• TABLE OF CONTENTS
HIDE
 Front Cover
 Half Title
 Advertising
 Frontispiece
 Title Page
 Table of Contents
 The song of the river-brownies
 The story of the white violets
 The song the violets sing to the...
 The fairy and the bubble
 The song of the March wind
 The story of the Japanese fans
 The coming of spring
 The story of bluebells
 May-song
 The story of the silver bowl
 A charm of roses
 The story of the princess's...
 The song of the butterflies
 Mrs. Tom Tit's "at home"
 A song of the autumn moors
 The story of Isobel
 A charm of beech trees
 The story of the gorse
 The echo-nymph
 Epilogue
 Back Cover
 Spine














Title: Brownies and rose-leaves
CITATION THUMBNAILS PAGE TURNER PAGE IMAGE ZOOMABLE
Full Citation
STANDARD VIEW MARC VIEW
Permanent Link: http://ufdc.ufl.edu/UF00081255/00001
 Material Information
Title: Brownies and rose-leaves
Alternate Title: Brownies and rose leaves
Brownies & roseleaves
Physical Description: 199, 1 p. : ill. ; 21 cm.
Language: English
Creator: White, Roma
Brooke, L. Leslie ( Leonard Leslie ), 1862-1940 ( Illustrator )
A. D. Innes & Co ( Publisher )
William Clowes and Sons ( Printer )
Publisher: A.D. Innes & Co.
Place of Publication: London
Manufacturer: William Clowes and Sons
Publication Date: 1892
 Subjects
Subject: Children -- Conduct of life -- Juvenile literature   ( lcsh )
Conduct of life -- Juvenile literature   ( lcsh )
Fairies -- Juvenile literature   ( lcsh )
Magic -- Juvenile literature   ( lcsh )
Children's stories   ( lcsh )
Children's poetry   ( lcsh )
Children's stories -- 1892   ( lcsh )
Children's poetry -- 1892   ( lcsh )
Fantasy literature -- 1892   ( rbgenr )
Publishers' advertisements -- 1892   ( rbgenr )
Bldn -- 1892
Genre: Children's stories
Children's poetry
Fantasy literature   ( rbgenr )
Publishers' advertisements   ( rbgenr )
Spatial Coverage: England -- London
 Notes
Statement of Responsibility: by Roma White (Blanche Oram) ; with numerous illustrations by L. Leslie Brooke.
General Note: Contains prose and verse.
General Note: Publisher's advertisements precede text.
 Record Information
Bibliographic ID: UF00081255
Volume ID: VID00001
Source Institution: University of Florida
Rights Management: All rights reserved by the source institution and holding location.
Resource Identifier: aleph - 002239641
notis - ALJ0175
oclc - 40769223

Table of Contents
    Front Cover
        Front Cover 1
        Front Cover 2
        Front Cover 3
    Half Title
        Page 1
    Advertising
        Page 2
        Page 3
    Frontispiece
        Page 4
    Title Page
        Page 5
        Page 6
    Table of Contents
        Page 7
        Page 8
        Page 9
    The song of the river-brownies
        Page 10
        Page 11
        Page 12
    The story of the white violets
        Page 13
        Page 14
        Page 15
        Page 16
        Page 17
        Page 18
        Page 19
        Page 20
        Page 21
        Page 22
        Page 23
        Page 24
        Page 25
        Page 26
    The song the violets sing to the bees
        Page 27
        Page 28
    The fairy and the bubble
        Page 29
        Page 30
        Page 31
        Page 32
        Page 33
        Page 34
        Page 35
        Page 36
        Page 37
        Page 38
        Page 39
    The song of the March wind
        Page 40
        Page 41
        Page 42
    The story of the Japanese fans
        Page 43
        Page 44
        Page 45
        Page 46
        Page 47
        Page 48
        Page 49
        Page 50
        Page 51
        Page 52
        Page 53
        Page 54
        Page 55
        Page 56
        Page 57
        Page 58
    The coming of spring
        Page 59
        Page 60
        Page 61
        Page 62
        Page 63
        Page 64
    The story of bluebells
        Page 65
        Page 66
        Page 67
        Page 68
        Page 69
        Page 70
        Page 71
        Page 72
        Page 73
        Page 74
        Page 75
        Page 76
        Page 77
        Page 78
        Page 79
        Page 80
    May-song
        Page 81
        Page 82
    The story of the silver bowl
        Page 83
        Page 84
        Page 85
        Page 86
        Page 87
        Page 88
        Page 89
        Page 90
        Page 91
        Page 92
        Page 93
        Page 94
        Page 95
        Page 96
        Page 97
        Page 98
        Page 99
    A charm of roses
        Page 100
        Page 101
        Page 102
        Page 103
    The story of the princess's crown
        Page 104
        Page 105
        Page 106
        Page 107
        Page 108
        Page 109
        Page 110
        Page 111
        Page 112
        Page 113
        Page 114
        Page 115
        Page 116
        Page 117
        Page 118
    The song of the butterflies
        Page 119
        Page 120
    Mrs. Tom Tit's "at home"
        Page 121
        Page 122
        Page 123
        Page 124
        Page 125
        Page 126
        Page 127
        Page 128
        Page 129
        Page 130
        Page 131
        Page 132
        Page 133
        Page 134
        Page 135
        Page 136
    A song of the autumn moors
        Page 137
        Page 138
        Page 139
        Page 140
    The story of Isobel
        Page 141
        Page 142
        Page 143
        Page 144
        Page 145
        Page 146
        Page 147
        Page 148
        Page 149
        Page 150
        Page 151
        Page 152
        Page 153
        Page 154
        Page 155
        Page 156
        Page 157
        Page 158
        Page 159
        Page 160
        Page 161
        Page 162
        Page 163
        Page 164
        Page 165
        Page 166
        Page 167
        Page 168
        Page 169
        Page 170
        Page 171
        Page 172
        Page 173
        Page 174
        Page 175
        Page 176
    A charm of beech trees
        Page 177
        Page 178
        Page 179
        Page 180
    The story of the gorse
        Page 181
        Page 182
        Page 183
        Page 184
        Page 185
        Page 186
        Page 187
        Page 188
        Page 189
        Page 190
        Page 191
        Page 192
        Page 193
        Page 194
        Page 195
        Page 196
    The echo-nymph
        Page 197
        Page 198
        Page 199
    Epilogue
        Page 200
        Page 201
    Back Cover
        Back Cover 1
        Back Cover 2
    Spine
        Spine
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BROWNIES AND ROSE-LEAVES















13























BY THE SAME AUTHOR.


PUNCHINELLO'S ROMANCE.

Crown 8vo. 6s.


PRESS NOTICES.
"The description of Dorothy's poor deformed guardian Humpty
Dumpty, as she calls him, is full of pathos, and Dorothy herself is
very bewitching."-Guardian.
"We give Roma White the warmest of welcomes into the world
of fiction-admirably and irresistibly comic without anything in
the nature of farce, or even of apparent exaggeration, ready at the
least expected moments to run into equally true pathos."-Grafhic.
"The book is one that every one should put on his drawing-room
table and into his village library. Its tone is that of the music of
the spheres, and no one can fail to be refreshed with its pure
melodies."-Church Times.
Is worked out with many delicate touches of real life and real
pathos. Miss Roma White ought to be welcomed into the ranks of
the novelists."-Queen.
"A tale full of delightful fancies and high thoughts."-Sala's
Journal.

LONDON: A. D. INNES & CO.,
31 & 32, BEDFORD STREET, W.C.























7 (
Ykill


MRS. TOM TIT'S "AT HOME."


"\ ',
4 j~g';ly`


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BROWNIES AND

ROSE-LEAVES





By

Roma White
(Blanche Oram)


With numerous illustrations by
L. Leslie Brooke



London
A. D. Innes & Co.
31 & 32 Bedford Street
1892

















































LONDON:

PRINTED BY WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, LIMITED,
STAMFORD STREET AND CARING CROSS.





















Contents


THE SONG OF THE RIVER-BROWNIES

THE STORY OF THE WHITE VIOLETS

THE SONG THE VIOLETS SING TO THE BEES
THE FAIRY AND THE BUBBLE

THE SONG OF THE MARCH WIND

THE STORY OF THE JAPANESE FANS
THE COMING OF SPRING

THE STORY OF THE BLUEBELLS .

MAY-SONG .

THE STORY OF THE SILVER BOWL

A CHARM OF ROSES .

THE STORY OF THE PRINCESS'S CROWN

THE SONG OF THE BUTTERFLIES

MRS. TOM TIT'S "AT HOME"
A SONG OF THE AUTUMN MOORS

THE STORY OF ISOBEL

A CHARM OF BEECH TREES

THE STORY OF THE GORSE.

THE ECHO NYMPH .

EPILOGUE .


PAGE
SI

S13
27
29

40

43

59
65

81

83
100

104

S II9

121

S 137
S141

... 177
181

1* 97
200














Brownies and Rose-Leaves


T HE Brownies come to you from Brownie-land, and
the Rose-leaves are taken straight out of Mother
Carey's pot-pourri jar.
Mother Carey's pot-pourri jar-what is that ? Well, it
is a very wonderful, very beautiful jar indeed. Mother
Carey tucks away all her sweetest rose-thoughts into it.
Don't you know what rose-thoughts are, either? Why,
they are sweeter even than rose-leaves, and they bloom
when the roses themselves are asleep under the snow.
I'm not going to tell you who Mother Carey is, for dear
Charles Kingsley told you that long ago. But I am
just going to gather a handful of leaves out of the jar
and make them into a modest little book. And the first
leaf is called-



















The Song of the River-

Brownies

OME where, drooping to the stream,
Tender, dew-bathed blossoms grow,
Where the ripples glint and gleam,
Where the golden king-cups blow !
Where in lily-cups we hide,
Rocking idly on the tide.
Ripple along,
Midsummer song,
Born of the rivulet's fleetness !
Float to the sea,
Blithesome and free,
Full of a whimsical sweetness !

































Come where we, with dainty brush,
Paint the insects' gauzy wing,
And, amid the summer hush,
Teach the ripples how to sing;
Where with scent we load the breeze
Whisp'ring through the willow-trees.


Here the gentle wood-deer browse;
Here, when autumn frosts shall creep
All along the leafless boughs,
We shall put the world to sleep.


I-s~-
~-----------
s









Brownies and Rose-Leaves

Day by day, here have their birth
All the lovely things of earth.

Ceaseless anthem of the foam,
Whisper us who gave thee voice.
Didst thou, in thy mountain-home,
Learn already to rejoice,
In such fashion dainty-sweet,
With such harmony complete ?

Sweeter than a church's bell
Sounds thy carol evermore !
Breaking from the ripple swell
In clear cadence on the shore!
Quaint half-elfin music, wed
To thy mossy pebble-bed.
Ripple along,
Midsummer song,
Born of the rivulet's fleetness !
Float to the sea,
Blithesome and free,
Full of a whimsical sweetness.















The Story of the White

Violets

WHAT? No fairies nowadays, do you say,
children ? Dear me, what shocking
ignorance! Who in the world do you
think looks after the ferns and flowers in God's big
garden? Who teaches the thrushes the new tunes, and
attends to the winter wardrobe of the robin-redbreasts?
Who watches over the hedge-sparrow's eggs, and takes
care of the nestlings when Mrs. Dickey hops off to :get
her afternoon tea ? Mr. Dickey brings her.dinner to her,
you know, but he doesn't approve of afternoon tea for
ladies, so she always has to get that for herself. Why,
the world would go all wrong were it not for the fairies
In fact, I do believe that even the sun would forget
to get up !








Brownies and Rose-Leaves


And talking of getting up reminds me of the story of
the White Violets. Would you like to hear it? The
elves told it to me themselves one drowsy summer after-
noon, so it must be true. And, if you are really going to
believe it, I will tell it to you. But if you think it is all
nonsense, why then you can go back to your English
grammar and your sums, and believe them, because they
can all be proved, and the story of the White Violets
can't.
Once upon a time there were no white violets in
the world. They were all blue: some pale blue, almost
like a little bit of the sky when it is touched with purple
by the sunset; some a faint sweet lavender; and some
deep and rich, like the inside of a- storm-cloud And
they peeped out from their green leaves, and -smelled
as sweet as possible. And they lived underneath the
hedges, and warmed themselves in the sun, and drank
the clear cold dew, and were as happy and good as
they could be.
The elves took care of them, just as they took care
of all the flowers. They put them to bed every night,
and woke them up and dressed them every morning.
And they filled their little cups with honey, smelling
so sweet and fresh that the great brown bees came








The Story of the White Violets 15

buzzing over the hedge to find it, and carried it away
to make stiff and sweet and golden for the little children
who danced to school down the green lane. And the
violets did not care, not a bit! For, strangely enough,
the more honey they gave away the sweeter and bigger
and bluer they grew, until the very robins and blackbirds
composed sonnets about them. In fact, there was a
rumour that one very spruce young robin had actually
proposed to the biggest and bluest among them, but
the elves had thought the match unsuitable, so they had
broken off the engagement.
Well, it was a great pity that the violets were not
always good, for then they would always have been happy.
But, as it was, they were sadly naughty one day, and had
to pay very, very dearly for it. It was all the fault of
Mrs. Caterpillar's party-at least, so they said after-
wards; but the elves shook their heads and didn't seem
to think so. The elves said that if the violets had been
obedient, no harm would have come of the party
at all.
The truth was, Mrs. Caterpillar had issued cards of.
invitation to all the neighboring grubs and beetles. She
was having an "at home" in the beech tree that grew
just over the violets' heads. And she had made the dew








16 Brownies and Rose-Leaves

negus just a little too strong for the young cockchafers,
and one or two of them fell right into the middle of the
violets. The elves came at once, and picked them up
and carried them home to their mothers; but the violets,
although they had been put to bed long .ago, were wide
awake with the excitement, and refused to go to sleep
again. In vain did the elves come and sing them
lullabies, and shade their eyes from the moonlight with
curtains of grass and leaves. The violets interrupted
the lullabies with giggles, and pushed aside the curtains
to peep at the gay scene above their heads. For was
not a fat caterpillar waltzing solemnly with a brown
earwig, and a white maggot, rather overcome by the negus,
making love to a dainty young green fly? Altogether,
it was too exciting, and the violets refused to go to sleep
at all. And at last the elves were obliged to leave them,
for they heard the stream quarrelling with a big grey
stone that had sat down right in the middle of it, and
they were sadly needed to make peace.
So the naughty little violets peeped and giggled until
the party was over, and the caterpillars and the maggots
and the earwigs had waddled home arm-in-arm, discussing
the supper and the dresses. And by that time the violets
were so tired and sleepy that they could hardly wish one








The Story of the White Violets 17

another good-night, but tucked their heads under their
green blankets, and went off into a sound slumber.
Well, at sunrise the elves came to wake them. The
roses were' up and dressed long ago, and the daisies were
blinking their golden eyes at the sun. But the violets
were very sleepy. They opened one eye each, and
murmured, "All right," and then went to sleep again..
For, you see, they had been awake so very late the night
before. And in vain the elves shook them, and called to
- them, and told them that very soon all the dew would
have gone away into the clouds, and there would be
nothing left in which to give them their baths. They only
said that they didn't want baths, they were quite clean,"
and went to sleep again. One of the elves even went to
the stream, and brought back a leaf full of cold water,
and dashed it over their faces. But they only peeped at
him from under the blankets, and nodded their heads,
and were back in dreamland before you could say
"Jack Robinson."
Now, all this was very perplexing to the dear little
brownies. They were not used to sleepy flowers. As a
rule, the sweet hedge blossoms opened their dewy eyes
the moment that they were told to do so, and stretched
out their petals to the morning breeze. The elves, there-
C









Brownies and Rose-Leaves


fore, were very much puzzled indeed, and had to hold
a council about it, sitting down under the mushrooms.
Some thought that the violets must need a little
medicine, and suggested a wild-rose draught or a ragged-
robin pill. One or two were afraid that the nightshade
had come into flower much .too early in the year, and had
made its home over the violets' heads. And when this
was suggested, there was quite a stampede to the hedge-
row to see if such a terrible thing could really have
happened. But no, there was nothing growing in the
hedge except the pearly white May, and no deadly
nightshade was drooping its purple flowers over the path.
But the violets were sleeping still.
And then the elves, standing sorrowfully by them,
came to a very sad conclusion. They began to believe
that it was only naughtiness and laziness on the part of
the violets after all. No flowers had any business to
sleep after the sun rose, any more than they had any
business to lie awake after he had gone to bed. And
the elves reluctantly confessed that the violets were
"naughty."
Then, when they had confessed that to one another,
they were in a worse dilemma than ever. What was to
be done? They had never had anything to do with








The Story of the White Violets 19

naughty flowers before. They had nursed sick flowers,
and they had lovingly tended the poor little withered
ones thrown carelessly down on to the path, and they
had laid the dead ones tenderly away in the earth without
sorrow, for would they not bloom again ? But naughty
flowers were things that they had never had anything to
do with. And they talked about it very anxiously and
solemnly indeed.
"What is to be done?" said one, perching himself
astride a grass-stalk. "This is very shocking."
"There must be a cure for -it somewhere," said another,
puckering up all his face in thought.
"You, Briarlet," cried a third, you, who go near men's
houses, cannot you suggest something? What would
they do in such a case ?"
Briarlet wrinkled his forehead and pondered. Presently
a light came into his eyes, and he looked up.
"I remember," he said, "a case a few mornings since.
I was peeping in at the window of a little child's room.
I had just been driving the 'green flies away from the
roses, and it was hot, and I was resting for a time. While
I sat there, watching the face of the child, the nurse
came in to take it out of bed, but--" And Briarlet's
sweet little voice grew mournful.









Brownies and Rose-Leaves


"Yes, but ? cried all the brownies in chorus.
But," said Briarlet, quite distressed, "it refused. It-
it screamed. It-even-even-kicked!"
Briarlet quite blushed as he told the story, and
looked so miserable that the elves could not press him
to go on, but sat in a silent ring around him. Presently,
however, one bolder than the rest took courage.
"Yes," he whispered, "and how did they cure it ?"
For the elves could not get rid of the idea that being
naughty was something like being ill.
Briarlet's face brightened.
"They did cure it," he said softly, "but only by
making the child stay in bed-all day."
"And that is the very thing!" again cried all the
elves in chorus. "That is how we must cure the violets.
They too shall stay in bed all day !"
The little brownies were quite pleased and happy
again. Here was a cure-a way out of all their per-
plexities. Suddenly, however, their faces fell.
How," they asked solemnly, each of his neighbour-
"how are we to prevent the violets from getting up ?"
Here was a new difficulty, and again they turned to
Briarlet to help them. Once more he wrinkled his brows
and thought.








The Story of the White Violets 21

I know !" he exclaimed at last. "They took away
the child's clothes !"
"Of course! What an excellent plan!" came the
delighted chorus of voices. And then all the elves shook
hands with each other, and congratulated one another
solemnly on Briarlet's wonderful acuteness.
Then they went, in a body, back to the violets, for all
the world like a troop of town councillors. And the
violets were sleeping still. And in a stately and dignified
fashion, as if they were performing some important
ceremony, did those little brownies carry away the
violets' purple frocks, and deposit them in a wardrobe
in Fairy-land.
Well, by-and-by, when the sun was high up in the
blue dome above them, the violets woke up. They had
"slept themselves out," as the old nurses say, and they
were quite tired of bed and dreamland, and wanted to
get up and flirt with the thrushes. So they began
clamouring for the elves to come and dress them, and
make them tidy for the day.
But the elves all stood in a row and shook their
heads, and looked very important indeed. And one
of them, who was spokesman, made the violets a little
speech.









Brownies and Rose-Leaves


"We are afraid," he said solemnly, "that you have
been naughty, and so we are obliged to punish you.
We have resolved that you shall stay in bed all day.
So we have taken away your clothes."
"But," objected the violets, we shall catch cold."
The brownie shook his head, and one little violet
began to cry.
I want to get up," she sobbed, "and I-I-don't like
sitting in my night-gown."
We are very sorry," said the brownie; and indeed
he did look troubled and tearful. "But we think that
it is for your good."
And then, because they were very tender-hearted,
and could not bear to see any one in trouble, the
brownies all went sorrowfully away, telling one another
that it was for the violets' good, and persuading one
another not to go right off to Fairy-land and fetch the
little purple frocks away from the Queen's wardrobe.
And so all the violets sat in their little white night-
gowns under the hedge. They felt, oh, so ashamed of
themselves The robins gazed at them in such amaze-
ment, and the bull-finches positively blushed pink up to
the ears. Even the May-blossoms took a rosy tinge, and
one little briar-bud, peeping out upon his beautiful new








The Story of the White Violets 23

world, went quite red with the shock to his feelings. But
the violets themselves were beyond blushing, and only
drooped their heads lower and lower, and wished that the
earth would open and swallow them up.
And so they drooped and wept all day, and when
evening came, and the brownies hastened to them, the
tender-hearted little elves could do nothing but kiss the
sweet white, nodding heads, and promised them that they
should have their frocks again in the morning. And the
violets went to sleep, comforted and forgiven.
But when morning came, and the brownies hurried off
in the early dawn to Fairy-land, some terrible news awaited
them. You know the violets' purple frocks had been put
into the Queen's wardrobe. Well, the court tailor had
found them there, and, thinking that they were some
wonderful new fairy stuff, he had carefully picked them
to pieces and made a lovely robe for his royal mistress.
And she was so pleased with it that she had sent out
invitations at once for a grand dinner-party, and all the
household was busy preparing for it.
Now, was not that a terrible thing to happen ? You
may imagine what a state of consternation the brownies
were in. They tried to get audience of the Queen, but
she was interviewing the court cook, and could not see









24 Brownies and Rose-Leaves

them for ever such a time. And when at last they were
admitted to her presence they could hardly tell their tale,
she looked so radiant and beautiful in her purple gown.
However, they told her the story, and she seemed very
sad and disappointed.
"My poor gown!" she said pitifully. "And I have
told all my friends about it! Still, if the violets are very
unhappy-- ". She paused and looked thoughtfully at
the elves. Could you not get them some others ?" she
asked.
They shook their heads. We can't make them," they
said. Only the angels can do that."
The Queen looked very thoughtful and uncertain what
to do. Then suddenly she cried, Take me to the violets
themselves. I am sure they will give me the gowns."
So the brownies took her, themselves drawing her wee
golden coach, far away from Fairy-land, down to the green
lane where the violets waited under the hedge. And when
she saw them she sprang out of the coach, and exclaimed
in wonder-
Was that their punishment?" she cried-" that, to
become more beautiful than their fellows Why, look at
them!"
And the brownies looked, and saw that what she had








The Story of the White Violets 25

said was true. The violets in their sweet white gowns
were fair with a new humility, and drooped their tender
heads like children who had sinned and been forgiven,


We see," said the brownies, softly. You shall have
their gowns."
And the violets, peeping up, and seeing the Queen in
her wonderful purple, bowed their heads and whispered,
" You shall have our gowns,"








Brownies and Rose-Leaves


Hush! whispered the Queen to the brownies. Do
not tell them how beautiful they are." And then, turning
to the violets, she said, Children, answer me; which shall
it be? Will you have back your purple, or will you
always wear your white, in memory of your fault and its
forgiveness ?"
And the violets whispered, "We will wear our white,"
and bowed their heads even lower than before.
It is well," said the Queen, softly. For out of your
own fall have you lifted your own purity."
And then she went away again to Fairy-land, but the
violets sat in their little white night-gowns for ever.















The Song the Violets sing

to the Bees

H ERE are cups all sweet with honey
For the brown and golden bees,
Humming through the meadow sunny !
Here is treasure for your money
Underneath the hawthorn trees.
Here is nectar clear and fragrant-
Drink your fill, brown-coated vagrant,
Sail away upon the breeze!
"Honey Honey !" we are singing.
Hear the invitation ringing
From the violets to the bees.

On each bee there rides a brownie:
Snug his coach, and warm, and downy,
Set about with windows twain-









28 Brownies and Rose-Leaves

Windows crystal, windows painted
With the tints from picture sainted
That about a church have lain.
Hearken! for the bees are humming,
Coming coming We are coming,
Underneath the hawthorn-trees "
And the violets, without measure,
Offer all their dewy treasure
To the brown and golden bees.

















The Fairy and the Bubble


AN old professor once sat upon the rocks by the
sea-shore. The rocks were very beautiful, and
were covered with brown seaweed, and grey
limpets, and anemones dressed in purple and green and
red. But the professor was not thinking about the
anemones just then. For what do you think he was doing ?
He was blowing soap-bubbles as hard as ever he could.
What a very foolish thing for an old professor to do,
do you say? Well, I am not so sure about that. I
believe you have all done things that were infinitely more
foolish, only you have done them quietly, when nobody
was looking, instead of openly upon the sea-shore. And
nobody took much notice of the old professor, after all.
So he went on blowing his soap-bubbles as quietly and
as busily as possible.
His little grandson sat by him, watching the beautiful








Brownies and Rose-Leaves


transparent balls float away over the sea. And presently
he lifted his face and asked a question.
Gran'pa, why do you do that ?"
The professor paused for a moment. It was rather
a good thing that he did so, for he had been blowing and
gurgling down his long clay pipe until he was quite black
in the face. And he puffed some little flecks of soap all
over his frock-coat as he replied-
"Why do I do it, little one ? Because I want to make
beautiful things. And I have tried all my life-all my life
-and have never yet made anything that was half so
beautiful as these."
And then he dipped his pipe into the suds, and
breathed down it, and another opal ball floated into the
air.
Do you make them for the fairies ?" asked the child,
gravely.
"For the fairies-for men-and for Mother Carey," said
the professor. And his voice was reverent and low as he
mentioned Mother Carey's name.
The child sat silent for a moment, and then spoke
again.
Does everybody make beautiful things, gran'pa ?"
No," said the professor, rather sadly, "some people








The Fairy and the Bubble


make very ugly things indeed, and the world is sad
because of them, and the only people who get any benefit
are the people who write in the newspapers. The whole
world had much better come and blow soap-bubbles on
the sea-shore with me."
"I will blow soap-bubbles some day," said the child,
softly. "Gran'pa, shall we sail away in one of them,
now ?"
"Sail away, little one How shall we manage that ?"
I know how," the child told him confidently. See !
there are two big ones floating away now from the pipe.
You can easily climb inside one of them, gran'pa, if you
try."
Now, the professor was a very sensible man, and he
understood that children know a great deal more about
some things than any grown-up people do. So he just
looked at the child, and then at the soap-bubble, and then
he said gently-
"I am trying-I am try- "
But he couldn't finish his sentence. He could only
gasp with amazement. For-what do you think?-he
found himself sitting inside one of the beautiful big
bubbles, and the child was nodding merrily to him from
the inside of the other ball,








Brownies and Rose-Leaves


"Bless my soul!" said the professor. He did not
mean to say anything irreverent, but, you see, it was the
only expression that he could think of in his astonishment.
"I told you you could do it if you tried," called out
the child. "And, gran'pa, I have found out something
else. If you blow very gently with your mouth, the
bubble will go the way that you are blowing. Look
at me."
The child made a round 0 of his rosy lips, and
breathed upon the side of his bubble. And it floated
away more lightly and easily than a boat skims over
the waves. The professor tried to imitate him, but at
first he blew too hard, and then too gently, and then
too high, and then too low, and the bubble bobbed up
and down as if it were in a hurricane; and the poor
professor was very nearly sea-sick.
He learnt to manage it better by-and-by; and
presently he discovered that he could steer quite cleverly.
And when he had practised a little, and had got over
his feeling of amazement, he began to enjoy the gliding
easy motion, and to admire the beautiful crystal ball
in which he sat.
The child was lying upon the transparent floor of
his prison, his head pillowed upon one arm, and his blue








The Fairy and the Bubble 33

eyes looking up to the sky. Rock-a-by, rock-a-by,
baby," he sang. "Gran'pa, shall we sail away to
Heaven ?"
"Can we?" said the professor. He believed that
the child would know.
"No," said the child softly, after a little silence, "we
can't, although I don't know why. We can only sail
to Fairy-land. Let us start now."
So he blew upon the side of the bubble; and the
professor, very gently, did the same. And they floated
away over the blue looking-glass of the sea.
A water-fairy sat below the waves, twining green
seaweed in her hair. She was very beautiful, and her
hands and arms gleamed white through the ripples. The
professor looked down upon her, but he could not see
her. Only the child could see, and he stretched himself
upon the floor of his bubble, and smiled.
The fairy looked up, and caught sight of the
professor's bubble hanging, like a ball spun from the
foam of the sea, above her head. At first she thought
that a little bit of the rainbow had fallen from the sky.
And then she thought that one of the ripples had been
playing leap-frog, and had stuck in mid-air. And then
she thought that some foreign fairy had come to visit
P








Brownies and Rose-Leaves


her, and she fell headlong in love with the beautiful
gleaming ball, and stretched out her hands and arms to
draw it closer to her.
Did you ever hear of anybody falling in love with
a soap-bubble before? No, I suppose not, because, you
see, only fairies do such things.
Well, the fairy fell in love with the soap-bubble, but
she could not see the professor, sitting with his knees
drawn up to his chin, inside. And when she found that
she could not reach the beautiful ball from her bedroom
below the waves, she came right out of the water alto-
gether, and stood on tiptoe on the very crest of a ripple.
And still the professor could not see her, nor could she
see the professor. But the child saw, well enough.
"Stop! stop!" he cried, pressing his face to his
crystal window; "you mustn't pull it down. My gran'pa
is sitting inside, and he will get drowned."
The fairy looked up, and saw that another of the
gleaming balls was swaying in the breeze above her
head. And when her eyes fell upon the child she
laughed.
I have seen you before," she said. I have seen
your eyes in the face of the dawn, and have felt your
little hands in the splash of the foam. I have heard








The Fairy and the Bubble


your voice when the breeze has sung like a harp, and
I have watched your figure flee across the waters before
the storm. We are old friends, you and I. But I do
not want you-I want this beautiful gleaming ball for
my own. It shall be my spirit-love, and I will sing
to it, and rock it in the cradle of the waves.",
But the child's tears fell warm upon his crystal
throne.
"My gran'pa is inside," he said, "and he has fallen
asleep."
For the professor lay snugly at the bottom of the
bubble, rocked by the motion into a gentle doze.
"There is nobody inside," said the fairy, wonderingly
-"nobody that I can see. Look! the gleaming ball is
floating down, down, to my heart. I will draw it to
my home below the sea."
But the child clasped his little hands together in
pleading.
"Leave my gran'pa," he said softly. "You cannot
see him, but he lies in the crystal ball asleep. My
voice cannot reach him to wake him. Leave him to
sleep, because he makes beautiful things-always. I
will come to you, and give you my crystal ball for
your own."









Brownies and Rose-Leaves


And the child breathed upon the floor of the bubble,
and it floated down to the crest of the waves, and poised
lightly upon their foam.
"See," he said gently, "your spirit-love is here."
And the fairy laughed for joy, and drew the crystal
ball towards her; and, as her fingers touched it, it
vanished away, and the child fell down-down-down-
through the green depths of the waters, till he lay silent
and still upon the coral-beds below. And the fairy sat
and wept for sorrow, because she had broken the crystal
ball.
And the professor floated away on the breeze to
the shore; so that she could not catch the other bubble,
and carry it to her home under the waves.
But, as she sat and wept, the face of the child peeped
at her from a little cloud that sailed over the sea. And
she checked her tears, and looked up at him. "You? "
she said; I thought you were asleep on the coral-beds ?
Do you know I have broken the crystal ball ?"
"Yes," said the child, softly; I know."
And then he smiled at her, and went away up into
the blue.
And the professor's bubble caught on a sharp rock,
and burst, and left him lying asleep among the seaweed.








The Fairy and the Bubble 39

And when he awoke, they came to him, and told him
that the child was drowned.
But the professor knew better than that. And he
looked at the basin of bubbles and the long clay pipe.
"He said we could not sail away to Heaven," he
whispered softly; "but, for the first time in his little
life, he made a mistake."

















The Song of the March

Wind


O VER the hill, over the hill, over the hill the
breeze is blowing,
Fresh from the high green mountain-top,
Defying the trees his journey to stop !
The pointing branches he'll toss and tear,
And scatter the new-blown leaves in the air !
Away, then, away !
Away, then, away !
Rollicksome, frolicsome, careless, and gay,
Where can the wild March wind be going ?

The grass bends low
As the breezes blow,
As if in homage to Spring ;









The Song of the March Wind 41

And kissing the ground
Will the blades be found,
Till the frolicsome wind
Has changed his mind,
And, rushing back
On his former track,
All the blades will backwards fling !
And they scarce can say,
On a stormy day,
What is their sweet green fashion of growing !
Rollicksome, frolicsome, careless, and gay,
Where can the wild March wind be going ?

He catches the foam
From the streamlet's home,
And tosses it here and there.
Pitter patter !
What does it matter ?
The bright drops shatter,
Their fragments scatter
Like diamonds all through the air.
Then back to the stream they whisk away,
Now creamy and white on its bosom showing !
Rollicksome, frolicsome, careless, and gay,
Where can the wild March wind be going ?









Brownies and Rose-Leaves


And the birds peep round with inquiring eyes,
And cock their heads in a quaint surprise,
For their feathers are ruffled to twice their size,
As, rushing past them, the mad wind flies,
Till they wonder what he is doing.
And the clouds sweep over the pale blue skies,
For the Spring is going a-wooing,
And is courting the Earth with a merry rush ;
So safe in his suit that he cares not to hush
His rare fresh bluster and blowing !
And his kisses are hearty and wholesome and sweet,
And the violets blossom beneath his feet,
And he blows all the mists of winter away !
Rollicksome, frolicsome, careless, and gay,
Where can the wild March wind be going ?




















The Story of the Japanese

Fans

THREE Japanese fans hung upon a drawing-room
wall, their handles tied together with a big
yellow bow. They were very beautiful fans,
and everybody who came to the house admired them
very much. They had painted ladies upon them, and
gentlemen dressed in scarlet and gold, with pigtails as
long as a railroad. And what did it matter that they
were all sitting on the top of each others' heads ? They
smiled all day long, so perhaps they liked it.
There was a great jar of pot-pourri below them, that









Brownies and Rose-Leaves


scented the whole room. And there were screens of
peacocks' feathers, and Eastern draperies in silver
embroidery. But there was nothing quite so beautiful
as the Japanese fans.
Little Lucy thought so too, as she stood underneath
them every day, and she wished that she could go to
the country whence the beautiful ladies and gentlemen
came. They would willingly have taken her, for they
were, oh! so tired of sitting on the top of one another
upon the drawing-room wall. And somehow the brownies
got to hear of their wish, and came one evening to see
if they could do anything for the patient ladies and
gentlemen with the gay clothes and the pigtails.
Well, the ladies and gentlemen told the brownies how
tired they were of looking at the peacocks' feathers, and
smelling the everlasting pot-pourri. And they said, too,
how much they should like to take little Lucy to their
own country, and show her its wonders and delights.
And the brownies were so tender-hearted and sympathetic
that they went straight to the King and Queen of
Japanese-Fan-Land, and begged them to release their
faithful subjects for one night. And the King and Queen
consented, to the brownies' great delight.
Little Lucy was in dreamland that night, when she








The Story of the Japanese Fans 45

was wakened by a gentle touch upon her cheek. And,
rubbing her eyes -and looking up in wonder, she saw a
dark-haired lady; with almond-shaped eyes, bending over
her. And another dark-haired lady was sitting upon the
counterpane, fanning herself languidly, and a third and
fourth were exploring the wonders of the toilet-table,
puffing their faces with baby's powder, and rubbing lip-
salve on their cheeks for rouge. While a whole row of
tiny gentlemen nodded at the sleepy child from .the
bottom of the bed, doing it so vigorously that their
pigtails flew up and down in wild confusion.
"Come with us, Lucy," they cried in a soft chorus;
"we are going to Japanese-Fan-Land, and the brownies
say that we may take you too."
How pleased Lucy was, to be sure! She sprang out
of bed, and began asking excitedly for her clothes. But
the ladies had thought of that beforehand, and, before
she could say a word, they put her into a long silver
skirt that wobbled against her toes as she walked;
crammed her soft little body into a queer round-shaped
garment all covered over with a wonderful crimson
pattern; popped curly shoes upon her feet, and tiny round
fans into her hair, and floated away with her down the
staircase, into the dark stillness of the hall.









Brownies and Rose-Leaves


"How shall we go ?" asked Lucy, wonderingly. But
the little ladies and gentlemen all said "Hush!" together,
and then, where do you think they took her to ?
Why, straight into the jar of pot-pourri. They
seemed to float, rather than to climb, up its shining sides,
and to sink lightly down on to the soft brown rose-
leaves as if they had been so many balls of thistle-
down.
And then a very strange and wonderful thing hap-
pened. The pot-pourri jar just got up from where it
had been sitting in its corner, and walked quietly away,
through the drawing-room door, across the hall, and out
into the dewy moonlight of the summer night, and then
set off at a comfortable jog-trot down the garden, swaying
with a soft motion, the little ladies and gentlemen lying
among their cushiony leaves.
Lucy was quite excited by this time, and would
very much have liked to peep out of the jar, and see
where in the world they were going to. She could see
nothing through the top of the jar but a bit of the
moon, and three stars. The little ladies and gentlemen
were not so curious. The jar knew the way, they said.
For their own part, they were uncertain as to the exact
route-it was so long since they had seen the Company's








The Story of the Japanese Fans 49

time-tables. But Lucy need not be anxious; the brownies
would see that they arrived safely at their destination.
And, with this, Lucy had to be content. They
seemed to come to some rising ground presently, for
the jar puffed and panted a little heavily, although it
stumped along as gallantly as ever. And then, all of
a sudden, it gave a little hop into the air and stood quite
still.
"We must get out here," said the little ladies and
gentlemen in a chorus. And, as before, they floated
upwards, through the mouth of the jar, and sank gently
downwards until they stood with their feet upon the
ground.
Where were they ? Why, standing upon the borders
of a moonlit lake. The trees drooped dark and heavy
about it, and the shadows blackened the ground where
they stood. But right in the centre of the brightest
spot of moonlight floated a little boat, shaped like a
white swan, and rowed by twelve men who wore long
pigtails, fierce moustaches, and large shady hats.
SThey beckoned the little ladies and gentlemen to
them; and so Lucy and her quaint wee friends sprang
into the boat, and were rowed away into the shining.
silver of the lake. Whilst the jar-just waited to see that









Brownies and Rose-Leaves


they were safe, and then turned round, and trotted
contentedly home again.
Lucy had no time, at first, to notice which way they
were going; she was so busy admiring the boatmen's
short jackets, and pale green baggy trousers. But
presently the little ladies and gentlemen all broke out
into a cry of delight, and, looking up, Lucy saw an
island stretching away before them, and knew that it
must be Japanese-Fan-Land. What a funny shape it
was, to be sure! One little neck of land stuck straight
out towards them, and the mainland swept away from
it in an immense circle. And in the distance, the whole
island looked like a wonderful mosaic of colouring.
They drew nearer and nearer, however, and presently
came to a little landing-place; and then the boatmen
helped them to alight, and, touching the ground with
their heads three times, by which they meant to say
"good-bye," sprang back into the little boat, and rowed
away.
A great many of the inhabitants of the island were
gathered together to welcome the little ladies and gentle-
men, for the brownies had sent word they were coming.
And so much saluting went on, so much touching of the
ground with be-pigtailed heads, that Lucy felt quite








The Story of the Japanese Fans 51

giddy. Indeed, by the time they had finished, several
of the gentlemen had quite lost their balance, and had
turned head-over-heels into the lake.
They were fished out, however, and did not seem
to mind. And, while they went home to change their
clothes, the rest of the party walked on into the interior,
chattering so constantly and so fast that Lucy was
thoroughly bewildered. She was quite sure, too, that
they were glancing at her feet, which really seemed
enormous in comparison with their own. And, although
they were too polite to say anything, she felt certain
that they must be shocked at the vulgar proportions of
her shoes.
However, they were very kind to her, in spite of her
ignorant disregard of Japanese-Fan etiquette, and very
soon she forgot all about her feet, in the wonders of
the island. For there were in it, oh! such marvellous
things. First of all, they came to a quaint little house,
built in a circle, and with a golden ball whirling round
on the top. But the funniest thing about it was, that
it was built upon nothing at all. It just balanced itself
up in the air as comfortably as possible, and looked
down upon the world as much as to say, "I am no
common house; I am an aeronaut. I hang without effort








Brownies and Rose-Leaves


between the earth and sky. You may come and look
at my inside, if you like. You will find me comfortably
furnished, and of superior attractions."
Well, while Lucy gazed at the conceited little house
in astonishment, the host came out of it. He had two
pigtails which reached down to his heels, and a long
blue coat trimmed with teapots. And he bent himself
double to do honour to the little ladies and gentlemen,
and invited them graciously to come and dine with him.
Well, after a little consultation, they accepted the
invitation. But while they were making up their minds,
Lucy had time to notice what she had not observed
before. And that was that a little stream, coming
apparently from nowhere, flowed uninterruptedly down
one of the chimneys, and issued from the back door of
the little house, as unconcernedly as if nothing had been
in its way. The host saw her looking at it, and nodded
his head with much self-satisfaction.
"Ah he said, that's a fine thing, now, isn't it? "
"What is it for ? asked Lucy, wonderingly.
Well, it isn't for anything, exactly," he told her.
"It just happened to be there. But you've no idea how
convenient we find it. It' saves the water-works a
tremendous lot of expense. You see, the Town Council









The Story of the Japanese Fans 53

had no need to bother after taps and drainage and a
comfortable water-supply. We've a good many of them
in Japanese-Fan-Land," he added, looking at the blue
stream.
Lucy was much impressed, and still more so when
he unrolled a flight of steps, as easily as she could have
unrolled a reel of silk, and hung them out over the
balcony. And all the little ladies and gentlemen tripped
daintily up them, and went inside the quaint, hanging
house.
The host said dinner was ready, and himself led
the way into the dining-room. Such a pretty room,
all over fans and funny red feathers and silver stars.
And little tables were dotted about it with only two legs
apiece, and those both on the same side, so that the
tops balanced themselves aloft in the curious fashion
peculiar to Japanese-Fan-Land. The only wonder was
that the tea-trays did not fall off on to the floor; but,
somehow, they didn't. Lucy, who was a wise little
morsel of humanity, came to the conclusion that Japanese-
Fan-Land must have laws of gravitation of its own.
The host had invited them to dinner, but there was
nothing to eat or drink except tea. In Japanese-Fan-
Land they never do drink anything except tea. It was









Brownies and Rose-Leaves


very sweet and hot, however, and Lucy enjoyed it very
much. As for the little ladies and gentlemen, they
drank cup after cup, until Lucy grew quite anxious, about
their powers of digestion.
Well, when dinner was over, they all of them turned
to her, as their most honoured guest, and asked her what
she would like to do. She didn't hesitate a moment.
She said that, above all things, she would love to sail
away down the little stream that flowed out of the back
door.
All the little ladies and gentlemen looked very much
pleased indeed. It was just what they had been dying
to do themselves, only they had been too polite to say so.
So the host sent a message by one of his servants, and
very soon a funny little boat was waiting for them outside.
It curled up at both ends, and had a tiny wooden house
in the middle, painted blue and hung all over with silver
bells.
So they said good-bye to their gentle host, and sailed
away in the little boat, down the blue stream. It was the
very bluest stream that Lucy had ever seen, only varied
here and there by a streak of white running down the
middle. And, as they sailed along it, the little silver bells
played the sweetest music in the world.








The Story of the Japanese Fans 55

And oh what wonderful things they saw as they sailed
along! The blue stream zig-zagged so delightfully, and
never troubled its head about the way it went; but then,
there are no boards in Japanese-Fan-Land with Tres-
passers will be prosecuted." So now and then the stream
went into a garden where more almond-eyed ladies were
drinking more tea, under funny drooping trees that were
trimmed with blue and scarlet ribbons, and that seemed
to grow upon nothing. And occasionally it flowed right
over the ladies' heads, but they just looked up and nodded
to it, and waved their handkerchiefs when they caught
sight of the little blue boat.
Sometimes, by way of a change, the little stream would
flow in a lovely water-fall down a gentleman's pigtail, or
would climb up to the top of a tree and startle the storks,
or would pay a short visit to the sky, and come down
again as if nothing had happened; while running through
a gentleman's private mansion was quite a common
occurrence, and did not alarm anybody in the very
least.
Then, too, they saw such marvellous sights upon the
journey. Storks balancing themselves on trees a great
deal smaller than themselves; silver and gold stars grow-
ing like flowers among the grass ; roses twice as large as









Brownies and Rose-Leaves


Lucy's head tied together with magenta streamers;
wonderful birds with long red tails catching bright blue
fish in their enormous beaks; and a thousand and one
other things, each more startling than the last.
Presently they came to another hanging house, and
this was the scene of a great commotion. A pair of
lovers had just eloped from it, and were running away as
hard as ever they could, their hands outstretched, and
their pigtails flying. There was a temple exactly in front
of them, but that didn't seem to trouble them in the least.
They were making for the door as straight as possible.
Perhaps they thought they might have time to go in
and get married before they were overtaken by the
angry father. He was pursuing them with a scimitar
in each hand and a teapot upon his head, but he could
not see them just at that moment, for the gardener had
planted a rose-tree right in front of the hall-door, and
the angry father was on one side of it, and the flying
lovers were on the other. Lucy could not help hoping
that the cross old gentlemen would fall head first into
the rose-tree, which he seemed on the point of doing,
and that his poor pretty daughter would escape.
Everybody that they passed, except the eloping couple,
who were too agitated, and the father, who was too angry,








The Story of the Japanese Fans 57

saluted them by kneeling down and bumping the ground
with the tops of their heads. Lucy came to the conclusion
that it must be the constant friction that made them all so
bald except just where their pigtails grew into those great
long thick plaits. And they often stopped, in answer
to a pressing invitation to have a cup of tea from the
funny upright trays.
At last Lucy saw that they were drawing near the
coast. The stream had one last zig-zag before it went
into the lake, and took a farewell ripple over a lady
sitting on a high-backed chair. And then the little boat
slid away from Japanese-Fan-Land, into the moonlit
waters of the lake, and the little ladies and gentlemen
all brought out their flowered pocket-handkerchiefs,- and
cried.
But the silver bells played a sweet Hush, hush-a-by,"
and presently Lucy and the little ladies and gentlemen
began to nod. For the brownies had hold of the boat,
and were swimming over the lake with it in their arms.
And they laid poppy-leaves over their charges' eyes, and
held camomile scent-bottles under their noses, until at
last Lucy and all the little ladies and gentlemen lay at
the bottom of the boat, fast asleep.
Lucy never remembered how they got home. The








Brownies and Rose-Leaves


brownies might have told her, but they never did. Only
when she awoke, she was lying in her own little bed, and
Nurse was standing over her, and scolding her for having
overslept herself.
Lucy' went down into the drawing-room by-and-by
and looked up at the Japanese fans and down at the pot-
pourri jar. The latter looked so very solemn and heavy,
Lucy could hardly believe that it had ever done anything
so frivolous as trot away with her and the little ladies and
gentlemen to the silver lake. As for the little ladies and
gentlemen themselves, they were, as usual, smiling with
an imbecile expression, and sitting upon one another's
heads. And it's my belief that they never went to
Japanese-Fan-Land again, but sat upon one another's
heads for ever.





hg

















The Coming of Spring


WOOD doves are cooing,
All the world's wooing,
Bridal-decked meadows lie waiting for
Spring.
Hush for he cometh! "
So the bee hummeth,
Poised o'er her hive on a quivering wing.
Down the hill tripping-
Where the stream, slipping
Over the pebbles and under the thorn,
Laughs through her glances-
Down the boy dances,
Down to the world where his daisies are born !

Rosy the mouth where his kisses lie sleeping,
Starry the eyes where his glances coquette !









Brownies and Rose-Leaves


Ah would you steal them ?
Will he reveal them,
Toss down his treasures ? No fear of it yet !
Dancing with sunbeams one day on the mountain,
Down come his tears, the next day, in a fountain !
Think you're beguiling
The boy into smiling-
Back to their goal flash the stars that were peeping,
Back flies the laugh through his lips that was creeping,
High on the hilltop the Spring sits a-weeping,
Rosy mouth puckered, and sunny eyes wet!
Celandine-pied lies the lap of the meadows,
Waiting to cradle him should he come down,
Down from the mountain-top into the shadows,
Where the green lacework has cobwebbed the brown.
On the hill dancing,
Earthwards he's glancing;
Say, what will tempt him away from the height ?
In the stream dipping,
Out of it tripping,
Shaking the drops off, he's taken to flight !

Up in the skies now,
See where he flies now,
Snatching the sunbeams to weave him a crown !









The Coming of Spring


Peeps through his fingers,
Mocks at the singers,
Throbbing their psalm out to welcome him down.
On a cloud lying,
O'er the blue flying,
Pillowed his head on the white of her breast!
Where are they going,
As the breeze, blowing,
Bosoms the cloud on the gold of the west ?

Back again, mocking
The violets, befrocking
Nodding green buds with the purple of love-
Purple for passion,
Such is their fashion !
Fain would they woo him, that elf-boy above!
Woo him and wed him where all the Earth, throbbing,
Veils her fair bosom in emerald gown,
Pants out her love-song with breath that, half-sobbing,
Pearls into kisses to kiss the Spring down !

Hush! for he cometh "
So the bee hummeth,
So the thrush pipes through his sweet dropping note.








Brownies and Rose Leaves


Soft, the breeze hushes,
Falls to the rushes,
Slides down the river, a whispering boat!
Slides to the shadows-
But, see, in the meadows,
Over the daisies, milk-pale, steals a blush!
Down the hill creeping,
'Tween his hands peeping,
Down to the Earth comes the Spring through the hush !


One moment after,
Out rings his laughter!
Earth has embosomed him Caught to her breast,
Cradled in kisses,
There's where his bliss is !
Moss-bed for bridal-bed, daffodil-drest!
So he surrenders,
Hangs her with splendours,
Weds her, and queens her with may-blossom crown !
All the world singing
Bridal-hymns, ringing
Out the glad story-the Spring has come down !




































































Designed and drawn by S. Sclthojeld.

















The Story of the Bluebells

ONCE upon a time there was a little brownie who
was very much in love. He was so much in
love that he lost all his appetite, and went
about Brownie-land writing sonnets to the moon. And
the little lady-brownie that he was in love with was
called Mayblossom, and was the sweetest, prettiest
brownie in the world.
Unfortunately, however, she was rather a capricious
little lady. And, as half the householders in Elf-land
were in love with her, she felt that she had every right
to pick and choose. So she refused their offers, one after
the other. The first was too stout; she was sure he
could never drive comfortably in the front seat of her
chariot, for it was made, like Queen Mab's, of the half of
a hazel nut. The second was too thin, and it made his
clothes fit badly; he had never yet been able to find a
F









Brownies and Rose-Leaves


rose-leaf that would really sit properly, and always had
to pad himself out with cobwebs. The third was vulgar;
he always ate with the wrong end of his grass-stalk, which
in Brownie-land is quite as bad as eating with the handles
of your knife and fork The fourth had set up house-
keeping in' an empty nest, and Mayblossom did not care
for old-fashioned residences; they encouraged earwigs!
And so on with the fifth and the sixth and the seventh,
until the whole of Brownie-land was in despair.
But, at last, the wilful little lady made an announce-
ment. She had been sitting one evening on the hillside,
and had heard the far, far distant chimes of bells. They
were the bells of the village church, softened into tender
sweetness before their echo reached her ear. And she
was so charmed with them that she declared whoever
could make a chime of bells that should sound as sweetly
for Elf-land as the church-bells sounded for the big world
should be rewarded by her heart and hand.
Well, no sooner was her announcement made than
oh! such a carpentering and joinering, and smelting and
forging began in Brownie-land. The farmers declared
that the woodpeckers were busier than ever this year,
they heard such a deal of tapping going on in the wood,
It wasn't the woodpeckers at all, really, but the elves,









The Story of the Bluebells


who were trying with all their might and main to make
bells. Some went far down into the diamond mines, and
brought up great blazing white jewels, and hollowed them
into beautiful shapes, and hung a tiny gold clapper inside
them. But though they shone amazingly, and looked
very lovely, when the brownies tried to ring them they
only gave a little glassy sort of "tinkle, tinkle," and
Mayblossom shook her head, and said, "No, those
wouldn't do at all."
Well, after that, they climbed up the hazel trees, and
with great difficulty pulled down the tiniest, daintiest nuts,
and scooped away the sweet white kernel. Then they
hung a frozen dew-drop in the opening, and tried to sound
a soft peal. But the chime was wooden and tuneless, and
Mayblossom stopped up her ears when she heard it,
and put her head right under a big red toadstool.
Then they found a whole collection of wee, deserted
snail-shells, and tied caterpillars' eggs in them for clappers,
and swung them up and down at the end of a spider's
thread. But, although the tone was softer than any they
had yet procured, the eggs soon broke, and stuck against
the sides of the shells; and Mayblossom first laughed at
them, and then ran right away into the forest, and declared
that she would have nothing to do with them! They,









Brownies and Rose-Leaves


who taught all the music of the woods, not able to make
a chime of bells! She was ashamed of them, and wouldn't
marry one of them!
Well, the brownies were very disconsolate. But the
little elf, who was so very much in love, did not yet
despair. He determined, instead, that he would not be
beaten, but would make such a chime of bells as neither
Mayblossom, nor the brownies, nor the whole world itself
had ever heard. And then he would marry his little
lady-love, and be happy with her for ever.
But, being a sensible brownie, he was not going to
try any more experiments himself. He had seen that
all Elf-land could not succeed in making a chime of bells,
and he was not going to waste his valuable time over
useless efforts. So he went quietly about his daily work,
which was that of sowing daisy-seeds all up a little lane,
until night came on. And then he put his wee cap firmly
on his head, gathered up his basket and trowel, and went
away down to the big city below the hills.
"Where was he going to ?" do you ask ? To the cradle
of a new-born babe, that was all. For there he knew he
should find the sky-fairies, and it was to them that he
meant to make his appeal. He trotted along the deserted
streets till he came to a house with a light in the window.








The Story of the Bluebells


And then he crept through the keyhole of the front door,
stole up the broad staircase, and passed softly into the
room where the mother and her baby lay.
A light was burning dimly on a table, but the rest of
the room was in shadow. There was a white face on the
pillows of the bed, and a wee pink one on the pillows of
the cradle; and, just as the brownie had foreseen, the
sky-fairies were very busy in the room.
They were all grouped about the little cradle, laying
tender thoughts and tender blessings upon the babe.
The light shone softly on their white wings and pure
foreheads, and the brownie bent his head, and took off
his little cap reverently in their presence. They beckoned
him near to them, and smiled at him, and softly uncovered
the babe, and bade him look at the little sleeping face.
And then they brushed with their wings the forehead of
the mother, and floated silently away out into the moon-
light, carrying the brownie with them.
As soon as they had passed from the tender stillness
of the room, the brownie made his request. Would the
sky-fairies tell him how to make a chime of bells that
should sound as sweetly in Fairy-land as the church bells
sounded in the big world ? The sky-fairies smiled, well-
pleased at the thought, for' they loved the brownies, and









Brownies and Rose-Leaves


the work they did in the great Palace of Earth. Then,
too, the sky-fairies were always glad to make lovely
things, and they believed that such a chime would be
very lovely indeed. So they left the brownie in the
topmost twigs of a great oak, and told him to wait for
them upon the moss below, and they would try what they
could do for him.
So the brownie slid down to the ground, and sat
patiently waiting upon the moss; while the fairies flew
up, up, up to Heaven, and took into their hands a great
piece of the sky, purple-blue with the shadows of night.
And then they gathered ever so many of the stars, and
floated back to the brownie down the moonbeams.
"See," they said, "we have brought you these."
"But how," asked the brownie, wonderingly, "am I to
make out of them a chime of bells ?"
"We will show you," said the fairies. And they
moulded the piece of sky that they had brought into
tiny nodding bells, and hung them on green stalks, and
popped wee fragments of the stars into their hearts.
And then they set them upon the green moss under the
oak-trees, and, smiling at the brownie, floated away again
up to the stars.
And the brownie sat on in silent delight. He had








The Story of the Bluebells


forgotten all about Mayblossom, forgotten about the
chime of bells, forgotten all his own hopes and fears;
and could only sit watching the nodding bluebells, and
rejoicing because the sky-fairies had given to the Earth a
new flower.
But by-and-by there came the amber light of morning,
and with the morning there came a tiny, tender breeze.
It rustled the oak-leaves softly upon the boughs, and
kissed the wood anemones with a gentle kiss. It bent
the heads of the grasses, and just ruffled the bosom of the
stream. And it shook the drooping heads of the blue-
bells, and, to the brownie's wonder and delight, out to
the whole of Fairy-land there sounded a sweet, faint chime.
Never was there such a chime before. Tender and
low and clear, it seemed an echo of the sky-fairies' own
song. And Brownie-land had its church-bells at last.
Little Mayblossom heard it, for she had taken her
head from under the red toadstool. And when she heard
it, she just ran straight to the spot where the brownie sat,
and put her arms round his neck and kissed him. And
then they sat, hand-in-hand, for the whole of the day,
doing nothing but listen to the sweet, wonderful chimes.
Well, they were married, and by-and-by the brownies
got used to the new music, and men and women got









Brownies and Rose-Leaves


used to the bluebells. But there was one person in the
world who had never in his short life seen the sweet,
nodding flower, and he was the little child by whose
cradle the brownie had found the sky-fairies.
And they were lis flowers, after all, his and his
mother's. Because the fairies, after they had planted the
bluebells, had heard a soft call from the dimly lit room;
and, flying swiftly back to it, had seen the mother's arms
stretched out to them, and the mother's face lifted wist-
fully up to their own. And they had taken her in their
arms, and floated with her out into the night, and carried
her away to the stars. And so the bluebells were her
birthday flowers.
And the baby in the cradle grew fat and rosy, and
crowed the whole day long. And presently his nurse
took away his long white robes, and dressed him in a
little soft frock with blue ribbons. And then that too
was taken away, and he was put into a quaint little skirt
with a blue sash, and wore a sailor hat, and learnt to
make mud-pies. And at last there came the proudest
day of all, when his fat little legs were put into knicker-
bockers, and his dimpled arms into a comical little sailor's
jacket.
"Bless him!" said nurse, fondly, looking at him with








The Story of the Bluebells 73

great satisfaction, and not seeming to notice that he
looked precisely as broad as he was long. "How proud
his dear mother would have been of him "
Archie-for that was the little fellow's name-glanced
up at the words. He often wanted to see his mother, and
whenever he asked for her they always told him she was
"up in the sky." To-day he asked another question, and
it was whether "the sky was such a very, very long
way off? "
"Yes, my dear, a very long way," nurse told him
sorrowfully.
Farther off than the top of the beech-trees ? Archie
wanted to know then, peeping up at the tall trees from
under his broad hat.
Yes, farther off than them; farther off even than the
chimneys of the big, grey house where he lived." And
when he heard that, he sighed a little, for he had had a
vague idea of finding the sky, and showing mother his
new clothes.
He was playing all alone in the garden that afternoon,
when the thought came back to him. He was tired, and
wanted to sit on somebody's lap, just as little Johnnie,
who lived opposite, sat on Mrs. Green's. He was sure
mother would have let him sit on her lap, instead of









Brownies and Rose Leaves


squatting, as he was doing, in the gardener's big wheel-
barrow, which was rather dirty and earwiggy. And while
he was thinking all this, he looked at the blue hills in
the distance, and saw, what he had never noticed before,
that the sky was lying right on the very top of
them.
What a fortunate thing, to be sure! He would go
away, all by himself, down the green lane, and would
climb up to the hilltops, and walk away over the sky,
until he had found mother. What a splendid plan! And
how pleased nurse would be that he had shown mother
his new clothes !
So he set his hat on the back of his head, and took
his little walking-stick-made from a green elder-stalk-
in his hand, and marched sturdily away out into the
spring-world. There were, oh, so many perils to be
passed First, there was a big doggie that would cough
at him, right down in its throat, and poor wee Archie
dared not run past it for ever so long. Then.there was a
large buzzing bee that he had to hide from, behind a
sprouting oak. Then there was a brown-eyed cow, that
moo'd at him. All that she really wanted was to be
milked, but Archie did not know that, and was very muc h
startled indeed. But at last he got right away from his








The Story of the Bluebells


troubles, down a sweet-smelling boggy green lane, that
led him to the foot of the woods.
The woods were on a hillside, and looked deliciously
cool and dark this warm spring day. Archie trotted away
into them, climbing with some difficulty over the trailing
roots. He was not afraid any more, not even when a big
spider came and stared him quite out of countenance.
He was going up, up, up the mossy hillside, and he
made sure that he should find the sky and mother at
the top.
Suddenly he stopped short, and gave a little shout of
joy. There, right in front of him, lay the gleaming blue,
stretching away as far as his eyes could see it. He had
found the sky at last, as he knew he would, lying sweet
and blue among the moss and tree-trunks at the top. of
the hill. Mother! mother! he shouted gleefully, and
stumbled and panted up the little pathway until his fbot
tripped, and he fell headlong into the soft bed of blue-
bells.
"Well," thought Archie, as he sat up and looked at
the sweet crushed flowers about him, "I-never guessed
the sky would be like this "
He filled his lap with bluebells as he sat there, and
laughed softly over his spoil. His baby-soul had for-









Brownies and Rose-Leaves


gotten for a moment about mother. And so he covered
himself with the tender blue flowers, and tossed them in
the net of sunlight that lay like a golden web about him.
And there, sitting among the bluebells, the brownies
found him.
They knew what he had come for, bless you The
brownies find out everything. And they were rather sad
at heart, because he must find out by-and-by that this
was not the sky at all, and that mother was very far
away. And little Mayblossom, who very often visited
the bluebells, quite cried when she thought of how
disappointed he would be.
She would try to lull him to sleep, she said, and
perhaps he might be found before morning. So she, and
her little husband, and everybody else in Brownie-land set
the bluebells ringing. And their chimes were so sweet
and soft and drowsy that they made a lullaby, and little
Archie listened to it, and nodded his head lower and
lower, until it sank right down upon the moss, and he
fell fast asleep.
But the brownies went on chiming the bluebells,
for they knew that the sky-fairies would hear the
echo, and would come to earth to see what was the
matter.









The Story of the Bluebells 77

And sure enough, when the moon peeped over the
hillside and laid her tender pale kisses on the cowslip
meadow below, the fairies floated silently down towards
the tree-tops, and stood upon the earth round about the
little sleeping child; while the bluebells hushed their
music as the brownies, in tender whispers, told little
Archie's tale.
And a deep tenderness came into the eyes of the sky-
fairies as they listened. And one of them, Archie's own
mother, took the child into her arms, and kissed the little
sleeping face. And then she spread out her shining white
wings and lifted him to her bosom, and flew away with
him over the tree-tops, down the boggy green lane, past
the buzzing bee and the dog that coughed right down
in its throat, and the gardener's wheelbarrow, and laid
him in his own little cot at home. And when she had
done this, she stooped again and kissed him, and went
back to the waiting elves.
"Are you not going to take him home with us?"
asked the sky-fairies wonderingly.
Archie's mother smiled, and shook her head.
"Not yet," she said, "for the bluebell's music has
sounded right down into his heart, and their beauty and
fragrance have crept into his soul. And he has their









Brownies and Rose-Leaves


message to give to the world. I have given him back
again to men, and to-- "
"And to whom ?" asked little Mayblossom.
"To Mother Carey," said the sky-fairy. "For until
he belongs to Mother Carey he can never belong to me."
The brownies did not quite understand all that; but
the sky-fairies did. And they sang a carol of gladness as
they flew away again to the stars.
And Archie one day grew into a strong man, and
believed in the brownies, as all sensible people do. And
not only did he believe in them, but he tried to teach the
world all about them. For were not the sky-fairies his
godmothers, and the church-bells of Fairy-land his birth-
day flowers ?

















May-Song


S ING a song of a May-day morning!
Trip the dance to a May-day tune !
Fresh and cool is the May-day morning,
Noontide heat will come all too soon!
May-thorn buds upon the hedges
Gleam like flakes of prisoned snow;
May-month flow'rs among the sedges
Nod their blossoms to and fro !
Fair, the light of it,
Sweet, the sight of it,
Fragrant May-day morning !


Swallows, 'mid the willows flying,
Seek a mate for the summer hours;
Ferns, against the hemlock lying,
Steal the dewdrops out of the flow'rs








82 Brownies and Rose-Leaves

Birds are bursting into singing ;
Diamonds sparkle on the lawn,
As the sun, his glory flinging,
Crowns with gold the May-day dawn !
Fair, the light of it,
Sweet, the sight of it,
Fragrant May-day morning !
















The Story of the Silver


Bowl

THE Lady Violetta was a Princess, very rich
and very beautiful. She had a King for a
father, and a Queen for a mother; a Duchess
for a governess, and a Lord High Chamberlain for a
history master; a Countess for a lady's maid, and an Earl
for a courier. She ought to have been as happy as the
day was long, and, instead of that, she was always crying
her eyes out about something or other.
She had so many toys that she did not know what to
do with them, so she spent an hour or two each day in
breaking them to pieces. She had so many picture-books
that she declared she hated them; and she tore them
every one to bits. And then she threw her battledore
and shuttlecock at the Lord High Chamberlain, hitting him
somewhat severely upon the nose, and went away into the








Brownies and Rose-Leaves


garden, declaring that the only nice things in the world
were the flowers.
Well, the Lord High Chamberlain went about his work
with a swollen nose, and Princess Violetta sat among the
flowers. She really did love them, and watered and
tended them very carefully. She often declared that they
were the only things that gave her any real pleasure.
But she was very cross to-day, and so what do you think
that foolish little Princess actually did ? She sat down in
the middle of the grass-plot, and cried as hard as ever she
could, because all the flowers did not bloom all the year
round, and so she could not gather snowdrops in June
and honeysuckle in December.
Well, she cried and screamed so loud that the brownies
heard her, and came running to see what was the matter.
Now, it was a very strange thing, but Lady Violetta loved
the flowers so very much that she was now and then
allowed to have a peep at the brownies as they Went
about their busy work. Funnily enough, this did
not make her good, as it should have done; because,
you see, she only loved the flowers for the pleasure
they gave to herself, and she had not yet learnt their
best lessons.
However, to-day the brownies made up their minds to








The Story of the Silver Bowl 85

try and help her; and, of course, they planned to do it in
their own way, which was the most original way possible.
They came creeping tenderly about her shoulders and
knees, and made themselves visible to her. That was the
first thing. And then, while she, touched and comforted
by their tenderness, caressed them softly, they told her
that they had heard her complaint, and would fulfil her
wishes.
"See here," said one, I have in my cap a tiny silver
bell. I will take it out and give it to you, and you must
put it in the sunniest window of your chamber, when it
will swell and grow into a great magic silver bowl. What-
ever flowers you put into it will retain their freshness and
fragrance for ever."
Well, the Princess was very much delighted. She
would now have every kind of flower in bloom all the
year round. And as she kissed and thanked the brownies,
she never noticed that they looked anxious and sad. So
she said good-bye to them very happily, and they promised
that, in a year's time, they would come back to her sight,
and would ask her how she liked her silver bowl. And
then they seemed to be gathered away into the hearts of
the roses and jessamine and lilies, and she saw them no
more.








86 Brownies and Rose-Leaves

So the Princess was left alone with her tiny silver bell.
And she carried it carefully up the broad marble staircase,
into her bedchamber, and laid it in the warmest, sun-
niest corner she could find. And then she sat down to
watch it grow. But, so long as she watched, nothing
happened, and at last she made up her mind that she
must be patient; and so she went away, and, in a fit of
repentance, tried to find some sticking-plaster for the
Lord High Chamberlain's nose.
And, no sooner had she gone, than the tiny silver bell
began to puff itself out tremendously. And it puffed and
swelled and grew bigger and bigger, and broader and
broader, until at last it had grown into a magnificent
silver bowl, the shape of a harebell, and filled with clear,
sweet, limpid dew.
Well, when the princess came back to look at it,
she broke out into a little cry of delight, and ran off
at full speed into the garden, tearing her beautiful
gold thread frock on the bushes as she went. And
she gathered a great nosegay of lilies and roses and
pansies and carnations, and all the most beautiful
summer flowers that grow. And she put their stalks
into the clear dew, and laid their sweet heads tenderly
against the sides of the silver bowl. And they








The Story of the Silver Bowl 87

seemed to grow bigger and brighter every time she
looked at them.
And the brownies' promise came quite true. No dead.
leaves drooped on the green stalks, no withered petals
lay about the fragrant hearts. The flowers were the
same, morning after morning, and night after night;
and the Princess never tired of smelling and looking
at them.
Presently she put great sprays of honeysuckle and
white sweet peas, and big pale anemones by their
side. And then fragrant stocks and plumy asters,
and dahlias that looked like folded satin pin-cushions.
And soon she twined trails of red autumn leaves about
the bowl, and brightened it with scarlet berries. And
then she placed in it a great bunch of chrysanthemums,
bronze and pink and crimson and white, and laid
maiden-hair fern over all. And at last she added great
snowy Christmas roses, and dark glistening holly and
yew.
That was on Christmas Eve, and that night, as the
Princess lay in bed, she had a strange dream. She
thought that Santa Claus came into the room, and stopped
short in amazement at the sight of the flowers in the big
silver bowl.








88 Brownies and Rose-Leaves

"Why, what are you doing here ?" he cried out to
them. "Why aren't you.asleep under the ground with
your brothers and sisters ?"
We-are obeying the wishes of the brownies," the roses
told him; "but we are very sad. We sigh for the summer
sunshine, and for the butterflies, for the soft breeze and
the little showers of rain. Our hearts are sorrowful and
weary in the winter snow. It dims our eyes and freezes
our souls. And we are tired of wakefulness, and want to
go to sleep."
We weep for the bees," whispered the violets, sadly.
"Our cups are full of honey, and there is nobody to ease
the burden. We have no green leaves to cover us, no
running stream to bring joy into our hearts; and when
the spring-time comes, we shall be tired with our long
vigil, and unable to rejoice with our companions in the
dawn-time of their life."
"We are lonely among the early flowers of summer,"
sighed the foxgloves. "We have only the trailing
leaves to sympathize with our needs. They alone can
understand how we pine for the free autumn wind to
toss our freckled cups, for the early frosts to spangle
our leaves; how we fain would once more watch
the herb-robert dying sweet and crimson in the hedge-








The Story of the Silver Bowl 89

rows, and the dormouse preparing her winter's nest.
We were not meant to lay our lips against the June
roses, nor to nod our ruddy bells over the pansies'
heads."
"Our comrades are passing away," murmured the
chrysanthemums. "We long to go with them into the
drowsy land of sleep. We want to gain strength for
next year, that we may bloom fairer than before. Some
of our buds lie still unfolded against our stalks, and
weigh heavily upon the tender leaves. Our season
is over, and we are weary because we may not pass
away."
Only the Christmas roses did not complain, but lifted
their pure white faces up to Santa Claus, and murmured,
"Peace on earth, good will towards men."
"Ay," said Santa Claus, softly, I see how it is."
And then he went up to the little Princess, and looked
down upon her as she slept.
"Child," he whispered, bending over her, "your poor
flowers are very sad."
The Princess sighed, and stirred uneasily in her sleep,
and he went on-
"They are blooming, bright and beautiful as ever, in
obedience to the wishes of the brownies; but they sigh








Brownies and Rose-Leaves


for the sun, for the breezes, for the showers, and for all the
things that give them birth and death. They are tired,
and they may not sleep. They are hungry and thirsty,
and the winter can give them no food. They are home-
sick, and you keep them here in a strange land. Will you
not lay your own wishes on one side, for the sake of the
little tender flowers that do so much for an ungrateful
world ?"
The clock struck twelve as he spoke, and he went to
the window and. drew aside the curtain.
See! he said; "Christmas is flying, swift and white,
to the world."
And Christmas stepped on to the earth that very
moment, and came straight into the Princess's heart. And
she tumbled out of her warm little bed, and ran straight
to her magic bowl. And then she gathered up all the
flowers into her hands, and gave them to Santa Claus.
All except the Christmas roses, and they bloomed bigger
and sweeter than ever.
"Take them," said the Princess, breathlessly; "take
them back to their homes. I will give them to you for a
Christmas gift."
And Santa Claus smiled, well pleased, and, as he laid
the lilies and carnations and asters against his white








The Story of the Silver Bowl 9

bosom, they faded quietly away, and left nothing but the
perfume hanging about the room.
"See! they have gone already," he said, smiling, "as
soon as you released them from the bowl."
"Who took them ?" asked the Princess.
And Santa Claus had just time to whisper, "Mother
Carey," before he too faded away.
Well, the Princess awoke on Christmas morning, and
peeped out from under her eider-down quilt. The room
was full of toys. Dolls stared at her from every chair. A
great big rocking-horse swung slowly up and down in the
middle of the room. Silken skipping-ropes hung over the
bed-posts, and coloured balls were tied to the rails.
Santa Claus had brought her so many beautiful things
that, as usual, she wondered what in the world she should
do with them.
She slipped quietly out of bed, and went through the
toys to her magic silver bowl. Yes, it was empty, all
except the Christmas roses, and they floated on the
dew, pure and spreading, like water-lilies upon a quiet
stream. The Princess looked at them, and felt rather
sad. But there' was a great gladness in her heart all
the same. She had learnt the real lesson of the
Christmas joy.








Brownies and Rose-Leaves


The Lord High Chamberlain couldn't imagine what
had come over his little mistress. She was so gentle all
that day, so sweet and quiet; and she had quite left off
throwing her battledores and shuttlecocks at his head. She
only broke one toy to pieces, too, and that was a dancing
plush monkey, and, as she explained, she really did want
to know what it had got inside. In fact, she was so good,
that the King and Queen were. sure she must be ill, and
sent off in great haste for the Court physician, and his box
of pills.
The Court physician wore a white wig, and a great
gold and scarlet hat, and he arrived in a coach drawn by
four horses. And he stumped up the stairs with his ivory
cane, and felt the Princess's pulse, and looked at her
tongue, and said Ha! a very great many times, and
" Hem !" occasionally. And at every symptom mentioned
by the Queen, he nodded his head, as much as to say that
he knew much more about it than she did. And at last
the little Princess, who felt perfectly well, and only wanted
to begin to be goodfquite forgot all her resolutions, and
threw the remains of the plush monkey right into his face;
and they went into his eyes, and made him cry big tears;
and up his nose, and made him sneeze several times in
succession; and down his throat, and made him cough








The Story of the Silver Bowl 93

until he didn't know whether he were on his head or his
heels. So he went home, and put his feet into hot
mustard and water, and went to bed for a week. But the
King and Queen were happy, for now they were quite sure
that the little Princess was in her customary state of
health.
By-and-by, however, the Princess began to feel sorry.
She had had such a peaceful feeling at her heart, ever
since she had given Santa Claus the flowers out of
the great silver bowl. And directly she had thrown
the plush monkey at the Court physician, the old dis-
content had come back again. She wanted to feel
good. She didn't so much want to be good as to feel
good. You see, the little Princess had still a very great
deal to learn.
However, she had a suspicion that the peaceful feeling
was the result of having given the flowers to Santa Claus.
And, as she did so long to get it back again, she began
giving away her things, right and left! She gave her
best wax doll to the Lord High Cha'rerlain, and all the
skipping-ropes to her grandmother, who was bedridden.
She presented a stately Duchess with the rocking-
horse, and offered a Punch and Judy show to the
General of the army. She insisted upon her old nurse








Brownies and Rose-Leaves


accepting a toy bow-and-arrows, and pressed an A B C
picture-book upon the Court fiddler, who was blind. She
gave her nicest ball-frock to the baby, and sent her nine-


pins to the Court physician, by Parcels Post. She fed
a little ragged girl with ice-cream and bonbons, and
insisted on sending her share of the Christmas plum-








The Story of the Silver Bowl 95

pudding to a poor dying man. And altogether she did
her very best to turn the world upside down.
But she did not feel very happy. You see, she was
still thinking of herself. The only time she had not
thought of herself was the moment when she had given
Santa Claus the flowers. She hadn't wanted to feel happy
then; she had only wished to give happiness to the
flowers.
And a proof that she was still thinking of herself was
that she went on filling the great silver bowl. She kept
the Christmas roses in the dew, and put a handful of
snowdrops to them by-and-by. Then she added white
jonquils, and yellow-eyed narcissus, and Lenten lilies.
And presently filled up the corner with sweet violets,
and primroses tender and pale, like forgotten stars.
And then came the time of daffodils, and the drooping
golden heads were more beautiful than the shining silver
of the bowl. And she twisted among them blue forget-
me-nots, and purple lilac, and laburnum like golden rain.
And then she added meadowsweet, and pearly white
may, and little early tender rosebuds. And the summer.
sun shone in at the window, and laid warm kisses upon
the flowers.
And again the Princess had a wonderful dream.








Brownies and Rose-Leaves


It was Midsummer Eve, and the fairies were all abroad.
And they came about the little bed of the Princess as it
stood right in a silver streak of moonlight, and they laid
their magic touch upon her eyelids. And she opened her
eyes and saw that somebody was in the room.
Who was it that stood there with star-bound hair and
soft green gown, with roses about her trailing garments,
and hands outstretched in loving, tender greeting? She
was a woman, but her eyes and lips were the eyes and lips
of Santa Claus; and the little Princess held out her arms
to her, and whispered, "You have come back ? "
"I heard the snowdrops weeping," said the Spirit, in
grave sweet tones. "I heard the Christmas roses pleading
for dark- and quiet. I listened to the primroses crying
pitifully for the green moss and the budding elms and the
lark's spring song. And I came to plead for my little
children."
"Are you Mother Carey?" asked the Princess,
breathlessly. Take them; they are yours."
She tumbled out of bed just as she had done on
Christmas Eve, and took the flowers in. her little trembling
hands and laid them upon the Spirit's breast. And a
long contented sigh echoed through the room, as they
faded away.




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