Overheard in fairyland

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Prelude xvii

Chapter

Chapter I Fairies

D O you believe in fairies ?

Oh, I hope you do, because all of the tales in this book are about fairies. Then too, if you believe in fairies they will believe in you, and if you do not — why, you miss the very best part of your life, that is all.

Once upon a time, however, there was a little boy who did not believe in fairies. I think his eyes were not put in just the right way, or perhaps it was his mother’s eyes that were wrong — anyway, neither one of them had ever seen a fairy and it was a very sad thing.

Now, if you grew up to be as large as a grown-up mother without ever seeing a fairy, the chances are that you never will see a fairy at all ; but if you are just a little boy — why, there is always hope then.

It seemed queer though, that the little boy I am telling you about did not believe in fairies, for his little playmate Pansy did. She told the little boy there must be fairies, because the woods were full of them, and besides she had seen the sunbeam fairies dancing on the walls in dresses of red and green and violet and other beautiful colors.

And she had seen the raindrop fairies too, in queer little rain-coats of silver gray, and the snowflake fairies, so very soft and dainty, who come with little star-shaped blankets to cover the sleeping plants.

All of these his little playmate Pansy had seen, and many more besides which she told the little boy about, but he only laughed and shook his head as he said:

“There are n’t any fairies, Pansy, — Mother says there are not.”

FAIRIES

And then, of course, the little girl was too polite to say anything more.

But old Mother Nature, — she is the very dearest fairy of all, — when she heard the little boy laugh and say, “There are n’t any fairies,” she shook her head too, very slowly, and said, “Tut, tut, to think of the child saying such a thing ! If ever I get the chance I will show him a thing or two.”

And she did get the chance the very next day, for the little boy took a notion he would take a walk through the woods, and although he walked down the most beautiful of little twisting paths, not a fairy did he see.

Now that is just the way with a little boy who does not believe in fairies — he could not see one, even if he tried.

And yet, all the time the fairies, and brownies too, were peeping at him from the cups of tiny flowers and moss-covered banks and rustic trees and toadstools and silvery little water-falls.

But they had their tiny fingers on their lips, so, and kept whispering one to another, “H-u-s-h, here comes a little boy who does not believe in fairies,” and then little peals of rippling laughter floated through the woods.

But the little boy never knew, and walked straight ahead with his hands in his pockets until, by and by, he grew tired and sat down on a clover bank to rest.

Now there was someone else walking through the woods that day, following close behind the little boy.

No, it was not Pansy, though I knew you would think so. It was a little old woman, all dressed in brown from her head to her feet.

Brown was her dress, so soft and rich; brown were the sandals on her feet; and brown the quaint little hood that covered her head.

FAIRIES

The sunlight had mixed with the brown of her hair, and her eyes — they were the most beautiful brown of all, and made you think of the wealth of the forest woods, with murmuring brooks and singing winds, and lights and shadows mingled there, and the stars overhead so full of hope and trust.

Oh, yes ! the stars believe in the fairies, I am sure.

Very softly did the little old woman’s brown sandaled feet touch the pathway as she followed behind the little boy. Sometimes he would get far ahead of her, because she stopped to look at things.

The breeze fairies threw kisses at her as she passed, the sunbeams kissed her hair, and the daisies pressed her feet, they loved her so.

Sometimes she stopped and peeped in the nests where the baby birdlings slept, stroked them gently on their heads, and passed along with a crooning song.

Sometimes she stooped on the grassy banks of the brook and, trailing her soft fingers through the water, played with the speckled perch gliding by. Merry brown squirrels peeped at her from the hollow trees and showed where their winter nuts were stored, and the timid white rabbits hopped close to her side and told of their babies tucked away in the grass.

So the little old woman, all dressed in brown, passed on her way with a smile for everyone, and by and by she came to the very spot where the little boy had stopped to rest.

And the little boy lay fast asleep.

Chapter II The Best Fairy Of All

N OW, as you know, the little old woman all dressed in brown was none other than Old Mother Nature — the very same who had heard the little boy say, “There aren’t any fairies, Pansy, — Mother says there are not.”

And now the little boy lay sleeping at her feet.

For a moment the queer little woman in brown stood looking down into his sleeping face and then she stooped and kissed him softly on the cheek.

“Such a sad little boy,” she said, “not to believe in fairies.” Then, taking some fine golden fairy dust from her pocket, she sprinkled it over his head and shoulders, and seated herself by his side to wait until he should awake.

But the little old woman did not fold her hands while she waited — there was always work for her to do, and taking a big brown bag from her belt, filled to the brim with seeds, she poured them in a steady stream into her lap, and busily began to sort them

THE BEST FAIRY OF ALL up and looked with wonderment into her face.

“Little boys sleep while the fairies work,” said the little old woman with a twinkle in her eyes. “I have been following behind you all through your walk and when you sat down to rest, I sat down to work.”

The little boy seemed very much puzzled and stretched his eyes wider and wider.

“I did not see you,” he said.

“No, and there were many other things you did not see, also,” she replied. “It was a most beautiful walk.

“We passed birds and fish and flowers and rabbits and squirrels and — and fairies!” Then the little old woman threw back her head and laughed merrily, because the little boy looked so surprised, you know. He had not seen any of those things at all, — he most surely had not seen a fairy.

‘ 4 Are you a fairy ? ’ 9 asked the little boy , looking straight into her beautiful brown eyes.

“To those who believe in fairies, I am,” said the little old woman, with a touch of sadness in her voice. “Come, sit beside me, and help me sort out my children — there are more than you can count.”

“Children? I see no children,” said the little boy, “where are they?”

“Here in my lap,” replied the little old woman, “in the woods around you, — everywhere. Look and you will find them.

“I am the nurse and mother of all that lives in forest or water — all that flies, all that creeps, all that swims, all that sleeps — all are my children and I nurse and watch over them. Would you not like to help me sort these seed babies?”

Somehow the little boy did not seem one bit afraid, but edged closer to the little old woman and began to do as she did.

“See,” she said, “place the large seeds here, the small seeds here, the prickly seeds

THE BEST FAIRY OF ALL ii here, the pod seeds here, and the winged seeds here — so.

“Handle them gently, little lad, for a plant baby sleeps in each one. They are a deal of care, and keep me busy, I can tell you, since they all have to be tucked in bed in different parts of the world — just where it is the best for them, neither too hot nor yet too cold ; and they have to be fed and watered and cuddled the same as any earth-child.

“But then, at last, when they bud and blossom. Oh, but they are a joy to me then, and enough to fill the heart of any mother ! Each little blossom has a tale to tell as to how it got its name — listen and I will tell you, while we work.

“This tiny brown seed, so small you can hardly see it, has never had a name until to-day. The fairies have named it Pansy for a dear little girl they know — a little girl with golden hair and dark, rich violet eyes/’

“Oh!” said the little boy, jumping up from his seat, “1 believe I know that little girl, because a little girl named Pansy lives close by me — maybe it is she.”

“Maybe so,” replied the little old woman in brown, nodding her head at the little boy. “Maybe so — especially if she is the little girl who believes in fairies.”

“And this seed?” asked the little boy, holding out a smooth, round white one, “tell me about this one.”

“That seed,” said the little old woman, “is the lady slipper. Its blossoms are in white and blue and pink and violet, and never was it seen upon the earth until after the story of Cinderella.

“Now she was a little girl the fairies loved too — because Cinderella most surely believed in the fairies.

“Look closely at its delicate blossom, and you will find it is shaped just like a little slipper. It is Cinderella’s little slipper and the fairies placed it there.

THE BEST FAIRY OF ALL i3

“It is also said that the prince who rode through the forest in search of her whom the slipper would fit, lost the crimson feather from his velvet cap and the feather was never found, but in its place a strange new flower was found, and it looked so much like a feather that it was ever afterwards called the prince’s feather.

“Perhaps the fairies had something to do with that” continued the little old woman, with a smile about her lips.

“Anyway, you will find them growing to-day, much to the delight of the earth-children — the lady slipper and the prince’s feather.”

“Yes, I have seen them myself,” said the little boy, turning the small, round seed over and over in his hand, “but I never knew before about the fairies — I wish you were my mother.”

“I?” said the little old woman, with a fresh ripple of laughter, “why, I could never be spared for an earth-child’s mother. How could my babies get on without me?

“What would the baby birdlings do, when lost from their mother’s breast ? What would the baby bees and the baby ants and the baby fish and the baby seed do — all waiting to be fed and watered and warmed and cuddled and shaken up for their spring awakening ?

“No, I could n’t be spared, I think, little boy, but at least I will be your fairy godmother, but — there, I hear someone calling me !”

And then what do you think happened ?

The little old woman all dressed in brown grew dimmer and dimmer and dimmer, until there was n’t any old woman at all, and though the little boy looked and looked, behind all the big trees and bushes and rocks, — all that he saw was an old brown stump, and yet, there in the palm of his hand was a small, round pea seed.

Now what do you think of that ?

Chapter III

O NCE every year, between the hours of midnight and dawn, the fairy queen and all of the fairies from fairyland meet together and hold a festival.

Here they dance around the May-pole and sing and talk and sip nectar juice and dainty cream until just before sunrise, when they fly back again to fairyland.

It was in the heart of a deep and beautiful woodland that they met one night in May to hold this yearly festival.

Long silver-gray moss hung in cascades from tall cypress trees, and flowers rich and rare cast their fragrant perfume on the air, while the moon hung like a crystal lamp over the lake, throwing a shimmering path of light across its smooth surface.

Seated on a rustic throne of twisted roots the fairy queen held court — her fairies gathered around her.

They were talking together of the earth- world, and of their plans for the pleasure of the good children there, — what they had done the past year and what they would like to do the next.

The queen was made very happy by the reports she heard from her fairies, and rising from her rustic bower she said: “Come, fairies, one and all, let us make something very beautiful for the earth-children tonight.

— ‘ ‘ Let us make them a magic

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wishing umbrella, such that the first one who stands beneath it, may make a wish and it will surely come true. Hasten, for the jewelled dawn will soon be parting the rosy curtains of day, and we have no time to lose.”

So, with a song of gladness, the fairies sprang to their feet, and catching hands, danced around a fairy ring, singing and weaving as they danced, and by and by, suspended above their heads, was a most beautiful silken umbrella — cream on the outside and lined with the most delicate pink. The handle was pearl and it was quite the prettiest umbrella that anyone ever saw.

Then the fairy queen, who alone can sprinkle the wonderful wishing dust, dipped her fingers into the golden powder and sprinkled the dainty umbrella inside and out — and now it was quite ready for a fairy gift to the earth-children.

Calling two of the fairies who were fleetest of wing, she told them to carry the umbrella swiftly to the earth-land and place it on the top of a very high hill called The Hill of Faith.

The two fairies did as they were told, and then all of the little dream fairies, who carry around the pretty dreams, hastened on wings of love to the earth-land’s sleeping children and whispered in pretty dreams what the fairies had done for them.

There are still many children now, like the little boy I have already told you about, who do not believe in fairies, and so it was in those days.

Night after night the little dream fairies visited their beds and told them over and over again about the gift of the wonderful wishing umbrella; but when morning came not a child would believe it enough to climb to the top of the high Hill of Faith.

True they stood in the streets and in their doorways and talked about the wonderful umbrella, and even told what wish they would like to make should they be first to reach the hilltop and stand beneath its magic shelter.

One little blue-eyed boy with fair curls, whose eyes were brighter than any of the others, said he believed the umbrella must be on the top of the hill, as the dream fairies had told them.

He thought he could really see its dim outline and he started off alone, up the hill, with a happy smile on his rosy lips, but he had gone only a short way when the hot, shining sun made his head ache, and he turned back saying he believed he must have been mistaken after all, because he could not see the umbrella as before.

Then a group of merry-hearted girls and boys started off up the hill, but the sharp stones cut their feet, and one by one they, too, came back, tired and cross, and they also said they did not believe the umbrella was there.

Now there was a little toad who hopped about in the grass at the foot of the hill, and though his coat was rusty and his eyes were dull, still he was wiser than the earth-land children, because he believed in fairies — this little toad.

The dream fairies had not been to him, but his ears were very sharp and he had heard the children talk and talk and talk about the wonderful wishing umbrella, until he knew it must be there.

Then, because the little toad had a wish he wanted to make, he started out one morning very early, up, up, up the high Hill of Faith, and he said to himself, “I’ll go see for myself if what I hear is true.”

So he hopped and hopped and hopped and hopped and hopped and hopped and hopped, and though the sun was very hot and the little toad longed for water, still he would not stop, but hopped higher and higher and higher up the sharp, rocky path, until by and by the dark night came, and he could not see one inch ahead of him.

Still he would not turn back, but hopped on higher and higher, feeling his way in the dark, as he kept thinking of the wishing umbrella, which he believed he would surely find at the top.

And the morning found him still hopping.

Now all this time the little toad was hopping higher and higher up the hill, the earth-children stood in the valley below, gazing at the top, and trying to see without having to climb up.

“It is too high up, anyway,” they grumbled; “no child could climb so high. Why did n’t the fairies put the umbrella at the bottom of the hill if they wanted to give us anything P It is so much trouble to climb.”

But fairies are very wise, you know, and besides they did not want a lazy child to stand beneath the umbrella — because a lazy child would never know how to make a wise wish.

Then too, they did not want anyone who did not believe in fairies to find the wishing umbrella, and that was the very reason why they had placed it on the very top of the high Hill of Faith.

But the little toad still believed, and though the journey was a long one, it came to an end, and, one bright, beautiful morning, footsore and weary, he reached the top of the hill, and there was the beautiful fairy umbrella right before his eyes !

Now the little toad had planned to wish for the world full of flies — enough for himself and all the other toads, so that they might always have plenty to eat without bothering to catch them.

But somehow, when he saw the beautiful wishing umbrella which the fairies had taken so much trouble to make for the little earth-children, he felt so very sorry that none of them had been wise enough to believe, and climb to the top of the hill and see the wonderful umbrella for themselves, and stand beneath its shade and make the wish they wanted most of all — the little toad thought all of this was so very sad that he hopped right up, underneath the wishing umbrella, and said:

“I wish that thousands of tiny little umbrellas, as beautiful as this one, may spring up all over the world in valleys and fields and woods, so that every little earth-child may see for himself and know for a truth of the fairies’ kind gift — the wishing umbrella.”

Then the little toad hopped from beneath the umbrella and, much to his surprise, there was sweet music all around him, and the beautiful umbrella slowly closed up like a flower, and rose higher and higher and higher until it was quite out of sight.

And the little toad’s wish came true, because, sure enough, that very day the earth-children found scattered over fields and valleys and woods these dainty little fairy umbrellas of cream and pink, just large enough for a toad to sit beneath, — but not for an earth-child.

Often, it is said, the pixies gather the little umbrellas and place them in a ring — as you have sometimes found them — and here they sit when they have their moonlight picnics and laugh about the little earth-children who do not believe in fairies.

Now the fairy queen was very much pleased when she heard about the little toad and the very kind wish he had made, and she said :

“Forever and ever these dainty fairy umbrellas shall be known as toadstool urn** brellas, in memory of the little toad who heard and believed.”

And so they are to this day.

Chapter IV

O NCE upon a time there was a little pixie who lived alone in a poppy blossom.

Deep down in the cup of the poppy he had a pretty room ail his very own. There was a soft bed to lie on, draped about with silken rose-colored curtains, and there was nectar juice to drink and golden pollenbread, which is sweeter and better than cake.

Then there was cooling dew in the rosepetal tub ever ready for his bath, and everything else you could think of to make a little pixie happy.

Now this little pixie was the son of a king, and that made him a pixie prince, you see, so everybody did all they could to make him have a good time ; he had only to make a wish and it was granted.

The spiders and caterpillars took special delight in weaving him the finest silken clothes; the sunbeam fairies dyed them in beautiful colors for him, and the sweet peas made for him the daintiest of slippers from the Cinderella pattern.

The bees flew for miles to bring his favorite honey, and for the cool, damp days, the pansies made for him rich velvet cloaks bordered in gold.

If at night the little pixie wished to take a ride, he had only to mount a firefly, who sailed through the air far swifter than a horse, and if in the daytime he chose to ride, there was a crimson hollyhock carriage drawn by harnessed butterflies of blue, white, and yellow.

The birds and the breezes sang their sweetest songs to him, and it surely seemed that the little pixie prince ought to be very happy.

And yet he was not happy the least bit, and by and by he became so cross and queer that his friends did not know what to make of him.

For days and days he would lie on his silken bed and never a word would he have to say, except to scold and fret, and at last he said he was very sick, so they sent for a fairy doctor.

Now when the fairy doctor came and looked at the little pixie, he knew at once that he was suffering with ennui, — a most dreadful sickness indeed, and one which could only be caught from people living in the earth-land.

Of course the little pixie did not want to have ennui any more than you want to have mumps, but that did not make any difference, because he yawned and yawned and yawned so much that the fairy doctor knew he did have ennui and nothing else, so there !

Now the only cure for ennui is to get right up and go to work and keep on working, and the very minute you forget the disease — why, it will leave you and go to somebody else, who has nothing to do.

“You see,” said the fairy doctor to the little pixie, “everybody has been so busy thinking about you, and doing kind things to make you happy, that you have forgotten to make other people happy, and so you have just caught the ennui, like earth-people, and if you want to get well, why, you will have to get up and go to work.”

Then the fairy doctor went away and left the little pixie to think about it.

Now the trouble was that this little pixie prince had never learned to work, but the longer he lay in his silken bed the sicker he grew with his ennui, so he just had to get up.

When he got out into the fresh air he felt a little bit better and began to run and jump, and he played marbles and ball, and he climbed rose bushes and threw pebbles and hopped and skipped and rolled, and then danced for hours around the pixie ring, but still he could not forget about the ennui disease.

And no wonder, because playing and working are two different things, you know.

So, that night, when the little pixie went to bed, he was very miserable indeed, though the tiny poppy lady, who was his housekeeper, tied up his head with a cool rose petal.

The next morning when the fairy doctor came and looked at the little pixie he shook his head and said, 4 ‘Your tongue shows you have n’t been doing any work and your ennui is worse to-day than it was yesterday. You must work if you want to get well, for your disease is a very bad case indeed.”

Then he went away again and the little pixie got up and went once more into the fresh air, which always made him feel better, and wondered and wondered about the work he could do.

All at once he clapped his hands together gayly, and said, “Oh, now I know !

“I will learn to spin from the caterpillars and spiders, and spin myself a whole trunkful of pretty clothes. Then, I will learn from the bees to make honey and pollenbread and I will store my pantry full, to last a whole year.”

The caterpillars and the spiders and the bees were glad to help him, and soon he was as busy as a bee, sure enough, and in a few days had stored his pantry full of good things to eat, besides having made a whole trunkful of beautiful clothes.

But somehow, yes, somehow he just could not forget his dreadful ennui disease, and though he was a little better, still he was far from feeling well, and the tiny poppy housekeeper had to tie up his head with a bandage from the plum blossom, which is considered even better than the rose-leaf bandage she had tried before.

When next the fairy doctor came he shook his head again, and said, “Your tongue shows work, but work of the wrong kind. You have worked only for yourself and that will never cure ennui — you must work for others.”

Then, as before, he went away and left the pixie prince to himself, and the pixie was very sad and miserable indeed. His ennui grew worse and worse, until he just could not lie still.

The tiny poppy housekeeper came trailing in, wearing her prettiest flowered gown, and brought the little pixie some of the fresh honey he had made the day before.

“Maybe if you will eat something, you will feel better,” she said. But the little pixie only turned his head to the wall and cried, “Oh, what must I do to get rid of this terrible ennui ?”

The tiny poppy housekeeper felt very sorry for him and, with her cool, soft fingers, smoothed the pain away from his brow, while she sat in deep thought.

At last she said, “Little prince, I think maybe I can help you if you are really willing to work for others. I can tell you something to do, but it is down in the earth-land, and you might not want to go.”

“Oh, I am willing to go anywhere and to do anything to get rid of this terrible ennui disease!” said the pixie prince. “Tell me quickly.”

“Well,” replied the tiny poppy housekeeper, “down in the earth-world, where people live, there are many other diseases besides ennui.

“Now in this earth-world, sleep is the best cure for many of these diseases, but sleep is not always easy for them to get.

THE PIXIE PRINCE HAS GONE TO THE EARTH-WORLD ” Page 37

“There are sick, fretting babies, tired little girls and boys, weary mothers and fathers, worn-out men and women who long for sleep at the close of day, and because of the heat and the noise and their worries and troubles they cannot go to sleep, however hard they try. Now all of these need help.

“I, myself, know how to make a wonderful sleeping powder, which I use to put my own baby seeds to sleep, and I will gladly make some for you if you will make a bag of beautiful dreams to carry with it to the earth-land.

“You must make baby dreams, and dreams to make girls and boys happy, and dreams for mothers and fathers and all other tired men and women — dreams that will make them forget their troubles, and sleep the sleep of perfect rest. Are you willing to try?”