IN THE WOOD.
“I MUST hurry,” said Kitty, setting off at a run. There was a sense of
haste in her little heart. Never before had she felt such a sense of
hurry.
The star glided over the tree-tops; it seemed to be sailing along the
sky. Steadily, steadily, but swiftly it held its even course high above
the world, and all its troubles, and naughtiness, and folly, and as
Kitty looked at it her feet seemed to move more quickly. Every now and
then her guardian child stroked her cheek with his little pink wing, and
whispered, “Hurry, Kitty, hurry, that Johnnie may get well on Christmas
Day.”
Kitty did not peep round to her left shoulder; she had made up her mind
not to give so much as a glance toward the creature crouching there. It
was very quiet now. Kitty would scarcely have known it was there.
The star ran along in the sky. Kitty ran along on the path; her dress
fluttered; her hair streamed behind her. Haste! haste! She must be home
by Christmas morning. She must win that Christmas blessing, Johnnie’s
health.
The road after awhile began to grow very steep. On—on, Kitty climbed
bravely, her eyes fixed on the star, and her guardian child whispered,
“Well done, Kitsy! well done, Kitsy!”
She fancied that as the road grew steeper the naughty sprite seemed to
be uneasy and on the watch.
All at once the road led through the loneliest, shadiest spot she had
ever seen. Green and softly the light came through a curtain of trees
that locked their branches into each other. There were mossy dells
through which the ivy crept and flowers spread. Red poppies flashed;
purple hemlocks rose in clusters; faint-colored blossoms made a track in
the grass as if the Milky Way had fallen from the sky and stretched
there. A stream gurgled drowsily along, and dreamy white lilies rocked
softly upon their leafy pillows. There was a drone and bu-zz-zz of
insects through the air, and the swish of a distant waterfall that might
be seen through the trees like a white curtain swaying softly.
It was just a spot to lie down in and doze, stretched upon the moss,
with eyes shut, letting the soft light rest upon the closed eyelids.
Rest! rest! rest! was murmured in the air by the water, by the trees.
Presently Kitty heard a most extraordinary sound that rose slowly, then
fell gradually. It filled the wood—it was all around her. She paused to
listen. Was it the blowing of a gigantic pair of hidden bellows? No, it
could not be. She went on cautiously, holding her head a little on one
side. It must be the wind soughing through the branches of the trees;
but as not a leaf was stirring, or a twig moving, Kitty came to the
conclusion it was not the wind. What could it be? Kitty listened with
all her ears, and she began to distinguish that there was quite a chorus
of sounds. There were impressive rumbles and quick, short pants and deep
mutterings as of wild beasts going on together. Just as she made this
discovery she gave a jump, for all the noises ended in a snort, as of
some fierce and furious animal. In a moment, all around, Kitty perceived
the glare of eyes gazing at her. She saw nothing but eyes—no noses or
mouths—nothing but eyes. Terribly wide awake, these eyes gazed at her
with an aggressive stare. Kitty felt frightened and apologetic. She was
about to drop a curtsey, when, just as suddenly as they had appeared,
the eyes closed and vanished. The effect was sudden as though a thousand
candles had gone out together. Again the panting, puffing sound began
around her. “Well, it is a curious place,” she said; “I wonder what it
is called.”
“Snore Corner—Sn—ore Corner,” said a voice quite close to her. It seemed
like some one talking in sleep, so monotonous was it. Kitty came to a
standstill. She peered about her. Then she sprang back, for she nearly
struck against something that at first she fancied was an immense bat.
It was hanging with its head downward from the branch of a neighboring
tree. Looking closer Kitty saw it was not a bat, but a dwarf with round,
green, blinking eyes, and dressed in a mouse-colored suit. She was not
sure whether it was a human creature; but as it was hanging upside down
her perplexity was not to be wondered at. It blinked its green eyes and
gazed so steadily and vacantly at her that Kitty was not quite sure that
it saw her. “Why do you hang down like that?” she timidly asked.
[Illustration]
“One of us must keep awake,” answered the creature in a sleepy voice.
“It’s ever so much easier to keep one’s eyes open with one’s head down.
Try it.”
“Oh, but I feel no difficulty in keeping my eyes open,” said Kitty
briskly, “unless I am very sleepy. But doesn’t it make your head ache?”
she added thoughtfully.
“I am in a haze. You feel no ache in a haze!” said the creature,
blinking solemnly. “All in a jumble and a haze—nothing like it—try it.”
“Indeed, that is about the very last thing I’d care to be in; in a
jumble and a haze,” said Kitty indignantly.
“They would expect nothing of you if you were,” said the hanging-down
creature; “for if they asked you a question in history, very likely
grammar would come up, and for arithmetic perhaps you’d give them
geography. Then they would give up asking you lessons. They would say
that the lessons got all in a jumble.”
“I am sure they would give me more lessons,” replied Kitty.
“Then you would grow more jumbled, more hazy—try it,” said the creature
sleepily.
Kitty gave a jerk of her head and began to walk slowly on. “It’s no use
talking to such a hazy creature,” she remarked in a mortified tone. “I
wonder who he is?”
“Goblin Sloth,” whispered the guardian child. “Take care, take care!”
Kitty felt a drowsiness creep over her. She glanced toward the guardian
child; he was standing very erect, looking about, as if on the watch for
something to be expected.
“Keep looking at the star! Don’t look round!” he murmured anxiously.
The star was swiftly gliding along above the tree-tops, keeping on
straight ahead, over a narrow rising path that went through this
charming nook hollowing down on either side. The naughty sprite was
rocking itself and singing a lullaby in a very go-to-sleep, purring
voice, “Hush a bye, baby, mother is by.”
Kitty ran along, struggling against the sleepy feeling that was stealing
over her.
“Why in such a hurry?” said a voice.
It was a pleasant voice. A voice with a sort of oily gurgle in it.
[Illustration]
Kitty saw a short, round man lying in the moss, just by the side of the
pathway, his feet stretched across it. She must jump over them, or she
must ask him to remove them.
The man had a mild, melancholy, fat face, and half-closed peaceful eyes.
“Do not stop!” said the guardian child.
“I am afraid you are one of the fussy sort,” said the mild man in an
easy-going sing-song voice.
“Would you kindly remove your feet? for I am in a very great hurry,”
answered Kitty with decision and politeness.
“Hurry!” sighed the mild man, not stirring an inch. “What a mistake!—a
dreadful mistake—everybody is in a hurry nowadays—always in a hurry!”
His quiet eyes rested more and more dreamily upon Kitty. They seemed to
forget what they were looking at, and to slumber gently.
“I am not always in a hurry,” Kitty explained. “But to-day I am in a
very great hurry.”
“What a mistake!” snoringly sighed the melancholy fat man. “Nothing can
be enjoyed in a hurry. Take the highest delight—a yawn!”
“A yawn!” repeated Kitty, and she burst out laughing. The sense of haste
seemed falling away from her.
“A yawn!” insisted the mild man, who had not removed his slumbrous eyes
from Kitty’s face. “Only a very few know the pleasure of a yawn. There
is yawning and yawning.”
“Ye—es!” yawned the naughty sprite—“dee—li—cious!”
“Do not put off any longer!” whispered the guardian child, pulling
Kitty’s hair to wake her up. But Kitty felt as if lead were at her
heels.
“Just one moment and I’ll make up for the delay,” she murmured.
The flabby mild man continued speaking in a monotonous sorrowful voice.
“Very few know how to yawn. Some yawn only when they cannot help it.
They slur it and blur it, and go to sleep over it. Some are ashamed of
yawning and conceal their faces; some”—and now a flicker of reproachful
animation brightened the dreamy eyes of the speaker—“yes, some swallow
their yawns.”
“I am doing that now,” said Kitty, who had never felt so drowsy in all
her life. She heard, as at a distance, her guardian child’s voice
sighing, “The star is disappearing!—the star is disappearing!”
“Come, give us a lesson in real yawning,” said the naughty sprite
caressingly.
“Real yawning requires time and deliberation,” said the flabby man in an
up-and-down voice. “You must begin at the beginning; you must go on to
the end. First you will feel a little shiver, like a caress of velvet
hands on your forehead; your mouth will open, then all your being will
seem to grew larger, and wider, and longer. Every sense of hurry and
flurry will pass away; still your mouth will open wider and wider, till
it comes to a delicious gape.”
[Illustration]
“Ya—aw—aw—awn!” the naughty sprite was yawning. His ears dropped behind
his wide-swelling neck; his body was stretched: his month was—open—open,
showing all his pointed white teeth down to his red throat.
“Ya—aw—aw—awn!” the mild, flabby, dreamy man was yawning, slowly,
sonorously, solemnly.
Kitty stretched out her arms and yawned.
“Ya—aw—awn,” echoed all around. Yawns were everywhere—in the stream, in
the trees, in the flowers—everything was yawning except the guardian
child, who pulled at Kitty’s hair and whispered more and more eagerly in
her ear:
“Do not put off any longer. No Christmas blessing if you put off.”
“Put off! put off! put off!” drowsily whispered the air around Kitty.
“I am coming!” said Kitty; but she did not stir. She blinked away the
yawn-tears that smarted her eyes. “Oh, dear!” she yawningly sighed, “I
should never get to my journey’s end if I remained here long.”
“Dream that you have reached the journey’s end,” said the mild man.
“Day-dreams are the only reality. Day-dream lessons are lovely.
School-room lessons are always wrong, but day-dream lessons are always
right. No mistakes anywhere, no blots anywhere—fine flourishes to all
the letters—all the pride of school-room lessons well done—and no
trouble.”
“Lovely day-dream lessons!” drowsily murmured the sprite, curling itself
up in a little sleepy heap.
“Lovely day-dream lessons!” murmured everything around.
“Lo—v—vely—day-dr—” began Kitty, her head nodding.
“No Christmas—no blessing—no Johnnie!” moaned the guardian child.
Kitty felt it rise from her shoulder—a sudden fear woke her up. She
looked round; he was fluttering away, his eyes fixed on the star that
was disappearing behind the brow of the hill. The guardian child had
lost all his rosiness; the little pink wings were pale; the rainbow
tunic faded; he looked as Johnnie looked when Kitty thought he was
dying.
“Day-dream lessons are falsehoods,” shouted Kitty. In a moment she was
wide awake; she had bounded over the stumpy legs that stretched across
the path.
As she did so a faint peal of Christmas sounded in her ear. The guardian
child fluttered back to her shoulder; it perched there light as a bird,
and at every step Kitty took it grew rosier and brighter again. The
naughty sprite growled.
The path was very steep, but Kitty ran panting along. “I nearly put off
too long,” she said ruefully when once more she stood under the star,
and she relaxed her speed to take breath. “That fat man’s talk sounded
so pleasant.”
“That is the worst of temptations; they have always so much to say for
themselves,” said the guardian child. He spoke in a troubled voice, and
Kitty noticed that he was standing up very erect and looking ahead
anxiously.
The sprite had apparently got over his ill-temper, and he was now
pleasantly sniffing the air.
“I wonder if there is some danger coming!” said Kitty. “I am warned,
anyhow. I won’t be tempted again.”
Presently she perceived a little brook babbling across her path; but she
was running at such speed she could not stop herself, and at one bound
she sprang across the stream.
[Illustration]
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