A CONCERT
A kiss on each forehead and she was gone!
_The Fairy's Visit._
Greatly wondering, Hildegarde and Leonore followed the fairy to the end
of the large hall, where there hung by silver cords from the roof two
little seats, cushioned with the softest down.
'Rest yourselves in there,' she said; and though the little swinging
chairs were a few feet from the ground, they sprang into them without
the least difficulty, as their wings at once unfolded to waft them
upwards.
'You may swing yourselves in time to the music, if it amuses you,' said
the fairy; 'and now I must meet my sisters to get all ready for our
concert.'
The children were well content to stay where they were, watching and
listening with the greatest eagerness. A door at the farther end from
that by which they had entered opened, admitting the sound of soft
music, and in a few moments a procession of air-fairies appeared,
marching two and two, each with some instrument on which she was
playing.
They ranged themselves in the very centre of the hall, the two fairies
who had received the children standing at each end of the group to
command and direct. The music stopped; there was a flutter of excitement
among the birds. Then the accompaniment of the instruments began
again--softly at first, then louder, then sinking once more to gentler
tones. But now--words fail to describe the wonderful sounds which filled
the air in one great harmony, though to those learned in such things,
and with ears endowed with the magic gift of perfect hearing, every
little voice could be distinguished.
In such company the peacock's harsh cry sounded like a distant but
musical call, the duck's quacking like the pleasant clatter of
castanettes; all was lovely, for all told of happiness and harmony, and
the children felt as if they could sit there listening for ever. And
when, almost suddenly, the music stopped in one great triumphant
outburst, it seemed to them as if, for the first time in their lives,
they had known what it was truly to _hear_.
Then came a loud, merry flapping of wings; the birds flew off their
perches and soared about the hall, then ranged themselves again, and
passed in rows before the fairies, with twitters of farewell before they
flew, or hopped, or waddled out of the doors and windows of the great
hall, many more of which had opened of themselves as the music ceased.
The fairies who had taken part in the concert glided out, two and two,
as they had entered, playing a soft, low march, and then the great hall
was empty again, save for the two children and their two fairy
hostesses.
At a sign from their friends, Hildegarde and Leonore sprang to the
ground.
'Have you enjoyed the concert?' asked one of the fairies.
'Oh,' exclaimed the children together, it was too wonderful, too
beautiful.' 'We can never hear anything like it again,' added Leonore
half-sadly; 'down where we live the air is too thick and heavy, I
suppose, to hear anything so perfectly.'
'Yes,' said the fairy, 'that is so; but those who have once heard can
never again be as if they had not done so. You will always remember and
be able to catch the echoes, though far away, of perfect harmony, even
in common sounds.'
For a moment or two the children were silent; perhaps they did not quite
understand, but they remembered, which was as good, or better.
'Is it time for us to go home now?' asked Hildegarde. 'The
spinning-wheel fairy said we should easily find her, and she will show
us how to get back.'
'There is no hurry,' said one of their friends. 'Would you not like to
see a little more of our country? We are always busy, for we have much
to do, but to those sent by the spinning-wheel fairy we have time to
give.'
She held out a hand to each child, the second fairy smiling in token of
farewell.
'I will go now, sister,' she said. 'I must see to some of the fledglings
who are just beginning to chirp. For the birds come to us from all parts
of your world,' she added, turning to the children, 'and it is not
autumn everywhere, you know!'
'May we ask you questions?' said Hildegarde. 'You won't think it rude,
will you? We were so afraid of offending the gnomes that we scarcely
dared to speak when we were with them.'
'Ask what you like,' was the reply, 'and what I may I will answer. But
we needn't stay here any longer. Outside you will see more of our
country.'
Outside the great hall it was still brighter and more sunshiny than
within, though over everything was the lovely faint blue haze which had
met them when they passed through the first silver gate. It was like,
and yet not like, a garden--for there was nothing distinct in the shape
of plants or flowers, though everywhere beautiful tree-like forms,
quivering amidst waves of opal colour, were to be seen.
'It must be something like the bottom of the sea,' said Hildegarde,
'where the mermaids live.'
'No,' said Leonore, 'I think it is just like the sky at sunset. I have
often wished I could get up on one of the clouds and see over to the
other side.'
'And now that is what you are seeing,' said the fairy.
'But please,' began Hildegarde again, 'if I may ask you questions, do
tell me what you are all busy about, besides teaching the birds to
sing?'
'I will tell you a few things,' said the fairy, 'though you would not
understand if I tried to tell you all. We have charge of the zephyrs and
the breezes. We send them out on their errands, and we have to see that
each does its appointed task.'
'Oh,' interrupted Leonore, 'is this the home of the Four Winds?--is this
the place where they start from, and meet again and make all their
plans?'
The fairy shook her head.
'No,' she replied, 'the Four Winds are not fairies, they are spirits,
and above us all; it is only the little winds, so to say--which are to
the great ones like the little brooks compared to the great ocean--over
whom we have authority. And,' she added more lightly, 'they are
troublesome enough sometimes, I assure you--mischievous little
imps--though they can be very sweet too, and seldom do real harm, and
indeed, as a rule, a great deal of good. But for them your world would
be dull and dreary.'
'Yes,' said Leonore, 'I should not like to live where everything was
always quite still. And the little breezes are kind, aren't they? When
it is very hot, it is lovely to feel one of them softly blowing round
your face.'
'They are kind and tender too,' said the fairy; 'some of the gentlest
among them are specially employed in refreshing poor sick people in
their hot stifling rooms. They wait outside the windows patiently till
they get a chance of entering. Then some of them spend most of their
time in playing with little children, filling the sails of their tiny
boats, or flying their kites and shuttlecocks for them.' While talking
thus, the fairy had led them onwards. But now she stopped in front again
of another silver gate.
'Inside here,' she said, 'is one of the nurseries of the little clouds;
we let them out every now and then for a race. Would you like to see
them? It is prettiest perhaps by moonlight, but I must not keep you here
till night.'
She opened the gate, and out flew a crowd of feathery forms, dancing,
leaping, tumbling over each other in their hurry to escape; then at a
sign from the fairy, off they flew, upwards, a dozen or more together,
in a whirl and flutter.
You can scarcely imagine anything prettier than it was.
They flew so high that for a minute or two they were out of sight, then
back they came again, some much in advance of the others, till the first
one who had gained the race floated down to the fairy's feet, taking
shape as it did so till it grew into the shadowy form of a little
cherub, smiling up with its sky-blue eyes for its reward.
'Well done,' said the fairy. 'Now off you can go, all of you, for an
hour or two; some little streams are very thirsty to-day, I hear, and
will be glad to see you.'
And at once the whole feathery troop disappeared. The children turned to
the fairy with smiling delight.
'How pretty and good they are,' said Hildegarde. 'I shall always think
of you when I see the little clouds scudding across the sky--I have
often thought they looked so alive. Do you never come down to our world
yourself, fairy?'
'Oh yes,' she replied, 'we have to keep all the wind instruments in
order. Some we bring back with us here to repair, in the middle of the
night, so that nobody misses them; but some we work at down where they
are, and people say the weather has changed, and that somehow their
instruments have got right again of themselves. That is one of our
secrets, you see.'
'I wish you would let us know when you come,' said Hildegarde.
'We wouldn't tell anybody, and I am sure we would gladly sit up all
night.'
But the fairy shook her head.
'That cannot be,' she said, 'you would not be able to see me down
there. Still, I can send you messages sometimes; the little breezes will
always be glad to carry you my love or to kiss you for me.'
Suddenly she stopped speaking and held up her hand.
'Hush,' she said; 'yes, I thought I heard it. It is the spinning-wheel
fairy--don't you hear the whirr? It means, I fear, that you must be
going. Yes, there she is, though your eyes can't see her; she is almost
straight above us. She has caught two of the little clouds on their way
down, and is sailing on them.'
'How shall we get to her?' exclaimed the children.
'You forget,' laughed the fairy, 'you forget what wings are for,' and
with the words she blew softly on their shoulders, the wings stretched
themselves, and off flew the children.
The quickness of their flight made them close their eyes, and for a
moment or two they could hear nothing but the rush of the air as they
met it. Soon, however, came the sound of a now well-known voice.
'So I had to come to fetch you,' it said, 'instead of your looking for
me. That shows, I hope, that the air-fairies entertained you well?'
'Yes, indeed,' said both the children. 'It was all so pretty, and they
were so kind that we didn't feel the least frightened of offending them.
It was quite different from gnomeland,' Hildegarde went on, 'and yet you
say that both these countries are on the way to real Fairyland?'
'Yes,' replied their friend, 'so they are, and so are many, many
others.'
'I wish we could see them all,' said Leonore.
'That would not do,' said the fairy. 'It would take you too much out of
your own country, which is not good for any one. But now, dears, I want
you to rest a little; even if you go to sleep it won't matter, while I
am taking you home.'
She held out her arms, and both little girls nestled down beside her.
'Are you going to take us all the way home yourself?' asked Leonore.
'That will be very nice.' The fairy did not reply, but she began
spinning again, which certainly no one but a fairy could do seated on a
cloud, and with a little girl tucked under each arm. The soft whirr was
very soothing and pleasant to hear; soon both pairs of eyes closed
drowsily, and it seemed to their little owners that quite a long time
had passed when they awoke, roused by the touch of a feathery kiss on
their foreheads, and a softly whispered 'Goodbye, my dears, goodbye for
the present.'
And again they found themselves among the trees a little to the rear of
the Castle. It was quite daylight, though the afternoons were drawing in
now. They felt perfectly bright and rested, and looked at each other
with happy faces.
'It was all too lovely, wasn't it?' said Leonore, 'and this time I don't
feel as if we had been dreaming, do you, Hildegarde?'
Hildegarde was on the point of replying, when from far above their heads
came the note of some bird as it flew by.
'To think that we know where you were taught to sing, you little dear,'
she said, gazing upwards. 'There will be lots of things to remind us
always of the air-fairies--every time we feel the little breezes on our
cheeks, or see the clouds chasing each other across the sky!'
'And we have still two nuts left,' said Leonore. 'I wonder what will
happen when we crack _them_, Hildegarde?'
'We must be patient,' was the reply; 'perhaps we may have to wait a good
while before the time comes for that. But we must hurry home now, I
think, or grandmamma may be getting anxious.'
For this day was one which Leonore was spending with Hildegarde at the
Castle, as happened now and then for a change, especially when the
weather was unsettled. And these were happy days; for the Castle, as
Hildegarde had said, was a splendid place for playing in when there were
two to play, though rather too large and lonely for one little girl by
herself.
Their coffee and cakes were waiting for them in the little turret-room,
which was Hildegarde's own when on a visit to her grandparents. And when
they had thoroughly enjoyed these, for travels through the air naturally
make little flesh-and-blood girls hungry and thirsty, Hildegarde took
her friend to the drawing-room, where the old Baroness usually sat. She
was a tall, fine-looking old lady, a little bit 'frightening' at first,
till one got to know her, for her dark eyes were still bright and
piercing, not like Aunt Anna's gentle, dreamy, blue ones. She spent a
great deal of her time in working at beautiful embroidery, as her sight
was still good, though in the cold weather, which was now coming on, she
was not strong enough to go out of doors except on very fine days.
She looked up with a smile as they entered the room.
'Well, my dear children,' she said, 'I hope you have had some good hot
coffee, for you have stayed out rather late, and the evenings are
getting very cold. Soon you will scarcely be able to go out after
dinner, especially as every one is prophesying that we are to have an
early winter and a severe one.'
'We have not been at all cold, thank you, grandmamma,' said Hildegarde.
'I hope it won't be a very severe winter, at least not before
Christmas--for do you know, Leonore,' and she turned to her little
friend, 'that sometimes when it snows heavily here, we cannot even get
from the Castle to Aunt Anna's house?'
'Oh dear,' said Leonore, rather startled, 'I shouldn't like that at all;
it would be dreadfully dull if we couldn't be together at Christmas.'
'Dull for us too,' said the Baroness, 'for many, many years my dear
friend, Fraulein Anna, has spent Christmas with us. But if there is any
sign of snowstorms before then, the best plan will be for you three to
come and stay at the Castle for a week or two.'
The children's faces lighted up with pleasure at the idea.
'In that case,' said Hildegarde, 'I shall almost hope for signs of a
snowstorm. You have no idea how nice and warm the Castle can be made.
Grandpapa loves huge fires, and the walls are so thick that once the
rooms get well heated they don't get cold again quickly.'
'Not in your turret, I am afraid, Hildegarde,' said her grandmother.
'You will have to move out of it, I expect. Indeed, this very day I have
been talking to old Maria about preparing a room for you on the south
side. The turret-rooms cannot but be cold, as they have so much outer
wall.'
Hildegarde looked a little distressed.
'I do so love my turret-room,' she murmured, 'unless,' and she
hesitated, 'oh grandmamma,' she went on after a moment's pause, 'if I
might have the blue-silk room. I should be so careful to keep it very
nice, and in the alcove two little beds could stand, so that if Leonore
comes to stay here we might be together all night as well as all day.'
Her grandmother smiled.
'We shall see,' she said, but even this seemed to satisfy the little
girl. She jumped up and threw her arms round the Baroness.
'Most big people when they say "We shall see" mean "No," she said, but
you are not like that, grandmamma. _Generally_, your "We shall sees"
mean "Yes, you shall have what you want if it is possible."'
'I should like to see the blue-silk room,' said Leonore, half timidly,
'it is such a pretty name. Are the chairs all covered with blue silk?'
'Better than that,' said Hildegarde, 'the walls are hung with blue silk,
and there are wreaths of roses worked at the top of the curtains and on
the sofas and everywhere. Who was it that worked them, grandmamma? My
great-great-great-grandmother, wasn't it?'
'No; two "greats" are enough,' said the Baroness, 'the embroidery was
done by my grandmother; it is really wonderfully beautiful, and it is
difficult to believe that one pair of hands did it all. So it is
scarcely surprising that there should be an old story telling that the
fairies helped my grandmother to do it.'
The children glanced at each other.
'I daresay it's quite true,' said Hildegarde, but her grandmother only
laughed.
'Come now, my dear,' she said, 'you must not be too fanciful. The
fairies who helped our ancestors were probably those of industry and
perseverance--very good fairies too.'
'But now, my child,' she went on, turning to Leonore, 'I do not, of
course, want to hurry you away, but I am afraid Aunt Anna and Elsa will
be wondering what has become of you, besides which, I do not want you to
catch cold through coming to visit my Hildegarde.'
Leonore started up. 'Yes, I must go,' she said.
Hildegarde accompanied her as usual to the foot of the hill.
'Ask Fraulein Elsa,' said Hildegarde, as they parted, 'to let you come
to-morrow morning instead of my going to you, and I will get
grandmamma's leave to show you the blue-silk room by full daylight. Then
in the afternoon, I daresay, grandmamma will let me run down to you.'
'Yes,' Leonore replied, 'I should like that very much; I have a feeling,
Hildegarde, that there must be something "fairy" about that room.' And
so saying she ran off.