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+*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 75499 ***
+
+
+
+
+
+By Abbie Farwell Brown
+
+
+  THE STAR JEWELS AND OTHER WONDERS. Illustrated. Square 12mo, $1.00.
+
+  THE FLOWER PRINCESS. Illustrated. Sq. 12mo, $1.00.
+
+  THE CURIOUS BOOK OF BIRDS. Illustrated. Square 12mo, $1.10, _net_.
+    Postpaid, $1.21.
+
+  A POCKETFUL OF POSIES. Illustrated. 12mo, $1.00, _net_. Postpaid,
+    $1.09.
+
+  IN THE DAYS OF GIANTS. Illustrated. 12mo, $1.10, _net_. Postpaid,
+    $1.21. _School edition_, 50 cents, _net_, postpaid.
+
+  THE BOOK OF SAINTS AND FRIENDLY BEASTS. Illustrated. 12mo, $1.25.
+
+  THE LONESOMEST DOLL. Illustrated. Sq. 12mo, 85 cents, _net_.
+    Postpaid, 95 cents.
+
+  HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN & CO.
+  BOSTON AND NEW YORK
+
+
+
+
+  THE STAR JEWELS AND OTHER
+  WONDERS
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration: WAVILOCKS AND THE CRAB (Page 10)]
+
+
+
+
+  THE STAR JEWELS
+  AND OTHER WONDERS
+
+  BY
+  ABBIE FARWELL
+  BROWN
+
+  PICTURES BY ETHEL C. BROWN
+
+  [Illustration]
+
+  BOSTON AND NEW YORK
+  HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY
+  The Riverside Press, Cambridge
+  1905
+
+
+
+
+  COPYRIGHT 1905 BY ABBIE FARWELL BROWN
+
+  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
+
+  _Published September 1905_
+
+
+
+
+_To the Mermaid of the Pink Grotto_
+
+
+
+
+Thanks are due to the publishers of _The Churchman_ for permission
+to reprint “The Star Jewels,” “The Balloon Boy,” “Trees,” and “Child
+or Fairy;” to _The Interior_ for “Karl and the Dryad;” and to _The
+Congregationalist_ for “The Green Cap.”
+
+
+
+
+  “Why nature loves the number five,
+  And why the star-form she repeats.”
+
+
+
+
+FORE-WORD
+
+
+  In the land of Far-away,
+    In the time of Used-to-be,
+  Wonders happened, so folk say,
+    Which we all should like to see.
+
+  But perhaps, if we knew how,
+    In the pleasant land of Here,
+  In the lovely time of Now,
+    We could witness sights as queer.
+
+  Oh, for Faith without an end,
+    And the blessed eyes to see!
+  Let us beg the Fairies send
+    Such a gift to You and Me.
+
+
+
+
+CONTENTS
+
+
+  _Stories_
+                                          PAGE
+    THE STAR JEWELS                          1
+
+    THE BALLOON BOY                         23
+
+    THE GREEN CAP                           41
+
+    KARL AND THE DRYAD                      65
+
+    THE INDIAN FAIRY                        95
+
+
+  _Rhymes_
+
+    FOREWORD                                ix
+
+    OCEAN WONDERS                           21
+
+    BALLOONS                                40
+
+    CHILD OR FAIRY                          64
+
+    TREES                                   93
+
+    FAIRIES                                134
+
+
+  _Pictures_
+
+    WAVILOCKS AND THE CRAB      _Frontispiece_
+
+    THE LITTLE MAN                          31
+
+    THE OLD WOMAN IS SURPRISED              55
+
+    KARL AND THE DRYAD                      73
+
+    ROB AND THE INDIAN FAIRY               131
+
+
+
+
+THE STAR JEWELS
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+THE STAR JEWELS
+
+
+Once upon a time there was a little mermaid who lived down at the
+bottom of the sea in a cave of pink coral. Her cheeks were as pink
+as the coral itself; her teeth were like a row of the pearls which
+hung around her neck; and her hair--which was very long and wavy--was
+as green as the greenest seaweed you ever saw. And though green hair
+sounds strange to us, it was accounted a mermaid’s greatest beauty.
+Her name was Wavilocks. Also she had instead of two rosy feet a funny
+little scaly tail with which she steered herself through the water. She
+was a famous swimmer.
+
+Wavilocks was a pretty little mermaid, and old Triton, her father,
+doted upon her and spoiled her, as foolish papas sometimes do. He gave
+his little daughter everything that she wanted,--everything in the
+wide ocean which a sea-child could wish. She had her own little coral
+playroom, with its toys of shell and sponge; and her pets among the
+fishes and curious ocean creatures. She had a living flower-garden
+of beautiful sea anemones, pink and purple, yellow and red. She had
+a little chariot all her own, in which to ride about the sea, like
+the grown-up ocean folk. It was of pinky, pearl-lined shell, most
+beautiful, and it was drawn by a span of sea-horses, the sweetest
+little fellows in the whole kingdom of Neptune.
+
+She had also the prettiest things for her toilet,--golden combs, with
+which to comb her long green hair, mirrors of polished pearl, and
+fans of coral, scarves of silky seaweed, and ornaments of shell. But
+the thing of which she was most proud was the beautiful necklace of
+pearls which her father had given her. All the mermaids wore lovely
+necklaces, but Wavilocks had the most beautiful of any. Old Triton,
+who knew every cave and corner of the sea, had scoured and scraped the
+ocean treasuries to find the finest pearls for his little daughter.
+She wore always about her neck a long rope of them, wound around and
+around, such as the Sea Queen herself could not match. Some of the
+pearls were as big as kernels of corn; some were as big as grapes; and
+a few were like hen’s eggs, as large and smooth, and twice as white as
+the whitest. Nobody ever saw such pearls as Wavilocks wore about her
+neck every day of her life. The sea-mothers found fault with doting old
+Triton, and said he had no business to let a little mermaid wear such
+gorgeous jewels. But when he told Wavilocks of this, she chuckled and
+said that they were jealous because they had no such jewels themselves.
+She may have been partly right about this, but they were right too in
+what they said.
+
+Now you would think that Wavilocks must have been contented and happy
+in her lovely home, where she had everything that a little mermaid
+could wish. And she was happy so long as she could have her own way.
+But there came a time when she could not have her own way, and then she
+grew sulky and discontented. For days and days she moped in her coral
+playroom, and nothing that poor old Triton could do made her smile.
+
+What do you suppose she wanted? She had happened to sit up one night
+later than a little young mermaid should, and she had seen the diamond
+stars twinkling in the sky. She wanted them for a necklace! She
+declared that she _must_ have them for a necklace. She was tired of her
+beautiful rope of pearls, and vowed that she would not wear it any more
+unless she could have the starry one to wear with it. This made poor
+Triton very unhappy, for he had taken great pride in his beautiful gift
+to his little daughter, but now she cared nothing at all for it, and
+demanded something which he could not give her.
+
+The naughty little mermaid teased and wept and refused to be good. “I
+shall cry always, always, until I have those lovely stars. Boo-hoo!”
+she sobbed. Her father was at his wit’s end. He worried and worried
+because it would be dreadful to have Wavilocks always crying for
+something which he could not give her. He worried until his green hair
+began to turn white, and his poor old eyes looked as wild as those of a
+cuttle-fish. Then he said to himself:
+
+“I will go to King Neptune and see whether he can help me or no.
+Perhaps he will tell me how I can get the stars from the sky for
+Wavilocks, for I am sure I do not know.”
+
+That very night Triton went to the King’s beautiful palace in the
+deepest, greenest part of the sea, and told him how his little daughter
+needed a starry necklace which he could not get for her. And he begged
+the Sea King to tell him what must be done. But Neptune looked very
+stern.
+
+“Tell your child,” he said, pulling his sea-green beard, which waved to
+and fro in the water, “tell her that she is an ungrateful daughter, and
+that I forbid her to think any longer of the far-off jewels. Already
+she has the most beautiful necklace in the sea,--such a one as not
+even my Queen can match. A starry necklace is fit only for the Sky
+Queen to wear. No other may possess those wonderful jewels. There are
+fair enough gems in the sea for any mermaid’s use. If she cannot be
+content with them she shall be punished.”
+
+Old Triton was alarmed at these words, for he could not bear to think
+of his dear daughter being punished. Very sadly he went home, and very
+sadly he told Wavilocks what the King had said.
+
+“He does not wish me to have the starry necklace, because the Queen has
+none,” pouted the naughty little mermaid. “But I must have it, I _will_
+have it, or I shall cry always and always.”
+
+Instead of spanking her, as he should have done, Triton only shook his
+head and said sadly,--
+
+“I would gladly give it to you if I might, dear daughter. But the King
+has spoken. The stars are not for you; you must not even think of them
+again. Never go out when they are shining in the sky. Be a good girl,
+and to-morrow I will bring you a beautiful new coral belt, such as no
+mermaid ever before wore.”
+
+But Wavilocks sulked and sniffed and declared that she did not want
+a coral belt, and she would not kiss her kind father good-night. He
+sighed and went away, poor merman, to his thinking-place in a rocky
+cavern.
+
+Now there was one creature who had overheard the talk between Wavilocks
+and her father, and his little eyes gleamed wickedly at mention of the
+starry necklace. The Crab was the most evil of all the sea-creatures,
+and old Triton had forbidden Wavilocks ever to play with him or
+listen to his words. The sea-folk hated the Crab because of his
+mischievousness and because of his wicked history. He had not always
+been the sneaking nuisance of the sea. Once, long before, he had lived
+in the sky. He was a cousin of the great Sky Crab, the guardian of
+the star jewels, and once he too had helped to take care of them. But
+because he had tried to steal a few for his own use, the big Sky Crab
+had indignantly cast him out of heaven, down to the lowest depths of
+the sea. Oh, yes, the Crab knew all about the stars which Wavilocks so
+longed to own!
+
+Wavilocks had never been told this story, but she knew that she must
+never have anything to do with the ugly, crawling fellow. And so, when
+she heard his harsh voice close beside her cradle, she ought not to
+have listened.
+
+“Hist!” said the voice. “Hist!”
+
+Wavilocks knew who it was, and she knew that sly whisper meant
+mischief. She herself was feeling very naughty.
+
+“What is it, Crab?” she whispered.
+
+“I have accidentally overheard what you were saying to Master Triton,”
+he hissed, “and I do not blame you at all. The King is wrong. You,
+fairest Mermaid, ought to wear the starry necklace,--it is your right.
+The jewels are said to be even more beautiful when closely seen. But
+they are hardly fair enough for you!”
+
+So spoke the wicked old Crab with a flattering tongue. Wavilocks was
+pleased. “I should like to see them closely,” she said.
+
+“One could climb up there, I think,” said the Crab slyly.
+
+“Oh, how? Tell me how it can be done, dear Crab?” cried Wavilocks
+eagerly. The Crab winked one eye.
+
+“There is a silver staircase that leads up to the moon. Sometimes one
+can see it, sometimes not. To-night it is very bright. The moon is a
+round silver doorway through which streams light, and beyond it is a
+beautiful land where my cousin, the Sky Crab, lives and has charge of
+the star jewels. I have always wanted to go up there and see him, but I
+do not care to go alone. If I could find some one to go with me--” The
+Crab stopped and sighed.
+
+“Oh, how I should like to go with you, Crab!” exclaimed Wavilocks,
+sitting up on the edge of her cradle. “But my father and the King have
+forbidden me even to think of the starry jewels.”
+
+“Nonsense!” whispered the Crab. “Come with me to-night, and for my
+sake my cousin will give you all the stars you wish.”
+
+“Oh, I dare not go!” sighed Wavilocks. “The King will punish me for
+disobeying him.”
+
+“Pooh!” snorted the Crab. “He would never know. Let us go this very
+night. I long to see my dear cousin. I can scarcely wait another
+minute!” (What a wicked story that was!)
+
+Wavilocks slipped out of her cradle. “I can hardly wait another minute
+to have those star jewels!” she cried. “Yes, I will go. Come then, wise
+Crab, and show me the way.”
+
+“I will take you upon my back,” said the Crab. “We shall travel faster
+so, since you have no feet for climbing.”
+
+Wavilocks seated herself upon his broad shell, and away he crawled, the
+wicked fellow, very stealthily, so as not to be seen by the grown-up
+sea people, and especially by old Triton.
+
+Up and up they went until they came to the surface of the sea, where
+the big silver moon was shining upon the water, glorious and bright.
+
+“Look where the flight of silver stairs comes down to the sea,” said
+the Crab, pointing with his claw. “We will climb up there, Wavilocks,
+and pay a visit to my dear cousin. How glad he will be to see us!” And
+he chuckled wickedly to think how he was going to repay the Big Crab
+for having turned him out of the sky.
+
+Out to the bright spot upon the water where the silver moonbeam
+staircase touched the sea crept the Crab, with Wavilocks upon his
+back. And no one saw them go. They reached the foot of the stairs and
+began to climb,--up and up, step by step, while the little mermaid’s
+green hair streamed out behind. Her long pearl necklace she used as a
+bridle, and so she drove her strange steed up the steep way, until they
+reached the silver gateway of the moon. The door was open, and from the
+wonderful sky-land beyond the light streamed out, so that Wavilocks was
+dazzled. But she was even more dazzled when they had passed through
+the gateway and came out upon the wide sky floor, where burned and
+flashed, with a thousand rainbow colors, the five-pointed star jewels
+which she had seen shining from afar.
+
+“Oh, the beautiful diamond stars!” cried Wavilocks. “Let us make haste
+to find your cousin, the Big Crab, that he may give us some for my
+necklace.”
+
+But the Crab winked his eye. “We need not wait for that,” he said. “My
+cousin loves me so well that I am sure of his generosity to you. Let
+us pick all we wish first, and then we will go to him. But hist! We
+must be very quiet about it, or the other sky-people will learn what is
+being done, and will be jealous.”
+
+The two set eagerly to work, gathering up the jewels which lay
+sprinkled over the velvet sky-carpet like daisies in a meadow. The Crab
+gathered them star by star with his clumsy claw, as one would pick
+berries. Wavilocks scooped the five-pointed stars by handfuls, and
+poured them into the great conch shell which she had brought for the
+purpose, until it was brimming over with rainbow flashes.
+
+“Oh, what a wonderful necklace I shall have,--grander than any one ever
+saw before!” cried the greedy little mermaid.
+
+“Oh, how angry the old Crab will be when he sees how we have robbed his
+treasure!” chuckled her wicked companion to himself; and they went to
+work even faster than before.
+
+Suddenly there was a loud noise behind them.
+
+“Wooh! Hooh!” cried a terrible voice. “Robbers, wretched robbers, what
+are you doing with my jewels?”
+
+Wavilocks screamed and the Sea Crab gave a snort of fear. There behind
+them was the Big Crab, sprawling his enormous ugly shape among the
+stars. His great claws were snapping viciously, and his goggle eyes
+were glaring at the pair, as he crawled nearer and nearer.
+
+“It is the Crab!” gasped Wavilocks’ companion. “I am lost!” and away he
+scuttled as fast as his claws would take him, while the little mermaid
+clung to his back as well as she could, for he had quite forgotten her.
+Then began a dreadful race to the shining staircase. The great Sky
+Crab clattered after them, puffing and blowing out fire.
+
+“Wicked Sea Crab,” he cried, “so it is you who again are seeking to
+rob me of the precious stars entrusted to my care. You have come up
+here from your nasty, moist den in the sea, to which I tossed you.
+Moreover, you have brought this strange sea-creature to help you steal
+the jewels. Ah! this time I will punish you both.”
+
+They could feel the flaming breath of the Big Crab. It scorched, it
+sizzled, it melted the hard shell of the Sea Crab until it became soft
+and useless. It crisped the mermaid’s pretty green hair, which streamed
+out behind her in their rapid flight. Wavilocks screamed. Her awkward
+steed hissed with terror, dislodging many stars from their settings
+as he scrambled among them. At last they were almost safe at the head
+of the staircase, when Wavilocks felt the great claw of the Big Crab
+seize the necklace of pearls which hung about her neck. Snap! The
+string broke, and the pearls went flying helter-skelter over the sky,
+scattering themselves among the stars.
+
+“My necklace, oh, my necklace!” wailed she, but they could not stop to
+gather up the lost pearls.
+
+They had reached the stairs. The Crab plunged forward, and they tumbled
+and rolled and slid down from the sky to the sea, into which they fell
+with a great splash. Glad enough they were to cool their poor scorched
+bodies in the wetness. Down, down, they sank together to the bottom of
+the ocean, two very miserable creatures.
+
+Now the Crab had shriveled and shrunk and become the tiniest, most
+pitiful little fellow you ever saw. Moreover he was now quite helpless
+and unprotected.
+
+For his hard shell, which had served him as a shield against his
+enemies, was now melted and soft, and was no longer of any use to
+him. He was at the mercy of the whole sea, which was indignant at his
+new wickedness. Thenceforth he must slink and hide away wherever he
+could, an outcast thief. He became the Hermit Crab, whom to-day one
+finds borrowing the shells which other tiny creatures have abandoned,
+creeping away into dim corners, and always carrying his home upon his
+back, because he is afraid to venture his poor, unprotected body out of
+doors.
+
+Neptune decreed that the wicked Crab needed no other punishment worse
+than this. As for Wavilocks, she also had been punished enough. The
+beautiful green hair which had been her pride was scorched into an ugly
+brown. Sobbing with shame, she cut it off--all its splendid length,
+and tossed it away into the sea. Sometimes you may find strands of it
+nowadays, washed ashore by the tide. Long, long afterward her green
+hair grew again; but for months and years she was laughed at and teased
+about her short mop of brown hair, so unfashionable in the sea-kingdom.
+A sad little mermaid she was in those days. For not only had she
+lost her wavy locks, but the lovely rope of pearls was gone forever,
+scattered among the jewels of the sky. You can see some of them to this
+day if you look hard among the flashing stars; bright jewels they are,
+but they do not twinkle like the others. The Big Crab now watches over
+them also with his other treasures, and it would have to be a sly thief
+indeed who could steal them back again. Wavilocks must go without any
+necklace, although the other mermaids wear theirs proudly. Yes, she has
+no necklace at all. For what do you think became of the stars which she
+went so far to steal and had so sad a time in gathering?
+
+Wavilocks had clung closely to the conch shell which held her stolen
+treasure during all the terrible time of her fall down the silver
+staircase. And when she came to the bottom of the sea she still held
+it fast. But alas! When the poor little scorched mermaid came to look
+at the stars which she had hoped to wear about her neck, she found
+that they had sadly changed. The shell was full of something living,
+something squirming and cold. One by one she took out the five-pointed
+stars which had been so beautiful, and they had come alive; they were
+star-fish! The first star-fish that had ever been seen in the ocean.
+
+How Wavilocks screamed when the moist, writhing feelers touched her
+hand! So this was the end of the lovely necklace which she had hoped
+to wear so proudly,--a conch shell full of ugly, wriggling sea-stars.
+She tossed them away as far as she could, and fled sobbing to her poor
+old father, who tried to comfort her, and forgot to punish her for
+disobeying him.
+
+Poor little sea-stars! One cannot help pitying them, who used to be
+the beautiful jewels of the sky. One sees them sometimes lying in the
+pools, red and purple, blue, pink and yellow; beautiful colors indeed,
+such as jewels have, but no longer sparkling and clear, as once they
+were. They lie and stare up wistfully through the green water, up at
+the sky which was once their home, up at the other stars of which they
+were once the shining brothers.
+
+And it was all the fault of the naughty little mermaid, who was not
+wise enough to know when she was happy.
+
+
+
+
+OCEAN WONDERS
+
+
+  Far below the purple waves,
+  In the hidden ocean caves,
+  Floating softly to and fro,
+  Wonder-creatures come and go.
+
+  Monsters hideous and queer,
+  Curious lovely shapes and dear
+  Dwell beneath the silent tide,
+  Where the rainbow fishes glide.
+
+  Who can say what things may be
+  In the mystic, magic sea?
+  In the depths so cool and green
+  Which no man has ever seen?
+  And what wonders happen there
+  Such as mortals may not share?
+
+  But a bit of pearly shell,
+  Or of sea-weed green, may tell
+  Just a hint of secret lore
+  As we walk along the shore.
+
+
+
+
+THE BALLOON BOY
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+THE BALLOON BOY
+
+
+Carlo was the brown-skinned boy who stood on the corner of the Avenue
+every morning with a great bunch of red and blue balloons tied to a
+stick. Carlo used to wait smiling for the children to come up with
+their nurses and pick out the balloons with which they loved to play.
+The balloons bobbed and danced above Carlo’s head as if they wanted to
+fly away. Indeed, one of them once succeeded in escaping, just after it
+had been bought by little Johnny Parker. Johnny had forgotten to hold
+it tight, and _Pouf!_ Off it sailed over the trees. No one ever knew
+what became of that little red balloon, which soared up far beyond
+the reach of Johnny’s wailing. But the other little balloons were
+always trying to follow after, and sometimes they pulled so hard at the
+strings that they seemed almost ready to lift Carlo off his feet and
+bear him with them over the tree-tops.
+
+Carlo was a happy boy, for he had come from a happy country where the
+people still believe in fairies, and he had not lived in this land long
+enough to catch the disease which makes one believe that there are “no
+such things as the Little People.” Carlo was a kind boy, and he loved
+the little children who bought balloons of him and paid their pennies
+into his rough, brown hand. Carlo had a little sister at home in the
+old country, and when he had earned money enough by selling red and
+blue balloons he meant to send for Nita to come and live with him, so
+they could have a little home of their own.
+
+One morning it rained hard, oh, very hard! Carlo did not go out to the
+Avenue, for he knew that the children would all stay indoors that day,
+playing in their nurseries with their house toys. But in the afternoon,
+after dinner-time, the rain cleared away and the sun came out, hot and
+bright and beautiful, so that the sidewalks were soon as dry as dry.
+Then Carlo took his bunch of balloons and trudged to the corner, where
+he always stood. For he knew that all the nurses and all the babies,
+tired of being in the house, would soon be hurrying out for an airing
+in the Park. And of course they would need balloons.
+
+Carlo took up his station as usual on the corner where the Avenue stops
+short before the high gates, and wishes it could go on into the Park.
+This was where the children looked to find him every day, and he had
+never yet disappointed them.
+
+It was just the hour when the big boys are let out of school. Carlo had
+forgotten this. He did not like big boys. Suddenly--with a rush and a
+whoop--a crowd of them came tearing around the corner from the next
+street. They raced up and down the Avenue, shouting and laughing and
+full of mischief, for they had been shut up all this rainy day and
+were glad to be out of doors once more. As they came running back down
+the Avenue, one of them spied Carlo standing on the corner.
+
+“Hallo! Balloons!” shouted the boy, and immediately the noisy crowd
+rushed upon Carlo and surrounded him.
+
+“Give me a red one!”
+
+“Hi! Blue’s my color!”
+
+“Pass me down a red one, quick, or I’ll cut the whole string!” But they
+offered him no money in exchange. Carlo held back, trying to defend his
+balloons from their snatching fingers. Then one boy cried,--
+
+“Ho! Let’s cut the whole string, anyway, and see them go!” And quick
+as a flash, before Carlo had time to do anything, a sharp penknife
+had severed the string above the stick, and away went forty balloons,
+sailing over the trees merrily, glad to be free.
+
+The boys gave a yell and danced up and down. But some one cried,
+“Look out! Here’s a policeman!” and off they scampered in every
+direction, before Carlo fairly knew what they had done. Yes, there was
+a policeman, but he had not seen what had happened, and already he was
+turning the corner. Even if Carlo could catch up with him he could not
+speak enough English to tell the man his troubles. Besides, not even a
+policeman could bring back those flying balloons.
+
+Poor Carlo! No customers for him this day. He looked down at the bare
+stick in his hand, and then up to where he could just see some tiny
+specks on the blue sky, far, far away. The balloons were seeking their
+little brother who escaped long before. Carlo’s eyes filled with tears,
+for he was not a very big boy, and this was a dreadful thing which had
+happened to him. Already the procession of babies was coming down the
+Avenue, eager to buy Carlo’s balloons. But he had nothing to sell them
+this afternoon.
+
+Slowly and sadly he turned away and slunk down a side street toward
+another entrance to the Park. But the children wondered what had become
+of their balloon boy, who was always waiting for them on the corner,
+smiling pleasantly.
+
+Carlo wandered into the Park and walked about the twisting paths,
+wondering what he should do. He had no money to buy more balloons. How
+could he start out afresh in business? He had sent his last earnings
+back across the water to the little sister in the land where they still
+believed in fairies, and she had saved almost enough to bring her here
+to him. But now, what was he to do now? How buy food and lodging, and
+especially how buy more balloons with which to pile up future pennies?
+
+Carlo wandered about for a long time, thinking and puzzling, until the
+shadows began to lengthen, and it was almost night. Then he went to
+a little arbor in the Park, far from the place where the nurses and
+children mostly gathered. It was a spot that he loved, for it was full
+of grape-vines, which reminded him of the beautiful home from which he
+had come,--the country where the fairies still lived. He was very tired
+and hungry, and he curled up on a settee in the arbor and went to
+sleep.
+
+[Illustration: THE LITTLE MAN]
+
+He must have slept a long time, for when he woke the Park was quite
+dark, save where the electric lights made queer patches of brightness
+among the leaves and on the grass and gravel walks. In the arbor itself
+hung a light which made the grape-vine with its half-ripened clusters
+look strange but very beautiful.
+
+Carlo awoke with a start, for he had certainly felt something touch his
+knee. Yes! Carlo looked again, and rubbed his eyes. There at his knee
+stood a little man,--a little, thick man in a queer long gown, with
+a rope about his waist,--one of the very same Little Men of whom his
+mother had often told him in the land across the sea!
+
+“What is the matter, Carlo?” asked the Little Man, in Carlo’s own home
+language. And Carlo answered in the same soft tongue:
+
+“The boys have cut my balloons away, and I have nothing left with which
+to earn my living, that I may send money to Nita.”
+
+“That is too bad!” exclaimed the Little Man. “What can we do about it?”
+
+Carlo stared hard at him, for he had always wanted to see a Little Man.
+His hat was tall and had a broad brim, and on his feet were sandals.
+His brown gown clung tight about him, like the skin upon a russet
+apple, seeming ready to burst with the plumpness inside. His cheeks,
+too, seemed ready to burst with laughing, even when Carlo told him the
+story of the boys’ wicked deed.
+
+“That is too bad!” he cried again, but not sadly. “What can we do about
+it?”
+
+He glanced thoughtfully around the arbor in which they were sitting.
+It was a grape arbor, as I have said, and already the grapes were
+beginning to turn red and purple in the autumn coolness, though some
+were still green.
+
+“The bad boys will steal them,” said the Little Man to himself,
+looking at the grapes. “They will not bring good to any one, only
+stomach-aches.” Carlo wondered what he could possibly mean. Still the
+Little Man stared around the arbor, nodding his head slowly up and
+down, as if making up his mind about something very important. At last
+he turned to Carlo and asked suddenly,--
+
+“Do you know where I came from?”
+
+“No,” said Carlo. “I have been wondering. You do not seem to belong to
+this country at all.”
+
+“I don’t,” said the Little Man. “They don’t even believe in me here,
+so they never, never see me--how could they? The babies who play
+over there,”--and he twisted his thumb toward the fountain and the
+sand-heap,--“even if they were to come in here now, could not see me.
+For their stupid nurses have told them that I don’t exist. Perhaps
+there might be one or two who still believe; and of them I should have
+to be very careful. For I don’t want to be discovered. But they do not
+often come here.”
+
+“I come here often,” said Carlo.
+
+“Of course,” chuckled the Little Man, “naturally!”
+
+“But how happens it that you are here?” asked Carlo, eagerly.
+
+“Why, I came with you, to be sure. I am the Little Man of your father’s
+house. And when you left the dear old country over the sea you brought
+me with you.” The Little Man sighed. Carlo sighed too. But quickly he
+remembered to be polite. “It was very good of you to come,” he said.
+
+“Not at all,” answered the Little Man. “I had to follow. Some of them
+bring poison creatures in the fruit which they sell,--tarantulas and
+scorpions. Some of them bring measles, and the evil-eye, and other
+dreadful things. But you brought _me_, and I have been watching over
+you ever since. I am glad you come here every day, so I can live in
+this very nice place. Now I am going to help you.”
+
+Carlo thanked him, but he seemed not to hear. Nimbly as a squirrel he
+was climbing up the vine which draped the arbor with its leaves and
+grapes. Presently down he came again, and in his hand he held a fine
+bunch of grapes, purple and red and green.
+
+“It is not stealing,” he said, in a whisper, “for this bunch has
+stopped ripening; I can tell by signs which a fairy knows. It would
+soon wither, and would not even attract the bad boys. So I will use it
+for my purposes. Now, please give me your stick.”
+
+Carlo handed him the shorn stick, wondering. With a few deft knots the
+Little Man tied the bunch of grapes to the handle, where the balloons
+used to bob.
+
+“What!” he cried, nodding delightedly, “There you are! Now of course
+you must go to sleep again. I cannot let you see how the last touches
+are done.” He tapped Carlo three times on the forehead. Immediately
+Carlo’s eyes began to close, his head nodded, and before he knew it he
+was lying on the bench in the arbor, snoring lustily and forgetting all
+his troubles.
+
+Then the Little Man must have done something very strange and wonderful
+and marvelous; though no one saw him, and so no one knows just what
+that something was. But when in the morning Carlo awoke with a start, a
+baby in a pink dress stood in the arbor holding out a little hand in
+which was a silver dime, and he was saying,--
+
+“Please, Boy, give me a _green_ balloon!”
+
+Carlo jumped up and reached for the stick, which was propped between
+the bars of the seat beside him. And what do you think? The bunch of
+purple and red and green grapes seemed to have grown and grown, and
+swelled and swelled, until each grape had turned into a beautiful big
+balloon of the same color! And that is why on that particular day
+Carlo had some green balloons in his bunch, although the children had
+never seen any like them before. And he sold one to the pink baby, and
+others to the other babies who came crowding around when he went out
+upon the Avenue, until the green balloons were all gone. For of course
+the babies wanted the unusual kind first. But after that he sold off
+the ordinary blue and red ones, and went home with his pockets full of
+dimes, and with nothing more on the end of his stick than when the bad
+boys let loose his bunch of balloons. But now there were no tears in
+his eyes--no, indeed!
+
+Now I do not know just what happened next. But Carlo always looks
+smiling and happy about something. The children buy his balloons every
+day, and every night he carries home a pocketful of silver. Carlo is
+growing rich. And now little Nita has come across the sea to be with
+him. When the cold weather comes I daresay the Little Man will go to
+live in their house, as he did in their old home in the land where
+people still believe in fairies. But you may be sure that as long as
+he can he will stay in the pretty grape-vine arbor. If you are one of
+the wise children who believe in him, perhaps you will see him there
+yourself, some day. At any rate, whether you believe in the Little Man
+or not, if you go at the right time you will be sure to see the Balloon
+Boy, sitting on the bench and smiling happily at something, with the
+bunch of red and blue balloons bobbing over his head. And if you pay
+ten cents you may have a balloon all for your own, which will tug and
+tug and will try to get away, just as little Johnny Parker’s did.
+
+
+
+
+BALLOONS
+
+
+        Where do they go,
+        I want to know,
+  The little balloons which fly, and fly,
+  Over the trees and up so high
+        Into the sky?
+
+  Do they sail as far as Heaven’s gate,
+  Where chubby cherubs watch and wait,
+  Who stretch out their hands with an eager cry
+  As the little balloons come floating by?
+
+  Do the cherubs play with the pretty things,
+  Flitting about on their baby wings,
+  While the little balloons bob to and fro,
+  Just as they did in the world below?
+
+  They never come back the tale to tell,
+  So no one knows what each befell.
+        But if they can stay
+        In that Land for aye,
+  Where the sun ever shines and the sky is blue,
+    I do not blame them for longing to fly
+  Over the trees and up so high;
+    And when mine goes I will not boo-hoo,--
+        Will you?
+
+
+
+
+THE GREEN CAP
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+THE GREEN CAP
+
+
+Once upon a time in the far East, where people live upon rice and tea,
+a little old woman dwelt all alone in a tiny hut on the edge of the
+forest. The little old woman was very, very poor; but she was a brave
+soul, and so long as there was a little tea in her little teapot, a
+little rice in her little rice bucket, and a little water in her well
+she would smile a little smile and say, “Oh, I have enough, and that is
+all which any one needs in this world. I am doing very well indeed.”
+
+But there came an evil time for the poor little old woman. There was a
+drought in the land, and all the wells ran dry. There was a famine,
+and no more rice nor tea were to be had for love or money. One night
+the little old woman went about to get her evening meal and she was
+very, very hungry. First she went to draw a dipper of water from the
+well. But when she peered down into the well she saw that it was almost
+dry.
+
+“Alack!” she cried, “when I have used this last dipper of water there
+will be none left for to-morrow. After that I must go dry. And how long
+can I live so?”
+
+Slowly and sadly she went back to the house and took her little rice
+bucket down from the shelf on the wall. But when she opened it she saw
+only a few grains of rice scantily covering the bottom of the bucket.
+
+“Alack!” she cried, “when I have taken out the handful for my supper
+there will be no more left for to-morrow. After that I must go hungry.
+And how long can I live so?”
+
+She shook her head mournfully and went to her little teapot, which hung
+before the fire. But when she took off the cover thereof she cried
+again, “Alack and alas! Now even my tea is gone, and whatever shall I
+do? There is but a drop in the pot, and when I have eaten my supper
+there will be none left for the morrow. After that I must go thirsty.
+But so I cannot live. Day after to-morrow I shall die!” And the poor
+little old woman shed a tear which almost fell into the teapot to salt
+the last drop of tea which remained there.
+
+Now she sat down to her scanty supper and hesitated to take the first
+mouthful, for it would so soon be gone. She gave a sigh and a groan as
+she lifted the little teapot to pour out the last drop of tea, for the
+little old woman loved her tea best of all.
+
+Just at that moment there came a knock on the door, a low-down knock
+such as a very little child might reach to give.
+
+“Tap--tap!”
+
+“Come in!” said the little old woman, and she set down the teapot
+carefully.
+
+The latch clicked, the door opened, and in came a queer little creature
+the size of a child and walking upright upon two legs; but it was not
+a child. It was a funny little monkey, with a wee black face and a
+curled-up handy tail, and on its head it wore a tiny green cap.
+
+“Ugh!” cried the little old woman, who did not like monkeys, “Ugh, go
+away!”
+
+But the monkey skipped briskly across the floor to the fireplace, and
+stood there shivering and holding out its small hands to the blaze
+quite as a little child might have done. The old woman stared at it in
+surprise. “Bless my stars, how ugly it is!” she said. “But the poor
+thing seems cold. Let it stay and warm itself if it wishes.”
+
+At these words the monkey turned about and made a low courtesy to the
+little old woman.
+
+“Bless my stars!” said she again, for she had never seen so remarkable
+an animal, even in the land where monkeys were common.
+
+Now the monkey had ceased to shiver, and it came skipping up to the
+table where the old woman sat, ready to eat her supper.
+
+“Ugh! Go away!” cried the little old woman. “Go away, you ugly
+creature!”
+
+But the monkey rested its chin upon the board and looked wistfully at
+the supper. “May I not share with you?” it seemed to say, though it
+spoke no word, and it put its little hands out towards the old woman,
+beggar-fashion.
+
+“Bless my stars!” cried the old woman again, “it has the way of a
+child. But what an ugly child! Ugh! I cannot bear to have it near me.
+Yet--it is hard even for a monkey to be hungry.” She looked at her
+scanty dipper of water, at her little dish of rice, at her teapot with
+its drop of tea.
+
+“I have but one dipper of water left, one handful of rice, one drop
+of tea,” she said ruefully. “When these are gone I know not whence
+to-morrow’s food will come; yet, little creature with the hands of a
+child, you shall share with me so long as I have a morsel. I cannot
+refuse those hands. But do not come too near, for I love not monkeys.”
+
+Now the monkey seemed to understand every word the old woman spoke,
+although it could not answer in words. It bowed gratefully over its
+clasped hands as the old woman helped it to half the scanty meal,--half
+the dipper of water, half the rice, half a drop squeezed from the
+little teapot. The monkey ate hungrily, and when it had finished patted
+its little stomach and grinned happily at the old woman as if to say,
+“That was very good!”
+
+“I am glad you are satisfied,” said the old woman with a sigh; “and now
+will you begone? There is nothing more in the house for guest or for
+host.”
+
+But the monkey laid its head to one side upon its little hands and
+closed its eyes, showing that it was fain of sleep. Then again it held
+out its hands, beseeching the old woman.
+
+“Oho!” said she, “you want to sleep here, too? Well-a-day! That ever I
+should have an ugly monkey napping in my hut! But I cannot turn a poor
+creature out into the cold night. You may stay, but keep as far from me
+as maybe, at the other corner of the cottage. Come, now, let us sleep
+and try to forget that to-morrow must be a hungry day.”
+
+So they slept, the old woman on her hard little cot and the monkey
+curled up on the floor, which was no whit harder. And the old woman
+dreamed wonderful and beautiful dreams.
+
+When it was light she opened her eyes, and at first she thought she
+must still be dreaming, for she had forgotten the happenings of the
+last night. There was the monkey with its little green cap on one side
+frisking about the cottage, sweeping the hearth, tidying the corners
+and setting things to rights.
+
+“Bless my stars!” cried the little old woman. At these words the monkey
+turned, and with a grin beckoned towards the table, where dishes were
+already set out as if for a meal. Then the old woman remembered what
+had happened the evening before. But she remembered also the empty
+cupboard, and sighed wearily.
+
+“Breakfast!” she grumbled; “it is little breakfast we shall have this
+day. Did we not share yestereven the last dipper of water, the last
+handful of rice, the last drop of tea? There will scarcely be any
+breakfast for me this day, and you, who are strong and frisky, had
+best seek one elsewhere, leaving me to die.”
+
+But the monkey shook its head, grinning knowingly, and still beckoned
+to the table. It lifted the dipper and showed how it was still full of
+water. It lifted the cover from the rice dish, and lo! there was a mess
+of steaming white rice. It shook the little teapot, and a drop trickled
+from the spout.
+
+“Bless my stars!” cried the little old woman, “last night my eyes must
+have cheated me. I certainly thought there was not another mouthful
+in the hut. Well, here is indeed a goodly meal,” and she sat down to
+the table. The monkey looked on wistfully, but did not venture near.
+Presently the old woman looked up.
+
+“What!” she cried, “shall you not share, little guest, you who so
+cleverly prepared my breakfast? Did I not say that you should share so
+long as I had a morsel upon the board? Come, then, and eat.”
+
+The monkey grinned happily and drew to the table. The scanty meal was
+sufficient for them both. When they had finished, the old woman nodded
+her head at the monkey and said,--
+
+“Even a morsel tastes better when one shares it with company. But
+little I thought that a monkey would prove so pleasant a guest.”
+
+At these words the monkey squirmed with happiness and frisked about
+the cottage like a mad thing. After that it went on with the household
+duties, quite like a handy little maid. But when it had finished these
+it skipped out of the door and disappeared into the forest.
+
+“Now it is gone forever,” said the old woman with a little sigh, “and
+I shall be left alone to die of hunger and cold. For even my store
+of firewood is gone, and I have not strength to go to the forest for
+more.” And she sat down and cried bitterly, for the poor old woman’s
+courage was quite gone.
+
+The daylight dimmed and the night came on, and the old woman sat
+rocking herself to and fro, trying to forget how hungry she was.
+But presently the door burst open and in came the monkey, staggering
+with arms full of fagots for the fire. It made a bright blaze on the
+hearth and then came timidly up to the old woman and laid a hand upon
+her knee. This time the old woman did not shrink or cry out, “Ugh! Go
+away!” for she seemed no longer to hate monkeys as once she had done.
+She looked up with half a smile and said:
+
+“Ah, you have come back, little guest! I thought you had deserted me.
+I know you think it is supper-time; but nay, there will be no supper
+to-night. There is naught in the house for us to eat, or I would gladly
+share it with so willing a helper.”
+
+But the monkey shook its head and drew the old woman gently by the
+skirts towards the door.
+
+“There is no use in going to the well,” said the old woman; “it is
+quite dry.” But the monkey continued to pull her dress, and at last the
+old woman rose, shaking her head because she knew that the quest was
+useless. The two went out to the well, and the monkey let down the
+bucket. When it came up the old woman thrust in the dipper, and lo! she
+brought it out full once more with clear, cool, sparkling water.
+
+“Bless my stars!” she cried in astonishment, “there is witchcraft
+here,” and she looked at the monkey suspiciously. But the little
+creature only grinned.
+
+Once more it pulled at her skirts, as though it would lead her back
+to the house. Wondering, the old woman followed, dipper in hand. The
+monkey led her straight to where the rice bucket stood on the shelf.
+The old woman shook her head hopelessly as she took down the bucket,
+because she knew that it was as empty as a last year’s bird’s nest. But
+when she drew off the cover she nearly dropped it with surprise. There
+was still a handful of rice in the bottom of the bucket.
+
+“Bless my stars!” cried the old woman, and she looked again at the
+monkey. But the monkey only grinned and pointed towards the teapot.
+
+“That at least I know to be empty,” said the old woman positively,
+“for I squeezed out the last drop with my own hand.” But what was her
+amazement when she tilted the spout and out came an amber drop of
+comfort.
+
+“Bless my stars!” again cried the old woman. “Here is really enough
+for another meal. Witchcraft or no, you have certainly brought me good
+luck, little guest, and though we may die of hunger to-morrow we should
+greatly rejoice now, for we thought to be dead, even this same day.”
+
+So that night passed, and another and still others. Every morning, as
+at first, the monkey prepared breakfast for the little old woman ere
+she was awake. And still there remained a dipperful of water in the
+well, a handful of rice in the bucket, and a drop of tea in the teapot.
+Every night the old woman found the same for their supper.
+
+[Illustration: THE OLD WOMAN IS SURPRISED]
+
+She was growing very fond of this queer little creature who helped
+her so heartily, and she wondered how she could ever have disliked
+monkey-folk. She even forgot that she had once thought her guest ugly,
+for the small face seemed, indeed, to have changed and to have
+become more human. The old woman had made for the monkey a pretty dress
+of green to match the green cap which her guest ever wore upon its
+head. The long tail which once she had used as an extra strong hand had
+shrunk away and disappeared beneath the pretty dress; perhaps it was
+gone altogether--for the monkey was certainly changing in many ways,
+though the poor old woman was too weak-eyed to see how greatly this was
+so.
+
+Now the weeks passed, and the months passed, and it was exactly a year
+and a day from the time when the monkey had first appeared. On that
+morning the old woman woke up and saw as usual the little green figure
+flitting about the cottage, making things neat and tidy, and preparing
+the tiny breakfast which was always the same,--scanty and simple, but
+sufficient for the two, with kindness and good feeling to eke it out.
+This morning, when the old woman was ready to get up, the busy little
+creature came skipping up to the cot. And as it stood looking down,
+smiling kindly, the old woman suddenly blinked and rubbed her eyes.
+
+“Bless my stars!” she cried. “How big you are! How pretty you have
+grown! What! Who is this? You are not my little monkey, you are a
+lovely girl smiling at me.”
+
+“Good morning, Mother,” said a sweet voice. “I am your little guest. I
+am the same poor creature whom you took in out of kindness, and whom
+you have allowed to dwell with you this long year, sharing your scanty
+store. I owe you more than words can say.”
+
+“Words!” cried the old woman, “and how long since a monkey could use
+words?” She sat staring blankly.
+
+“You see I am really the same,” said the pretty girl. “I still wear the
+green dress which you made for me and the green cap which I had upon
+my head when I came to you. In that green cap lies my secret. I am a
+Fairy, Mother.”
+
+Then she told the old woman a strange story,--how because she was
+naughty the Fairy Queen had punished her by giving her that ugly
+monkey-shape, which she must wear for a year and a day. But at the end
+of that time she could take her own shape and go back to Fairyland. And
+now the time had come.
+
+“But you have been so kind to me, dear Mother, that I may give you one
+wish before I go back to my beautiful home,” said the Fairy maiden.
+
+Then the old woman burst into tears and flung her arms around the neck
+of her little guest. “Oh, do not leave me, kind Fairy-child!” she said.
+“I love you very dearly, and how shall I live without you? I loved you
+when I thought you were only a little monkey, but now I love you a
+thousand times more.”
+
+Gently the Fairy kissed her and said, “Now hear what the gift is
+that I may give you. I may give you one wish of three, and you shall
+choose between them. You shared your simple food with a poor little
+animal-guest. Now for the first wish: Would you live always on princely
+fare? If you so choose you may have more than you need to eat. You
+may have meats and fruit, fine wheaten bread and choice sweets, such
+as are set upon palace tables. You may have everything that a dainty
+palate could desire, and every day a different feast of goodies. This
+you may choose, if you so will. Or, if you think the second choice a
+better one, you may become young again as I am now, for I am a picture
+of your lost youth which you have forgotten. You may have health and
+strength, and appetite to enjoy life, and the hearty meals which you
+will be able to earn. That is a goodly gift, is it not?”
+
+The old woman nodded, but still her eyes were unsatisfied.
+
+“Then there is the third choice,” said the Fairy, and her voice was
+very soft. “But that one it seems selfish for me to name, because it is
+a wish for my happiness.”
+
+“What is the third wish?” asked the old woman eagerly.
+
+“You may wish, if you choose--and the wish will be granted by the Fairy
+Queen--that all may remain as it now is; you will be what you are, a
+dear old woman living still in this little hut, with your little well
+in which there will ever be one dipperful of water, no more; with your
+little bucket in which there will ever be one handful of rice, no more;
+with your little teapot in which there will ever be one drop of tea,
+no more. It is scanty fare for one, Mother; yet withal, if you would
+have one to share it, I will do so still, as I have done so long. I
+will become your child--no longer a Fairy-child, but your little human
+girl-child, such as I seem now. I will live with you always, love you
+and take care of you always and share your scanty portion.”
+
+The old woman gave a cry of joy. “But do _you_ wish it?” she said.
+“Would you not rather go back to your beautiful Fairyland, where you
+can be happy and care-free always?”
+
+“Nay, dear Mother,” said the Fairy; “if the choice were mine I would
+rather remain here with you than anywhere in the whole wide world, for
+I have been very happy here and I have learned many things. I do not
+want to go back to Fairyland to be an idle, careless, selfish Fairy. I
+would rather be a human child and share my mother’s joys and sorrows.
+Dear Mother, will you have it so?”
+
+“Yes, I will have it so!” cried the old woman joyfully.
+
+“Think,” said the Fairy, lifting a warning finger, “think of the
+fine feasts and the dainties you might have. Think of the youth and
+strength. Would you give up all this for only me--who must share half
+the refreshment from your well, your bucket, and your teapot?”
+
+“That is enough,” said the old woman. “What do we need more? We can
+still offer a sup to any poor stranger who may come as you came to my
+door. Oh, dear child, if you will stay with me, that is all I ask!”
+
+“Well, then, let us sit down and have breakfast,” said the dear little
+girl, tossing her green cap into the fire. “Now I am a Fairy no longer,
+but your very own little girl-child. And here is a dipper of water--the
+only one left in the well. Here is a dish of rice--I used the last
+handful from the bucket. Here is just a tiny drop of tea in the teapot.
+Oh, Mother, I am so glad!”
+
+So they sat down to their frugal meal, and they laughed, and they
+laughed, and they laughed, they were so happy.
+
+
+
+
+CHILD OR FAIRY
+
+
+  ’Tis good to be a Fairy-thing,
+  And flit about on gauzy wing;
+  To sleep in cradles made of flowers,
+  Or play through all the joyous hours.
+  For Fairies have no grief nor care,
+  Happy they are, and always fair,--
+          I suppose.
+
+  And yet ’tis better far to be
+  A little human child like me,
+  With lessons hard and tasks to do,
+  And sometimes little troubles, too.
+  For I have Mother’s tender kiss,
+  And nothing is so good as this,--
+          Every one knows!
+
+
+
+
+KARL AND THE DRYAD
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+KARL AND THE DRYAD
+
+
+There was once a lad named Karl who lived with his father and mother
+in a little village of the Flat Land. Karl was a big fellow, tall and
+yellow-haired. But all his strength was in his long, lean body. There
+was none in his poor head. Karl was the village simpleton.
+
+Poor Karl! His life was a sorry one. He was despised and jeered at by
+the whole village. The children followed and tormented him at every
+chance, because he could not learn at school; the grown folk were
+little kinder, but nudged one another and made jokes about him when he
+came to the market-place. Even the cur-dogs followed and barked at him,
+but they knew no better. They were cruel folk, those dwellers in the
+Flat Land.
+
+Karl’s own parents were the unkindest of all. They did not love their
+son nor pity his wretchedness, but were ashamed because he was so
+simple. They were angry, too, because in their poverty he could not
+help them earn a living. For there seemed little indeed that poor Karl
+could learn to do,--he was so very simple. His parents were continually
+telling him how useless he was in this workaday world.
+
+“Oh, you stupid fellow!” they would sometimes say, driving him
+out of the house with blows of broom or stick. “Oh, you great
+good-for-nothing, sitting here and eating our bread without doing aught
+to pay for it! Were ever parents troubled with so worthless a son?
+Other folk have bright boys and girls who will grow up to do some good
+in the world and be a credit to their parents. But you will always be a
+big, overgrown baby for us to take care of. Bah! Karl, we are tired of
+seeing you about!”
+
+With the tears streaming down his face poor Karl would shuffle out of
+the mean little cottage where they lived, the most unhappy boy in the
+whole wide world. There was one place whither Karl loved to go at such
+times, the only place where he was sure of finding rest and quiet and a
+friend. In a corner of the village was a little wood,--a rare sight in
+the Flat Land, where trees grew but sparsely.
+
+Few other persons came here, for the folk of the country cared little
+about rest or quiet, and nothing at all for the beauty of nature. They
+were quite satisfied with the look of their clean-shaven country,
+their smooth lawns and geometrical canals, their straight, shadeless
+roads, curbed neatly on either hand. It had never occurred to them to
+plant trees for beauty and shade, and for the other good things which
+trees offer. The little wood had grown quite by accident, and no one
+cared anything about it. But Karl loved the lonely, pretty place, and
+especially the great oak which grew in the midst thereof, the only
+oak in the whole Flat Land. It was so big, so sturdy, and yet withal
+so gentle when it stretched its great limbs protectingly over his
+wretchedness, giving the comfort of its shade and coolness to refresh
+him in his troubles. It was Karl’s only friend.
+
+A hot, sultry day came upon the Flat Land, and it seemed to be Karl’s
+evil day. In the morning a rout of children and dogs chased him through
+the village, pelting him with bad eggs and fruit, and with stones,
+too. They chased him until the school bell rang, when he escaped; for
+Karl did not go to school,--he was too simple. When he returned home,
+breathless, bruised, and weary, scarcely able to speak from fright and
+exhaustion, his father beat him because he could not tell where he had
+been all the morning. Poor Karl! There was no part of the whole town
+where he had not been in that dreadful chase. But he had not the words
+to explain this to his parents; so his cruel father punished him, and
+his mother drove him out without his dinner.
+
+More wretched than ever before, Karl fled to his refuge, the little
+wood, and flung himself on the greensward beneath the giant oak tree.
+He buried his face in the cool, soft moss, and cried as though his
+heart would break.
+
+“Poor fool! Poor fool!” he wailed. “Poor Karl, good for nothing!”
+
+While he lay thus, sobbing aloud and filling the cups of the moss
+with his tears, he heard a heavy tread approaching. Glancing up
+fearfully,--for he had no hope to meet a friendly face, since none in
+all the world had ever smiled upon him,--he saw a Farmer approaching
+with a great axe over his shoulder.
+
+“Hullo, there!” cried the Farmer when he spied Karl under the tree.
+“You Simpleton, better get up. I am going to cut down that tree which
+grows over your head.”
+
+“Cut down my tree!” gasped Karl, and he began to tremble. Was he to
+lose his only friend?
+
+“_Your_ tree!” jeered the Farmer. “Poor Fool, I never knew that you
+owned anything, even your senses. The tree is mine, with the land on
+which it grows and acres on every hand. I am going to cut down the tree
+to make firewood for next winter. That is all trees are good for.”
+
+“Oh, do not do that!” begged Karl, spreading out his arms as if to
+protect the tree. “I will not let you cut it down!”
+
+“Ho ho!” laughed the Farmer. “How will you prevent it, Simpleton? And
+what is the tree to you, anyway?”
+
+“The only big tree there is anywhere!” sobbed Karl. “The only shade;
+the only safe, quiet, cool, kind place in the whole world! O Man, do
+not cut down the tree! You cannot make another.”
+
+The Farmer had lifted his axe to strike, but now he paused and
+rested it on the ground. Karl’s last words had struck him with a
+new thought. “The Fool speaks a word of wisdom,” he growled to
+himself. “It is easier to cut down a tree like this than to make
+another. The acorn which I might plant to-day would become no such
+tree in my lifetime--nor in that of my son, or my grandson, or my
+great-grandson, for that matter. Fool, I will think it over (the
+more fool I, ’tis likely). I will spare _your_ tree--ha ha!--for a
+time. I can cut it down whenever I like. But as you say, I cannot soon
+grow another. My folly bids yours good-day, Fool.”
+
+[Illustration: KARL AND THE DRYAD]
+
+Shouldering his axe, the Farmer trudged half sulkily away. Then Karl
+fell to sobbing again, but this time with joy that his tree was spared.
+He flung his arm around the great trunk and pressed his lips against
+the rough bark, kissing it again and again. Suddenly he heard a sharp
+crack in the oak; another and another, as if the bark were being ripped
+away. He started up in a fright and stood back from the tree, wondering
+what was happening to his old friend.
+
+Presently a long vertical slit appeared in the side of the tree and
+grew gradually wider and wider. A door was opening in the trunk! Karl
+stood gazing spell-bound at this amazing sight, when out from the
+dark entrance stepped a figure most wonderful to see. It was a lovely
+maiden, dressed all in brown,--the color of the tree-bark. About her
+head was twined a wreath of green oak leaves and acorns, and in her
+hand she carried a wand, made from a branch of the tree. She was a
+Dryad, the spirit whose home was the old oak tree; but Karl was too
+simple to know that. He merely stood staring at the beautiful stranger,
+too much surprised even to close his poor foolish mouth, which hung
+wide open.
+
+The Dryad smiled sweetly at the lad and said, “Thanks, kind friend,
+for saving my tree. I heard your wise words to the cruel Farmer, and
+brave you were to speak them. Now what can I do to make you happy, as
+we Dryads love to make happy him who does kindness to our sheltering
+trees?”
+
+Poor Karl did not understand how he had saved the tree. He only knew
+that for some reason the cruel Farmer had changed his mind. As little
+did he understand why the Dryad thanked him. But he heard the kindness
+of her voice, and knew she offered aid.
+
+“Oh, can you help me, beautiful Stranger?” he cried, clasping his
+hands eagerly and looking at her with tears in his eyes.
+
+“Indeed, I will help you all I can, kind lad,” said the Dryad, waving
+her wand and taking a step towards him. “Tell me about your trouble.”
+
+Then Karl told the Dryad all the sorrow of his life,--how he was
+foolish and of no use, a burden to his parents and a disgrace to the
+town; how all the village, even the little children and the cur-dogs,
+hated and despised him; how unhappy and lonesome he was.
+
+“O fair Stranger,” said Karl as he finished the sad little tale, “I am
+only a poor simpleton, and I can never do anything good or great. But
+if you could only teach me how to do some little thing that will be of
+use to the world, so that I shall not always be hated and despised even
+by the little children and dogs of the village, I should be so very
+happy! Will you do this, dear Tree-Maiden?”
+
+The Dryad looked at him pityingly, and the tears stood in her own brown
+eyes when she heard his wish. “Poor boy,” she said, and her voice was
+very sweet, “you ask nothing for yourself, neither riches nor happiness
+nor even wisdom. You ask only to be taught how your simplicity may be
+of some use to the world which has treated you so unkindly. Some would
+call it a foolish wish. But I say, O Karl, that it is not foolishness.
+Twice to-day you have spoken wisely, lad.”
+
+The Dryad looked up into the tree under which they stood; she looked
+down upon the ground; then she glanced around and about, thinking hard
+for Karl’s sake. And at last she spoke again.
+
+“Remember the words which you spoke to-day when the Farmer raised his
+axe. You told him that he could not make another such tree; and those
+words saved this great oak. You were right, Karl. And he was right when
+he agreed that the acorn which he might plant to-day would not become
+like this king of trees in his lifetime, nor in that of his son, or his
+grandson, or his great-grandson. Yet the acorn which you plant will
+grow, and its shade, its beauty, its greenness will one day equal
+this. Though you may never see it, the world will be better for your
+deed, and future generations will bless you for it. This shall be your
+task, Karl, to fare forth upon a lifelong pilgrimage and plant as you
+go the blessed trees which will shelter the many people who are to come
+after you. Thus the Flat Land will become famous for all time as the
+place of happy wayfaring.”
+
+Now poor Karl understood not one word of all this which the Dryad had
+so prettily spoken, save that he was to go away. But this thought he
+seized eagerly.
+
+“I am to go away!” he cried. “When, dear Maiden, and where?”
+
+“You must go to-night,” answered the Dryad, waving her wand. “See,
+already the shadows are falling. You must not be missed nor sought for
+this night. You must take with you only this,--a sack of acorns upon
+your shoulders. See where they lie all about us under the tree, ready
+for you to gather! And look! I will take this green mantle which I wear
+and make of it a sack to hold your burden. Take it, Karl, and fill it
+thus with the gift of your old friend, the oak.”
+
+Karl did as she showed him, and presently he had the long, soft sack
+filled with brown acorns. Then the Dryad gave him a lesson in planting.
+She showed him how to dig a little hole for each acorn and cover
+it with mould; and though Karl was so simple he learned the lesson
+readily, for he had a loving teacher. Then the Dryad told him how he
+must walk a hundred paces from the planting of one acorn before he
+turned earth to cover the next.
+
+“Now, Karl, you shall go forth,” she said, “from village to village
+wherever your thought may lead,--for it does not matter,--planting
+acorns on either side of the way. And if any one asks you why you do
+this, do you tell him the story of this day; and I warrant you will
+need no other pence to pay for food or a bed whenever you need them. Do
+not forget this story, Karl. Do not forget.”
+
+“I am a simpleton,” said Karl humbly, “yet I shall never forget this
+day’s happenings, nor your words to me. But shall I indeed be doing
+something for the world’s good? I do not see how that can be.”
+
+“Trust me, Karl,” said the Dryad kindly. “Indeed and indeed, you will
+be doing much, I promise you,--more than many men who call themselves
+wise. But see, already the night is falling. It is time that you were
+starting upon your journey.”
+
+Thereupon she helped him to place the stout sack of acorns upon his
+shoulders, and with a wave of the wand started him forth upon his
+pilgrimage. Smiling with joy to think that at last he was about to be
+of some use in the world, Karl bent his long frame under the heavy
+burden, and trudged out of the little wood. When he reached the
+highroad, he turned to wave a last farewell to the Dryad. But already
+she had retreated into her tree-cell, closing the door behind her so
+tightly that one would never know where it opened. It was to his friend
+the great oak, alone, that Karl bade his last good-by.
+
+Thus Karl began his pilgrimage with the green sack of acorns on his
+back, and with neither penny nor crust in his pocket. He began his
+pilgrimage at dusk, when every one was indoors at the evening meal; so
+no one thought of him, or spied his doings. With great glee the simple
+fellow planted his first acorn in the heart of the village, just within
+sight of the parent oak. So long as light lasted he trudged on with a
+happier heart than he had ever known. He was being of some use to the
+world! He did not understand how, but he believed the gentle Dryad’s
+promise. At every hundred paces he planted an acorn, and he was so busy
+counting his steps between whiles that he forgot all his troubles. And
+this, too, the wise Dryad had foreseen.
+
+At last, when the way had grown so dim that Karl could barely see to
+dig earth for the last planting, a wayfarer accosted him.
+
+“What ho, Stranger! What are you doing there?” cried this man.
+
+“I am planting an acorn,” said Karl simply.
+
+“Ho ho! what an idea!” cried the fellow with a guffaw. “You’ll never
+live to enjoy the oak that grows from that acorn. Why do you take so
+much trouble for nothing, my funny fellow?”
+
+Then Karl told him the whole story, as the Dryad had bade him do. And
+when he paused at the end, the man was silent for a little time.
+
+“Poor fellow!” he said at last. “Simple, simple! What a story made of
+fool’s fancies! An oak tree--a maiden coming out of it--acorns to be
+planted along the road for shade and rest! Yet--there is something in
+that last thought. It might not be a bad thing to have trees along
+our highways, though I never before heard of such a thing. Whew! I
+know I should have been glad to-day for the shade of a tree when I ate
+my luncheon in the burning sun.--Have you supped? Where do you lodge
+to-night, lad?”
+
+Karl dropped his foolish mouth and said blankly that he did not know.
+In truth, he had never thought of the matter until that minute. But the
+stranger clapped him on the shoulder and said,--
+
+“Come home with me and I will give you a bed and a sup. Your wonderful
+story deserves so much reward.”
+
+So Karl fared well that night, and on the morrow once more started
+happily forth upon his mission. Thus indeed he fared wherever he went.
+At first folk laughed at the story which he told. But when they came
+to think it over, they found it not so ridiculous. Looking at the
+poor fool’s eager face and watching his tireless labor for the good
+of people whom he would never see, their hearts smote them for their
+own selfishness, and they were ashamed. They treated him well. Karl
+never lacked for a meal or a bed; the telling of his story always
+earned either. Yet he never expected this reward, but was continually
+wondering why folk were so good to him. He thanked them humbly for
+their charity, and when he was refreshed, went forth again upon his
+pilgrimage with no care for the morrow or for the next meal. Karl was
+indeed a simpleton.
+
+The days and the weeks and the years went by, and Karl still wandered,
+planting the acorns as he went. He never retraced his steps, but
+went on and on, down new roads, new avenues, new boulevards, into new
+countries. He never was curious to see how his work was faring. He was
+too simple to think of that. He had been told what he must do in order
+to be useful in the world; that was enough. The Power that watches over
+little acorns and great oaks, over simpletons and wise men, would take
+care of the work which Karl had begun.
+
+Mile after mile he traversed, country after country he visited; the
+years passed over his head, silvering his hair and bending still more
+his tall frame. As Karl grew older the burden on his shoulders became
+lighter to carry; but very gradually. The sack made from the Dryad’s
+mantle must have had magic woven in its tissue. For that first stock of
+acorns from the old oak tree lasted throughout the entire pilgrimage,
+during the whole of Karl’s life, so that he had no need to return to
+the unfriendly village for a fresh supply. On and on he went, and
+behind him for miles and miles through the countries and the years
+stretched rows of little oak saplings, of various heights and sizes,
+and full of promise,--the beginning of a wonderful arched avenue.
+For after he had passed out of sight, the people of every village,
+remembering his strange words and his wild story, began to think of him
+as a holy man, and to look upon the acorns which he had planted as holy
+things. So the sprouts were cherished carefully and more carefully as
+the years went by.
+
+Now at last, after many years, Karl was grown old and feeble, and the
+acorns were few in the bottom of the Dryad’s green sack; and he knew
+that his pilgrimage was almost over. He was many, many miles from home,
+and for the first time he thought of returning, longing for the Tree,
+his friend. He was now bowed and white-haired. A snowy beard descended
+to his waist; his garments were in rags and his shoes were mere strips
+of leather bound around his bare feet. But he was very happy, for he
+knew his work was done.
+
+In a little village of the far South country he planted the last
+acorn, and sank upon the spot, unable to go any farther. The towns-folk
+gathered around him, saying, “Who is this? What holy man is this?”
+For his face was indeed that of a blessed saint. Then once more, for
+the last time, he told his story. He told it in a faint and faltering
+voice, and it was so sad, so sweet, that every one wept to hear it, and
+marveled greatly, saying,--
+
+“Surely, he is indeed a holy man! See, the green wonder-sack is empty.
+This is the end of his pilgrimage. Our village is blest and shall be
+famous as the end of his pilgrimage. We will set up a shrine in his
+honor where the last acorn is planted. But first we must take him home.”
+
+“Yes, take me home!” said Karl, who understood only this word of all
+the praise they gave him.
+
+They laid him on the green mantle and started gently to carry him where
+he would be. He could not tell them the name of the place, but they
+traced the way by the acorns which he had planted and which had sprung
+up in his honor. As they went from village to village, folk came out
+who remembered the holy pilgrim who had passed erewhile, telling
+his quaint story; and they claimed a share in bearing the blessed
+burden. So that poor Karl had a continually growing company of people
+ministering to his wants and doing him the kindnesses of love. But he
+did not know why, thinking only that the world was grown wondrously
+kind since the days of his boyhood. As they passed on, the wonder grew
+at the length of his pilgrimage and the extent of Karl’s work. For the
+journey was not a matter of days but of months, even at the steady pace
+they held. And as they measured back mile after mile, the planting of
+Karl became still more wonderful to see. From little sprouts the acorns
+had now grown tiny treelets. Further on the saplings were waist-high,
+shoulder high, above the heads of the tallest. In lands where he had
+passed years before grew rows of tall, beautiful oaks on either side
+of the road. But it was when the goodly company entered at last the
+Flat Land itself that they saw the trees become so sturdy and so
+broad that already it was a fair avenue down which Karl was borne.
+It was many, many years since he had passed that way. He himself was
+forgotten, but there remained the tradition of a simple lad who had
+once gone by, planting the blessed oaks which were now the pride of the
+land. And his own countrymen joined the company in greater numbers than
+any heretofore. For now the wisdom of the planting began to be seen.
+The trees were so tall and so broad-limbed that already they cast a
+grateful shade, under which the pilgrims rested at every stage. Men,
+women, and children, even the animals whom they passed, taking shelter
+from the summer heat under these same trees, blessed the wisdom which
+had done this thing. But Karl knew nothing of all this. He only knew
+that he was going home; and he slept, being very weary.
+
+At last they came to the village where Karl was born; but he did not
+know it for such, he was so simple. Nor did the people who flocked to
+praise him remember Karl, he was so changed. They only knew him for the
+unnamed benefactor and friend who had made their town the fairest and
+most famous in the whole land. Among them were the very children, now
+grown old like him, who had teased and tormented him that woeful day.
+But now they crowded around the green litter as it was borne along,
+seeking to kiss the hand of the wise man who had given them shade and
+shelter on their weary way to and from the market. The company of
+pilgrims bore Karl past and under the trees which had sprung up to mark
+his passing from the town. They came to the last tree, the first which
+Karl had planted in the heart of the village on that first day, and
+here they paused, troubled. For they said,--
+
+“The avenue ends here. Whither shall we now carry the holy man, and
+what would he have us do? For he has spoken no word since we began the
+journey.”
+
+But under this last tree Karl opened his eyes, and raising himself
+on his litter stretched out his arms to the East. Gazing whither he
+pointed, the company saw a little wood, and rising out of it a single
+giant oak, greater than all the others which Karl had planted,--greater
+than any which those men had seen.
+
+“There, there!” cried Karl, with joy in his voice. “Take me there!
+Home, home!”
+
+Wondering, they bore him to the great oak and laid him on the
+greensward beneath the tree. Then a marvelous thing happened. In the
+sight of all the people a little door opened in the side of the oak,
+and out stepped a maiden dressed all in brown, with a girdle of green
+and with a crown of oak leaves on her head. She bore a branch of the
+tree in her hand, which she waved gently as she stepped towards Karl.
+
+“Welcome home!” she cried sweetly, smiling upon him. “Welcome home,
+dear friend. You have had your task and it is ended. Your wish is
+fulfilled. You have been of great use to the world, and it will bless
+your name more and more as the years go by. Come, now, and rest.”
+Tenderly she took him by the hand, aiding him to rise. He lifted
+himself, feebly at first, but seeming to gain strength from her touch.
+The Dryad wrapped her green mantle around his shoulders, leading him
+towards the oak. And lo! When they reached the little door, he turned
+and smiled at the company, waving his hand in a last farewell, but
+speaking no word. And they looked at him amazed, such a change seemed
+to have passed over him; but they could not say how, save that the
+weight of years, the weariness, the sorrow, the yearning, seemed to
+have slipped away. He smiled at them, and it was not the smile of a
+simpleton, but of one who knew the meaning of strange things. Then the
+Dryad drew him gently after her and they passed in through the little
+door, into the heart of the great oak tree. Noiselessly it closed
+behind them, leaving not a crack to show where it had been. And this
+was the last ever seen of Karl and the Dryad.
+
+But the people were left staring at one another, as folk do when they
+have seen something that they cannot understand.
+
+
+
+
+TREES
+
+
+  However little I may be,
+  At least I too can plant a tree.
+
+  And some day it will grow so high
+  That it can whisper to the sky,
+
+  And spread its leafy branches wide
+  To make a shade on every side.
+
+  Then on a sultry summer day,
+  The people resting there will say,--
+
+  “Oh, good and wise and great was he
+  Who thought to plant this blessed tree!”
+
+
+
+
+THE INDIAN FAIRY
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+THE INDIAN FAIRY
+
+
+I
+
+“Katie has been complaining again of the queer noises in the cellar,”
+said Rob’s mother, as she passed the coffee cup to her husband across
+the breakfast table.
+
+“It must be rats,” said Rob’s papa. “We will get a trap.”
+
+“It is very strange,” said Mamma again, “the girls declare that the
+noises seem to come from the old well. That is what all our servants
+have said for years. You know some of them have been so frightened that
+they gave us notice, because of the noises in the well. They think it
+is bewitched.”
+
+“What is ‘bewitched,’ Mamma?” asked Rob.
+
+“Pooh, pooh!” said Rob’s papa. “It is only rats, I know, and the noises
+do not come from the well, but from the wall. There must be a rat’s
+nest in the wall close by the well. I have heard about those noises
+ever since I was a little boy. Sometimes I used to think that I heard
+them myself, and I fancied all sorts of queer things. But of course it
+was nothing but rats.”
+
+Rob had been listening with round eyes, and now he cried eagerly, “O
+Papa! I did not know that there was a well under the house. How did it
+come there, and what is it for?”
+
+“Oh, yes, there is an old well,” said his papa. “It has been down there
+longer than I can remember, for it is even older than the house,--older
+than the city, too, I daresay. It was an Indian spring, and my
+great-grandfather built the house over it, so as to have fresh water
+always conveniently at hand. It is covered now with a trapdoor, so that
+no one can fall in by mistake. That is why you never saw it, Rob.”
+
+“An old Indian spring!” cried Rob excitedly, “and we drink that very
+same water every day! How splendid!” He sipped some water from his
+glass and smacked his lips.
+
+“Oh, no,” said his papa laughing. “This is ordinary spring water bought
+at the store. Our old well has not been used for years and years. Since
+the city has been built up so closely around our house, which was one
+of the first ones here on the Hill, we have not dared to use the well
+water, because it might not be clean. I daresay the well is quite dry
+by this time. I have not looked into it for years.”
+
+“O Papa! I want to look down into the well!” cried Rob.
+
+“Well, you shall do so some time,” said his papa as they rose from the
+table. “But I am in a hurry now. Good-by, Mamma. Good-by, Rob. I will
+buy a trap on my way down town to-day, and we will put an end to the
+noises in the cellar which trouble Katie.”
+
+Now of course Rob was very anxious to see that well, for he loved
+everything that had to do with Indians. He thought that he could not
+wait for his father to show it to him. He ran into the kitchen and
+began to bother Katie.
+
+“Katie, Katie,” he begged. “Please come into the cellar and show me the
+old well. I want to look down into it.”
+
+“The Saints preserve us!” cried Katie, lifting up her hands in horror.
+“What for do ye want to be lookin’ into the well? No, me b’y! It’s I
+that will be kapin’ away from that same, and thank ye kindly. ’Tis
+bewitched it is, what with the funny little noises a-comin’ out of it
+day and night.”
+
+“What funny little noises, Katie?” asked Rob. “Papa says it is rats. He
+is going to buy a trap to catch them.”
+
+“Rats! A trap!” sniffed Katie scornfully. “’Tis no rats at all do be
+makin’ them quare little noises. ’Tis bewitched, I tell ye. ’Tis stark
+bewitched, that well. And I wouldn’t go near it at all for the promise
+of a new bonnet.”
+
+“What does ‘bewitched’ mean, Katie?” asked Rob again.
+
+Katie wagged her head and mysteriously made the sign of the cross.
+
+“Oh, who will be tellin’ ye that? If it was in the owld country I’d say
+it was Fairies or maybe the Leprechaun himself. But I never heard tell
+o’ Fairies in this land, at all. Maybe ’tis something worse. But oh!
+The funny little noises!”
+
+“_What_ noises, Katie?” begged Rob.
+
+“Oh, the little whinin’ and sobbin’, like one wantin’ to get out. ’Tis
+no rats live in the owld well. Would _rats_ be whimperin’ and beggin’
+like?”
+
+“Begging, Katie!” cried Rob. “Oh, what do they say? Please, please tell
+me quickly.”
+
+“La, no! Master Rob,” said Katie, looking sidewise at the little boy,
+“your Mamma wouldn’t want me to be frightenin’ ye with tales the likes
+o’ these.”
+
+“But I’m not frightened, Katie,” said Rob eagerly. “I’m just
+_interested_.”
+
+“H’m,” said Katie doubtfully, glancing at the clock. “Whisht! Master
+Rob! ’Tis a quarter to nine, and time for you to be startin’ for
+school, or you’ll be late.”
+
+And indeed, Rob had to run all the way, and reached school barely in
+time.
+
+Rob’s papa did not forget to bring home a rat-trap that night, and
+after dinner he said,--
+
+“Now, Rob, I am going down cellar to set the trap, and if you want to
+come with me I will show you the old well.”
+
+Of course Rob wanted to go. So Rob’s papa took a lighted candle in one
+hand, and the rat-trap nicely baited with cheese in the other, and they
+descended the steep cellar stairs together. It was very dark in the
+cellar, and the candle made queer flares on the walls and ceiling, and
+lighted up corners which Rob had never before seen. In the very darkest
+and dimmest corner of all, away in the back cellar, Rob’s papa paused,
+and then Rob saw that in the floor there was a trapdoor with an iron
+ring, quite like the Arabian Nights!
+
+“It is from somewhere hereabout that Katie says she hears the noises,”
+said Papa. “We will set the trap on the floor, close beside the wall,
+and I warrant we shall catch a big rat before many nights are over.” So
+he set the trap with the spring ready to catch the first greedy rat who
+should try to steal the cheese.
+
+“Now let us look into the well,” said Rob’s papa. “I haven’t lifted
+this cover for years. Ugh! It is heavy enough!” He tugged at the iron
+ring and presently the cover flew back. Down below yawned a great black
+hole, very deep and seemingly quite empty.
+
+“Here, Rob, take hold of my hand,” said his papa, “and you can look
+down.” Rob held tightly to his father’s hand, and bending over, peered
+into the well. The candle which his father held flickered and flamed
+and shot a shaft of light down into the strange hole.
+
+“I can’t see anything,” said Rob, disappointed. “I don’t think there
+is any water there. But--but I think I hear something! A queer little
+noise like water trickling, or somebody whispering very softly.”
+
+“The spring may be bubbling yet,” said his father. “Katie, O Katie!”
+he called upstairs. “Please bring me a tin pail and a ball of stout
+twine. We will see whether the Indian spring has run dry or not.”
+
+“The Saints preserve us!” Rob heard Katie cry in the kitchen above, as
+she went about to do as she was bid. And again Rob thought he heard a
+murmuring in the well.
+
+“There is the queer noise again, Papa!” he cried. “It sounds like some
+one talking a long way off.”
+
+“Pooh, pooh!” said Papa. (He was always saying, “Pooh, pooh” at Rob’s
+queer notions.) “Run and get the pail and the cord, Sonny. Katie is
+afraid to come near the well. Ah! Now we shall soon know.”
+
+He tied the cord to the handle of the pail, while Rob held the
+candle and they watched the pail descend. Down, down it went, until
+it disappeared into the blackness. “Well, well!” said his father.
+“Ten, twenty, I must have paid out thirty feet of cord already. I had
+forgotten that the well was so deep. Hello! There was a splash; hear
+it, Rob?”
+
+Rob heard,--a quick splash, and again the queer little noise, a
+tinkle, a trickle, a rustle, a whisper.
+
+“O Papa,” he cried, “let me draw up the pail, please.”
+
+“Well, be very careful, Son,” said his father. And Rob began to pull on
+the cord, while his father held tightly to his jacket so that he should
+not fall down into the deep, black hole. The pail was rather heavy. It
+bumped against the sides of the well, tinkling and jingling as it came
+up. Rob thought that it jerked and wobbled strangely. But perhaps his
+hand was not quite steady, he was so excited. At last the pail came in
+sight, full of water. They drew it over the edge, Rob stooping eagerly
+to see. Filled to the brim it was, and running over.
+
+“Clear water, as cold as ice,” said Rob’s Papa, dipping in his finger.
+“Let us take it upstairs and see it in a better light. I would not have
+believed that the old spring was still bubbling.”
+
+Very carefully Rob carried the pail of water up the cellar stairs.
+“Katie, O Katie!” he called. “See the water from the old well! From
+thirty feet down in the darkness it came.”
+
+“The Saints preserve us!” cried Katie. (She was always saying that.) “I
+wouldn’t touch water from the witch-well for any money ye could offer.”
+
+“It is clear and bright as glass,” said Rob’s papa.
+
+“O Papa! Let me drink some,” cried Rob. “I should so love to taste
+water from a real Indian spring.”
+
+“O Mr. Evans! Don’t let the b’y taste it!” begged Katie, clasping her
+hands. “It will kill him, the p’isen water!”
+
+“No, Rob,” said Mr. Evans, “I think Katie is right. It might be
+dangerous to drink the water. But it looks delicious. What a pity that
+we cannot use spring water from our own ancestral well, instead of
+buying it at the store as every one else must!”
+
+“Please, Papa--just one little sip?” begged Rob.
+
+“No, not one little sip, Son. Here, Katie, empty the pail of water
+into the sink,” said Mr. Evans firmly.
+
+Tremblingly Katie took the pail and went with it to the sink. But she
+had not turned half the water away when she gave a scream.
+
+“Ow! The whimperin’ and cryin’! Hark till it!” she shrieked. And
+indeed, it seemed to Rob that the water sobbed and moaned as it ran
+down the sink spout. Suddenly he had an idea.
+
+“It is too bad to let the beautiful fresh Indian spring water run into
+the horrid old sewer,” he said. “Please, Papa, come with me and let me
+pour it back into the well.”
+
+“Pooh, pooh!” laughed Mr. Evans. “What an idea! You are as silly as
+Katie, Rob. I don’t want you to get strange ideas into your head.
+But--well, come along, since you are so anxious that the famous water
+should not be wasted. I want to cover up the well tightly, so that no
+one can fall in.”
+
+Downstairs they went once more, Rob carrying the pail half full of
+water, which he poured back into the well. With a glad _splash_ it
+joined the hidden spring far, far below, and again Rob felt sure
+that he caught the sound of a whispering voice, tinkling, trickling,
+sighing, sobbing, as if it were trying to say something to him, perhaps
+to thank him. He bent over the well, listening eagerly. But his father
+pulled him back by the hand.
+
+“Come, Rob,” he said. “I want to put the cover in place, and then we
+must go upstairs. It is time that you were in bed.”
+
+So they let down the cover with a _bang!_ and Rob went away with his
+father out of the dark cellar and into the gaslight. But the sound of
+those queer little noises followed after him, upstairs and upstairs,
+and even after he was in bed.
+
+
+II
+
+The queer little sounds followed Rob upstairs, and even after he was in
+bed he could hear them echoing from far below in the cellar. At first
+they were only little trickly sounds, like water _seekling_ afar off.
+But by and by, when the house was very still, because everybody except
+Rob had fallen sound asleep, the noises grew louder and plainer. They
+grew into a soft murmur, sometimes a sob, sometimes the whisper of a
+little silver voice. And at the same time there was a gentle knocking.
+Rob listened and listened as hard as ever he could, and he said to
+himself,--
+
+“Surely, Katie is right. There is something strange about the cellar,
+and I think it comes from the old well. What can it be?”
+
+Finally the voice sounded so loud and so plain that Rob could hear
+distinctly what it was saying, and it seemed to be talking to him.
+
+“Let me out; ah, let me out!” cried the silvery, trickly voice, and
+again Rob heard the knocking. “Good little boy, you who would not let
+the water of the Indian spring be wasted, come and free me from my
+prison of so many years.”
+
+A prisoner! Some one was shut up in the old well! Rob sat up in bed.
+He must set the prisoner free. He was not a bit frightened at the
+thought of going down all alone into the cellar, for he knew that there
+was nothing more to be afraid of in the dark than in the daylight.
+He got up and thrust his feet into a pair of slippers and put on his
+bath robe. Then very softly, so as not to waken anybody in the house,
+he crept downstairs: down to the floor where his father and mother
+slept,--he could hear them breathing as he passed the door; down past
+the library where the books lived and all night long told silent
+stories to one another in the moonlight; down to the empty dining-room,
+and through to the kitchen. Here Rob found a candle on a shelf and
+lighted it. Then, taking this in one hand and holding up his trailing
+bath robe with the other, he stole down the cellar stairs. The voice
+was calling now louder than ever, and with it sounded the knocking,
+which certainly came from the old well.
+
+“Let me out, O kind boy!” sobbed the silvery, tinkling voice. “Let me
+out. Oh! I thought I was free to-day, but alas! Here I remain yet a
+prisoner, for how many more long years? O kind little boy, the first
+one to do me a good turn, let me out, let me out!”
+
+Rob hastened to the corner in which was the old well. And as he drew
+near, the voice became plainer and plainer, and the knockings louder
+and louder. He set the candle down on the floor beside the rat-trap
+which his father had baited that afternoon, and his heart beat fast as
+he bent over the cover of the well and seized the iron ring in both
+hands. Should he be able to lift it?
+
+One--two--three! Rob strained hard, but the cover would not budge.
+One--two--three, again! It was so heavy for a little boy to lift.
+One--two--three! Once more! Rob felt the cover move a tiny bit. The
+noises down in the well had ceased suddenly. It was very still. Rob
+could hear his heart thumping like the screw of a steamboat. Now,
+for one last time! One--two--_three_! The cover came up suddenly, so
+suddenly that Rob nearly went over backward. There below yawned the
+great black hole of the well.
+
+“Oh!” said Rob, drawing a long breath.
+
+“_Oh!_” Was it an echo, or a soft little voice, far, far below?
+
+Rob took up the candle and peered down into the well. But he could
+see nothing. “Is any one down there?” he asked. At first there was
+no answer, and then there came a tinkly, trickly sound like water
+bubbling, which turned at last into a whispered “_Yes!_” There
+certainly was some one in the old well!
+
+“Who are you?” said Rob, tingling all over with excitement.
+
+“Oh, little friend, kind boy,” said the voice, “I am the Fairy of the
+Indian spring, shut up here for years and years, unable to get out. I
+have called and called, but you are the first who has come to aid me.”
+
+“What can I do to help you?” asked Rob eagerly.
+
+“Let down the bucket as you did this afternoon,” said the voice. “Let
+down the bucket and draw me up.”
+
+The pail with the ball of twine lay close beside the well, where Rob’s
+papa had forgotten it that afternoon. Rob set the candle down on the
+floor and began to lower the pail into the well. Yard after yard after
+yard the hungry throat swallowed the cord. Finally he heard the pail
+splash as it reached the water. He waited a moment. The pail bobbed
+about and then grew heavy on the cord. Then the silver voice cried,
+“Draw up, draw up, kind boy!”
+
+Rob pulled on the cord eagerly,--pulled and pulled without looking
+down into the well, until the pail tinkled against the bricks of the
+cellar floor. In the flare of the candle-light Rob saw that it was full
+of water. But that was not all! Standing with feet braced across the
+top of the pail, clinging to the cord, was the strangest little figure
+about six inches high; a little figure dressed all in brown, with black
+hair and bright eyes. When the pail rested on the cellar floor he
+leaped off and stood before Rob, bowing, with one hand laid upon his
+head.
+
+And then Rob saw that it was a tiny Indian. His brown dress was soft
+like deerskin, and his leggings were fringed. His limp black hair fell
+over a face of red-bronze, with high cheek-bones and pouting lips. In
+his hair he wore a tiny blue feather, perhaps from a blue jay’s wing,
+and in his hands he carried the sweetest little toy bow, while a quiver
+of inch-long arrows hung on his shoulders. His feet were covered with
+moccasins, and he was the exact copy of a Wild West Indian; only he
+looked like one seen through the wrong end of an opera-glass.
+
+“Oh--you must be an Indian Fairy,” cried Rob, with his eyes bulging.
+
+“Yes, Friend,” said the tiny one. “I am an Indian Fairy, the Fairy
+of the Indian spring. And you have brought me up for the second time
+this day, though you did not see me the first time. This is the second
+time during fifty years that I have left the well. Ah, must I go back
+again?” Despite the warlike appearance of the little man his silvery
+voice began to tremble.
+
+“Tell me all about it,” said Rob soothingly.
+
+“I am the Fairy who lived by the spring years, and years, and years
+ago, before the White Men came to Shawmut,” said the Fairy.
+
+“What is Shawmut?” asked Rob, wondering.
+
+“Shawmut is the Indian name of this place,” said the Fairy. “It means
+the Place of Springs, and it was so named because of the many bubbling
+springs on the hillside above the river. Oh! there were many, many of
+us. I had dozens of brothers. But my spring was in the fairest spot.
+This water was the sweetest and clearest of any. Heigho! How often the
+great braves used to kneel here for a refreshing draught when they
+returned from the hunt or from war! They never saw me, for I hid in the
+moss about the spring. But I loved to look at them, they were so big
+and wonderful.”
+
+“Oh, what did they look like?” asked Rob eagerly, for Rob loved to hear
+about Indians.
+
+“They dressed as I do,” said the Fairy. “But sometimes their faces
+were painted green or red or blue. And I could see no good in that.
+Sometimes they wore tassels of hair at their belts. Ugh! I did not like
+that fashion. Sometimes their hands were red, and when they went away
+the waters of my spring were stained. Ugh! Neither did I like that.
+But they were brave and strong and noble. I loved the Red Men, for
+they lived out of doors in the sweet sunlight, as I did. They loved
+the fresh air and the blue sky and the green grass. They would have no
+stifling roof over their heads to shut out the sky; no four walls to
+keep off the fresh air. Ugh! I cannot breathe in a house. I stifle! I
+choke!”
+
+“Then how did you come to be shut up in this house?” asked Rob,
+wondering very much.
+
+“Listen. The White Men came to Shawmut; White Men with cows and dogs,
+women and children. They built houses on the Hill, near the bubbling
+springs, and planted corn. They drove away the Red Men, and I loved
+them not, for they were different. They wore ugly dark garments, hats
+and short cropped hair. They lived in close wigwams, and cared nothing
+for fresh air and blue sky. Neither did they love the trees, but cut
+them down to burn, and mowed the flowers for their ugly ploughed
+fields. The woods and the streams meant nothing to them but places
+wherein they might hunt and fish, which they did gloomily. For they
+were solemn folk and sad. They thought it wicked to laugh merrily,
+as the brook laughs, or to smile like the flowers. Even the little
+children dared not be too gay, but were afraid of their fathers!”
+
+“That must have been a horrid time for children,” said Rob.
+
+“Alas! It was indeed a sad time for everybody,” went on the Fairy. “The
+brave Red Men were gone. Even the rabbits and squirrels were gone. The
+Hill was peopled with solemn and ugly folk, who dared not be happy,
+and it was no longer beautiful as before. Yet I could not go away and
+leave my spring, my dear spring, which ran sweet and clear as ever. It
+was the favorite fountain of the Puritans, and crouching down under
+the moss and ferns I watched them come and go, gloomily, filling their
+buckets and pitchers. But I loved them not, and I hoped that the Red
+Men would come back and drive them away. But the Red Men never came
+again.”
+
+“And what happened next?” asked Rob, much interested.
+
+“Years went by, and the Hill became crowded with the White Men’s ugly
+wigwams. The springs still bubbled, but it was a sad song that they
+sang, for everything was changed. But that was not the worst. Came
+a day when a man built a house over my very spring! He shut in the
+bubbling water under a roof, between four ugly walls, where the blue
+sky could no longer shine upon it nor the fresh air visit it freely!
+Alas! Would that I had escaped before then. I might have gone earlier,
+though it would have been sorrowful to desert my lonely spring. But I
+had not guessed what was about to happen until it was too late. I had
+not thought that even a White Man could be so cruel as to wall up a
+living spring. I was asleep under the moss and ferns when they raised
+the roof over me. Alas! I did not even waken at the sound of their
+wicked hammers. But when I opened my eyes it was too late. There was a
+screen between me and the sky!”
+
+“Why did you not run away?” asked Rob sympathetically.
+
+“Oh, you do not understand,” answered the Fairy with a sad little
+smile. “I might have escaped at any time before the roof covered me.
+But as soon as there was a roof above my head, and four walls rose
+around me, I was under the magic spell of the White Men. I could not go
+away, even though the doors and windows were yet yawning holes. I must
+remain, even as the well must remain, until some one should take pity
+on me and set me free.”
+
+“And could you find no one to do that in all those years?” cried Rob.
+
+“Alas! No. The people who lived in the house were dull folk who did not
+believe in Fairies. For many years and many years I have remained shut
+up in the darkness of this cellar, pining in the deserted well. It is
+quite useless and forgotten. Long ago the ferns and mosses died, and I
+have no green thing left to love, nothing beautiful to see.”
+
+“Poor Fairy!” said Rob, and the tears stood in his eyes.
+
+“I have cried, I have called, I have knocked on the walls of the well,”
+said the Fairy, “but no one has seemed to hear my voice. Or if folk
+heard they have not understood. Years ago some one who stepped as you
+step, whose voice sounded like yours--I never saw his face--used to
+come sometimes and listen at the well, and I heard him wish and wonder.
+But that was all.”
+
+“It must have been my father!” exclaimed Rob, remembering what had been
+said at the breakfast table.
+
+“But he could not understand what I tried to tell him,” went on the
+Fairy. “He wondered and walked about, but he always went away without
+doing anything. It was as if I spoke a foreign language. But you see I
+do not. You understand me quite well, is it not so?”
+
+“Oh, yes!” cried Rob. “And yet it is very strange. It is not language
+such as others speak. It is like trickling water that makes words.”
+
+The Fairy laughed. “It is not language at all,” he said. “But you know
+it. There were women, too; women with loud voices and a curious twist
+to their tongues. They heard my voice, some of them seemed even to
+understand what I cried. For I heard them exclaim and wonder and talk
+of the Fairy Folk. The first time that this happened I was hopeful.
+Surely, I said to myself, they know the Fairies. They say that they
+come from a Green Land where many Fairies live. Surely, surely they
+will love the Little Men of another country. They will understand why
+I long for green grass and blue sky and fresh air. They will help me
+to escape. But no! They were cowards. They screamed and fainted when
+I spoke from the old well. They must have had wicked hearts, for they
+feared the Fairies. They dared not come near, but complained to the
+master and mistress, and would not live in the same house with me.”
+
+“Silly things!” said Rob. “Katie was one of them.”
+
+“So to please them the well was covered,” sighed the Fairy, “and then
+it was worse than ever. Think how dark, how lonely, how ugly a home it
+was for an Indian Fairy who loved the free, open life of outdoors! Oh,
+for the green woods, the sunshine and blue sky! The song of birds and
+the odor of flowers! Oh, to feel the soft green moss, and taste the
+dew fresh in the morning! Please let me out, kind boy, that I may know
+those joys again!”
+
+“Dear Fairy,” said Rob hesitatingly, “I am so sorry, but to find all
+these things, save the sky and air, one must now seek far from here.
+The White Men have driven them away, just as they drove the Indians,
+the squirrels, and the rabbits. There is no green grass, there are no
+flowers, no moss, no ferns on all the Hill.”
+
+“What do you tell me!” cried the Fairy. “My Hill is no longer
+beautiful?”
+
+“It is beautiful,” said Rob. “At least, the White Men call it so. But
+the wigwams are thick and very tall, shutting out the sunlight from the
+paths between. And these paths are dusty, hard streets, with neither
+grass nor trees nor flowers.”
+
+“Oh, why do White Men try so hard to make the world ugly?” wailed the
+poor Indian Fairy. “How can they live away from the woods and the
+flowers and the beautiful, beautiful green grass! Where shall I go?
+What shall I do?”
+
+Rob thought and wondered, and thought again. And at last he had an
+idea. “There is a green country not so very far from here,” he said.
+“One goes there in an electric car,--but you don’t know what a car is.
+Never mind. I went there yesterday and brought away some beautiful
+ferns, growing in the mossy earth.”
+
+“Oh, that I might see them!” cried the Fairy eagerly. “One sniff of
+leafy mould, one breath of the woods lingering about the tufted moss!
+To lie once more in the shadow of a fern and feel its freshness on my
+face! Where is this woodsy wonder?”
+
+“It is upstairs in my bedroom,” answered Rob. “Will you come with me?”
+
+The Fairy hesitated, looked at the pail of water resting beside the
+well, and brightened with a sudden thought.
+
+“Yes!” he cried. “I know what may be done. You can set me free, kind
+boy, you only, of all the folk who have come to the Indian spring
+since the Red Men left it. The spell which binds me to the spring and
+chains me beneath the roof can only be broken when the water is set
+free again to mother earth. Yesterday I came near to being emptied
+into the horrible sewer. You heard my cry as the first of the water
+was lost. You saved me. For had the pail been emptied then I must have
+followed. And to what a fate!”
+
+“It empties at last into the ocean,” said Rob.
+
+“And that would have been the end of me,” shivered the Fairy. “Salt
+water is the one thing which would destroy me utterly. But come now. I
+know how I may be freed. Take the pail of water and bring me with it to
+the blessed clump of ferns.”
+
+Rob agreed; he took up the candle in one hand and the pail of water in
+the other. Lightly as a bird the Fairy sprang upon the rim of the pail,
+clinging to the cord. And so they went together up out of the cellar,
+through the empty kitchen and dining-room; very softly up the stairs,
+past the library of silent-talking books; up and up, very, _very_
+creepily past the bedroom door ajar, whence Rob heard the sound of his
+father and mother snoring peacefully; up and up and up, tiptoeing so as
+not to wake Katie, to Rob’s own chamber. And there on the window-seat
+stood a big flower-pot with the beautiful ferns which the day before
+Rob had dug up in the woods. The Fairy smelled them as soon as he
+entered the room.
+
+“Ah!” he cried, laying both little hands on his breast, “How good that
+is! Dear boy, empty the water quickly from the pail into the earth
+brought from the woods, and I shall be free to lie under my dear ferns
+once more.”
+
+Rob emptied the pail into the flower-pot. And as the last drop of water
+trickled from the bucket, with a glad cry that sounded like the tiniest
+of Indian war-whoops, the Fairy leaped into the moist little dell which
+the ferns made, and curled up against one of the stalks, hugging it
+lovingly.
+
+“Dear fern!” he cried. “Dear woodsy fern! How sweet you smell. Dear
+moss, how soft you are! Dear fragrant earth, made of dead leaves and
+all the ripe finished things of the forest! Oh, I am myself once more.
+Dear boy, you have made me very happy.”
+
+“And you will live here with me in my chamber, always and always, dear
+Fairy?” begged Rob eagerly. “That will be so good! I shall be happy
+indeed to have you for my little neighbor. And I will never, never tell
+any one about you, nor let them disturb your green home.”
+
+The Fairy looked at Rob and sighed. “Little friend,” he said, “I love
+you dearly. I would gladly make you happy. But I have yet one more
+thing to ask of you. Think of it! Even now I am shut under a White
+Man’s roof,--I, an Indian Fairy! So many years in a foreign wigwam,
+walled in a dark, skyless well! Oh! Let me go back to the green wood.
+Let me be free once more like the rabbits and the squirrels. Will you
+set me free, even though it means that you will never see me again?”
+
+Rob looked at the Fairy and his lip trembled. “I hoped”--he began. But
+he took a long breath and said to himself, “I will not be selfish. I
+will be kind and do as I would be done by.” Then he spoke aloud. “Tell
+me how I may set you free, dear Fairy, and I will do it.”
+
+“Ah, my kind friend!” cried the Fairy, “I knew you would be generous!
+This, then, you shall do for me. I will sleep to-night in your chamber,
+and to-morrow, when the sun is high, you shall take up the ferns out
+of the flower-pot, these ferns all moist with the water of the Indian
+spring. You shall take them up, and me with them,--though you will not
+see me after daylight,--and carry them to the woods whence you took
+them. And when you set them back in the ground of the forest where they
+grew, then I shall be free, free, free! Oh, dear boy, will you do this
+for me?”
+
+“Yes, I will do this for you,” said Rob gravely.
+
+“Thanks, thanks!” cried the Fairy. “And now, the night is almost
+done. I think I feel the daylight coming. You will see me no more.
+But I shall be sleeping soundly under the fern. And do you likewise
+go to rest in your little bed. Look! You are shivering with cold! But
+to-morrow do not forget your promise.”
+
+“I will not forget,” said Rob, feeling indeed very cold and shivery. He
+crept away to his little bed, and was soon sound asleep, warm and comfy.
+
+
+III
+
+It was late when Rob woke the next morning. At first he thought that
+the adventure with the Indian Fairy must have been a dream. But as
+soon as he sat up in bed he saw the tin pail on the floor beside the
+window-seat, and the fern moist and green in the flower-pot. So he
+knew that it must all have been true. But he could not see the Fairy
+himself, though he knew that the little fellow must be snugly curled up
+under the green fronds of the fern.
+
+When he came down to the breakfast table his father and mother were
+talking earnestly about something.
+
+“It is a wonder he wasn’t killed!” said his Mamma, shuddering. “Why did
+you ever show him that dreadful well?”
+
+“I shall have the cover screwed down,” said Mr. Evans. “It really isn’t
+safe. Hello, Son! You walked in your sleep again last night, did you
+know it? I suppose you don’t remember. But Mamma found one of your
+slippers outside the library door this morning, and Katie found the
+other on the cellar stairs. And Rob! _The cover of the old well was
+open!_ However did you lift it?”
+
+“I don’t remember how I lifted it,” said Rob, quite truthfully, and he
+looked dazed.
+
+“Well, we can’t have this, you know,” said his father. “I shall have to
+lock your door every night. But we will have that old well screwed up
+hereafter. Perhaps that will satisfy Katie, though I think she will not
+be troubled with any more noises in the wall. She says that there was a
+big, big rat dead in the trap this morning.”
+
+And indeed, nobody ever heard any more noises in the cellar after Rob
+helped the Indian Fairy to escape. That very morning, right after
+breakfast,--for it was a Saturday and there was no school,--he dug up
+the ferns which he had planted in his flower-pot, and put them in a
+little basket with the earth around their roots. Then he started to
+take the electric car which would carry him out of town to the woods.
+
+“Where are you going, Rob?” asked his Mamma, seeing him with cap in
+hand.
+
+“I am going to take my ferns back to the woods,” Rob answered. “I think
+it is cruel to keep things that love the sunshine and the fresh air
+shut up in a house. I am sure that the ferns would much rather be back
+in the woods, don’t you think so, Mamma?”
+
+“Well, I am sure I never thought of that!” said his Mamma. “But you may
+go if you will be back in time for dinner.”
+
+[Illustration: ROB AND THE INDIAN FAIRY]
+
+So Rob took the ferns to the woods and set them back in their first
+home under a big gray rock, the prettiest little spot in the world for
+a Fairy to dwell! But he saw nothing more of the Indian Fairy, though
+he looked and looked; and after he had started for home, went back
+there again three separate times to look, because he hated to part from
+his little new friend. But the last time he heard, or thought he heard,
+a very tiny, far-off, trickly voice say,--
+
+“Farewell, my friend! Farewell! I am free, free, free! And you shall
+always be happy when you come to the woods, even if you never see me.
+For I will make this charm about you, because you were kind. Farewell,
+farewell!”
+
+And this was the last that Rob ever heard of the Indian Fairy, though
+he went often and often to that same place in the woods; but the Fairy
+charm did indeed prove true, and Rob was always very, very happy as
+soon as he came into the woods, happier than he was anywhere else.
+
+
+
+
+FAIRIES
+
+
+  If I should see a Fairy,
+    I should not be afraid,
+  I know so much about them,
+    From all that I have read.
+
+  I’ve planned how I would greet them,
+    And what I ought to say;
+  I’d have my Wish all ready,
+    To save the least delay.
+
+  I sometimes feel them near me,
+    But still I cannot see.
+  I wonder, oh! I wonder,
+    Are they afraid of me?
+
+
+
+
+  The Riverside Press
+  _Electrotyped and printed by H. O. Houghton & Co.
+  Cambridge, Mass., U. S. A._
+
+
+
+
+THE FLOWER PRINCESS
+                                                  By ABBIE FARWELL BROWN
+
+“Here is a return to the gracefully romantic fairy stories we all
+used to love. Four tales of adventure in the country where the unreal
+touches upon the real, prettily illustrated and written with the
+literary skill that always appeals to the good taste of a child.”
+
+                                                _The Outlook, New York._
+
+“Delicate fancy and humor have gone into the making of these pretty
+tales for children, which prove again Miss Brown’s title to be numbered
+among the story-tellers mothers may depend upon.”
+
+                                       _The Christian Register, Boston._
+
+Illustrated. Square 12mo, $1.00.
+
+  HOUGHTON
+  MIFFLIN
+  & COMPANY
+
+  [Illustration]
+
+  BOSTON
+  AND
+  NEW YORK
+
+
+
+
+By ABBIE FARWELL BROWN
+
+
+IN THE DAYS OF GIANTS
+
+“Miss Brown relates some of the bravest tales from the brave old sagas
+of the Northland. They have an enchantment which appeals particularly
+to the youthful mind.”
+
+                                                       _New York Globe._
+  Illustrated by E. Boyd Smith.
+  12mo, $1.10, _net_. Postpaid, $1.21.
+
+
+THE BOOK OF SAINTS AND FRIENDLY BEASTS
+
+“There is a very tender, sympathetic charm about the book. Miss Brown
+has chosen a score of stories concerning saints and animals to tell
+again simply and with a pretty choice of word and phrase.”
+
+                                                         _London Times._
+  Illustrated by F. Y. Cory.
+  12mo, $1.25.
+
+  HOUGHTON
+  MIFFLIN
+  & COMPANY
+
+  [Illustration]
+
+  BOSTON
+  AND
+  NEW YORK
+
+
+
+
+TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES:
+
+
+  Italicized text is surrounded by underscores: _italics_.
+
+  Perceived typographical errors have been corrected.
+
+  Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been standardized.
+
+  Archaic or variant spelling has been retained.
+
+
+
+*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 75499 ***