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Once upon a time there was a very poor boy, who had no cap on his head,
no shoes on his feet, and never a penny in his pocket. He was so poor
that he did not even have a name. His father had gone to sea many years
ago in a ship called The Big Dipper, and as he had never returned,
people said surely he must be dead. So the boy had gone to live in a
small, dark house beside the sea, with his great-aunt, who was very old
and cross and strict. She did not let him have any sugar on his cereal
or butter on his bread, and every day after school she spanked him
soundly for all the mistakes he had made that day, and if he had not
made any she spanked him just the same for all those he would probably
make to-morrow, or the next day, or the next. When he asked for a bit of
soap to blow bright soap-bubbles, she cried:
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“Soap-bubbles, indeed! Soap is made only to wash one’s face with. You
may have all you want for that, but for bubbles, no, no! Bless my boots,
what will you ask for next?”
When the other children played on the beach, building castles in the
sand, or picking up pretty shells, this poor boy had to gather driftwood
for his great-aunt’s kitchen fire.
But for all his hard luck he was always whistling blithely at his work.
He would whistle all the tunes in the hymn book, and all the sailor’s
songs, and the nursery songs, and then some more that he made up as he
ran along the beach picking up driftwood. Of course his great-aunt had
forbidden his whistling about the house, but other people liked to hear
him, and since he had no name, they called him “Birdling.” His
great-aunt called him “You!”
One day, after he had come home from school, washed his hands, eaten his
dry bread and drunk his tea without sugar or cream, he went as usual to
the beach to gather wood; but this day, all the boys from school were
down by the sea-side making sail-boats. Their mothers and aunts and
grandmas had given them odd bits of muslin from the rag-bag for sails,
and their fathers and uncles and grandpas had given them little pots of
paint, and the old boat-builder who lived on the beach had supplied the
nails and boards and no end of good advice. They were building a
splendid fleet, and when Birdling came whistling along the sands, they
all hailed him and shouted:
“Birdling, Birdling, come and build a boat! We have nails to spare, and
surely you have some nice boards in your load of driftwood! Come, come
and build a boat!”
So Birdling, forgetting all about his duties and his great-aunt, sat
down in the warm yellow sand, and built a boat of driftwood; and while
he worked he whistled.
The boys were all so glad to hear him and be able to play with him that
they gave him all the paint and nails that they could spare, as well as
string for his rigging and a lead sinker for his anchor. Of course he
had many kinds of paint, and not enough of any one color to paint his
whole boat, so her hull was black, the trimming golden-yellow, the deck
bright-blue and the mast was green. She was a funny boat indeed, but
Birdling liked her none the less and wanted to name her after his
father’s ship, the Big Dipper.
“But she isn’t big!” said the other boys. “She’s the smallest boat of
all!”
So he called her the Little Dipper.
“What will you do for a sail?” the others asked. “We’d love to give you
some muslin, but we haven’t a bit to spare.”
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Here was a dilemma indeed. Then Birdling remembered that he had a patch
on the seat of his trousers that he did not need at all, for his
great-aunt always patched them before they went into holes (“If I
didn’t,” she would say, “why bless my boots, he’d sit them through in
two minutes!”); and now he did a dreadful thing, he took off the patch
and used it for a sail!
They had such a good time with the boats, loading them with cargoes of
sea-shells and digging harbors and chasing away the crabs who came to
watch, that they did not notice how the sun had dipped down behind the
sand-dunes and the light-house brightened far out at sea. Suddenly they
heard the curfew ring.
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“Why, it’s past supper-time!” they cried, and all the boys snatched up
their boats and ran home. In a moment the beach was as deserted as the
sea, and Birdling sat alone on the sands, his boat between his knees,
while the shadows of night crept down to the water. At the furthest end
of the beach gleamed a dull square of light—that was his great-aunt’s
window, brightened by the oil-lamp behind it:
Oh, how she was going to scold him now! For this time he had really been
naughty. He had gathered no driftwood, he was late to supper, and he had
ripped the patch off the seat of his trousers!
“I don’t dare take you home, Little Dipper,” he said as he placed his
boat in the safest harbor, as far as possible from the incoming tide.
“My great-aunt would burn you in the kitchen stove. Goodby, Little
Dipper!”
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His great-aunt met him at the door as he came home. She was so angry
that her cap had slid over one ear, her eyes were like tiny hot coals
and her very apron-strings curled with wrath. She boxed Birdling’s ears,
smack, smack, smack!—until they were as pink as seashells.
“You, you, you,” she cried, “You shall have no supper, sir, but a very
good whipping! Go up on the hill behind the house and cut a switch, a
strong one, a long one, for a long strong whipping, sir!”
Obediently Birdling went up to the hill where the witch-hazel bushes
held out their long, strong boughs to be cut for switches. But somehow
he could not find just the switch he wanted; one was not long enough and
another was too long, or one would not be strong enough and the next too
strong. He looked them all over very carefully.
The witch-hazel bushes were in blossom, there were fuzzy little yellow
stars on their boughs; Birdling saw a bumble-bee (who should have been
in bed an hour ago) darting from bush to bush and tasting the little
flowers. Then the boy remembered that he was to have no supper to-night,
and as he felt dreadfully hungry, he touched one of the yellow blossoms
and licked his finger that was covered with fine golden pollen, just to
see what it tasted like.
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Behold what happened to Birdling! He did not know that the witch-hazel
flowers were full of Fairy Bread! Suddenly he grew smaller and smaller,
like a candle on a birthday-cake, till he thought he must go out
altogether—but just before it was time to go out he stopped shrinking
and saw to his great relief that he was still a good inch taller than
the bumble-bee.
He sat down with surprise, hands on the ground and feet apart, and the
short grasses closed above his head. All around him the daisies, who
always enjoy a joke, were tittering and looking at him through the
grass. Somewhere behind a huge fuzzy mullen-plant was a great noise,
like the motor of an aeroplane—it was the bumble-bee, coming to see what
was going on.
“What’s happened?” he boomed in his rolling bass voice.
“That’s what I’d like to know,” replied the boy, picking himself up. “I
never felt so small in my life, not even when I tore my Sunday shirt and
my great-aunt scolded me before everybody! Why, I’m no bigger than a
sea-horse!”
The daisies were still laughing and now they could no longer contain
themselves.
“He ate fairy-bread,” they giggled, “and he grew as little as a balloon
when the air goes out, ho, ho, ho, ho! Tee, tee, tee, tee!”
“Ate fairy-bread!” exclaimed Birdling, “do you mean to say I am a fairy
now?”
The Bumble-bee put his head on one side and deliberated.
“No,” he said slowly, “You’re not a fairy. You’re only fairyish. What’s
your name?”
“I haven’t any. But people call me Birdling.”
“Well, that’s not so bad. What can you do?”
“Nothing. Oh, yes—I can whistle!”
“Where will you live? You are too small to live with your great-aunt.
She would surely step on you.”
Birdling looked around; there was a groundsparrow’s nest under the
witch-hazel bushes, very near the fairy-bread flowers.
“Here,” he said, “If nobody minds, I’ll live here.”
So that is where he lived all summer. Everybody on the hill grew fond of
him, and in the mornings when the robin sang to the sun, Birdling too
would be up and whistling.
But one day the Bumble-bee came to call. His face was serious and his
voice unusually rumbly. It was a cool day so Birdling was all wrapped in
a mullen leaf.
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“It’s Autumn!” said Bumble. “What will you do when Winter comes?”
“I don’t know. What do the birds do?”
“They go to the Fairy Islands.”
“Mayn’t I go?”
“You aren’t a bird or a fairy,” objected the visitor.
“But I’m fairyish, you know.”
“Then you may, I suppose.”
Birdling got up, ready to start at once.
“How do the birds get there, Bumble?”
“They fly.”
“But I can’t fly!”
“Then you can’t go.”
“But you said I could if I was fairyish!”
“No, I said you might. You may, but you can’t. See?”
Birdling shook his head.
“Where are the Fairy Islands?” he asked.
“Beyond the Deep Sea.”
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“Could one go in a boat?”
“Possibly.”
Then Birdling remembered the Little Dipper, lying forlorn on the sands,
beyond the reaches of the tide. Perhaps some boy had picked her up, or
perhaps the waves had taken her—or perhaps she was still in her harbor!
Neatly he folded some mullen-leaves, for sailors need warm clothes and
blankets, and with these over his arm he began the long journey from the
hill-top to the harbor. It was ten fairy-miles of rather rough walking.
The Bumble-bee went with him and when they had come as far as his
great-aunt’s house, which was just half-way between the hill and the
beach, he flew up on her roof where you could get a splendid view of the
country.
“Oh, can you see the Little Dipper?” cried Birdling from below.
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“I see a boat on the sand,” reported Bumble, “a very queer boat—her hull
is black, her trimmings golden-yellow, her decks bright-blue and the
mast and sails are green.”
“That’s the Little Dipper!” shouted Birdling, and began to run as fast
as he could. He quite forgot that his great-aunt sat by the window,
knitting wristlets and watching everything outside the house. She saw
the tiny creature running along the beach, and as she was very old and
could not see very clearly through her spectacles, she opened the window
and leaned far out.
“It must be a mouse,” she decided, and hobbling across the room, she
called her cat and opened the door for him.
“Mousie outside, Puss!” she said. “Go catch the Mousie, catch the
Mousie!”
The big black cat never had much to eat so he was very glad to go and
catch a mouse. Poor Birdling dropped his mullen-leaves and ran faster
and faster, but could not run fast enough. The Cat came nearer and
nearer.
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“Oh, I can’t run any more!” panted Birdling at last. In another moment
the Cat would have pounced upon him and devoured him—but just then the
Bumble-bee came booming through the air, and stung the Cat on his big,
black, S-shaped tail. The cat gave a terrible cry, turned around and ran
home three times as fast as he had come.
Birdling had to sit down and rest for a while after the Cat had gone.
Then he and the Bumble-bee went on, hoping to reach the Little Dipper
before noon. But they had not gone one-half a fairy-mile further, when a
cross, scratchy voice shouted at them: “Get off the beach!”
“I can’t,” said Birdling timidly. “There’s a board fence on one side and
water on the other, and I can’t go back the way I came, because there’s
a cat.”
He could not even see who was speaking. There was only a big brown hill
in front of him.
“I’m not on the beach,” replied Bumble-bee. “I’m in the air. Who are
you, anyway?”
“Who am I! Well, I like that—who am I? Why, I’m ME!”
The big brown hill lifted itself up a bit, and they saw that it was the
back of a Horse-Shoe Crab.
“Get off the beach, you civilians, this is a parade-ground! I’m drilling
the new regiment from the Deep Sea.”
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Then they noticed a long line of little pink Crabs emerging from the
foamy water and slowly ascending the sands.
“Backward—march!” shouted the Horse-Shoe Crab.
There was nothing for Birdling to do but sit down on an empty oyster
shell and wait until the parade was over. They marched backward, and
marked time with two feet, three feet, four feet, till they had learned
to keep all six of them going, and they did squads right and left and
exercised their jaws and joints and pincers. There was nothing they did
not do.
At last the Horse-Shoe Crab shouted: “Dismiss!” and all the little Crabs
tumbled back into the sea, pinching each other and betting who would be
first down the beach. Then the old commander turned his attention to
Birdling and Bumble.
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“Who are you?”
“Nobody.”
“Where are you going?”
“I’m not going at all,” replied Bumble.
“You want to cross the parade-ground?”
“Yes.”
“What for?”
“To get to my ship.”
“Show your passport.”
“Here!” and Bumble unsheathed his shiny long bayonet.
“That will do,” said the Horse-Shoe Crab quickly, backing away a few
steps and pulling in his tail. “You may pass.”
It was night before they reached the Little Dipper. She looked very
forlorn, lying a bit sideways, sails furled and decks covered with sand.
Worst of all, a whole brotherhood of Shrimps had set up housekeeping in
her hold, and not even at the point of Bumble’s bayonet would they move
out. They wore little coats of mail that made them quite indifferent to
a mere bumble-bee’s sting.
“But you _must_ move out,” pleaded Birdling, standing on the deck and
shouting down into the hold. “I want to go to the Fairy Islands, and I
simply must have my ship.”
“Going to the Fairy Islands?” echoed the Shrimps. “That’s a long trip,
without food or water aboard and without a crew!”
“Oh, we’ll lay in food and water soon enough,” said Bumble, who sat in
the rigging. “As for a crew—”
“Let us be the crew,” cried the Shrimps. “We’re not clever, but we’re
really very obedient and faithful. We don’t want to spoil your trip,
Birdling, but we don’t want to move, either; there are very few houses
along the beach, and none as nice as this. Let us be your crew!”
“But then I’ll have to pay you,” said Birdling, “and I have no money.
Shall I pay you with music? I’ll whistle one tune for every Shrimp once
a week.”
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“It’s a bargain,” replied the crew.
All night long Bumble flew to and fro between the witch-hazel bushes on
the hill and the boat upon the beach, carrying fairy-bread and honey-dew
for the voyage. The crew packed all these provisions into big barnacles
that made splendid kegs and barrels. Birdling was brave enough to go
back along the beach by moonlight and pick up the mullen-leaf blankets
he had dropped when he fled from the Cat, and at the crack of dawn the
Little Dipper was ready to put to sea. They cleared the harbor and with
the outgoing tide floated out upon the ocean. Bumble flew above the mast
and accompanied them for several miles; two fiddler crabs came to the
edge of the beach and fiddled until the good ship was out of sight, and
Birdling stood at the bow with the great green sail blowing behind him.
At last everybody shouted: “Goodby, goodby, goodluck, thank you,
thank-you!,” then the Little Dipper sailed out of sight.
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For three days they journeyed, always pointing their course to Eastward,
but they did not know just where to look for the Fairy Islands.
Sometimes a flock of birds would fly above them also going Eastward, but
they flew so fast that it was never possible to follow and learn their
path.
On the fourth day, just as the pink dawn spread over the sky, Birdling
saw a whole fleet of tiny sails. They were no bigger than his own, but
they were pearly white and shimmered with lovely colors, so he knew they
must be Nautilus ships.
“Heigh-ho!” he shouted, catching up to them. “Heigh-ho, heigh-ho!”
The Nautilus ships have deep, deep holds with many little cabins in
them. When he shouted, a whole troop of fairy sailors came popping out
to see who had called to them.
“Heigh-ho!” they replied.
“Where are you going?” asked Birdling.
“To the Fairy Islands.”
“Take me along?”
“With pleasure,” said the fairies. “Who are you?”
“I’m Birdling, and the Shrimps are my crew.”
The Little Dipper was surrounded by the ships of pearl, and as the sea
was quiet and the wind very low they could talk from deck to deck. The
oldest one of the fairy captains was a Brownie named Trick. He was seven
hundred years old, and knew about everything from the North Pole to the
great Antarctic.
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“We are going to the Fairy Islands with a cargo of ants’-eggs,” he told
Birdling, “Our King likes to eat them poached, or fried, or scrambled,
on his breakfast toast. We would do anything to cheer up the King.”
“Why does the King need cheering up?” Birdling inquired sympathetically.
“I thought Kings were always happy.”
“Oh no, no, no, our Fairy King is very unhappy. His little son has been
kidnapped by Shag.”
“Who is Shag?”
Trick shook his head and rolled his eyes at Birdling’s ignorance.
“What! You have sailed the Sea for fully half a week, and don’t know who
Shag is? Ask your crew!”
But the Shrimps did not know about Shag, either. They were not very
clever, you know, and had not gone to school.
“Won’t you please tell us?” said Birdling, a bit ruffled at the
Brownie’s airs.
“Shag is the King of the Deep Sea!” shouted all the Fairies together, so
loudly that the Nautilus ships rocked with the noise.
“He has kidnapped our little Fairy Prince,” Trick explained, “and nobody
knows whether he is ill, or imprisoned, or dead. Our King is so sad that
he will not wear his crown, he has locked it in a closet and hidden the
key. As for the queen, the poor lady has turned into a weeping willow!”
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“That’s awful,” said Birdling, and the Shrimps were moved to tears.
“Where does Shag live?”
“Under the rock where the Sea Lion sleeps.”
“Can’t somebody sneak into his house and take a peep to see what has
become of the little Prince?”
“You make us shiver to think of it,” replied the fairies, pulling their
caps down over their ears and their sailor collars up. “The Sea-Lion
wakes at the slightest noise and catches anyone who comes near. And if
you did get by, Shag would be sure to see you and eat you at a gulp!”
But Birdling went on asking questions.
“Where is the Rock?”
“We are just passing it,” said a Shrimp from the top of the mast. “I see
it, far to leeward.”
Birdling turned his rudder, and waved his hand as his boat swung away
from the Nautilus fleet.
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“Goodby,” he shouted. “Tell your King that Birdling has gone to take a
peep into Shag’s palace, to see whether the young Prince be ill, or
imprisoned, or dead! You shall not see me again till I bring word of
your prince.”
The fairies set up a great cry of amazement, but already the Little
Dipper was far to leeward, steering toward the terrible Rock. So they
continued on their way to the Fairy Islands and all the way home they
could talk of nothing but the adventurous captain of the many-colored
sail-boat, and his crew.
Birdling sailed straight up to the Rock. It was black and high, and the
waves ran up on it in great white ruffles. Then he noticed that the top
of the Rock was not of stone at all—it was the outstretched form of the
Sea Lion, sound asleep.
When the Shrimps saw the monster, their courage failed them. They fell
upon their knees and begged the Skipper to turn back, for they were
dreadfully afraid of being eaten; and when Birdling would not turn back,
they mutinied and said they would not mind the sails and would not go
one inch nearer the terrible Rock! Then Birdling grew angry at their
cowardice and locked them all into the hold, where their cries could not
be heard, for he was afraid they would wake the Sea Lion. He then took
the ropes and the rudder in his own hand, and steered his craft into a
cove so near the Sea Lion that he could hear the great creature
breathing.
In the cove and under the rock ran a deep cave, that he guessed at once
to be the entrance to Shag’s palace, where you could go down into the
sea without drowning, as the Mermen and Mermaids do. Very quietly he
fastened his boat to the rock, then climbed on to the gunwale and dived
like a dolphin into the deep, dark, ripply water.
Yes, this was the entrance to the Palace of King Shag! At the bottom of
the cave was a winding stairway, like the inside of a huge shell.
Strange, fantastic fish swam up and down and churned up the water so
that it was very hard for Birdling to keep his balance. But fortunately
they did not see him, so he crept on slowly down the steps.
Suddenly he saw a gleam of light, and he felt sure it must be from
Shag’s palace. Faster and faster he ran down the wet, mossy stairs, till
a current of water caught him and took him all the way down just as a
fly goes down the hole in a washbowl. When he landed at the foot of the
stairs, he was sitting on golden sands and the bright lights blinded his
eyes.
[Illustration: {uncaptioned}]
“Why, what’s this?” said a thundering voice in his ear, and a huge fin
picked him up. He looked up and saw Shag himself, a huge silvery fish
with long whiskers and pop-eyes and a golden crown on his head. He was
very hideous, and Birdling was terribly frightened, but he looked all
around hoping to see the Prince.
“I don’t know who you are,” said Shag, “but you look as if you’d make a
nice little morsel.”
“I will let you have one chance for your life. Before I eat you, you
shall come and see the wonderful treasures I have collected, and if you
are able to pick out the most precious jewel in my vault, I will let you
go. You shall have the jewel for a prize, and I will give you one day’s
grace before pursuing you with my soldiers.”
[Illustration: {uncaptioned}]
So Birdling was led down some more long stairs to the cellar of the
palace, where shining jellyfish lights hung from the ceiling. In their
dim radiance he saw a heap of treasure such as no one had ever seen in
all the world—diamonds that shone like stars, rubies and sapphires and
emeralds, brooches and necklaces, pearl-set combs, wonderful pins and
lockets and vessels of hammered gold!
Then Birdling noticed a queer locket lying close to his foot; it seemed
to be made of two big oyster-shells closed with a band of tin. There was
nothing very precious about it.
“But it must be precious, or it wouldn’t be here,” he thought quickly.
So, while Shag waved his whiskers in a bored and superior way, and his
soldiers craned their necks to see Birdling, the boy suddenly stooped
and picked up the locket.
“I choose this,” he said, and held it up with both hands.
Shag uttered a howl of rage.
“He has guessed, he has guessed!” The body-guard drew back in terror as
their King beat the water with his fins, till a cloud of mud came up
from the floor of the cave and his crown slipped over one eye. Now he
would really have liked to eat up Birdling but of course the soldiers
had all heard the rules of the game, so he had to abide by his word.
Birdling was escorted back to the hall and allowed to go up the winding
stairs, back to the Little Dipper, the heavy oyster shell under his arm.
It seemed to him about as big as a suit-case, but harder to carry
because it had no handle. No one knows how he could ever have carried it
to the top of the stairs, had he not met a Sea-Horse who gave him a
ride.
[Illustration: {uncaptioned}]
“Heigh-ho!” he cried, when he stood once more aboard the Little Dipper,
“are you asleep or awake down there in the hold?”
“Awake!” cried one voice.
“Asleep!” murmured all the others.
“Then wake up, for we must flee! We have one day of grace and then Shag
will pursue us: Heave the anchors and hoist the sails!”
So he raised the trap-door of the hold, and the Shrimps climbed out,
looking very shamefaced and small, as well they might; and in a few
minutes the Little Dipper was under sail.
When the Rock was well out of sight and the Little Dipper making good
speed, Birdling gave the wheel to the first mate, and decided to open
the oyster-locket. It took three Shrimps and the captain himself to move
the heavy band of tin that held the two half-shells together. But at
last they fell apart—and what do you suppose was inside?
A perfect little bedroom, all wrought of finest gold, with a canopy-bed
of rosy silk and a tiny chair and table and even a dresser—and in the
bed, on pillows of down, lay the young Fairy Prince! When the locket
opened and the light shone into his room, he rubbed his eyes and said:
“What time is it?”
“Time to go home,” replied Birdling. “Don’t be afraid, for we are taking
you there.”
They gave him some witch-hazel bread and a drink of honey-dew, and one
of the Shrimps was appointed to tell him stories to pass the time. The
young Prince was cheerful and well-behaved and every one who saw him
loved him at once. He had yellow curls and bright, laughing eyes, and
clothes made of flower-petals, that made Birdling feel very plain in his
rough coat of mullen-leaves.
[Illustration: {uncaptioned}]
Everybody aboard the Little Dipper was perfectly happy, so they quite
forgot that tomorrow morning Shag would pursue them with his soldiers.
Imagine their terror when they woke up at sunrise in a raging storm that
made the waves dash over the very mast of their boat! They could hear
Shag howling at the bottom of the Deep Sea, and as he whisked his tail
he made more and more bubbles and white-caps come up. The white-caps
pursued the Little Dipper like ranks of horsemen.
[Illustration: {uncaptioned}]
The young prince, hidden under Birdling’s mullen-coat, began to tremble
and cry, for he was dreadfully afraid of Shag.
“Don’t be afraid,” said Birdling. “I’m sure we will reach the Fairy
Islands very soon now, and then we will be safe.”
“But where are the Fairy Islands? Where are they?” queried the young
prince, scanning the sea with his bright eyes. “I don’t see them, and I
am so frightened!”
Birdling had just been hit on the head by a hailstone, but he pretended
it did not hurt.
“You mustn’t be frightened,” he said cheerfully. “I’ll whistle you a
tune if you’ll stop crying.” And he began to whistle as though he did
not mind the storm at all.
[Illustration: {uncaptioned}]
As he whistled, the sea became calm and began to shimmer with a thousand
lovely colors—and out of the rippling waters rose three snow-capped
mountains surrounded on every side by sunny green plains. He had found
the Fairy Islands!
Birdling ran his boat into the harbor where he saw the Nautilus fleet
lying at anchor, and he called out joyfully, “Yo, ho, yo, ho, heigh-ho!
Where is Trick?”
A crowd of fairies came running to the harbor’s edge, and cried, “Hush,
hush! No one is allowed to shout or whistle or sing on this island. Even
the birds do not sing. The King and Queen have commanded silence to
prevail, until they have some news of their son.”
“Here’s news for you, then,” replied Birdling. “Go and tell your King
and Queen that the young prince has returned!” So saying, he picked up
the fairy child and stood him on the gunwale of the ship for everyone to
see, and the well-behaved child doffed his little diadem, and bowed.
[Illustration: {uncaptioned}]
So great was the joy of the fairy people, that they stumbled over each
other in their haste to go and tell the King that the good ship Little
Dipper had brought back his son. The queen, who had turned into a
weeping willow, came back to life and wept now with delight; the king
hunted all over the palace for the key to his closet, for he could
hardly wait to put on his crown once more and hold a great banquet in
honor of Birdling, who had restored the heir to the throne. The birds
burst into song and the blue bells chimed and even the butterflies, who
are usually silent, began to trill and chirp, until the whole island
rang with joyous sounds. As soon as the cook could get the banquet ready
they all sat down and feasted, from the fairy King, with Birdling by his
side, to the meekest under-earthworm, and the shy Shrimps had a table by
themselves because they did not possess very fairyish manners. There was
cake for everybody, and ice-cream, and chocolate with whipped cream, and
candy and favors. The best thing about the party was that all the
goodies were fairy-food which couldn’t make you sick however much you
ate, and they all drank Birdling’s health in pink lemonade.
Three days later, when the feasting was over, and the hundreds of golden
dishes had been washed and dried, Birdling was playing on the beach with
the fairies and he saw a ship out at Sea.
“Look,” he said to his friend Trick, “there is a ship just like mine,
only a hundred times bigger! That isn’t a fairy ship. How do you suppose
she came into these waters?”
“Oh, that is a ship which came here long ago,” said Trick. “Shag caught
it and tied it to the light-house rock. It has been there for years and
years. I suppose the storm which Shag made when he was angry at you,
must have torn the rope and set the poor vessel free. Do you suppose the
people on board are still alive?”
“I’ll go and see,” said Birdling. “Of course I’m very small, but I might
be able to help them.” So he took the Little Dipper and sailed out to
the schooner.
“Heigh-ho!” he cried, standing up and putting his hands to his mouth.
“Heigh-ho!”
Somebody certainly was alive on the ship; a tall captain dressed in oil
skins, stood up in the bow and shouted back:
“We are the Big Dipper! Who are you?”
“The Little Dipper! And you must be my father,” cried Birdling, dancing
for joy.
At first the Captain could not believe his eyes and ears, but when
Birdling stood on his right hand (he had the good ship Little Dipper in
the left one) he looked at him very closely, and saw that it really was
his son.
[Illustration: {uncaptioned}]
“Oh Father, now we can go home together,” exclaimed the boy, hugging his
father’s thumb. “But will you wait till I go and say goodby to my fairy
friends?”
“Yes, I will wait,” said the Captain, “for you should never leave your
friends without saying goodby and thank you.”
The fairies were sorry to see Birdling go, they let him take along all
the treasures he wanted from the King’s storeroom, and helped him carry
them down to the harbor and put them in his hold. He took a bag of gold
for his father and a little one for himself, besides the oyster-locket
with the golden chamber inside, which he had won from Shag, and a little
pearly crown for his friend the Bumblebee at home. He even took a gold
thimble for his great-aunt and a little silver bell for the Cat, to show
that he bore no malice.
“And here is some fairy wine you must drink when you are safely aboard
your father’s ship,” said the King, handing Birdling a tiny vial just as
he said goodby. “It will make you grow up again and be as big as other
boys. We will miss you, Birdling. Farewell!”
So Birdling, a life sized boy once more, went home with his father
whistling happy songs. As his whistle died away in the distance, the
Fairy Islands sank down into the water, the waves closed over them, and
you could not even guess where the three snowy peaks and the green
plains and sunny harbors had been.
And no one has ever seen them since.
[Illustration: {uncaptioned}]