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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 ***
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+      The star jewels and other wonders | Project Gutenberg
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+<body>
+<div style='text-align:center'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 75499 ***</div>
+
+<div class="figcenter hide"><img src="images/coversmall.jpg" width="450" alt=""></div>
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<div class="poetry-container">
+<div class="poetry">
+<div class="bbox">
+
+<p class="ph1"><span class="antiqua">By Abbie Farwell Brown</span></p>
+
+<hr class="tb">
+
+<p>THE STAR JEWELS AND OTHER WONDERS.<br>
+&#160; &#160; Illustrated. Square 12mo, $1.00.</p>
+
+<p>THE FLOWER PRINCESS. Illustrated. Sq.<br>
+&#160; &#160; 12mo, $1.00.</p>
+
+<p>THE CURIOUS BOOK OF BIRDS. Illustrated.<br>
+&#160; &#160; Square 12mo, $1.10, <i>net</i>. Postpaid, $1.21.</p>
+
+<p>A POCKETFUL OF POSIES. Illustrated.<br>
+&#160; &#160; 12mo, $1.00, <i>net</i>. Postpaid, $1.09.</p>
+
+<p>IN THE DAYS OF GIANTS. Illustrated. 12mo,<br>
+&#160; &#160; $1.10, <i>net</i>. Postpaid, $1.21. <i>School edition</i>,<br>
+&#160; &#160; 50 cents, <i>net</i>, postpaid.</p>
+
+<p>THE BOOK OF SAINTS AND FRIENDLY<br>
+&#160; &#160; BEASTS. Illustrated. 12mo, $1.25.</p>
+
+<p>THE LONESOMEST DOLL. Illustrated. Sq.<br>
+&#160; &#160; 12mo, 85 cents, <i>net</i>. Postpaid, 95 cents.</p>
+
+<p class="ph1">HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN &amp; CO.<br>
+<span class="smcap">Boston and New York</span></p>
+</div></div></div></div>
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<h1>
+THE STAR JEWELS AND OTHER<br>
+WONDERS</h1>
+</div>
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_0"></span></p>
+<figure class="figcenter illowe28_125" id="i_frontis">
+  <img class="w100" src="images/i_frontis.jpg" alt="">
+  <figcaption class="caption"><p class="caption">WAVILOCKS AND THE CRAB (Page <a href="#Page_10">10</a>)</p></figcaption>
+</figure>
+</div>
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/i_title.jpg" alt="title page"></div>
+</div>
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="titlepage">
+<p><span class="xxlarge">THE STAR JEWELS</span><br>
+<span class="xlarge">AND OTHER WONDERS</span></p>
+
+<p>BY<br>
+<span class="large">ABBIE FARWELL<br>
+BROWN</span></p>
+
+<p>PICTURES BY ETHEL C. BROWN</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/i_title_logo.jpg" alt="publisher's logo"></div>
+
+<p>BOSTON AND NEW YORK<br>
+HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY<br>
+<span class="antiqua">The Riverside Press, Cambridge</span><br>
+1905</p>
+</div>
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<p class="center">
+COPYRIGHT 1905 BY ABBIE FARWELL BROWN<br>
+<br>
+ALL RIGHTS RESERVED<br>
+<br>
+<i>Published September 1905</i></p>
+</div>
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<p class="center"><i>To the Mermaid of the Pink Grotto</i></p>
+</div>
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<div class="blockquot">
+<p>Thanks are due to the publishers of <i>The Churchman</i>
+for permission to reprint “The Star Jewels,”
+“The Balloon Boy,” “Trees,” and “Child or
+Fairy;” to <i>The Interior</i> for “Karl and the Dryad;”
+and to <i>The Congregationalist</i> for “The Green Cap.”</p>
+</div></div>
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<div class="poetry-container">
+<div class="poetry">
+<div class="first">“Why nature loves the number five,</div>
+<div class="verse">And why the star-form she repeats.”</div>
+</div></div></div>
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_ix">[ix]</span>
+
+<h2 class="nobreak">FORE-WORD</h2>
+</div>
+
+
+<div class="poetry-container">
+<div class="poetry">
+<div class="stanza">
+<div class="verse">In the land of Far-away,</div>
+<div class="indent">In the time of Used-to-be,</div>
+<div class="verse">Wonders happened, so folk say,</div>
+<div class="indent">Which we all should like to see.</div>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<div class="verse">But perhaps, if we knew how,</div>
+<div class="indent">In the pleasant land of Here,</div>
+<div class="verse">In the lovely time of Now,</div>
+<div class="indent">We could witness sights as queer.</div>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<div class="verse">Oh, for Faith without an end,</div>
+<div class="indent">And the blessed eyes to see!</div>
+<div class="verse">Let us beg the Fairies send</div>
+<div class="indent">Such a gift to You and Me.</div>
+</div></div></div>
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_x">[x]</span></p>
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_xi">[xi]</span>
+
+<h2 class="nobreak">CONTENTS</h2>
+</div>
+
+<table>
+<tr><th colspan="2"><i>Stories</i></th></tr>
+
+<tr><td class="tdr" colspan="2"><small>PAGE</small></td></tr>
+<tr><td><span class="smcap">The Star Jewels</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_1">      1</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td><span class="smcap">The Balloon Boy</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_23">      23</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td><span class="smcap">The Green Cap</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_41">      41</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td><span class="smcap">Karl and the Dryad</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_65">      65</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td><span class="smcap">The Indian Fairy</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_95">      95</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><th colspan="2"><i>Rhymes</i></th></tr>
+
+<tr><td><span class="smcap">Foreword</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_ix">      ix</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td><span class="smcap">Ocean Wonders</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_21">      21</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td><span class="smcap">Balloons</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_40">      40</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td><span class="smcap">Child or Fairy</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_64">      64</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td><span class="smcap">Trees</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_93">      93</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td><span class="smcap">Fairies</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_134">       134</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><th colspan="2"><i>Pictures</i></th></tr>
+
+<tr><td><span class="smcap">Wavilocks and the Crab</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_0">      <i>Frontispiece</i></a></td></tr>
+<tr><td><span class="smcap">The Little Man</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_31">      31</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td><span class="smcap">The Old Woman is surprised</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_55">      55</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td><span class="smcap">Karl and the Dryad</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_73">      73</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td><span class="smcap">Rob and the Indian Fairy</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_131">      131</a></td></tr>
+</table>
+
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_1">[1]</span>
+<p class="ph3">THE STAR JEWELS</p>
+</div>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_2">[2]</span></p>
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_3">[3]</span>
+
+<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/i004.jpg" alt="Wavilocks and the Crab"></div>
+
+<h2 class="nobreak">THE STAR JEWELS</h2>
+</div>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Once</span> 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.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_4">[4]</span>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.</p>
+
+<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_5">[5]</span>
+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.</p>
+
+<p>Now you would think that Wavilocks must
+have been contented and happy in her lovely
+home, where she had everything that a little<span class="pagenum" id="Page_6">[6]</span>
+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.</p>
+
+<p>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
+<i>must</i> 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.</p>
+
+<p>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!”<span class="pagenum" id="Page_7">[7]</span> 
+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:</p>
+
+<p>“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.”</p>
+
+<p>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.</p>
+
+<p>“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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_8">[8]</span>
+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.”</p>
+
+<p>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.</p>
+
+<p>“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 <i>will</i> have it, or I shall cry always and
+always.”</p>
+
+<p>Instead of spanking her, as he should have
+done, Triton only shook his head and said
+sadly,—</p>
+
+<p>“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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_9">[9]</span>
+to-morrow I will bring you a beautiful new
+coral belt, such as no mermaid ever before
+wore.”</p>
+
+<p>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.</p>
+
+<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_10">[10]</span>
+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!</p>
+
+<p>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.</p>
+
+<p>“Hist!” said the voice. “Hist!”</p>
+
+<p>Wavilocks knew who it was, and she knew
+that sly whisper meant mischief. She herself
+was feeling very naughty.</p>
+
+<p>“What is it, Crab?” she whispered.</p>
+
+<p>“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!”</p>
+
+<p>So spoke the wicked old Crab with a flattering<span class="pagenum" id="Page_11">[11]</span>
+tongue. Wavilocks was pleased. “I
+should like to see them closely,” she said.</p>
+
+<p>“One could climb up there, I think,” said
+the Crab slyly.</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, how? Tell me how it can be done,
+dear Crab?” cried Wavilocks eagerly. The
+Crab winked one eye.</p>
+
+<p>“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.</p>
+
+<p>“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.”</p>
+
+<p>“Nonsense!” whispered the Crab. “Come<span class="pagenum" id="Page_12">[12]</span>
+with me to-night, and for my sake my cousin
+will give you all the stars you wish.”</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, I dare not go!” sighed Wavilocks.
+“The King will punish me for disobeying
+him.”</p>
+
+<p>“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!)</p>
+
+<p>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.”</p>
+
+<p>“I will take you upon my back,” said the
+Crab. “We shall travel faster so, since you
+have no feet for climbing.”</p>
+
+<p>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.</p>
+
+<p>Up and up they went until they came to
+the surface of the sea, where the big silver<span class="pagenum" id="Page_13">[13]</span>
+moon was shining upon the water, glorious
+and bright.</p>
+
+<p>“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.</p>
+
+<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_14">[14]</span>
+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.</p>
+
+<p>“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.”</p>
+
+<p>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.”</p>
+
+<p>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.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_15">[15]</span>“Oh, what a wonderful necklace I shall
+have,—grander than any one ever saw before!”
+cried the greedy little mermaid.</p>
+
+<p>“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.</p>
+
+<p>Suddenly there was a loud noise behind
+them.</p>
+
+<p>“Wooh! Hooh!” cried a terrible voice.
+“Robbers, wretched robbers, what are you
+doing with my jewels?”</p>
+
+<p>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.</p>
+
+<p>“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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_16">[16]</span>
+began a dreadful race to the shining staircase.
+The great Sky Crab clattered after them, puffing
+and blowing out fire.</p>
+
+<p>“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.”</p>
+
+<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_17">[17]</span>
+went flying helter-skelter over the sky, scattering
+themselves among the stars.</p>
+
+<p>“My necklace, oh, my necklace!” wailed
+she, but they could not stop to gather up the
+lost pearls.</p>
+
+<p>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.</p>
+
+<p>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.</p>
+
+<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_18">[18]</span>
+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.</p>
+
+<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_19">[19]</span>
+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?</p>
+
+<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_20">[20]</span>
+star-fish that had ever been seen in the
+ocean.</p>
+
+<p>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.</p>
+
+<p>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.</p>
+
+<p>And it was all the fault of the naughty
+little mermaid, who was not wise enough to
+know when she was happy.</p>
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_21">[21]</span>
+
+<h2 class="nobreak">OCEAN WONDERS</h2>
+</div>
+
+
+<div class="poetry-container">
+<div class="poetry">
+<div class="stanza">
+<div class="verse">
+Far below the purple waves,</div>
+<div class="verse">In the hidden ocean caves,</div>
+<div class="verse">Floating softly to and fro,</div>
+<div class="verse">Wonder-creatures come and go.</div>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<div class="verse">Monsters hideous and queer,</div>
+<div class="verse">Curious lovely shapes and dear</div>
+<div class="verse">Dwell beneath the silent tide,</div>
+<div class="verse">Where the rainbow fishes glide.</div>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<div class="verse">Who can say what things may be</div>
+<div class="verse">In the mystic, magic sea?</div>
+<div class="verse">In the depths so cool and green</div>
+<div class="verse">Which no man has ever seen?</div>
+<div class="verse">And what wonders happen there</div>
+<div class="verse">Such as mortals may not share?</div>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<div class="verse">But a bit of pearly shell,</div>
+<div class="verse">Or of sea-weed green, may tell</div>
+<div class="verse">Just a hint of secret lore</div>
+<div class="verse">As we walk along the shore.</div>
+</div></div></div>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_22">[22]</span></p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_23">[23]</span>
+
+<p class="ph3">THE BALLOON BOY</p>
+</div>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_24">[24]</span></p>
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_25">[25]</span>
+<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/i025.jpg" alt="Carlo selling balloons on the corner"></div>
+
+<h2 class="nobreak">THE BALLOON BOY</h2>
+</div>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Carlo</span> 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 <i>Pouf!</i> Off it sailed over
+the trees. No one ever knew what became of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_26">[26]</span>
+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.</p>
+
+<p>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.</p>
+
+<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_27">[27]</span>
+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.</p>
+
+<p>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.</p>
+
+<p>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,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_28">[28]</span>
+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.</p>
+
+<p>“Hallo! Balloons!” shouted the boy, and
+immediately the noisy crowd rushed upon
+Carlo and surrounded him.</p>
+
+<p>“Give me a red one!”</p>
+
+<p>“Hi! Blue’s my color!”</p>
+
+<p>“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,—</p>
+
+<p>“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.</p>
+
+<p>The boys gave a yell and danced up and
+down. But some one cried, “Look out!
+Here’s a policeman!” and off they scampered<span class="pagenum" id="Page_29">[29]</span>
+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.</p>
+
+<p>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.</p>
+
+<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_30">[30]</span>
+waiting for them on the corner, smiling
+pleasantly.</p>
+
+<p>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?</p>
+
+<p>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.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_31">[31-32]</span></p>
+
+<figure class="figcenter illowe28_125" id="i031">
+  <img class="w100" src="images/i031.jpg" alt="">
+  <figcaption class="caption"><p class="caption">THE LITTLE MAN</p></figcaption>
+</figure>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_33">[33]</span>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.</p>
+
+<p>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!</p>
+
+<p>“What is the matter, Carlo?” asked the
+Little Man, in Carlo’s own home language.
+And Carlo answered in the same soft tongue:</p>
+
+<p>“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.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_34">[34]</span>“That is too bad!” exclaimed the Little
+Man. “What can we do about it?”</p>
+
+<p>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.</p>
+
+<p>“That is too bad!” he cried again, but not
+sadly. “What can we do about it?”</p>
+
+<p>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.</p>
+
+<p>“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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_35">[35]</span>
+slowly up and down, as if making up his mind
+about something very important. At last he
+turned to Carlo and asked suddenly,—</p>
+
+<p>“Do you know where I came from?”</p>
+
+<p>“No,” said Carlo. “I have been wondering.
+You do not seem to belong to this country
+at all.”</p>
+
+<p>“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.”</p>
+
+<p>“I come here often,” said Carlo.</p>
+
+<p>“Of course,” chuckled the Little Man,
+“naturally!”</p>
+
+<p>“But how happens it that you are here?”
+asked Carlo, eagerly.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_36">[36]</span>“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.</p>
+
+<p>“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 <i>me</i>, 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.”</p>
+
+<p>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.</p>
+
+<p>“It is not stealing,” he said, in a whisper,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_37">[37]</span>
+“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.”</p>
+
+<p>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.</p>
+
+<p>“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.</p>
+
+<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_38">[38]</span>
+out a little hand in which was a silver
+dime, and he was saying,—</p>
+
+<p>“Please, Boy, give me a <i>green</i> balloon!”</p>
+
+<p>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!</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_39">[39]</span>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.</p>
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_40">[40]</span>
+
+<h2 class="nobreak">BALLOONS</h2>
+</div>
+
+
+<div class="poetry-container">
+<div class="poetry">
+<div class="stanza">
+<div class="indent3">Where do they go,</div>
+<div class="indent3">I want to know,</div>
+<div class="verse">The little balloons which fly, and fly,</div>
+<div class="verse">Over the trees and up so high</div>
+<div class="indent3">Into the sky?</div>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<div class="verse">Do they sail as far as Heaven’s gate,</div>
+<div class="verse">Where chubby cherubs watch and wait,</div>
+<div class="verse">Who stretch out their hands with an eager cry</div>
+<div class="verse">As the little balloons come floating by?</div>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<div class="verse">Do the cherubs play with the pretty things,</div>
+<div class="verse">Flitting about on their baby wings,</div>
+<div class="verse">While the little balloons bob to and fro,</div>
+<div class="verse">Just as they did in the world below?</div>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<div class="verse">They never come back the tale to tell,</div>
+<div class="verse">So no one knows what each befell.</div>
+<div class="indent3">But if they can stay</div>
+<div class="indent3">In that Land for aye,</div>
+<div class="verse">Where the sun ever shines and the sky is blue,</div>
+<div class="indent">I do not blame them for longing to fly</div>
+<div class="verse">Over the trees and up so high;</div>
+<div class="indent">And when mine goes I will not boo-hoo,—</div>
+<div class="indent3">Will you?</div>
+</div></div></div>
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_41">[41]</span>
+
+<p class="ph3">THE GREEN CAP</p>
+</div>
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_42">[42]</span></p>
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_43">[43]</span>
+<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/i043.jpg" alt="The old woman and the monkey"></div>
+
+<h2 class="nobreak">THE GREEN CAP</h2>
+</div>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Once</span> 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.”</p>
+
+<p>But there came an evil time for the poor
+little old woman. There was a drought in the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_44">[44]</span>
+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.</p>
+
+<p>“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?”</p>
+
+<p>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.</p>
+
+<p>“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?”</p>
+
+<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_45">[45]</span>
+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.</p>
+
+<p>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.</p>
+
+<p>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.</p>
+
+<p>“Tap—tap!”</p>
+
+<p>“Come in!” said the little old woman, and
+she set down the teapot carefully.</p>
+
+<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_46">[46]</span>
+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.</p>
+
+<p>“Ugh!” cried the little old woman, who
+did not like monkeys, “Ugh, go away!”</p>
+
+<p>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.”</p>
+
+<p>At these words the monkey turned about
+and made a low courtesy to the little old
+woman.</p>
+
+<p>“Bless my stars!” said she again, for she
+had never seen so remarkable an animal, even
+in the land where monkeys were common.</p>
+
+<p>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.</p>
+
+<p>“Ugh! Go away!” cried the little old
+woman. “Go away, you ugly creature!”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_47">[47]</span>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.</p>
+
+<p>“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.</p>
+
+<p>“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.”</p>
+
+<p>Now the monkey seemed to understand
+every word the old woman spoke, although it
+could not answer in words. It bowed gratefully<span class="pagenum" id="Page_48">[48]</span>
+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!”</p>
+
+<p>“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.”</p>
+
+<p>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.</p>
+
+<p>“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.”</p>
+
+<p>So they slept, the old woman on her hard<span class="pagenum" id="Page_49">[49]</span>
+little cot and the monkey curled up on the
+floor, which was no whit harder. And the
+old woman dreamed wonderful and beautiful
+dreams.</p>
+
+<p>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.</p>
+
+<p>“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.</p>
+
+<p>“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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_50">[50]</span>
+this day, and you, who are strong and frisky,
+had best seek one elsewhere, leaving me to
+die.”</p>
+
+<p>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.</p>
+
+<p>“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.</p>
+
+<p>“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.”</p>
+
+<p>The monkey grinned happily and drew to<span class="pagenum" id="Page_51">[51]</span>
+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,—</p>
+
+<p>“Even a morsel tastes better when one
+shares it with company. But little I thought
+that a monkey would prove so pleasant a
+guest.”</p>
+
+<p>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.</p>
+
+<p>“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.</p>
+
+<p>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.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_52">[52]</span>
+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:</p>
+
+<p>“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.”</p>
+
+<p>But the monkey shook its head and drew
+the old woman gently by the skirts towards the
+door.</p>
+
+<p>“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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_53">[53]</span>
+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.</p>
+
+<p>“Bless my stars!” she cried in astonishment,
+“there is witchcraft here,” and she
+looked at the monkey suspiciously. But the
+little creature only grinned.</p>
+
+<p>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.</p>
+
+<p>“Bless my stars!” cried the old woman,
+and she looked again at the monkey. But the
+monkey only grinned and pointed towards the
+teapot.</p>
+
+<p>“That at least I know to be empty,” said<span class="pagenum" id="Page_54">[54]</span>
+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.</p>
+
+<p>“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.”</p>
+
+<p>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.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_55">[55-56]</span></p>
+<figure class="figcenter illowe28_125" id="i055">
+  <img class="w100" src="images/i055.jpg" alt="">
+  <figcaption class="caption"><p class="caption">THE OLD WOMAN IS SURPRISED</p></figcaption>
+</figure>
+
+<p>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
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_57">[57]</span>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.</p>
+
+<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_58">[58]</span>
+down, smiling kindly, the old woman suddenly
+blinked and rubbed her eyes.</p>
+
+<p>“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.”</p>
+
+<p>“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.”</p>
+
+<p>“Words!” cried the old woman, “and how
+long since a monkey could use words?” She
+sat staring blankly.</p>
+
+<p>“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.”</p>
+
+<p>Then she told the old woman a strange
+story,—how because she was naughty the
+Fairy Queen had punished her by giving her<span class="pagenum" id="Page_59">[59]</span>
+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.</p>
+
+<p>“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.</p>
+
+<p>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.”</p>
+
+<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_60">[60]</span>
+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?”</p>
+
+<p>The old woman nodded, but still her eyes
+were unsatisfied.</p>
+
+<p>“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.”</p>
+
+<p>“What is the third wish?” asked the old
+woman eagerly.</p>
+
+<p>“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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_61">[61]</span>
+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.”</p>
+
+<p>The old woman gave a cry of joy. “But
+do <i>you</i> wish it?” she said. “Would you not
+rather go back to your beautiful Fairyland,
+where you can be happy and care-free always?”</p>
+
+<p>“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,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_62">[62]</span>
+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?”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, I will have it so!” cried the old
+woman joyfully.</p>
+
+<p>“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?”</p>
+
+<p>“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!”</p>
+
+<p>“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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_63">[63]</span>
+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!”</p>
+
+<p>So they sat down to their frugal meal, and
+they laughed, and they laughed, and they
+laughed, they were so happy.</p>
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_64">[64]</span>
+
+<h2 class="nobreak">CHILD OR FAIRY</h2>
+</div>
+
+<div class="poetry-container">
+<div class="poetry">
+<div class="stanza">
+<div class="verse">’Tis good to be a Fairy-thing,</div>
+<div class="verse">And flit about on gauzy wing;</div>
+<div class="verse">To sleep in cradles made of flowers,</div>
+<div class="verse">Or play through all the joyous hours.</div>
+<div class="verse">For Fairies have no grief nor care,</div>
+<div class="verse">Happy they are, and always fair,—</div>
+<div class="indent4">I suppose.</div>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<div class="verse">And yet ’tis better far to be</div>
+<div class="verse">A little human child like me,</div>
+<div class="verse">With lessons hard and tasks to do,</div>
+<div class="verse">And sometimes little troubles, too.</div>
+<div class="verse">For I have Mother’s tender kiss,</div>
+<div class="verse">And nothing is so good as this,—</div>
+<div class="indent4">Every one knows!</div>
+</div></div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_65">[65]</span>
+
+<p class="ph3">KARL AND THE DRYAD</p>
+</div>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_66">[66]</span></p>
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_67">[67]</span>
+<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/i067.jpg" alt="Karl with his bag of acorns"></div>
+
+
+<h2 class="nobreak">KARL AND THE DRYAD</h2>
+</div>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">There</span> 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.</p>
+
+<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_68">[68]</span>
+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.</p>
+
+<p>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.</p>
+
+<p>“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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_69">[69]</span>
+us to take care of. Bah! Karl, we are tired of
+seeing you about!”</p>
+
+<p>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.</p>
+
+<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_70">[70]</span>
+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.</p>
+
+<p>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.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_71">[71]</span>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.</p>
+
+<p>“Poor fool! Poor fool!” he wailed. “Poor
+Karl, good for nothing!”</p>
+
+<p>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.</p>
+
+<p>“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.”</p>
+
+<p>“Cut down my tree!” gasped Karl, and he
+began to tremble. Was he to lose his only
+friend?</p>
+
+<p>“<i>Your</i> tree!” jeered the Farmer. “Poor
+Fool, I never knew that you owned anything,
+even your senses. The tree is mine, with the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_72">[72]</span>
+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.”</p>
+
+<p>“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!”</p>
+
+<p>“Ho ho!” laughed the Farmer. “How will
+you prevent it, Simpleton? And what is the
+tree to you, anyway?”</p>
+
+<p>“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.”</p>
+
+<p>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 <i>your</i> 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.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_73">[73-74]</span></p>
+
+<figure class="figcenter illowe28_125" id="i072">
+  <img class="w100" src="images/i072.jpg" alt="">
+  <figcaption class="caption"><p class="caption">KARL AND THE DRYAD</p></figcaption>
+</figure>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_75">[75]</span>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.</p>
+
+<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_76">[76]</span> 
+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.</p>
+
+<p>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?”</p>
+
+<p>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.</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, can you help me, beautiful Stranger?”<span class="pagenum" id="Page_77">[77]</span>
+he cried, clasping his hands eagerly and looking
+at her with tears in his eyes.</p>
+
+<p>“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.”</p>
+
+<p>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.</p>
+
+<p>“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?”</p>
+
+<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_78">[78]</span>
+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.”</p>
+
+<p>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.</p>
+
+<p>“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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_79">[79]</span>
+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.”</p>
+
+<p>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.</p>
+
+<p>“I am to go away!” he cried. “When,
+dear Maiden, and where?”</p>
+
+<p>“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.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_80">[80]</span>
+Take it, Karl, and fill it thus with the
+gift of your old friend, the oak.”</p>
+
+<p>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.</p>
+
+<p>“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.”</p>
+
+<p>“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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_81">[81]</span>
+be doing something for the world’s good?
+I do not see how that can be.”</p>
+
+<p>“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.”</p>
+
+<p>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.</p>
+
+<p>Thus Karl began his pilgrimage with the
+green sack of acorns on his back, and with<span class="pagenum" id="Page_82">[82]</span>
+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.</p>
+
+<p>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.</p>
+
+<p>“What ho, Stranger! What are you doing
+there?” cried this man.</p>
+
+<p>“I am planting an acorn,” said Karl simply.</p>
+
+<p>“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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_83">[83]</span>
+you take so much trouble for nothing, my
+funny fellow?”</p>
+
+<p>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.</p>
+
+<p>“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?”</p>
+
+<p>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,—</p>
+
+<p>“Come home with me and I will give you<span class="pagenum" id="Page_84">[84]</span>
+a bed and a sup. Your wonderful story deserves
+so much reward.”</p>
+
+<p>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.</p>
+
+<p>The days and the weeks and the years went
+by, and Karl still wandered, planting the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_85">[85]</span>
+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.</p>
+
+<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_86">[86]</span>
+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.</p>
+
+<p>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.</p>
+
+<p>In a little village of the far South country<span class="pagenum" id="Page_87">[87]</span>
+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,—</p>
+
+<p>“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.”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, take me home!” said Karl, who
+understood only this word of all the praise
+they gave him.</p>
+
+<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_88">[88]</span>
+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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_89">[89]</span>
+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.</p>
+
+<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_90">[90]</span>
+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,—</p>
+
+<p>“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.”</p>
+
+<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_91">[91]</span>
+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.</p>
+
+<p>“There, there!” cried Karl, with joy in his
+voice. “Take me there! Home, home!”</p>
+
+<p>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.</p>
+
+<p>“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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_92">[92]</span>
+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.</p>
+
+<p>But the people were left staring at one
+another, as folk do when they have seen something
+that they cannot understand.</p>
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_93">[93]</span></p>
+
+<h2 class="nobreak">TREES</h2>
+</div>
+
+<div class="poetry-container">
+<div class="poetry">
+<div class="stanza">
+<div class="verse">However little I may be,</div>
+<div class="verse">At least I too can plant a tree.</div>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<div class="verse">And some day it will grow so high</div>
+<div class="verse">That it can whisper to the sky,</div>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<div class="verse">And spread its leafy branches wide</div>
+<div class="verse">To make a shade on every side.</div>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<div class="verse">Then on a sultry summer day,</div>
+<div class="verse">The people resting there will say,—</div>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<div class="first">“Oh, good and wise and great was he</div>
+<div class="verse">Who thought to plant this blessed tree!”</div>
+</div></div></div>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_94">[94]</span></p>
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_95">[95]</span>
+
+<p class="ph3">THE INDIAN FAIRY</p>
+</div>
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_96">[96]</span></p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_97">[97]</span>
+<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/i098.jpg" alt="Rob peering down the well"></div>
+
+<h2 class="nobreak">THE INDIAN FAIRY</h2>
+</div>
+
+<h3>I</h3>
+
+<p>“<span class="smcap">Katie</span> 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.</p>
+
+<p>“It must be rats,” said Rob’s papa. “We
+will get a trap.”</p>
+
+<p>“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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_98">[98]</span>
+us notice, because of the noises in the well.
+They think it is bewitched.”</p>
+
+<p>“What is ‘bewitched,’ Mamma?” asked
+Rob.</p>
+
+<p>“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.”</p>
+
+<p>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?”</p>
+
+<p>“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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_99">[99]</span>
+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.”</p>
+
+<p>“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.</p>
+
+<p>“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.”</p>
+
+<p>“O Papa! I want to look down into the
+well!” cried Rob.</p>
+
+<p>“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.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_100">[100]</span>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.</p>
+
+<p>“Katie, Katie,” he begged. “Please come
+into the cellar and show me the old well. I
+want to look down into it.”</p>
+
+<p>“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.”</p>
+
+<p>“What funny little noises, Katie?” asked
+Rob. “Papa says it is rats. He is going to
+buy a trap to catch them.”</p>
+
+<p>“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.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_101">[101]</span>“What does ‘bewitched’ mean, Katie?”
+asked Rob again.</p>
+
+<p>Katie wagged her head and mysteriously
+made the sign of the cross.</p>
+
+<p>“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!”</p>
+
+<p>“<i>What</i> noises, Katie?” begged Rob.</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, the little whinin’ and sobbin’, like one
+wantin’ to get out. ’Tis no rats live in the
+owld well. Would <i>rats</i> be whimperin’ and
+beggin’ like?”</p>
+
+<p>“Begging, Katie!” cried Rob. “Oh, what
+do they say? Please, please tell me quickly.”</p>
+
+<p>“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.”</p>
+
+<p>“But I’m not frightened, Katie,” said Rob
+eagerly. “I’m just <i>interested</i>.”</p>
+
+<p>“H’m,” said Katie doubtfully, glancing at<span class="pagenum" id="Page_102">[102]</span>
+the clock. “Whisht! Master Rob! ’Tis a
+quarter to nine, and time for you to be startin’
+for school, or you’ll be late.”</p>
+
+<p>And indeed, Rob had to run all the way,
+and reached school barely in time.</p>
+
+<p>Rob’s papa did not forget to bring home a
+rat-trap that night, and after dinner he said,—</p>
+
+<p>“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.”</p>
+
+<p>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!</p>
+
+<p>“It is from somewhere hereabout that
+Katie says she hears the noises,” said Papa.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_103">[103]</span>
+“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.</p>
+
+<p>“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.</p>
+
+<p>“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.</p>
+
+<p>“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.”</p>
+
+<p>“The spring may be bubbling yet,” said
+his father. “Katie, O Katie!” he called upstairs.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_104">[104]</span>
+“Please bring me a tin pail and a ball
+of stout twine. We will see whether the Indian
+spring has run dry or not.”</p>
+
+<p>“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.</p>
+
+<p>“There is the queer noise again, Papa!”
+he cried. “It sounds like some one talking a
+long way off.”</p>
+
+<p>“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.”</p>
+
+<p>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?”</p>
+
+<p>Rob heard,—a quick splash, and again the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_105">[105]</span>
+queer little noise, a tinkle, a trickle, a rustle,
+a whisper.</p>
+
+<p>“O Papa,” he cried, “let me draw up the
+pail, please.”</p>
+
+<p>“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.</p>
+
+<p>“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.”</p>
+
+<p>Very carefully Rob carried the pail of water
+up the cellar stairs. “Katie, O Katie!” he<span class="pagenum" id="Page_106">[106]</span>
+called. “See the water from the old well!
+From thirty feet down in the darkness it
+came.”</p>
+
+<p>“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.”</p>
+
+<p>“It is clear and bright as glass,” said Rob’s
+papa.</p>
+
+<p>“O Papa! Let me drink some,” cried Rob.
+“I should so love to taste water from a real
+Indian spring.”</p>
+
+<p>“O Mr. Evans! Don’t let the b’y taste
+it!” begged Katie, clasping her hands. “It
+will kill him, the p’isen water!”</p>
+
+<p>“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!”</p>
+
+<p>“Please, Papa—just one little sip?”
+begged Rob.</p>
+
+<p>“No, not one little sip, Son. Here, Katie,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_107">[107]</span>
+empty the pail of water into the sink,” said
+Mr. Evans firmly.</p>
+
+<p>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.</p>
+
+<p>“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.</p>
+
+<p>“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.”</p>
+
+<p>“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.”</p>
+
+<p>Downstairs they went once more, Rob carrying
+the pail half full of water, which he poured
+back into the well. With a glad <i>splash</i> it<span class="pagenum" id="Page_108">[108]</span>
+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.</p>
+
+<p>“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.”</p>
+
+<p>So they let down the cover with a <i>bang!</i>
+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.</p>
+
+<h3>II</h3>
+
+<p>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 <i>seekling</i> afar off. But by
+and by, when the house was very still, because<span class="pagenum" id="Page_109">[109]</span>
+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,—</p>
+
+<p>“Surely, Katie is right. There is something
+strange about the cellar, and I think it comes
+from the old well. What can it be?”</p>
+
+<p>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.</p>
+
+<p>“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.”</p>
+
+<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_110">[110]</span>
+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.</p>
+
+<p>“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!”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_111">[111]</span>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?</p>
+
+<p>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—<i>three</i>!
+The cover came up suddenly, so suddenly that
+Rob nearly went over backward. There below
+yawned the great black hole of the well.</p>
+
+<p>“Oh!” said Rob, drawing a long breath.</p>
+
+<p>“<i>Oh!</i>” Was it an echo, or a soft little
+voice, far, far below?</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_112">[112]</span>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 “<i>Yes!</i>” There
+certainly was some one in the old well!</p>
+
+<p>“Who are you?” said Rob, tingling all
+over with excitement.</p>
+
+<p>“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.”</p>
+
+<p>“What can I do to help you?” asked Rob
+eagerly.</p>
+
+<p>“Let down the bucket as you did this afternoon,”
+said the voice. “Let down the bucket
+and draw me up.”</p>
+
+<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_113">[113]</span>
+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!”</p>
+
+<p>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.</p>
+
+<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_114">[114]</span>
+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.</p>
+
+<p>“Oh—you must be an Indian Fairy,”
+cried Rob, with his eyes bulging.</p>
+
+<p>“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.</p>
+
+<p>“Tell me all about it,” said Rob soothingly.</p>
+
+<p>“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.</p>
+
+<p>“What is Shawmut?” asked Rob, wondering.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_115">[115]</span>“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.”</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, what did they look like?” asked Rob
+eagerly, for Rob loved to hear about Indians.</p>
+
+<p>“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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_116">[116]</span>
+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!”</p>
+
+<p>“Then how did you come to be shut up in
+this house?” asked Rob, wondering very much.</p>
+
+<p>“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.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_117">[117]</span>
+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!”</p>
+
+<p>“That must have been a horrid time for
+children,” said Rob.</p>
+
+<p>“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.”</p>
+
+<p>“And what happened next?” asked Rob,
+much interested.</p>
+
+<p>“Years went by, and the Hill became<span class="pagenum" id="Page_118">[118]</span>
+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!”</p>
+
+<p>“Why did you not run away?” asked Rob
+sympathetically.</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, you do not understand,” answered the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_119">[119]</span>
+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.”</p>
+
+<p>“And could you find no one to do that in
+all those years?” cried Rob.</p>
+
+<p>“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.”</p>
+
+<p>“Poor Fairy!” said Rob, and the tears
+stood in his eyes.</p>
+
+<p>“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.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_120">[120]</span>
+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.”</p>
+
+<p>“It must have been my father!” exclaimed
+Rob, remembering what had been said at the
+breakfast table.</p>
+
+<p>“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?”</p>
+
+<p>“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.”</p>
+
+<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_121">[121]</span>
+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.”</p>
+
+<p>“Silly things!” said Rob. “Katie was one
+of them.”</p>
+
+<p>“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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_122">[122]</span>
+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!”</p>
+
+<p>“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.”</p>
+
+<p>“What do you tell me!” cried the Fairy.
+“My Hill is no longer beautiful?”</p>
+
+<p>“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.”</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, why do White Men try so hard to
+make the world ugly?” wailed the poor Indian
+Fairy. “How can they live away from<span class="pagenum" id="Page_123">[123]</span>
+the woods and the flowers and the beautiful,
+beautiful green grass! Where shall I go?
+What shall I do?”</p>
+
+<p>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.”</p>
+
+<p>“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?”</p>
+
+<p>“It is upstairs in my bedroom,” answered
+Rob. “Will you come with me?”</p>
+
+<p>The Fairy hesitated, looked at the pail of
+water resting beside the well, and brightened
+with a sudden thought.</p>
+
+<p>“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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_124">[124]</span>
+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!”</p>
+
+<p>“It empties at last into the ocean,” said
+Rob.</p>
+
+<p>“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.”</p>
+
+<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_125">[125]</span> 
+books; up and up, very, <i>very</i> 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.</p>
+
+<p>“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.”</p>
+
+<p>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.</p>
+
+<p>“Dear fern!” he cried. “Dear woodsy
+fern! How sweet you smell. Dear moss, how<span class="pagenum" id="Page_126">[126]</span>
+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.”</p>
+
+<p>“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.”</p>
+
+<p>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?”</p>
+
+<p>Rob looked at the Fairy and his lip trembled.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_127">[127]</span>
+“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.”</p>
+
+<p>“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?”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, I will do this for you,” said Rob
+gravely.</p>
+
+<p>“Thanks, thanks!” cried the Fairy. “And
+now, the night is almost done. I think I
+feel the daylight coming. You will see me no<span class="pagenum" id="Page_128">[128]</span>
+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.”</p>
+
+<p>“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.</p>
+
+<h3>III</h3>
+
+<p>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.</p>
+
+<p>When he came down to the breakfast table
+his father and mother were talking earnestly
+about something.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_129">[129]</span>“It is a wonder he wasn’t killed!” said his
+Mamma, shuddering. “Why did you ever
+show him that dreadful well?”</p>
+
+<p>“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! <i>The cover of the old well was
+open!</i> However did you lift it?”</p>
+
+<p>“I don’t remember how I lifted it,” said
+Rob, quite truthfully, and he looked dazed.</p>
+
+<p>“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.”</p>
+
+<p>And indeed, nobody ever heard any more
+noises in the cellar after Rob helped the Indian<span class="pagenum" id="Page_130">[130]</span>
+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.</p>
+
+<p>“Where are you going, Rob?” asked his
+Mamma, seeing him with cap in hand.</p>
+
+<p>“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?”</p>
+
+<p>“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.”</p>
+
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_131">[131-132]</span>
+
+<figure class="figcenter illowe28_125" id="i131">
+  <img class="w100" src="images/i131.jpg" alt="">
+  <figcaption class="caption"><p class="caption">ROB AND THE INDIAN FAIRY</p></figcaption>
+</figure>
+
+<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_133">[133]</span>
+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,—</p>
+
+<p>“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!”</p>
+
+<p>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.</p>
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_134">[134]</span>
+
+<h2 class="nobreak">FAIRIES</h2>
+</div>
+
+<div class="poetry-container">
+<div class="poetry">
+<div class="stanza">
+<div class="verse">If I should see a Fairy,</div>
+<div class="indent">I should not be afraid,</div>
+<div class="verse">I know so much about them,</div>
+<div class="indent">From all that I have read.</div>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<div class="verse">I’ve planned how I would greet them,</div>
+<div class="indent">And what I ought to say;</div>
+<div class="verse">I’d have my Wish all ready,</div>
+<div class="indent">To save the least delay.</div>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<div class="verse">I sometimes feel them near me,</div>
+<div class="indent">But still I cannot see.</div>
+<div class="verse">I wonder, oh! I wonder,</div>
+<div class="indent">Are they afraid of me?</div>
+</div></div></div>
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<p class="center"><span class="antiqua">The Riverside Press</span><br>
+<i>Electrotyped and printed by H. O. Houghton &amp; Co.<br>
+Cambridge, Mass., U. S. A.</i></p>
+</div>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<div class="blockquot">
+<p class="ph4">THE FLOWER PRINCESS</p>
+
+<p class="ph5">By ABBIE FARWELL BROWN</p>
+<hr class="tb">
+
+<p>“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.”</p>
+
+<p class="right"><i>The Outlook, New York.</i></p>
+
+<p>“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.”</p>
+
+<p class="right"><i>The Christian Register, Boston.</i></p>
+
+<hr class="tb">
+<p class="center">Illustrated. Square 12mo, $1.00.</p>
+<hr class="tb">
+
+<table>
+<tr><td class="tdc">HOUGHTON<br>MIFFLIN<br>&amp; COMPANY</td>
+
+<td><img src="images/i_logo.jpg" alt="publisher's logo"></td>
+
+<td class="tdc">BOSTON<br>
+AND<br>
+NEW YORK</td></tr>
+</table>
+</div></div>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+<div class="chapter">
+<div class="blockquot">
+<p class="ph6">By ABBIE FARWELL BROWN</p>
+<hr class="tb">
+
+<p class="ph3">IN THE DAYS OF GIANTS</p>
+
+<p>“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.”</p>
+
+<p class="right"><i>New York Globe.</i></p>
+
+<p class="center">Illustrated by E. Boyd Smith.<br>
+12mo, $1.10, <i>net</i>. Postpaid, $1.21.</p>
+
+<hr class="tb">
+<p class="ph3">THE BOOK OF SAINTS<br>
+AND FRIENDLY BEASTS</p>
+
+<p>“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.”</p>
+
+<p class="right"><i>London Times.</i></p>
+
+<p class="center">Illustrated by F. Y. Cory.<br>
+12mo, $1.25.</p>
+<hr class="tb">
+<table>
+<tr><td class="tdc">HOUGHTON<br>MIFFLIN<br>&amp; COMPANY</td>
+
+<td><img src="images/i_logo.jpg" alt="publisher's logo"></td>
+
+<td class="tdc">BOSTON<br>
+AND<br>
+NEW YORK</td></tr>
+</table>
+</div></div>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<div class="transnote">
+<p class="ph1">TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES:</p>
+
+<p>Perceived typographical errors have been corrected.</p>
+
+<p>Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been standardized.</p>
+
+<p>Archaic or variant spelling has been retained.</p>
+</div></div>
+
+<div style='text-align:center'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 75499 ***</div>
+</body>
+</html>
+
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+++ b/LICENSE.txt
@@ -0,0 +1,11 @@
+This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements,
+metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be
+in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES.
+
+Procedures for determining public domain status are described in
+the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org.
+
+No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in
+jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize
+this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright
+status under the laws that apply to them.
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+++ b/README.md
@@ -0,0 +1,2 @@
+Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for
+eBook #75499 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/75499)