Chapter III: Part 3

Then she sighed. So the fairy, to cheer her up, told her all about the lovely garden he had left behind him in the country--the garden where he had lived before the man with the scissors came to cut the rosebud. He told her about the other roses and the fairies that lived in them, and the tall hollyhocks whose fairies were so prim and old-fashioned, and the sweet, shy love-in-a-mist whose fairies always wore veils when they went out, and the sunflower-fairies who had never been taught that it was rude to stare, and the dear unselfish verbena fairies who made the world so sweet for other people and never thought of themselves. Then Granny remembered all sorts of things that she had forgotten for years--fairies she used to know when she was a little girl, and the stories they used to tell her. She told some of the stories to the rosebud fairy, and they talked together for a long time. Granny was happier that evening than she had been for a great many evenings. She said to herself that her birthday had been a very nice one after all.

"Won't you come and live with me?" she said.

The fairy looked round the room.

"Well," he said, "I should like to stay very much, but I really don't see any place here for me to live. My rosebud will soon die and be thrown away."

"But if I were to keep the rosebud always, even when it was dead? Would you stay then?"

The fairy thought for a moment.

"I tell you plainly," he said, "that I don't like the idea of living in a dead rosebud. But I know it's done sometimes, and one mustn't be too particular when one has only one wing."

"I'll ask the little girl who brought you here to come and see you often," said Granny, "and you and I will go out to-morrow and buy some picture-books for her, and some chocolates, and then we shall all three enjoy ourselves together."

The fairy nodded happily.

"That settles it," he said. "I'll stay."

_THE LITTLE BOY FROM TOWN_

If you spend all the year in a big town it is a fine thing to have a summer holiday near the sea. Otherwise you never have a chance of making friends with the sea-fairies or the mermaids, who are the most delightful playmates in the world. You may know all kinds of other fairies, and be quite intimate with them, but as long as you live nothing can ever make up to you for not knowing the sea-fairies.

Little Michael was eight years old, and he had never met a sea-fairy, for he lived in a great town. Then at last his father and mother and he went off for a whole month to the seaside. There were sands there, very hard and yellow and good to make castles with; and there were lonely caves with dripping walls; and there were heaps of slimy, green seaweed, and shells, and rocks for climbing on. Best of all, there were plenty of fairies. Michael made friends with all the fairies of the sea and shore; but his greatest and best friend was a Mermaid who lived in a cave.

The roof of the cave was wet and green, and its floor was pebbly, with here and there a rock. Every day Michael came and sat on one of the rocks and listened to the Mermaid's stories, and to the soft, lapping sound of the little waves. The Mermaid told him such stories as he had never heard before, for she had not always been in that cave, but had swum in deep seas and lived on many shores. She told Michael of places where the sea was warm and green, and the rocks were made of coral, and palm-trees shaded the mermaids when they played upon the sands. She told him too of bitter seas that were made of ice, so that no mermaid could swim in them; and of towering icebergs shining in the sun; and of white mist-fairies, who turned the hair of mermaids into a shower of icicles. Then she told him of sailors who had been her friends, and how some of them were sailing far away, and some of them were drowned, and how all of them were good playmates.

While Michael listened to these stories his eyes were very round and wide open, and often his mouth was open too. He had never enjoyed anything so much before, and he thought it would be dreadful when the day came for him to leave the dancing sea-fairies and the Mermaid's cave, and go back to the big town where he hardly ever saw any fairies at all. One day he said--

"Mermaid dear, I want something to take back to town with me; something to make me remember the sea-fairies and you, and to make me think of the sea for ever and ever."

"Tell me what you want," said the Mermaid, smiling; "and if I can get it for you, I will."

"Well," said Michael, "it's rather a big thing I was thinking of. Perhaps it's too big to ask for. But you see the Bay is full of white-horses to-day. Do you think you could possibly catch one for me? I think if I could take home a white-horse from the Bay, I should remember the sea for ever and ever."

The Mermaid slipped off her rock and dived into the deep water. A few moments afterwards Michael saw her far out in the Bay, with her hair floating in the wind, and her tail glittering under the waves. There were a great many wind-fairies playing about that morning, and that was the reason that the Bay was full of white-horses, for when the wind-fairies are playing on the sea they always ride white-horses.

Michael climbed a high rock and stood on the very top of it, and watched the Mermaid. It was grand to see her gliding through the water, chasing first one white-horse and then another, diving and darting and dodging, and enjoying herself all the time.

"Quick, quick!" cried Michael. "You nearly had him that time!"

But she was not quick enough, for the white-horse was far out of reach even as she threw out her white arms to catch his mane.

The chase lasted a long time, for though mermaids can swim better than most people, a white-horse on the sea is one of the hardest things to catch. At last, however, Michael clapped his hands and shouted--

"She's got him, she's got him! Hurrah--now I shall have a white-horse to take home with me, and to make me think of the sea for ever and ever!"

If it had been a fine sight to see the Mermaid chasing the white-horse across the Bay, it was far finer to see them come prancing back again. The Mermaid was not swimming this time, but riding on the back of the angry white-horse, who plunged and galloped across the Bay, tossing his long mane. And the Mermaid tossed her golden hair and laughed, because she was enjoying her ride. Michael laughed aloud too, because when the white mane and the golden hair streamed up together upon the wind they were very beautiful to see.

And now a very curious and unfortunate thing happened. The wind-fairies suddenly grew tired and went to sleep, every one of them. Now when the wind-fairies go to sleep, the white-horses always dive down below the sea and go to sleep too. Before the Mermaid had reached the shore she was swimming again, for her white-horse had suddenly disappeared and left her with nothing to ride. He had gone to sleep below the sea until the next time the wind-fairies wanted to play.

"Oh, Mermaid dear," cried Michael, "what have you done with my nice new horse?"

"I am very sorry to tell you," said the Mermaid, lying down on the sand to rest herself, "that he has gone below the sea to sleep. It is really most unfortunate, but when a white-horse wants to sleep you can't stop him."

"Oh dear, oh dear," said Michael piteously, for it was a great disappointment. "I did so much want to have a white-horse to make me think of the sea for ever and ever."

"Wouldn't anything else do instead?" asked the Mermaid, who was very kind.

Then Michael noticed that every time a little wave reached the shore it broke on the rocks in a shower of coloured jewels. He pointed to them.

"Bring me some of those, please, Mermaid dear," he said.

So the Mermaid took a large shell, shaped like a saucer, and waited on a rock till a little wave came in and sprinkled the rock with jewels. She held out her shell to catch the jewels, but as soon as they touched the shell they changed into water.

"Look," she said to Michael, "the jewels have melted."

"Oh dear," said Michael, "what am I to do? I am going back to town to-morrow, and I have nothing to remind me of the sea!"

"Do you really and truly wish to think of the sea for ever and ever?" asked the Mermaid.

"Of course I do," said Michael.

"Then I will sing you the Sea Song," said the Mermaid, "and after that there will be nothing that can make you forget the sea."

So while Michael sat on the rock and looked at the sea, the Mermaid sang him the Sea Song, which mermaids have sung to sailors ever since the first ship was built. It is a song that no one ever forgets. It is like the voice of the sea calling, calling; and there are many people who hear it always, even in their dreams. If they are people who have to live in towns, or in country places far from the sea, they are not very happy.

When the Mermaid had finished singing, she said--

"Now I have given you something that will make you think of the sea for ever and ever."

The next day Michael went back to town. He took with him the sound of the Sea Song; and for ever afterwards he heard the voice of the sea calling, calling, even in his dreams.

That was why he became a sailor when he was old enough.

The Gresham Press,
UNWIN BROTHERS, LIMITED,
WOKING AND LONDON.

TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE:

Illustrations have been moved to the nearest paragraph break.

Two printer errors have been corrected:

1. On page 26 a missing hyphen was added in the phrase:
"Sweet-of-the-Mountain."

2. On page 48 a missing hyphen was added in the phrase: "Then all
the sunbeam-fairies shouted...."

In all other cases, the author's original spelling and punctuation have been left intact.

End of Project Gutenberg's Fairies I Have Met, by Maud Margaret Key Stawell