a
start, and found myself, to my great dismay, back again in my own study
in London.
I have addressed several letters to “His Majesty the Wallypug, The
Royal Palace, Why,” as I am very anxious to know how affairs are going
on there; but I am sorry to say they have always been returned through
the post, marked in blue pencil, “_Not known. Insufficient address._”
[Illustration: RETURNED THROUGH THE POST.]
THE BLUE DWARFS:
AN ADVENTURE IN THURINGEN.
“And then on the top of the Caldon Low
There was no one left but me.”
MARY HOWITT.
“I LIKED the blue dwarfs the best—far, far the best of anything,” said
Olive.
“‘The blue dwarfs!’” repeated Rex. “What _do_ you mean? Why can’t you
say what you mean plainly? Girls have such a stupid way of talking!”
“What can be plainer than _the blue dwarfs_?” said Olive rather
snappishly, though, it must be allowed, with some reason. “We were
talking about the things we liked best at the china place. _You_ said
the stags’ heads and the inkstands, and _I_ say the blue dwarfs.”
“But I didn’t see any dwarfs,” persisted Rex.
“Well, I can’t help it if you didn’t. You had just as much chance of
seeing them as I had. They were in a corner by themselves—little
figures about two inches high, all with blue coats on. There were about
twelve of them, all different, but all little dwarfs or gnomes. One was
sitting on a barrel, one was turning head-over-heels, one was cuddling
his knees—all funny ways like that. Oh, they were lovely!”
“I wish I had seen them better,” said Rex regretfully. “I do remember
seeing a tray full of little blue-looking dolls, but I didn’t notice
what they were.”
Olive did not at once answer. Her eyes were fixed on something she
saw passing before the window. It was a very, very little man. He was
not exactly humpbacked, but his figure was somewhat deformed, and he
was so small that but for the sight of his rather wizened old face
one could hardly have believed he was a full-grown man. His eyes were
bright and beady-looking, like those of a good-natured little weasel,
if there be such a thing, and his face lighted up with a smile as he
caught sight of the two, to him, strange-looking children at the open
window of the little village inn.
“Guten Tag,” he said, nodding to them; and “Guten Tag,” replied the
children, as they had learnt to do by this time to everybody they met.
For in these remote villages it would be thought the greatest breach of
courtesy to pass any one without this friendly greeting.
Rex drew a long breath when the dwarf had passed.
“Olive——” he began, but Olive interrupted him.
“Rex,” she said eagerly, “that’s _exactly_ like them—like the blue
dwarfs, I mean. Only, of course, their faces were prettier—nice
little china faces, rather crumply looking, but quite nice; and then
their coats were such a pretty nice blue. I think,” she went on
consideringly—“I think if I had that little man and washed his face
_very_ well, and got him a bright blue coat, he would look just like
one of the blue dwarfs grown big.”
Rex looked at Olive with a queer expression.
“Olive,” he said in rather an awe-struck tone; “Olive, do you think
perhaps they’re _real_? Do you think perhaps somewhere in this
country—in those queer dark woods, perhaps—that there are real blue
dwarfs, and that somebody must have seen them and made the little china
ones like them? Perhaps,” and his voice dropped and grew still more
solemn; “_perhaps_, Olive, that little man’s one of them, and they may
have to take off their blue coats when they’re walking about. Do you
know, I think it’s a little, just a very little frightening? Don’t you,
Olive?”
“No, of course I don’t,” said Olive, and, to do her justice, her rather
sharp answer was meant as much to reassure her little brother as to
express any feeling of impatience. Rex was quite a little fellow, only
eight, and Olive, who was nearly twelve, remembered that when she was
as little as that, she used sometimes to feel frightened about things
which she now couldn’t see anything the least frightening in. And she
remembered how once or twice some of her big cousins had laughed at
her, and amused themselves by telling her all sorts of nonsense, which
still seemed terrible to her when she was alone in her room in the dark
at night. “Of course there’s nothing frightening in it,” she said. “It
would be rather a funny idea, I think. Of course it can’t be, you know,
Rex. There are no dwarfs, and gnomes, and fairies now.”
“But that little man was a dwarf,” said Rex.
“Yes, but a dwarf needn’t be a fairy sort of person,” explained Olive.
“He’s just a common little man, only he’s never grown as big as other
people. Perhaps he had a bad fall when he was a baby—that might stop
his growing.”
“Would it?” said Rex. “I didn’t know that. I hope I hadn’t a bad fall
when I was a baby. Everybody says I’m very small for my age.” And Rex
looked with concern at his short but sturdy legs.
Olive laughed outright.
“Oh, Rex, what a funny boy you are! No, certainly, you are not a dwarf.
You’re as straight and strong as you can be.”
“Well, but,” said Rex, returning to the first subject, “I do think it’s
very queer about that little dwarf man coming up the street just as
you were telling me about the blue dwarfs. And he _did_ look at us in
a funny way, Olive, whatever you say, just as if he had heard what we
were talking about.”
“All the people look at us in a funny way here,” said Olive. “We must
look very queer to them. Your sailor suit, Rex, and my ‘Bolero’ hat
must look to them quite as queer as the women’s purple skirts, with
bright green aprons, look to us.”
“Or the bullock-carts,” said Rex. “Do you remember how queer we
thought them at first? _Now_ we’ve got quite used to seeing queer
things, haven’t we, Olive? Oh! now do look there—at the top of the
street—there, Olive, did you ever see such a load as that woman is
carrying in the basket on her back? Why, it’s as big as a house!”
He seemed to have forgotten about the dwarfs, and Olive was rather glad
of it. These two children were traveling with their uncle and aunt in
a rather out-of-the-way part of Germany. Out-of-the-way, that is to
say, to most of the regular summer tourists from other countries,
who prefer going where they are more sure of finding the comforts
and luxuries they are accustomed to at home. But it was by no means
out-of-the-way in the sense of being dull or deserted. It is a very
busy part of the world indeed. You would be amazed if I were to tell
you some of the beautiful things that are made in these bare homely
little German cottages. For all about in the neighborhood there are
great manufactories and warehouses for china and glass, and many other
things; and some parts of the work are done by the people at home in
their own houses. The morning of the day of which I am telling you
had been spent by the children and their friends in visiting a very
large china manufactory, and their heads were full of the pretty and
wonderful things they had seen.
And now they were waiting in the best parlor of the village inn while
their uncle arranged about a carriage to take them all on to the small
town where they were to stay a few days. Their aunt was tired, and was
resting a little on the sofa, and they had planted themselves on the
broad window-sill, and were looking out with amusement at all that
passed.
“What have you been chattering about all this time?” said their aunt,
suddenly looking up. “I think I must have been asleep a little, but I
have heard your voices going on like two birds twittering.”
“Have we disturbed you, Auntie?” asked Olive, with concern.
“Oh no, not a bit; but come here and tell me what you have been talking
about.”
Instantly Rex’s mind went back to the dwarfs.
“Auntie,” he said seriously, “perhaps you can tell me better than Olive
can. Are there really countries of dwarfs, and are they a kind of
fairies, Auntie?”
Auntie looked rather puzzled.
“Dwarfs, Rex?” she said; “countries of dwarfs! How do you mean?”
Olive hastened to explain. Auntie was very much amused.
“Certainly,” she said, “we have already seen so many strange things in
our travels that it is better not to be too sure what we may not see.
But any way, Rex, you may be quite easy in your mind, that if ever you
come across any of the dwarfs, you will find them very good-natured and
amiable, only you must be very respectful—always say ‘Sir,’ or ‘My
lord,’ or something like that to them, and bow a great deal. And you
must never seem to think anything they do the least odd, not even if
they propose to you to walk on your head, or to eat roast fir-cones for
dinner, for instance.”
Auntie was quite young—not so very much older than Olive—and very
merry. Olive’s rather “grown-up” tones and manners used sometimes to
tempt her to make fun of the little girl, which, to tell the truth,
Olive did not always take quite in good part. And it must for Olive
be allowed, that Auntie did sometimes allow her spirits and love of
fun to run away with her a little too far, just like pretty unruly
ponies, excited by the fresh air and sunshine, who toss their heads and
gallop off. It is great fun at first and very nice to see, but one is
sometimes afraid they may do some mischief on the way—without meaning
it, of course; and, besides, it is not always so easy to pull them up
as it was to start them.
Just as Auntie finished speaking the door opened and their uncle came
in. He was Auntie’s elder brother—a good deal older—and very kind
and sensible. At once all thoughts of the dwarfs or what Auntie had
been saying danced out of Rex’s curly head. Like a true boy he flew
off to his uncle, besieging him with questions as to what sort of a
carriage they were to go on in—_was_ it an ox-cart; oh, mightn’t they
_for once_ go in an ox-cart? and might he—oh, might he sit beside the
driver in front?
His uncle laughed and replied to his questions, but Olive stayed beside
the sofa, staring gravely at her aunt.
“Auntie,” she said, “you’re not _in earnest_, are you, about there
being really a country of dwarfs?”
Olive was twelve. Perhaps you will think her very silly to have
imagined for a moment that her aunt’s joke could be anything but a
joke, especially as she had been so sensible about not letting Rex get
anything into his head which could frighten him. But I am not sure that
she was so very silly after all. She had read in her geography about
the Lapps and Finns, the tiny little men of the north, whom one might
very well describe as dwarfs; there might be dwarfs in these strange
Thüringian forests, which were little spoken of in geography books;
Auntie knew more of such things than she did, for she had traveled in
this country before. Then with her own eyes Olive had seen a dwarf, and
though she had said to Rex that he was just an odd dwarf by himself as
it were, not one of a race, how could she tell but what he might be
one of a number of such queer little people? And even the blue dwarfs
themselves—the little figures in the china manufactory—rather went to
prove it than not.
“They may have taken the idea of dwarfs from the real ones, as Rex
said,” thought Olive. “Any way I shall look well about me if we go
through any of these forests again. They must live in the forests, for
Auntie said they eat roast fir-cones for dinner.”
All these thoughts were crowding through her mind as she stared up into
Auntie’s face and asked solemnly—
“Auntie, were you in earnest?”
Auntie’s blue eyes sparkled.
“In earnest, Olive?” she said. “Of course! Why shouldn’t I be in
earnest? But come, quick, we must get our things together. Your uncle
must have got a carriage.”
“Yes,” said he, “I have. _Not_ an ox-cart, Rex. I’m sorry for your
sake, but for no one else’s; for I don’t think there would be much
left of us by the end of the journey if we were to be jogged along the
forest roads in an ox-cart. No! I have got quite a respectable vehicle;
but we must stop an hour or two on the way, to rest the horses and give
them a feed, otherwise we could not get through to-night.”
“Where shall we stop?” said Auntie, as with the bundles of shawls and
bags they followed the children’s uncle to the door.
“There is a little place in the forest, where they can look after the
horses,” said he; “and I daresay we can get some coffee there for
ourselves, if we want it. It is a pretty little nook. I remember it
long ago, and I shall be glad to see it again.”
Olive had pricked up her ears. “A little place in the forest!” she said
to herself; “that may be near where the dwarfs live: it is most likely
not far from here, because of the one we saw.” She would have liked to
ask her uncle about it, but something in the look of her aunt’s eyes
kept her from doing so.
“Perhaps she _was_ joking,” thought Olive to herself. “But perhaps she
doesn’t know; _she_ didn’t see the real dwarf. It would be rather nice
if I did find them, _then_ Auntie couldn’t laugh at me any more.”
They were soon comfortably settled in the carriage, and set off. The
first part of the drive was not particularly interesting; and it was so
hot, though already afternoon, that they were all—Olive especially,
you may be sure—delighted to exchange the open country for the
pleasant shade of a grand pine forest, through which their road now lay.
“Is it a very large forest, Uncle?” said Olive.
“Yes, very large,” he replied rather sleepily, to tell the truth: for
both he and Auntie had been nodding a little, and Rex had once or twice
been fairly asleep. But Olive’s imagination was far too hard at work to
let her sleep.
“The largest in Europe?” she went on, without giving much thought to
poor Uncle’s sleepiness.
“Oh yes, by far,” he replied, for he had not heard clearly what she
said, and fancied it was “the largest hereabouts.”
“Dear me!” thought Olive, looking round her with awe and satisfaction.
“If there are dwarfs anywhere, then it must be here.”
And she was just beginning another. “And please, Uncle, is——?” when
her aunt looked up and said lazily—
“Oh, my dear child, do be quiet! Can’t you go to sleep yourself a
little! We shall have more than enough of the forest before we are out
of it?” Which offended Olive so much that she relapsed into silence.
Auntie was a truer prophet than she knew; for when they got to the
little hamlet in the wood, where they were to rest, something proved to
be wrong with one of the horse’s shoes; _so_ wrong, indeed, that after
a prolonged examination, at which all the inhabitants turned out to
assist, it was decided that the horse must be re-shod before he could
go any farther; and this made it impossible for the party who had come
in the carriage to go any farther either. For the nearest smithy was
two miles off; the horse must be led there and back by the driver,
which would take at least two, if not three, hours. It was now past
six, and they had come barely half way. The driver shook his head, and
said he would not like to go on to the town till morning. The horse
had pricked his foot; it might cause inflammation to drive him farther
without a rest, and the carriage was far too heavy for the other horse
alone, which had suddenly struck the children’s uncle as a brilliant
idea.
“There would be no difficulty about the harnessing, any way,” he said
to Auntie, laughing; “for all the vehicles hereabouts drawn by one
horse have the animal at one side of a pole, instead of between shafts.”
But Auntie thought it better to give in.
“It really doesn’t much matter,” she said; “we can stay here well
enough. There are two bedrooms, and no doubt they can give us something
to eat; beer and sausages, and brown bread any way.”
And so it was settled greatly to Olive’s satisfaction; it would give
her capital opportunities for a dwarf hunt! though as to this she kept
her own counsel.
The landlady of the little post-house where they had stopped was
accustomed to occasional visits of this kind from benighted or
distressed travelers. She thought nothing of turning her two daughters
out of their bedroom, which, it must be owned, was very clean, for
Auntie and Olive, and a second room on the ground-floor was prepared
for Rex and his uncle. She had coffee ready in five minutes, and
promised them a comfortable supper before bedtime. Altogether,
everything seemed very satisfactory, and when they felt a little
refreshed, Auntie proposed a walk—“a good long walk,” she said, “would
do us good. And the landlady says we get out of the forest up there
behind the house, where the ground rises, and that there is a lovely
view. It will be rather a climb, but it isn’t more than three quarters
of an hour from here, and we have not walked all day.”
Uncle thought it a good idea, and Rex was ready to start at once; but
Olive looked less pleased.
“Don’t you want to come, Olive?” said Auntie. “Are you tired? You
didn’t take a nap like the rest of us.”
“I am a little tired,” said Olive, which was true in one sense, though
not in another, for she was quite fit for a walk. It struck her that
her excuse was not quite an honest one, so she added, “If you don’t
mind, I would rather stay about here. I don’t mind being alone, and I
have my book. And I do so like the forest.”
“Very well,” said her uncle; “only don’t lose yourself. She is
perfectly safe,” he added, turning to her aunt; “there are neither
wolves, nor bears, nor robbers nowadays, in these peaceful forests.”
So the three set off, leaving Olive to her own devices. She waited till
they were out of sight, then she made her preparations.
“I’d better take my purse,” she said to herself, “in case I meet the
dwarfs. Auntie told me to be very polite, and perhaps they would like
some of these tiny pieces; they just look as if they were meant for
them.” So she chose out a few one-pfennig copper coins, which are much
smaller than our farthings, and one or two silver pieces, worth about
twopence-halfpenny each, still smaller. Then she put in her pocket half
a slice of the brown bread they had had with their coffee, and arming
herself, more for appearance’-sake than anything else, with her parasol
and the book she had with her in her traveling bag, she set off on her
solitary ramble.
It was still hot—though the forest trees made a pleasant shade. Olive
walked some way, farther and farther, as far as she could make out,
into the heart of the forest, but in her inexperience she took no
sort of care to notice the way she went, or to make for herself any
kind of landmarks. She just wandered on and on, tempted first by some
mysterious little path, and then by another, her mind full of the
idea of the discoveries she was perhaps about to make. Now and then a
squirrel darted across from one tree to another, disappearing among the
branches almost before Olive could be sure she had seen it, or some
wild wood birds, less familiar to the little foreigner, would startle
her with a shrill, strange note. There were here and there lovely
flowers growing among the moss, and more than once she heard the sound
of not far off trickling water. It was all strangely beautiful, and she
would greatly have enjoyed and admired it had not her mind been so full
of the queer fascinating idea of the blue dwarfs.
At last—she had wandered about for some time—Olive began to feel
tired.
“I may as well sit down a little,” she thought; “I have lots of time
to get back. This seems the very heart of the forest. They are just as
likely to be seen here as anywhere else.”
So Olive ensconced herself in a comfortable corner, her back against
the root of a tree, which seemed hollowed out on purpose to serve as
an armchair. She thought at first she would read a little, but the
light was already slightly waning, and the tree shadows made it still
fainter. Besides, Olive had plenty to think of—she did not require any
amusement. Queer little noises now and then made themselves heard—once
or twice it really sounded as if small feet were pattering along, or as
if shrill little voices were laughing in the distance; and with each
sound, Olive’s heart beat faster with excitement—not with fear.
“If I sit very still,” she thought, “who knows what I may see? Of
course, it would be much nicer and prettier if the dwarfs were quite
tiny—not like the little man we saw in the street at that place—I
forget the name—for he was not pretty at all—but like the blue dwarfs
at the manufactory. But that, I suppose, is impossible, for they would
be really like fairies. But they might be something between: not so big
as the little man, and yet bigger than the blue dwarfs.”
And then Olive grew a little confused in trying to settle in her mind
how big, or how small rather, it was possible or impossible for a
nation of dwarfs to be. She thought it over till she hardly seemed
sure what she was trying to decide. She kept saying to herself, “Any
way, they could not but be a good deal bigger than my thumb! What does
that mean? Perhaps it means more in German measures than in English,
perhaps——”
But what was that that suddenly hit her on the nose! Olive looked up, a
very little inclined to be offended; it is not a pleasant thing to be
hit on the nose; could it be Rex come behind her suddenly, and playing
her a trick? Just as she was thinking this, a second smart tap on the
nose startled her still more, and this time there was no mistake about
it; it came from above, and it was a fir-cone! Had it come of itself?
Somehow the words, “Roast fir-cones for dinner,” kept running in her
head, and she took up the fir-cone in her fingers to examine it, but
quickly dropped it again, for it was as hot as a coal.
“It has a very roasty smell,” thought Olive; “where can it have come
from?”
And hardly had she asked herself the question, when a sudden noise all
round her made her again look up. They were sliding down the branches
of the tree in all directions. At first, to her dazzled eyes, they
seemed a whole army, but as they touched the ground one by one, and
she was able to distinguish them better, she saw that after all there
were not so _very_ many. One, two, three, she began quickly counting
to herself, not aloud, of course—that would not have been polite—one,
two, three, up to twelve, then thirteen, fourteen and so on up to—yes,
there were just twenty-four of them.
“Two of each,” said Olive to herself; “a double set of the blue dwarfs.”
For they were the blue dwarfs, and no mistake! Two of each, as Olive
had seen at once. And immediately they settled themselves in twos—two
squatted on the ground embracing their knees, two strode across a
barrel which they had somehow or other brought with them, two began
turning head-over-heels, two knelt down with their heads and queer
little grinning faces looking over their shoulders, twos and twos of
them in every funny position you could imagine, all arranged on the
mossy ground in front of where Olive sat, and all dressed in the same
bright blue coats as the toy dwarfs at the china manufactory.
Olive sat still and looked at them. Somehow she did not feel surprised.
“How big are they?” she said to herself. “Bigger than my thumb? Oh yes,
a good deal. I should think they are about as tall as my arm would be
if it was standing on the ground. I should think they would come up
above my knee. I should like to stand up and measure, but perhaps it is
better for me not to speak to them till they speak to me.”
She had not long to wait. In another moment two little blue figures
separated themselves from the crowd, and made their way up to her. But
when they were close to her feet they gave a sudden jump in the air,
and came down, not on their feet, but on their heads! And then again
some of her aunt’s words came back to her, “If they should ask you to
stand on your head, for instance.”
“Dear me,” thought Olive, “how did Auntie know so much about them? But
I do hope they won’t ask me to stand on _my_ head.”
Her fears were somewhat relieved when the dwarfs gave another spring
and came down this time in a respectable manner on their feet. Then,
with a good many bows and flourishes, they began a speech.
“We are afraid,” said the first.
“That the fir-cones,” said the second.
“Were rather underdone,” finished up the first.
Olive really did not know what to say. She was dreadfully afraid that
it would seem so very rude of her not even to have _tasted_ the cones.
But naturally she had not had the slightest idea that they had been
intended for her to eat.
“I am very sorry,” she said, “Mr.——, sir! my lord! I beg your pardon.
I don’t quite know what I should call you.”
“With all respect,” said the first.
“And considering the circumstances,” went on the second.
Then just as Olive supposed they were going to tell her their names,
they stopped short and looked at her.
“I beg your pardon,” she began again, after waiting a minute or two to
see if they had nothing else to say; “I don’t quite understand.”
“Nor do we,” they replied promptly, speaking for the first time both
together.
“Do you mean you don’t know what _my_ name is?” said she. “It’s Olive,
_Olive_” for the dwarfs stood staring as if they had not heard her.
“OLIVE!” she repeated for the third time.
“Green?” asked the first.
“No!” said Olive. “Of course not! _Green_ is a very common name—at
least——”
“But you called us ‘blue,’” said the second; and it really was a relief
to hear him finish a sentence comfortably by himself, only Olive felt
very puzzled by what he said.
“How do you know?” she said. “How could you tell I called you the blue
dwarfs?” and then another thought suddenly struck her. How very odd
it was that the dwarf spoke such good English! “I thought you were
German,” she said.
“How very amusing!” said the dwarfs, this time again speaking together.
Olive could not see that it was very amusing, but she was afraid of
saying so, for fear it should be rude.
“And about the fir-cones,” went on the first dwarf. “It is distressing
to think they were so underdone. But we have come, all of us,” waving
his hand in the direction of the others, “to invite you to supper in
our village. There you will find them done to perfection.”
Olive felt more and more uncomfortable.
“You are very kind,” she said. “I should like to come very much if it
isn’t too far; but I am afraid I couldn’t eat any supper. Indeed, I’m
not hungry.” And then a bright thought struck her. “See here,” she went
on, drawing the half slice of bread out of her pocket, “I had to put
this in my pocket, for I couldn’t finish it at our afternoon coffee.”
The two dwarfs came close and examined the piece of bread with the
greatest attention. They pinched and smelt it, and one of them put out
his queer little pointed tongue and licked it.
“Not good!” he said, looking up at Olive and rolling about his eyes in
a very queer way.
“I don’t know,” said Olive; “I don’t think it can be bad. It is the
regular bread of the country. I should have thought you would be
accustomed to it, as you live here.”
The two dwarfs took no notice of what she said, but suddenly turned
round, and standing with their backs to Olive called out shrilly,
“Gueton Tag.” Immediately all the other dwarfs replied in the same
tone and the same words, and to Olive’s great surprise they all began
to move towards her, but without altering their attitudes—those on
the barrel rolled towards her without getting off it; the two who were
hugging their knees continued to hug them, while they came on by means
of jerking themselves; the turning head-over-heels ones span along like
wheels, and so on till the whole assemblage were at her feet. Then she
saw unfolded before her, hanging on the branches of the tree, a large
mantle, just the shape of her aunt’s travelling dust-cloak, which she
always spread over Olive in a carriage, only, instead of being drab
or fawn-colored, it was, like the dwarfs’ jackets, bright blue. And
without any one telling her, Olive seemed to know of herself that she
was to put it on.
She got up and reached the cloak easily; it seemed to put itself on,
and Olive felt very happy and triumphant as she said to herself, “Now
I’m really going to have some adventures.”
The dwarfs marched—no! one cannot call it marching, for they had about
a dozen different ways of proceeding—they moved on, and Olive in the
middle, her blue cloak floating majestically on her shoulders. No one
spoke a word. It grew darker and darker among the trees, but Olive
did not feel frightened. On they went, till at last she saw twinkling
before them a very small but bright blue light. It looked scarcely
larger than the lamp of a glow-worm, but it shone out very distinct in
the darkness. Immediately they saw it the dwarfs set up a shout, and
as it died away, to Olive’s surprise, they began to sing. And what do
you think they sang? Olive at first could hardly believe her ears as
they listened to the thoroughly English song of “Home, sweet Home.”
And the queerest thing was that they sang it very prettily, and that
it sounded exactly like her aunt’s voice! And though they were walking
close beside her, their voices when they left off singing did not so
much seem to stop as to move off, to die away into the distance, which
struck Olive as very odd.
They had now arrived at the trunk of a large tree, half way up which
hung the little lamp—at least Olive supposed it must be a lamp—from
which came the bright blue light.
“Here we are,” said one of the dwarfs, she did not see which, “at the
entrance to our village.” And thereupon all the dwarfs began climbing
up the tree, swarming about it like a hive of bees, till they got some
way up, when one after another they suddenly disappeared. Olive could
see all they did by the blue light. She was beginning to wonder if she
would be left standing there alone, when a shout made her look up, and
she saw two dwarfs standing on a branch holding a rope ladder, which
they had just thrown down, and making signs to her to mount up by it.
It was quite easy; up went Olive, step by step, and when she reached
the place where the two dwarfs were standing, she saw how it was that
they had all disappeared. The tree trunk was hollow, and there were
steps cut in it like a stair, down which the dwarfs signed to her that
she was to go. She did not need to be twice told, so eager was she to
see what was to come. The stair was rather difficult for her to get
down without falling, for the steps were too small, being intended for
the dwarfs, but Olive managed pretty well, only slipping now and then.
The stair seemed very long, and as she went farther it grew darker,
till at last it was quite dark; by which time, fortunately, however,
she felt herself again on level ground, and after waiting half a minute
a door seemed to open, and she found herself standing outside the tree
stair, with the prettiest sight before her eyes that she had ever seen
or even imagined.
It was the dwarf village! Rows and rows of tiny houses—none of them
more than about twice as high as Olive herself, for that was quite big
enough for a dwarf cottage, each with a sweet little garden in front,
like what one sees in English villages, though the houses themselves
were like Swiss châlets. It was not dark down here, there was a soft
light about as bright as we have it at summer twilight; and besides
this each little house had a twinkling blue light hanging above the
front door, like a sign-post. And at the door of each cottage stood
one of the dwarfs, with a little dwarf wife beside him; only, instead
of blue, each little woman was dressed in brown, so that they were
rather less showy than their husbands. They all began bowing as Olive
appeared, and all the little women curtseying, and Olive seemed to
understand, without being told, that she was to walk up the village
street to see all there was to be seen. So on she marched, her blue
cloak floating about her, so that sometimes it reached the roofs of the
houses on each side at the same time.
Olive felt herself rather clumsy. Her feet, which in general she was
accustomed to consider rather neat, and by no means too large for her
age, seemed such great awkward things. If she had put one of them in at
the window of a dwarf house, it would have knocked everything out of
its place.
“Dear me!” thought Olive, “I had no idea _I_ could seem clumsy! I feel
like a great plowman. I wish I were not so big.”
“Yes,” said a voice beside her, “it has its disadvantages;” and
Olive, looking down to see who spoke—she had to look down for
everything—caught sight of one of the two dwarfs with whom she had
first spoken. She felt a little ruffled. She did not like this trick
of the dwarf hearing what she thought before she said it.
“Everything has its disadvantages,” she replied. “Don’t you find
yourself very inconveniently small when you are up in _our_ world?”
“Exactly so,” said the dwarf; but he did not seem the least put out.
“They are certainly very good-tempered,” said Olive to herself. Then
suddenly a thought struck her.
“Your village is very neat and pretty,” she said; “though, perhaps—I
don’t mean to be rude, not on any account——”
“No,” interrupted the dwarf; “Auntie told you on no account to be rude.”
“Auntie!” repeated Olive, in astonishment; “she is not _your_ auntie!”
“On no account,” said the dwarf, in the same calm tone, but without
seeming to take in that Olive meant to reprove him.
“It’s no use trying to make them understand,” said Olive to herself.
“Not the least,” said the dwarf; at which Olive felt so provoked that
she could have stamped her feet with irritation. But as _thinking_
crossly seemed in this country to be quite as bad as _speaking_
crossly, she had to try to swallow down her vexation as well as she
could.
“I was going to say,” she went on quietly, “that to my taste the
village would be prettier if there was a little variety. Not all the
houses just the same, you know. And all of _you_ are so like each
other, and all your little brown wives too. Are there no _children_
dwarfs?”
“Doubtless. Any quantity,” was the answer.
“Then where are they all?” said Olive. “Are they all asleep?” She put
the last question rather sarcastically, but the sarcasm seemed to be
lost on the little man.
“Yes, all asleep,” he replied; “all asleep, and dreaming. Children
are very fond of dreaming,” he went on, looking up at Olive with such
a queer expression, and such a queer tone in his voice too, that
Olive got a queer feeling herself, as if he meant more than his words
actually said. Could he mean to hint that _she_ was dreaming? But a
remark from the dwarf distracted her thoughts.
“Supper is ready,” he said. “They are all waiting.” And turning round,
Olive saw before her a cottage a good deal larger than the others; in
fact, it was almost high enough for her, with considerable stooping, to
get in at the door. And through the windows she saw a long table neatly
covered with a bright blue table-cloth, and spread with numbers of
tiny plates, and beside each plate a knife and fork and a little blue
glass cup. Two great dishes stood on the table, one at each end. Steam
was rising from each, and a delicious smell came out through the open
windows.
“I did not know I was so hungry,” thought Olive; “but I do _hope_ it
isn’t fir-cones.”
“Yes,” said the dwarf; “they’ll be better done this time.”
Then he gave a sort of sharp, sudden cry or whistle, and immediately
all the dwarfs of the village appeared as if by magic, and began
hurrying into the house, but as soon as they were in the middle of
the passage they fell back at each side, leaving a clear space in the
middle.
“For you,” said the first dwarf, bowing politely.
“Do you always have supper here altogether like that?” said Olive. “How
funny!”
“Not at all.” said the dwarf; “it’s a table d’hôte. Be so good as to
take your place.”
Olive bent her head cautiously in preparation for passing through the
door, when again the same sharp cry startled her, and lifting her head
suddenly she bumped it against the lintel. The pain of the blow was
rather severe.
“What did you do that for?” she exclaimed angrily. “Why did you scream
out like that? I——” But she said no more. The cry was repeated, and
this time it did its work effectually, for Olive awoke. Awoke—was it
waking?—to find herself all in the dark, stiff and cold, and her head
aching with the bump she had given it against the old tree-trunk, while
farther off now she heard the same shrill hoot or cry of some early
astir night-bird, which had sounded before in her dreams.
“Oh dear! oh dear!” she sobbed, “what shall I do? Where am I? How
can I ever find my way in the dark? I believe it was all a trick of
those nasty blue dwarfs. I don’t believe I _was_ dreaming. They must
be spiteful goblins. I wish I had not gone with them to see their
village.” And so for some minutes, half asleep and half awake, Olive
stayed crouching by the tree, which seemed her only protector. But
by degrees, as her senses—her common sense particularly—came back
to her, she began to realize that it was worse than useless to sit
there crying. Dark as it was, she must try to find her way back to
the little inn, where, doubtless, Auntie and the others were in the
greatest distress about her, the thought of which nearly made her burst
out crying again; and poor Olive stumbled up to her feet as best she
could, fortunately not forgetting to feel for her book and parasol
which were lying beside her and slowly and tremblingly made her way
on a few steps, hoping that perhaps if she could manage to get out of
the shadow of the trees it might not be quite so dark farther on. She
was not altogether disappointed. It certainly grew a very little less
black, but that it was a very dark night there was no denying. And,
indeed, though it had not been dark, she would have had the greatest
difficulty in finding her way out of the wood, into which she had so
thoughtlessly penetrated. Terrifying thoughts, too, began to crowd
into her mind, though, as I think I have shown you, she was not at
all a timid child. But a forest on a dark night, and so far away from
everywhere—it was enough to shake her nerves. She hoped and trusted
there was no fear of wolves in summer-time; but bears!—ah! as to bears
there was no telling. Even the hooting cries of the birds which she now
and then again heard in the distance frightened her, and she felt that
a bat flapping against her would send her nearly out of her mind. And
after a while she began to lose heart—it was not quite so dark, but
she had not the very least idea where she was going. She kept bumping
and knocking herself against the trunks; she was evidently not in a
path, but wandering farther and farther among the forest trees. That
was about all she could feel sure of, and after two or three more vain
efforts Olive fairly gave up, and, sinking down on the ground, again
burst into tears.
“If I but had a mariner’s compass,” she thought, her fancy wandering
off to all the stories of lost people she had ever heard of. Then she
further reflected that a compass would do her very little good if it
was too dark to see it, and still more as she had not the slightest
idea whether her road lay north, south, east, or west. “If the stars
were out!” was her next idea; but then, I am ashamed to say, Olive’s
ideas of astronomy were limited. She could have perhaps recognized
the Plow and the Pole star, but she could not remember which way they
pointed. Besides, she did not feel quite sure that in Thüringen one
would see the same stars as in England or Paris; and, after all, as
there were none visible, it was no good puzzling about it, only if they
_had_ been there it would not have seemed so lonely. Suddenly—what
was that in the distance? A light, a tiny light, bobbing in and out
of sight among the trees? Could it be a star come out of its way to
take pity on her? Much more likely a Will-o’-the-wisp; for she did
not stop to reflect that a dry pine forest in summer-time is not one
of Will-o’-the-wisp’s favorite playgrounds. It was a light, as to
that there was no doubt, and it was coming nearer. Whether she was
more frightened or glad Olive scarcely knew. Still, almost anything
was better than to sit there to be eaten up by bears, or to die of
starvation; and she eagerly watched the light now steadily approaching
her, till it came near enough for her to see that it was a lantern
carried by some person not high above the ground. A boy perhaps; could
it be—oh, joyful thought!—could it be Rex? But no; even if they
were all looking for her it was not likely that they would let Rex be
running about alone to get lost too. Still, it must _be_ a boy, and
without waiting to think more Olive called out—
“Oh, please come and help me! I’m lost in the wood!” she cried,
thinking nothing of German or anything but her sore distress.
The lantern moved about undecidedly for a moment or two, then the light
flashed towards her and came still nearer.
“_Ach Gott!_” exclaimed an unfamiliar voice, and Olive, peering
forward, thought for half a second she was again dreaming. He was not,
certainly, dressed in blue, and he was a good deal taller than up to
her knee; but still he was—there was no doubt about it—he was a
dwarf! And another gaze at his queer little figure and bright sparkling
eyes told Olive that it was the very same little man who had smiled at
Rex and her when he saw them leaning out of the inn window that very
afternoon.
She didn’t feel frightened; he looked so good-natured and so sorry for
her. And somehow Olive’s faith in the possible existence of a nation of
dwarfs had received a shock; she was much more inclined to take things
prosaically. But it was very difficult to explain matters. I think the
dwarf at the first moment was more inclined to take _her_ for something
supernatural than she was now to imagine him a brownie or a gnome.
For she was a pretty little girl, with a mass of golden fair hair and
English blue eyes; and with her hat half fallen off, and her cheeks
flushed, she might have sat for a picture of a fairy who had strayed
from her home.
Her German seemed all to go out of her head. But she managed to
remember the name of the village where they had been that afternoon,
and a sudden recollection seemed to come over the dwarf. He poured out
a flood of words and exclamations, amidst which all that Olive could
understand was the name of the village and the words “_verirrt_,”
“_armes Kind_,” which she knew meant “lost” and “poor child.” Then
he went on to tell that he too was on his way from the same village
to somewhere; that he came by the woods, because it was shorter, and
lifting high his lantern, gave Olive to understand that he could now
show her the way.
So off she set under his guidance, and, only fancy! a walk of not more
than ten minutes brought them to the little inn! Olive’s wanderings
and straying had, after all, drawn her very near her friends if she
had known it. Poor Auntie and Rex were running about in front of the
house in great distress. Uncle and the landlord and the coachman had
set off with lanterns, and the landlady was trying to persuade Auntie
that there was not _really_ anything to be afraid of; neither bears,
nor wolves, nor evilly-disposed people about: the little young lady
had, doubtless, fallen asleep in the wood with the heat and fatigue of
the day; which, as you know, was a very good guess, though the landlady
little imagined what queer places and people Olive had been visiting in
her sleep.
The dwarf was a well-known person thereabouts, and a very harmless,
kindly little man. A present of a couple of marks sent him off to
his cottage near by very happy indeed, and when Uncle returned a few
minutes later to see if the wanderer had been heard of, you can imagine
how thankful he was to find her. It was not so _very_ late after all,
not above half-past ten o’clock, but a thunderstorm which came on not
long after explained the unusual darkness of the cloud-covered sky.
“_What_ a good thing you were safe before the storm came on!” said
Auntie, with a shudder at the thought of the dangers her darling had
escaped. “I will take care never again to carry my jokes too far,”
she resolved, when Olive had confided to her the real motive of her
wanderings in the wood. And Olive, for her part, decided that she would
be content with fairies and dwarfs in books and fancy, without trying
to find them in reality.
“Though all the same,” she said to herself, “I should have liked to
taste the roast fir-cones. They did smell so good!” “And, Auntie,” she
said aloud, “were you singing in the wood on your way home with Uncle
and Rex?”
“Yes,” said Auntie, “they begged me to sing ‘Home, sweet Home.’ Why do
you ask me?”
Olive explained. “So it was _your_ voice I heard when I thought it was
the dwarfs,” she said, smiling.
And Auntie gave her still another kiss.
THE END.
A. L. Burt’s Catalogue of Books for Young People by Popular Writers,
52-58 Duane Street, New York
BOOKS FOR GIRLS.
=Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland.= By LEWIS CARROLL. 12mo, cloth, 42
illustrations, price 75 cents.
“From first to last, almost without exception, this story is
delightfully droll, humorous and illustrated in harmony with the
story.”—=New York Express.=
=Through the Looking Glass, and What Alice Found There.= By LEWIS
CARROLL. 12mo, cloth, 50 illustrations, price 75 cents.
“A delight alike to the young people and their elders, extremely funny
both in text and illustrations.”—=Boston Express.=
=Little Lucy’s Wonderful Globe.= By CHARLOTTE M. YONGE. 12mo, cloth,
illustrated, price 75 cents.
“This story is unique among tales intended for children, alike for
pleasant instruction, quaintness of humor, gentle pathos, and the
subtlety with which lessons moral and otherwise are conveyed to
children, and perhaps to their seniors as well.”—=The Spectator.=
=Joan’s Adventures at the North Pole and Elsewhere.= By ALICE CORKRAN.
12mo, cloth, illustrated, price 75 cents.
“Wonderful as the adventures of Joan are, it must be admitted that they
are very naturally worked out and very plausibly presented. Altogether
this is an excellent story for girls.”—=Saturday Review.=
=Count Up the Sunny Days=: A Story for Girls and Boys. By C. A. JONES.
12mo, cloth, illustrated, price 75 cents.
“An unusually good children’s story.”—=Glasgow Herald.=
=The Dove in the Eagle’s Nest.= By CHARLOTTE M. YONGE. 12mo, cloth,
illustrated, price $1.00.
“Among all the modern writers we believe Miss Yonge first, not in
genius, but in this, that she employs her great abilities for a high
and noble purpose. We know of few modern writers whose works may be so
safely commended as hers.”—=Cleveland Times.=
=Jan of the Windmill.= A Story of the Plains. By MRS. J. H. EWING.
12mo, cloth, illustrated, price $1.00.
“Never has Mrs. Ewing published a more charming volume, and that is
saying a very great deal. From the first to the last the book overflows
with the strange knowledge of child-nature which so rarely survives
childhood: and moreover, with inexhaustible quiet humor, which is
never anything but innocent and well-bred, never priggish, and never
clumsy.”—=Academy.=
=A Sweet Girl Graduate.= By L. T. MEADE. 12mo, cloth, illustrated,
price $1.00.
“One of this popular author’s best. The characters are well imagined
and drawn. The story moves with plenty of spirit and the interest does
not flag until the end too quickly comes.”—=Providence Journal.=
=Six to Sixteen=: A Story for Girls. By JULIANA HORATIA EWING. 12mo,
cloth, illustrated, price $1.00.
“There is no doubt as to the good quality and attractiveness of ‘Six
to Sixteen.’ The book is one which would enrich any girl’s book
shelf.”—=St. James’ Gazette.=
=The Palace Beautiful=: A Story for Girls. By L. T. MEADE. 12mo,
cloth, illustrated, price $1.00.
“A bright and interesting story. The many admirers of Mrs. L. T. Meade
in this country will be delighted with the ‘Palace Beautiful’ for
more reasons than one. It is a charming book for girls.”—=New York
Recorder.=
=A World of Girls=: The Story of a School. By L. T. MEADE. 12mo,
cloth, illustrated, price $1.00.
“One of those wholesome stories which it does one good to read. It will
afford pure delight to numerous readers. This book should be on every
girl’s book shelf.”—=Boston Home Journal.=
=The Lady of the Forest=: A Story for Girls. By L. T. MEADE. 12mo,
cloth, illustrated, price $1.00.
“This story is written in the author’s well-known, fresh and
easy style. All girls fond of reading will be charmed by this
well-written story. It is told with the author’s customary grace and
spirit.”—=Boston Times.=
=At the Back of the North Wind.= By GEORGE MACDONALD. 12mo, cloth,
illustrated, price $1.00.
“A very pretty story, with much of the freshness and vigor of Mr.
Macdonald’s earlier work.... It is a sweet, earnest, and wholesome
fairy story, and the quaint native humor is delightful. A most
delightful volume for young readers.”—=Philadelphia Times.=
=The Water Babies=: A Fairy Tale for a Land Baby. By CHARLES KINGSLEY.
12mo, cloth, illustrated, price $1.00.
“The strength of his work, as well as its peculiar charms, consist in
his description of the experiences of a youth with life under water
in the luxuriant wealth of which he revels with all the ardor of a
poetical nature.”—=New York Tribune.=
=Our Bessie.= By ROSA N. CAREY. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price $1.00.
“One of the most entertaining stories of the season, full of vigorous
action, and strong in character-painting. Elder girls will be charmed
with it, and adults may read its pages with profit.”—=The Teachers’
Aid.=
=Wild Kitty.= A Story of Middleton School. By L. T. MEADE. 12mo,
cloth, illustrated, price $1.00.
“Kitty is a true heroine—warm-hearted, self-sacrificing, and, as
all good women nowadays are, largely touched with the enthusiasm of
humanity. One of the most attractive gift books of the season.”—=The
Academy.=
=A Young Mutineer.= A Story for Girls. By L. T. MEADE. 12mo, cloth,
illustrated, price $1.00.
“One of Mrs. Meade’s charming books for girls, narrated in that simple
and picturesque style which marks the authoress as one of the first
among writers for young people.”—=The Spectator.=
=Sue and I.= By MRS. O’REILLY. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price 75
cents.
“A thoroughly delightful book, full of sound wisdom as well as
fun.”—=Athenæum.=
=The Princess and the Goblin.= A Fairy Story. By GEORGE MACDONALD.
12mo, cloth, illustrated, price 75 cents.
“If a child once begins this book, it will get so deeply interested in
it that when bedtime comes it will altogether forget the moral, and
will weary its parents with importunities for just a few minutes more
to see how everything ends.”—=Saturday Review.=
=Pythia’s Pupils=: A Story of a School. By EVA HARTNER. 12mo, cloth,
illustrated, price $1.00.
“This story of the doings of several bright school girls is sure to
interest girl readers. Among many good stories for girls this is
undoubtedly one of the very best.”—=Teachers’ Aid.=
=A Story of a Short Life.= By JULIANA HORATIA EWING. 12mo, cloth,
illustrated, price $1.00.
“The book is one we can heartily recommend, for it is not only
bright and interesting, but also pure and healthy in tone and
teaching.”—=Courier.=
=The Sleepy King.= A Fairy Tale. By AUBREY HOPWOOD AND SEYMOUR HICKS.
12mo, cloth, illustrated, price 75 cents.
“Wonderful as the adventures of Bluebell are, it must be admitted
that they are very naturally worked out and very plausibly presented.
Altogether this is an excellent story for girls.”—=Saturday Review.=
=Two Little Waifs.= By MRS. MOLESWORTH. 12mo, cloth, illustrated,
price 75 cents.
“Mrs. Molesworth’s delightful story of ‘Two Little Waifs’ will charm
all the small people who find it in their stockings. It relates the
adventures of two lovable English children lost in Paris, and is just
wonderful enough to pleasantly wring the youthful heart.”—=New York
Tribune.=
=Adventures in Toyland.= By EDITH KING HALL. 12mo, cloth, illustrated,
price 75 cents.
“The author is such a bright, cheery writer, that her stories are
always acceptable to all who are not confirmed cynics, and her record
of the adventures is as entertaining and enjoyable as we might
expect.”—=Boston Courier.=
=Adventures in Wallypug Land.= By G. E. FARROW. 12mo, cloth,
illustrated, price 75 cents.
“These adventures are simply inimitable, and will delight boys and
girls of mature age, as well as their juniors. No happier combination
of author and artist than this volume presents could be found to
furnish healthy amusement to the young folks. The book is an artistic
one in every sense.”—=Toronto Mail.=
=Fussbudget’s Folks.= A Story for Young Girls. By ANNA F. BURNHAM.
12mo, cloth, illustrated, price $1.00.
“Mrs. Burnham has a rare gift for composing stories for children. With
a light, yet forcible touch, she paints sweet and artless, yet natural
and strong, characters.”—=Congregationalist.=
=Mixed Pickles.= A Story for Girls. By MRS. E. M. FIELD. 12mo, cloth,
illustrated, price 75 cents.
“It is, in its way, a little classic, of which the real beauty and
pathos can hardly be appreciated by young people. It is not too much to
say of the story that it is perfect of its kind.”—=Good Literature.=
=Miss Mouse and Her Boys.= A Story for Girls. By MRS. MOLESWORTH.
12mo, cloth, illustrated, price 75 cents.
“Mrs. Molesworth’s books are cheery, wholesome, and particularly well
adapted to refined life. It is safe to add that she is the best English
prose writer for children. A new volume from Mrs. Molesworth is always
a treat.”—=The Beacon.=
=Gilly Flower.= A Story for Girls. By the author of “Miss Toosey’s
Mission.” 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price $1.00.
“Jill is a little guardian angel to three lively brothers who tease
and play with her.... Her unconscious goodness brings right thoughts
and resolves to several persons who come into contact with her.
There is no goodiness in this tale, but its influence is of the best
kind.”—=Literary World.=
=The Chaplet of Pearls=; or, The White and Black Ribaumont. By
CHARLOTTE M. YONGE. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price $1.00.
“Full of spirit and life, so well sustained throughout that grown-up
readers may enjoy it as much as children. It is one of the best books
of the season.”—=Guardian.=
=Naughty Miss Bunny=: Her Tricks and Troubles. By CLARA MULHOLLAND.
12mo, cloth, illustrated, price 75 cents.
“The naughty child is positively delightful. Papas should not omit the
book from their list of juvenile presents.”—=Land and Water.=
=Meg’s Friend.= By ALICE CORKRAN. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price
$1.00.
“One of Miss Corkran’s charming books for girls, narrated in that
simple and picturesque style which marks the authoress as one of the
first among writers for young people.”—=The Spectator.=
=Averil.= By ROSA N. CAREY. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price $1.00.
“A charming story for young folks. Averil is a delightful
creature—piquant, tender, and true—and her varying fortunes are
perfectly realistic.”—=World.=
=Aunt Diana.= By ROSA N. CAREY. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price $1.00.
“An excellent story, the interest being sustained from first to
last. This is, both in its intention and the way the story is told,
one of the best books of its kind which has come before us this
year.”—=Saturday Review.=
=Little Sunshine’s Holiday=: A Picture from Life. By MISS MULOCK.
12mo, cloth, illustrated, price 75 cents.
“This is a pretty narrative of child life, describing the simple doings
and sayings of a very charming and rather precocious child. This is a
delightful book for young people.”—=Gazette.=
=Esther’s Charge.= A Story for Girls. By ELLEN EVERETT GREEN. 12mo,
cloth, illustrated, price $1.00.
“... This is a story showing in a charming way how one little girl’s
jealousy and bad temper were conquered; one of the best, most
suggestive and improving of the Christmas Juveniles.”—=New York
Tribune.=
=Fairy Land of Science.= By ARABELLA B. BUCKLEY. 12mo, cloth,
illustrated, price $1.00.
“We can highly recommend it; not only for the valuable information it
gives on the special subjects to which it is dedicated, but also as a
book teaching natural sciences in an interesting way. A fascinating
little volume, which will make friends in every household in which
there are children.”—=Daily News.=
=Merle’s Crusade.= By ROSA N. CAREY. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price
$1.00.
“Among the books for young people we have seen nothing more unique
than this book. Like all of this author’s stories it will please young
readers by the very attractive and charming style in which it is
written.”—=Journal.=
=Birdie=: A Tale of Child Life. By H. L. CHILDE-PEMBERTON. 12mo,
cloth, illustrated, price 75 cents.
“The story is quaint and simple, but there is a freshness about it that
makes one hear again the ringing laugh and the cheery shout of children
at play which charmed his earlier years.”—=New York Express.=
=The Days of Bruce=: A Story from Scottish History. By GRACE AGUILAR.
12mo, cloth, illustrated, price $1.00.
“There is a delightful freshness, sincerity and vivacity about all
of Grace Aguilar’s stories which cannot fail to win the interest and
admiration of every lover of good reading.”—=Boston Beacon.=
=Three Bright Girls=: A Story of Chance and Mischance. By ANNIE E.
ARMSTRONG. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price $1.00.
“The charm of the story lies in the cheery helpfulness of spirit
developed in the girls by their changed circumstances; while the author
finds a pleasant ending to all their happy makeshifts. The story is
charmingly told, and the book can be warmly recommended as a present
for girls.”—=Standard.=
=Giannetta=: A Girl’s Story of Herself. By ROSA MULHOLLAND. 12mo,
cloth, illustrated, price $1.00.
“Extremely well told and full of interest. Giannetta is a true
heroine—warm-hearted, self-sacrificing, and, as all good women
nowadays are, largely touched with enthusiasm of humanity. The
illustrations are unusually good. One of the most attractive gift books
of the season.”—=The Academy.=
=Margery Merton’s Girlhood.= By ALICE CORKRAN. 12mo, cloth,
illustrated, price $1.00.
“The experiences of an orphan girl who in infancy is left by her father
to the care of an elderly aunt residing near Paris. The accounts of the
various persons who have an after influence on the story are singularly
vivid. There is a subtle attraction about the book which will make it a
great favorite with thoughtful girls.”—=Saturday Review.=
=Under False Colors=: A Story from Two Girls’ Lives. By SARAH DOUDNEY.
12mo, cloth, illustrated, price $1.00.
“Sarah Doudney has no superior as a writer of high-toned stories—pure
in style, original in conception, and with skillfully wrought out
plots; but we have seen nothing equal in dramatic energy to this
book.”—=Christian Leader.=
=Down the Snow Stairs=; or, From Good-night to Good-morning. By ALICE
CORKRAN. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price 75 cents.
“Among all the Christmas volumes which the year has brought to our
table this one stands out facile princeps—a gem of the first water,
bearing upon every one of its pages the signet mark of genius....
All is told with such simplicity and perfect naturalness that the
dream appears to be a solid reality. It is indeed a Little Pilgrim’s
Progress.”—=Christian Leader.=
=The Tapestry Room=: A Child’s Romance. By MRS. MOLESWORTH. 12mo,
cloth, illustrated, price 75 cents.
“Mrs. Molesworth is a charming painter of the nature and ways of
children; and she has done good service in giving us this charming
juvenile which will delight the young people.”—=Athenæum, London.=
=Little Miss Peggy=: Only a Nursery Story. By MRS. MOLESWORTH. 12mo,
cloth, illustrated, price 75 cents.
Mrs. Molesworth’s children are finished studies. A joyous earnest
spirit pervades her work, and her sympathy is unbounded. She loves
them with her whole heart, while she lays bare their little minds, and
expresses their foibles, their faults, their virtues, their inward
struggles, their conception of duty, and their instinctive knowledge
of the right and wrong of things. She knows their characters, she
understands their wants, and she desires to help them.
=Polly=: A New Fashioned Girl. By L. T. MEADE. 12mo, cloth,
illustrated, price $1.00.
Few authors have achieved a popularity equal to Mrs. Meade as a writer
of stories for young girls. Her characters are living beings of flesh
and blood, not lay figures of conventional type. Into the trials and
crosses, and everyday experiences, the reader enters at once with zest
and hearty sympathy. While Mrs. Meade always writes with a high moral
purpose, her lessons of life, purity and nobility of character are
rather inculcated by example than intruded as sermons.
=One of a Covey.= By the author of “Miss Toosey’s Mission.” 12mo,
cloth, illustrated, price 75 cents.
“Full of spirit and life, so well sustained throughout that grown-up
readers may enjoy it as much as children. This ‘Covey’ consists of the
twelve children of a hard-pressed Dr. Partridge out of which is chosen
a little girl to be adopted by a spoiled, fine lady. We have rarely
read a story for boys and girls with greater pleasure. One of the chief
characters would not have disgraced Dickens’ pen.”—=Literary World.=
=The Little Princess of Tower Hill.= By L. T. MEADE. 12mo, cloth,
illustrated, price 75 cents.
“This is one of the prettiest books for children published, as pretty
as a pond-lily, and quite as fragrant. Nothing could be imagined more
attractive to young people than such a combination of fresh pages and
fair pictures; and while children will rejoice over it—which is much
better than crying for it—it is a book that can be read with pleasure
even by older boys and girls.”—=Boston Advertiser.=
=Rosy.= By MRS. MOLESWORTH. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price 75 cents.
Mrs. Molesworth, considering the quality and quantity of her labors, is
the best story-teller for children England has yet known.
“This is a very pretty story. The writer knows children, and their ways
well. The illustrations are exceedingly well drawn.”—=Spectator.=
=Esther=: A Book for Girls. By ROSA N. CAREY. 12mo, cloth,
illustrated, price $1.00.
“She inspires her readers simply by bringing them in contact with the
characters, who are in themselves inspiring. Her simple stories are
woven in order to give her an opportunity to describe her characters by
their own conduct in seasons of trial.”—=Chicago Times.=
=Sweet Content.= By MRS. MOLESWORTH. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price
75 cents.
“It seems to me not at all easier to draw a lifelike child than to draw
a lifelike man or woman: Shakespeare and Webster were the only two men
of their age who could do it with perfect delicacy and success. Our own
age is more fortunate, on this single score at least, having a larger
and far nobler proportion of female writers; among whom, since the
death of George Eliot, there is none left whose touch is so exquisite
and masterly, whose love is so thoroughly according to knowledge,
whose bright and sweet invention is so fruitful, so truthful, or so
delightful as Mrs. Molesworth’s.”—=A. C. Swinbourne.=
=Honor Bright=; or, The Four-Leaved Shamrock. By the author of “Miss
Toosey’s Mission.” 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price $1 00.
“It requires a special talent to describe the sayings and doings of
children, and the author of ‘Honor Bright,’ ‘One of a Covey,’ possesses
that talent in no small degree. A cheery, sensible, and healthy
tale.”—=The Times.=
=The Cuckoo Clock.= By MRS. MOLESWORTH. 12mo, cloth, illustrated,
price 75 cents.
“A beautiful little story. It will be read with delight by every
child into whose hands it is placed.... The author deserves all the
praise that has been, is, and will be bestowed on ‘The Cuckoo Clock.’
Children’s stories are plentiful, but one like this is not to be met
with every day.”—=Pall Mall Gazette.=
=The Adventures of a Brownie.= As Told to my Child. By MISS MULOCK.
12mo, cloth, illustrated, price 75 cents.
“The author of this delightful little book leaves it in doubt all
through whether there actually is such a creature in existence as
a Brownie, but she makes us hope that there might be.”—=Chicago
Standard.=
=Only a Girl=: A Tale of Brittany. From the French by C. A. JONES.
12mo, cloth, illustrated, price $1.00.
“We can thoroughly recommend this brightly written and homely
narrative.”—=Saturday Review.=
=Little Rosebud=; or, Things Will Take a Turn. By BEATRICE HARRADEN.
12mo, cloth, illustrated, price 75 cents.
“A most delightful little book.... Miss Harraden is so bright, so
healthy, and so natural withal that the book ought, as a matter of
duty, to be added to every girl’s library in the land.”—=Boston
Transcript.=
=Girl Neighbors=; or, The Old Fashion and the New. By SARAH TYTLER.
12mo, cloth, illustrated, price $1.00.
“One of the most effective and quietly humorous of Miss Tytler’s
stories. ‘Girl Neighbors’ is a pleasant comedy, not so much of errors
as of prejudices got rid of, very healthy, very agreeable, and very
well written.”—=Spectator.=
=The Little Lame Prince and His Traveling Cloak.= By MISS MULOCK.
12mo, cloth, illustrated, price 75 cents.
“No sweeter—that is the proper word—Christmas story for the little
folks could easily be found, and it is as delightful for older readers
as well. There is a moral to it which the reader can find out for
himself, if he chooses to think.”—=Cleveland Herald.=
=Little Miss Joy.= By EMMA MARSHALL. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price
75 cents.
“A very pleasant and instructive story, told by a very charming writer
in such an attractive way as to win favor among its young readers. The
illustrations add to the beauty of the book.”—=Utica Herald.=
=The House that Grew.= A Girl’s Story. By MRS. MOLESWORTH. 12mo,
cloth, illustrated, price 75 cents.
“This is a very pretty story of English life. Mrs. Molesworth is one of
the most popular and charming of English story-writers for children.
Her child characters are true to life, always natural and attractive,
and her stories are wholesome and interesting.”—=Indianapolis Journal.=
=The House of Surprises.= By L. T. MEADE. 12mo, cloth, illustrated,
price 75 cents.
“A charming tale of charming children, who are naughty enough to be
interesting, and natural enough to be lovable; and very prettily their
story is told. The quaintest yet most natural stories of child life.
Simply delightful.”—=Vanity Fair.=
=The Jolly Ten: and their Year of Stories.= By AGNES CARR SAGE. 12mo,
cloth, illustrated, price 75 cents.
The story of a band of cousins who were accustomed to meet at the
“Pinery,” with “Aunt Roxy.” At her fireside they play merry games,
have suppers flavored with innocent fun, and listen to stories—each
with its lesson calculated to make the ten not less jolly, but quickly
responsive to the calls of duty and to the needs of others.
=Little Miss Dorothy.= The Wonderful Adventures of Two Little People.
By MARTHA JAMES. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price 75c.
“This is a charming little juvenile story from the pen of Mrs. James,
detailing the various adventures of a couple of young children. Their
many adventures are told in a charming manner, and the book will please
young girls and boys.”—=Montreal Star.=
=Pen’s Venture.= A Story for Girls. By ELVIRTON WRIGHT. 12mo, cloth,
illustrated, price 75 cents.
Something Pen saw in the condition of the cash girls in a certain
store gave her a thought; the thought became a plan; the plan became
a venture—Pen’s venture. It is amusing, touching, and instructive to
read about it.
For sale by all booksellers, or sent postpaid on receipt of price by
the publisher, =A. L. BURT, 52-58 Duane Street, New York=.
End of Project Gutenberg's Adventures in Wallypug-Land, by G. E. Farrow