Fairies I Have Met Part 10

Gretel lived to be very old, but she never lost her jewels. She was able now to show them to all the world without any danger of their flying away, and as time went on the people flocked to see her and her jewels.

Eitel admired them as much as any one, but he could never be persuaded that the fluffy pink things he had once seen had really turned into these s.h.i.+ning and wonderful stones.

_THE FAIRY WHO HAD ONLY ONE WING_

I am going to tell you now about a fairy who lost one of his wings. His home was in a white rosebud, which one would imagine to be a nice, safe, comfortable home for a fairy to have. And yet it was while he was in the white rosebud that the terrible accident happened which left him with only one wing.

All would have been well if he had stayed in the country. But one day a man came with scissors and snipped the white rosebud off the tree, and packed it in cotton-wool, and sent it off to London. Of course the fairy had to go too, and a very uncomfortable journey he had. There were a number of other flowers packed in the same box, and in each flower there was a fairy; so they were all able to grumble together. But you can't grumble with any real comfort when you are packed very tightly, and have to talk through a good deal of cotton-wool.

At last the journey was over, and the rosebud was taken out of the cotton-wool and put in water. Then the fairy crept up from the heart of the rosebud, and put his head over the edge of the petals and looked about him.

There were flowers all round him: flowers in pots, flowers in gla.s.ses, flowers lying on the table, flowers in baskets, and great bunches of flowers in the big window. The truth was that the rosebud was in a flower-shop, but he did not know this. He only knew that it was very pleasant to be again in a place that was full of flowers and fairies.

He thought he was going to enjoy himself; but that was because he did not know how cruelly fairies are sometimes treated in flower-shops. The people who arrange the flowers have a horrible way of trying to kill the fairies; and this is what they do. They take a dreadful, sharp piece of wire and poke it through the very heart of the flower, and then fasten it tightly round the stem! You will see at once that nothing is more likely to hurt a fairy than this. Indeed, he would certainly be killed, if it were not almost impossible to kill a fairy.

The little rosebud-fairy was lying comfortably curled up, deep down among the white petals of the rose, when suddenly he saw coming through the walls of his home a sharp glittering point!

"Oh dear!" he cried, trying to scramble out of the way.

But that was no use, the glittering point came nearer and nearer.

"Oh dear--oh dear!" he cried again. "Where is it coming to? Oh--it's coming this way--the horrible thing. _Oh--oh--oh!_"

It was no wonder that he cried out. The dreadful wire had caught one of his beautiful gossamer wings, and dragged it, and torn it, till there was nothing left of it but some little shreds of fluttering gauze.

"What shall I do?" he wailed. "How can I fly with only one wing, and what is the use of a fairy that can't fly? What shall I do?"

He picked up the torn pieces of his wing and wondered if he could mend them. But he soon saw that it was impossible, so he folded them up carefully and laid them inside the rose-petals; and ever afterwards there was a faint tinge of pink deep down in the heart of the rosebud.

For a long time, long after the rosebud had been tied up with a sprig of fern and put in the window, the poor little fairy went on moaning and sighing over the loss of his wing. He was still sighing when a little girl came into the shop. If the fairy had not been hiding among the petals of his rosebud he would have seen at once that she was the kind of little girl that the fairies always love; a little girl with bright eyes and a laughing face--altogether a very nice little girl. She pointed to the white rosebud and said--

"I want to buy that rosebud, please, for Granny's birthday."

In another minute she was walking along the street with the rosebud in her fat hand.

Then the fairy crept up from the heart of the rose and looked over the edge of the petals. The little girl saw him at once and was not at all surprised.

"There you are!" she said. "I wondered when you would look out. Of course I knew there was a fairy in the rosebud, or I wouldn't have bought it. It would have been no use, you see."

"What a very nice little girl!" thought the fairy. "She seems to have a great deal of sense."

The little girl went on: "Poor thing, I see your wing has been torn off.

That nearly always happens to the fairies that come from flower-shops.

But I dare say Granny won't mind. She sees very few fairies. I am going to leave you at Granny's house because it is her birthday. Now remember, you're to be very nice to Granny, because she sees so few fairies."

By this time they had reached Granny's house. Granny lived all alone in a very splendid house in a great square. The house had a great many fine things in it: handsome furniture and valuable china and grand silks and brocades. But there was not a single fairy in it, and a house that has no fairies in it is a very dull place.

Granny was sitting alone on her birthday. She looked round the great drawing-room and thought there were a number of empty chairs and sofas in it. That made her feel very lonely. No one had been to see her on her birthday; she had had no presents or letters; no one had noticed her birthday at all. If there had been any fairies in the house Granny would not have felt so lonely, because the fairies are always good company.

But poor Granny had quite forgotten all about the fairies; it was so long since she had seen any.

Then a footman brought the white rosebud into the room, with a message from the little girl with the bright eyes and the nice laughing face.

Granny sat for a long time with the white rosebud on her knee. She felt happier than she had been all day. She sat so still that the fairy thought he might safely peep out and see what was going on. To his great surprise Granny noticed him at once; he had not thought it at all likely that she would see him, for she was not the kind of person who often sees fairies. Probably she would not have seen him if she had not been so sad and lonely.

"Why," she said, "it's a fairy! It is years since I saw a fairy. I thought I should never see one again."

When the fairy saw that Granny was glad to see him, he crept out of the rosebud and sat on her wrinkled hand, and talked to her.

"Poor little thing," said Granny, "you have lost one of your wings.

Well, it was not likely that any but a one-winged fairy would find his way in here."

Then she sighed. So the fairy, to cheer her up, told her all about the lovely garden he had left behind him in the country--the garden where he had lived before the man with the scissors came to cut the rosebud. He told her about the other roses and the fairies that lived in them, and the tall hollyhocks whose fairies were so prim and old-fas.h.i.+oned, and the sweet, shy love-in-a-mist whose fairies always wore veils when they went out, and the sunflower-fairies who had never been taught that it was rude to stare, and the dear unselfish verbena fairies who made the world so sweet for other people and never thought of themselves. Then Granny remembered all sorts of things that she had forgotten for years--fairies she used to know when she was a little girl, and the stories they used to tell her. She told some of the stories to the rosebud fairy, and they talked together for a long time. Granny was happier that evening than she had been for a great many evenings. She said to herself that her birthday had been a very nice one after all.

"Won't you come and live with me?" she said.

The fairy looked round the room.

"Well," he said, "I should like to stay very much, but I really don't see any place here for me to live. My rosebud will soon die and be thrown away."

"But if I were to keep the rosebud always, even when it was dead? Would you stay then?"

The fairy thought for a moment.

"I tell you plainly," he said, "that I don't like the idea of living in a dead rosebud. But I know it's done sometimes, and one mustn't be too particular when one has only one wing."

"I'll ask the little girl who brought you here to come and see you often," said Granny, "and you and I will go out to-morrow and buy some picture-books for her, and some chocolates, and then we shall all three enjoy ourselves together."

The fairy nodded happily.

"That settles it," he said. "I'll stay."

_THE LITTLE BOY FROM TOWN_

If you spend all the year in a big town it is a fine thing to have a summer holiday near the sea. Otherwise you never have a chance of making friends with the sea-fairies or the mermaids, who are the most delightful playmates in the world. You may know all kinds of other fairies, and be quite intimate with them, but as long as you live nothing can ever make up to you for not knowing the sea-fairies.

Little Michael was eight years old, and he had never met a sea-fairy, for he lived in a great town. Then at last his father and mother and he went off for a whole month to the seaside. There were sands there, very hard and yellow and good to make castles with; and there were lonely caves with dripping walls; and there were heaps of slimy, green seaweed, and sh.e.l.ls, and rocks for climbing on. Best of all, there were plenty of fairies. Michael made friends with all the fairies of the sea and sh.o.r.e; but his greatest and best friend was a Mermaid who lived in a cave.

The roof of the cave was wet and green, and its floor was pebbly, with here and there a rock. Every day Michael came and sat on one of the rocks and listened to the Mermaid's stories, and to the soft, lapping sound of the little waves. The Mermaid told him such stories as he had never heard before, for she had not always been in that cave, but had swum in deep seas and lived on many sh.o.r.es. She told Michael of places where the sea was warm and green, and the rocks were made of coral, and palm-trees shaded the mermaids when they played upon the sands. She told him too of bitter seas that were made of ice, so that no mermaid could swim in them; and of towering icebergs s.h.i.+ning in the sun; and of white mist-fairies, who turned the hair of mermaids into a shower of icicles. Then she told him of sailors who had been her friends, and how some of them were sailing far away, and some of them were drowned, and how all of them were good playmates.

While Michael listened to these stories his eyes were very round and wide open, and often his mouth was open too. He had never enjoyed anything so much before, and he thought it would be dreadful when the day came for him to leave the dancing sea-fairies and the Mermaid's cave, and go back to the big town where he hardly ever saw any fairies at all. One day he said--