• TABLE OF CONTENTS
HIDE
 Front Cover
 Half Title
 Frontispiece
 Title Page
 Preface
 Table of Contents
 List of Illustrations
 The snow garden
 Who is master?
 The field of the lost tempers
 The astrologer
 The creaking door
 Seeing the kingfisher
 Burning one's luck
 The rocking-horse
 Sir Dugald
 The changeling
 Advertising
 Back Matter
 Back Cover
 Spine






Group Title: The snow garden : and other fairy tales for children
Title: The snow garden
CITATION THUMBNAILS PAGE TURNER PAGE IMAGE ZOOMABLE
Full Citation
STANDARD VIEW MARC VIEW
Permanent Link: http://ufdc.ufl.edu/UF00083209/00001
 Material Information
Title: The snow garden and other fairy tales for children
Physical Description: vi, 2, 267, 1 p., 10 leaves of plates : ill. ; 19 cm.
Language: English
Creator: Wordsworth, Elizabeth, 1840-1932
Haddon, Trevor ( Illustrator )
Longmans, Green, and Co ( Publisher )
Spottiswoode & Co ( Printer )
Publisher: Longmans, Green, and Co.
Place of Publication: London ;
New York
Manufacturer: Spottiswoode & Co.
Publication Date: 1895
 Subjects
Subject: Children -- Conduct of life -- Juvenile fiction   ( lcsh )
Conduct of life -- Juvenile fiction   ( lcsh )
Children's stories   ( lcsh )
Children's stories -- 1895   ( lcsh )
Publishers' advertisements -- 1895   ( rbgenr )
Fantasy literature -- 1895   ( rbgenr )
Bldn -- 1895
Genre: Children's stories
Publishers' advertisements   ( rbgenr )
Fantasy literature   ( rbgenr )
novel   ( marcgt )
Spatial Coverage: England -- London
United States -- New York -- New York
 Notes
Statement of Responsibility: by Elizabeth Wordsworth ; with illustrations by Trevor Haddon.
General Note: Publisher's advertisements follow text.
 Record Information
Bibliographic ID: UF00083209
Volume ID: VID00001
Source Institution: University of Florida
Rights Management: All rights reserved by the source institution and holding location.
Resource Identifier: aleph - 002240057
notis - ALJ0600
oclc - 07617417

Table of Contents
    Front Cover
        Front Cover 1
        Front Cover 2
    Half Title
        Page i
    Frontispiece
        Page ii
    Title Page
        Page iii
        Page iv
    Preface
        Page v
        Page vi
    Table of Contents
        Page vii
    List of Illustrations
        Page viii
    The snow garden
        Page 1
        Page 2
        Page 3
        Page 4
        Page 5
        Page 6
        Page 7
        Page 8
        Page 9
        Page 10
        Page 10a
        Page 11
        Page 12
        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
        Page 27
        Page 28
        Page 29
        Page 30
        Page 31
        Page 32
        Page 33
        Page 34
        Page 35
        Page 36
        Page 37
        Page 38
        Page 39
    Who is master?
        Page 40
        Page 41
        Page 42
        Page 42a
        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 field of the lost tempers
        Page 59
        Page 60
        Page 61
        Page 62
        Page 63
        Page 64
        Page 65
        Page 66
        Page 67
        Page 68
        Page 69
        Page 70
        Page 71
        Page 72
        Page 73
        Page 74
        Page 74a
        Page 75
        Page 76
        Page 77
        Page 78
        Page 79
        Page 80
        Page 81
    The astrologer
        Page 82
        Page 83
        Page 84
        Page 85
        Page 86
        Page 87
        Page 88
        Page 89
        Page 90
        Page 91
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        Page 107
        Page 108
        Page 109
        Page 110
        Page 111
        Page 112
        Page 113
        Page 114
    The creaking door
        Page 115
        Page 116
        Page 116a
        Page 117
        Page 118
        Page 119
        Page 120
        Page 121
        Page 122
        Page 123
        Page 124
        Page 125
        Page 126
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        Page 128
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        Page 133
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        Page 146
        Page 147
        Page 148
        Page 149
        Page 150
        Page 151
        Page 152
        Page 153
    Seeing the kingfisher
        Page 154
        Page 155
        Page 156
        Page 157
        Page 158
        Page 159
        Page 160
        Page 161
        Page 162
        Page 162a
        Page 163
        Page 164
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        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
    Burning one's luck
        Page 197
        Page 198
        Page 199
        Page 200
        Page 201
        Page 202
        Page 203
        Page 204
        Page 205
        Page 206
        Page 207
        Page 208
        Page 209
        Page 210
        Page 211
        Page 212
        Page 212a
        Page 213
    The rocking-horse
        Page 214
        Page 215
        Page 216
        Page 216a
        Page 217
        Page 218
        Page 219
        Page 220
        Page 221
        Page 222
        Page 223
        Page 224
        Page 225
        Page 226
        Page 227
        Page 228
        Page 229
        Page 230
        Page 231
    Sir Dugald
        Page 232
        Page 233
        Page 234
        Page 235
        Page 236
        Page 237
        Page 238
        Page 238a
        Page 239
        Page 240
        Page 241
        Page 242
        Page 243
        Page 244
        Page 245
        Page 246
        Page 247
        Page 248
        Page 249
    The changeling
        Page 250
        Page 251
        Page 252
        Page 253
        Page 254
        Page 255
        Page 256
        Page 257
        Page 258
        Page 258a
        Page 259
        Page 260
        Page 261
        Page 262
        Page 263
        Page 264
        Page 265
        Page 266
        Page 267
    Advertising
        Page 268
    Back Matter
        Page 269
    Back Cover
        Back Cover 1
        Back Cover 2
    Spine
        Spine
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FAIRY TALES FOR CHILDREN


























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AN OLD MAN IN A BLACK FURRED MANTLE.


See fage 91.


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THE SNOW GARDEN



AND OTHER FAIRY TALES FOR CHILDREN




BY

ELIZABETH WORDSWORTH
AUTHOR OF 'THOUGHTS FOR THE CHIMINEY-CORNER' ETC.




Oh give us once again the wishing cap
Of Fortunatus, and the invisible coat
Of Jack the Giant-killer, Robin Hood,
And Sabra in the forest with St. George!
The child, whose love is here, at least doth reap
One precious gain, that he forgets himself.
PRELUDE, Bk. V.




WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY TREVOR HIADDON






LONDON

LONGMANS, GREEN, AND CO
AND NEW YORK

1895


All rights reserved















PREFACE


THERE were once some little boys who had
the whooping-cough, and found the days
rather long. They covered the floor of the
room with newspaper boats ; they made yards
and yards of 'gas-piping,' also of newspaper;
they painted texts and other things, but still
the days seemed rather long. So one of
their aunts used to come in and sit by the
fire after tea, and tell them fairy tales.
Some of these fairy tales are printed here,1
and perhaps may amuse other little boys and
girls who have whooping-cough, or mumps,
or even measles. One can hardly expect
children who have so many wise and clever
books of history and other useful subjects, to
I Others appeared formerly in Aunt Judy's Magazine.







PREFACE


care for such nonsense when they are well
and able to do school work; but perhaps
when they do not feel quite equal to reading
anything very important or improving, they
may like to come and sit on the hearth-rug
by the fire and fancy themselves in fairy land
for a few moments. It is not a bad place,
and after all there is something to be learnt
there, as well as in the lesson books.
Children who cannot learn when at play will
not learn to very much purpose when they
are at work; and the spot where these few
lines are written, reminding us grown-up
people of the delightful tales and legends
which charmed us when we were young,
seems not an unsuitable one for wishing
that the rising generation, among its many
gains, may not lose in that imaginative
power, without which material comforts go
a very little way to making life worth living
whether for rich or poor.
E. W.


MELROSE: Azgzrtlst 13, 1895.


























CONTENTS


THE SNOW GARDEN

WHO IS MASTER?

THE FIELD OF THE LOST TEMPERS

THE ASTROLOGER

THE CREAKING DOOR

'SEEING THE KINGFISHER'

BURNING ONE'S LUCK .

THE ROCKING-HORSE

SIR DUGALD

THE CHANGELING


PAGE
I


40

S 59

82

S .

* 154

1 '97

214

S 232

250

























LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS


AN OLD MAN IN A BLACK FURRED MANTLE .

A PAGE CAME TRIPPING ACROSS THE MARKET-PLACE

'O CLOCK, I WISH I WERE YOU '

HIS MOTHER GAVE THEM THEIR SUPPER

A MOST BEAUTIFUL LITTLE WHITE KITTEN

IN HER ARMS LAY THE OTHIIER BABY

A KNIGHT IN COMPLETE ARMOUR .

'MY MASTER AND MISTRESS ARE EXPECTING YOU,
SIR'

A GIRL CAME OUT TO THEM .

MR. PINCH, THE COBBLER .


Frollispiece

to face p. II

S 42

S 75

117

S 163

212



S 216

239

,, 258
















THE SNOW GARDEN


THERE was once a cottage among the hills in
which a young girl lived with her father. You
cannot imagine a lonelier-looking place than it
was. Below it the road went in a kind of steep
zigzag to the valley. Above rose the cold solitary
mountain peaks covered with snow, and above
them the pale wintry sky, and just now a few stars
were beginning to peep out as Myra, for that was
her name, took her last look before barring the
door and settling herself and her father comfort-
ably down to supper. She had cooked an egg
apiece and some bacon, for her father and herself,
and that, with some rye-bread and milk, was all
they had between them. It was so nice indoors, the
father thought, with this handy little maid to wait
on him. 'It is so nice indoors,' Myra thought,
'now I have got father back again.' She had
poked the fire, pulled down her sleeves, shaken up
the cushion in her father's chair, and they were just








THE SNOW GARDEN


beginning to be snug and comfortable when she
thought she heard an odd noise outside the
door.
'Only a fox sniffing out our nice supper,' the
father said. 'They get very bold in these hard
winters.'
Myra sat down and began cutting the loaf.
Still somehow she did not think that it was a fox
outside. Again the noise-it sounded like some
one hurt. She put down her knife and ran and
listened. Father, may I just open the door a
crack ? she said, half hoping he would say No, for
she was rather timid.
'Well, if you like; only be quick, the wind cuts
so against my teeth.'
She opened the door and was surprised to find
what seemed like a great heavy bundle lying
against it. It moved. Why, it is actually an old
woman! How ill and helpless she seems Father,
will you help drag her in ?'
They dragged her in and fastened the door as
quickly as they could. Such a poor old woman !
too weak or too benumbed to stand. The snow as
it melted in front of the fire ran off her in little
watery streams. Myra had to get a cloth and mop
it off the floor.








THE SNOW GARDEN


'She is faint,' said the father. Give her a little
warm milk.'
Myra did so, and then thought, 'I wonder
if she would like a taste of my poached egg. To
be sure, there is not another in the house ; but never
mind for once in a way.' And very soon the old
lady had not only finished the egg, but the nice
frizzling bit of bacon too. 'Well,' thought Myra,
' I wish she'd talk to us a little.' So, by way of
making conversation, she asked her if she felt more
comfortable.
'Jabber, jabber, jabber,' the old woman began
to answer in some foreign language which neither
her host nor hostess had ever heard.
'Dear me!' thought Myra, 'that's French, I
suppose. Well, we must make signs. Father, I
think I can give her my bed just for to-night.'
And where will you sleep, lassie ?'
'Oh, here in front of the hearth, if you will lend
me your great coat.'
'Why,' said her father, looking slyly at her, I
thought you were far too much afraid of the big
goblin to do that.'
Oh, no,' said Myra, getting red ; at least, I'll
try not to be. I dare say he won't hurt me.'
I dare say not,' said her father, laughing.
132








TIE SNOW GARDEN


And they both began to make signs to the old
woman that it was time to go upstairs.
She was so stupid about understanding. Myra
had to lie down on the floor and shut her eyes and
pretend to snore before they could get it into her
mind at all that she was to go to bed. At last,
with a great deal of help, she got upstairs, and then
Myra undressed her and tried to smooth her rough
untidy grey hair. When she took off her ragged
old handkerchief, what was her surprise to see that
the old woman had got hidden under it a beautiful
gold chain shining like the stars in heaven !
'This is very dreadful,' thought Myra; I am
sure she must be a thief.' And she looked so
shocked that the old woman began a long sentence
which seemed meant for some sort of explanation,
but it was all 'Jabber, jabber, jabber,' as before.
However, she seemed quite pleased to see her
pillow and nice clean sheets, and gave Myra a pat
on the back-her way of showing affection-as she
got into bed.
The father had gone to his room, but as she
went by he put his head and his shirt sleeves out to
say Good night, lassie, and don't be afraid of the
goblin ; I am sure he won't hurt a good girl like
you.'







THE SNOW GARDEN


Still Myra felt rather shy when she got down-
stairs. There was a sort of red glow in the room
like an oven, and everything was so still, and her
father's great coat did look so odd, especially the
sleeves, as it hung over the back of his chair.
Presently outside there was a sound as of some-
thing sliding and falling on to the ground. It was
only a heavy lump of snow dropping from the
roof. What a silly little coward I am !' thought
Myra. Now I won't be silly any more. Here, you
nice old great coat, come and be father's arms
round me. Good night, father, I am going to
sleep with my head on your shoulder.' And she
did go to sleep; and she never saw the goblin.
My own notion is that he came and felt very
cross to see a young girl in his comfortable place.
But the crickets on the hearth chirped to him and
told him what a nice kind thing she had done, and
he understood them quite well and did not disturb
her, but went and sat close to the door all night to
keep the frost out.
When Myra woke in the morning the fire was
still smouldering, and with a little coaxing soon
burnt up. She washed and dressed, and put on the
kettle, and met her father just as he was coming
downstairs.







THE SNOW GARDEN


'Well, have you seen the old lady this morning ?'
he said.
No, father, I am just going now.'
She went and tapped gently at the door. No
answer. She listened. The slow breathing of
some one asleep was all that could be heard.
'Well, father, if you do not mind we will have
our breakfast first, and I can take her up a basin of
porridge when we have done.'
They. had their breakfast, and then Myra,
with a steaming basin of porridge in her hand,
again went upstairs. She knocked. No answer.
She opened the door, and was so amazed at
what she saw that she tumbled down, porridge
and all. The old woman had turned into a most
beautiful fairy, dressed in silks and satins and
diamonds, and with the starry gold chain round
her neck.
I do not wonder that you are surprised to see
me, Myra,' said she, 'but I could not leave the
cottage without thanking you and your father for
what you did for the poor old gipsy whose form I
wore last night. But first of all we must set
this right.' And she stooped down and touched the
broken porridge pot, which immediately turned
into an exquisite porcelain bowl full of strawberries







THE SNOW GARDEN


and cream. 'Let us take this down for your
father's breakfast,' said she.
'Let me go first, please, my majesty,' said Myra,
who had an idea that this was the proper way of
speaking to a queen, just as you say my lady or my
lord, 'and I will warn my father, or he will be
frightened.' So she skipped downstairs and told
him that the fairy was coming; and he had not
time to laugh at her much, for in another minute
the fairy was in the room and told him she had
come to reward him and his daughter for their
kindness.
'Myra,' she said, 'put on your hood and come
out with me. I am not going to carry her to
Fairyland,' she said, smiling, to the father, but
only for a little walk. She shall return in an hour.
Now, Myra, don't forget to bring a basket with you.'
Myra had on a nice little blue flannel hood and
a grey rabbit-skin tippet, and, with her basket on
her arm, was quite ready to follow the fairy. It
was a cold crisp morning. There were the marks
of a fox's feet on the snow, but no human footsteps.
A robin was hovering about the window, and a
flock of wild ducks might be seen in the distance.
'You must not mind a little scramble,' the
fairy said. 'Follow wherever I go.'







THE SNOW GARDEN


Myra was a brave mountaineer, and had no
fear of the steepest places. They seemed to be
going far up among the lonely mountain peaks.
A little waterfall, not frozen yet, tinkled down the
rock, above which some withered bracken bent
under its weight of snow. There was a birch tree
springing from among the crevices.
You must creep in here,' said the fairy.
All at once, beneath the shade of the rock, she
saw a little door, which the fairy opened.
Come in, Myra, come in ; this is my garden,'
she said.
A most dazzling sight it was. No more snow,
no more cold. Myra could not bear her grey fur
tippet, the place was so warm and bright and
summerlike. It is quite impossible to describe
the beauty of this garden. Green turf, where
cistuses dropped their delicate flowers; walks shaded
by clustering roses ; fountains with water-lilies and
blue forget-me-nots; lattice-work covered with vines,
where the ripe grapes were hanging thick and
juicy ; peach trees, pear trees, figs with their shady
cool green leaves, white marble benches, statues
more beautiful than life, orange trees. In a word,
fancy the most delightful garden you have ever
seen, and then remember this was at least a







THE SNOW GARDEN


hundred times better than that, and you will have
some idea of this fairy place.
Myra stood too confounded to say a word.
The fairy smiled and made her sit down by her on
one of the white marble benches, and gave her a
delicious bunch of grapes to eat.
'How shall I ever be able to tell father about
all this ?' said Myra.
I am going to give you leave to come here
whenever you please,' said the fairy, 'and, you see,
I have told you to bring your basket that you may
take away with you some of this fruit and these
flowers. You may give them to any one you like
but, mind, I shall be very much displeased if you
sell them. Now you may leave me ; but before you
go, take this little golden key, and mind you keep
it safe. Farewell! I hope you will always remain
as good and kind as you were to me yesterday.'
And so saying the fairy opened the door of the
beautiful garden and let Myra out.
She felt like one in a dream as she emerged
into the old snowy chilly everyday world. How-
ever, by the time she reached home she had got
more used to these wonders, and was able to tell
her father all her adventures.
'And so you mayn't sell them!' said he.







THE SNOW GARDEN


' What a pity! We might have both of us made
our fortunes.'
0 father, I am sure we are very happy as we
are. See, I have put aside one little bunch of
grapes, and this handful of roses, and you are to
have all the rest, please. Only I thought when I
go to market this afternoon I would just take those
few to that poor Edmund who, they say, can never
get well again. His grandmother can hardly buy
bread for him, much .less anything nice.' So she
went to market with her butter and eggs.
She was rather late in getting there, and most
of the good housekeepers had already made their
purchases. I wish you could see the marketplace;
it was so old and curious, with a cloister running
along one side of it, and a fountain in the middle
made in the shape of a great bronze bear. She
was very fond of this bear, and always wished she
could give him some of her nice things. He must
be so tired of standing with his neck stretched out
and nothing but cold water rushing out of his great
open gurgling throat. For though there were ice and
snow on the mountain side, it had all disappeared
in the town, which was warm and sheltered.
Presently a carriage rolled up and stopped in
front of the arches, not far from her stall. A page




















-L--
L~ ?




I -. t ;2
.kf. *i k


A PAGE CAME TRIPPING ACROSS THE MARKET PLACE.







THE SNOW GARDEN


in a scarlet and gold coat came tripping across the
marketplace.
You're to come and speak to the ladies in that
coach,' he said, 'and bring your basket with you.'
Two very grand ladies were in the coach
The elder of the two leaned forward. 'I see, my
good girl, you have got some nice fruit there, and
flowers too. I have not seen any so wonderfully
forward this year. I'll take them all.'
I am sorry, madam, but they are not to be
sold. My eggs and butter are, if you care for
them.'
The lady answered rather stiffly, 'Thank you,
but I leave things of that kind to my house-
keeper.'
Myra curtsied and was going away. The
lady added, 'I will make it worth your while to
let me have those grapes. Name your own price,
and here it is for you.'
'I have no price, ma'am. These grapes are
going for a present to some one who is ill.'
'Some one who is ill?' said the other lady.
'But the duchess-this lady here-wants them
for some one who is ill also.'
Yes,' said the duchess, I have a son who has
quite lost his appetite. He can fancy nothing, but







THE SNOW GARDEN


he told me this morning he thought he could eat
a little fruit. And now won't you let me have the
only thing that would do him good? I have
hunted all the morning over the town in vain.'
I am very sorry, but if your ladyship could
wait till to-morrow I will try and bring a few.'
'And not to-night ?' said the duchess.
'I wish I could; but I do not see how I can,'
sighed Myra. 'But the very first thing to-morrow
morning I will bring them to your house if you
will tell me where it is.'
It is that house just beyond the bridge-that
big one with the tower. Now mind you don't
forget, for I want them very particularly indeed.'
Good evening, then, ladies. I will be sure and
come to-morrow.' And Myra took her leave.
After a little while she was so lucky as to sell
her eggs and butter, and then she left the market-
place, and went her way through some of the back
streets to a place where the stables of some of the
nobility were. You could see the beautiful horses
being rubbed down after their day's work, and the
grooms putting away their blue and silver or
gold and crimson harness, for in that country
horses had handsome plumes on their foreheads,
and little tinkling bells to their bridles, and were








THE SNOW GARDEN


altogether of more consequence than they are here.
Still it was not a very pleasant walk. The men
looked at her so, and one asked if she would not
give him a flower to stick in his buttonhole; and
she was glad when she got to the dark little room
where poor Edmund lived with his old grand-
mother.
Poor Edmund was indeed very much to be
pitied. He had had a fall and hurt himself two
or three years before, and had got something the
matter with his side which seemed to make him
every day weaker and weaker. The room in which
he lived with his grandmother was so low and dark,
that when you first went in you could only see
something white at one end, which when you had
looked a little longer turned out to be the cover-
let that was over him. Then you made out a very
thin face on the pillow, and his eyes and mouth
smiling at you. Myra often went to see him. The
old grandmother used to grumble about the hard
times and the better days she had seen, but he never
did. This particular afternoon she was out washing,
so Edmund was doubly glad of a visitor.
'How are you, Edmund ? though I am ashamed
to ask you that question so often.'
'Quite well enough to be glad to see you! I








THE SNOW GARDEN


wonder sometimes what I shall do if I am ever too
ill to say that.'
'I was going to say how dull you must be by
yourself, but you don't look dull. How do you
amuse yourself all day ? '
'Why, when my head does not ache, which it
luckily does not to-day, I get on very well. I have
been inventing a great machine for improving the
inside of a watermill so as to make it able to sift the
flour after it has ground it. Look here, this is the big
wheel, and this bit joins on to it, and--- Have
you got a bit of thread anywhere to fasten these
two pieces of paper together ? Thank you Now
I think you will understand '-and he put a sort of
little model on the bedclothes. 'Steady, steady,
you rickety old thing !'
Myra looked at the plan and wished she could
understand it. It was so hard for him to have to
explain with that bad cough. All she could do
was to listen and say Yes,' and Thank you,' and
'Really,' and look very attentively at it.
Well, that is clever of you, Edmund. I wonder
how long it took you to do.'
Oh, I used often to think of it before I was
ill. Do you remember, when we were little,
how we used to play by the millpond, and the








THE SNOW GARDEN


way the wheel used to groan all day as if it
thought people gave it too much work ? I used
often to peep inside the mill-I don't think you
ever cared to-and I remember exactly the look
of it all.'
'What a fortunate thing it is that you have
such a good memory !'
'Well, I don't know-I should like to forget some
things. Sometimes it seems as if all the ugly
people I had ever seen would keep coming into my
head one after another. That is when I have what
granny calls one of my topsy-turvy nights. Poor
old granny I am glad she is so deaf, or I should
disturb her a great deal more than I do. Now,
Myra, let me have a good look at you, and perhaps
I shall dream about you instead.'
See here,' said Myra, 'this is much better worth
looking at.' And she held up her basket.
'Oh!' said Edmund. 'Oh!' does not sound
much, but you know there are such different ways
of saying Oh!'
'Now open your mouth and take your pill, and
I will show you the doctor's skill,' she said, drop-
ping a grape between his lips.
'Those are something like grapes, indeed,' said
Edmund.







THE SNOW GARDEN


'Another ?'
Oh Myra, where did you get them from ?'
Ah, that I can't tell you,' said Myra, laughing
and turning very red.
Edmund frowned, and looked rather vexed;
but luckily at that moment the grandmother came
in, and Myra held up the roses to her.
'Those for us ?' said the old lady, hobbling
slowly in. 'Well, I never saw the like. I was
just outside doing a bit of washing, and I did not
hear ye come in. Sit down, lassie, sit down. Ah,
what's that ye say-going ? I'm afraid he is, poor
lad-going very fast.'
'No, granny, I meant I must be going. The
evenings close in so quickly, don't they?'
'And you walking all that way back by your-
self. I wonder ye're not afraid.'
I wish I could walk and take care of you,' said
Edmund, with a sigh.
I wish you could; but I shall try and think
about your plan of the mill all the way home, and
father will be looking out for me at the other end,'
said Myra, laughing and kissing her hand to them
both in the doorway. Good night !'
There's a brave lass for you,' said the old lady
as she closed the door.








THE SNOW GARDEN


But I wonder who gave her those grapes,' said
Edmund, almost to himself.
The next morning Myra visited the Snow
Garden again. It had lost none of its loveliness;
the fountains and fruit and flowers were as delight-
ful as ever, and she had more time to admire the
beautiful white marble statuary. It would take
too long to describe, and you can fancy the cupids
and dolphins and tritons and nymphs for your-
self. But one thing that struck her most was a
dark grove of cedars, and in the very midst of it,
on a broad low pedestal, a figure of a woman. She
Swas kneeling with her hands chained to a pillar,
her face bowed down, and her beautiful hair droop-
ing in long waves like a mantle over her shoulders.
On the pedestal were carved these words : 'T T HE
GREATEST CONQUEROR.'
Long did Myra linger in that grove and wonder
what the statue's history could be. Was it a
woman who had done something wrong ? Very
Wicked she could not have been, she looked so
young, so innocent, and yet so sad.
By the statue among the cedars you could hear
the coo-cooing of a dove ; the bird itself was in-
visible, but the pathetic voice seemed just what the
: statue's would have been if it had not been stone.








THE SNOW GARDEN


From a neighboring rock waters dripped slowly,
drop by drop, into a stone basin, and then, as it
were, wept themselves away into a little silent
stream that trickled through the grass. All this took
a strong hold upon Myra- more than the dazzling
beauty of the sunny lawn. But she remembered
that it was time for her to pick her roses and gather
her grapes. After that she went to the duchess's
palace in the town.
Her Grace wishes to see you upstairs,' said the
footman, and he led the way into the duchess's
private apartment. One corner of it seemed
parted off from the rest, and there, in an easy-
chair, sat a pale handsome young man. He
just turned his head when Myra entered. She
curtsied.
'Oh, here she is,' said the duchess. Well, my
good girl, I expected you earlier. The marquis
could not touch his breakfast this morning. Bring
your basket this way. There, Astolfo, what do
you think of those ?'
I don't think anything about them,' said he.
'What is one to think about in grapes ? I dare say
they are all very well, mother, if I cared for such
things.'
'But, my boy, you must take one or two








THE SNOW GARDEN


to please me. Are not his fingers shockingly
thin ? Did you ever see such fingers?' she
added in a half-whisper to Myra. 'Such a con-
trast to your comfortable brown hands. I 'am
sure you never saw any one so thin before, did
you ?'
'I do know one person, only one, your ladyship;
but then he is really dreadfully ill,' said Myra.
' Ie has not left his bed for three years.' And she
went on talking about Edmund's illness till she
suddenly recollected they must think her very
forward, and stopped short.
That must be a bad complaint,' observed the
duchess. Now my son the marquis has nothing
the matter with him that the doctors can lay their
fingers upon. The heart is right, they say, and the
lungs, and the brain, and everything. I think it is
worse to be ill of nothing, if you know what I
mean, than of something.'
'A person is waiting with your Grace's court
dress,' said a servant who came in.
'I will come at once,' said the duchess. I
shall not be long, Astolfo.'
'You need not go till my mother comes back,'
said the marquis. 'Tell me a little more about,
this poor boy. You can sit down if you like.'








THE SNOW GARDEN


Myra saw that he wanted amusing, and besides
was very glad to have a chance of putting in a
word for Edmund.
'You know,' said Astolfo, 'my mother has not
paid you yet for the flowers and fruit, so of course
you must wait till she comes back.'
'Thank you, sir, but they are a present. I
don't want to be paid.'
I never heard of such a thing,' said he. 'Well,
if you won't take money you must let us give you
a present in our turn. Look here'-and he took out
of his pocket a beautiful little bracelet. I had this
bracelet made to give to a young lady, but---I
can't tell you all the history. In short, you can
have it if you like.'
'But that would be a sort of paying,' said
Myra. 'I should not like to take it.'
You must let me do something. I am too
proud to take a favour from you.'
'My lord,' answered Myra, 'if you really are so
kind, I think the best thing would be if you could
give poor Edmund a little help with his machine.
It is to improve the inside of watermills. I can't
quite tell you how, but this little drawing he made
of it the other day will perhaps show you.' And
she produced the drawing, and found the young








THE SNOW GARDEN


marquis much cleverer than she was in under-
standing it.
It is really very good,' he said; 'but I don't
think this piece can be quite right.'
'I wish I were not so stupid,' said Myra. If
Edmund were here, he would be able to explain it
all in a minute.'
'How far off does he live ?'
'About five minutes' walk from the royal
stables. It is not a nice place : I think your lord-
ship would hardly like to go there.'
You have been there?'
Oh yes, sir, hundreds of times.'
'And do you think I am such a coward as to
mind going anywhere where you can venture?'
I beg your lordship's pardon,' said Myra,
blushing.
The young marquis wanted to apologise in his
turn, but just then the duchess entered, and he
told her what he was wishing to do. She made a
good many difficulties, but, seeing how eager he
was about it, at last yielded and promised they
should drive there the next day.
'And, my good girl,' she said, on Monday I
should be very glad if you could bring a few more
of those delicious grapes and flowers.'








THE SNOW GARDEN


'Very well, my lady,' said Myra, with a grave
curtsy, as she left the room. The young marquis
in agonies at his mother ordering them as if she
had the right to do so, and she on her part happy
in the belief that Myra would send by-and-by for
payment, and be only too delighted with the honour
done her.
The story of Astolfo was in reality a very sad
one. He had fallen in love with a most beautiful
young lady named Elvira, who used to meet him,
without the knowledge of her parents, in a wood
near the city. At last, her father and mother, who
disliked the marriage because of an old family
quarrel, found it out, and sent her to live in an old
lonely castle with her grandmother, who never let
her out of her sight. The old lady got very ill at
last; and her granddaughter, instead of nursing
her, as you would think she ought to have done,
did nothing but try and contrive some means of
escape. One day there came a page to the door,
in the duke's livery, on a fine spirited horse, and
made signs to her through the window. She
managed to slip away, feeling sure that this was
a messenger from Astolfo. She sprang on the
horse's back, and away they rode into the wide
world together, and were never seen again.







THE SNOW GARDEN


The young marquis had never sent such a
messenger, and none of the servants at either house
knew anything of him.
So things remained up to the time which we
have now reached in this story. The duke and the
duchess made up their quarrel with Lady Elvira's
parents. But Astolfo was miserable. He could
not be brought to care for any other young lady,
or to ride or hunt, or go to balls or theatres, but
spent his time pining and languishing as we have
seen.
When Myra went again, however, three or four
days afterwards, she found that the young marquis
had been to Edmund, taken up the whole business
of the machine, talked with Edmund a great deal,
sent his own doctor to see him, and some of the
oldest wine in the duke's cellars for him to drink.
He himself had got quite a colour, and did not stoop
as he used to do. The duchess said 'she did not
know what had come to him, he was so changed.'
He had told the groom to bring round his quiet
old shooting pony, and had actually been for a ride,
and come home with an appetite.
Edmund, on his part, though still keeping
his bed, had brightened up. It is all your doing,
Myra,' he said. If I ever get well again and







THE SNOW GARDEN


make anything of this plan of mine, I shall call
it after you.'
'No, you must not do that,' said Myra; 'you
should call it after the young marquis. How kind
he has been !'
'Yes,' said Edmund, rather slowly and unwil-
lingly.
'You don't seem to think half as much of it as
I do. I can't think whatever made him take so
much trouble about poor people like us,' Myra
replied.
'Can't you?' said Edmund.
'You don't seem to like it,' said Myra. 'I
should have thought you would have been so
pleased When I was telling my father about it
last night, he almost cried at the thought of so
much goodness and kindness.'
'Oh Myra, Myra,' said Edmund,' don't you
think I can see plainly enough for whose sake he
takes all this trouble ?'
For yours, of course,' said Myra. He must
be sorry for you, having been so ill himself.'
You know it is for yours,' said Edmund ; 'I
could tell that by the way he spoke of you.'
'Nonsense, Edmund; nobody but you would
ever fancy such a thing. He does not care a bit








THE SNOW GARDEN


about me. I can't think what makes you take
such notions into your head.'
'If you had only one piece of gold in the world,
Myra, don't you think you would be always afraid
of having it stolen ? Now, you are my bit of gold,
the only thing I care for in the world, and I think
if any one else were to get you I should starve and
die. Are you still willing to stay in a poor man's
pocket ?'
'I am only a bad shilling,' said Myra; 'but if
you don't want to change me- And they both
burst out laughing together because they did not
want to cry.
Thus it was settled that if Edmund ever got well
enough to marry Myra should be his wife. And
after that he did get on, though not so fast as they
both wished. The young marquis often came to
see him, and they were almost like brothers
together; for Edmund was naturally quick and
clever, and his illness had given him the fine feel-
ings of a gentleman, while the marquis was
delighted to find somebody who really cared about
things, for the first time in his life. One day they
had a talk somewhat of this kind. The marquis
began : Edmund, I saw the king's private physician
yesterday about you, and he says there is nothing








THE SNOW GARDEN


more he can do for you. He says he can keep up
your strength to the point where it is now, but to
do more than that lies beyond the reach of his art.
But you must not sigh so deeply, for I have not
done my story yet. You must know that in this
town there is an old woman of a hundred years
of age and more who knows things that nobody
else knows-charms and spells and secrets such as
no other woman in the world possesses. She is
called the Birthday Witch, for no man is allowed
to go and see her except on his birthday, and then
he may ask her the question to which he most
desires an answer, only it must be about something
which does not concern himself. The other day
was my birthday, and I went to see her. She lives
in the churchyard, under the shadow of a dark
yew tree. All day long she lies stretched out
among the graves, and if you wish for an answer
to your question you must lie by her side and
whisper it softly into her ear. She says it is the
voices of the earth that she listens to all day
long that make her able to answer. I went close
up to her. Her eyes were closed as if in a trance,
her hands lay idly beside her. Her grey hair was
covered by a hood, and a mantle was flung over
her body. I whispered my question into her ear-








THE SNOW GARDEN


the question if there was anything that could be
done to restore your health-and she replied:

"There s a garden in the snow
Where the trickling waters flow;
Tears of sorrow which shall be
Health to him, and joy to thee."

Having said these words she turned her face from
me without ever raising her eyelids, and I departed.
Now, Edmund, you will think me a madman, I
dare say, but I shall never be happy till I have
been up to that mountain peak the peasants call
the Snow Garden, and tried to discover a stream
there whose waters should heal you.'
'Oh, my dear lord,' said Edmund, 'I cannot
bear that you should risk your life on my account.'
'It will be no risk that I know of,' said the
marquis ; 'it would make me feel more like a man
to go forth on some brave adventure-it would give
me more courage,' he added, hesitating, 'for some-
thing else I want to attempt. Edmund, I think
you must have guessed. There is only one thing
I wish for in the world, and that is to win Myra for
my wife. She is the only person who has ever been
able to comfort me. I want her not to despise me;
I want to do something to win her praise as well as
her love. You do not look as if you thought I







THE SNOW GARDEN


could. Tell me plainly-do not mind speaking the
truth! I should not talk of her to any other man ;
but to you, who must have been too ill ever to care
about these things yourself, I come for advice and
help. Do you think it impossible ?'
'Oh my lord, how can I tell you ?' said Edmund.
'She has promised to be my wife if I ever recover.'
The marquis sprang up and rushed wildly out
of doors. Edmund lay on the bed, feeling worse
than he had done for months. How could he ever
make it up to the marquis ? He almost hoped he
should die, and then Myra might marry him after
all. But this thought again seemed insupportable.
He tossed to and fro, then turned faint, and reached
out his arm for the cordial which was generally
placed by his side. In the eagerness of their talk
the marquis had pushed the table on which it stood
into the middle of the room, and poor Edmund was
too helpless to get at it. He lay there gasping for
some moments, then he heard a step at the door,
felt a hand under his back, and some one pouring
drink down his throat. In a few moments he
looked up. There stood the marquis, his face
crimson, his forehead moist, his hair blown about
his cheeks, and his whole body quivering, either
with sorrow or with having run hastily back when








THE SNOW GARDEN


he recollected how helpless he had left Edmund.
The latter tried to speak, but seemed unable to
bring out the words. The marquis, as he put the
cup down on the table, said in an unsteady voice,
'What you have said will not hinder my going. If
I never return, let us shake hands once more.'
And he placed his hand in that of Edmund, who
kissed it vehemently but said nothing. There was
a movement outside-the old grandmother coming
home. The marquis, hatless as he came, again
went away and never turned his head to look at
Edmund, who, on his part, was so affected that he
needed all his grandmother's care for some hours
to come.

It is evening, a beautiful night in April, when
the young green tassels of the fir trees are in their
fresh loveliness, and the birds seem as if they would
never have done singing. Myra has been spinning
at the house door, and crooning little rhymes to the
hum of the droning spinning-wheel. It gets too
dark to see, and her father comes and beckons her in.
The blue hood and grey tippet disappear into the
house. A traveller walking slowly up the hill sees it
all and sighs to himself. What does it matter to him?
Indoors or out of doors it will be all the same from







THE SNOW GARDEN


this day forth. He must stand and watch for her
no more. The old father hangs about for a few
minutes outside the house, doing something to his
beehives or mending a bit of fence. The stranger
comes up and asks him the way to the Snow
Garden. All the peasants know it by that name;
but only you and I and Myra have been there.
'Up as far as the road will take you, then
through a narrow pass and along a beck. It will
be rather full just now, but not much above your
ankles anywhere. Then you will have to scramble
up the grey crags to your left- But it will be
dark before then-will you not stay and pass the
night here ?'
Is there n6 other place where I could sleep, a
little further on ?' said the marquis, whose courage
failed at the thought of being under the same roof
with Myra, though he did not mind what real
dangers he had to encounter.
'There is an old tumbledown shepherd's hut
among the bracken-the only building you will
pass--but- '
That will do for me,' said the marquis, who all
the while was listening only half to what the old
man said, for a pretty, clear voice, which he knew
too well, was singing inside the house-








THE SNOW GARDEN


'Bonnie dun cow,
Come over the beck,
I've a silver bell
To hang round your neck.
Bonnie dun cow,
If you go astray
You must wear a halter
The livelong day.'

'I must get out of the sound of this,' said the
marquis to himself. 'Thank you, my friend. I
think I will go on. Good night!' And he went
his way, leaving the old man much surprised. For
though the marquis thought he had dressed him-
self with the greatest simplicity, the old man could
see easily enough he was not one of the sort who
generally go up mountains.
It was quite a new feeling to be walking in that
grand, lonely place by himself. The sun had gone
down ; the trees seemed to get larger and blacker,
the sky more grave and sorrowful, the sound of the
water to gain more and more upon his thoughts.
'What does it say? What does it mean?' He
turned round for a last look at Myra's cottage.
'That must be the roof-yes, there was just such a
tree beside it-and there is her little bedroom
window rising above the green. Now for the walk
along the beck. Tinkle, tinkle, tinkle That is good,
for it is so dark now, one will soon not be able to








32 THE SNOW GARDEN

make out anything. I wonder what they are
doing at home-there is to be that grand party!
How can people give parties and think them grand
when there are places like this in the world ? I
wonder how Edmund is. I dare say he used often
to be here when he was a boy. Perhaps he and
Myra used to pick up bits of spar and stone by this
very stream. How could I think I had a chance
against such a long-lived love as that ? Heigh-ho!
I have never had any marchioness or countess
to play with by a brook-side. I can fancy him,
when they were both little, carrying her pickaback
over these stepping-stones and picking all the
nicest raspberries for her. Why can I not think of
something else? I have been taught all sorts of
things. I wonder if I could repeat an ode of
Horace now. How does it go ?

"Bonnie dun cow,
If you go astray
You must wear a halter
The livelong day."

That haunting tune will run in my head. But
what I can't help, I can't help. I must do, and
not think. And here, I suppose, is the shepherd's
hut.'
The shepherd's hut was indeed a lonely place-








THE SNOW GARDEN


a few stones rudely flung together, a floor strewn
with bracken, a fragment of an old plaid lying in a
corner, a hurdle or two with tufts of wool sticking
to them. The marquis was glad it was so dark.
Down he lay, and sound he slept, after eating a
morsel which he had prudently brought with him.
Once the night chills woke him, and he looked out
for a moment on the grey, silent, solemn hills, and
listened to the wind in the bracken, then threw
the ragged plaid over him, and slept till sunrise.
Oh that sunrise! It was a thing never to be
forgotten. First it caught the high snowy peak in
front, which seemed to be looking out for it and
to welcome it with a delicious blush; then one
mountain crown after another was lighted up; and
if you looked the other way, what growing and
ever-changing fulness of beauty Above the dark
violet hills clouds that seemed almost of the same
colour, rolling themselves slowly out and melting
into crimson-then a burst of gold behind as the
sun triumphantly sprang forth-the more distant
streaks of turquoise green and blue, so pale, so
peaceful-the mountain dewdrops shining, the
leaves glistening, the grass rustling gently in the
morning wind! Then one more look at the
mountain peak, which is now bathed in a fuller
D








TIHE SNOW GARDEN


and more gladsomee light. Is that a little cloud
that floats lightly away from beneath it, and seems
to land itself on the high ground on which the
shepherd's hut stands? It comes nearer and un-
folds itself. It ought to vanish into vapour, but it
gathers shape. It is not a cloud, perhaps, after all.
It seems to draw nearer still. Now it is lost for
an instant behind that bend of the hill. Now--
Some one walks this way. An old peasant woman
in a red cloak. She does not imagine any one is
listening, and she sings:

'Among the dewdrops my feet I set,
And still my shoes are never wet.
Among the daisies at morn I wend :
I tread the flowers, but they never bend.
Along the sunbeams I float and glide,
Yet never darken the sunshine's pride,
And no one marks me and none doth know
I come from my garden in the snow.'

As she finished singing she looked up-a beautiful
old woman with keen blue eyes and snowy hair.
Astolfo does not feel sure to this day, but he
thinks he spoke to her first, and asked her where
the Snow Garden was, and told her why he wanted
to know-that there was a friend of his who was
very ill, and that he had consulted the Birthday
Witch, and what her advice had been.








THE SNOW GARDEN


'That is my sister,' the old peasant woman
said. I do not let many people into my garden,
but as you have" come all this way at her bidding,
I cannot refuse, you. Follow me. You must not
be afraid, but go wherever I go.'
Never had Astolfo seen any one, young or old,
who was in the smallest degree to be compared with
his present guide for lightness of step and fearless-
ness. The narrowest ledge of rock on the pre-
cipitous side of a valley, the giddiest leap from one
slippery side of a mountain torrent to another,
the stiffest scramble, were all like play to her.
When he, tired and out of breath, was struggling
with some of these difficulties, she only turned
round and smiled at him a kind, and withal a
mischievous smile on that thousand-wrinkled,
many-historied face of hers. As to putting out
her hand to help him, that never seemed to occur
to her. At last they were close to the snowy
peak.
'Now,' said the old woman, 'I must leave you
awhile. Enter the garden, and under the cedar
trees you will find all that you need. There is a
river running there, and it is a river of tears. You
will see a figure of a woman in chains who looks
as if she were weeping bitterly, and she has good
1 2








THE SNOW GARDEN


reason, for she disobeyed her best benefactor, and
that has brought her into this captivity. But it is
those tears that will heal your friend-if indeed
you wish him to be cured.' She looked piercing
at Astolfo.
I ought to wish it,' he said.
'If when you get there you still wish it, fill the
cup you have brought with you; but before you
depart, sprinkle a few drops upon the statue, and
carry the rest carefully home. Adieu! There lies
your way.'
As the old woman vanished Astolfo noticed
a little doorway standing ajar in the rock. He
entered and found himself in the midst of the
enchanted garden. Dazzled as he was with its
beauty, he hardly stayed to notice it, so anxious
was he to do his errand. The grapes dangled
temptingly before him, ripe plums lay in the grass
at his feet, but he did not once put out his hand.
There was the cedar grove. There was the
stream. The doves cooed sadly and yet sweetly
among the dark boughs. A statue stood near,
head bent, hair dishevelled, hands bound. Beneath
was inscribed, T THE GREATEST CONQUEROR.'


" Tears of sorrow, which shall be
Health to him, and joy to thee."








THE SNOW GARDEN


'Health to him, I hope, but no joy to me,'
thought Astolfo. 'But what does that matter?
Now I am here I must do iny best.' And he
dipped his cup in the trembling waters.
As he did so, he almost thought he saw Myra's
face rise for a moment before him and scatter
itself away among the ripples. 'Lost, lost,' he said
to himself; and he raised the cup carefully to his
level, and was preparing to carry it away when he
suddenly recollected the statue, and flung a few
drops upon the figure as it bent there so mourn-
fully. What was his astonishment! The beauti-
ful face looked up, the beautiful hair was thrown
back, colour flushed into the cheeks, and the
sweetest voice he had ever heard said, You only
can loose my chains-you who have been the
greatest conqueror, in that you have conquered
yourself.'
Astolfo flew to her side, and at his touch the
fetters dropped off with a clang and fell into the
stony basin. It seemed to him that no woman he
had ever seen was equal to this most exquisite
creature. He could hardly take his eyes off her.
And then something in the face, something in the
voice, struck him.
Why, it is Elvira !' he said. And as he said it,








THE SNOW GARDEN


all his old love for her came back again, and hers
for him; while she told him how the page was a
fairy page, and the horse a fairy horse, sent to try
her and see if she would be dutiful and obedient
or not. She gave way to the temptation, and the
horse galloped away with her and never stopped
till he reached the Snow Garden, where the
fairy had punished her by turning her into a
statue. That she had ever done wrong was hard
to believe; that she ever would do wrong again,
impossible; while her gratitude to him could find
no words.
'How can I thank you-how can I repay
you ?' she exclaimed. Need any one be told what
answer he made, or what bliss was his when she
allowed him to kiss her hand ? At the same
moment the fairy appeared.
'All is forgiven,' she said, looking at Elvira.
'I know your repentance is sincere, and that you
have one by your side whose example will
strengthen your own good resolutions. I will
myself be at your wedding, and will bestow such
a dowry on the bride as no princess, Astolfo, of
all those whom your parents have proposed to
you, could ever equal.'
The rest can easily be imagined : the recovery








THE SNOW GARDEN 39

of Edmund ; his gratitude, and that of Myra, who
with delight recognized in the restored princess the
statue of the enchanted garden.; the kindness of
Astolfo's parents; and the excitement of the whole
city. These people lived and died long ago, and
the key of the Snow Garden was buried in Myra's
grave. We wonder if any one will ever find his
way thither again.

















WHO IS MASTER?


WILFRED was a little boy who wanted his own way
much oftener than he got it. There were no less
than seven people who seemed to have nothing in
the world to do but to interfere with him whenever
he was enjoying himself. First, there was his
nurse, who was always wanting him to do some-
thing he was not doing, or to leave off something
he was. If he was sleepy in the morning, she
always said it was time to get up; if he happened
to be particularly wide awake, it was much too
early to be stirring yet-and so it went on all
through the day. His father and mother were
away in India, but there were Aunt Julia and Aunt
Nina, who took a great deal of trouble with him,
too much trouble, Wilfred sometimes thought;
and Uncle Harry, who did not take so much
trouble, but was always sending him off on mes-
sages just in the middle of his play. Then there








WHO IS MASTER?


was the gardener, who never would let him pick
the flowers he liked; and Dick, the boy who did
the boots and shoes, and saw to the pony, who
was kinder to him than anybody, and taught
him to fish, but who wouldn't let him go into the
field where the water was by himself, as he wanted
to do. Then, last of all, there was Grandpapa, of
whom Wilfred was dreadfully afraid, and who one
day sent him all the way upstairs to the nursery in
the middle of the dessert, just because he asked
for some strawberries, without waiting till they
were offered him. As Wilfred was going upstairs
crying and rubbing his eyes with his knuckles, he
stopped for a minute or two in the great passage
which went in a square just above the entrance hall,
so that you could look down on the people's heads
over the banisters as they came in. This, by the
way, was one of Wilfred's favourite pleasures, only
he was sure to be stopped in it by somebody.
To-night, however, he had the hall to himself;
nurse was gone down to supper. It was a bright
summer evening, much too early for anyone to
come and light the lamps. Out of the great
passage window you could see the sheep and
lambs, and the pigeon-house and the pond.
Wilfred wished he was a pigeon to fly just where








WHO IS MASTER?


he liked, or a duck to dabble about just where he
pleased. As this thought came into his head he
left off crying.
Quite in one corner stood the great clock,
which Wilfred, when he was quite little, used to be
a good deal afraid of. It was taller than Uncle
Harry, and when it struck, everybody seemed to
think so much of what it told them, that Wilfred
thought it must be the greatest and happiest
person in the world.
0 clock, I wish I were you !' said he, as he
looked straight up into the clock's face, and
watched the minute hand give the tiniest little
movement as it slipped across one of the black
minute marks.
'Do you?' said, or rather ticked, the great
clock, as the pendulum swung to and fro.
Yes, I do,' exclaimed the little boy.
'Why ? said the clock with another tick.
'Because then, instead of my having to mind
everybody, everybody would mind me.'
'Do, you, think, so, indeed ?' said the clock,
which always spoke in this funny jerky tick-tick
way it had.
Why, of course I do,' said Wilfred. 'Even
Grandpapa minds you. The moment you said


















j :
i~1
ffl~n^^^^lIp
^y~lT$f'T3!

^Bks~v^&


'0 CLOCK, I WISH I WERE YOU !'








WHO IS MASTER?


something the other day, he called out-" There's
the clock; that warns me I must go and finish my
letter." And Uncle Harry always says he comes
down to tea when he hears you; and nurse comes
and looks, oh, how she does look at you; and
Aunt Nina's always coming to ask y6u if it's time
to give baby her medicine. Everybody minds
you Oh I how I wish I were a clock !'
Will, you, change, with, me, just, to-morrow?'
said the clock ; Wilfred nodded; 'and, then, you'll,
see, how, you, will, like, it,' it added, or rather
ticked.
'Master Wilfred, Master Wilfred-what do you
mean ?' cried nurse, coming and catching him
round the waist. There's that clock saying it's
twenty minutes to eight, and you know you always
go to bed at half-past seven. 0 my! what a boy
you are! Here have I been running all over the
house after you.'
'Wilfred said nothing, but nodded again to the
clock, and the clock said, 'We, won't, forget!'
though nurse thought only 'How very loud that
clock always ticks when the house is quiet !' She
put Wilfred to bed and covered him up, and he
was soon asleep in his crib. Baby was in the
bassinet with her arms round the rabbit with two







WHO IS MASTER?


button eyes. She never could go to sleep in or
out of her perambulator without Bunny.
When Wilfred woke in the morning he found
he had got his wish, and really was inside the clock.
It was so odd being there, and he found himself
going on tick, tick, tick, tick, without thinking any-
thing about it. The ticking seemed part of him, just
like breathing does. It was so amusing being up
there, where, of course, no one could see him, or know
anything about it. He could see right up into the top
landing, where the maids were dusting, he heard one
of them say, 'La, Betsy, how that old clock do gallop,
to be sure !' and the other said, 'Aye, I told you
you'd have to make haste, or you'd never get them
stairs done.' And .the other maid came down with
a flannel and some beeswax, and began polishing
the old stairs, and Wilfred looked down on the top
of her head, and felt how he would have liked to
make her jump by throwing a bit of paper or some-
thing down upon her. Only then he recollected,
for the first time, he could not get his arms out of
the case, and he did not like that at all. When
Sally stopped her scrubbing for a minute, and
rubbed her elbow, calling out, Oh my poor arms,
how they do ache!' Wilfred for the first time in his
life began to wish he could make his ache too. At








WHO IS MASTER?


last he thought he must call out to her, and he
opened his mouth-
'One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight!'
This wasn't in the least what he meant to say, but
Sally instantly jumped up, pulled down her sleeves,
and called out:
'Upon my word; eight o'clock already!' and
in another moment the big breakfast bell rang, and
off Sally went.
'And now,' thought Wilfred, 'we shall see
who's in time for breakfast this morning.' First,
came down Aunt Julia, buttoning her cuffs, and
looking as she always did, very neat and tidy, with
the keys of the tea-chest in her hand. She just
gave one look at the clock, and another at her
watch, 'Two minutes and a half fast by Station
time,' she said to herself. Then came Grandpapa
and Aunt Nina; she was not quite so tidy as Aunt
Julia. Grandpapa was telling her how he thought
he got his cold yesterday, so she took no notice of
the clock. Then came Grandmamma in her pretty
white shawl, and holding her hand was a little boy,
who had got on Wilfred's brown pinafore and blue
bow. Wilfred knew directly this must be the little
man who generally lived inside the clock, and who,
of course, had changed places with him.







WHO IS MASTER?


'Why, Wilfred, how slow you are coming down-
stairs this morning !' said Grandmamma. I'm
afraid my little boy is not well. Generally he runs
downstairs head over heels, and to-day he walks
down as steady as Father Time.'
It hurts me to run. I like to do things regular,'
said this funny little boy, putting down his feet step
after step just as the clock ticked.
I'll teach you how to hurry,' said a rough good-
natured voice behind him, and there was Uncle
Harry, who seized the little boy in his arms, and
rushed downstairs with him.
0 don't, don't,' said the little fellow, beginning
to cry ; 'don't like rough people-don't like to be
jumped,' and he went back and took hold of Grand-
mamma's hand, who was always so steady and so
gentle, and walked with her into the dining-room.
Now, I am sorry to say the real Wilfred had had
a bad habit of beginning with saying, 'I want
some jam,' though Aunt Julia had tried very hard
to teach him better. But this new little boy went
straight up to his Grandpapa, put out his hand, and
said, 'How do you do, my beloved Grandfather? '
Grandpapa, who was reading his newspaper, only
gave him a pat on the head ; but Wilfred stood
like a statue till he put down the paper and turned







WHO IS MASTER?


round ; on which he again said, 'How do you do,
my beloved Grandfather? I trust you are not
suffering from any increase of deafness.'
Grandpapa only said, 'That'll do, my little
fellow; now you may go about your business.'
'Come and have your breakfast, Wilfred,' said
Aunt Julia; but Wilfred would never be satisfied
till he had gone round the room, and made a proper
little speech to Grandmamma, and Aunt Nina, and
Uncle Harry. How they did laugh at him, to be
sure but he did not seem to notice it. In time,
however, they got him into his place by Aunt Nina
Still he didn't look at all happy or comfortable.
At last he said, in a very miserable tone of voice,
'My plate's cracked across the middle, and got a
chip out of one side.'
Well, you little goose,' said Aunt Nina, 'and
suppose it has, it won't hurt you.'
But plates oughtn't to be cracked,' said Wil-
fred, 'and, Aunt Nina, your collar's crooked.'
Don't make impertinent remarks, Wilfred,'
said Aunt Julia.
I didn't mean to be impertinent,' said Wilfred,
getting very red, 'but things ought to be right,
oughtn't they ?' He ate his breakfast of bread
and milk very quietly after this ; though he couldn't








WHO IS MASTER?


help saying, quite in a whisper to himself, I wish
they'd cut all the bits of bread the same size-but
I suppose they don't know any better.' Meanwhile
Grandpapa and Uncle Harry talked about all sorts
of things, and never stopped till presently Wilfred
touched his Aunt's sleeve, with, Help me down,
please, Aunt Nina; it's time I went for my walk.'
'Really, Wilfred, you seem a most particular
little fellow this morning. Why do you want to
be in such a hurry to leave us? Generally
'you want to stay and see Grandpapa's watch.'
It's time,' said Wilfred, very gravely; and
Grandpapa's watch doesn't go at all well. At
least, not very well ; and I couldn't advise him to
depend on it.'
'Well, really,' said both the aunts, as soon as
Wilfred was out of the room, 'something odd must
have come to that child ; he's not got a bit of
play in him. He took no notice of Spot; gene-
rally he wants to have a game of romps with him ;
and he walked out of the room like a little old
man, and shut the door so carefully. I hope he
isn't always going to go on as if he was sixty,
instead of six and a half. Look at him in the
garden now, with his gloves on, walking up and
down exactly like a policeman.'







WHO IS MASTER?


'There are thirty-two steps in this path,' they
heard him saying to himself; 'if I go up it twenty
times, and down it twenty times, that will make one
thousand two hundred and eighty; how many
furlongs will that be, and how long would it take
to go five miles?'
He answered these questions quite correctly,
almost as soon as he had asked them-but of
course I shall not tell you the answers, as it will be
nice practice for you to do the sums. The real
Wilfred could say as far as three times seven in the
multiplication table, so you will not wonder if Aunt
Nina felt rather surprised. He was getting very
tired of his place on the landing. He wanted a
run in the garden dreadfully-he almost wished,
when he heard the other Wilfred say, Aunt
Nina, it's time for lessons, and I've got all my
books out in the schoolroom,' that he could have
come too.
Poor Aunt Nina had a hard time of it, teaching
that funny little boy his lessons. He said them
without a single mistake, and even put her right
when she got wrong. He never fidgeted or stood
on one foot, or looked out of the window, but kept
his eyes steadily fixed on the beads round his aunt's
neck, till she couldn't help saying,' Why do you







WHO IS MASTER?


keep looking at me so, Wilfred? Have I got a
spider or anything creeping over me?'
'Oh no,' said Wilfred. If you will please tell
me where I am to look, I shall have great pleasure
in doing so!'
Oh, look anywhere you like, child; only don't
stare so !'
'Shall I proceed to repeat, "Thank you, pretty
cow ? "' said Wilfred, handing her the book, right
way up, with the marker in it. (The real Wilfred
generally contrived, if he could, to get hold of the
marker, and twiddle it all the time of his lesson.)
This is the way he said it, counting to himself in
whispers, and saying the other words aloud:
'Thank you (one) pretty cow (one) that made
Pleasant milk (one) to soak my bread (one, two)
Every morn (one) and every night (one)
Warm (one) and fresh (one) and sweet (one) and white
(one, two, three, four).
'Why you've taken to quite a new way of
saying it!' said his aunt.
'But it's the right way!' said little Wilfred.
'It says in the spelling-book, that you ought to
count one for a comma; two for a semicolon;
three for a colon ; and four for a full-stop.'
'Well, but you might say it as if you cared a
little about the cow !'








WHO IS MASTER?


'But if it wasn't a real cow, how should I care
about her ?'
Aunt Nina thought such a foolish boy as
this was past being argued with, and, just as she
was going to close the book, she heard a sound
that made her jump. It was only the old clock
striking twelve, but it struck so loud that it quite
surprised her. Really and truly it was the other
Wilfred inside, who was calling out lustily because
he was so tired of being up there all by himself;
but no one found it out. The only thing that
happened was that Uncle Harry's horse came
round, as it had been ordered at twelve; and a
great bell rang to tell the men in the yard they
might go home to dinner. Certainly Wilfred had
his wish; everybody minded him, but it was
wonderful how little pleasure he got out of it. He
began to wonder if kings and other great people
were like that; if they were, he didn't think he
should so much care to be a king after all, and yet,
at another time, how deliglhed he would have
been with his power! People came and looked at
him so carefully and respectfully and anxiously.
When he struck one, every one hurried downstairs
for lunch. Wilfred was so hungry, but all he had
to live upon was the oil inside his works, and that
E2








WHO IS MASTER?


had not been renewed for a long while. And yet
it was not being exactly hungry either; it was
more the feeling of wanting to hear what they
were all talking about at luncheon. About a
quarter to two, Aunt Nina came upstairs, and
looked at him. Oh you nice old clock,' said she,
'you've actually given me a quarter of an hour to
spare-just time to write to Fred--' and off she
went to her room.
Presently Aunt Julia came up, and stood on
the landing. She, too, was watching the clock, fot
exactly at two some girls from the village were to
come for a singing lesson, and Aunt Julia was
never late for anything. Wilfred did wish he could
hurry on just a little bit -but no! It was quite
true everybody minded him, but it was only
because he minded the exact time. In a minute
or two Aunt Nina came back. 'Julia,' she said in
a low voice, 'I am quite unhappy about Wilfred.
He does not seem the least like himself. He did
his lessons all right, but he doesn't care to play,
and he talks just like a book. I hope he isn't going
to be ill!'
What is he doing now?'
'What do you think ? Putting the schoolroom
to rights. I caught him in the nursery, first hang-








WHO IS MASTER?


ing all the pictures straight, and putting the table-
cloth exactly square. And then he went after
grandmamma, and asked leave to fold her shawl
even for her. You never saw such a little prig as
he is! And it's so unlike him! I can't think
what's to be done.'
If he isn't better by this time to-morrow, we
must send for a doctor,' said Aunt Julia. 4 Any-
how, I think you might give him some of the
mixture before breakfast to-morrow.'
Wilfred did not quite know whether to laugh
or cry at this. He felt inclined to laugh, as he
thought,' Well, at all events by this time to-morrow
I shall be out of this horrid old case,' but he didn't
like the notion of the mixture at all. Then, again,
he laughed so much at the idea of their giving him
medicine when he didn't want it, but it only
sounded like the clock striking two.
'Two o'clock! No, really!' said Aunt Julia,
and it was rather fun to see the pace at which she
ran downstairs. Aunt Nina, too, was called by
grandmamma, and once more the landing was
quiet.
Presently a little figure, in a brown pinafore
and blue bow, came stealing up the stairs. It was
the sham Wilfred. And he came and looked at







WHO IS MASTER?


the clock with a deep sigh. 'Well, how do you
like it ?' said he.
And the real Wilfred, who could speak to him,
though to nobody else, replied, I hate it I wish
it was bed-time !'
'So do I.'
What, do you mean to say you want to be up
here again ?'
'Of course I do. Your world makes me
perfectly miserable. Nothing is done regularly,
and they expect me to make up my own mind.
How should I know whether I like apple tart or
rice pudding best ? I can't reckon it up.'
'Why apple tart, of course,' said the real
Wilfred. I should know pretty quick if they
asked me. But why ain't you playing with Spot
in the garden ?'
'Why should I play?'
'Why of course! Why should you? Why,
because play's the nicest thing in the world.'
I don't see any reason in it.'
'I don't know what sort of a game that is,' said
the real Wilfred. If it's nice I should like to play
at it. And so you really want to come back
here ?'
The sham Wilfred nodded his head, and added,








WHO IS MASTER?


' It will be such a comfort to me to be among
things that I may really depend on again In
your world nobody seems to know what anybody
is going to do next.'
'Well, I am sick enough of being up here,' said
the real Wilfred. 'I shall never want to have
people mind me again as long as I live. Do
you think I really must stick up here till bed-
time ?'
The sham Wilfred nodded sorrowfully; adding,
'Aunt Nina said I might go and amuse myself.
What does she mean by amuse ? Is it any sort of
counting ?'
The other Wilfred tried to explain it, but the
more he explained the more puzzled the other got ;
and at last he sat down on the stairs, with his head
on his hands, and did not stir till the clock struck
five, and nurse came to fetch him to tea.
Tea was a very pleasant time with the real
Wilfred. Nurse was so good-natured, and used to
let him make toast on the fire shovel under the
grate, and besides that he used to make patterns
with the treacle on his bread. Then baby was
always so funny, and would want whatever she
saw him eating, and laugh at him so prettily from
her high chair. But this other Wilfred didn't care








WHO IS MASTER?


to make treacle patterns, and was quite miserable
if his fingers got sticky, and sat looking so glum
that poor baby began to cry when she found he
was so different from usual.
Why don't you talk to her like you generally
do, Master Wilfred ?' said nurse. 'Look, she
wants you to play at This pig went to market"
with her, don't you, baby ?'
You can play at it, if you like, Nurse,' said
Wilfred. But it's all nonsense when there ain't
any pigs, and there isn't any market. If she likes
to play at learning weights and measures, or any-
thing sensible, I don't mind !'
'One would think you'd never been a baby
yourself,' said Nurse, out of all patience with him.
' There, get along with you, do! Never mind, my
precious. Come along with Nurse, and we'll ride
a cock-horse to Banbury Cross, to see an old lady
ride on a white horse !'
I wish you wouldn't talk such stuff, Nurse,'
said Wilfred very gravely and solemnly. 'You
know there isn't an old lady or a white horse any-
where, and you'll never get to Banbuiry Cross if
you go on like that for ever.'
'Never mind him, baby darling. It's quite
good enough for us, isn't it ?' said Nurse as she








WHO IS MASTER?


went on rocking baby on her knee, who was laugh-
ing as merrily as possible.
Poor little Wilfred-the pretence Wilfred-
stood by, looking, Nurse thought, cross, but was
really only very puzzled, as anybody might be who
had lived always inside a clock. In fact, he seemed
so uncomfortable that Aunt Julia said, when she
came up into the nursery, that he might go to bed
if he liked, instead of coming down to dessert.
And so ended that miserable day.
Next morning, when Nurse came to the bed-
side with the mixture in her hand, she found the
little boy fast asleep and very rosy. The moment
he opened his eyes, he threw his arms round her
neck, and gave her such a hug that the glass very
nearly dropped out of her hand.
'0 Nurse, am I here ? Oh, I'm so glad; so
glad !' cried he, kissing her again.
'Why, where else should you be but in your
warm bed, Master Wilfred ?' said Nurse, kissing
him in her turn.
'Oh, I don't know. Haven't I been inside a
clock ? '
'What nonsense! Why, you're dreaming all
this while,' said Nurse.
'Was it a dream ?' said Wilfred. Oh, I am so







WHO IS MASTER ?


glad. I can stretch my arms out anyhow to-day
It seems such a long while since I saw you last!
And Baby How's Baby?'
'All right, Master Wilfred. But now you must
drink this stuff.'
'Me! I don't want anything. I'm quite well,
Nurse, thank you.'
But your Aunt Julia said you were to have it
the first thing this morning.'
Wilfred had made one good resolution while
he was inside the clock, and that was never to wish
for his own way again. So he drank down the
nasty stuff without a murmur ; and since then he
has always been noted as a very obedient little
boy, who never tries to go against what he is told.
SAs to the little man in the clock, he is, we be-
lieve, quite happy also. He is, if possible, more
regular and punctual than ever, and gives the
greatest possible satisfaction to himself and all the
family, except those naughty people who are never
in time for anything, but who vainly try to put him
in the wrong. Wilfred always stands up for him,
and he always stands up for Wilfred, by proving
to all the world what a regular and steady lad he
is growing up. Every one, you see, is best in his
proper place, and there is a proper place even for
the Banbury Cross old lady and her white pony.


















THE FIELD OF THE LOST TEMPERS

THERE was once a little boy, named Jem, who had
everything a little boy could want to make him
happy. He had a kind father and mother, and a
kitten to play with, and a little mug and plate of
his very own at dinner, and a box of bricks, and a
great many other nice things. Jem would have
been a very happy little boy indeed, if misfortunes
had not so often happened to make him cross.
Sometimes the soap got into his eyes when his
mother washed him; and nearly always the stones
got into his shoes when he played in the garden.
As he got older, he always thought more things
happened to make him cross than to any one else.
Sometimes when he was building a house with his
bricks his mother would go by, and, in her hurry,
whisk his beautiful tower down with her petticoat.
He was the one who was sure to burn his
mouth at dinner, or to slip down in the middle of







60 TIIE FIELD OF THE LOST TEMPERS

a puddle, or to get scratched when the others were
picking blackberries, or to have gnats flying in
his eye. And the worst of it was, his mother and
everybody else always said, 'Jem, I wouldn't lose
my temper like that, if I were you. Oh, dear!
Jem's losing his temper again What a pity Jem
can never keep his temper !'
How Jem used to wonder what his temper was!
It could not be like his buttons, because when they
fell off he could hunt about on the floor, and have
them sewed on again. It could not be like his
mother's thimble, because when that was lost she
always tried to remember where she had had it
last; and in time it was sure to turn up, though
sometimes trodden a little out of shape. But a
temper was quite another thing. Jem used to
think if he could only see his, and know what it
looked like, then next time he lost it he would be
able to go and hunt for it under the table, or
behind the door, or perhaps see it peeping from
behind the gooseberry bushes. He so often lost it
there that he began to think that must be the most
likely place. But how could he be expected to
find a thing when he didn't know what it was like ?
One day Jem was very unlucky indeed. His
father always used to give him a ride on the old







THE FIELD 'OF TIE LOST TEMI'ERS


mare before he went off to market; but that
Wednesday morning somebody came to talk to
him just at the last minute, and he hadn't time.
So he went off in a great hurry, and Jem saw him
from the attic window riding away, and he never
once turned his head to say good-bye. He had
quite forgotten all about Jem. But Jem had been
thinking of nothing else but his ride ever since he
got out of bed, and began to cry and throw himself
about as if nothing would ever stop him.
'Jemmy, Jemmy !' said his mother ; 'do leave
off crying, there's a good boy. Father will give
you a ride some other day.'
But Jem wouldn't listen to her, and cried all the
more, till at last his mother had to go downstairs
and leave him, and he heard her say in the passage
just outside the door,' Poor Jemmy he's lost his
temper again, I'm sorry to say ; he's allays losing
his temper What is to be done? Well, I must
go to the orchard, and hang the things out from
the wash. It's a beautiful drying morning, with
this nice sun and this fresh west wind.'
'So I've lost my temper again !' said Jem to
himself, as, half choked with crying, he wiped his
red eyes with the back of his hand. I wonder
where it's gone to 1 suppose if I could find it I







62 THE FIELD OF THE LOST TEMPERS

should not be so unhappy. I want to see it. I
wish I knew what it looked like.'
All this was said in a sort of guggle-guggling
way between his sobs. At last Jem made up his
mind that he would go into the wide world and
find his temper. He put on his hat, and hurried
downstairs, and out into the garden, and then into
the wood. The larks were singing, the apple-
blossoms were blowing about, the lambs were
bleating, and the clothes went flap-flapping in the
orchard. He saw his mother pinning them up on
the line; but she never noticed him.
He met all sorts of things on the road : a white
dog with black spots, a wagon, and a donkey-cart,
and a man driving some cows, and he wondered
whether any of them had seen his temper, and
could help him to find it. But as they said nothing
to him he did not like to ask them, for he knew
when his father had once picked up a red pocket-
handkerchief on the road he tied it to the end of a
stick, and asked everybody if it was his ; so Jem
thought that was what people always did if they
found things that belonged to somebody else.
Jem went on and on, and nobody said a word
to him, though once a great brown dog came and
sniffed at him, and frightened him a good deal.







THE FIELD OF THE LOST TEMPERS 63

Presently, however, as he was going along under a
high hedge, something flew over it, and bounded
over the footpath. It was a cricket-ball-only not
like a common cricket-ball, for it seemed all over
gold, and if you tried to hold it, it almost jumped
out of your hands by itself. Jem had to roll it up
tight in his pinafore, for it sprang about almost as
if it was alive. Then he heard a number of people
running and calling about, and through the twigs
of the hedge he could see them. But there was
not a gate anywhere to the field, so he could not
get in. Presently a most beautiful boy in a pink
cap peeped over the hedge.
'Throw it up, there's a good fellow! said he
and Jem threw the ball to him as hard as he could
with both hands.
The boy caught it, and flung it away again as
hard as ever he could, and there was a great shout-
ing, and laughing, and cheering among them all.
Through the twigs of the hedge Jem could see all
sorts of beautiful colours flitting about; and oh!
the noise, and the laughing, and the shouting were
beyond everything. At last the boy in the pink
cap looked over the hedge again.
Hallo then you haven't gone ?' said he. I
was just looking about for you. Here's sixpence,








64 THE FIELD OF THE LOST TEMPERS

and we're very much obliged to you for finding our
ball.'
Oh, I don't want sixpence !' said Jem ; I want
to get over into your field, and see what you're all
doing.'
The boy in the pink cap looked very serious.
But you can't,' said he ; 'there isn't any gate to
the field.'
'Then how did you get in ?'
'Oh, that's quite another matter !' said the boy,
laughing in the funniest way you ever saw. You're
a sharp little fellow, though. I've a great mind
---' and here he whispered to another boy, in a
blue-and-silver cap, who was standing by him.
They both laughed.
'Give us your hand, then,' said the boy in the
blue cap to Jem.
Jem put out his hand.
'Now then, give a jump!' said the pink boy.
But I can't,' said Jem. The hedge is ever so
much higher than my head.'
I say, you fellow,' said the blue boy, 'do you
wish to get into our field, or do you not ? Because
if you do, there's no time to be lost, and you had
better do as we tell you.'
So Jem put out his hands, and, lo and behold,







THE FIELD OF THE LOST TEMPERS 65

all in a moment, he was over the hedge without
a scratch or a splash. Never was anything so
wonderful!
And now, what do you think of our field ?' said
the pink boy.
But Jem could not answer. He was standing
with his mouth open, admiring it all.
All round the field were apple-trees and pear-
trees, covered with beautiful flowers and ripe fruit;
strawberries and violets grew on the banks, and in
the grass were all sorts of wild flowers, except just-
in the middle of the field, where the cricket was
going on. Half the cricketers were in pink and
half in blue. They were the most beautiful boys
you ever saw. But the odd thing was, Jem
thought he had seen them all before. He knew
their faces quite well- one minute, and the next he
did not know them a bit. They all seemed to be
enjoying themselves very much, and they all
cheered him three times over, and three more to
that, when the pink boy told them he was the
person ivho had picked up their ball.
So Jem went round the field, and round the
field, noticing everything and everybody, till at last
he came on one dear little pink boy who was lying
on the ground, with his cap over his eyes, pretend-








66 THE FIELD OF TIE LOST TEMPERS

ing to be asleep. Jem gave him a little pull as he
went by, and the boy turned round.
Oh, it's you, is it?' said he. 'But you don't
want me yet, do you ? No, I'm sure you can't
want me yet.'
Why, who are you ?' said Jem.
The boy sat up on the grass and looked at
him.
'Don't you know me?' said he.
'Why, this is very funny!' said Jem. 'You're
just like me : only ever so much nicer, of course.'
And certainly he was; for Jem's eyes were still
rather red, and he had a smear on his face, half
tears and half dirt, and his hat was on hind side
before.
Of course I'm like you,' said the boy, laugh-
ing. Why, I'm your temper. Don't you know
you lost me this morning, when you were so put
out about-
'Oh, never mind all about that,' said Jem,
getting very red. 'But how is it I've never seen
you before ?'
Oh, you never do see us, of course, only in this
field,' said the boy. This is the Field of the Lost
Tempers. Whenever anybody gets into a passion
his temper flies away here, and has such a nice








THE FIELD OF THE LOST TEMPERS


holiday! You know nobody's ever cross here!
We don't know what it means.'
And do you often come here ?' said Jem, who
was quite afraid what the answer would be.
Why, tolerably often. I should think you knew
that pretty well,' said the pink boy, laughing at
him. But there's a poor thing that hardly ever
gets half an hour's holiday from one week's end to
another. There, you know who it is, of course:
that blue boy there who is catching the ball.'
He was one of the most beautiful of them all,
and looked so happy. Whom was he so like ?
'Why, it's more like poor Nancy than any
one,' said Jem.
Poor Nancy was an oldish woman who had
been bedridden for many years, and whom Jem
was always sadly afraid of, because she had a
rough chin, almost like a man's, and her fingers
were all twisted with rheumatism; and yet this
beautiful boy was as like her as possible. How he
bounded about the field He played better than
any one. Presently a little sound like a silver bell
was heard.
That means me, of course !' said he, letting the
ball drop out of his hands, and giving a little sigh.
'Ah, poor fellow, you never get very long!'
F 2








68 THE FIELD OF THE LOST TEMPERS'

said one of the boys who had helped Jem over the
hedge.
No, that I don't. I didn't think I should have
got off this morning; but she was rather put
out at having her bed made, so I got a little run
for once. Poor, dear old thing! I wouldn't leave
her a minute longer than she chose. She has
troubles enough without that.'
And he flew away, kissing his hand to them
all. Jem thought he had never seen anything half
so lovely.
What would she do without him ?' said his
first friend. 'Though my master seems to do with-
out me pretty well. I've hardly been near him for
a fortnight.'
'And who's your master ?'
'Oh, you haven't ever seen him ? I thought
you might. Your father has seen him often
enough: the Baron of Growlingham !'
'Oh dear !' said Jem, who knew the Baron was
his father's landlord, and thought he must be a very
terrible person indeed. For Jem was afraid of his
father now and then, and what must any one be
whom even his father was afraid of ?
Does Lady Growlingham's temper ever come
here ?' said he.








THE FIELD OF THE LOST TEMPERS


'Very seldom. Why, we couldn't both be
spared at once. What would become of the
house? The fat would be in the fire, indeed !'
Jem did not know what this meant, but he
supposed it was something dreadful.
Is there any one else here I know ?' said he.
'Well, I don't much think there is. Saturday
night's the time when the Tempers from your
village mostly come. What with the quarrels
about wages, and what with the public-houses, and
what with the scrubbing and tidying up for Sun-
day, we're generally pretty full on Saturday night.
And some Tempers are as sure as possible to come
whenever there's an east wind. Lady Growling-
ham's cook's temper is here pretty often. All the
Christmas holidays we saw a great deal of him;
but that was because the boys were home from
school, and so tiresome.'
Just at that moment a nimble little fellow, with
a yard measure peeping out of his pocket, bounded
over the hedge.
'Here I am! I thought I should never get
away !' said he.
'Who's that ?' inquired Jem.
Oh, it's a shopman's temper !' said the other.
'Could I show you anything else this morning,








70 'THE FIELD OF THE LOST TEMPERS

ma'am?' began the new-comer in the sweetest
little voice in the world.
'Why, you counter-jumper, you've forgotten
yourself!' said Jem's friend. 'No wonder, it's
such ages since you've been here. Well, and how
did you get off? Customers are as tiresome as
ever ?'
Tiresome! I should think they were!' said the
shopman's Temper. But my master can tackle
them. Oh, the drawers and drawers we've been
pulling out together this morning! Oh, the fuss
the two old ladies made because their lace was
34d. instead of 31d.! I really never saw my
master so worried before. And then Mrs. Million,
who's rolling in riches, beating him down about a
trumpery half-yard of velveteen; and Miss Skepp
sending him all over the shop for spring muslins,
and then going off at the end of three-quarters of
an hour without buying anything How she did
tumble the things about, to be sure! and what airs
she and her friend gave themselves about nothing
being fit to look at after the Paris shops But he
wouldn't have lost me then, I believe, if he hadn't
happened to have a toothache. That was what
really gave me a holiday He burst out angrily,
and said-" Ladies, since you like Paris so much, I








THE FIELD OF THE LOST TEMPERS


can only say I wish you were back again there
with all my heart. I don't know how they do
things in France, but I'm sure no Englishman
would ever wish to do business with you "'
'And what did the ladies say?'
'Oh, I believe they laughed in his face. But,
of course, I flew away as hard as I could. The
ladies kept their tempers. People of that sort
always do!'
And nice tempers they are I wish them and
their owners joy of one another!' said Jem's
friend.
'What o'clock is it?' said the shopman's
Temper. I'm so tired, I shall go and have a nap
under this tree. Just think! I'm on duty every
day from seven in the morning till twelve at night,
and later very often.'
It's just about noon,' said Jem's friend.
'Then please may I go back ?' said Jem ; 'my
mother wants me. At least, I think it's about
dinner-time.'
Just at that moment the captain of the Pink
Eleven came forward. He had been chosen captain
because he was so very seldom wanted by his
master, who was one of those people called 'con-
ductors,' whom you may see at concerts some-








72 THE FIELD OF THE LOST TEMPERS

times, flourishing their sticks about, and making
gesticulations with their hands and arms, some-
times nodding, and sometimes stamping or
hitting the book sharply two or three times, and
telling the chorus to begin again from the
Allegretto. This morning he had been at a
rehearsal where everybody was sleepy and stupid,
and had flown out at them all, so that it was
whispered among all the sopranos, 'There's Signor
Farina losing his temper again.' The sopranos
rather enjoyed it, for it made them laugh; but a
good many of the basses lost their tempers too,
and the leading tenor was so sulky he would
hardly open his mouth. So the conductor's Temper,
the captain of the Pink Eleven, came up to Jem
whistling a tune, the very bit which the altos and
basses had blundered so unpardonably over, and
he said to Jem:
I am requested by our club to express to you,
sir, the very great obligation they feel under to you
for the spirited manner in which you recovered our
ball this morning, and to ask if there is any favour
in their power to confer which would mark their
sense of your kindness.'
Jem scratched his head, but could think of
nothing. At last, a bright thought struck him.








TIE FIELD OF THE LOST TEMPERS


Yes, sir, I know what I want,' he said. 'If I
might be allowed to call for the Baron of Growling-
ham's Temper whenever I choose, as well as my
own!'
II'm,' said the captain of the Pink Eleven,
'that's asking a good deal. What do you say to
it?' And as he spoke he turned round to the
Baron's Temper, who was close beside him. You
know you have such a very light place that really
a little extra work wouldn't hurt you.'
'Suppose we say for a month on trial then,'
said the Baron's Temper, who had got so much to
consider the cricket field was his proper place, that
nothing but being (naturally) a very good temper
indeed would have made him take Jem's proposal
so good-humouredly.
'Very good,' said the captain of the Pink
Eleven; and so saying he gave Jem a tiny little
silver whistle, and told him to take very great care
of it, for whenever he blew it the Baron of Growl-
ingham's temper would be sure to come, and do
whatever he wished.
'And now,' said he, 'shake hands, and mind
you never tell anybody about what you have seen;
for nobody but you has ever been admitted to the
Field of the Lost Tempers.'








74 THE FIELD OF THE LOST TEMPERS

So Jem shook hands with him, and all in a
moment he had flown through the air, and was back
again with his elbows on the attic window-seat,
from which he had watched his father ride off in
the morning.
'Why, Jemmy boy, have you been asleep all
this while ? and what has become of you ?' said
his mother. 'I thought you'd have come and
helped me hang the clothes out. Such a misfor-
tune has happened! That tiresome little hussy
made my iron too hot, and she's burnt a hole right
in the front of my new gown Oh, I was vexed,
only it's no use being put out at little things.
Luckily, I've a bit of the stuff by me, and Sally's
very sorry, and says she'll put it in for me this
evening.'
'So you didn't lose your temper, mother ?' said
Jem, with a funny look at her.
'Why, what's the joke now, Jemmy ? ff every-
body lost their tempers as often as someboy--
But there's daddy coming in. I shouldn't wonder
if he gave you a ride on the old mare after all!'
Jem got his ride, but the old mare was tired,
and his father's face was longer than Jem ever re-
membered seeing it. His mother, like a sensible
woman, took no notice, but gave them their









1k .4'


: -Mg
'

tel


--.S O'I H Ip_ '- is X HIM IE R S
IIIS MOTHER GAVE THEM1H13R THEIR1 SUPPE'IR.







TIE FIELD OF THE LOST TEMPERS


supper, which was quite ready, and done to a turn,
and did not say a word till her husband had had
his, and was leaning back in his arm-chair, while
the cat was finishing her supper on the brick floor.
Did you like your bit of beef done that way ?'
she said to him good-naturedly. 'I tried it because
I thought we should all be glad of a change.'
'I've nothing to say against the beef,' said he,
rather shortly. 'It won't be long as we shall get
beef, nor bones neither, if things go on as they do
now.'
'Why, what's the matter ?' said his wife. 'Any-
thing gone wrong at the market to-day?'
Her husband told her all about it, that he
had had a tiff with his landlord, the Baron of
Growlingham, who was dreadfully offended with
him for grubbing up some bushes without asking
his leave. They had met as he was riding into
market-both of them had lost their tempers-' at
least, I know I lost mine,' said Jem's father. I
can't say he lost his, for he'd never found it since
last time. .
'Perhaps it's having the gout,' said Jem's
mother, who had once had an uncle who suffered
in that way.
I don't care what it was,' said her husband.







76 THE FIELD OF THE LOST TEMPERS

' All I know is, that I've got to go up there to-
morrow morning with the money for the three-year-
old colt, and then I suppose we shall have it out.'
'Mayn't I go up with you, father ?' said Jem
from his corner.
'You? Why, mother, what's come to the
child ? We shall have him wanting to go and help
the Queen open Parliament next. I never heard
the like-never in all my born days !' But his
father looked rather proud of his son all the
same.
'Why, it's just like what you used to be your-
self, daddy,' said his wife. 'Don't you remember
how they used to call you the little jack weasel,"
because you were always popping your head up in
all sorts of holes and corners where you weren't
expected ? Don't you remember when they were
building the bridge how you were always giving
good advice to the workmen ? Dear me, if any-
body had told me you were to be my husband
then !' and she burst out laughing.
Her husband laughed too, though he did not
much like being made to laugh at himself; and
he said, 'Very well, wife; I'll take the little chap;
but it's more than my father ever did for me. And
now, Jem, be off with you to bed.'







THE FIELD OF THE LOST TEMPERS


So Jem went to bed ; but his father and mother
went on talking for a long, long while.
The Baron of Growlingham lived in a regular
old castle. It had a moat and a drawbridge,
which you had to go over if you went to the front
door. But behind the house the moat was filled
up, and the back door was not so very much more
dreadful than other people's back doors.
So it's you, Master Huggins !' said the man
who opened the door.
Yes; which way is the wind this morning,
Master Fletcher?' said Jem's father.
The man put his hand up to his mouth, and
his face close to Master Huggins's ear, and said,
in a loud whisper, 'East nor' east, I should say:
nearly blew all the crockery off the breakfast-table,
and all the account-books at the. steward's head.
You'll be lucky if you don't get a few brickbats
flung again your face. And this little chap ? '
Oh, he's mine !' said the father : 'he'll be no
trouble. I suppose we shall only see the steward.'
But, as it turned out, they had both to go into
the Baron's own room, where he was sitting in his
arm-chair, looking very black indeed; and poor
Lady Growlingham, a pale, thin lady, in a grey
dress with green ribbons, was standing by him.








78 THE FIELD OF THE LOST TEMPERS

'I desired to see you myself, Huggins,' said the
Baron, 'because I wished to give ydu to under-
stand that after your conduct yesterday, and the
infamously impertinent and unpardonable manner
in which you spoke to me, I do not choose to have
you any longer as a tenant. You will find yourself
--at least, I conclude you will-some other place
of abode in the course of the month. By this day
month I shall expect those premises to be vacated.
I have another tenant for them. Do you under-
stand me, sir?'
Yes, my Lord Baron, I do,' said Jem's father,
hanging down his head. But-I'm sure I ask
your lordship's pardon. I make my humble
apologies. I--
'Ah, I've no doubt you do !' said the Baron.
'All I can say is, it's a pity you didn't do it a little
sooner, that's all.'
Is it really too late ?' said Lady Growlingham
timidly.
'Too late! of course it is!' said the Baron.
'I'm not going to be spoken to in the way he spoke
to me last night, by any man living. Too late of
course it is !'
Jem was standing by the window pretending to
look at the deer in the park. But he pulled out







THE FIELD OF THE LOST TEMPERS


his little whistle, and blew it very, very gently.
How he wondered what would happen !
Is that boy yours ?' said the Baron to Jem's
father.
Yes, my Lord Baron-that is, if your lordship
pleases.'
And what if I don't please ?' said the Baron,
bursting out laughing, to the great amazement or
his wife. 'What if I don't please ? That's always
the way with you, Huggins: you put off speaking
till too late. Here you have the impertinence to
wait for six or seven years before you ask me
whether I approve of your son or not; and, like a
silly fellow, you wait to beg my pardon for nearly
twenty-four hours, instead of doing it at once.
Now I'll be bound that boy has more sense.
Would you like some cake and wine, my man ?
Griselda, give him a glass of wine, there's a good
soul!
Yes, thank you, my Lord Baron,' said Jem,
and he took the cake, and ate it up.
'Is it good ?' said the Baron.
'Yes, very, my Lord,' said Jem; 'thank you
kindly.'
'And now you may drink her ladyship's health,'
said the Baron, looking as good-natured as pos-







80 THE FIELD OF THE LOST TEMPERS

sible; 'and ask her to show you the cockatoo in
the dining-room. Griselda, you don't mind going
with him, do you ? there's a good soul Huggins,
you may stay here: I've just recollected something
else I wanted to say to you.'
So Lady Growlingham and Jem went to look
at the cockatoo.
I shouldn't wonder if the Baron forgave your
father, after all,' said she. 'He's so very, very
kind. That is--' And she didn't finish the
sentence.
'May I give you this, my lady?' said Jem,
taking out the little whistle. It's his lordship's
temper: only it's a great secret, and I mustn't tell
you how I got it.'
What do you mean, my little man ?' said her
ladyship, looking immensely astonished.
'Oh, I mustn't tell you,' said Jem. 'Only if
you'll keep it, and blow it the next time his lord-
ship loses-the next time anything goes wrong,
you know--you'll see everything will be sure to
come right again. You saw how it did this
morning, all in a minute.'
'Was that when you were standing in the
window?' said Lady Growlingham, who had
certainly noticed the change. Well, as you are








THE FIELD OF THE LOST TEMPERS


such a kind little boy as to give me your pretty
plaything, I'll hang it on to my watch-chain, and
blow it when I think it would be of any use.'
So she took the whistle, and this is why so many
ladies have whistles on their watch-chains now.
I see there's your father coming,' said she.
'Well, Huggins, is it all right ? '
'All right, thank you, my lady. His lordship's
been so good to me, I don't know what to do, nor
what to say. I can't think how we ever came to
fall out last night. It must have been all my fault:
but it shall never happen again-not if I can help
it, my lady.'
'Good-day, Huggins. It would be a very good
thing if we could all keep our tempers,' said Lady
Growlingham.
By the end of the month the Baron's temper
had got quite fond of being with him, so that he
hardly ever wanted to be whistled for. Lady
Growlingham grew fat and rosy, and her husband
petted her so much that she was quite a different
woman. As to Jem, he took great pains to be a
good boy, and help his father and mother, and as
years went on he learnt better and better almost
always to keep his temper.

















THE ASTROLOGER


IF you ever go and stay at the little town of
Castagna, on one of the Italian lakes, mind you
do as we did, and get a boatman to row you to
the Isola Verde, the Green Island, so called from
fhe delightful trees and shrubs with which it is
shadowed. Writing, as I do, on a chilly March
day, in one of the eastern counties of England, I
hardly can believe I ever was in such a fairy land.
The blue sky reflected in the many-tinted waves,
the circle of hills each seeming to change its form
from moment to moment as the boat moved on
its course; the shifting hues, the dazzling ripples,
the even splash of the oars, the light awning
that fluttered over head; and as we got near the
island, the terraces rising one above another, the
scarlet pomegranate flowers, the great shiny-leaved,
scented white magnolias, the cascades of yellow
roses, tumbling over the walls, the dark myrtles,








THE ASTROLOGER


and tall grave fragrant cypresses, the oleander with
delicious pink bunches of blossom-all these things
come starting up to my memory one by one, and I
no longer wonder there are such things as fairy tales.
We brushed against tall stalks of Indian corn,
as we climbed up the steps, which were inlaid with
grey and white stones. Tubs full of orange trees
were ranged beside a low wall, on which we seated
ourselves, scaring away a gorgeous peacock as we
did so. On one side was the glittering water, on
the other turf and terraces and flowers, and myrtles,
and statues-not looking cold and shivery as they
do at home; and beyond all, the palace. An old
gardener, with such a nice big Leghorn straw hat,
and a red sash round his waist, came from potting
out his geraniums, and informed us that he could
not take us into the palace; but if we would ring
a little bell at the back door, the custode or care-
keeper would let us in. We did so ; but the custody,
a haggard man in black, did not take our fancy
so much as the gardener; nor, to say the truth,
are my recollections of the interior half as pleasant
as those of the exterior.
Italian palaces are dreary places. They sug-
gest murders, intrigues, Jesuits, one hardly knows
what. They are always dark, and very far from
G 2








THE ASTROLOGER


snug, with one grand room opening into another;
inlaid floors, which the servants lazily dust with a
feather brush ; alabaster vases, clumsy worm-eaten
gilt chairs, statues and busts, and leather screens,
and heavy large-patterned silk hangings, and odd
streaks of light through Venetian blinds, which now
and then the custode suddenly pulls up to give you a
glimpse of the family pictures. Here is a cardinal,
said to be by Tintoret, with red biretta and cape,
looking at you out of the corner of his eye ; here
a prince in velvet and embroidery, with the collar
of the Golden Fleece round his neck, and one arm
round a pet dog; here a beautiful lady, with all
the stuff that ought to have covered her neck gone
into puffings for her enormous sleeves.
Here is a very severe-looking gentleman in
black; and there-well, did you ever in all your
life see such a sulky-looking lad? Ah that,'
said the custody, is the good duke, Don Julio.'
'The good duke! the naughty duke,' said we.
And if we had known Italian enough, we should
have added-' He is the crossest-looking young
fellow of his age we ever saw.' 'Nevertheless,'
said the custody, with a courteous smile of
superiority, 'he is always called the Good Duke,
and if the ladies will allow me to tell them his








THE ASTROLOGER


history, they will perhaps acknowledge it was not
without reason.' We took another look at the
young man with his long locks of fair hair, his
splendid blue dress, his jewelled hand on his sword
(a sword, one felt sure, kept chiefly for show), the
rich tapestry background, with its heraldic device
of a hand holding a dagger, and a scroll' lo difendo
mio padrone,'' and most of all at the sulky, selfish,
unattractive face; and then we allowed our guide
to lead the way to a balcony which commanded a
perfect view of the garden, the lake, and the
distant hills. We took our seats, the climbing
roses bobbing almost in our faces as we did so,
and there, on that lovely spring afternoon, our
guide told us the following story, which you may
believe or not, just as you please.
The young duke (his name was Julio) was an
only son, and very rich. In those days there was
never any blight on the vines or mulberries, and
no disease among the silkworms. His father had
died early, and his mother had brought him up to
do exactly as he liked, and let him have everything
he wished for. Her one desire in the world was
to make him happy, and it was a great disappoint-
ment to her that as he grew up nothing seemed to
I defend my master.







THE ASTROLOGER


do so. She spoilt him in every possible way, but
he gave her no love in return. At last, in despair,
she went to live in a convent, as he let her see
quite plainly that she worried him, and did not
seem ever to care to be with her. Before she went,
however, she persuaded him to have his likeness
taken, that she might have it to take to the convent
with her (the lady abbess having made a dispensa-
tion in her favour), and this picture was the result.
As you will see, it is done by a very clever painter ;
but the young duke was so cross at having to sit
still, that, as you have said, it is not a very pleasant
likeness.
The painter could not help saying to some one
afterwards that he had usually noticed that the
people who led the least useful lives always made
the greatest fuss about sitting for their pictures
being such waste of time; and to hear the young
duke talk you would have thought he had the
business of the whole country on his hands, where-
as really he would probably have been out fishing
in a pleasure-boat all day. Well, when it was done,
everybody said what a perfect likeness it was.
Even the dog knew it, and sat down to beg on his
hind legs in front of it! But the duke was very
much annoyed. 'Is it really so like me ?' he








THE ASTROLOGER


said. 'Do I really look as-well, as miserable as
that ?'
You do, my love, when you get one of your
fits of depression,' said his mother.
'Well, I often do feel depressed,' said the young
duke. 'I wonder why.'
It's in the family,' said his mother sadly ; at
least your father used to suffer in the same way.'
Judging from his portraits, he certainly did. His
wife was too good to his memory to add, 'and I'm
sure he made me suffer too,' as she might honestly
have done. Not long after that she went to the
convent and took the picture with her.
But the young duke could not forget it. It
seemed to haunt him. The idea that he looked as
miserable (nobody dared to call it cross) as that,
quite worried him, and made him more miserable.
He had every kind of amusement, but nothing
amused him. He began to get really downright
ill, and he took it into his head that there was a
doom upon him, and that he was fated to be
wretched whether he liked it or no. His beautiful
garden gave him no pleasure, his horses and dogs
ceased to delight him, the music seemed all out of
tune, the pictures out of drawing ; and it is literally
true that this young man, with every advantage




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