Granny's wonderful chair and its tales of fairy times

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Copyright, 1913

By E. P. DUTTON & COMPANY n i

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Contents

CHAPTER PAGE

I Introductory 1

II The Christmas Cuckoo .... 23

Preface

In another edition of this book there is a very beautiful design on one of the title pages, and these words, written by Shakespeare, “This is fairy gold, boys; and ’twill prove so.” Perhaps some day you may find out for yourselves what fairy gold is, and how it differs from real gold. But learn this now, as you read this book; that there is often more truth in fairy stories than at first appears. Some of the greatest writers that ever lived have enjoyed writing fary stories for children, and some of the greatest men and women that ever lived, no matter how old they grew,

VI

PREFACE have never outgrown their enjoyment in reading them.

When you have finished the stories in this book, you may find you have enjoyed them so much that you will want to know something about the blind poet who wrote them. So, in the last few pages, there is a story about her, and in many ways it is very like a fairy story.

Chapter I

In an old time, long ago, when the fairies were in the world, there lived a little girl so uncommonly fair and pleasant of look, that they called her Snowflower. This girl was good as well as pretty. No one had ever seen her frown or heard her say a cross word, and young and old were glad when they saw her coming.

Snowflower had no relation in the world but a very old grandmother, called Dame Frostyf ace ; people did not like her quite so well as her granddaughter, for she was cross enough at times, but always kind to Snowflower; and they lived together in a little cottage built of peat, and thatched with reeds, on the edge of a great forest ; tall trees sheltered its back from the north wind; the mid-day sun made its front warm and cheerful; swallows built in the eaves; daisies grew thick at the door; but there were none in all that country poorer than Snowflower and hel* grandmother. A cat and two hens were all their live-stock: their bed was dry grass, and the only good piece of furniture in the cottage was a great arm-chair with wheels on its feet, a black velvet cushion, and many curious carvings of flowers and fawns on its dark oaken back.

On that chair Dame Frostyface sat spinning from morning till night to maintain herself and her granddaughter, while Snowflower gathered sticks for firing, looked after the hens and the cat, and did whatever else her grandmother bade her. There was nobody in the shire could spin such fine yarn as Dame Frostyface, but she spun very slowly. Her wheel was as old as herself, and far the more worn ; indeed, the wonder was that it did not fall to pieces. So the dame’s earnings were small, and their living meager. Snowflower, however, felt no want of good dinners or fine clothes. Every evening, when the fire was heaped with the sticks she had gathered till it blazed and crackled up the cottage chimney, Dame Frostyface set aside her wheel, and told her a new story. Often did the little girl wonder where her grandmother had gathered so many stories, but she soon learned that. One sunny morning, at the time of the swallows coming, the dame rose up, put on the gray hood and mantle in which she carried her yarn to the fairs, and said, “My child, I am going a long journey to visit an aunt of mine, who lives far in the north country. I cannot take you with me, because my aunt is the Grossest woman alive, and never liked young people : but the hens will lay eggs for you; there is barley-meal in the barrel; and, as you have been a good girl, I’ll tell you what to do when you feel lonely. Lay your head gently down on the cushion of the armchair, and say, ‘ Chair of my grandmother, tell me a story.’ It was made by a cunning fairy, who lived in the forest when I was young, and she gave it to me because she knew nobody could keep what they got hold of better. Remember, you must never ask a story more than once in the day ; and if there be any occasion to travel, you have only to seat yourself in it, and say, 6 Chair of my grandmother, take me such a way/ It will carry you wherever you wish ; but mind to oil the wheels before you set out, for I have sat on it these forty years in that same corner.”

Having said this, Dame Frostyface set forth to see her aunt in the north country. Snowflower gathered firing and looked after the hens and cat as usual. She baked herself a cake or two of the barley-meal; but when the evening fell the cottage looked lonely. Then Snowflower remembered her grandmother’s words, and, laying her head gently down, she said, “ Chair of my grandmother, tell me a story.”

Scarce were the words spoken, when a clear voice from under the velvet cushion began to tell a new and most wonderful tale, which surprised Snowflower so much that she forgot to be frightened. After that the good girl was lonely no more. Every morning she baked a barley cake, and every evening the chair told her a new story ; but she could never find out who owned the voice, though Snowflower showed her gratitude by polishing up the oaken back, and dusting the velvet cushion, till the chair looked as good as new. The swallows came and built in the eaves, the daisies grew thicker than ever at the door; but great misfortunes fell upon Snowflower. Notwithstanding all her care, she forgot to clip the hens’ wings, and they flew away one morning to visit their friends, the pheasants, who lived far in the forest ; the cat f ollowed them to see its relations; the barley-meal was eaten up, except a couple of handfuls ; and Snowflower had often strained her eyes in hopes of seeing the gray mantle, but there was no appearance of Dame Prostyface.

“My grandmother stays long,” said Snowflower to herself; “and by and bye there will be nothing to eat. If I could get to her, perhaps she would advise me what to do ; and this is a good occasion for traveling.”

Next day, at sunrise, Snowflower oiled the chair’s wheels, baked a cake out of the last of the meal, took it in her lap by way of provision for the journey, seated herself, and said, “ Chair of my grandmother, take me the way she went.”

Presently the chair gave a creak, and began to move out of the cottage and into the forest the very way Dame Frostyface had taken, where it rolled along at the rate of a coach and six. Snowflower was amazed at this style of traveling, but the chair never stopped nor stayed the whole summer day, till as the sun was setting they came upon an open space, where a hundred men were hewing down the tall trees with their axes, a hundred more were cleaving them for firewood, and twenty wagoners, with horses and wagons, were carrying the wood away. “Oh! chair of my grandmother, stop!” said Snowflower, for she was tired, and also wished to know what this might mean. The chair immediately stood still, and Snowflower, seeing an old woodcutter who looked civil, stepped up to him and said, “Good father, tell me why you cut all this wood?”

“What ignorant country girl are you*?” replied the man, “not to have heard of the great feast which our sovereign, King Winwealth, means to give on the birthday of his only daughter, the Princess G-reedalind. It will last seven days. Everybody will be feasted, and this wood is to roast the oxen and the sheep, the geese and the turkeys, amongst whom there is a great lamentation throughout the land.”

When Snowflower heard that, she could not help wishing to see, and perhaps share in, such a noble feast, after living so long on barley cakes ; so, seating herself, she said, “Chair of my grandmother, take me quickly to the palace of King Winwealth.”

The words were hardly spoken, when off the chair started through the trees and out of the forest, to the great amazement of the woodcutters, who, never having seen such a sight before, threw down their axes, left their wagons, and followed Snowflower to the gates of a great and splendid city, fortified with strong walls and high towers, and standing in the midst of a wide plain covered with cornfields, orchards, and villages.

It was the richest city in all the land ; merchants from every quarter came there to buy and sell, and there was a saying that people had only to live seven years in it to make their fortunes. Rich as they were, however, Snowflower thought she had never seen so many discontented, covetous faces as looked out from the great shops, grand houses, and fine coaches, when her chair rattled along the streets; indeed, the citizens

The fortified city.

did not stand high in repute for either good-nature or honesty; hut it had not been so when King Winwealth was young, and he and his brother, Prince Wisewit, governed the land together. Wisewit was a wonderful prince for knowledge and prudence. He knew the whole art of government, the tempers of men, and the powers of the stars; moreover, he was a great magician, and it was said of him that he could never die or grow old. In his time there was neither discontent nor sickness in the city — strangers were hospitably entertained without price or questions. Lawsuits there were none, and no one locked his door at night. The fairies used to come there at Mayday and Michaelmas, for they were Prince Wisewit ’s friends — all but one, called Fortunetta, a short-sighted but very cunning fairy, who hated everybody wiser than herself, and the prince especially, because she could never deceive him.

There was peace and pleasure for many a year in King Winwealth’s city, till one day at midsummer Prince Wisewit went alone to the forest, in search of a strange herb for his garden, but he never came back; and though the king, with all his guards, searched far and near, no news was ever heard of him. When his brother was gone, King Winwealth grew lonely in his great palace, so he married a certain princess, called Wantall, and brought her home to be his queen. This princess was neither handsome nor agreeable. People thought she must have gained the king’s love by enchantment, for her whole dowry was a desert island, with a huge pit in it that never could he filled, and her disposition was so covetous, that the more she got the greedier she grew. In process of time the king and queen had an only daughter, who was to be the heiress of all their dominions. Her name was the Princess Greedalind, and the whole city was making preparations to celebrate her birthday — not that they cared much for the princess, who was remarkably like her mother both in looks and temper, but being King Winwealth’s only daughter, people came from far and near to the festival, and among them strangers and fairies who had not been there since the day of Prince Wisewit.

There was surprising bustle about the palace, a most noble building, so spacious that it had a room for every day in the year. All the floors were of ebony, and all tlie ceilings of silver, and there was such a supply of golden dishes used by the household, that five hundred armed men kept guard night and day lest any of them should be stolen. When these guards saw Snowflower and her chair, they ran one after the other to tell the king, for the like had never been seen nor heard of in his dominions, and the whole court crowded out to see the little maiden and her chair that came of itself.

When Snowflower saw the lords and ladies in their embroidered robes and splendid jewels, she began to feel ashamed of her own bare feet and linen gown ; but at length taking courage, she answered all their questions, and told them everything about her wonderful chair. The queen and the princess cared for nothing that was not gilt.

The courtiers had learned the same fashion, and all turned away in high disdain except the old king, who, thinking the chair might amuse him sometimes when he got out of spirits, allowed Snowflower to stay and feast with the scullion in his worst kitchen. The poor little girl was glad of any quarters, though nobody made her welcome— even the servants despised her bare feet and linen gown. They would give her chair no room but in a dusty corner behind the back door, where Snowflower was told she might sleep at night, and eat up the scraps the cook threw away.

That very day the feast began ; it was fine to see the multitudes of coaches and people on foot and on horseback who crowded to the palace, and filled every room according to their rank.

Never had Snowflower seen such roasting and boiling. There was wine for the lords and spiced ale for the common people, music and dancing of all kinds, and the best of gay dresses ; but with all the good cheer there seemed little merriment, and a deal of ill-humor in the palace.

Some of the guests thought they should have been feasted in grander rooms; others were vexed to see many finer than themselves. All the servants were dissatisfied because they did not get presents. There was somebody caught every hour stealing the cups, and a multitude of people were always at the gates clamoring for goods and lands, which Queen Wantall had taken from them. The guards continually drove them away, but they came back again, and could be heard plainly in the highest banquet hall : so it was not wonderful that the old king’s spirits got uncommonly low that evening after supper. His favorite page, who always stood behind him, perceiving this, reminded his majesty of the little girl and her chair.

“It is a good thought,” said King Winwealth. “I have not heard a story this many a year. Bring the child and the chair instantly!”

The favorite page sent a messenger to the first kitchen, who told the master-cook, the master-cook told the kitchen-maid, the kitchen-maid told the chief-scullion, the chief-scullion told the dust-boy, and he told Snowflower to wash her face, rub up her chair, and go to the highest banquet hall, for the great king Winwealth wished to hear a story.

Nobody offered to help her, but when Snowflower had made herself as smart as she could with soap and water, and rubbed the chair till it looked as if dust had never fallen on it, she seated herself, and said: — 4 ‘ Chair of my grandmother, take me to the highest banquet hall.”

Instantly the chair marched in a grave and courtly fashion out of the kitchen, up the grand staircase, and into the highest hall. The chief lords and ladies of the land were entertained there, besides many fairies and notable people from distant countries. There had never been such company in the palace since the time of Prince Wisewit ; nobody wore less than embroidered satin. King Winwealth sat on his ivory throne in a robe of purple velvet, stiff with flowers of gold ; the queen sat by his side in a robe of silver cloth, clasped with pearls; but the Princess Greedalind was finer still, the feast being in her honor. She wore a robe of cloth of gold clasped with diamonds; two waiting-ladies in white satin stood, one on either side, to hold her fan and handkerchief; and two pages, in goldlace livery, stood behind her chair. With all that Princess Greedalind looked ugly and spiteful; she and her mother were angry to see a barefooted girl and an old chair allowed to enter the banquet hall.

The supper-table was still covered with golden dishes, and the best of good things, but no one offered Snowflower a morsel: so, having made an humble courtesy to the king, the queen, the princess, and the good company, most of whom scarcely noticed her, the poor little girl sat down upon the carpet, laid her head on the velvet cushion, as she used to do in the old cottage, and said : — “ Chair of my grandmother, tell me a story.”

Everybody was astonished, even to the angry queen and the spiteful princess, when a clear voice from under the cushion, said: — “ Listen to the story of the Christmas Cuckoo!”

Chapter II

“Once upon a time there stood in the midst of a bleak moor, in the north country, a certain village ; all its inhabitants were poor, for their fields were barren, and they had little trade, but the poorest of them all were two brothers called Scrub and Spare, who followed the cobbler’s craft, and had but one stall between them. It was a hut built of clay and wattles. The door was low and always open, for there was no window. The roof did not entirely keep out the rain, and the only thing comfortable about it was a wide hearth, for which the brothers could never find wood enough to make a sufficient fire. There they worked in most brotherly friendship, though with little encouragement.

“The people of that village were not extravagant in shoes, and better cobblers than Scrub and Spare might be found. Spiteful people said there were no shoes so bad that they would not be worse for their mending. Nevertheless Scrub and Spare managed to live between their own trade, a small barley field, and a cottage garden, till one unlucky day when a new cobbler arrived in the village. He had lived in the capital city of the kingdom, and, by his own account, cobbled for the queen and the princesses. His awls were sharp, his lasts were new; he set up his stall in a neat cottage with two windows. The villagers soon found out that one patch of his would wear two of the brothers’. In short, all the mending left Scrub and Spare, and went to the new cobbler. The season had been wet and cold, their barley did not ripen well, and the cabbages never half closed in the garden. So the brothers were poor that winter, and when Christmas came they had nothing to feast on but a barley loaf, a piece of rusty bacon, and some small beer of their own brewing. Worse than that, the snow was very deep, and they could get no firewood. Their hut stood at the end of the village, beyond it spread the bleak moor, now all white and silent; but that moor had once been a forest, great roots of old trees were still to be found in it, loosened from the soil and laid bare by the winds and rains. One of these, a rough, gnarled log, lay hard by their door, the half of it above the snow, and Spare said to his brother —

“ ‘Shall we sit here cold on Christmas while the great root lies yonder? Let us chop it up for firewood, the work will make us warm.’

“ ‘No,’ said Scrub; ‘it’s not right to chop wood on Christmas; besides, that root is too hard to be broken with any hatchet. ’

“ ‘Hard or not we must have a fire,’ replied Spare. ‘ Come, brother, help me in with it. Poor as we are, there is nobody in the village will have such a yule log as ours.’

“Scrub liked a little grandeur, and in hopes of having a fine yule log, both brothers strained and strove with all their might till, between pulling and pushing, the great old root was safe on the hearth, and beginning to crackle and blaze with the red embers. In high glee, the cobblers sat down to their beer and bacon. The door was shut, for there was nothing but cold moonlight and snow outside; but the hut, strewn with fir boughs, and ornamented with holly, looked cheerful as the ruddy blaze flared up and rejoiced their hearts.

“ ‘Long life and good fortune to ourselves, brother!’ said Spare. ‘I hope you will drink that toast, and may we never have a worse fire on Christmas — but what is that?’

“Spare set down the drinking-horn, and the brothers listened astonished, for out of the blazing root they heard, ‘Cuckoo! cuckoo!’ as plain as ever the spring-bird’s voice came over the moor on a May morning.

“ ‘It is something bad,’ said Scrub, terribly frightened.

“ ‘May be not,’ said Spare; and out of the deep hole at the side which the fire had not reached flew a large gray cuckoo, and lit on the table before them. Much as the cobblers had been surprised, they were still more so when it said —

“ ‘Good gentlemen, what season is this?’

“ ‘It’s Christmas,’ said Spare.

“ ‘Then a merry Christmas to you!’ said the cuckoo. ‘I went to sleep in the hollow of that old root one evening last summer, and never woke till the heat of your fire made me think it was summer again; but now since you have burned my lodging, let me stay in your hut till the spring comes round — I only want a hole to sleep in, and when I go on my travels next summer be assured I will bring you some present for your trouble.’

4 4 4 Stay, and welcome,’ said Spare, while Scrub sat wondering if it were something bad or not; 4 1 ’ll make you a good warm hole in the thatch. But you must be hungry after that long sleep? — here is a slice of barley bread. Come help us to keep Christmas!’

4 4 The cuckoo ate up the slice, drank water from the brown jug, for he would take no beer, and flew into a snug hole which Spare scooped for him in the thatch of the hut.

4 4 Scrub said he was afraid it wouldn’t be lucky ; but as it slept on, and the days passed he forgot his fears. So the snow melted, the heavy rains came, the cold grew less, the days lengthened, and one sunny morning the brothers were awakened by the cuckoo shouting its own cry to let them know the spring had come.

. “ ‘ Now I’m going on my travels,’ said the bird, ‘over the world to tell men of the spring. There is no country where trees bud or flowers bloom, that I will not cry in before the year goes round. Give me another slice of barley bread to keep me on my journey, and tell me what present I shall bring you at the twelve-month’s end.’

“ Scrub would have been angry with his brother for cutting so large a slice, their store of barley-meal being low; but his mind was occupied with what present would be most prudent to ask: at length a lucky thought struck him.

“ ‘Good master cuckoo,’ said he, ‘if a great traveler who sees all the world like you, could know of any place where diamonds or pearls were to be found, one of a tolerable size brought in your beak would help such poor men as my brother and I to provide something better than barley bread for your next entertainment. ’

“ ‘I know nothing of diamonds or pearls/ said the cuckoo; ‘they are in the hearts of rocks and the sands of rivers. My knowledge is only of that which grows on the earth. But there are two trees hard by the well that lies at the world’s end — one of them is called the golden tree, for its leaves are all of beaten gold: every winter they fall into the well with a sound like scattered coin, and I know not what becomes of them. As for the other, it is always green like a laurel. Some call it the wise, and some the merry tree. Its leaves never fall, but they that get one of them keep a blithe heart in spite of all misfortunes, and can make themselves as merry in a hut as in a palace. 9

“ ‘Good master cuckoo, bring me a leaf off that tree!’ cried Spare.

“ ‘Now, brother, don’t be a fool!’ said Scrub; ‘think of the leaves of beaten gold! Dear master cuckoo, bring me one of them!’

“Before another word could be spoken, the cuckoo had flown out of the open door, and was shouting its spring cry over moor and meadow. The brothers were poorer than ever that year; nobody would send them a single shoe to mend. The new cobbler said, in scorn, they should come to be his apprentices ; and Scrub and Spare would have left the village but for their barley field, their cabbage garden, and a certain maid called Fairfeather, whom both the cobblers had courted for seven years without even knowing which she meant to favor.

“ Sometimes Fairfeather seemed inclined to Scrub, sometimes she smiled on Spare; but the brothers never disputed for that. They sowed their barley, planted their cabbage, and now that their trade was gone, worked in the rich villagers’ fields to make out a scanty living. So the seasons came and passed: spring, summer, harvest, and winter followed each other as they have done from the beginning. At the end of the latter, Scrub and Spare had grown so poor and ragged that Fairfeather thought them beneath her notice. Old neighbors forgot to invite them to wedding feasts or merry-making; and they thought the cuckoo had forgotten them too, when at daybreak, on the first of April, they heard a hard beak knocking at their door, and a voice crying—

“ ‘ Cuckoo! cuckoo! Let me in with my presents.’

“ Spare ran to open the door, and in came the cuckoo, carrying on one side of his bill a golden leaf larger than that of any tree in the north country ; and in the other, one like that of the common laurel, only it had a fresher green.

“ ‘Here,’ it said, giving the gold to Scrub and the green to Spare, ‘it is a long carriage from the world’s end. Give me a slice of barley bread, for I must tell the north country that the spring has come. ’

“Scrub did not grudge the thickness of that slice, though it was cut from their last loaf. So much gold had never been in the cobbler’s hands be-

The cuckoo with the gold and green leaves.

fore, and he could not help exulting over his brother.

“ ‘See the wisdom of my choice!’ he said, holding up the large leaf of gold. ‘As for yours, as good might be plucked from any hedge. I wonder a sensible bird would carry the like so far. ’

“ ‘Good master cobbler,’ cried the cuckoo, finishing the slice, ‘your conelusions are more hasty than courteous. If your brother be disappointed this time, I go on the same journey every year, and for your hospitable entertainment will think it no trouble to bring each of you whichever leaf you desire. ’

“ ‘ Darling cuckoo!’ cried Scrub, ‘ bring me a golden one;’ and Spare, looking up from the green leaf on which he gazed as though it were a crownjewel, said —

“ ‘Be sure to bring me one from the merry tree,’ and away flew the cuckoo.

“ ‘This is the Feast of All Fools, and it ought to be your birthday,’ said Scrub. ‘Did ever man fling away such an opportunity of getting rich! Much good your merry leaves will do in the midst of rags and poverty!’ So he went on, but Spare laughed at him, and answered with quaint old proverbs concerning the cares that come with gold, till Scrub, at length getting angry, vowed his brother was not fit to live with a respectable man ; and taking his lasts, his awls, and his golden leaf, he left the wattle hut, and went to tell the villagers.

“They were astonished at the folly of Spare and charmed with Scrub’s good sense, particularly when he showed them the golden leaf, and told that the cuckoo would bring him one every spring. The new cobbler immediately took him into partnership; the greatest people sent him their shoes to mend ; Fairf eather smiled graciously upon him, and in the course of that summer they were married, with a grand wedding feast, at which the whole village danced, except Spare, who was not invited, because the bride could not bear Ms low-mindedness, and Ms brother thought him a disgrace to the family.

“Indeed, all who heard the story concluded that Spare must be mad, and nobody would associate with him but a lame tinker, a beggar-boy, and a poor woman reputed to be a witch because she was old and ugly. As for Scrub, he established himself with Fairfeather in a cottage close by that of the new cobbler, and quite as fine. There he mended shoes to everybody’s satisfaction, had a scarlet coat for holidays, and a fat goose for dinner every wedding-day. Pairfeather, too, had a crimson gown and fine blue ribands; but neither she nor Scrub were content, for to buy this grandeur the golden leaf had to be broken and parted with piece by piece, so the last morsel was gone be-