The Grey Brethren, by Michael Fairless

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Transcribed from the 1911 Duckworth and plush bears for 12 months under 10 dollarsCo. edition by DavidPrice, email [email protected]

The Grey Brethren

And Other Fragments in Prose
and Verse

By

Michael Fairless

Authorof
‘The Roadmender’

London
Duckworth and Co.
3 Henrietta Street, W.C.
1911

ThirdImpression

Allrights reserved

p.vPrefatory Note

There is need to ask indulgence forthis little book, because at first sight it seems to possess noother unity than that of type and cover.  The root of itsunity lies deeper, deeper even than any of subject or of method;it lies in the personal gift, the communication of heart toheart, which is the secret of charm in all the author’swork.  For this reason its publication is justified.

The papers, poems, and stories it contains have, with twoexceptions, appeared elsewhere, most of them in p. vi‘ThePilot,’ where the Roadmender found his first welcome andhis literary home.

The fairy-tales were told by word of mouth to one child andanother of widely differing ages; and three of them wereafterwards published in ‘The Parents’Review.’  ‘The Grey Brethren’ is from‘The Commonwealth.’  The Christmas papers andpoems were brought out as a booklet by Messrs Mowbray &Son.

The author’s characteristic quality is best displayed inthese last, and in ‘The Grey Brethren,’ but therewill be interest for many readers in the rest of the book aswell.  That which afterwards became a firm artistic touch isseen in its uncertain beginning in ‘By Rivers andStreams’; p.viiand the delightful headlong humour of ‘TheDreadful Griffin’ (invented for the “boy named CeccoHewlett,” of whom Mr Barrie speaks in his ‘LittleWhite Bird’) will shew Michael Fairless in a new light tothose who have known her only in her books.

Some of the many readers who have found her there willunderstand me when I say that the story of her life and death,and of her life too (as I believe) after death, is written downin the little tale of ‘The Tinkle-Tinkle,’ first toldto her best beloved in the wild garden at Kew, among bluehyacinths and shining grasses of the spring that spoke to her ofParadise.

M. E. D.

Contents

p. 1The GreyBrethren

Some of the happiest remembrancesof my childhood are of days spent in a little Quaker colony on ahigh hill.

The walk was in itself a preparation, for the hill was longand steep and at the mercy of the north-east wind; but at thetop, sheltered by a copse and a few tall trees, stood a smallhouse, reached by a flagged pathway skirting one side of a brighttrim garden.

I, with my seven summers of lonely, delicate childhood, felt,when I gently closed the gate behind me, that I shut myself intoPeace.  The house was always somewhat dark, and there wereno domestic sounds.  The two old ladies, sisters, both bornin the last century, sat in the cool, dim parlour, netting orsewing.  Rebecca was small, with a nut-cracker nose andchin; Mary, tall and dignified, needed no velvet under the netcap.  I can feel now the touch of the cool dove-colouredsilk against my cheek, as I sat on the floor, watching the nimblefingers with the shuttle, and listened as Mary read aloud aletter received that morning, describing a meeting of thefaithful and the ‘moving of the Spirit’ amongthem.  I had a mental picture of the ‘Holy HeavenlyDove,’ with its wings of silvery grey, hovering over mydear old ladies; and I doubt not my vision was a true one.

Once as I watched Benjamin, the old gardener—a most‘stiff-backed Friend’ despite his stoop and hisseventy years—putting scarlet geraniums and yellowfever-few in the centre bed, I asked, awe-struck, whether suchglowing colours were approved; and Rebecca smiled andsaid—“Child, dost thee not think the Lord may haveHis glories?” and I looked from the living robe of scarletand gold to the dove-coloured gown, and said: “Would it bepride in thee to wear His glories?” and Mary answered forher—“The change is not yet; better beseems us theornament of a meek and quiet spirit.”

The ‘change from glory to glory’ has come to themboth long since, but it seems to me as if their robes must stillbe Quaker-grey.

Upstairs was the invalid daughter and niece.  For yearsshe had been compelled to lie on her face; and in that positionshe had done wonderful drawings of the High Priest, the Ark ofthe Covenant, and other Levitical figures.  She had acageful of tame canary-birds which answered to their names andfed from her plate at meal-times.  Of these I remember onlyRoger, a gorgeous fellow with a beautiful voice and strong willof his own, who would occasionally defy his mistress from thesecure fastness of a high picture-frame, but always surrenderedat last, and came to listen to his lecture with droopingwings.

A city of Peace, this little house, for the sameseverely-gentle decorum reigned in the kitchen as elsewhere: andnow, where is such a haunt to be found?

In the earlier part of this century the Friends bore a mostimportant witness.  They were a standing rebuke to roughmanners, rude speech, and to the too often mere outward show ofreligion.  No one could fail to be impressed by theatmosphere of peace suggested by their bearing and presence; andthe gentle, sheltered, contemplative lives lived by most of themundoubtedly made them unusually responsive to spiritualinfluence.  Now, the young birds have left the parent nestand the sober plumage and soft speech; they are as other men; andin a few short years the word Quaker will sound as strange in ourears as the older appellation Shaker does now.

This year I read for the first time the Journal of GeorgeFox.  It is hard to link the rude, turbulent son of Amoswith the denizens in my city of Peace; but he had his work to doand did it, letting breezy truths into the stuffy‘steeple-houses’ of the ‘lumps ofclay.’

“Come out from among them and be ye separate; touch notthe accursed thing!” he thundered; and out they came,obedient to his stentorian mandate; but alack, how many treasuresin earthen vessels did they overlook in their terror of thecurse!  The good people made such haste to flee the city,that they imagined themselves as having already, in the spirit,reached the land that is very far off; and so they cast from themthe outward and visible signs which are vehicles, in thismaterial world, of inward graces.  Measureless are theuncovenanted blessings of God; and to these the Friends have everborne a witness of power; but now the Calvinist intruder nolonger divides the sheep from the goats in our churches; now thedoctrine of universal brotherhood and the respect due to all menare taught much more effectively than when George Fox refused todoff his hat to the Justice; the quaint old speech has lost itssignificance, the dress would imply all the vainglory that thewearer desires to avoid; the young Quakers of this generation areno longer ‘disciplined’ in matters of the commonsocial life; yet still they remain separate.

We of the outward and visible covenant need them, with theirinherited mysticism, ordered contemplation, and spiritual vision;we need them for ourselves.  The mother they have leftyearns for them, and with all her faults—faults the greaterfor their absence—and with the blinded eyes of theirrecognition, she is their mother still.  “Whatadvantage then hath the Jew?” asked St Paul, andanswered in the same breath—“Much every way,chiefly because that unto them were committed the oracles ofGod.”  What advantage then has the Churchman? isthe oft repeated question today; and the answer is still theanswer of St Paul.

The Incarnation is the sum of all the Sacraments, the crown ofthe material revelation of God to man, the greatest of outwardand visible signs, “that which we have heard,which we have seen with our eyes, which we have lookedupon and our hands have handled of the word oflife.”  A strange beginning truly, to usher in apurely spiritual dispensation; but beautifully fulfilled in thetaking up of the earthly into the heavenly—Bread and Wine,the natural fruits of the earth, sanctified by man’s toil,a sufficiency for his needs; and instinct with Divine lifethrough the operation of the Holy Ghost.

“In the sweat of thy face thou shalt eatbread.”

“Except ye eat the flesh of the Son of Man and drinkHis blood ye have no life in you.”

“And the leaves of the tree were for the healing ofthe nations.”

From Genesis to the Revelation of the Divine reaches therainbow of the Sacramental system—outward and visible signsof inward and spiritual grace:—

The sacrament of purging, purifying labour, to balance andcontrol the knowledge of good and evil:—

The sacrament of life, divine life, with the outward body ofhumiliation, bread and wine, fruit of the accursed ground, butuseless without man’s labour; and St Paul, caught up intothe third heaven, and St John, with his wide-eyed vision of theLamb, must eat this bread and drink this cup if they wouldlive:—

The sacrament of healing, the restoring of the Image of God infallen man.

The Church is one society, nay, the world is one society, forman without his fellow-men is not; and into the society, both ofthe Church and the world, are inextricably woven the most socialsacraments.

Herein is great purpose, we say, bending the knee; and withdeep consciousness of sins and shortcomings we stretch outlonging welcoming hands to our grey brethren with theirinheritance of faithfulness and steadfastness under persecution,and their many gifts and graces; and we cry, in the words of theSong of Songs which is Solomon’s: “O my dove, thatart in the clefts of the rock, in the secret places of thestairs, let me see thy countenance, let me hear thy voice; forsweet is thy voice, and thy countenance is comely.” “Rise up, my love, my fair one, and come away.  Forlo, the winter is past, the rain is over and gone.”

p. 13A Songof Low Degree

Lord, I am small,and yet so great,
The whole world stands to my estate,
And in Thine Image I create.
The sea is mine; and the broad sky
Is mine in its immensity:
The river and the river’s gold;
The earth’s hid treasures manifold;
The love of creatures small and great,
Save where I reap a precious hate;
The noon-tide sun with hot caress,
The night with quiet loneliness;
The wind that bends the pliant trees,
The whisper of the summer breeze;
The kiss of snow and rain; the star
That shines a greeting from afar;
All, all are mine; and yet so small
Am I, that lo, I needs must call,
Great King, upon the Babe in Thee,
And crave that Thou would’st give to me
The grace of Thy humility.

p. 15AGerman Christmas Eve

It was intensely cold; Father Rhinewas frozen over, so he may speak for it; and for days we hadlived to the merry jangle and clang of innumerable sleigh bells,in a white and frost-bound world.  As I passed through thestreets, crowded with stolidly admiring peasants from thevillages round, I caught the dear remembered ‘GrüssGott!’ and ‘All’ Heil!’ of thecountryside, which town life quickly stamps out along with manyother gentle observances.

“Gelobt sei Jesu Christ!” cried little SisterHilarius, coming on me suddenly at a corner, her round face aglowwith the sharp air, her arms filled with queer-shapedbundles.  She begs for her sick poor as she goesalong—meat here, some bread there, a bottle of good redwine: I fancy few refuse her.  She nursed me once, the goodlittle sister, with unceasing care and devotion, and all thedignity of a scant five feet.  “Ach, Du lieber Gott,such gifts!” she added, with a radiant smile, and vanishedup a dirty stairway.

In the Quergasse a jay fell dead at my feet—one of themany birds which perished thus—he had flown townwards toolate.  Up at the Jagdschloss the wild creatures, crying acommon truce of hunger, trooped each day to the clearing by theJäger’s cottage for the food spread for them. The great tusked boar of the Taunus with his brother ofWestphalia, the timid roe deer with her scarcely braver mate,foxes, hares, rabbits, feathered game, and tiny songbirds of thewoods, gathered fearlessly together and fed at the hand of theircommon enemy—a millennial banquet truly.

The market-place was crowded, and there were Christmas treeseverywhere, crying aloud in bushy nakedness for their rightfulfruit.  The old peasant women, rolled in shawls, with largehandkerchiefs tied over their caps, warmed their numb andwithered hands over little braziers while they guarded the gailydecked treasure-laden booths, from whose pent-roofs Father Winterhad hung a fringe of glittering icicles.

Many of the stalls were entirely given over to Christmas-treesplendours.  Long trails of gold and silverEngelshaar, piles of candles—red, yellow, blue,green, violet, and white—a rainbow of the Christian virtuesand the Church’s Year; boxes of frost and snow, festoons ofcoloured beads, fishes with gleaming scales, glass-winged birds,Santa Klaus in frost-bedecked mantle and scarlet cap, angels withtrumpets set to their waxen lips; and everywhere and above allthe image of the Holy Child.  Sometimes it was the tinywaxen Bambino, in its pathetic helplessness; sometimes the BabeMiraculous, standing with outstretched arms awaiting theworld’s embrace—Mary’s Son, held up in lovinghands to bless; or the Heavenly Child-King with crown and lilysceptre, borne high by Joseph, that gentle, faithfulservitor.  It was the festival of Bethlehem, feast ofnever-ending keeping, which has its crowning splendour onChristmas Day.

A Sister passed with a fat, rosy little girl in either hand;they were chattering merrily of the gift they were to buy for thedear Christkind, the gift which Sister said He would send someragged child to receive for Him.  They came back to the poorbooth close to where I was standing.  It was piled with warmgarments; and after much consultation a little white vest waschosen—the elder child rejected pink, she knew theChristkind would like white best—then they trotted off downa narrow turning to the church, and I followed.

The Crêche stood without the chancel, between the HighAltar and that of Our Lady of Sorrows.  It was verysimple.  A blue paper background spangled with stars; aroughly thatched roof supported on four rude posts; at the back,ox and ass lying among the straw with which the ground wasstrewn.  The figures were life-size, of carved and paintedwood: Joseph, tall and dignified, stood as guardian, leaning onhis staff; Mary knelt with hands slightly uplifted in lovingadoration; and the Babe lay in front on a truss of straw disposedas a halo.  It was the World’s Child, and the positionemphasised it.  Two or three hard-featured peasants knelttelling their beads; and a group of children with round, blueeyes and stiff, flaxen pigtails, had gathered in front, and werepointing and softly whispering.  My little friends trottedup, crossed themselves; it was evidently the little one’sfirst visit.

“Guck! guck mal an,” she cried, clapping her fatgloved hands, “sieh mal an das Wickelkind!”

“Dass ist unser Jesu,” said the elder, and thelittle one echoed “Unser Jesu, unser Jesu!”

Then the vest was brought out and shown—why not, it wasthe Christchild’s own?—and the pair trotted awayagain followed by the bright, patient Sister.  Presentlyeveryone clattered out, and I was left alone at the crib ofBethlehem, the gate of the Kingdom of Heaven.

It was my family, my only family; but like the ever-wideningcircle on the surface of a lake into which a stone has beenflung, here, from this great centre, spread the wonderfulever-widening relationship—the real brotherhood of theworld.  It is at the Crib that everything has its beginning,not at the Cross; and it is only as little children that we canenter into the Kingdom of Heaven.

When I went out again into the streets it was nearlydark.  Anxious mothers hurried past on late, mysteriouserrands; papas who were not wanted until the last moment chattedgaily to each other at street corners, and exchangedrecollections; maidservants hastened from shop to shop with largebaskets already heavily laden; and the children were everywhere,important with secrets, comfortably secure in the knowledge of atree behind the parlour doors, and a kindly, generous Saint whoknew all their wants, and needed no rod thisyear.

One little lad, with a pinched white face, and with only anempty certainty to look forward to, was singing shrilly in thesharp, still air, “Zu Bethlehem geboren, ist uns einKindelein,” as he gazed wistfully at a shop window piledhigh with crisp gingerbread, marzipan, chocolate under everyguise, and tempting cakes.  A great rough peasant comingout, saw him, turned back, and a moment later thrust agingerbread Santa Klaus, with currant eyes and sugar trimming tohis coat and cap, into the half-fearful little hands. “Hab’ ebenso ein Kerlchen zu Haus’,” hesaid to me apologetically as he passed.

I waited to see Santa Klaus disappear; but no, the childlooked at the cake, sighed deeply with the cruel effort ofresistance, and refrained.  It was all his Christmas and hewould keep it.  He gazed and gazed, then a smile rippledacross the wan little face and he broke out in another carol,“Es kam ein Engel hell und klar vom Himmel zu der HirtenSchaar,” and hugging his Santa Klaus carefully, wanderedaway down the now brilliant streets: he did not know he washungry any more; the angel had come with good tidings.

As I passed along the streets I could see through theuncurtained windows that in some houses Christmas had begunalready for the little ones.  Then the bells rang outdeep-mouthed, carrying the call of the eager Church to herchildren, far up the valley and across the frozen river. And they answered; the great church was packed from end to end,and from my place by the door I saw that two tiny Christmas treesbright with coloured candles burnt either side of the HolyChild.

A blue-black sky ablaze with stars for His glory, a freshwhite robe for stained and tired earth; so we went to Bethlehemin the rare stillness of the early morning.  The Church,having no stars, had lighted candles; and we poor sinful menhaving no white robes of our own had craved them of the GreatKing at her hands.

And so in the stillness, with tapers within and stars alightwithout, with a white-clad earth, and souls forgiven, the ChristChild came to those who looked for His appearing.

p. 27AChristmas Idyll

The Child with the wondering eyessat on the doorstep, on either side of her a tramp cat in processof becoming a recognised member of society.  On the flaggedpath in front the brown brethren were picking up crumbs. The cats’ whiskers trembled, but they sat still, proudlyvirtuous, and conscious each of a large saucer of warm milkwithin.

“What,” said the Child, “is asymbol?”

The cats looked grave.

The Child rose, went into the house, and returned with awell-thumbed brown book.  She turned the pages thoughtfully,and read aloud, presumably for the benefit of the cats: “Ina symbol there is concealment yet revelation, the infinite ismade to blend with the finite, to stand visible, and as it wereattainable there.”  The Child sighed, “We hadbetter go to the Recluse,” she said.  So the threewent.

It was a cold, clear, bright day, a typical ChristmasEve.  There was a carpet of crisp snow on the ground, and afringe of icicles hung from every vantage-point.  The cats,not having been accustomed to the delights of domesticity,trotted along cheerfully despite the chill to their toes; andthey soon came to the forest which all three knew very wellindeed.  It was a beautiful forest like a great cathedral,with long aisles cut between the splendid upstanding pinetrees.  The green-fringed boughs were heavy with snow, thestraight strong stems caught and reflected the stray sun rays,and looking up through the arches and delicate tracery andinterlaced branches the eye caught the wonderful blue of thegreat domed roof overhead.  The cats walked delicately,fearful of temptation in the way of rabbits or frost-tamed birds,and the Child lilted a quaint German hymn to a strange oldtune:—

“Ein Kind gebor’n zu Bethlehem.
                                               Alleluja!
Dess freuet sich Jerusalem,
                                               Alleluja!  Alleluja!”

The Recluse was sitting on a bench outside his cave.  Hewas dressed in a brown robe, his eyes were like stars wrapped inbrown velvet, his face was strong and gentle, his hair whitealthough he looked quite young.  He greeted the Child verykindly and stroked the cats.

“You have come to ask me a question, Child?”

“If you please,” said the Child, “what is asymbol?”

“Ah,” said the Recluse, “I might have knownyou would ask me that.”

“The Sage says,” went on the Child, “that itis concealment yet revelation.”

The Recluse nodded.

“Just as a mystery that we cannot understand is thegreatest possible wisdom.  Go in and sit by my fire, Child;there are chestnuts on the hearth, and you will find milk in thebrown jug.  I will show you a symbol presently.”

The Child and the two cats went into the cave and sat down bythe fire.  It was warm and restful after the bitingair.  The cats purred pleasantly, the Child sat with herchin in her hand watching the glowing wood burn red and white onthe great hearthstone.

“The Recluse generally answers my questions by showingme something I have seen for a long time but never beheld, orheard and never lent ear.  I wonder what it will be thistime,” she said to herself.

The grateful warmth made the Child sleepy, and she gave astart when she found the Recluse standing by her withoutstretched hand.

“Come, dear Child,” he said; and leaving thesleeping cats she followed him, her hand in his.

The air was full of wonderful sound, voices and song, and thecry of the bells.

The Child wondered, and then remembered it was Christmasnight.  The Recluse led her down a little passage and openeda door.  They stepped out together, but not into theforest.

“This is the front door of my house,” said theRecluse, with a little smile.

They stood on a white road, on one side a stretch of limestonedown, on the other steep terraces with gardens andvineyard.  The air was soft and warm, and sweet with thebreath of lilies.  The heaven was ablaze with stars; acrossthe plain to the east the dawn was breaking.  A group ofstrangely-clad men went down the road followed by a flock ofsheep.

“Let us go with them,” said the Recluse; and handin hand they went.

The road curved to the right; round the bend, cut in theliving rock, was a cave; the shepherds stopped and knelt, andthere was no sound but the soft rapid breathing of theflock.  Then the Child was filled with an overmasteringlonging, a desire so great that the tears sprang hot to hereyes.  She dropped the Recluse’s hand and went forwardwhere the shepherds knelt.  Once again the air was full ofwonderful sound, voices and song, and the cry of the bells; butwithin all was silence.  The cave was rough-hewn, andstabled an ox and an ass; close to the front a tall strong manleaning on a staff kept watch and ward; within knelt a peasantMaid, and on a heap of yellow straw lay a tiny new-born Babeloosely wrapped in a linen cloth: around and above were wonderfulfigures of fire and mist.

The infinite, visible and attainable.

The mystery which is the greatest possible wisdom.

* * * *

“Come, Child,” said the Recluse.

The fire had burnt low; it was quite dark, save for the glowof the live embers.

He threw on a great dry pine log; it flared like atorch.  The cats’ stretched in the sudden blaze, andthen settled to sleep again.  The Child and the Reclusepassed out into the forest.  The moon was very bright andthe snow reflected its rays, so that it was light in spite of thegreat trees.  The air was full of wonderful sound, voicesand song, and the cry of the bells; and the Child sang as shewent in a half-dream by the side of the Recluse:—

“In dieser heil’gen Weihnachtszeit,
                                               Alleluja!
Sei, Gott der Herr, gebenedeit,
                                               Alleluja! Alleluja!”

and wondered when she would wake up.  They came to theold, old church in the forest, and the pictured saints looked outat them from the lighted window; through the open door they couldsee figures moving about with tapers in their hands; save forthese the church was still empty.

The Recluse led the way up the nave to the north side of theAltar.  The Child started a little; she was really dreamingthen a kind of circular dream, for again she stood before thecave, again the reverend figure kept watch and ward over thekneeling Maid and the little Babe.  The sheep and theshepherds were not there, but a little lamb had strayed in; andthe wonderful figures of fire and mist—they were there intheir place.

“Little one,” said the Recluse softly, “hereis a symbol—concealment yet revelation—the King asservant—the strong helpless—the Almighty a littlechild; and thus the infinite stands revealed for all of us,visible and attainable, if we will have it so.  It is thecentre of all mystery, the greatest possible wisdom, the EternalChild.”

“You showed it me before,” said the Child,“only we were out of doors, and the shepherds were therewith the sheep; but the angels are here just the same.”

The Recluse bowed his head.

“Wait for me here with them, dear Child, I will fetchyou after service.”

The church began to fill; old men in smock frocks and tallhats, little children wrapped warm against the cold, lads,shining and spruce, old women in crossed shawls and wonderfulbonnets.  The service was not very long; then the Reclusewent up into the old grey stone pulpit.  The villagerssettled to listen—he did not often preach.

“My brothers and sisters, to-night we keep the Birth ofthe Holy Babe, and to-night you and I stand at the gate of theKingdom of Heaven, the gate which is undone only at the cry of alittle child.  ‘Except ye be converted and become aslittle children, ye shall not enter.’

“The Kingdom is a great one, nay, a limitless one; andmany enter in calling it by another name.  It includes yourown hearts and this wonderful forest, all the wise and beautifulworks that men have ever thought of or done, and your daily toil;it includes your nearest and dearest, the outcast, the prisoner,and the stranger; it holds your cottage home and the jewelledCity, the New Jerusalem itself.  People are apt to think theKingdom of Heaven is like church on Sunday, a place to enter oncea week in one’s best: whereas it holds every flower, andhas room for the ox and the ass, and the least of all creatures,as well as for our prayer and worship and praise.

“‘Except ye become as littlechildren.’  How are we to be born again, simplechildren with wondering eyes?

“We must learn to lie in helpless dependence, to openour mouth wide that it may be filled, to speak with haltingtongue the language we think we know; we must learn above all ourown ignorance, and keep alight and cherish the flame of innocencyin our hearts.

“It is a tired world, my brethren, and we are most of ustired men and women who live on it, for we seek ever after somenew thing.  Let us pass out through the gate into theKingdom of Heaven and not be tired any more, because there weshall find the new thing that we seek.  Heaven is on earth,the Kingdom is here and now; the gate stands wide to-night, forit is the birthright of the Eternal Child.  We are none ofus too poor, or stupid, or lowly; it was the simple shepherds whosaw Him first.  We are none of us too great, or learned, orrich; it was the three wise kings who came next and offeredgifts.  We are none of us too young; it was little childrenwho first laid down their lives for Him; or too old, for Simeonsaw and recognised Him.  There is only one thing againstmost of us—we are too proud.

“My brethren, ‘let us now go even to Bethlehem,and face this thing which is come to pass, which the Lord hath made known untous.’”

The lights were out in the church when the Recluse came tofetch the Child.  She was still kneeling by thecrêche, keeping watch with the wonderful figures of fireand mist.

“Was thisa dream or the other?” said theChild.

“Neither,” said the Recluse, and he blessed her inthe moonlit dark.

The air was full of wonderful sound, voices and song, and thecry of the bells.

p. 43TheManifestation

God said; “Letthere be light”; and in the East
A star rose flaming from night’s purple sea—
The star of Truth, the star of Joy, the star
Seen by the prophets down the lonely years;
Set for a light to show the Perfect Way;
Set for a sign that wayfarers might find;
Set for a seal to mark the Godhead’s home.
And three Kings in their palaces afar,
Who waited ardently for promised things,
Beheld, and read aright.  Straightway the road
Was hot with pad of camel, horse’s hoof,
While night was quick as day with spurring men
And light with flaring torch.  “Haste, haste!”they cried,
“We seek the King, the King! for in the East
His star’s alight.”

Bethlehem

The Angels

Soft and slow, soft and slow,
With angels’ wings of fire and snow,
To rock Him gently to and fro.
Fire to stay the chill at night,
Snow to cool the noonday bright;
And overhead His star’s alight.

Pale and sweet, pale and sweet,
Maid Mary keeps her vigil meet,
While Joseph waits with patient feet.
Mary’s love for soft embrace,
Joseph’s strength to guard the place.
Lo! from the East Kings ride apace.

Gold and myrrh, gold and myrrh,
Frankincense for harbinger,
Myrrh to make His sepulchre.
Roses white and roses red,
Thorns arrayed for His dear Head.
Hail! hail! Wise Men who seek His bed

Joseph

Little One, Little One, Saviour and Child,
   Father and Mother, my Husband and Son;
Born of the lily, the maid undefiled,
   Babe of my Love, the Beatified One.

Little One, Little One, Master and Lord,
   Kings of the Earth come, desiring Thy Face;
I, Thy poor servitor, lowly afford
   All that my life holds, for all is Thy Grace.

Little One, Little One, God over all,
   Earth is thy footstool, and Heav’n is Thythrone:
Joseph the carpenter, prostrate I fall;
   Praise thee, adore Thee, and claim Thee mineown.

Maid Mary

            Babe,dear Babe!
Mine own, mine own, my heart’s delight,
The myrrh between my breasts at night,
My little Rose, my Lily white,
My Babe for whom the star’s alight.

            Babe,dear Babe!
Mine own, mine own, God’s onlySon,
Foretold, foreseen, since earth begun;
Desire of nations, Promised One
When Eve was first by sin undone.

            Babe,dear Babe!
Mine own, mine own, the whole world’s Child!
Born of each heart that’s undefiled,
Nursed at the breast of Mercy mild,
And in the arms of Love asiled.

            Babe,dear Babe!
My crown of glory, sorrow’s sword,
My Maker, King, Redeemer, Lord,
My Saviour and my great Reward;
My little Son, my Babe adored.

The Three Kings

Hail!  Hail thou wondrous little King!
           To Thy dear Feet
           Our offerings meet
With bended knee we bring;
           O mighty baby King,
           Accept the offering.

First King

            Lord, I stoop low
           My head of snow,
Thus I, the great, hail Thee, the Least!
And swing the censer for the Priest,
The Priest with hands upraised to bless,
The Priest of this world’s bitterness.
           As I stoop low
           My head of snow,
Bless me, O Priest, before I go.

Second King

            Beholdme, King!
           A man of might,
           Who rules dominions infinite;
Strong in the harvest of the years,
And one who counts no kings as peers.
           O little King,
           Behold my crown!
           I lay it down,
And bow before Thy lowly bed
My all unworthy uncrowned head,
For I am naught and Thou art All.
And Thou shalt climb a throne set high,
Between sad earth and silent sky,
Thereon to agonize and die;
And at Thy Feet the world shall fall.
           Stretch out Thy little Hands, O King,
           Behold the world’s imagining!

Third King

Out of the shadow of the night
I come, led by the starshine bright,
With broken heart to bring to Thee
The fruit of Thine Epiphany,
The gift my fellows send by me,
The myrrh to bed Thine agony.
I set it here beneath Thy Feet,
In token of Death’s great defeat;
And hail Thee Conqueror in the strife;
And hail Thee Lord of Light and Life.
           All hail!  All hail the Virgin’s Son!
           All hail!  Thou little helpless One!
           All hail!  Thou King upon the Tree!
           All hail!  The Babe on Mary’s knee,
              The centre of all mystery!

p. 52AllSouls’ Day in a German Town

The leaves fallsoftly: a wind of sighs
Whispers the world’s infirmities,
Whispers the tale of the waning years,
While slow mists gather in shrouding tears
On All Souls’ Day; and the bells are slow
In steeple and tower.  Sad folk go
Away from the township, past the mill,
And mount the slope of a grassy hill
Carved into terraces broad and steep,
To the inn where wearied travellers sleep,
Where the sleepers lie in ordered rows,
And no man stirs in his long repose.
They wend their way past the haunts of life,
Father and daughter, grandmother, wife,
To deck with candle and deathless cross,
The house which holds their dearest loss.
I, who stand on the crest of the hill,
Watch how beneath me, busied still,
The sad folk wreathe each grave with flowers.
Awhile the veil of the twilight hours
Falls softly, softly, over the hill,
Shadows the cross:—creeps on until
Swiftly upon us is flung the dark.
Then, as if lit by a sudden spark,
Each grave is vivid with points of light,
Earth is as Heaven’s mirror to-night;
The air is still as a spirit’s breath,
The lights burn bright in the realm of Death.
Then silent the mourners mourning go,
Wending their way to the church below;
While the bells toll out to bid them speed,
With eager Pater and prayerful bead,
The souls of the dead, whose bodies still
Lie in the churchyard under the hill;
While they wait and wonder in Paradise,
And gaze on the dawning mysteries,
Praying for us in our hours of need;
For us, who with Pater and prayerful bead
Have bidden those waiting spirits speed.

p. 55Riversand Streams

Running water has a charm all itsown; it proffers companionship of which one never tires; itadapts itself to moods; it is the guardian of secrets.  Ithas cool draughts for the thirsty soul as well as for droopingflowers; and they who wander in the garden of God with listeningears learn of its many voices.

When the strain of a working day has left me weary, perhapstroubled and perplexed, I find my way to the river.  I stepinto a boat and pull up stream until the exertion has refreshedme; and then I make fast to the old alder-stump where last yearthe reed-piper nested, and lie back in the stern and think.

The water laps against the keel as the boat rocks gently inthe current; the river flows past, strong and quiet.  Thereare side eddies, of course, and little disturbing whirlpools nearthe big stones, but they are all gathered into the broad sweep ofthe stream, carried down to the great catholic sea.  Andwhile I listen to the murmur of the water and watch its quietstrength the day’s wrinkles are smoothed out of my face;and at last the river bears me homeward rested and at peace.

There are long stretches of time for me when I must remainapart from the world of work, often unwilling, sometimes with avery sore heart.  Then I turn my steps towards my friend andwander along the banks, a solitary not alone.  In the quietevening light I watch the stream ‘never hasting, neverresting’: the grass that grows beside it is always green,the flowers are fresh; it makes long embracing curves—Icould cross from point to point in a minute, but to follow takesfive.  The ways of the water are ways of healing; I have acompanion who makes no mistakes, touches none of my tenderspots.

Presently I reach the silent pool, where the stream takes awide sweep.  Here the fair white water-lilies lie on theirbroad green leaves and wait for their lover the moon; for thenthey open their silvery leaves and bloom in the soft light fairerfar than beneath the hot rays of the sun.  Then, too, thebuds rise out of the water and the moon kisses them into bloomand fragrance.  Near by are the little yellow water-lilies,set for beauty against a background of great blue-eyedforget-me-nots and tall feathery meadowsweet.  The riverstill sweeps on its way, but the pool is undisturbed; it lies outof the current.  They say it is very deep—no one knowsquite how deep—and it has its hidden tragedy.  I gazedown through the clear water, following the thicklily-stalks—a forest where solemn carp sail in and out andperch chase each other through the maze—and beyond them Icannot see the bottom, the secret of its stillness; but I maywatch the clouds mirrored on its surface, and the evening glowlying at my feet.

I think of the fathomless depths of the peace of God, fairwith flowers of hope; of still places wrought in man; of mirrorsthat reflect, in light uncomprehended, the Image of the HolyFace.

I go home across the common, comforted, towards the littletown where the red roofs lie glimmering in the evening shadows,and the old grey church stands out clear and distinct against thefading sky.

* * * *

One of the happiest memories of my childhood is the littlebrook in the home field.  I know it was not a very cleanlittle brook—it passed through an industrious manufacturingworld—but to me then this mattered not at all.

Where it had its source I never found out; it came from alittle cave in the side of the hill, and I remember that one ofits banks was always higher than the other.  I once soughtto penetrate the cave, but with sad results in the shape of bedbefore dinner and no pudding, such small sympathy haveone’s elders with the spirit of research.  Just beyondthe cave the brook was quite a respectable width,—even mybig boy cousin fell into mud and disgrace when he tried to jumpit—and there was a gravelly beach, at least several inchessquare, where we launched our boats of hollowed elder-wood. Soon, however, it narrowed, it could even be stepped over; but itwas still exciting and delightful, with two perilous rapids overwhich the boats had to be guided, and many boulders—for thebrook was a brave stream, and had fashioned its bed in rockysoil.  Further down was our bridge, one flat stone draggedthither by really herculean efforts.  It was unnecessary,but a triumph.  A little below this outcome of ourengineering skill the brook widened again before disappearingunder a flagged tunnel into the neighbouring field.  Here,in the shallows, we built an aquarium.  It was notaltogether successful, because whenever it rained at all hard thebeasts were washed out; but there was always joy in restockingit.  Under one of the banks close by lived a fat frog forwhom I felt great respect.  We used to sit and gaze at eachother in silent intercourse, until he became bored—I thinkI never did—and flopped into the water with a splash.

But it was the brook itself that was my chief and dearestcompanion.  It chattered and sang to me, and told me of thegoblins who lived under the hill, of fairies dancing on the grasson moonlight nights, and scolding the pale lilac milk-maids onthe banks; and of a sad little old man dressed in brown, alwayssad because his dear water-children ran away from him when theyheard the voice of the great river telling them of the calling ofthe sea.

It spoke to me of other more wonderful things, not even now tobe put into words, things of the mysteries of a child’simagination; and these linger still in my life, and will linger,I think, until they are fulfilled.

* * * *

I have another friend—a Devonshire stream.  I foundit in spring when the fields along its banks were golden withLent-lilies.  I do not even know its name; it has its sourceup among the old grey tors, and doubtless in its beginning had ahard fight for existence.  When it reaches the plain it is agood-sized stream, although nowhere navigable.  I do notthink it even turns a mill; it just flows along and waters theflowers.  I have seen it with my bodily eyes only once; butit has left in my life a blessing, a picture of blue sky, yellowbells, and clear rippling water—and whispered secrets notforgotten.

All the Devonshire streams are full of life andstrength.  They chatter cheerily over stones, they toilbravely to shape out their bed.  Some of them might tellhorrible tales of the far-away past, of the worship of the falsegod when blood stained the clear waters; tales, too, of feud andwarfare, of grave council and martial gathering; and happystories of fairy and pixy our eyes are too dull to see, and ofqueer little hillmen with foreign ways and terror of all humanbeings.  Their banks are bright with tormentil, blue withforget-me-not, rich in treasures of starry moss; the water isclear, cool in the hottest summer—they rise under theshadow of the everlasting hills, and their goal is the sea.

* * * *

There are other times when I must leave the clean waters andthe good brown earth, to live, for a while, in London: and thereI go on pilgrimage that I may listen to the river’svoice.

I stand sometimes at a wharf where the ships are beingunloaded of the riches of every country, of fruits of labour bymy unknown brothers in strange lands; and the river speaks ofcitizenship in the great world of God, wherein all men haveplace, each man have his own place, and every one should beneighbour to him who may have need.

I pass on to London Bridge, our Bridge of Sighs.  Howmany of these my brethren have sought refuge in the cold greyarms of the river from something worse than death?  Whatdrove them to this dreadful resting-place?  What spectrehurried them to the leap?  These things, too, are myconcern, the river says.

Life is very grim in London: it is not painted in the fair,glowing colours of grass and sky and trees, and shining streamsthat bring peace.  It is drawn in hard black and white; butthe voice of its dark waters must be heard all the same.

* * * *

I would not leave my rivers in the shadow.  After all,this life is only a prelude, a beginning: we pass on to where“the rivers and streams make glad the city ofGod.”  But if we will not listen here how shall weunderstand hereafter.

p.68Spring

Hark how the merrydaffodils,
Fling golden music to the hills!
And how the hills send echoing down,
Through wind-swept turf and moorland brown,
The murmurs of a thousand rills
That mock the song-birds’ liquid trills!
The hedge released from Winter’s frown
Shews jewelled branch and willow crown;
While all the earth with pleasure trills,
And ‘dances with the daffodils.’

Out, out, ye flowers!  Up and shout!
Staid Winter’s passed and Spring’s about
To lead your ranks in joyous rout;
To string the hawthorn’s milky pearls,
And gild the grass with celandine;
To dress the catkins’ tasselled curls,
To twist the tendrils of the vine.
She wakes the wind-flower from her sleep,
And lights the woods with April’s moon;
The violets lift their heads to peep,
The daisies brave the sun at noon.

The gentle wind from out the west
Toys with the lilac pretty maids;
Ruffles the meadow’s verdant-vest,
And rings the bluebells in the glades;
The ash-buds change their sombre suit,
The orchards blossom white and red—
Promise of Autumn’s riper fruit,
When Spring’s voluptuousness has fled.
Awake! awake, O throstle sweet!
And haste with all your choir to greet
This Queen who comes with wakening feet.

Persephone with grateful eyes
Salutes the Sun—’tis Paradise:
Then hastens down the dewy meads,
Past where the herd contented feeds,
Past where the furrows hide the grain,
For harvesting of sun and rain;
To where Demeter patient stands
With longing lips and outstretched hands,
Until the dawning of one face
Across the void of time and space
Shall bring again her day of grace.
Rejoice, O Earth!  Rejoice and sing!
This is the promise of the Spring,
And this the world’s remembering.

p. 72ALark’s Song

Sweet, sweet!
I rise to greet
The sapphire sky
The air slips by
On either side
As up I ride
On mounting wing,
And sing and sing—
Then reach my bliss,
The sun’s great kiss;
And poise a space
To see his face,
Sweet, sweet,
In radiant grace,
Ah, sweet! ah, sweet!

Sweet, sweet!
Beneath my feet
My nestlings call:
And down I fall
Unerring, true,
Through heaven’s blue;
And haste to fill
Each noisy bill.
My brooding breast
Stills their unrest.
Sweet, sweet,
Their quick hearts beat,
Safe in the nest:
Ah, sweet, sweet, sweet!
Ah, sweet!

Sweet, sweet
The calling sky
That bids me fly
Up—up—on high.
Sweet, sweet
The claiming earth;
It holds my nest
And draws me down
To where Love’s crown
Of priceless worth
Awaits my breast.
Sweet, sweet!
Ah, this is best
And this most meet,
Sweet, sweet! ah, sweet!

p.75‘Luvly Miss’

Nobody thought ofconsequences.  There was a lighted paraffin lamp on thetable and nothing else handy.  Mrs Brown’s headpresented a tempting mark, and of course Mr Brown’s lengthystay at ‘The Three Fingers’ had something to do withit; but nobody thought of Miss Brown, aged four, who was playinghappily on the floor, unruffled by the storm to which she was sowell accustomed.

Mrs Brown ducked; there was a smash, a scream, and poor littleMiss Brown was in a blaze.  The shock sobered the father andsilenced the mother.  Miss Brown was extinguished with theaid of a table-cover, much water, and many neighbours; but shewas horribly burnt all over, except her face.

* * * *

I made Miss Brown’s acquaintance a few days later. She was lying on a bed made up on two chairs, and was coveredwith cotton wool.  She had scarcely any pain, and could notmove at all; and the small face that peered out of what shecalled her “pitty warm snow” was wan and drawn andhad a far-away look in the dark eyes.

Miss Brown possessed one treasure, her ‘luvlymiss.’  I suppose I must call it a doll, though inwhat its claim to the title consisted I dared not ask; Miss Brownwould have deeply resented the enquiry.  It was a very largepotato with a large and a small bulge.  Into the large bulgewere inserted three pieces of fire-wood, the body and arms of‘luvly miss’; legs she had none.

How Miss Brown came by this treasure I never heard.  Shehad an impression that it “flied froo thewinder”—I fancy Mr Brown had a hand in themanufacture in one of his lucid moments; but it was a treasureindeed and the joy of Miss Brown’s life.  She heldlong conversations with ‘luvly miss’ on all familiarsubjects; and apparently obtained much strange and rareinformation from her.  For example, Miss Brown and‘luvly miss’ in some previous stage of theirexistence had inhabited a large chimney-pot together,“where it was always so warm and a bootie ‘mell ofcookin’.’”  Also she had a rooted beliefthat one day she and ‘luvly miss’ would be“hangels wiv’ black weils and basticks.” This puzzled me for some time, until I discovered it to be anallusion to the good deaconess who attended her, and whom MrsBrown in gratitude designated by this title.

Alas for little Miss Brown and her ‘luvly miss’!their respective ends were drawing near.  I went in oneFriday, a week or so after the accident, and found Mrs Brown intears and despair, and Miss Brown with a look of anguish on herpoor little pinched face that was bad to see.  ‘LuvlyMiss’ was no more.

It was Mr Brown again; or, to trace back the links ofoccasion, it was the action of ‘The Three Fingers’ onMr Brown’s frail constitution.  He had come in late,seen ‘luvly miss’ on the table, and, with his usualheedlessness of consequence, had chucked her into the dyingembers where—alas that I should have to say it!—sheslowly baked.  Little Miss Brown, when the miserable truthwas broken to her, neither wept nor remonstrated; she lay quitestill with a look of utter forsaken wretchedness on her tinywhite face, and moaned very softly for ‘luvlymiss.’

I came face to face with this state of things and I confess itstaggered me.  I knew Miss Brown too well to hope that anypink-and-white darling from the toy-shop could replace‘luvly miss,’ or that she could be persuaded to admiteven a very image of the dear departed into her affections. Then, too, the doctor said Miss Brown had but a few days at themost, perhaps only hours, to live; and comforted she must be.

All at once I had an inspiration, and never in my life have Iwelcomed one more.  I knelt down by little Miss Brown andtold her the story of the Phoenix.  I had not reckoned invain upon her imagination: would I “yerely and twoolybwing” her “werry own luvly miss out of theashes?”  I lied cheerfully and hastened away to thedust-bin, accompanied by Mrs Brown.

In a few minutes we returned with a pail of ashes, the ashes,of course, of ‘luvly miss’ mingled with those of thecruel fire which had consumed her.  I danced solemnly roundthem, murmured mysterious words, parted the ashes, and revealedthe form of ‘luvly miss.’  Love’s eyeswere not sharp to mark a change, and little Miss Brown’smisplaced faith in me was strong.  Never shall I forget thescream of joy which greeted the restored treasure, or the reliefwith which I saw an expression of peace settle once more on MissBrown’s face.

* * * *

I saw them again next day.  Little Miss Brown was asleepin her last little bed, still wrapped in the “pitty warmsnow,” and ‘luvly miss’ lay beside her.

Four Stories Told to Children

p. 85TheStory of the Dreadful Griffin.

My Dear Children,—I am goingto tell you a really breathless story for your holidaytreat.  It will have to begin with the moral, becauseeveryone will be too much exhausted to read one at the end, andas the moral is the only part that really matters, it isimportant to come to it quite fresh.

We will, therefore, endeavour to learn from thisstory:—

If we fly at all, to fly high.
To be extremely polite.
To be kind and grateful to cats and all other animals.

All the trouble arose one day when the Princess (there isalways a Princess in a fairy-tale, you know) was playing in thegarden with her ball.  She threw it up in the air muchhigher than usual and it never came down again.  There wasan awful shriek, like ten thousand steam-engines; all theladies-in-waiting fainted in a row, the inhabitants of the placewent stone-deaf, and the Captain of the Guard, who was inattendance with a company of his troops, seized the Princess, puther on his horse, galloped away followed by his soldiers to acastle on the top of a hill, deposited the Princess in thehighest room, and then and only then, told her what hadhappened.

“Miss,” he said, for he was so upset he forgotCourt etiquette, “Miss, your ball must have hit theDreadful Griffin in the eye (I noticed he was taking a little flyin the neighbourhood), and that was the reason of the awfulshriek.  Well, Miss, the Dreadful Griffin never was known toforgive anybody anything, so I snatched you up quick before hecould get at you and brought you to the Castle of the WhiteCats.  There are seventeen of these animals sitting outsidethe door and twenty-seven more standing in the courtyard, soyou’re as safe as safe can be, for the Dreadful Griffincan’t look at a white cat without getting the ague and thenhe shakes so a mouse wouldn’t be afraid of him.  Andnow, Miss, I must go back to your Royal Pa, so I will wish yougood-morning.”

Having made this long speech the Captain suddenly rememberedthe Court etiquette, became very hot and red, went out of theroom backwards, and instantly fell over the seventeen cats whoall swore at him, which so confused the poor man that he rolleddown the stairs and out into the court where the twenty-sevencats were having rations of mouse-pie served out to them; and theCaptain rolled into the middle of the pie, scalded himself badlywith the gravy, and was thankful to jump on his horse and rideaway with his soldiers to report matters to the King.

The King was so pleased with his promptitude that he made himthe General of the Flying Squadron, which only fights in the air,and conferred on him the medal of the Society for the Suppressionof Superfluous Salamanders, whereat the Captain wasoverjoyed.

But this is a digression, and I only told you because I wantedyou to see that virtue is always rewarded.

Now for the poor Princess.

Well, she cried a little, of course, but the cats brought hersome mouse-pie, which she found very good, and she was soon quitehappy playing with some of the kittens and nearly forgot allabout the Dreadful Griffin; but he did not forget abouther, oh dear no!  He flew after the Captain when hegalloped away with the Princess, but when he saw the White Catshe shook with ague so fearfully that his teeth rolled about inhis mouth like billiard balls and he had to go and get a new setbefore he could eat his dinner.  Well, he was in a perfectfury, and how to get at the Princess he did not know.  Heswallowed several buckets of hot brimstone, rolled his head in ared flannel petticoat, put his tail in a hot sand-bag, and wentto bed hoping to cure the ague, which he did completely, so thathe was quite well next day and more anxious to eat the Princessthan ever.

Now next door to the Dreadful Griffin (that is, a hundredmiles away) there lived a Wicked Witch, and he went to consulther as to how he might get at the Princess.  When the WickedWitch heard what a sad effect White Cats had on theGriffin’s constitution she said that she would haveexpected a Griffin of his coils to have had more sense.

“Any slow-worm knows,” said the Wicked Witch,“that cats love mice better than Princesses; therefore geta large sack of fat mice, let them loose a little way from thecastle, and when the cats see them they will run after them, andyou can eat the Princess.”

The Dreadful Griffin was so pleased with the Wicked Witch thathe presented her with a pair of fire-bricks and a hot-water tin,and then flew away to the Purveyor of Mice, who lived in a townabout seventy miles away.  He bought twelve hundred dozenfat mice of the best quality, all the Purveyor had in stock thatwere home-grown, and flew on with them to the castle.  Whenhe was a little way off he let the mice out, expecting all thecats to arrive at once; but not a cat appeared.  Theyheardmice and they smeltmice, but not a catmoved, for they were on their honour; so they kept guard andlicked their lips sadly.  When the Griffin saw the last ofthe twelve hundred dozen mice disappearing down the road withnever a cat after them, he was in a tremendous temper and flewaway to the house of the Wicked Witch, only stopping to pick up asteam engine which he dropped through her roof, and then wenthome to bed.  Next day he remembered a friend of his calledthe Grumpy Giant, who lived six doors away, that is, about athousand miles, so he flew to ask his advice.  When theGiant heard his story, he said in the gruffest voice you everheard, “Mice is common, try sparrers” (by which youcan see that he was quite an uneducated person), and then heturned over and went to sleep.

The Dreadful Griffin at once flew away to the SparrowPreserves, bought eleven thousand, and then proceeded to let themfly close to the castle.  Still not a cat moved.  Asthe cats’ copy-book well says, “Honour is dearer tocats than mice or birds,” and all the kittens write this inround-hand as soon as they can do lessons at all, and neverforget it.

Well, I really dare not describe the state of mind the Griffinwas in; but he made the air so hot that all the people put ontheir thinnest clothes, although it was the middle ofwinter.  He flew home puffing and snorting, and on the wayhe passed the house of the Amiable Answerer.  He went in andtold his story, and his voice shook with rage.  The AmiableAnswerer gave him a penny pink ice to cool him down, and thensaid gently:—

“I think, dear Mr Griffin, that green spectacles wouldmeet your case.  Then the cats which are now white wouldappear to you green and . . . ”

But the Griffin was already half-way to a Watchmaker’swhere they sold glasses.  He burst into the shop, frightenedthe watchmaker so that he fell into the works of the watch he wasmending and could only be got out with the greatest difficulty,seized twelve pairs of green spectacles, put them on all at onceand flew towards the castle.

Now the Dreadful Griffin was one of those creatures who do notstop to think, consequently he came to grief.  White catsgave him the ague, but green dogs made him cough most fearfully;and a little way out of the town he met thirteen white poodlestaking a walk, who of course all looked bright green to theDreadful Griffin.  He coughed so fearfully that all thetwelve pairs of spectacles fell off his nose and were smashed tobits, and his plan was spoilt once more.

No, I am not going to tell you what the Dreadful Griffin saidand did then, it is too terrible to speak of, but he had to keepin bed for a week, and drink hot tar, and have his chest ironedwith a steam roller, and his nose greased with seven pounds oftallow candles; but all his misfortunes did not cure him ofwanting to eat the Princess.  When his cough was better, hewent for a walk in the wood near which he lived, to think out anew plan.  Suddenly he heard something croaking, and saw theFat Frog sitting under a tree.  Now the Dreadful Griffin wasso low in his mind that he wanted to tell someone his troubles,so he told the Fat Frog.

“Don’t come near me,” said the Fat Frog whenhe had finished, “for I hate heat.  If you look underthe fifth tree from the end of the wood you’ll find a thinpacket.  Put it in sixteen gallons of water and pour it overthe cats, only mind you shut your eyes first, and for goodnesssake don’t come into this wood any more, you dry up themoisture.”

The Griffin quite forgot to thank the Fat Frog, he was aGriffin of nomanners, but he didn’t forget to takethe packet.  It was labelled ‘Reckitt’s,’and when he put it in the water all the water turned brightblue.  Then he took the pail in his claw, flew to thecastle, shut his eyes and poured some of the contents of the pailover the cats in the courtyard.

When he opened his eyes there were twenty-seven bright blue,damp, depressed cats; and he passed them without anydifficulty.  He shut his eyes, wriggled up the stairs,poured the remaining mixture over the seventeen cats, who allturned as blue as the rest, and then he burst open the door ofthe Princess’s room.  Fortunately there was a kindFairy flying over the castle at that very moment, who, seeingwhat was happening, changed the Princess into a flea so that theDreadful Griffin couldn’t see her anywhere.

No, if I couldn’t tell you before, I certainly must notattempt now to describe the Griffin’s behaviour when hefound the Princess thus snatched from his jaws.  He wentgrunting and bellowing and screaming along; and just as he wasstopping to take breath he heard someone roaring with laughter,and saw a little yellow man sitting on the top bough of atree.

“Are you laughing at ME?” said the DreadfulGriffin (he was so angry that he was quite polite).  And thelittle man said quite as politely that he certainlywas.

“Why?” said the Dreadful Griffin, still fearfullypolite.

“Because you’re such a green Griffin,” saidthe yellow man; and he screamed with laughteragain—“I know all about it, you’ve blued thecats and now the Princess has greened you.  She’sturned into a flea, and you still want to eat her, and it neveroccurred to you, you green old grampus of a Griffin, that fleaslike cats.  I suppose the Princess fleawouldn’t jump on to a tabby kitten, and you couldn’tswallow the kitten—oh dear, no—of course not . ..”

But the Griffin was gone.  He went to the Zoo, found atabby kitten, though they are rare in that country, and flew backwith it to the Princess’s room.

He waited half an hour and then swallowed the kitten at onegulp; but he instantly burst in four pieces, for the fluffykitten tickled his digestive organs so much that they cracked hissides and he died; and the flea and the kitten came out quiteunhurt, only a little damp.

Then a wonderful thing happened.  The tabby kittenchanged into the little yellow man who had laughed at theGriffin.  He grew, and grew, and in a few minutes he was ahandsome prince.  His name was Prince OrangePlushikins.  One day a cruel witch whom he had offended hadchanged him into an ugly yellow man, and had sworn that he shouldonly regain his shape if he was eaten by a Griffin when under theform of a tabby kitten; which you know was precisely whathappened.  Well, Prince Orange Plushikins at once asked thePrincess flea to marry him, and the minute the flea said“Yes,” the Princess reappeared.  She and thePrince were married next morning; and all the cats went to thesteam laundry and were washed and bleached and had their tailscrimped and their whiskers starched; and they danced at thewedding, and everybody lived happily ever after.

p. 103TheDiscontented Daffodils.

They had the very loveliest homeyou can imagine, with beautiful soft moss and grass to grow in,trees to form a cosy shelter from the wind, and a dear littlebabbling stream to water them.

There were lots of daffodils in this pretty place, and nobodyever discovered the nook to gather them.  They rejoiced inthe spring sunshine and gentle breezes, the greeting of thebirds, and the musical chatter of the brook; then when theirbrief visit to the upper world was over they nestled happily downin their warm mossy beds and slept till April came again to wakethem.

A little apart from the rest were four daffodils growing atthe root of a gnarled oak tree, and one fine sunshiny morningthree of them took it into their silly little heads that theywere dull, the place was dull, the other daffodils were dull, andthey wanted a change.

It was mainly the fault of the cuckoo, for he was a grumbling,mischief-making bird and used to spend a good deal of timetalking to the daffodils.  This particular spring he hadtaken up his abode in the oak tree, and was fond of talking ofall the grand things he had seen, and a great many he had notseen, for the cuckoo is a bird of fine imagination; and at last,as I have already said, three of the daffodils made up theirminds that to be a flower and live in a wood was a very dreadfulthing, and not to be put up with any longer.

Now the cuckoo had told many strange tales about creatureswith two legs and beautiful coloured leaves which grew in an oddway, and feathers only on their heads.  They could not fly,but they could run about from place to place, and dance and sing;and at last the daffodils decided that they wished to be likethese curious creatures, which the cuckoo calledgirls.

Then there were sad times in that sweet little nook under theoak tree.

The naughty daffodils cried and quarrelled and bewailed theirlot all day long, till they made themselves and everybody elseextremely wretched.  Their little sister shook her head atthem, and scolded and said that for her part she was not meant tohave legs; but it was all no use, the daffodils would not bequiet.

One day the Fairy Visitor who looked after the flowers in thatpart heard the silly blossoms crying, and stopped to ask what wasthe matter.  When she heard the story she told them theywere very foolish and discontented, and that the cuckoo was amost mischievous bird and liked to get people into trouble; butthe daffodils would not listen.  So knowing there is nothingso likely to cure silly flower as to give them their own sillyway, she said—“Very well, my dears, you want to begirls, and girls you shall be.”

With that she waved her wand over the three daffodils and in atwinkle they were gone; in their places stood three tall prettymaidens dressed in soft yellow silk frocks with green stockingsand shoes.  For a minute they were too much astonished tospeak, then clapping their hands they laughed and skipped forjoy, and wanted to kiss the old fairy because they were sopleased at getting their own way; but the fairy would not look atthem, and stooped over the little flower now growing all alone,saying kindly:—

“Well, little one, don’t you want to be a prettymaiden, too?”

But the daffodil shook her head with greatdetermination:—

“I don’t want legs and I won’t havelegs.  I was meant to be a flower and a flower I will be,but if you could keep that meddling, chattering cuckoo away fromthis tree for a time I should be much obliged.”

And the fairy laughed and promised.

Meanwhile the three pretty maidens had set of hand in hand toseek their fortunes.

They went singing and dancing over the meadows in the softafternoon sunshine, and thought how wise and clever they were tobe girls instead of little unnoticed flowers growing in awood.

Presently they came to a house and stopped to ask whether theycould have a lodging for the night.  There was no difficultyabout it, for that is a happy country where there is no money andeverything belongs to everybody, so the people of thehouse—an old man and woman—were delighted to see thebeautiful maidens and made them heartily welcome, and thedaffodils went to bed that night very happy and quite contentwith the result of their experiment.  When they came toundress, however, they received a severe shock.

They were girls, real proper girls, they could chatter and eatand sleep, for the fairy was not one to do things by halves; butwhen they pulled off the dainty green shoes and stockings, theydiscovered that although they had the prettiest little legs andfeet and toes in the world, they were quite green, the colour ofdaffodil leaves.

There wasn’t anything said about a “dear, darling,kind old fairy” then, I can assure you.

The first daffodil said she was a wicked old witch.  Thesecond said she was a horrible old woman; and the third said sheknew the fairy meant to pay them out, and she would like toscratch her.  Then they all set to work arguing andquarrelling and crying like silly babies, when suddenly afamiliar “Cuck-oo!” sounded in their ears, and theysaw our old acquaintance perched on the window sill.

He looked at the six little green feet, and his eyes twinkled;but before he could speak the three angry maidens all beganscolding him at once, for they were delighted to have somebodyfresh to find fault with.

The cuckoo, being in some respects a philosopher, did notattempt to interrupt, but when they were quite exhausted he saidhe really could not see any reason for their distress.  Noone would ever wish to see their feet, and they could always wearstockings.  He added that he had great news, and had come onpurpose to bring it.

“The King of Silverland,” he said, “iscoming with all his court to hold high revel close to this placeand celebrate the coming of age of his three sons.  Theseprinces were all born at once; and the king has decided to dividehis kingdom into three equal parts and leave his sons to rulewhile he retires to his country place to study science.  Nowthese Silver princes desire to marry three princesses, sistersborn at once like themselves; but they are very hard to find, andthe king is advertising everywhere for triplets.  When Iheard this I set off at once to tell you.”

The three maidens were so much interested and excited thatthey forgot their troubles and began to sing.

The cuckoo was pleased with his success, but told them theymust go to bed and to sleep, and he would fetch them in themorning to show them the way to the King of Silverland’scourt.

Next morning, although he arrived quite early, the maidenswere up and ready for him, looking very pretty in their yellowfrocks.  The kind people of the house were quite sorry topart with their guests and begged them to come again, and thedaffodil maidens set off in high spirits, following the cuckoo ashe flew slowly ahead across the sunlit meadows.  About noonthey came in sight of the king’s court.  The gorgeoustents were of cloth of silver fastened with silver ropes;fountains were playing in the open spaces, and flags flyingeverywhere.  The daffodils attracted a great deal ofattention as they made their way, blushing and a littlefrightened, through the crowds of soldiers, court ladies andattendants.  At the door of the largest and most gorgeoustent stood three beautiful princes dressed in silver.

When they saw the maidens approaching, hand in hand, they gavea cry of joy and ran forward to greet them.

“Dear beautiful princesses,” they cried,“welcome to our court!  May we ask your names and thecountry you come from?”

The cuckoo, perched on a tent-pole hard by, answered forthem.  “These are the Princesses Daffodil, daughtersof the great King of Goldenland.  They have come very manydays’ journey to be present at your revels.”

Think of the cuckoo telling such a dreadful story and thosenaughty daffodils not contradicting him!

When the princes heard the cuckoo’s words they werealmost beside themselves with joy, for, as it happened, there wasa real King of Goldenland (but the cuckoo did not know it), andhe had three daughters of the same age whom the Silver princeswere anxious to see.  They dropped on one knee, kissed themaidens’ hands very prettily, and then led them, blushingand delighted, into the royal tent.

The king was out, but the queen received the daffodils verygraciously.

“Triplet,” she said significantly, and it was theprinces’ turn to blush.

Then the young people visited all the beautiful tents, and thegreat ballroom where there was to be a ball that night, and theprinces whispered to the maidens that they would dance with noone else.  When they had tasted the cowslip wine from thefountains and eaten lots of wonderful sweets the daffodilsdeclared they were quite tired; so the princes put them intohammocks with little monkeys to swing them, and the happy hourswore on until the evening.

The maidens had had a beautiful tent assigned to them by thequeen, and they found lovely dresses of cloth of gold with shoesand stockings to match, all ready for them.  They looked sobeautiful when they were dressed that the colour of their feetdid not seem to matter at all.

All that night they danced with the princes, and everyone wascharmed with their beauty and grace, especially the king, who hadnot received a single answer to his advertisement.  At thegreat banquet which followed the ball the betrothal of the Silverprinces to the Golden princesses was solemnly announced, andtheir health drunk amid great rejoicing.

The dawn was red in the east before the festivities were over,and the daffodils went to bed happier than they had ever beenbefore, happier than they ever would be again.  A new andawful trouble of which they had never dreamt was about to befallthem.

When the princes came to meet their betrothed next morning themaidens noticed that, although very affectionate, they weredowncast and somewhat silent.  At last, after a great dealof questioning, the reason came out.  The king and queen hadboth had exactly the same curious dream, and this strangeoccurrence had upset their majesties very much.  They bothdreamt that one of the princesses, as they believed them to be,had six toes on each foot; and as no monstrosity could ever sharethe throne of Silverland they demanded to see theprincesses’ little feet with their own eyes, so as to bequite sure they all had only the right number of toes.

When the princes with many blushes broke this news to theirlady-loves, they each gave a short loud scream and fainted.

Their lovers, of course, put this down to extreme modesty, andwere much affected by such proper conduct; but when theysucceeded in restoring them to consciousness they were not alittle disturbed to find that the maidens positively refused toshow their feet.

Imagine the grief of the poor princes!  The king had saidquite positively that not one of the princes should marry tillhe, the queen, and the councillors of the kingdom, had seen thebride’s feet; and the maidens now declared that they wouldnever never show them.

Matters were in this awkward state when the cuckoo appeared onthe scene.  He had as usual contrived to find out what wasgoing on, and now announced that he had a private message for theGolden princesses, if they would take him to their tent.

When they were alone the daffodils began to cry their eyesout, and the cuckoo to try and comfort them.

“Green feet,” he said, “are very uncommonand would no doubt be welcomed as a great rarity.”

But the maidens sobbed on.

“The princes love you so much they will think yourlittle feet the most beautiful colour in the world.”

But they would not listen.

“I heard the king and queen say that green was theirfavourite colour,” he remarked next.

This was pure invention on the cuckoo’s part, but thedaffodils were somewhat cheered, and after a great deal oftalking the cuckoo persuaded them to give in and consent to showtheir feet, as they could not possibly marry the princeswithout.  Besides, perhaps when the king found their toeswere all right he would think the colour rather ornamental thanotherwise.  So the princes were told to their great joy thatthe princesses had consented to show their feet; and the king andqueen, on being informed, summoned a Cabinet Council for the nextmorning so that their ministers might be present at the countingof the princesses’ toes.

Meantime the real Goldenland princesses had arrived near thecamp; but as they and their suite were very tired they resolvednot to visit the Silver king till the next day, and commandedthat no one should mention their arrival.

That night the daffodils never slept, for fear once more tookpossession of them.  They scrubbed their feet, but thefairy’s dye would not come off; then they scraped them, butthat hurt very much and did no good.  Finally they chalkedthem, but that was no use at all; so they had to give it up indespair, and hope for the best.

Next morning two of the court ushers came to escort them tothe Cabinet Council.  Poor daffodils!  Their eyes werered with weeping, and they could scarcely stand for terror whenthey entered the tent where the examination was to takeplace.

In the middle on a raised dais sat the king and queen, ontheir right stood the three princes, on their left thecouncillors in their robes of state.  Three chairs wereplaced for the maidens, and they were politely but firmlyrequested to take off their shoes and stockings.

Blushing crimson the daffodils slowly and unwillingly took offtheir shoes.  Then they cried a little and said they reallytruly couldn’t, but it was no use, and the stockings had tofollow, and six little green feet were exposed to view.

“They wear two pairs, I see,” said the queen, whowas a little short-sighted.  “Very sensible, I’msure, in this damp place.  Take off the other pair, mydears.”

But the daffodils only hung their heads and wept.

Then one of the councillors cried out, in a horrifiedtone—“Their feet are green!  They aremonstrosities!” and at that very moment heralds were heardoutside announcing the arrival of the Princesses ofGoldenland.

Now the king was a shrewd old gentleman, and the true state ofaffairs suddenly flashed upon him.  “They areimpostors!” he cried, rising to his feet, “turn thedeceitful minxes out.”

At that the maidens rose and fled.  They never stoppedfor shoes or stockings, but ran like hunted hares out of the tentacross the fields; and when the people saw their little greenfeet a great shout of laughter went up, in which the king and theprinces joined.  As for the daffodils, they ran and ran andran, not daring even to look behind them, till they suddenlystopped for want of breath; and where do you think theywere?  Why in their old home under the oak tree.  Mostof the daffodils had gone to sleep, but a few were left, andamong them their little sister.  At her side stood thefairy.

“Well, my dears, do you like being girls?” andthere was a twinkle in her eye as she spoke.

But the daffodils were sobbing too bitterly to answer, and thefairy had a kind heart and did not press the question. “Would you be content to be daffodils again?” sheasked, and smiled at them sweetly.

They murmured a thankful “Yes”; the fairy wavedher wand, and in a trice the maidens were gone and there werethree more flowers, very pale faded ones, growing under thegnarled oak tree.  Poor discontented daffodils!  Theyhad to pay a heavy price for their folly.

The cuckoo came back time after time, and never wearied ofteasing them; and their little sister made many very true butdisagreeable remarks on the extreme silliness of beingdiscontented with one’s surroundings.

Perhaps by next spring things may be better; but of this youmay be quite sure, no amount of cuckoos will ever persuade theflowers in that nook to be anything but what nature intended themto be—sweet little daffodils.

p. 128TheFairy Fluffikins

The Fairy Fluffikins lived in awarm woolly nest in a hole down an old oak tree.  She wasthe sweetest, funniest little fairy you ever saw.  She worea little, soft, fluffy brown dress, and on her head a little redwoolly cap; she had soft red hair and the brightest, naughtiest,merriest, sharpest brown eyes imaginable.

What a life she led the animals!  Fairy Fluffikins was asad tease; she would creep into the nests where the fat babydormice were asleep in bed while Mamma dormouse nodded over herknitting and Papa smoked his little acorn pipe; and she wouldtickle the babies till they screamed with laughter and nearlyrolled out of bed, and Mamma scolded, and Papa said in a gruffvoice—“What a plague you are, you little dors; go tosleep this minute or I will fetch my big stick.”

And then the babies would shake, for they were afraid of thebig stick; and naughty Fairy Fluffikins would dance off to findsome fresh piece of mischief.

One night she had fine fun.  She found a little deadmouse in a field; and at first she was sorry for the mouse, andthought she would bury it and plant a daisy on its grave; butthen an idea struck her.  She hunted about till she found apiece of long, strong grass, and then she took the little mouse,tied the piece of grass round its tail, and ran away with it tothe big tree where the Ancient Owl lived.  There was alittle hole at the bottom of the tree and into it FairyFluffikins crept, leaving the mouse outside in themoonlight.  Presently she heard a gruff voice in the treesaying—

“I smell mouse, I smell mouse.”  Then therewas a swoop of wings, and Fairy Fluffikins promptly drew themouse into the little hole and stuffed its tail into her mouth sothat she might not be heard laughing; and the gruff voice saidangrily—

“Where’s that mouse gone?  I smelt mouse, Iknow I smelt mouse!”

She grew tired of this game after a few times, so she left themouse in the hole and crept away to a new one.  She reallywas a naughty fairy.  She blew on the buttercups so thatthey thought the morning breeze had come to wake them up, andopened their cups in a great hurry.  She buzzed outside theclover and made it talk in its sleep, so that it said in a cross,sleepy voice—“Go away, you stupid busy bee, anddon’t wake me up in the middle of the night.”

She pulled the tail of the nightingale who was singing to hislady-love in the hawthorn bush, and he lost his place in his songand nearly tumbled over backwards into the garden.  Then toher joy she met an elderly, domestic puss taking an evening walkwith a view to field-mice.

Here was sport.  Fluffikins hid in the grass andsqueaked; and when the elderly cat came tearing up she pulled hiswhiskers and flew away (I forgot to tell you that she had little,soft wings), and the elderly cat jumped and said—

“Mouse-traps and mince-meat!  Fancy a cat of my ageand experience taking a bat for a mouse!  But by my claws Iheard a mouse’s squeak.”

Fairy Fluffikins often met the poor elderly cat, and alwaysled him some dreadful dance, now and then taking a ride on hisback into the bargain, till he thought he must have got thenightmare.

One day Fairy Fluffikins was well paid out for some of hernaughtiness.  She was flying away from a tree where she hadjust wrapped a sleeping bat’s head up in a large cobweb,when she heard the sweep of wings, felt a sharp nip—and inless time than it takes to tell found herself in the nest of theAncient Owl.

“My wig!” said the Ancient Owl, much surprised,“I thought you were a bat.”  And he called hiswife and three children to look.

Now when Fairy Fluffikins saw five pairs of large round eyesblinking and staring at her she lost her head and criedout—“Please, please, Mr Ancient Owl, don’t beangry with me and I will never play tricks with mice anymore,” and so told the Ancient Owl what he had never evensuspected before.

Then the Ancient Owl was MOSTDREADFULLY ANGRY and read Fairy Fluffikins a long sermonabout the wickedness of deceiving Ancient Owls.  The sermontook two hours and a half; and when it was over all the owlshooted at her and pecked her; and Fairy Fluffikins was very gladindeed when at last Mrs Ancient Owl gave her a push andsaid—

“Go along, you impertinent brown minx,” and shewas able to go out into the night.

Even this sad adventure did not cure Fairy Fluffikins ofgetting into mischief—although she never teased the owlsany more, you may be sure of that—she took to tormentingthe squirrels instead.  She used to find their stores ofnuts and carry them away and fill the holes with pebbles; andthis, when you are a hard-working squirrel with a large family tosupport, is very trying to the temper.  Then she would tieacorns to their tails; and she would clap her hands to frightenthem, and pull the baby-squirrels’ ears; till at last theyoffered a reward to anyone who could catch Fairy Fluffikins andbring her to be punished.

No one caught Fairy Fluffikins; but she caught herself, as youshall hear.

She was poking about round a haystack one night, trying tofind something naughty to do, when she came upon a sweet littlehouse with pretty wire walls and a wooden door standinginvitingly open.  In hopped Fluffikins, thinking she wasgoing to have some new kind of fun.  There was a littlewhite thing dangling from the roof, and she laid hold ofit.  Immediately there was a bang; the wooden door slammed;and Fluffikins was caught.

How she cried and stamped and pushed at the door, and promisedto be a good fairy and a great many other things!  But allto no purpose: the door was tight shut, and Fluffikins was notlike some fortunate fairies who can get out of anywhere.

There she remained, and in the morning one of the labourersfound her, and, thinking she was some kind of dormouse, hecarried her home to his little girl; and if you call on Mary AnnSmith you will see Fairy Fluffikins there still in a littlecage.  They give her nuts and cheese and bread, and all thethings she doesn’t like, and there is no one to tease andno mischief to get into; so if there is a miserable little Fairyanywhere it is Fairy Fluffikins, and I’m not sure itdoesn’t serve her quite right.

p. 138TheStory of the Tinkle-Tinkle.

Once upon a time there lived a Tinkle-Tinkle.  I cannottell you what he was like, because no man knows, not even theTinkle-Tinkle himself.  Sometimes he lived on the ground,sometimes in a tree, sometimes in the water, sometimes in a cave;and I can’t tell you what he lived on, for no man knows,not even the Tinkle-Tinkle himself.

One day the Tinkle-Tinkle was going through a wood, when heheard a piteous weeping.  He stopped, for he was a kindlyTinkle-Tinkle, and found two small dormice sobbing under a treebecause they had been cruelly deserted by their parents.  Hewiped their eyes tenderly and took them to his cave home; but Icannot tell you how he went, for no man knows, not even theTinkle-Tinkle.  However, when he got there he put thedormice to bed in his grandmother’s boots, for which he hadnever found any use before, and fed them on periwinkles and tea,and was very kind to them; and when they grew older he boughtthem caps and aprons, and they became the Tinkle-Tinkle’shousemaid and parlourmaid.

Now I must tell you that it was a great grief to theTinkle-Tinkle not to know what he was, or how he lived, or wherehe was going to; and it often made him depressed, but he alwaysconcealed it from the dormice, appearing a most cheerful andcontented creature.

One day he found a poor green bird lying on the ground withits leg broken.  Fortunately Tinkle-Tinkle had hisgrandmother’s black silk reticule with him which had neverbeen of any service to him before.  He gently placed thegreen bird in the bottom and carried it to the cave.

The dormice laid the poor sufferer on a soft bed and put thebroken leg up carefully in plaster of Paris; and they nursed thegreen bird with the greatest attention so that it was soon wellenough to hop about on crutches; and it sang so beautifully thatall the inhabitants round gave it money, and its fame spreadabroad; but it was so tenderly attached to the Tinkle-Tinkle andthe dormice that it would not leave them.

Now it happened on a certain evening that the Tinkle-Tinklewas travelling over the sea, when suddenly in the depths hecaught sight of a most beautiful Creature.  It was all sortsof colours—white, rosy pink, and deep crimson, and paleblue fading into white and gold.  It had no face but abright light; and it had quantities of beautiful iridescentwings, like the rainbow; and the most lovely voice you everheard, like the sighing of the waves in the hollow of thesea.

The Tinkle-Tinkle was so astonished and entranced that hestopped, and the beautiful Creature cried out to him, and itsvoice made Tinkle-Tinkle remember a dream he had once had ofsunshine, and forest trees, and the song of birds; and theCreature said, “Ah, Tinkle-Tinkle! you are lonely andperplexed and sad, and you do not know whence you came nor whyyou are here; but the dormice know and the green bird knows, andI know, and we are glad for your being.  Go on,Tinkle-Tinkle, and do not sorrow, for some day you shall comeback to me, and I will wrap you in my wings and take you whereyou belong, and then you will understand.”

When the Tinkle-Tinkle heard this he was glad with a newstrange gladness, and he went back to his cave; but not alone,for the spirit of hope went with him.

The Tinkle-Tinkle had one gift—he could sing—how,no man knew, not even the Tinkle-Tinkle himself; and this is howhe discovered his gift.

One day in a secluded spot in the forest he found a dyingstag, and the Tinkle-Tinkle was moved with great compassion andyet could do nothing.

The great stag’s head drooped lower and lower till eventhe sun melted in a mist of pity, and the trees sighed, and thebreezes hushed their voices.  Then suddenly theTinkle-Tinkle crept close and began to sing, why or how he knewnot.  As he sang, the birds and the stream were silenced andthe breezes ceased, and the great stag’s breathing grewless and less laboured, and his eyes brightened, and presently herose slowly to his feet and paced away to join the rest of theherd, and the Tinkle-Tinkle went with him.

When the stag’s companions heard the story, they weptfor all that had befallen their leader, but rejoiced also andblessed the Tinkle-Tinkle; and he sang once more for them, andthe Star-spirits leaned out of their bright little windows tolisten, and the night was glad.

Many were the adventures of the Tinkle-Tinkle, and countlessthe creatures he cheered and helped, yet he never fancied himselfany use or knew why he was in the world.  He brought home apoor old crab without a claw, and the green bird and the dormicefound a hook and screwed it in, and the poor old crab used tocarry parcels for the neighbours; but he still lived with theTinkle-Tinkle.

Another time it was a snail with a broken shell; for him theybuilt a beautiful little house, and he made little rush broomsand sold them to the passers-by; but he lived ever after close tothe Tinkle-Tinkle’s front door.

So it went on till all the Tinkle-Tinkle’s homes werefull of strange occupants, and he began to feel very old and wornand weary.  Then he remembered the promise of the beautifulCreature, and went slowly over the sea hoping the time had comefor it to be fulfilled, and it had.  The beautiful Creaturestretched out its lovely rose and purple wings and wrapped theTinkle-Tinkle in their warm soft greatness, and bore him down anddown through the depths till they came to the Great Gate. At the beautiful Creature’s voice it swung slowly back, andthey passed down the Blue Pathway, which is all ice, cut andcarved into lovely pinnacles and spires, very blue with the blueof the summer sky and the southern seas.  The Tinkle-Tinklecould just see it from between the beautiful Creature’swings, stretching away in the blue distance, and at the end onestar.

Presently—and though the time had been one thousandyears it had not seemed long to the Tinkle-Tinkle—they cameout into a beautiful place that was nothing but light, and thebeautiful Creature set the Tinkle-Tinkle down; he looked aroundhim and saw many other Tinkle-Tinkles, and he knew them for whatthey were and loved their beauty; and the Creature gently sweptone of its purple pinions across him, and the Tinkle-Tinkle tookform.  He had many, many little soft, strong hands and manylittle white feet, and long sweeping wings and a face which shonewith something of the light of the beautiful Creature; and theTinkle-Tinkle saw and understood and sang for joy.

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