A PAIR OF CRUTCHES
Aunt Rachel's plan was entered into most heartily by both boys, and
Graham became so much interested as to act as express agent on his own
account, going to the city with what he called his first load of berries
and flowers; but on his return was so silent and uncommunicative that
Phil asked him if anything had gone wrong.
"Don't ask me to tell you what I saw," said he, in reply; "it was more
than I could stand." Then, as if sorry for his short answer, he added,
"It was the most pitiful thing in the world--such a lot of little pale
faces all together! and when I came to give them their share, as the
lady in charge told me to do, I cried right out like any baby--there,
now! But you have no idea how they brightened up, and how glad they
looked when they took the posies. I don't want to go again, though,
unless Miss Rachel asks me to. I shall see those poor wizened little
things as long as I live. I am going to sell all my pets this fall and
give the money to St. Luke's Hospital, and I shall sell every egg my
chickens lay, for the same purpose."
After that Phil asked no more questions, but worked harder than ever at
his drawings, and as the season advanced, and flowers and fruit grew
more abundant, they were able to despatch a basket twice a week.
Every day was filled with new life and pleasure. Increasing strength
alone would have been a source of happiness, but in addition to this
Phil had the benefit of Aunt Rachel's loving-kindness, Lisa's nursing,
Joe's good offices, and Graham's pleasant, friendly attentions. Then he
was learning constantly something new, with eyes and ears, from the book
of nature, with all its wonderful pictures, and from the other books
allowed him.
Driving behind old Slow Coach and floating on the lake in the _Flyaway_
were some of the delights, and when more visitors came, and two charming
young cousins of Aunt Rachel made the house resound with melody, Phil
thought his happiness complete. But a new surprise was in store for him
when, after repeated consultations and measurements and whisperings, a
huge parcel was brought to his room, and Aunt Rachel and Lisa took off
the wrappings. Neither of them looked particularly joyful as a pair of
stout crutches made their appearance, but their faces changed
wonderfully when Phil gave a cry of glee, and said, hilariously, "Now I
can walk! now I can walk!"
He was eager to use his new helps, but it took a longer time than he had
imagined to get accustomed to them, and it was many weeks before he
could go down the garden paths (followed by Nep with much gravity, as if
Phil were in his especial care) with desirable ease.
Coming in from one of these rather tiresome attempts one warm morning,
and hearing music and voices in the parlor, Phil strayed into the
dining-room, which was darkened and cool, and fragrant with fresh
flowers. He lay down on a lounge, with his crutches beside him, and was
listening to the pretty waltz being played in the other room, when he
thought he saw a tiny creature light upon one of his crutches. Supposing
it, however, to be a butterfly, he watched it in a sleepy, dreamy
fashion, until it approached more nearly, and these words startled him:
"You do not know me?" said a tiny voice, rather reproachfully.
"What! is it you, my dear little wind fairy?" he asked. "I never dreamed
that I should see you again. How did you get here?"
"Blown here, to be sure, as I always am, only I have to pilot myself, or
what would be the use of having wings? I came on some thistle-down this
time, for I wanted to have another peep at you, and I have had hard work
to follow you in here, I assure you; but the vibrations of that lovely
music helped me, and here I am. Do not talk--let me do it all. I never
have much time, you know, and I want to thank you for your goodness in
taking my advice, and helping some of my little sick friends. You do not
begin to know what good you have done--nobody does; but doing good is
very like the big snowballs that children make in winter--a little ball
at first, but as they roll, it grows bigger and bigger, almost of
itself, until it is more than one can manage. So it has been with your
kind action: many have imitated it, and flowers come now to the
hospitals by the bushel. Not only children, but grown people, sad with
suffering, have been cheered and benefited. And you too are growing
strong: how glad I am to see it! Your cheeks are tinged with just a
delicate bloom, and you have grown taller. Ah, the country is the place
for you children! I saw one of your sketches in the hospital the other
day, hung under a little cross made of moss; it was a water-lily, and
out of it was stepping some one who looked like me. The child who owned
it said it came to her tied to some roses. She did not know I heard her;
she was telling a visitor, and she said it made her happy every time she
looked at it. That was a pretty thought of yours. This is my last visit
for a long while. I am to be sent off to fan her Royal Highness, the
Queen of Kind Wishes, when her coronation takes place. She lives in her
palace of Heart's Ease, in a far-away island. I am to sail part of the
way in a nautilus--one of those lovely shells you have seen, I dare
say."
"No," said Phil, "I never saw one. And so you are going away--"
"Never saw a nautilus!" interrupted the fairy, as if afraid Phil was
going to be doleful over her departure. "It looks like a ship, for all
the world, and it _is_ a ship for me, but it would not hold you--oh no!
not such a gigantic creature as a boy"; and the fairy laughed aloud.
"Dear me," said Phil; "no more visits, no more fairy stories. What will
I do?"
"Shall I tell you just one more story before I say good-bye?"
"Please do."
"Well, shut your eyes and listen."
Phil obeyed, and the fairy began:
"In the days when fairies had much more power than they now have, there
lived in a little house on the edge of a wood haunted by elves and
brownies a boy named Arthur. He was a bright, handsome lad, but a little
lazy, and much more fond of pleasure than of work; and he had a way of
flinging himself down in the woods to lounge and sleep when his mother
at home was waiting for him to come back with a message, or to do some
little promised task. Now the fairies knew this, and it displeased them;
for they are as busy as bees, and do not like idleness. Besides, as one
bad habit leads to another, Arthur, in his lounging ways, would often do
great damage to the fairies' flower-beds, switching off the heads of
wild-flowers in the most ruthless fashion, and even pulling them up by
the roots when he felt like it.
"One day he had been indulging this whim without any motive, hardly even
thinking what he was doing, when he began to feel very strangely: a
slight chill made him shiver; his eyes felt as if they were coming out
of his head, his legs as if they were getting smaller and smaller; he
had an irresistible desire to hop, and he was very thirsty. There was a
rivulet near, and instead of walking to it he leaped, and stooping to
drink, he saw himself reflected in its smooth surface. No longer did he
see Arthur; no longer was he a mortal boy. Instead of this, a frog--a
green speckled frog, with great bulging eyes and a fishy mouth--looked
up at him. He tried to call, to shout, but in vain; he could only croak,
and this in the most dismal manner. What was he to do? Sit and stare
about him, try to catch flies, plunge down into the mud--charming
amusements for the rest of his life! A little brown bird hopped down for
a drink from the rivulet; she stooped and rose, stooped and rose, again
and again.
"A great green tear rolled down from the frog's bulging eye, and
splashed beside the bird's drinking-place. She looked up in alarm, and
said, in the sweetest voice imaginable, 'Can I do anything to assist
you?'
"'I am sure I don't know,' croaked Arthur, hoarse as if he had been born
with a sore throat.
"'But what _is_ the matter?' persisted the little brown bird, as more
green tears splashed beside her.
"'The matter is that I am a frog, I suppose,' said Arthur, rather
rudely.
"'Well, what of that?' still said the little bird. 'Frogs are very
respectable.'
"'Are they, indeed; then I'd rather not be respectable,' said Arthur.
"'You shock me,' said the bird.
"'I don't wonder; it has been a great shock to me,' responded Arthur.
"'What has?' said the bird.
"'Being a frog,' replied Arthur.
"'Have you not always? Oh no; I presume you were once a tadpole; all
frogs are at first.'
"'Indeed I never was a tadpole,' said Arthur, indignantly; and then, it
seeming somewhat a funny idea to him, he began to laugh in the hoarsest,
croakiest _kerthumps_, which brought him to his senses again. Then he
added, to the little brown bird which fluttered about him in some
agitation, 'No, I never was a tadpole--I was a boy named Arthur a few
moments ago.'
"'Aha!' twittered the little brown bird, 'I see now: you have been
bewitched.'
"'I suppose so,' said Arthur, 'and I would gladly be bewitched into a
boy again, if that would do any good.'
"'I must try and see what I can do for you. I am very busy repairing my
nest--it was injured in the last storm; but I will go as soon as I can
to see one of the herb elves, and find out what is to be done. You must
have displeased them very much.'
"'You are very kind,' replied Arthur, taking no notice of the latter
words.
"'Oh no, not at all; it is a pleasure,' said the little brown bird.
"'Can I do anything for you?' asked Arthur, roused into politeness by
the pleasant manners of his little friend.
"'You might gather some twigs or moss. Oh no, it would be all wet, and I
should have great bother in drying it,' said the little house-keeper. 'I
am equally obliged, but you had better just stay quiet and keep cool
till I return'; and she flew softly away.
"'I can keep cool enough,' repeated Arthur; 'when one's legs are in the
water, it would be pretty hard to do anything else.'
"It seemed dreadfully long to wait, when all he could do was to wink and
yawn and gobble flies, and yet lounging in the woods and killing flowers
had never seemed tedious when he was a boy. He tried to go to sleep, but
was in too great a bewilderment to quietly close his eyes in slumber, so
he gazed at the brook, and wondered when the little brown bird would
reappear."