But in the world she lived in now it seemed quite different,

The Bountiful Lady

--or, How Mary was changed from a very Miserable

Little Girl to a very Happy One

BY THOMAS COBB

LONDON: GRANT RICHARDS

1900

_CONTENTS_

1. _Mary finds herself in a different place_

2. _Mary sees her Fairy-Godmother_

3. _Mary sees what the Magic Counters can do_

4. _The Story of the Discontented Boy and the Magician_

5. _Mary sees the wings, as well as some other wonderful things_

6. _Mary is taken away_

7. _The Story of the Little Girl, the Dog, and the Doll_

8. _Mary sees something which she has never seen before_

9. _Evangeline gives Mary some Magic Counters_

10. _The Story of the Prince, the Blue-Bird, and the Cage_

11. _Mary sees Mrs. Coppert and Mrs. Coppert sees Mary_

12. _Evangeline says good-bye to Mary Brown_

The Bountiful Lady

I

MARY FINDS HERSELF IN A DIFFERENT PLACE

It was not a dream, this wonderful thing that happened to Mary Brown,

although it seemed very much like a dream at first.

Mary was a pretty, round-faced, dirty little girl who had neither a

father nor a mother nor a brother nor a sister. Nobody had kissed her

since she could remember, although it was only the day before yesterday

that Mrs. Coppert had beaten her.

She lived in a poor, narrow street, and during the daytime she spent

many hours in the road. During the night she lay on a sack on the floor

of a small room with three other children. Sometimes, when she played in

the road, Mary almost forgot she was hungry; but for the most part, she

was a sorrowful little girl. She had none of the things which you like

the best--she did not even know there were such things in the world; she

seldom had enough to eat, and her clothes were very ragged and dirty

indeed.

One afternoon she was playing in the gutter, it happened to be a little

past tea-time, although Mary did not always have any tea; she had no

toys, but there was plenty of mud, and you can make very interesting

things out of mud if you only know the way. Mary kneeled in the road,

with her back to the turning, the soles of a pair of old boots showing

beneath her ragged skirt, as she stooped over the mud, patting it first

on one side then on the other, until it began to look something like the

shape of a loaf of bread. Mary thought how very nice it would be if only

it was a loaf of bread, so that she might eat it, when suddenly she

seemed to hear a loud clap of thunder and the day turned into night.

She did not feel any pain, but the street and the mud all disappeared,

and Mary Brown knew nothing. For a long time, although she never knew

for how long, she was NOWHERE!

It might have been a month or a week or a day or an hour or even only

five minutes or one minute or a second, but when she found herself

SOMEWHERE again it was somewhere else.

Mary had been playing in the road, feeling very hungry, with her hands

on the soft mud, when this strange sensation came to her and she knew

nothing else. And when she opened her eyes again, she was not in the

road any longer, as she would have expected; though for some time yet

she could not imagine where she was or how she had come there.

She was lying on her back, but not upon the floor of the poor house in

William Street; she lay on something quite soft and comfortable far

above the boards. All around her she saw an iron rail, and at the

corners two bright yellow knobs. Above, she saw a clean white ceiling,

whilst the walls, which were a long way from the bed, seemed to be

almost hidden by coloured pictures.

Instead of her ragged dress, Mary wore a clean, white night-gown, and

there was not a speck of mud on her hands, which astonished her more

than anything else.

'They can't be my hands,' she thought; 'they must belong to somebody

else. They look quite clean and white, and I am sure I never had white

hands before.'

Then some one came to the bed-side and stood staring down into Mary's

face. She wore a cotton dress and a white cap and apron such as Mary had

never seen before. She had a pale face, and very kind, dark eyes. Mary

liked to watch her when she walked about the room, and presently she

brought a tray covered by a cloth, on which stood a cup and saucer. She

began to feed Mary with a spoon, and Mary thought she had never tasted

anything so nice before. She felt as if she did not want anything else

in the world--only to know where she was and how she had come here, and

whether she should ever be sent back to Mrs. Coppert and William Street.

But although she wanted to know all this, she did not ask any questions

just yet, for somehow Mary could not talk as she used to do. But her

thoughts grew very busy; she wondered what were the names of the

different things she had to eat; she wondered who the tall, dark man

with the long beard could be, who came to see her every morning and

looked at her right foot and felt her left wrist in a strange way. One

day she raised her head from the pillow to look at the foot herself.

'I see you are better this morning,' said the tall man. 'Do you feel

better?'

'Quite well, thank you,' answered Mary, and when he went away, Mary

looked up at the lady with the kind, dark eyes, and asked, 'What is the

matter with my foot, please?'

'Ah! that is to prevent you from running away and leaving us,' was the

answer. 'When we bring little girls here we don't want them to run away

again.'

'I shouldn't run away,' said Mary solemnly; 'I shouldn't really. I don't

want to run away.'

'That's right.'

'Only where is it?' asked Mary.

'Now don't you think it's a very nice place?'

'Oh, very nice!' cried Mary. 'I know what it is,' she added; 'it's all a

dream! Only I hope I'm not going to wake again.'

'What nonsense you're talking,' was the answer. 'Of course you are

awake, dear.'

'Why do you call me dear?' asked Mary.

'Because I'm very fond of you.'

'But why are you fond of me?' asked Mary. You will notice she rather

liked to ask questions when she got the chance, but they had been very

seldom answered until now.

'Well, now I wonder why!' was the answer. 'Let me see! Haven't I made

you comfortable and given you nice beef-tea and jelly?'

'I like them very much,' said Mary.

'Well, then, I daresay that's why I like you. Because we generally like

persons if we do kind things for them.'

'I see,' said Mary, but she didn't understand at all. 'But I'm sure it's

a dream,' she added, 'and I do hope I shan't wake!'

'Oh dear!' was the answer. 'Now, do you know what I do to prove little

girls are awake?'

'No,' said Mary, opening her eyes widely.

'Do you know what pinching is?'

'Oh yes,' said Mary, for Mrs. Coppert was very fond of pinching.

'Well, when I want to prove a little girl is awake, I pinch her.'

'But I know I'm not,' said Mary. 'I can't be. It's all part of the

dream--your telling me that.'

Mary began to spoil her dream by looking forward to the time when she

must awake to find herself upon the floor at the house in William

Street, with her ragged dress waiting to be worn again. Still, it was

the most real dream she had ever had, and it certainly seemed to be a

very long one.

But when another week had passed, Mary began to see it was not really a

dream after all. Everything was just as nice as ever, or even nicer; she

had the most delicious things to eat and drink: chicken and toast, and

all sorts of nice puddings, boiled custard, jelly, and grapes and

oranges. She was able to sit up in bed to eat them too, and she wore a

blue dressing-gown, and the lady with the kind, dark eyes read

delightful stories. Now, this was something quite new to Mary Brown, and

the stories seemed almost as wonderful as the change in her own little

life.

She only knew of the things she had seen or heard at William Street--not

nice things at all. She had imagined all the world must be like that,

for although she was very young, Mary had often thought about things.

Still, she had never thought of anything half so wonderful as

Jack-and-the-Beanstalk, or Ali Baba, or Aladdin, or Cinderella. Mary

grew quite to love Cinderella, and I can't tell you how many times she

heard the story of the glass slipper.

'I know how I came here now!' she exclaimed one afternoon.

'Do you indeed?' was the answer. 'Then, perhaps, you will tell me!'

'I'm like Cinderella,' said Mary. 'Cinderella was very miserable, and I

was very miserable. Then her fairy-godmother came to make her happy; she

gave her all kinds of pretty dresses and things--the fairy-godmother

did--and some one has given me all kinds of nice things, and taken me

away from William Street and brought me here; so, of course, I know it

must be my fairy-godmother too.' Then Mary was silent for a little

while. 'Are you my fairy-godmother?' she asked.

'No,' was the answer. 'I am not nearly important enough to be anybody's

fairy-godmother.'

'Who are you?' asked Mary.

'Well, I am Sister Agatha.'

'Oh, then it wasn't you who brought me here!' said Mary, looking a

little disappointed.

'I wasn't sent for until afterwards,' answered Sister Agatha.

'Who sent for you?' asked Mary.

'The person who brought you here.'

'But who was that?' cried Mary excitedly. 'Please do tell me whether it

was a fairy! I'm sure it was, because it couldn't be any one else, you

see.'

'Then that settles the question,' said Sister Agatha, with a smile, and

Mary thought it did.

'Where is she?' she asked.

'A long, long way off! She had to go away the day after you came, so she

asked me to take care of you till she saw you again. But she won't be

long now.'

'Is she very beautiful like the fairies you've read to me about?' asked

Mary.

'I don't suppose there ever was anybody so beautiful,' answered Sister

Agatha.

'And has she got wings like this?' asked Mary, opening a book that lay

on the bed and pointing to one of its coloured pictures.

'I shouldn't wonder,' said Sister Agatha; 'only she doesn't show them

every day, because it isn't the fashion to wear wings, you know.'

'I think that's a pity,' answered Mary; and from that day she thought of

scarcely anything else but how she had been brought away from William

Street by her fairy-godmother, just like Cinderella.

Of course, Mary Brown had never imagined that she had a

fairy-godmother--who could imagine such a thing in William Street! But

then Cinderella had never imagined that she had a fairy-godmother

either, until the night of the grand ball.

One day Sister Agatha told Mary she might get out of bed; she was

carefully wrapped in a dressing-gown and a blanket and carried to a

comfortable arm-chair. On her left foot she wore a pink woollen shoe,

but the other foot looked so clumsy in its great bandages, that Sister

Agatha covered it over.

'I wish you would untie it,' said Mary; 'I really won't run away. I

shan't run away, because I want to see my fairy-godmother so much.'

'Well,' answered Sister Agatha, 'you will see her very soon now; for she

is coming to-morrow.'

II

MARY SEES HER FAIRY-GODMOTHER

Mary Brown did not go to sleep very early that night, and as soon as she

awoke the next morning, she began to ask questions. She wanted Sister

Agatha to tell her at what time her fairy-godmother would come, and

where she was coming from, and what she would be most likely to do when

she arrived.

'And what is her name?' she cried.

'Her name is Evangeline Royal,' said Sister Agatha, 'and a very pretty

name too.'

'I suppose she doesn't live anywhere?' said Mary.

'Not live anywhere!' cried Sister Agatha. 'Of course she lives

somewhere. She lives here.'

'I thought fairies never seemed to live anywhere,' said Mary; 'and it

does seem strange she should come to William Street.'

'Ah! well, perhaps, she was looking for you.'

'I should think she's everywhere at once,' said Mary.

'Dear me!' exclaimed Sister Agatha, 'what a funny child you are! Just

now, you said she didn't live anywhere.'

'That's what I mean,' answered Mary; 'because if she's everywhere at

once, how can she live anywhere, you know?'

Whilst Sister Agatha washed her and put on her dressing-gown, whilst the

doctor was there, whilst she drank her beef-tea for luncheon and ate her

chicken for dinner, Mary Brown thought of nothing but Evangeline Royal,

wondering what she would look like, what she would say, and all the rest

of it. And when she went to bed again after dinner as usual and fell

asleep, she dreamed of Evangeline Royal still.

But it was a dreadful dream. She dreamed that her fairy-godmother came,

and that she wore a veil, and that when she lifted it her face was large

and red and shiny just like Mrs. Coppert's. Mary could not forget the

dream, even when she was wrapped in the blanket again and sitting in the

arm-chair. But she waited with her wondering eyes on the door, watching

half afraid for Evangeline.

It had struck four when Sister Agatha went away, leaving Mary alone. She

sat very still, staring at the door until presently it opened again, and

Mary thought that now she should see Evangeline Royal at last. But it

was only Sister Agatha who entered the room.

'She has come!' cried Sister Agatha. 'It won't be long before you see

her now. As soon as she has taken off her hat.'

'Does she wear a hat?' asked Mary.

'Indeed, she wears the prettiest hats. She is not like me, you know. I

go out in a plain little bonnet. But Evangeline wears the most wonderful

hats.'

Sister Agatha had scarcely finished speaking before the door opened

again, and Mary leaned forward eagerly in her chair. All her fears left

her now, and she held out her arms; for she saw the most beautiful

object her eyes had ever looked upon. Evangeline Royal was tall, much

taller than Sister Agatha, and a few years younger. She crossed the room

so softly that Mary could not hear her footsteps; her hair looked as if

the sunshine had fallen upon it and never gone away again, and her eyes

were as blue as the sky on the finest day! She came to Mary and took her

hands just as if she knew her quite well, and Mary felt as if she had

known Evangeline all her life.

'I'm so glad!' exclaimed Mary; 'I wanted to see you so much. I'm so glad

you're young too; I'm glad about everything. And how pretty you are!'

'Mary wants to see your wings,' said Sister Agatha, as Evangeline

stooped to kiss the child.

'Yes,' cried Mary, 'please do show them to me!'

'Well,' answered Evangeline, 'I'm afraid I cannot show them to you just

now.'

'You will, some day!' Mary pleaded.

'Oh, I shall have such lots of things to show you,' said Evangeline.

'And you can tell me when I may walk again,' said Mary; 'because I

really won't run away.'

'I fear I can't tell you that,' answered Evangeline a little sadly, and

she stooped to kiss Mary again.

'Oh yes, you can!' cried Mary; 'because you can do anything. You brought

me here, and I like being here--very much, ever so much! I never want to

go away again. You won't let me go away again!' cried Mary.

'You can't go until you can walk, you see,' said Evangeline.

'Shall I be able to walk soon?'

'Ah! that is more than I can tell you, dear.'

'Oh, I hope not! I hope not!' exclaimed Mary.

'But surely you want to be able to walk again?' said Evangeline.

'Not if I have to go away,' Mary answered. 'I hope I shall never be able

to walk again, then you will let me stay always.'

As soon as Evangeline left the room, Mary wanted to know when she should

see her again, and Sister Agatha said not before to-morrow.

'Then I should like to go to bed now!' cried Mary.

'Why do you want to go so early?' asked Sister Agatha; 'you generally

like to sit up as late as you can.'

'Because I want to-morrow to come soon,' said Mary, and she shut her

eyes and tried to go to sleep as soon as her head touched the pillow in

order to make to-morrow come sooner.

'You must remember that Evangeline has a great deal to do,' said Sister

Agatha, as she dressed Mary the next morning. 'She has been away so long

that now she has come home again a lot of people want to see her.'

'Who?' asked Mary.

'Oh, well, wherever there's a very beautiful fairy there is usually a

prince not far off,' answered Sister Agatha. 'And some day he will come

to take Evangeline away with him.'

'Not if she doesn't want to go,' cried Mary. 'I do hope she won't go.

And of course she can do whatever she likes, can't she?'

'She can certainly do a great many things,' said Sister Agatha, when she

had put Mary in the arm-chair and given her a cup of soup. 'And she can

make other people do a great many things too.'

'How does she make people do things?' asked Mary.

'That depends what kind of people they are,' was the answer. 'There are

some, like the prince, who would go to the end of the earth to please

her if she only looked at them in a particular manner.'

'I wish he would go there if it's a long way off!' exclaimed Mary;

'because I don't want him to take her away. How does she make other

people do things?' she asked.

'She gives them some of her magic counters, you know.'

'Magic counters!' cried Mary, opening her eyes more widely.

'Yes,' said Sister Agatha; 'I don't know whether you have ever seen a

magic counter. But they're little round, flat things, very hard and

bright yellow. And when she gives them to people they generally do

whatever she tells them to do. Now, doesn't that seem very wonderful?'

'Very!' murmured Mary. 'But I shouldn't want her to give them to me. I

should do what she told me when she looked at me, like the prince, you

know. Is the prince pretty like Evangeline?' Mary asked.

As she spoke the door opened, and Evangeline entered the room.

'Why, you've got another dress on!' cried Mary. For this morning

Evangeline was dressed all in white. There was not any colour about her

dress, and this seemed to Mary quite as it ought to be, though she could

not help thinking she should like to see the wings. 'Is the prince very

lovely?' Mary cried, as Evangeline stooped to kiss her, and Sister

Agatha laughed as she left the room.

'Yes, dear,' answered Evangeline, sitting on a low stool by Mary's side.

'My prince is beautiful and good and noble.'

'Then he must be everything at once,' said Mary.

'He is everything to me,' answered Evangeline quietly.

'Why do you look so red?' asked Mary, staring into her face.

'Do I look red?' said Evangeline.

'Very,' answered Mary, 'and now you're redder than ever. Sister Agatha,'

Mary went on, 'says you can do everything you like, and I know you can,

because you brought me here, you see.'

'Not quite everything,' said Evangeline.

'Sister Agatha says you have a lot of magic counters,' answered Mary.

'She says they're flat, round, yellow things that you give to people to

make them do what you like.'

'Ah! well,' said Evangeline, 'they will make people do a good many

things that would please you very much. Suppose we try!'

'Yes,' answered Mary, 'I should like that.'

'Then you shall tell me what you want,' said Evangeline, 'and we will

see whether we can make it come. Now,' she exclaimed, 'what should you

like to have first?'

III

MARY SEES WHAT THE MAGIC COUNTERS CAN DO

Mary looked very solemn as if she was thinking deeply, but for a long

time she did not speak. In fact, she did not know quite what to say,

because she seemed to have everything she wanted just at present.

'Well,' cried Evangeline, 'you are a good while making up your mind!'

'What shall I say?' asked Mary.

'Suppose you said you would like some pretty frocks,' Evangeline

suggested. 'What do you think of that?'

'Oh, I should like to have some pretty frocks very much!' answered Mary,

as Sister Agatha entered the room. She went to Evangeline's side and

whispered something which Mary could not hear, then Evangeline said out

loud--

'Mary wants to have some new dresses,' and she looked into Sister

Agatha's face with a smile.

'Well, I never!' exclaimed Sister Agatha. 'Who would have dreamed of

such a thing! I suppose you will make the incantation? Please begin at

once,' she added; 'Mary has never seen you dance, you know.'

With that Sister Agatha began to sing, and Evangeline took one side of

her skirt in each hand, and standing in the middle of the room, she

danced slowly and gracefully, first raising one hand above her head,

then the other, bending now this way, now that, and always making her

skirt take a curious shape. Mary sat holding the arms of her chair very

tightly, and never taking her eyes off Evangeline; but Sister Agatha

stood with her back to the fireplace, just by the bell-handle, and

exactly as Evangeline came to a standstill in the middle of the room and

bowed so low to Mary that her golden hair, which had become looser

whilst she danced, almost touched the floor, just at that moment the

door opened, and a woman came in, carrying a great box with a shiny

black lid, and she placed the box at Mary's feet.

Then the woman unfastened a wide strap from the box, and Mary clapped

her hands as she removed the lid, for the box seemed to be full of the

most beautiful dresses!

'They're not for me!' she exclaimed, looking up into Evangeline's face.

'You are to choose the three you like the best,' was the answer.

It took a very long time for Mary to choose. She had them all taken out

of the box one after another, and the woman held them up so that Mary

could see them better. At last she made her selection: a dark blue

dress, a crimson dress, and one of a deep plum colour. Then, although

Mary did not know there could be anything else in this wonderful box, a

great many other things were taken out of it, such as stockings and

shoes and a very nice outdoor jacket. Mary felt delighted with

everything, but especially with the outdoor jacket, because it showed

that she was to go out again some day.

'I shall go out again!' she cried, as the woman strapped up the box.

'But I shan't go to William Street!' she pleaded, looking up into

Evangeline's face.

'William Street!' answered Sister Agatha, 'certainly not. Who wants to

go to William Street, indeed. You will go to the loveliest place in the

world. You are going to stay in the country.'

'What is the country?' asked Mary, for she had never been a mile away

from William Street in her life.

'Now,' cried Evangeline, when the woman with the box had gone away, 'is

there anything else you would like to have?'

'I--I don't think so,' answered Mary.

'How about toys?' suggested Sister Agatha.

'Oh yes, I should like some toys,' answered Mary.

'Then,' said Evangeline, as Sister Agatha leaned back near the

bell-handle, 'let us have some toys!' and as she spoke she raised her

hands above her head and clapped them together.

She had scarcely clapped her hands when the door opened again and a

little old man entered the room with a square box which looked far too

heavy for him. He had a tiny face, all over lines, and he wore a long

coat that reached to his boots. He bowed low to Evangeline, just as Mary

expected him to do, and then he went down on his knees to open the box.

By this time Mary naturally thought she should see curious things,

because she had no doubt whatever that she was in fairy-land, where all

sorts of curious things are always happening, as every one knows. But

even if Mary had not known she was in fairy-land before, she would have

become quite sure of it now.

You see, everything was so different from what she had seen and heard at

William Street. She had such different things to eat. She had actually

had three new dresses given to her at one time! And then Evangeline

seemed very, very different from Mrs. Coppert, and very, very much

nicer.

But if Mary had not already felt sure she was in fairy-land, she could

not have thought she was anywhere else when the funny old man began to

take those wonderful things out of his box.

Mary had once picked up a broken doll in William Street, and she had

grown very fond of it. She had taken it about with her, and sat it in

the gutter, with its back against the kerb, while she played in the mud.

She used to have long talks with it, but then she had to make the

answers herself, and only to pretend the dolly made them. For, of

course, Mary knew well enough that dolls can't speak--at least they

can't speak in the world she had come from.

But in the world she lived in now it seemed quite different, and Mary

knew why that was. It was because there were magic counters in this

world and none in the world of William Street. She was beginning to

expect everything to be wonderful, but certainly she had not expected to

see a doll that spoke. But the funny old man took a doll out of his box

that spoke quite distinctly--far more distinctly than little Sally

Murphy. It was true the doll could not say many words at present, but as

it had once begun to talk, Mary had no doubt that with a little practice

it would soon learn to say more, just as Sally had done. Already it said

'Papa' and 'Mama' very nicely.

Mary could not decide which was the more wonderful--a doll that could

talk or a doll that could walk! This doll could walk quite a long way,

for the old man took it to the farthest corner of the room, placed it on

the floor, stooped over it as if he were telling it what to do, then

when he took his hand away and stood upright, there, to Mary's

astonishment, was the odd little doll moving its legs in the most

comical manner and walking across the room entirely without help. There

was a kitten that meowed and ran; there was a house with nice bright red

walls and doors and windows, and with beds already made in the rooms,

for the dolls to live in; and there were ever so many more things for

Mary to choose from, and she chose a good many.

When the man had gone away she lay back in her chair with a flushed

face, and Sister Agatha sent Evangeline away. But after Mary had been

asleep that afternoon, Evangeline came to see her again.

'Well,' she asked, 'and how do you like all your new things?'

'Very much indeed,' answered Mary; 'I think they're lovely.'

'Ah! well, I am glad you are not like the discontented boy,' said

Evangeline.

'Is that a story?' exclaimed Mary. 'Do tell it to me, please!' So

Evangeline sat down to tell her the story.

IV

THE STORY OF THE DISCONTENTED BOY AND THE MAGICIAN

A long, long time ago, in a country a great way off, there lived a man

who was the King's Grand Vizier. Now the Vizier had a son, who was ten

years old, and he caused his father a great deal of unhappiness. For he

was a very greedy boy, and he grumbled at everything he had.

As long as anything belonged to some one else he liked it very much, and

he cried and made a loud noise until it was given to him. But as soon as

it became his own Hassan began to find fault with it. It was just the

same with little things or big things--as soon as they were put into his

own hands he ceased to care for them.

If he sat at dinner and he had tasted every dish but one, he would ask

for that, and say he liked it better than anything else; but when it was

put on his plate, he would push it away. 'This is horrid!' he would cry.

'I don't want it. Take it away.' And he would throw it on to the floor,

plate and all.

Now, as you may suppose, this conduct vexed the Vizier, and presently

things came to such a pass that he could think of nothing but his

tiresome son. One day he was summoned to the King's presence.

'The affairs of the kingdom are being neglected,' said the King; 'the

people are not paying their taxes, yet nobody's head is cut off. This

kind of thing cannot be allowed to go on. If I do not see an improvement

very soon I shall cast you into prison.'

The Vizier had a great dread of the prison, for he had sent many persons

there and he knew exactly what it was like. So he fell on his knees

before the King and confessed that Hassan was the real cause of the

neglect.

'Very well,' answered the King, 'I shall not be so unjust as to punish

you for your son's offence, but if he does not become satisfied within a

month from to-day, I shall condemn him to death. But as you have served

me faithfully so many years, I shall allow you the privilege of choosing

whether his head shall be cut off with an axe or a sword.'

The Vizier thanked the King for granting him this privilege and returned

to his own palace; he knew it was useless to speak to Hassan because he

had spoken to him so often before, so he sent for a Magician who lived a

few miles away. When the Magician heard of the Vizier's distress, he at

once promised to help him.

'I believe I can cure your son,' he said, as soon as he entered the

palace, 'and I do not think it will take so long as a month.'

'I should like the cure to be perfect,' answered the Vizier, 'and then I

shall be able to attend properly to the King's business again.'

'There is only one condition,' said the Magician. 'Hassan must come with

me wherever I choose to take him.'

'That is impossible!' cried the Vizier; 'as long as I forbid his going,

he will wish to go, but as soon as I give my permission, he will change

his mind and insist upon staying at home.'

'He will not have time to change his mind,' said the Magician, and then

an attendant was summoned, and a few minutes later Hassan entered the

room with a scowl on his face, whereupon the Vizier looked at the

Magician as much as to say, 'There! what did I tell you!'

'Good afternoon, Hassan,' said the Magician.

'It isn't a good afternoon,' answered Hassan, scowling more fiercely

than before.

'Well, never mind,' said the Magician; 'I daresay it will be a good

afternoon to-morrow.'

'Oh yes, to-morrow, I daresay,' answered Hassan. 'What's the use of

that?'

'It's very fortunate for me,' said the Magician; 'because I shall be on

my travels. I start on a pleasant journey to-day.'

'I wish I might start on a journey,' grumbled Hassan. 'I've always

wanted to go on a journey, only they'll never let me.'

'In the place I am going to,' said the Magician with an agreeable smile,

'everybody is allowed to ask for anything he sees.'

'What's the use of asking for things if you don't get them!' exclaimed

Hassan.

'But in the place I am going to,' said the Magician, smiling still more

pleasantly, if that were possible, 'you may ask for anything you see,

and nothing you ask for is refused.'

'That must be a very nice place,' said Hassan; 'just the place I should

like to live in, only of course my father wouldn't let me.'

Then the Magician rose, paying no attention to the reproachful glances

which the poor Vizier cast upon his son, and crossing the room, he

stopped at Hassan's side.

'If you like to come with me on a short visit, you may do so,' he said.

'I shouldn't like it at all,' said Hassan. 'I think it would be horrid.'

'But,' exclaimed the Vizier angrily, 'you said you would like to go.'

'Not for a short visit,' answered Hassan. 'What's the use of a short

visit?'

'Very well,' said the Magician, smiling agreeably; 'you may stay as long

as you please. And you shall have everything you see.'

'Thank you,' answered Hassan, though he did not look very thankful, 'I

don't want anything.'

'Then, come along,' cried the Magician, stepping towards the door.

'But I am not going,' answered Hassan. 'I shan't go. I don't want to

go.'

'Come along,' said the Magician cheerfully, and he fixed his small

bright eyes on Hassan's face as he spoke. Although the Magician was some

yards away, Hassan felt obliged to rise from his chair, and to follow

him out into the corridor. Hassan would far sooner have stayed where he

was, yet he knew he could not stay even to say good-bye to his father,

and he began to feel fonder of the Vizier than he had ever felt before.

Still it was of no use. Hassan really did not know why he went, only

that somehow it seemed that he could not stay when the Magician looked

at him. So Hassan followed the Magician along the corridor, to the great

astonishment of everybody who saw him, for when he did not wish to go

anywhere, which was usually the case, he had to be dragged or carried.

But to-day Hassan followed the Magician as obediently as a dog follows

his master.

Outside the palace he saw a curious-looking carriage drawn by two

zebras. 'Step in,' said the Magician politely, and though Hassan would

have preferred to stay where he was, he stepped in as the Magician told

him.

'I want to walk,' he said, when the Magician was seated beside him and

the zebras had started.

'You will have plenty of walking to-morrow,' was the answer.

'You said I might have everything I asked for,' Hassan grumbled.

'When you get there,' said the Magician.

'Where?' asked Hassan.

'Where we are going to,' answered the Magician. 'I always keep my

promises. Anything you see you may ask for, and anything you ask for you

shall have.' They continued the journey many miles, and presently Hassan

wondered where they were to sleep.

'I never go to sleep,' said the Magician; 'time is too precious. But I

don't wish to hinder you from sleeping if you are used to it. You may

sleep here.'

'How can I sleep here?' grumbled Hassan, but a few minutes later his

eyes closed and his chin fell on his chest, and as the carriage was

driven swiftly along the road, Hassan's head waggled about very funnily.

Presently he was awakened, and opening his eyes he saw that the Magician

had been shaking him worse than the carriage.

'I want my breakfast!' he exclaimed.

'I never have breakfast,' answered the Magician; 'but if you like you

may breakfast to-morrow.'

'You said I might have anything I asked for,' said Hassan, beginning to

feel rather miserable.

'So I did,' the Magician admitted; 'anything you see you may ask for,

you know, but I don't think you can see any breakfast, besides,' the

Magician added, 'you must wait until we are there, and we have a long

way to go yet.'

He told Hassan to get out of the carriage, which was at once driven

away. 'Come along,' said the Magician, with a smiling face, and Hassan

felt compelled to follow, although he would far sooner have gone home

again. He could see nothing but grass all around and the great trees

that shaded it from the burning sun. As he trudged after the Magician,

Hassan continued to grumble about his breakfast until it was

dinner-time, and it seemed useless to grumble about breakfast any more.

He began to wonder where the Magician was taking him, because, though he

had walked for many hours, he had seen nothing but trees.

One thing astonished Hassan very much indeed. Although it was still

quite early in the afternoon, the farther he walked the darker it grew,

and at first he thought the dimness was due to the trees. But he noticed

there were not nearly so many trees as there had been, and yet the light

became fainter and fainter.

'I should like to have some dinner!' cried Hassan, as he followed the

Magician. 'I'm hungry, and you promised I might have anything I asked

for.'

'When we get there,' answered the Magician; 'we are not there yet, you

see, but when we arrive I shall keep my word.'

Hassan wished he had never seen the Magician; he felt so sleepy that he

could scarcely prevent his eyes from closing, but still he walked on and

on; and still it grew darker and darker. There were no trees now, only a

few low bushes, and the sky looked a curious dark colour. There were no

stars, no moon; Hassan could scarcely see his way, and gradually

everything became invisible except the Magician, until presently he

disappeared too. It seemed darker than the middle of the night; when

Hassan looked upwards he saw nothing but blackness; when he looked down

he saw nothing but blackness; to the right and the left it was the same;

he could not see his own hands when he held them close to his nose, and

yet his eyes were quite widely open all the time.

'Are you here?' he cried, to make sure the Magician had not gone away

and left him alone.

'No,' was the answer, 'we are there now!'

'I'm glad of that,' said Hassan; 'I want some light.'

'Very sorry!' exclaimed the Magician.

'And something to eat,' said Hassan.

'Very sorry,' answered the Magician again, but he did not sound sorry in

the least. Hassan thought he sounded quite glad, though there did not

seem much to be glad about. Then Hassan began to stamp about on the

grass just as if he were at home, and he scowled until his forehead was

full of wrinkles, only he might as well have laughed, for there was

nobody to see him.

'Now,' said the Magician, 'I hope you will make yourself quite at home.

Everybody does exactly as he likes here. What should you like to do?'

'You said I could have anything I asked for,' answered Hassan, 'and I

should like something nice to eat.'

'Well,' said the Magician very civilly, 'you can look round and choose

anything you see.'

'What's the use of looking round,' asked Hassan, 'if I can't see

anything?'

'No, no!' cried the Magician very politely, 'of course not. No use at

all.'

'Then why did you tell me to look?' said Hassan.

'Anything you see you may ask for,' said the Magician, as if he were

muttering to himself, 'and anything you ask for you may have.'

Hassan felt so cross at hearing these words again that he flung himself

on the grass and kicked his legs about and began to cry. He always made

a great noise when he cried, but the Magician seemed not to mind in the

least. Presently Hassan fell asleep and dreamed he was at a great feast,

where the table was loaded with large joints of meat, and with turkeys

and pheasants, with a round Christmas pudding at one end. The Magician

was just going to carve, and he said that Hassan might ask for whatever

he saw. 'I'll have turkey first,' Hassan dreamed he said, 'and then

pheasant and then Christmas pudding.' All the things he named were

placed upon a plate at once; only, just as he was going to taste the

turkey, the plate fell to the ground and Hassan awoke. He felt so hungry

and the dream seemed so real, that he sat up and began to feel on the

grass for his plate.

'Hullo!' cried the Magician, 'have you lost anything?'

'I dreamed I was just going to have some turkey,' said Hassan.

'Ah, well!' answered the Magician, 'you may ask for anything you see,

you know.' But it seemed darker than ever; Hassan could see nothing and

he began to feel very miserable indeed. He never learned how long he

stayed with the Magician, though it appeared a long time while it

lasted, and he began to think it would never come to an end. He did not

know whether it was days or weeks, only he felt hungry all the time, and

at last he could think of nothing but home. He wished he was back there,

and he made up his mind that if ever he did get back, he would not

grumble any more.

Now it was a strange thing that whilst Hassan sat on the grass, with his

hands clasped round his knees and his eyes on the ground, although of

course he could see nothing, it began to grow a little lighter. And the

more he made up his mind not to grumble the lighter it grew, so that at

last he fancied he could see the Magician. And the Magician was sitting

cross-legged on the ground eating some dinner which looked exactly like

what Hassan had seen in his dream.

'I'll have that!' cried Hassan the moment he could see it.

'With pleasure,' said the Magician, and he rose and brought the plate to

Hassan. Unfortunately Hassan was so much in the habit of grumbling at

everything the moment he received it that, as soon as he took the plate

in his hand, he said--

'This must have been a poor old turkey and very badly cooked too.'

Before he finished speaking, the light faded, and it grew so dark that

he could not see the plate. Worse than that, Hassan could not feel it,

but he could hear the Magician as if he were enjoying his meal very much

indeed.

'I say!' exclaimed Hassan.

'Well, what do you say?'

'I beg your pardon. I didn't mean it--really,' said Hassan, and suddenly

it began to grow lighter again--so light that he could see the Magician,

who seemed to have a fresh plate full of turkey. 'I'll have that,

please!' cried Hassan, and once more the Magician brought him the plate.

As soon as Hassan took it in his hands, he looked at the nice white

slices, and he was just going to grumble as usual when he remembered in

time. So instead of saying what he intended to say, he ate his dinner in

a sensible manner.

And now Hassan began to understand that when he felt inclined to grumble

the darkness grew blacker, but that when he made up his mind not to

grumble any more, it seemed almost as light as day. As he sat staring

straight in front of him, the Magician came to his side--

'Well, Hassan,' he said, 'what is the matter? What are you staring at so

attentively?'

'I--I fancied I saw myself at home again,' answered Hassan.

'Ah! I suppose you saw yourself grumbling as usual,' said the Magician.

'No, I wasn't grumbling. I was very happy.'

'Anything you see you may ask for,' answered the Magician, 'and anything

you ask for you may have.'

'Why, then!' exclaimed Hassan before the Magician had time to finish

speaking, 'of course I'll have that!'

'What?' asked the Magician.

'I saw myself at home again, you know----'

'You were contented,' answered the Magician, 'you mustn't forget that.'

'No,' said Hassan, 'I won't.' And then, to his great surprise, he found

himself at home again. He was sitting in the palace garden, rubbing his

eyes just as if he had fallen asleep after dinner. But although

everything else looked very much the same as it had done before he went

away with the Magician, Hassan knew of one thing that was different, and

that was himself. For, you see, he had become the contented boy he

fancied he saw in the forest--Hassan had become just what he wished to

be.

V

MARY SEES THE WINGS, AS WELL AS SOME OTHER WONDERFUL THINGS

'Well,' said Sister Agatha, as she put on one of Mary's new dresses a

few mornings later (it was the plum-coloured dress), 'what do you think

of your fairy-godmother by this time?'

'I think she's lovely,' answered Mary; 'only I do want to see her

wings!'

'You are going to see them,' said Sister Agatha; 'she is going to pay

you a visit when she is wearing them one evening. What do you think of

that?'

'When?' cried Mary.

'Very soon indeed,' was the answer, 'so don't be surprised.'

Mary could think of nothing else but Sister Agatha's promise that she

should see Evangeline's wings, and one evening about a week later, just

before she was going to be undressed, she had her wish.

She had sat up rather later than usual, but the electric light had not

been switched on and the room was almost dark. Presently, Sister Agatha

rose and left Mary alone, and as the child sat in the arm-chair, waiting

to be put to bed, she began to feel sleepy.

Every now and then she closed her eyes, and when she opened them she was

surprised to see how much darker the room had become. Then she heard

laughing outside the door, and the next moment it opened and Sister

Agatha entered.

'Now you won't be frightened, will you?' she said.

'Oh no, of course I won't,' answered Mary in a rather shaky voice. As

she spoke the room became suddenly so light that her eyes were dazzled

and she could see nothing. And a few moments later, when she could see

things again, she was scarcely able to believe they were real.

Close to the door stood Evangeline Royal. On her head she wore a crown

of diamonds which glistened and sparkled amongst her golden hair. Her

shoulders were uncovered and she wore a dress of pure white, and so long

that it quite hid her shoes. She carried a long wand in her right hand,

and the most wonderful of all! Mary saw her wings. They looked smaller

than she expected, and they were so thin that she could see right

through them, just as you can see through a window.

'Can you fly with them?' asked Mary as soon as she could speak.

'No,' answered Evangeline. 'They are not of the slightest use--they are

only for show, you see.'

'Where are you going?' cried Mary.

'She is going to hold her Court, of course,' said Sister Agatha; 'I

should have thought any one would have known that.'

'Is she going to hold it here?' asked Mary. 'In this very room, I mean?'

'The idea of such a thing!' exclaimed Sister Agatha. 'Where do you

imagine all the kings and queens and the other wonderful folk would put

themselves?'

'Then I shan't see it,' said Mary in a very disappointed tone.

'I wish she could just peep at us!' cried Evangeline, turning towards

Sister Agatha.

'I daresay I could carry her down,' was the answer.

'Nobody would notice her if she stayed behind the band,' said

Evangeline.

'What would they do if they did notice me?' asked Mary feeling a little

frightened.

'Ah! well,' answered Sister Agatha, 'there's no telling what they

wouldn't do to us.'

'Still,' said Mary, 'you would be there, too, wouldn't you?'

'Neither of us will be there if some one doesn't go to bed at once!'

cried Sister Agatha.

'Oh, isn't it to-night?' asked Mary.

'Not until to-morrow,' was the answer. 'Don't you know that nice things

are generally to-morrow?'

Mary turned to look at Evangeline's wings once more before she left the

room, and then Sister Agatha put her to bed. To-morrow was one of the

most exciting days she had ever passed. For one thing she knew she was

going to leave the room for the first time since she had entered it. She

had no idea what she should see on the other side of the door, she could

only wonder about it just as you may wonder what there is on the other

side of the moon.

She sat up much later than usual, too, and she liked that; then she wore

the new outdoor jacket over her dress, although Sister Agatha said she

was not going out.

'But where are we going?' asked Mary.

'Well,' answered Sister Agatha, 'I think you will say it looks very much

like fairy-land.'

'How shall I get there?' asked Mary.

'I am going to carry you, of course,' said Sister Agatha. 'All you have

to do is to shut your eyes and keep very still and not to open them

until I give you leave.'

Mary shut her eyes so tightly that her little face was full of wrinkles.

'Oh!' she exclaimed, opening them the next moment, 'will the prince be

there? Shall I see him?'

'It wouldn't be anything without the prince,' said Sister Agatha, and

then Mary shut her eyes again and knew that she was lifted in Sister

Agatha's arms. Although she felt very curious to know where she was

being carried to, she did not peep once, because she felt afraid of

spoiling everything. Presently she knew that Sister Agatha had opened a

door, and although her eyes were still tightly closed, Mary felt sure

she was in a very light place, the darkness looked so red, you see.

'Please, mayn't I open my eyes now?' she cried.

But she could not hear Sister Agatha's answer, because there was such a

loud noise in her ears. She must be close to a band, and a great many

persons seemed to be laughing and talking at once. Mary was just

thinking it was of no use; she must open her eyes just for a moment to

see what was going on around her when she felt Sister Agatha's lips

close to her ear.

'You won't be frightened,' she whispered, 'and you mustn't cry out or

even speak. Now, open your eyes!'

But though Mary opened her eyes at once, it was some time before she

could see anything clearly. It seemed exactly the same as last night,

when she first saw Evangeline's wings. The bright light dazzled her,

although it was not very long before she knew that she must be really in

fairy-land, as Sister Agatha had said.

In front of her were a lot of men in light blue uniforms, with silver

lace on their coats, playing all manner of curious instruments. Beyond

the band and a little lower, Mary saw an enormous room with no carpet on

the floor, and each fresh person astonished her more than the last. Some

were dancing, some were sitting down, some were talking and laughing,

but although there were so many of them, not one looked cross or sad,

which was quite different from anything Mary had been used to.

Of course, she recognised some of the people at once, and she would

certainly have called out their names if Sister Agatha had not placed a

hand over her lips. She saw Bluebeard, and Jack-the-Giant-killer, Old

Mother Hubbard, Aladdin with his lamp, her dear Cinderella,

Puss-in-Boots, the White Cat, and ever so many more whose portraits she

had seen in Sister Agatha's books upstairs. As to ordinary fairies,

there were far too many to count--some tall, some short, some fat and

some thin, some fair and some dark, but all with wings exactly like

Evangeline's. And yet it was quite easy to pick out Evangeline Royal

from the rest, and any one could see that she was their queen.

'Do tell me which is the prince?' asked Mary. 'Oh!' she said, in a very

excited whisper the next instant, 'that must be the prince, that one in

the white and gold clothes. Look, he's going to dance with Evangeline!'

Mary was quite right. The prince offered Evangeline his right hand and

they came to the middle of the large room together. Then the band, which

had stopped for a little while, began to play again, and the prince and

Evangeline began to dance.

'How lovely the prince looks!' said Mary; 'does he always look like

that?'

'Hus--s--sh!' said Sister Agatha, 'or they won't let us stay.'