IN WHICH WE BEGIN TO REALIZE HOW CONVENIENT IT IS TO HAVE A PERSON
LIKE FLIP ABOUT THE PLACE, ESPECIALLY WHEN THERE IS NOTHING MUCH TO
DO; ALSO WE HEAR OF MR. MORIARITY AND THE FAIRY WHO DID NOT HAVE A
RED CHIN BEARD AND A BALD HEAD
It was really quite surprising to learn how easily Flip could be
depended upon. When it rained, Martha Mary would only need to say:
“Please, do you think we might have a story?” And Flip would lead the
way to the fireplace and, before you half knew it, you were in the
middle of a delightful story. Or Liza might tumble into the ash can and
hurt her nose. She would cry dreadfully--and Flip would cure the damage
with a story. John might go sailing on the lake Ocean and leave no one
to be Captain of the land army. Away the army--Martha Mary, Walter,
Edward Lee, and Liza--would go to Flip for sympathy--and Flip’s
sympathy would be a story. Best of all were the stories he told in the
Runaway Place where the poppies grew, lying on a small stack of hay,
with his cap on his toe. There were so many told there that I hardly
know which to tell to you first. Perhaps you would like the one about
Mr. Moriarity.
“Of course you know,” said Flip, “that every child has a fairy just
as there is a fairy for every flower. But what I am going to tell you
is much more surprising than that. Every grown-up, no matter how big
or important he may be, has just as nice a fairy in charge of his
affairs. The fairies of the grown-ups do not show themselves nearly as
often as flowers or children fairies. You see, grown-ups have not the
time to think of such things. Furthermore, they are usually ashamed
to recognize them, and of course the fairies are proud and will not
go where they are not wanted. Would you believe that Father has a
perfectly lovely fairy and there is another little, golden-winged one
that belongs to Mother Dear? Well, there is! I have never seen them,
but there must be. You see, Fairies are dreams, and everybody has
dreams; even Mr. Moriarity, the green grocer.
“Mr. Moriarity’s fairy was the prettiest little fairy you have ever
seen. Guess why? Because fairies do not take after their owners’ looks.
If they did, Mr. Moriarity’s fairy would have to be a little red-faced
creature with a red chin beard and watery blue eyes and a bald
head. But fairies take after their owners’ dreams, and this was Mr.
Moriarity’s dream: He wanted to be a great musician and play music that
would make all the world glad. He had always loved music; in the olden
days in Kerry County, when he was no larger than John, he used to creep
out of his bed at night, tiptoe into the barn, and hide in the straw
to listen to Tim, his big brother, sing about a girl called Kathleen
Mavourneen, and Peggy Machree, and The Low Back Car to the cows and
pigs. The cows would moo and the pigs would squeal their applause, and
then Mr. Moriarity, who was called Andy in those days, would tiptoe
back to his blankets and hide his head and sing Peggy Machree in a tiny
voice. It was not at all good music, but it made him feel good. So he
dreamed about the day that he should be a great musician and all the
people would clap and the pigs squeal and the cows moo when he played.
He wanted to play the violin because it sounds like the wind singing in
the heather, but violins cost a great deal of money and lessons cost
more, and Andy’s father was only a poor vegetable grower near the bogs.
So it looked as though Andy would never be rich enough to have his
dream. His fairy became unhappy and pale, because music fairies are the
frailest, most delicate little things, and lovely melodies are sunshine
for them.
“One day Andy was out in the heart of the moor listening to the wind in
the purple heather and singing a song that he had made all himself. His
fairy was sitting on a wild rosebush listening to the music. I know I
have a perfectly awful voice, but this is the song he sang:
“‘The wild rose is my fairy love, my lady love, my pretty love.
The wild rose is my fairy love and I don’t care who knows it.
She dances for the moorland green, the Irish green, the hillside
green,
And smiles and smiles and smiles upon the breeze that blows it.’
“Now, what do you think happened as he sang? Across the moor came a
large, fat man with a violin case under his arm, and a smile upon his
face. He hid in the heather until Andy had stopped singing, then came
out and sat down in front of him, and the big man and the small boy
talked about music. Then the big man took out his brown old violin and
put it to his chin and began to play. Andy leaned back and closed his
eyes and discovered the strangest thing! He could see just as well
with his eyes closed as with them open. And this is what he saw! First
the heather commenced to quiver as though the breeze were blowing from
all four sides; then the twigs parted and out came his own fairy, all
dressed in brown and gold. She danced a skipping dance on the twigs,
then stamped her tiny foot rather impatiently and clapped her hands.
The twigs parted again and out came another fairy, a boy fairy, dressed
in grey and gold, and he took her hand and they danced together. Then
the boy fairy sang the very same song that Andy had sung, and down
from the East Wind came a whole world of little fairies, all gold and
silver, with spiderweb wings and dresses of every color. They danced
here and there and everywhere, the wildest, loveliest dance there ever
was. Up and down and backwards and forwards, in circles and fairy rings
they swung and then the heather began to sway and the wild rosebush to
bend and the green grass to wave and all the fields danced to the fairy
measure. Andy jumped up, threw his brown cap into the air, and crowed
like a rooster. He folded his arms then and danced with them, a dance
that was a jig and a hornpipe and a reel and a minuet all in one. The
big man laughed as though he were ashamed and put away his violin and
would play no more. But Andy told him how much he loved music, and what
do you think? The wonderful man was so pleased that he told Andy to
come to him every night and he should learn to play on the violin that
was two hundred years old. Andy was so excited that he forgot to feed
the pigs that night and hardly ate any bread himself. Off he skipped
after dinner to the house across the moor for his first lesson. But
when he played it did not sound at all nice. The big man said time
would change things, and it was time that spoiled things, after all.
Andy learned the C scale and the F sharp scale pretty well. But scales
were not the kind of music he had dreamed of and he became tired of
practicing. That ended things. He never practiced nor even learned the
octave stretch. This was all his own fault, because his fingers were
very lively and long, but that would not do any good without training.
Finally, one night the big man became discouraged and said there was no
use wasting time with a boy who would not help himself, so Andy’s music
lessons ended.
“Many years passed and Andy came to California and became a green
grocer. His music fairy hated money and business so much that she
almost died. One evening in the Spring Andy came home, cross and tired
from selling lettuce, and would not talk to his wife or five children
at all. He went out into the poppy field and lay down and went to
sleep. And there he dreamed the very same dream that had come to him
when the big man had played on the moor. Down on the sea breeze came
the gold and silver and many-colored fairies and they skipped and
danced and bowed and pirouetted in a perfect dance of Spring. Up jumped
old Moriarity, forgetting all about his rheumatism, and he danced with
the fairies just as he had done when he was a boy. Right in the middle
of it, when his face was all red and his eyes burning, out came Mrs.
Moriarity and she held her hands on her hips and stared. But all of
a sudden she caught Andy’s eye and he laughed, so up she pulled her
skirts to her knees and commenced to dance with him, singing at the top
of her voice all about Paddy Dear. She made such a noise that out came
the five Moriarity children and they could hardly believe their eyes,
for they had never seen their mother and father act that way before.
But there was no need of worrying; out into the poppy field they
skipped and there, by the light of Lady Rumdidoodledum and a million
other stars, danced Mr. Moriarity and Mrs. Moriarity and the five
little Moriaritys, with oodles and oodles of fairies. All of a sudden
Mrs. Moriarity felt a stitch in her side and she stopped and took Mr.
Moriarity by the ear and led him into the house. Moriarity’s fairy was
so happy that she laughed and wept all night.
“So now, whenever things go a little bit wrong, Moriarity throws
aside his vegetable bag, calls his wife and children, and out to the
fields they go to dance in the evening light. Moriarity sings Kathleen
Mavourneen and Peggy Machree and The Low Back Car, and out come all
the fairies and dance, too. Of course, Mr. Moriarity’s voice is still
pretty bad, so the cows all moo and the pigs all squeal, but the
poppies smile and the wild rose bows and the fairies are happy as happy
can be.”