handkerchiefs, anyway? To think that after I’ve tried so hard, and
brought one of ’em here at last, she wants to go right away home,
before she’s been here ten minutes! They’re all alike, that’s what it
is. They don’t like me, and they run away from me, and when one of
’em comes here at last she wants to go right off home again. There
ain’t one of ’em can abide the sight of me, and it’s a cruel shame,
that’s what it is. It’s _cruel_. Oh, dear, I’m going to cry again--I
just _know_ I am--it’s coming on--I can feel it--_where_ are those
handkerchiefs, anyway?”
[Illustration: “I CAN SEE HER PEEKING IN THROUGH THE DOOR.”]
He opened another drawer, and rummaged about inside, and then sat
down on a chair with his head on his hands.
“Plague take it,” said he, “I just _know_ I’m going to cry. And
there’s no handkerchiefs in the house. _Why_ do they all run away
from me? And she wants to go home before she’s been here ten minutes,
and there’s no handkerchiefs in the house--boo-hoo-hoo!”
“I believe he’s crying,” said a voice outside.
“I believe he is, brother, I believe he is,” said another voice.
“How would it do to go in?” said the first voice.
“That’s a very clever idea, brother, very clever,” said the other
voice.
The front door opened, and in walked the two gnomes.
“I believe she’s here, too, brother Nibby,” said Malkin. “I can see
her peeking in through the door.”
“Then,” said brother Nibby, “I wonder why she doesn’t come in?”
“I _will_ come in,” said Merrimeg. “Oh, but I’m glad you’ve come!”
And she stepped into the room.
“But she wants to go home!” said the Rag-Bone Man, wiping his eyes
and nose with the back of his hand. “Have you got a dry handkerchief?”
“Have you got a handkerchief, brother Nibby?” said Malkin.
“Oh dear no,” said Nibby. “I always forget it.”
“Do you know where you left it, brother?” said Malkin.
“Oh dear yes,” said Nibby. “In the ice box under the kitchen sink.”
“Then please!” said the Rag-Bone Man. “Please! Take me there and
give it to me! Oh, oh! When I think of all the children running away
from me, and now she wants to go home, and no handkerchiefs in the
house,--I’m going to cry again, I’m going to cry again, I just _know_
it!” And sure enough, he began to cry, harder than ever.
“Maybe he’d feel better,” said Malkin, “if we took him home and got
him a handkerchief.”
“Maybe he would, there’s something in that,” said Nibby.
“Then let’s do it,” said Malkin.
“But oh, dear!” said the Rag-Bone Man, pointing at Merrimeg. “I can’t
leave _her_ here. She’d run away.”
“Then we’d better take her with us, brother Nibby,” said Malkin.
“What do you say?”
“Just what I was thinking,” said Nibby. “You took the words out of my
mouth.”
“All right,” said the Rag-Bone Man. “When I’ve gotten the
handkerchief I’ll bring her back again. Now then,” said he to
Merrimeg, picking up his bag, “jump into the sack. Quick. Will you,
or won’t you?”
“No, no!” said Merrimeg. “I don’t like the sack. I won’t!”
“Not very polite to-day, brother Nibby,” said Malkin. “I think she
ought to do what the gentleman says.”
“You’re right, brother, you’re always right,” said Nibby.
“Well,” said Merrimeg, “if you say I ought to do it, I will. But I
don’t want to.”
She stepped into the bag, and at that moment a voice sounded from the
back door. “No, no! Don’t go away!”
[Illustration]
It was little Rags, in her nightgown. She ran to Merrimeg and threw
her arms around her and clung to her tight.
“Don’t go, don’t go!” cried little Rags. “Don’t leave me! Stay and
play with me! Oh please, oh please!”
“She’s coming back,” said her father. “I’ll bring her back as soon as
I get the handkerchief. She’d run away if I left her here. She’ll be
back.”
Merrimeg put her arm around little Rags and kissed her.
“Good-by,” said she. “Don’t cry. I’ve got to go now. Don’t cry.
Good-by.”
The Rag-Bone Man pulled the sack up over Merrimeg and hoisted it up
on his back.
“Don’t go, don’t go!” said little Rags, and put her head down on her
arm.
The door closed behind the Rag-Bone Man and his sack, and the two
gnomes; and little Rags in her nightgown stood all alone in the room,
weeping.
The Rag-Bone Man walked so far and so long that Merrimeg fell asleep
in the sack. When she woke up she was standing on the mossy roof of
the gnomes’ house, rubbing her eyes; and in a moment they were all
four going down the ladder into the gnomes’ kitchen.
Nibby ran to the ice box under the sink, and put his hand in.
“It’s no use, brother, it isn’t here,” said Nibby.
“Then we’d better look somewhere else, brother,” said Malkin.
They looked in the coffeepot, and the bread box, and in the oven, and
everywhere; but they couldn’t find the handkerchief.
“Oh, dear!” said the Rag-Bone Man. “It’s enough to make a person cry
his eyes out, that’s what it is. Oh, what a day I’ve had! What are
you going to do now?”
“_I’ll_ tell you,” said Merrimeg. “I left a lot of them in the apple
orchard at home, and they’re all dry by now. Let’s go there!”
“Do you think they’re dry?” said the Rag-Bone Man.
“Of course they are!” said Merrimeg. “Come along! Hurry!”
She led them up the ladder, and when they were outside she got
into the sack again. The Rag-Bone Man swung her onto his back, and
before very long she was dropped to the ground with a bump, and she
got out of the sack. They were standing in the apple orchard behind
her house, and there on the ground were the handkerchiefs, where the
Rag-Bone Man had thrown them.
The Rag-Bone Man picked them up. They were wet.
“Oh, dear! oh, dear!” he cried. “They’re all wet! I _knew_ they
wouldn’t be dry! They’re no earthly good! What’ll I do? No
handkerchiefs, and all the children running away from me, and--Oh,
dear! I’m going to cry again! Oh, what a day I’ve had! What’ll I do?
What’ll I _do_?”
“Bless my soul, brother Nibby,” said Malkin. “_I_ know where our
handkerchief is. I put it there myself. It’s in the handkerchief box
on the bureau. I wonder why we didn’t think to look for it there?”
“I believe you’re right, brother,” said Nibby. “It’s the last place
I would have thought of looking for it.”
“Then we’d better take him back to get it before he cries again,”
said Nibby. “Let’s go.”
“Oh, dear!” said the Rag-Bone Man. “_Such_ a lot of running back and
forth in the middle of the night! Come along,” he said to Merrimeg,
“jump into the sack again, and let’s go back. Oh, dear! So much
trouble, nothing but trouble! Quick, jump into the sack.”
“No, no!” cried Merrimeg, starting to run. “I’m home now. I’m not
going back! Good-by!” And she ran away as fast as her feet would
carry her, through the apple orchard, across the cabbage garden, and
in at the kitchen door.
“Funny how we came to bring her back right to her own home, brother,”
said Malkin.
“Very funny, very funny indeed,” said Nibby.
“Oh! oh! oh!” said the Rag-Bone Man. “What’ll my poor little Rags do
now? Oh, what a terrible day I’ve had! Oh, dear! oh, dear!”
He put his head down and burst out crying, and the two gnomes led him
away.
In the front room, Merrimeg’s mother was sitting at the window sewing.
“Well,” she said. “I thought you were never coming home! I told you
not to stay at Tish’s so late. Did you have a nice supper? Get ready
for bed, and next time don’t stay so long.”
“Yes, mother,” said Merrimeg.
[Illustration: MERRIMEG AND THE APPLE-SEED ELF]
_MERRIMEG AND THE APPLE-SEED ELF_
Merrimeg was sitting in an apple tree in the orchard. She sat there
as still as a mouse.
Her mother came to the kitchen door and called: “Merrimeg!”
But Merrimeg sat in the apple tree as quiet as a mouse; and answered
never a word.
“Merrimeg!” called her mother. “Where are you?”
Still Merrimeg said nothing. It was not one of her days to be good.
“Come dry the dishes! Come dry the dishes!” called her mother.
But Merrimeg did not want to dry dishes, so she sat in the apple tree
among the green leaves and red apples, and said never a word.
Her mother went back into the kitchen, and closed the door behind
her.
Then Merrimeg reached out her hand and plucked the biggest and
reddest apple near her, and took a great bite out of it.
“Oh, you naughty child!” piped up a little thin squeaking voice. “Are
you trying to bite my head off?”
She looked at the apple in her hand, and there, in the place where
she had bitten it, was a tiny head with little black eyes.
“Let me out!” cried the voice again. “Suppose you’d bitten my head
off, what then, eh?”
Merrimeg held up the apple and looked close at the tiny head.
“I’m sorry,” said she. “How can I let you out?”
“Why, you stupid thing,” said the little creature, “_eat_ me out, of
course!”
“Oh!” said Merrimeg, and she carefully ate all around the outside of
the apple, and out came into her hand the tiniest little man in the
world, no bigger than an apple core, and dressed in a coat made of
apple seeds all fastened together.
“I heard your mother calling you!” said this little elf. “First
you won’t answer your mother, and then you nearly bite my head off.
What do you mean by it?”
[Illustration: MERRIMEG WAS SITTING IN AN APPLE TREE]
“I don’t like to dry dishes,” said Merrimeg.
“Oh, she doesn’t like to dry dishes! Oh, no indeed! She mustn’t do
anything she doesn’t want to do! Not she! I’ll tell you what; I
suppose you’d like to do nothing all day but eat and be outdoors,
and never have to bother about washing and dressing and sweeping and
dusting and running errands,--I suppose that’s what you’d like?”
“Well,” said Merrimeg, “I _would_ like it pretty well. I hate to
sweep and----”
“All right!” cried the Apple-Seed Elf, and he sprang from her hand
onto a branch near her shoulder. “I’ll fix it for you! I’ll see to
it! You’ll never have to dress or do any lessons any more,--now then!
Caterpillar! Go away, child, and come up, caterpillar! Come up,
caterpillar! Come, come, come!”
As he finished saying this, Merrimeg disappeared. There was no little
girl sitting on the branch any longer, but in her place was a fat
yellow caterpillar, wriggling along the bark. She was turned into a
caterpillar, and she would never have to dress herself or learn any
lessons any more.
The Apple-Seed Elf hopped down behind the caterpillar and pushed it
with his foot.
“Ha, ha, ha!” he laughed. “No more dishes to dry for you! Ha, ha!”
At that moment a blackbird swooped down over the caterpillar and made
a dart at it with his beak and nearly got it. But he missed it, just,
and if he hadn’t missed it that would surely have been the end of
Merrimeg forever.
She wasn’t out of danger, however. The blackbird meant to have that
caterpillar, and he came back directly, and this time he swooped down
straight over it and opened his beak and---- But at that instant he
was knocked sideways by something which shot out at him from among
the branches.
It was a tiny lady with gauzy wings, a sparkling little lady, not
quite so big as the blackbird, and she darted at the bird with a
flash like the flash of diamonds, and knocked him sideways just as he
was about to snap up the caterpillar.
“Ha, ha, ha!” laughed the Apple-Seed Elf, still standing on the
branch behind the caterpillar. He seemed to be having a thoroughly
good time.
The blackbird wasn’t going to give up so soon. He dashed at the
caterpillar again, and the sparkling little lady dashed at the
blackbird; and she knocked him sideways, and he flew off and turned
round and came back again. He was the stubbornest blackbird in the
world. He came back a dozen times. And each time the sparkling lady,
with her wings buzzing like a bumblebee’s, knocked him sideways and
sent him off. But the thirteenth time she missed him. Just as he was
pouncing on the caterpillar she flashed by him, too late. She wheeled
around and cried out, “Go away, caterpillar! Come up, butterfly!” And
the caterpillar turned instantly into a beautiful butterfly, and the
butterfly floated away off the branch just in time.
The blackbird snatched up the Apple-Seed Elf in its beak by the back
of his coat, and dashed off with him. The elf screamed and kicked,
but it wasn’t any use; the blackbird flew off with him out of sight
among the trees, and did not come back any more.
Merrimeg was a butterfly, a beautiful butterfly, with pointed wings
all white and blue and brown. It fluttered here and there in the
sunshine for a moment, then it sailed out from the orchard as if it
knew where it was going, and floated off across the cabbage garden to
the kitchen window, and in through the kitchen window straight into
the kitchen, where Merrimeg’s mother was washing the dishes.
“Oh!” said Merrimeg’s mother. “What a beautiful butterfly! I must try
to catch it for Merrimeg.”
The butterfly sailed round the kitchen, and Merrimeg’s mother held up
her apron and tiptoed after it, and almost caught it, but not quite.
It flew off into the front room, and when Merrimeg’s mother came in
it was resting quietly on Merrimeg’s bed, fluttering its wings. Oh,
if that butterfly could only have said one word!
Merrimeg’s mother held her apron over it, but it rose in the air, and
as she ran after it it flew out of the front window into the street
and was gone. Merrimeg’s mother went back to her washing in the
kitchen.
“I wonder where that Merrimeg is,” said she, and she went to the
kitchen door and called, “Merrimeg!” But there was no answer, and she
turned back into the kitchen again, and threw her hands up and said,
“Why, bless me, there’s that butterfly again!”
Sure enough, the butterfly was hovering around, here and there, quite
as if it could not make up its mind to go away. Merrimeg’s mother
held up her apron again and tried to catch it; but she only drove
it into the front room, and when she followed it there, waving her
apron, it flew out of the window into the street.
“Oh, pshaw,” she said, “I can’t bother with you all day.” And she
closed the window.
The butterfly rose higher and sailed off down the street in the
direction of the woods.
Merrimeg’s mother went back to her washing.
Now it happened, after a while, that the two gnomes, brother Malkin
and brother Nibby, were sitting on the moss beside the roof of their
house, with their back against a tree. A butterfly, with pointed
wings all white and blue and brown, came fluttering towards them
through the woods.
It alighted on a bush directly before them, and rested there for a
long time, waving its wings up and down. The gnomes sat staring at
it. Oh, if that butterfly could only have said one word!
Suddenly Malkin looked up at the sky and said:
“What’s that blackbird carrying, brother?”
“Why, I believe it’s--it’s----” began Nibby.
A blackbird was flying just above them, and as they spoke something
dropped from its beak right down onto the bush beside the butterfly.
It was the Apple-Seed Elf.
“Bless my soul, brother,” said Malkin in surprise, but before he
could say anything else the Apple-Seed Elf hopped over to the
butterfly and rubbed his tiny hands quickly over its beautiful wings,
all white and blue and brown.
[Illustration]
“Oh, the wicked little villain!” cried Malkin, and the two gnomes
made a dash at the Elf; but he skipped away in a hurry, laughing “Ha,
ha, ha!” and disappeared from sight under the bush.
The butterfly flapped its wings, trying to fly, but it couldn’t. All
the powder, the soft delicate powder with its beautiful colors, which
covered its wings, was brushed off; and without this powder on its
wings the butterfly could not fly.
The gnomes looked about carefully, and on the leaves of the bush they
found the powder, and they dusted it off into an acorn cup. But they
didn’t know how to put it on again.
“What’ll we do about it?” said Nibby.
“We’d better go to the Paint Shop,” said Malkin.
“That’s a good idea, brother,” said Nibby. “I declare you do think of
everything.”
“Then let’s go,” said Malkin, and he picked up the poor butterfly
gently. It wasn’t beautiful any longer, and it couldn’t fly.
“I’ll carry the powder,” said Nibby, and he took the acorn cup in
his hands, full of a powder all white and blue and brown, mixed up
together.
They made off through the woods as fast as they could. By and by they
came to a brook, and on the other side of the brook, among the trees,
was a tiny house, with an open door no taller than the gnomes, and
over the door was a sign, and it said:
“Butterflies Painted Here.”
The gnomes crossed the brook and went in at the little door; and as
they did so a big butterfly, gorgeously painted, came flying out.
Inside, in a little room, a little old man with a long white beard
and goggle-eyes was sitting behind a little table. On the table
before him was row after row of acorn cups, hundreds of them, each
one filled with a colored powder, and every color different from
all the others. The little old man was a Painter of Butterflies. He
dipped a tiny hair brush into one of the cups of powder, and said:
“Wait a minute, please. I’ve got to finish this wing.”
A butterfly was lying on the table before him, all finished except
for a spot on one wing; and dozens of other butterflies were waiting
their turns on a bench by the wall; these last had no colors on their
wings at all.
The Painter of Butterflies touched up the wing before him with an
orange-colored powder, and said:
“Now you’ll do. Off with you!”
The butterfly fluttered, rose in the air, and sailed out through the
door.
“You’re next,” said the Painter.
Malkin put down his butterfly on the table, and Nibby laid down his
cup of powder.
“Aha!” said the Painter. “Let me look at that butterfly! Something
queer about that butterfly! Wait a minute!”
He put on a pair of thick shiny spectacles and bent down over the
butterfly.
“Aha!” he said. “I thought so! This isn’t a butterfly. I ought to
know a butterfly when I see one. This is something else entirely. Did
you ever see a butterfly with a pink sash?”
He took off his spectacles and gave them to the gnomes, and they
looked at the butterfly through the spectacles, one after the other.
There, around the butterfly’s body, was a thread of pink ribbon, tied
with a bow. When they took the spectacles off they couldn’t see it
any longer.
“Bless my soul, brother Nibby,” said Malkin, “I believe it’s----”
“I believe it is, brother, I believe it is,” said Nibby. “I’ve seen
her wear a pink sash. However did she get changed into a butterfly?”
The little old Painter picked up the acorn cup which Nibby had
brought, and looked into it.
“Aha!” he said. “White and blue and brown. She must have had a white
skin and blue eyes and brown hair. Wait a minute.”
He poured the powder from the cup onto the table, and held his brush
over it.
“White, white, come up!” he said; and all the white powder flew up
onto the brush. He painted the butterfly’s wings with this, so that
they became white all over.
“Blue, blue, come up!” he said, and all the blue powder flew up onto
the brush. With this he painted a round blue eye on each wing.
“Brown, brown, come up!” he said, and the brown powder flew up on to
the brush. With this he painted brown streaks like hair on each wing.
“Now,” he said, “fly!”
The butterfly rose and flew around the room, and then settled down on
Nibby’s shoulder.
“That’s done,” said the Painter, “now we’d better go and see old
Sappy the Owl about it.”
He got up, and the two gnomes followed him out of the door, the
butterfly coming along on Nibby’s shoulder.
They came, after a while, to a great hollow oak tree in the woods,
and the Painter stuck his head into a hole at the bottom of the tree
and shouted up inside: “Sappy! Come down!” Then he stood up, and in a
moment a large gray owl was standing in the opening at the bottom of
the tree.
“Here’s a butterfly with a pink sash,” said the Painter.
“We’d better tell him, brother,” said Malkin, “about the Elf with
the apple-seed coat, who brushed all the powder off the butterfly’s
wings.”
“Suppose you tell him, brother,” said Nibby. But Sappy didn’t wait to
be told; he had evidently heard all he needed to hear. He gave a
slow wink with one eye, ruffled his feathers, and flew away among the
trees without a word.
[Illustration: THE TWO GNOMES FOLLOWED HIM OUT OF THE DOOR]
“He’ll be back,” said the Painter, and in a little while old Sappy
came back, and he was carrying in his beak the Apple-Seed Elf.
“Let me go!” cried the Elf, kicking and squirming, and owl dropped
him to the ground and stood over him.
“What do you want?” piped the Elf, evidently frightened almost to
death.
“Say the words!” growled the owl, in a deep hoarse voice. “Say the
words that’ll change the butterfly back again, and say ’em before I
count ten, or else I’ll eat you. One, two, three, four,----”
The Apple-Seed Elf started to scamper off through the grass, but the
owl put his foot on him, quick as a wink.
“Five, six, seven,----”
“Let me go!” cried the Elf, struggling to get loose.
“Eight, nine,----”
“Go away, butterfly!” cried the Elf, in his shrill voice. “Come up,
child! Go away, butterfly! Come up, child!”
The minute he had said this, Nibby cried out, “My stars, brother,
here’s a go!” And there, on Nibby’s shoulder, in place of the
butterfly, sat Merrimeg herself, with her feet dangling to the ground.
“Let me go!” screamed the Apple-Seed Elf, and Sappy the Owl gave him
a kick with his foot and sent him off scampering through the grass.
“I believe she’s here, brother,” said Malkin.
“I’m sure of it, brother, I’m sure of it,” said Nibby, as Merrimeg
slipped from his shoulder and stood on her feet.
“Take me home!” said Merrimeg. “Take me home quick! Don’t stand there
all day, I want to go home!”
“Not very polite to-day, brother Nibby,” said Malkin.
“Not very, indeed,” said Nibby.
“Excuse me,” said Merrimeg, “but my mother’s been calling me, and I
mustn’t keep her waiting.”
“Well,” said the little old Painter of Butterflies, “I guess I’d
better get back to my work.”
“Why don’t you go, then?” growled Sappy the Owl.
“I _must_ go,” said Merrimeg. “Mother wants me to help her with the
dishes, and there’s some sweeping to be done, too, and----”
“Come along, brother,” said Malkin, and the two gnomes led Merrimeg
away in the direction of their house.
When they reached it, Merrimeg thanked them, very politely, and
ran away home; and when she opened the kitchen door her mother was
peeling the potatoes for supper.
“Why, Merrimeg!” said her mother. “Wherever have you been? I’ve been
looking for you everywhere. Will you sit down and finish peeling
these potatoes for me?”
“Yes, mother,” said Merrimeg.
[Illustration: MERRIMEG AND THE MAY-DEW]
_MERRIMEG AND THE MAY-DEW_
“Don’t be long,” said Merrimeg’s mother.
“No, mother,” said Merrimeg, and she ran off down the village street,
into the woods.
It was May-day, and she was going May-dewing. You know if you wash
your face with dew, early on May-morning, it will keep you fair and
sweet to look on, almost forever. That is what she was going to do.
She didn’t do it at once, however, because she had to run after a
good many rabbits and squirrels. She stopped out of breath beside a
pretty little brook, and then she bethought herself that she hadn’t
yet washed her face with May-dew. The woods were all about her, and
the brook was dropping down over its stones between moss and ferns.
It was singing a little song to itself. Merrimeg stopped to listen.
She dipped her bare foot in the water, and as she did so she noticed
that there was a waterfall, quite a tall one, a little way up the
stream, pouring down smoothly into a pool.
She thought she might as well wash her face now with dew, and she
stooped down. At that moment the song of the brook became quite loud,
and she looked up in surprise. From the pool at the bottom of the
waterfall a head was looking out at her, the head of a little girl.
The head nodded at her. Merrimeg stared with both eyes. The head
rose up, and the next moment the little girl that it belonged to was
standing in shallow water to her knees. She was singing. She was
making precisely the same sound as the brook itself, only louder.
She was smaller than Merrimeg. If she hadn’t been so pale, she would
have been very pretty indeed. What looked like the stubs of two wings
stuck out a trifle from her shoulder-blades. Her little slim body was
glistening wet.
She stopped singing, and the instant she did so the brook stopped
singing too. It positively fell silent as a pond.
“I know who you are,” said the little girl. “You’re Merrimeg.”
“Are you--?” said Merrimeg. “Are you a--?”
“Yes, of course. I live under the waterfall. I’m Myrma. I’m the fairy
of this brook. I’m the one that makes it sound as if the brook was
singing. You know the brook can’t sing, really; it’s me. Do you want
to hear me do it?”
Merrimeg said “Yes,” and came closer to her. Myrma the fairy opened
her mouth, and the sound she made was exactly the little song of a
brook, and it seemed to come from the brook itself. She stopped, and
the brook was silent again.
“It’s terribly tiresome,” said Myrma, “but I only have to do it when
there’s somebody around to hear it. You don’t think the brook sings
_all_ the time, do you?”