A FAIRY TALE--AND THOUGHTS
"The name of the story," said Miss Lilly, "is 'A Fairy House,'" and then
she went on to read it.
"Once upon a time there was a fairy who had done something wrong, and
for this reason had to be punished. I do not know exactly what it was
that she had done, perhaps only something that we should scarcely think
wrong at all, such as jumping on a mushroom before it was full grown, or
drinking too much dew out of a lily-cup, and thereby leaving the poor
flower thirsty through the hot noontide. Most likely it was nothing
worse than something of this kind, but still it was a fault that had to
be corrected; so the little culprit was banished to a desert part of
fairyland, a bleak and barren spot, which you would scarcely have
thought could be found in the magic country which we always think of as
so bright and beautiful.
"There she stayed with nothing to do for some time, which is about the
worst punishment a fairy can have to endure. So she felt very pleased
when one morning there came a messenger direct from the queen, charged
to tell the little exile that she should be forgiven and released from
her banishment as soon as she should have fulfilled a task which was to
be set her. This task was to build a house, which to us may sound almost
impossible without masons and carpenters and all manner of workmen. But
fairy houses are not like ours, as you will hear.
"The messenger led the fairy to a spot on the moor where there was a
heap of stones.
"'These are what you are to build with,' he said. 'As soon as the house
is completed you may send a butterfly to tell the queen, and she will
then come to test it. If it is quite perfect, you shall return at once
with her to the court,' and so saying he fled away.
"The fairy set to work in good spirits. She had no need of mortar, or
scaffolding, or tools, or anything, indeed, but her own little hands and
the stones. Nor were the stones cut evenly and regularly, as you might
have expected. They were of all sizes and shapes, but each only
required a touch from the fairy's fingers at once to fit itself into the
place which she saw it was intended for. So for some time the work went
on merrily. It was not till the house was very nearly completed that the
fairy began to fear something was wrong. It lopped a little--a _very_
little--to one side. But there was nothing to be done that she could
see. So she finished it in hopes that the queen would not notice the
tiny imperfection, and despatched the butterfly to announce her
readiness for her royal lady's visit.
"The queen arrived promptly,--fairy queens are never unpunctual,--and at
first sight she smiled amiably.
"'You have worked hard,' she said to the poor fairy, who stood there
half hopeful and half trembling. Then her Majesty stepped out of her
chariot, patting her winged steeds as she passed them, and entered the
new building, followed by the little architect.
"All seemed right till they got to the second floor, when the queen
stopped and looked round her sharply.
"'Something is wrong here,' she said. 'The left-hand wall is out of
level. I suspected it downstairs, but waited to see.'
"The fairy builder looked very distressed.
"'Did you know there was anything wrong?' said the queen, more coldly
than she had yet spoken.
"'I--I was afraid it was a little crooked,' the little fairy replied,
'but I hoped perhaps your Majesty would not mind it.'
"'My messenger told you that the building must be _perfect_,' replied
the queen. 'You had all the stones, every one ready for its place. If
you have left one out, even the smallest, the building cannot be
perfect. Ah, well, you must try again,' and so saying she left the
house, followed by the builder. As soon as she stepped outside she waved
her wand, and in an instant the walls had fallen apart, and there was
nothing to be seen but the heap of stones as before.
"The poor little fairy sat down and cried as she saw the queen's chariot
disappear in the air.
"'I don't know what to do,' she thought. 'It would be just the same
thing if I set to work to build it up again. I am sure I used every
stone, down to some quite tiny ones; but still it is no good crying
about it,' and she started up, determined to try afresh.
"As she did so, a very slight sound caught her ears. Out of her pocket
had rolled a very small stone, a tiny, insignificant pebble, probably
smaller than any she had used in the building.
"'That's the very pebble I found in my shoe the other day,' she
exclaimed. 'I must have picked it up with my handkerchief,' and she was
just about to fling it away when a new idea struck her. Was it possible
that this little atom of a stone--or rather its absence--was what had
spoilt the whole piece of work? It might be so, for had not the queen
said that the slightest little scrap of material wanting would spoil the
perfection of the building.
"And, full of fresh hope, she carefully placed the little stone on the
top of the heap and began again. All went well. Deep down in the
foundations, unseen but far from unneeded, the tiny pebble found its own
place, and before the sun set, the magic edifice stood perfect,
gleaming white and fair in the radiance of the evening sky.
[Illustration: TOOK HER BACK TO COURT IN HER OWN CHARIOT.]
"It was without fear or misgiving this time that the fairy sent off her
butterfly messenger the next morning; and her joy was complete when the
queen not only took her back to court in her own chariot, but as a proof
of her perfect restoration to favour, transported the pretty white house
by a wave of her wand to the centre of a lovely garden near her own
palace, and gave it to the fairy as her home."
Miss Lilly stopped reading. The children looked up, pleased but a little
puzzled.
"What a funny story," said Ferdy; "it's nice, but isn't it more what you
call a--I forget the word."
"Allegory, do you mean?" said Miss Lilly. "Well yes, perhaps. Many fairy
stories have a kind of meaning behind them, but I don't think this one
is difficult to guess."
"It means, I suppose," said Chrissie, "that everything is of use, if you
can find the right place for it."
"A little more than that," said Miss Lilly. "We might put it this
way--that _everybody_, even the smallest and weakest, has his or her own
place in the house of--" and she hesitated.
"In the house of the world?" said Ferdy.
"In the house of life," said Miss Lilly after thinking a little. "That
says it better."
Then, seeing that Ferdy was looking rather tired, she told Chrissie to
run off and get dressed for going a walk.
"I will send Flowers to sit with you," she said, as she stooped to kiss
the little invalid, "and in the afternoon Chrissie and I will come back
again for an hour or so if you are not asleep."
"I won't be asleep," said Ferdy; "I have slept quite enough to last me
all day. Miss Lilly--"
"What, dear?" for the boy's eyes looked as if he wanted to ask her
something. "Would you like us to bring you in some flowers?--not garden
ones, but wild ones. There are still primroses--and violets, of
course--in the woods."
"Yes," Ferdy replied, "I should like them _very_ much. And could you get
some moss, Miss Lilly? I would like to arrange them with moss, in that
sort of birds'-nesty-looking way."
"I know how you mean," the young lady said. "Yes, we will bring you some
moss. And, by the bye, Ferdy, if I had some wire I could show you how to
make moss baskets that last for ever so long to put flowers in. You put
a little tin or cup to hold water in the middle of the basket--the moss
quite hides it,--and then you can always freshen up the moss by sousing
it in water."
"What a nice word 'sousing' is," said Ferdy, in his quaint old-fashioned
way. "It makes you think of bathing in the sea. Miss Lilly, do you think
I'll ever be able to bathe in the sea again? I do so love it. And then
there's skating and cricket, and when I go to school there'll be
football. Papa was so good at football when he was at school. I
wonder--" he stopped short. "I wonder," he went on again, "if I'll ever
be able for any of those things. Boys who are all right, _well_ boys,
don't think of the difference being like me makes."
"No, they don't," his governess agreed. "But there is still a good long
while before you would be going to school, Ferdy dear."
"I know," he said, though he could not keep back a little sigh. "I've
only been two days in bed, but I have thought such a lot. Miss Lilly,
there was something I wanted to ask you. It's about that boy, Jesse
Piggot. I was thinking about him when I was awake in the night. If you
meet him, please thank him for asking if I was better, and do you think
mamma would let him come in one day to see me? It's partly that story,
too."
Miss Lilly did not at first understand.
"The 'nallegory," said Ferdy, "about all the stones being some good."
Miss Lilly's face cleared; she looked pleased and interested.
"Oh yes," she said.
"I haven't got it straight in my head yet," said Ferdy. "I want to think
a lot more. It's partly about me myself, and partly about Jesse and boys
like him. Oh, I do wish I could be on the sofa in the window," he added
suddenly. "I'd like to see the children going to school and coming
back."
"I hope you will be on the sofa in a very few days, dear," said Miss
Lilly. "But I must go--Chrissie will be waiting for me. I hope we shall
get some nice flowers and moss, and to-morrow I will bring some wire and
green thread that I have at home on purpose for such things."
When she had gone Flowers made her appearance. She sat down with her
work, and Ferdy lay so still, that she thought he must have fallen
asleep again. But no, Ferdy was not asleep, only thinking; and to judge
by the look on his face, his thoughts were interesting.
The moss baskets proved a great success as well as a great amusement.
Ferdy's nimble fingers seemed to have grown even more nimble and
delicate in touch now that he was forced to lie still. They twisted the
wire into all sorts of new shapes, some quaint, some graceful, that Miss
Lilly had never even thought of, and when some little old cups without
handles or tiny jelly pots or tins were found to fit in, so that the
flowers could have plenty of water to keep them fresh, you cannot think
how pretty the moss baskets looked. The children's mother was quite
delighted with one that was presented to her, and she smiled more
cheerfully than she had yet done since Ferdy's accident, to see him so
busy and happy.
And time went on. It is very curious how quickly we get accustomed to
things--even to great overwhelming changes, which seem at first as if
they must utterly upset and make an end of everything. It is a great
blessing that we _do_ get used to what _is_. When I was a little girl I
remember reading a story about the old proverb which in those days was
to be found as one of the model lines in a copy-book. This one stood for
the letter "C," and it was, "Custom commonly makes things easy."
Somehow the words fixed themselves in my memory. You don't know how
often and in what very far differing circumstances I have said them over
to myself; sometimes in hopefulness, sometimes when I had to face
sorrows that made me feel as if I _could_ not face them, "Custom
commonly" seemed to be whispered into my ear, as if by a gentle little
fairy voice. And I found it came true, thank God! It is one of the ways
in which He helps us to bear our sorrows and master our difficulties,
above all, _real_ sorrows and _real_ difficulties. Fanciful ones, or
foolish ones that we make for ourselves, are often in the end the
hardest to bear and to overcome.
It was so with little Ferdy and his friends. One month after that sad
birthday that had begun so brightly, no stranger suddenly visiting the
Watch House would have guessed from the faces and voices of its inmates
how lately and how terribly the blow had fallen upon them. All seemed
bright and cheerful, and even the boy's own countenance, though pale and
thin, had a happy and peaceful expression. More than that indeed. He was
often so merry that you could hear his laugh ringing through the house
if you were only passing up or down stairs, or standing in the hall
below.
By this time things had settled themselves down into a regular plan. The
oriel room was now Ferdy's "drawing-room"--or drawing-room and
dining-room in one, as he said himself. It was his day room, and every
night and morning his father or Thomas, the footman, carried him most
carefully and gently from and to the invalid couch in his favourite
window to bed, or _from_ bed in his own little room.
This was a delightful change. Ferdy declared he felt "almost quite well
again" when the day came on which he was allowed "to go to bed
properly," and be attired nicely the next morning in a little
dressing-gown made to look as like a sailor suit as possible.
His general health was good, thanks to the excellent care that was taken
of him, and thanks too to his own cheerful character. There were times,
of course, when he _did_ find it difficult to be bright--lovely summer
afternoons when a sharp pang pierced his little heart at the sight of
the school children racing home in their careless healthfulness, or
fresh sweet mornings when he longed with a sort of thirstiness to be
able to go for a walk in the woods with Christine and Miss Lilly. But
these sad feelings did not last long, though the days went on, and still
the doctor shook his head at the idea even of his being carried down to
the lawn and laid there, as Ferdy had begun to hope might be allowed.
The oriel window was his greatest comfort. It really was a delightful
window. On one side or other there was sure to be _something_ to look
at, and Ferdy was quick to find interest in everything. He loved to see
the school children, some of whom were already known to him, some whom
he learnt to know by sight from watching them pass.
But one boyish figure he missed. All this time Jesse Piggot had never
been seen. Miss Lilly had looked out for him, as Ferdy had asked her to
do, but in vain. And it was not till within a day or two of a month
since the accident that she heard from some of the Draymoor people that
the boy had been taken off "on a job" by one of his rough cousins at the
colliery village.
"And no good will it do him neither," added the woman. "That's a lad as
needs putting up to no manner o' mischief, as my master says."
"Wasn't it a pity to take him away from Farmer Meare's?" Miss Lilly
added.
"They hadn't really room for him there," said the woman. "But Farmer
Meare is a good man. He says he'll take the poor lad back again after a
bit when there'll be more work that he can do."
Miss Lilly told this over to the children the next day. Ferdy looked up
with interest in his eyes.
"I hope he will come back again soon," he said. "You know, Miss Lilly, I
never finished talking about him to you. I was thinking of him again a
lot yesterday; it was the birds, they _were_ chattering so when I was
alone in the afternoon. I was half asleep, I think, and hearing them
reminded me in a dreamy way of birds' nests and eggs, and then, through
that, of Jesse Piggot and what the fairy story put in my head about
him."
"What was it?" asked Miss Lilly.
"It's rather difficult to explain," Ferdy replied. "I was thinking, you
see, that if I never get well and strong again I wouldn't seem any use
to anybody. It _does_ seem as if some people were no use. And Jesse
Piggot seems always in everybody's way, as if there was no place for
him, though quite different from me, of course, for everybody's so kind
to me. And then I thought of the stones, and how they all fitted in, and
I wondered what I could get to do, and I thought perhaps I might help
Jesse some way."
Miss Lilly looked at Ferdy. There was a very kind light in her eyes.
"Yes, Ferdy dear," she said. "I think I understand. When Jesse comes
back we must talk more about it, and perhaps we shall find out some way
of fitting him into his place. Stop dear, I think I had better look at
your knitting; you are getting it a little too tight on the needles."
Ferdy handed it to her with a little sigh. He did not care very much for
knitting, and he had also a feeling that it was girls' work. But it had
been very difficult to find any occupation for him, as he could not go
on making moss baskets always, and knitting seemed the best thing for
the moment. He was now making a sofa blanket for his mother, in stripes
of different colours, and Miss Lilly and Christine were helping him with
it, as it would otherwise have been too long a piece of work.
"I'm rather tired of knitting," he said, "now that I know how to do it.
I liked it better at first, but there's no planning about it now."
"We must think of a change of work for you before long," said Miss
Lilly, as she quickly finished a row so as to get the stitches rather
looser again. "Don't do any more this morning, Ferdy. Lie still and
talk. Tell me about the birds chattering."
"They are so sweet and funny," said Ferdy. "Sometimes I fancy I'm
getting to know their different voices. And there's one that stands just
at the corner of the window-sill outside, that I really think I could
draw. I know the look of him so well. Or I'll tell you what," he went
on. "I could _figure_ him, I'm sure I could, better than draw him."
"_Figure_ him! what do you mean?" said Chrissie. "What funny words you
say, Ferdy."
"Do you mean modelling it?" asked Miss Lilly. "Have you ever seen any
modelling?"
"No," said Ferdy, "I don't understand."
"I mean using some soft stuff, like clay or wax, and shaping it, partly
with your fingers and partly with tools," replied Miss Lilly. "I don't
know much about it, but I remember one of my brothers doing something of
the kind."
Ferdy reflected.
"It does sound rather fun," he said, "but I didn't mean that. I meant
cutting--with a nice sharp knife and soft wood. I am sure I could figure
things that way. I know what made me think of it. It was a story about
the village boys in Switzerland, who cut out things in the winter
evenings."
"You mean carving," said Christine; "you shouldn't call it cutting. Yes,
I've always thought it must be lovely work, but you would need to be
awfully clever to do it."
"I'd like to try," said the boy. "When my sofa's put up a little higher
at the back, the way Mr. Stern lets it be now, I can use my hands quite
well. You needn't be afraid I'd cut myself. Oh, it _would_ be jolly to
cut out birds, and stags' heads, and things like that!"
"Stags' heads would be awfully difficult," said Christine, "because of
the sticking-out horns--they're just like branches with lots of twigs on
them. What is it you call them, Miss Lilly?"
"Antlers, isn't that what you mean?" Miss Lilly replied. "Yes, they
would be very difficult. You would have to begin with something much
simpler, Ferdy."
"I suppose I thought of stags because the Swiss boys in the story cut
out stags' heads," said Ferdy. "I think I'd try a swallow's head. When I
shut my eyes I can see one quite plain. Miss Lilly, don't you think I
might try to _draw_ one? If I had a piece of paper and a nice pencil--"
Just then the door opened and his mother came in. Her face brightened up
as soon as she caught sight of Ferdy's cheerful expression and heard his
eager tone--it was always so now. Since the accident Mrs. Ross seemed a
kind of mirror of her boy; if he was happy and comfortable her anxious
face grew smooth and peaceful; if he had had a bad night, or was tired,
or in pain, she looked ten years older.
And Miss Lilly, who, though still quite young herself, was very
thoughtful and sensible, saw this with anxiety.
"It will never do for things to go on like this," she said to herself,
"the strain will break down poor Mrs. Ross. And if Ferdy is never to be
quite well again, or even if it takes a long time for him to recover, it
will get worse and worse. We must try to find something for him to do
that will take him out of himself, as people say,--something that will
make him feel himself of use, poor dear, as he would like to be. I
wonder if my grandfather could speak to Mrs. Ross and make her see that
she should try not to be always so terribly anxious."
For old Dr. Lilly was a very wise man. In his long life he had acquired
a great deal of knowledge besides "book-learning"; he had learnt to read
human beings too.
But just now Miss Lilly's thoughtful face brightened up also as Ferdy's
mother came in.
"We are talking about wood-carving," she said. "I am going to ask my
grandfather about it. And Ferdy would like to prepare for it by drawing
a little again--he was getting on nicely just before he was ill."
"I'd like a slate," said Ferdy, "because I could rub out so easily; only
drawings on a slate never look pretty--white on black isn't right."
"_I_ know what," exclaimed Christine. "Mamma, do let us get Ferdy one of
those beautiful white china slates--a big one, the same as your little
one that lies on the hall table for messages."
Ferdy's eyes sparkled with pleasure.
"That would do lovelily," he said.
So it was arranged that Christine should drive with her mother that
afternoon to the nearest town--not Whittingham, but a smaller town in
another direction, called Freston, in quest of a good-sized white china
slate.