The Fairy with a Wooden Leg

Front matter

PRICE SIXPENCE. THE FAIRY WITH A WOODEN LEG BY F. DEVEREUX SELLAR CHRISTMAS, 1869. PUBLISHED FOR THE AUTHOR BY CASSELL, PETTEK, AND GALPIN, LUDGATE HILL, LONDON; akd 596, BROADWAY, NEW YORK. Now readv ARROWS, GOLDEN Christmas Part The Extra THE QUIVER, PRICE SIXPENCE. THE EEV. AI/FB.ED BARKY, D.D., Principal of King's College, London, contributes a PAPER, entitled '• CHRIST- MAS DAY: FDR SELF. FOR MAX, AND FOR GOD.'- to GOLDEN ARlt'lvV-l THE Author of "MARY POWELL" contributes a STORY, entitled "THE LADY OF LINWOOD MANOR," to GOLDEN ARROWS. ' THE Author of "A TRAP TO CATCH A SUNBEAM" contributes a STORY, entitled "MARIOS LEES GOOD WORK," fr» GOLPKN ARROWS. , rpHE Author of "ESTHER "WEST" contributes a STORY, entitled "HEART AND HOME," to GOLDEN ARROWS. THE Author of " THE LIFEBOAT," " SNOWFLAKES and SUNBEAMS," contributes a STORY, entitled "THE FORTUNES OF JACQUES LERODE," to GOLDEN ARROWS.

THE REV. "WILLIAM M. STATHAM, Author of " SURE STANDARDS OF THE FAITH," contributes " A WORD UfON CHRISTMASES.- tn GOLDEN ARROWS. ■M-ELSIE BROOK contributes a STORY, entitled "HETTY DEANES FLIRTATIoh," to GOLDEN ARROWS. JONATHAN FREKE SLINGSBY contributes THREE CHRISTMAS IDYLLS to GOLDEN ARROWS. TLTAGGIE SYMINGTON contributes a STORY, entitled "Mrs. OLIVERS PASSION-FLOWER," to GOLDEN ARROWS. GEORGE MANVILLE FENN contributes a SKETCH of 'CHRISTMAS SCENES IN LONDON TOWN," to GOLDEN ARROWS. IO ORIGINAL ILLUSTRATIONS, by ELLEN EDWARDS, EDWARD HUGHES, H. PATERSON, ID o. ROBINSON, P. J. SLINGER, and W. RICE DUCKMAN, appear in GOLDEN ARROWS. CASSELL'S CHILDREN'S LIBRARY. "Messrs. Cassell, Petter, and Galpin's books for the young are now household words."— See Dxily Telegraph, Sept. 27th, 1869. "The imposing fleet of highly ornamented craft which Messrs. Cassell, Petter, and Galpin have launched on the wide water of literature."— See Ath'.næum, Sept. 18th, 1869.

Playing Trades. Little Bakers, Shoemakers, Haircutters, Hatters, Tatlo s. Glass-blower?, Carpenters, Chair-makers, Saddlers, Builders, Umbrella-makers, Blacksmi(hs,Butter-makeri,Tinkers,Tub-makers, Basket-makers. Sixteen Coloured Illustrations, 3*. 6d. Mince-Pie Island: AChristmis Story for Young: Readers. By R. Sr. John Corbett. Illustrated. 3s. sid. Peggy and other Tales; incluling" The History of aTh-eepenny- Bit," and "The Story of a Sovereign." illustrated. 3s. 6 L Ths 21st Thousand of Old Burchell's Pocket: A Book for the Young Folk*. By Eliho BcitRirr. Illustrated. 3s. sil. The Children's Album. Containingnearly Two Hundred beautiful hngrtivings, with Short Sioriesby UncleJohn. Squarecrown Svo. 368 pages, cloth letteied, 3s. 6d. Crocker the Clown; A Tale for Boys. By B. Clarice, Editor of "Kind Words."

Chapter I

Shoeless, coverless, and cold, through fog and rain and want, comes little Polly. Polly has a father — a father, beggared and un done ; hated of all, but of himself the most ; the enemy of all, but of himself the greatest ; dreaded of all, but of himself the deepest. A father, who once, with bright eye flashing with love and hope, swore before God's high altar to love and cherish her he called his wife ; and for a time he did love and cherish her, but soon came sickness, soon came the fog and rain and want, and with them many, many evils, till Polly's father sank before them, and now his only thanks are curses, and his only gifts are blows. But, too, Polly has a mother — a gentle, patient, loving mother. Thank God, that even in London of the poor there are sometimes such mothers ! A wife full of self-sacrifice to an idol once wor shipped, now destroyed — destroyed, but not for gotten.

And also Polly has a brother, whose name is Teddy — a sickly, sinking, slowly-dying brother. One whom Polly loves, and who loves Polly in return. A tender child — all too tender for London of the poor. IN "WHICH POLLY TAKES SOMETHING TO SOMEWHERE. HE place is London. Not the London of the rich. Not the London, where comfortable carriages roll easily with well-dressed burdens all daylong. Not the London, where brilliant shops display their tempting sacrifices to the good god, Christmas. Not the London, where ~^~ every one is well-fed, well-dressed, and well-behaved; where every one is polished with society's polish, and decked in propriety's trap pings ; where there is no poverty, sin and misery — no hunger, filth, and death. The place is London. The London of the poor. The London, where the only carriage is the hearse, in which men and women — ah ! and children too — ride easily to the grave.

The London, where the pawn-shop and the gin-shop, hke two grim jugglers, play into one another's hands. The London, where every one is not well-dressed, well-fed, or well-behaved ; where the polish of society is not seen, but rather that of hunger ; where the trappings of propriety are unknown, but those of want, alas ! are too familiar ; where there is poverty and sin and misery, and hunger and filth and death. The place is London— London of the poor. The time is Christinas — Christmas Eve. Strong with hope for her father, and with love for her mother and brother, through the fog and through the rain and through the want goes little Polly. She holds something in her hand, clutching it firmly, for it's her only hope. That " something " had been given her by her mother, with a deep, deep sigh.

And with the sigh came a voice, " Take it, dearest, you know where; it's all we have!" And after the voice came tears, and the mother sank down well-nigh broken-hearted. But the little Polly kissing the bigger Polly sa-id, " Don't cry, mother ; let's trust in the good God up there, Miss Campbell tells of. He'll help us, won't he, Teddy ? " And Teddy lisping, " Yes, sis'er," Polly went the road she knew so well. In her fingers was a paper, in the paper was a locket, on the locket was, first of all, the rose of love, round that ran the words, " Remember me," and round these again there ran a garland com posed of the spring anemone of patience and the violet of faithfulness, all fastened somehow at the bottom with a true lover's knot. Not the Christmas Eve of fancy, but of fact. Not the Christmas Eve, with clear sky and frosty roads, with busy shops and life and light and joy.

Not the Christmas Eve of joyous children home from school, running from glory to glory, im patient for the end, yet fearing the last. Not the ■Christmas Eve, with happy housewives trudging slowly home with well-filled basket for the morrow's feast; not, in short, the Christmas Eve of the wealthy, but of the poor. Through the fog and through rain, and through the want of London of the poor, comes little Polly; with loving, longing, earnest eyes, with pale cheek and trembling lip, with thick, brown hair, matted, neglected, uncombed, comes little Polly, with firm mouth, expressing action, though it trembles with the cold, with steady glance and unflinching step, showing that Polly knows many, many things that might as well have been unknown to her. With the locket in her hand, Polly treads the well-known road.

Catching sight, sometimes, through lanes and courts, of London of the rich, yet neither lingering nor longing — on she goes to "you know where." Only once she stopped to turn "Out of the way there!" Looking up, she saw an umbrella, and under the umbrella a coat, and under the coat a grand new pair of trousers. Then came the umbrella, coat, and trousers down upon her, and she fell. Then came a foot, a small patent leather foot out of the grand new trousers, and pushed Polly out of its way into the gutter. Then the umbrella, coat, and trousers vanished through the fog and rain away from want. aside. It was where a bright light fell upon the pavement, and a narrow door stood temptingly ajar, from whence came warmth and light and pleasant odours. Through this half-open door the matted, uncombed head of Polly pushed, and she saw in one corner a man with sidling head and drooping arms.

The brave heart turned away, and with a sigh, sighed, " Father ! " then on through fog and rain and want went little Polly. At last she reached the juggler's — the juggler, who plays with the gilded balls — and entering, presented the locket. The juggler, like a grim spider, darted on the prey from behind some dark recess. He was a short, thickset man, almost bald, with a twig of hailround the back of his head like a monk, with no beard, and only small colourless eyebrows. The mouth was hard and brutish, the eyes glistened with a greedy light, and the head was so low there was only room for one idea, and that was " gain." This amiable being took poor Polly's locket, and having opened it, found it was empty. " Now, young'un, where th' inside gone ?" " Please, sir, mother kept it." " Kep' it, did she ? what were it ?"

" Hair, please, sir." "Hair! Just hke ye, ye ongrateful beggars, a selling what ye can, and a keepin' what ye can't." Polly looked at her cold blue feet and ragged dress, but answered nothing, heartily wishing the inquiry at an end. But Mr. Cox had a gift for conversation — said the people liked it — and, for his own part, thought he was doing them a kindness by inquiring into their affairs. "Who give it her?" he continued. Polly burst into tears, and through them sobbed out, " Father, sir." Mr. Cox considered : a bright idea struck him — if it was as bad as that with Polly's mother, why she'd take anything she could get. He rubbed his hands gently, and said, " I'll give ye a bob for't." " Oh, please, sir, it's all we've got, and — and father's drunk, please, sir ! " "Ah! ah! that's the old tale, that is: come to me to go to Jones — I know ye."

The rain had made a little river in the gutter — a dirty, filthy, pestilential, vicious-looking river. On the dirty bosom of this dirty river floated the ticket Polly had got from the juggler. Like an evil ship upon an evil ocean floated the ticket, and with it all chance of getting back the locket with the words, " Remember me." The " bob and a tanner" fell from Polly's fingers, and were buried in the dirty bottom of the dirty stream. Polly tried to find it, but there came a policeman and moved her on — moved her on away from hope, away from help — moved her on into the fog and rain and deeper want.

Chapter II

, INTRODUCES AUNT BERTHA AND A TAIRT TALE. Tire place again is London — the London of the rich. The time, too, is Christmas Eve. The drawn curtains of the great houses made to glow with light inside, suggest merry bands of children round blazing fires. Inside one of those houses, round such a fire sat and stood a Christmas group. There were the old people in cosy corners, quiet and happy in the joy of their children and their children's children; and round about them, in all positions, were about a dozen boys and girls, all home for the holidays, one desire filling each young heart — the desire for fun and pleasure, though it showed itself in different ways. Mrs. Lawson, the mother of five of the children present, sat a little apart, listening to their merry talk, and busily engaged in making some ornaments wanted for the games to-morrow.

Mr. Lawson was there, too, sitting near his wife, and planning all sorts of surprises to give tho young ones pleasure. Of him much need not be said. He was a strong, well-made man, with pleasing features, and a hearty, merry voice. Having passed his college life with credit, he obtained an appointment " under Government," in which he had little to do, and for which he received liberal pay. And so he lived, happily and contented with the world outside, and more than happy in the little world at home of which he was the king. An ordinary, every-day type of the well-to-do and generous Englishman. The rest need not be noticed yet, save one — Aunt Bertha. Resting easily on the chair of the old man, playing lovingly with his winter-sprinkled locks, stands Aunt Bertha. Young and beautiful and happy, with large grand eyes full of soul, with rich hair flowing in wild wantonness about her pretty shoulders, reminding one of the way in which she scattered love and sunshine, she stands there, with flushed cheek and somewhat quickened breath, resting, for Bertha has been Then turning to two women, who had just entered, he continued, " Why old Jones was in here t'other day from the ' Jolly Dog,' blowing up Methodist like, 'cause I don't give ye more for yer traps.

Says, I to him, ' Now if I was to give the varmint more wouldn't they come to you?' I says ; ' and going to you, wouldn't they get drunk?' I says; 'and getting drunk,' says I, ' wouldn't you turn 'em out ? and similarly,' I says, ' wouldn't the perlice turn 'em in ? ' Ah ! ah ! that's good, that is ! ' Now, aint I therefore,' I says, ' a public benefactor, a-keeping 'em out o' prison P ' says I." Mr. Cox here handed Polly a white piece of card, with one shilling and sixpence on it. " Now then, there's your ticket, and there's a bob and a tanner for ye — cut !" And Polly cut ; cut through fog and rain and want, from the public benefactor, with the gift of his benevolence in her hsnd. The rain and fog got into Polly's eyes. Standing still to rub them, and to push her dripping locks behind her ears, she heard a harsh, hard voice say, romping.

Why, Christmas would be nothing, not worth a fig, without a "jolly good game" with Bertha. We have called her beautiful, some people doubted it; but while the eye said "no," the heart said " yes." She had a mouth too large, it may be; a mouth, unfortunately, made for eating, talking, laughing— and kissing, too, perhaps, if some one would only find it out. "Aunt Bertha, when will Uncle Joe be here?" said a strong happy-looking boy. standing on his knee. A small tiny gossamer thing enough, and Matt was afraid to move lest he should shake it off. This fairy dressed all in spark ling white, wore a golden crown set with diamonds, and had shining wings, and carried a wand with what looked like a star on the top, it shone and twinkled so, and round her waist was a band of gold to match the crown.

And as Matt looked, the diamonds of the girdle seemed to form themselves into a word, and he managed to spell slowly ' c-h-a-r-i-t-y; ' but then he was not a good scholar, and after all he might be dreaming. Well, be that as it may. this beautiful fairy stood on the dirty cord trousers of poor old Matt. "Then she waved her wand, and Matt saw behind her, going back, back, back till he lost sight of them in their own brightness, troops of other fairies like herself, only they had no crowns, and their girdles were all different. " In a clear voice, like a tiny bell, she said : ' I am queen of the fairies ; I have servants, as you see, but 1 always come myself when I can. We have heard all about your hard work, and your industry, and the unkindness of the great man in the great house on the rock, and about your poor good wife, and your hungry children, and we are very sorry for you.

Now we have come to tell you we will help you if we can, and we can if you will only trust. Cheer up, then ! have a brave, strong heart, trust in our Great King, and all will be well ! ' " Then she turned round, and waved her wand, and flew away, and all the others followed her. And as they vanished, Matt thought he heard them singing, and as he listened, he caught the words, sung ages ago, about their ' Great King : ' ' Fear not : for, behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy-' " Matt got up and rubbed his eyes, and stared, and wondered, and wondered, and stared, and rubbed his eyes again and again ; but as he could make nothing of it, and as his fire was quite out now, he went off to bed as quickly as possible. "Now you must know that the owner of the forest, who lived in the great house on the rock, was a cruel, hard, grinding man, although so very, very rich.

He had never helped any one; he never felt pity for any one. Matt had asked that morning for broken bread, and he had been re fused, and asked in turn for the rent that was owing. Oh, he was a cruel, hard, old croaker — was that strong-hearted man in the stone house on the rock. " About six o'clock, Harry." " Auntie, Uncle Joe said he'd bring me some thing," cried an eager voice. " And me too," lisped a little one from grandma's knee. Then followed a long and eager speculation of what Uncle Joe would bring — who, by the way, it was found, had secretly promised "something" to each one in that young company. Uncle Joe was a favourite, a necessity almost for enjoyment, and they felt a void without him. All the news of schools and schoolfellows had been discussed, all the plans for the holidays were well arranged, and so a children's melancholy settled on the little party.

An hour to wait for something wanted seems to a child almost an eternity. At last grandma proposed a fairy tale. Instantly they all came clustering round her feet, and settled down to listen. Then grandma, taking the little Mary on her knee, began the Fairy Tale of the Forest :— " Once upon a time — it was Christmas-time, and the snow was hiding the bare boughs of the great trees with its pretty whiteness, and making the fields and meadows just like a fairy playground there lived in a very large forest a very poor man. This poor man used to work for the big house standing in the middle of the forest on a rock whenever he could, and when there was nothing to do there, he got his living as he was best able, hy doing all sorts of things for the different neighbours. He was a good, honest, hard-working man, and so his neighbours were fond of him, and although they were very poor people, quite as poor as Matt, for that was his name, yet they tried to help him as much as they could, and so between them all, poor Matt and his family managed pretty well.

But at the time my story opens, there was no work for others as well as Matt, and so they •could not help him, and yet his wife was ill, and. his children very hungry, and he had nothing to give them. And it was cold — oh ! so cold ! The snow was several inches thick, and the river and the ponds were frozen, and all the birds seemed dead. " AVhen the fairies left Matt, they ran across the snow singing their beautiful song, till they came to the great stone house on the rock. It happened that the strong-hearted man had just got into bed and was dozing off to sleep when they arrived. He had had a good supper, and had settled it comfortably with smoking, steaming punch, and looked forward to a good night's rest. Oh ! but he did not know what a night that would be to him! "On Christmas Eve Matt sat by the fire thinking — thinking — thinking what he should do, and failing to think of anything of any use, he went to sleep.

The logs in the fireplace — the last he had — burnt low ; soon the flame went out, and they only glowed w ith a warm red glow, making Matt look something like a great goblin in the pantomime, and giving the naked walls and rafters quite a pleasing rosy glow. Soon Matt thought he heard a noise, and half woke up ; but — no ! it must be the children sobbing in their sleep ; so he dozed off again. Then he heard a rattling, but thought it was only the wind outside trying to get in from the cold. At last he felt a tap on his hand, and opening his eyes, saw a fairy "Just as he was going to sleep, he felt some thing tickle his nose, so he turned round and buried it in his pillow. And then he felt something very much like cold water — perhaps it was — drip, drip, drip on to his neck, and run down his back.

Then he grew frightened, and jumped out of bed, and lighted a light. Failing to see anything to may as well be confessed at once Uncle Joe had— had a wooden leg ! Well ! and what harm is there in a wooden leg? It's better than having some other members wooden ; for if Uncle Joe's leg was wooden, his head and heart were made of good sound flesh. Uncle Joe had worn this wooden leg so long that it had become almost a part of himself. His friends would have missed its stump! stump ! stump ! The clatter it made going over the stones was peculiarly Uncle Joe's clatter, and not a few listened for it eagerly, and welcomed it heartily. While little Polly wandered through fog and rain, and went to sell the locket, Uncle Joe was sitting in his own snug parlour, face to face with his hearty housekeeper, a Mrs. Kiss.

The curtains had been drawn to hide the fog and rain, while Uncle Joe took his "forty-winks." The firelight lighted up the room, and 'revealed its lord and master dozing comfortably with one leg (the flesh one) resting on a chair, and its companion quietly reclining near. Mrs. Kiss, too, judging from the crossed hands and bending head, was somewhat forgetful of surrounding scenes, although that lady scorned such weakness. While the worthy couple rest, let us explore the room. Not a very large one, but full of things — and such things ! There were pictures of all sizes and colours, representing all sorts of wonders on the " mighty deep." This will point to the fact that Uncle Joe, or the lamented Mr. Kiss, had been a sailor. The fact is, they both had — Uncle Joe was captain, and the said Mr. Kiss served under him.

How all this came about we may, perhaps, some time know ; for the present we must attend to Uncle Joe, who is waking up slowly, and putting a pipe to his mouth, that has been empty half-an hour, puffs vigorously, vainly thinking by so doing Mrs. Kiss will be persuaded ho has not been to sleep. While that lady begins fumbling at some knitting resting in her lap, expecting Uncle Joe would believe she had not been to sleep. This Uttle dodging occurred almost every day. We all have our weaknesses, and this was the form that Uncle Joe's and Mrs. Kiss's weakness assumed. account for it, he got into bed again leaving the light burning. But no sooner was he growing warm and comfortable, than out went the light, and he saw hanging from every tassel of the bed hangings, a black imp waving about a green flaring torch.

While in the middle of the bed stood another black imp wearing a crown, and having a wand, round the top of which burnt ten red letters. Oh ! the stony-hearted man, in his stone house on the rock, tvas frightened! He wondered what those little black imps could want with him, and yet these imps with their torches were the very same fairies with wands that Matt had seen. _ But then, you know, only good people see pretty fairies, and only bad people see little black imps. " Well, the man with the stony heart trembled very much, for all the imps glared at him, but no one spoke, and such silence is very awful. Then the ten red letters— P-u-n-i-s-h-m-e-n-t — grew brighter and brighter, and came nearer and nearer, till they burned the bed of the stony hearted man, and he was no more ! " In the morning Matt woke up, and found that his wife was well and his children happy, and that Ms house was on the rock in the middle of the forest.

"Then came again the fairy, and said, ' You trusted and hoped, aud we helped you. Thank my Master, my King, the great Fairy of Love, and trust on still ! ' " And Matt said he would, and his wife said she would, and the children said they would. Then the fairy vanished, and Matt and his family lived happy all their lives." "And here's Uncle Joe ! " shouted all the children, as thanking their grandma, they all ran off to welcome him.

Chapter III. Introduces Uncle Joe And Mrs

KISS. Uncle Joe is Uncle Joe and no one else ! Uncle Joe was like no one but himself. His face was his own ! And 0! what a bright, smiling, happy, kindly, jolly face it was ! Uncie Joe's eyes were Uncle Joe's eyes; not very large eyes, not very small eyes. All round Uncle Joe's eyes there were little cracks or marks — " crows' feet," some people called them — and they looked like a halo of glory such as painters put round the head of a saint. His eyebrows were of an iron-grey colour, in harmony with his iron-grey eye. When he looked hard at anything his eyes became smaller, and his eyebrows came down a little. If you watched very carefully, you could tell what Uncle Joe was looking at by the look of his eye. When the eyebrows became stiff and hard, when the iron-grey eye almost hid itself in the overhanging "pent-house," when the "crows' feet" ran out of the way somewhere, then Uncle Joe saw some thing he did not like, something cruel, unkind, bad.

When Uncle Joe's eyebrows became soft and almost trembled, when the " crows' feet " be came deeper and more marked, when the iron in the iron-grey eye seemed to melt, then he saw something he liked — something good, manly, noble ! At last the captain gets fairly awake, and pulling his large watch from his fob, remarks that he must go. While he is busy screwing on his wooden leg Mrs. Kiss opens a cupboard, and therefrom pro duces two glasses and a decanter. Uncle Joe stumps his way up-stairs and returns equipped for walking. By this time sugar and hot water have made their appearance, and a smoking glass of toddy restores the couple to their wonted cheer fulness and ease. By silent consent they agree to forget all about the mutual deception in the matter of sleeping, and act as though such things were not.

Away Uncle Joe stumps through a long quiet street, where only two or three passengers can bo seen through the fog, across a square, and so into a broad, brightly -lighted thoroughfare. Just as he reached a corner he had to wait bo fore he crossed for a butcher's cart to pass. Tho butcher drove near the curb, as butchers some times will, and splashed the water in the gutter over Uncle Joe's foot. But not only the water, something else, something that looked like a piece of card just dropped. Uncle Joe stooped to pick But Uncle Joe was not perfect. Who is? It it up, and as he read the writing on it you might have seen the eyebrow soften and the crows' feet deepen. He put the card into his pocket, and stumped on again quicker than before. But now, instead of keeping in the bright road with the shops, he turned down the street the butcher's cart had come up, where it was all dull and dark street, and lane after lane.

At last he reached a narrow low archway. Through this he passed, and found himself in a rectangular court, with houses on each side, and one bobbing, flickering light at the extreme end. These houses were of different sizes and built of different materials, some ,jf bricks, some of wood ; some had doors, somo had not. Through the openings where doors had been, Uncle Joe saw narrow passages from which hung damp, mouldy paper, patched here and there, and here and there torn off altogether. At the end of these passages he could see stairs or ladders, for the handrail was want ing in most of them. Looking round, he fixed upon what he thought might be No. 7, and knocked at the door. A woman with coarse hair all down her back, and holding her dress round her withered and dirty neck, answered his call.

Uncle Joe asked if Mrs. Dale lived there. After staring at him for some time, the woman answered. " You'll find Jack Dale's woman up-stairs — second floor back," and disappeared. Then Uncle Joe mounted the stair, and stepping into the room said, "Is Mrs. Dale here?" and cold and miserable. The card Uncle Joe had found was something like this Mr. COX, Pa-wnlroker, 28, Fuller's Rents. 1 Locket. "Rent. Me," is. 6d. Mrs. Dale. 24 W Dec. 1 3— . That little piece of card told its own tale. Mrs. Dale, Uncle Joe did not know: Mr. Cox, Uncle Joe did know. And he knew more than this, that people in London of the poor don't often pawn lockets for eighteenpence. Presently Uncle Joe looked up, and over his head, through the thick fog, he could catch the shining of a golden ball. He entered the door over which this ball, the only one of the three visible, was suspended.