Chapter XI: Part TWO: Fairy Stories (3)

But soon the bird came back with her bill full of down, and lined the soft warm nest so that it was fit for a Fairy to sleep in. Butterfly peeped into it, and exclaimed, “Oh, what a pretty thing!”

Immediately she heard the tinkling of a lute, and a clear voice singing:--

“_Bit by bit the bird builds her nest!_”

She started up, and the Queen of the Air Fairies stood before her, clad in a robe of azure gossamer, embroidered with rainbow lights.

“Foolish Butterfly,” said she, “we allow no idlers here. Obey your Queen, and go at once to the Green Cavern in the Island of Ceylon. Time and patience will accomplish all things. Go and make your diamond, and then you shall be welcome here.” Butterfly tried to tell her how very hard it was to make a diamond, but the Queen of the Air Fairies flew away, touching her lute, and singing:--

“_Bit by bit the bird builds her nest!_”

Butterfly leaned her head upon her hands for a minute. She began to be ashamed of being so lazy, but she did not yet wish to go to the lonely Green Cavern, and work hard. So she waved her wand, and called again:--

“_Hummingbird! Hummingbird!
Come nigh! Come nigh!
And carry me back
Through the clear Blue Sky!_”

Immediately the little hummingbird returned, and she sprang on his back. He flew down with her, and she alighted near the green mound inside of which the Fairy Queen held her Court.

Close by the mound Butterfly saw some bees working in a crystal hive. Wearily and sadly she watched them. They left the hive, dipped into flowers, and carried their loads of sweet pollen back to the hive, and there they built their wax combs filled with golden honey. “I wish,” thought she, “that I loved to work as hard as the bees do! But as for that diamond, it is useless to think about it! I should never finish it!”

Just then she heard strains of delightful music coming from the mound, and a chorus of Fairy voices singing:--

“_Little by little the bee builds its cell!_”

Butterfly could have wept when she heard those familiar voices, for she longed to be with her Fairy sisters dancing hand-in-hand. “I will make the diamond,” murmured she. “I shall surely get it done sometime! And I can fly home every night and dance in the Fairy Ring, or sleep in the flowers!”

Immediately a joyful strain of music rose on the air, and she heard her sisters’ voices singing:--

“_To the Green Cavern haste away!
Sleep by night, and work by day!
Little by little the gem will grow,
Till pure as sunshine it will glow!_”

Alas! when Butterfly heard this, instead of flying at once to the Green Cavern, she began to think how hard she should have to work, and how many times she must turn the diamond. “I never can do it!” thought she. “I will go to the Queen of the Ocean Fairies. I am sure she will let me live in her Sea-Palace; and I need never work again!”

Mournful notes came from the mound, as Butterfly turned toward the seashore. When she reached the beach, she waved her wand, and called:--

“_Nautilus! Nautilus!
Come to me
And carry me through
The cold green Sea!_”

Immediately the delicate pearly boat of the nautilus came floating over the Ocean, and a wave landed it at Butterfly’s feet. She stepped in, and down, down, under the waves she went, down to the bed of the Ocean, to a coral grove. And there was the magnificent palace of the Queen of the Ocean Fairies. Its pink coral pillars were twisted into a thousand beautiful forms. Pearls hung in deep festoons from the arches. The fan-coral and the sea-moss were formed into deep, cool bowers. And the hard, sandy floor was covered with many-coloured shells.

But as it had been in the Air, so it was in the Sea! When the Queen of the Ocean Fairies saw Butterfly’s dirty brown wings, she and all her Court waved their wands and disappeared. And Butterfly was left alone in the Sea-Palace.

“How beautiful it is!” cried she. “Giants must have made these coral pillars!” As she spoke her eyes were nearly blinded by a swarm of tiny insects, and she saw them rest on an unfinished coral pillar. While she looked and wondered, she heard a thousand shell-trumpets being blown, and many voices singing:--

“_Mite by mite the insect builds the coral bower!_”

The sounds drew nearer and nearer, and a hundred Fairies, standing in beautiful shells, came floating through the water. In the largest shell of all was their Queen in a robe of wave-coloured silk spun by the Ocean silkworm. It was as thin as a spider’s web, and the border was gracefully wrought with seed pearls.

“Foolish Butterfly,” said the Queen, “learn to be industrious. We allow no idlers at our Court. Look at the coral pillars of my palace. They were made by these swarms of little creatures. Labour and patience did it all.”

And she waved her wand, and the hundred shells floated away, while all the Fairies sang:--

“_Mite by mite the insect builds the coral bower!_”

“Well!” said Butterfly, sighing. “All creatures are busy, on the earth, in the air, and under the water. All things seem happy at their work. Perhaps I can learn to be so, too. I will make the diamond. And it shall be as pure and brilliant as a sunbeam in a water-drop!”

So Butterfly sought the Green Cavern in the Island of Ceylon. Day by day she worked as busily as the coral insects. She grew cheerful and happy. Her wings once more became a splendid green, and the silver spots were so bright that they seemed like sparks of fire. Never had she been so beautiful, never so much loved by the little birds and flowers.

After seven years had passed by, Butterfly knelt at the feet of her Queen and offered her diamond. It gave light like a star, and the whole Fairy Mound shone with its rays. And to this day the Fairies call it “Butterfly’s Diamond.”

_Lydia Maria Child_ (_Adapted_)

LITTLE NIEBLA

Have you seen the white mist over the River Yi in the morning--a light white mist that flies away when the sun gets hot? Yes? Then I will tell you a story about the white mist and a little girl named Alma.

Little Alma lived close to the River Yi, but far, far from here, beyond the trees and beyond the blue hills, for the Yi is a very long river. She lived with her grandmother and with six uncles, all big, tall men with long beards, and they always talked about wars, and cattle, and a great many other important things that Alma could not understand. There was no one to talk to Alma and for Alma to talk to or to play with. And when she went out of the house where all the big people were talking, she heard the cocks crowing, the dogs barking, the birds singing, the sheep bleating, and the trees rustling their leaves over her head, and she could not understand one word of all they said. At last, having no one to play with or talk to, she sat down and began to cry.

Now, it happened that near the spot where she sat there was an old black woman wearing a red shawl, who was gathering sticks for the fire, and she asked Alma why she cried.

“Because I have no one to talk to and play with,” said Alma.

Then the old black woman drew a long brass pin out of her shawl, and pricked Alma’s tongue with it, for she made Alma hold it out to be pricked.

“Now,” said the old woman, “you can go and play and talk with the dogs, cats, birds, and trees, for you will understand all they say, and they will understand all you say.”

Alma was very glad, and ran home as fast as she could to talk to the cat.

“Come, cat, let us talk and play together,” she said.

“Oh, no,” said the cat. “I am very busy watching a little bird, so you must go away and play with little Niebla down by the river.”

Then the cat ran away among the weeds and left her. The dogs also refused to play when she went to them, for they had to watch the house and bark at strangers. Then they also told her to go and play with little Niebla down by the river.

Then Alma ran out, and caught a little duckling, a soft little thing, that looked like a ball of yellow cotton, and said: “Now, little duck, let us talk and play.”

But the duckling only struggled to get away, and screamed: “Oh, Mamma! Mamma! Come and take me away from Alma!”

Then the old duck came rushing up, and said: “Alma, let my child alone; and if you want to play, go and play with Niebla down by the river. A nice thing to catch my duckie in your hands--what next, I wonder!”

So she let the duckling go, and at last she said, “Yes, I will go and play with Niebla down by the river.”

She waited till she saw the white mist, and then ran all the way to the Yi, and stood still on the green bank close by the water with the white mist all round her.

By and by she saw a beautiful little child come flying toward her in the white mist. The child came and stood on the green bank, and looked at Alma. Very, very pretty she was; and she wore a white dress--whiter than milk, whiter than foam, and all embroidered with purple flowers. She had also white silk stockings and scarlet shoes, bright as scarlet verbenas. Her hair was long and fluffy, and shone like gold, and round her neck she had a string of big, gold beads.

Then Alma said, “Oh, beautiful little girl, what is your name?”

To which the little girl answered: “Niebla.”

“Will you talk to me, and play with me?” said Alma.

“Oh, no,” said Niebla; “how can I play with a little girl dressed as you are, and with bare feet?”

For, you know, poor Alma only wore a little old frock that came down to her knees, and she had no shoes and stockings on.

Then little Niebla rose up and floated away, away from the bank and down the river. And at last, when she was quite out of sight in the white mist, Alma began to cry. When it got very hot, she went and sat down, still crying, under the trees. There were two very big willow trees growing near the river. By and by the leaves rustled in the wind, and the trees began talking to each other, and Alma understood everything they said.

“Have you got any nests in your branches?” said one tree.

“Yes, one,” said the other tree. “It was made by a little yellow bird, and there are five speckled eggs in it.”

Then the first tree said: “There is little Alma sitting in our shade. Do you know why she is crying, Neighbour?”

The other tree answered: “Yes, it is because she has no one to play with. Little Niebla by the river refused to play with her because she is not beautifully dressed.”

Then the first tree said: “Ah, she ought to go and ask the fox for some pretty clothes to wear. The fox always keeps a great store of pretty things in her hole.”

Alma had listened to every word of this conversation. She remembered that a fox lived on the hillside not far off; for she had often seen it sitting in the sunshine, with its little ones playing round it and pulling their mother’s tail in fun.

So Alma got up, and ran till she found the hole, and putting her head down it, she cried out: “Fox! Fox!”

But the fox seemed cross, and only answered, without coming out, “Go away, Alma, and talk to little Niebla. I am busy getting dinner for my children, and have no time to talk to you now.”

Then Alma cried: “Oh, Fox, Niebla will not play with me because I have no pretty things to wear! Oh, Fox, will you give me a nice dress, and shoes and stockings, and a string of beads?”

After a little while the fox came out of its hole with a big bundle done up in a red cotton handkerchief, and said: “Here are the things, Alma, and I hope they will fit you. But, you know, Alma, you really ought not to come at this time of day, for I am very busy just now cooking the dinner--an armadillo roasted and a couple of partridges stewed with rice, and a little omelette of turkeys’ eggs--I mean plovers’ eggs, of course; I never touch turkeys’ eggs.”

Alma said she was very sorry to give so much trouble.

“Oh, never mind,” said the fox. “How is your grandmother?”

“She is very well, thank you,” said Alma, “but she has a bad headache.”

“I am very sorry to hear it,” said the fox. “Tell her to stick two fresh dock-leaves on her temples, and on no account to go out in the hot sun. Give her my best respects. And now, run home, Alma, and try on the things, and when you are passing this way, you can bring me back the handkerchief, as I always tie my face up in it when I have the toothache.”

Alma thanked the fox very much, and ran home as fast as she could; and when the bundle was opened she found in it a beautiful white dress embroidered with purple flowers, a pair of scarlet shoes, silk stockings, and a string of great golden beads.

They all fitted her very well; and next day, when the white mist was on the Yi, she dressed herself in her beautiful clothes, and went down to the river. By and by little Niebla came flying along; and when she saw Alma, she came and kissed her, and took her by the hand. All the morning they played and talked together, gathering flowers and running races over the green sward. And, at last, Niebla bade her good-bye, and flew away, for all the white mist was floating off down the river.

But every day after that, Alma found her little companion by the Yi, and was very happy, for now she had some one to talk to and to play with.

_W. H. Hudson_ (_Condensed_)

LITTLE TINY

There was once a woman who wished very much to have a little child; so she went to a Fairy, and said: “I should so very much like to have a little child. Can you tell me where I may find one?”

“Oh, that is easily managed,” said the Fairy. “Here is a barley-corn of a different kind to those which grow in the farmers’ fields, and which the chickens eat. Put it into a flower-pot, and see what will happen.”

“Thank you,” said the woman, and she gave the Fairy twelve shillings, which was the price of the barley-corn. Then she went home and planted it, and immediately there grew up a large handsome flower, something like a tulip in appearance, but with its leaves tightly closed as if it was still a bud.

“It is a beautiful flower,” said the woman, and she kissed the red and golden-coloured leaves, and while she did so the flower opened, and she could see that it was a real tulip.

Within the flower, upon the green velvet stamens, sat a very delicate and graceful little maiden. She was scarcely half as long as a thumb, and they gave her the name of “Little Thumb,” or Tiny, because she was so small. A walnut-shell, elegantly polished, served her for a cradle. Her bed was formed of blue violet-leaves, with a rose-leaf for a counterpane.

Here she slept at night, but during the day she amused herself on a table, where the woman had placed a plateful of water. Round this plate were wreaths of flowers with their stems in the water, and upon it floated a large tulip-leaf, which served Tiny for a boat. Here the little maiden sat and rowed herself from side to side, with two oars made of white horse-hair. It really was a very pretty sight. Tiny could, also, sing so softly and sweetly that nothing like her singing had ever before been heard.

One night, while she lay in her pretty bed, a large, ugly, wet toad crept through a broken pane of glass in the window, and leaped right up on the table where Tiny lay sleeping under her rose-leaf quilt.

“What a pretty little wife this would make for my son!” said the toad, and she took up the walnut-shell in which little Tiny lay asleep, and jumped through the window with it into the garden.

In the swampy margin of a broad stream in the garden lived the toad, with her son. He was uglier even than his mother, and when he saw the pretty little maiden in her elegant bed, he could only cry: “_Croak, croak, croak_.”

“Don’t speak so loud, or she will wake,” said the toad, “and then she might run away, for she is as light as swan’s down. We will place her on one of the water-lily leaves out in the stream. It will be like an island to her, she is so light and small, and then she cannot escape. And, while she is away, we will make haste and prepare the state-room under the marsh, in which you are to live when you are married.”

Far out in the stream grew a number of water-lilies, with broad green leaves, which seemed to float on the top of the water. The largest of these leaves appeared farther off than the rest, and the old toad swam out to it with the walnut-shell, in which little Tiny lay still asleep.

The little creature woke very early in the morning, and began to cry bitterly when she found where she was, for she could see nothing but water on every side of the large green leaf, and no way of reaching the land.

Meanwhile the old toad was very busy under the marsh, decking her room with rushes and wild yellow flowers, to make it look pretty for her new daughter-in-law. Then she swam out with her ugly son to the leaf on which she had placed poor little Tiny. She wanted to fetch the pretty bed, that she might put it in the bridal chamber to be ready for her.

The old toad bowed low to her in the water, and said: “Here is my son. He will be your husband, and you will live happily together in the marsh by the stream.”

“_Croak, croak, croak_,” was all her son could say for himself. So the toad took up the elegant little bed, and swam away with it, leaving Tiny all alone on the green leaf, where she sat and wept. She could not bear to think of living with the old toad, and having her ugly son for a husband.

The little fishes, who swam about in the water, had seen the toad, and heard what she said, so they lifted their heads above the water to look at the little maiden. As soon as they caught sight of her, they saw she was very pretty, and it made them sorry to think that she must go and live with the ugly toads. “No, it must never be!” so they assembled together in the water, round the green stalk which held the leaf on which the little maiden stood, and gnawed it away at the root with their teeth. Then the leaf floated down the stream, carrying Tiny far away.

Tiny sailed past many towns, and the little birds in the bushes saw her, and sang: “What a lovely little creature!” So the leaf swam away with her farther and farther, till it brought her to other lands. A graceful little white butterfly constantly fluttered round her, and at last alighted on the leaf. Tiny pleased him, and she was glad of it, for now the toad could not possibly reach her, and the country through which she sailed was beautiful, and the sun shone upon the water, till it glittered like liquid gold. She took off her girdle and tied one end of it round the butterfly, and the other end of the ribbon she fastened to the leaf, which now glided on much faster than ever, taking little Tiny with it as she stood.

Presently a large cockchafer flew by. The moment he caught sight of her, he seized her round her delicate waist with his claws, and flew with her into a tree. The green leaf floated away on the brook, and the butterfly flew with it, for he was fastened to it, and could not get away.

Oh, how frightened little Tiny felt when the cockchafer flew with her to the tree! But especially was she sorry for the beautiful white butterfly which she had fastened to the leaf, for if he could not free himself he would die of hunger. But the cockchafer did not trouble himself at all about the matter. He seated himself by her side on a large green leaf, gave her some honey from the flowers to eat, and told her she was very pretty, though not in the least like a cockchafer. After a time, all the cockchafers who lived in the tree came to visit her. They stared at Tiny, and then the young lady-cockchafers turned up their feelers, and said: “She has only two legs! how ugly that looks.” “She has no feelers,” said another. “Her waist is quite slim. Pooh! she is like a human being.”

“Oh! she is ugly!” said all the lady-cockchafers, although Tiny was very pretty. Then the cockchafer who had run away with her, believed all the others when they said she was ugly, and would have nothing more to say to her, and told her she might go where she liked. Then he flew down with her from the tree, and placed her on a daisy, and she wept at the thought that she was so ugly that even the cockchafers would have nothing to say to her. And all the while she was really the loveliest creature that one could imagine, and as tender and delicate as a beautiful rose-leaf!

During the whole summer poor little Tiny lived quite alone in the wide forest. She wove herself a bed with blades of grass, and hung it up under a broad leaf, to protect herself from the rain. She sucked the honey from the flowers for food, and drank the dew from their leaves every morning. So passed away the Summer and the Autumn, and then came the Winter,--the long, cold Winter.

All the birds who had sung to her so sweetly were flown away, and the trees and the flowers had withered. The large clover leaf under the shelter of which she had lived, was now rolled together and shrivelled up, nothing remained but a yellow withered stalk. She felt dreadfully cold, for her clothes were torn, and she was herself so frail and delicate, that, poor little thing, she was nearly frozen to death! It began to snow too; and the snow-flakes, as they fell upon her, were like a whole shovelful falling upon one of us, for we are tall, but she was only an inch high. Then she wrapped herself up in a dry leaf, but it cracked in the middle and could not keep her warm, and she shivered with cold.

Near the wood in which she had been living lay a large corn-field, but the corn had been cut a long time; nothing remained but the bare dry stubble standing up out of the frozen ground. It was to her like struggling through a large wood. Oh! how she shivered with the cold. She came at last to the door of a field-mouse, who had a little den under the corn-stubble. There dwelt the field-mouse in warmth and comfort, with a whole roomful of corn, a kitchen, and a beautiful dining-room. Poor little Tiny stood before the door just like a little beggar-girl, and begged for a small piece of barley-corn, for she had been without a morsel to eat for two days.

“You poor little creature,” said the field-mouse, who was really a good old field-mouse, “come into my warm room and dine with me.” She was very pleased with Tiny, so she said: “You are quite welcome to stay with me all the Winter, if you like; but you must keep my rooms clean and neat, and tell me stories, for I shall like to hear them very much.” And Tiny did all the field-mouse asked her, and found herself very comfortable.

“We shall have a visitor soon,” said the field-mouse one day. “My neighbour pays me a visit once a week. He is better off than I am. He has large rooms, and wears a beautiful black velvet coat. If you could only have him for a husband, you would be well provided for indeed! But he is blind, so you must tell him some of your prettiest stories.”

But Tiny did not feel at all interested about this neighbour, for he was a mole. However, he came and paid his visit, dressed in his black velvet coat.

“He is very rich and learned, and his house is twenty times larger than mine,” said the field-mouse.

He was rich and learned, no doubt, but he always spoke slightingly of the sun and the pretty flowers, because he had never seen them. Tiny was obliged to sing to him: “Lady-bird, lady-bird, fly away home,” and many other pretty songs. And the mole fell in love with her because she had such a sweet voice. But he said nothing yet, for he was very cautious.

A short time before, the mole had dug a long passage under the earth, which led from the dwelling of the field-mouse to his own, and here she had permission to walk with Tiny whenever she liked. But he warned them not to be alarmed at the sight of a dead bird which lay in the passage. It was a perfect bird, with a beak and feathers, and could not have been dead long, and was lying just where the mole had made his passage.

The mole took a piece of phosphorescent wood in his mouth, and it glittered like fire in the dark. Then he went before them to light them through the long, dark passage. When they came to the spot where lay the dead bird, the mole pushed his broad nose through the ceiling, the earth gave way, so that there was a large hole, and the daylight shone into the passage.

In the middle of the floor lay the dead swallow, his beautiful wings pulled close to his sides, his feet and his head drawn up under his feathers. The poor bird had evidently died of the cold. It made little Tiny very sad to see it, she did so love the little birds. All the Summer they had sung and twittered for her so beautifully.

But the mole pushed it aside with his crooked legs, and said: “He will sing no more now. How miserable it must be to be born a little bird! I am thankful that none of my children will ever be birds, for they can do nothing but cry, ‘Tweet, tweet,’ and always die of hunger in the Winter.”

“Yes, you may well say that, you clever man!” exclaimed the field-mouse. “What is the use of his twittering, for when Winter comes he must either starve or be frozen to death. Still, birds are very high-bred.”

Tiny said nothing; but when the others had turned their backs on the bird, she stooped down and stroked aside the soft feathers which covered the head, and kissed the closed eyelids. “Perhaps this was the one who sang to me so sweetly in the Summer,” she said; “and how much pleasure it gave me, you dear, pretty bird.”

The mole now stopped up the hole through which the daylight shone, and then accompanied Tiny and the field-mouse home.

But during the night Tiny could not sleep; so she got out of bed and wove a large, beautiful carpet of hay. Then she carried it to the dead bird, and spread it over him, with some down from the flowers which she had found in the field-mouse’s room. The down was as soft as wool, and she spread some of it on each side of the bird, so that he might lie warmly in the cold earth.

“Farewell, you pretty little bird!” said she, “farewell! Thank you for your delightful singing during the Summer, when all the trees were green, and the warm sun shone upon us.”

Then she laid her head on the bird’s breast, but she was alarmed immediately, for it seemed as if something inside the bird went “_thump, thump_.” It was the bird’s heart! He was not really dead, only benumbed with the cold, and the warmth had restored him to life. In Autumn all the swallows fly away into warm countries, but if one happens to linger, the cold seizes it, it becomes frozen, and falls down as if dead. It remains where it fell, and the cold snow covers it. Tiny trembled very much. She was quite frightened, for the bird was large, a great deal larger than herself--she was only an inch high. But she took courage, laid the wool more thickly over the poor swallow, and then took a leaf which she had used for her own counterpane, and laid it over the head of the poor bird.

The next morning she again stole out to see him. He was alive but very weak. He could only open his eyes for a moment to look at Tiny, who stood by holding a piece of decayed wood in her hand, for she had no other lantern.

“Thank you, pretty little maiden,” said the sick swallow; “I have been so nicely warmed, that I shall soon regain my strength, and be able to fly about in the warm sunshine.”

“Oh,” said she, “it is cold out of doors now. It snows and freezes. Stay in your warm bed. I will take care of you.”

Then she brought the swallow some water in a flower-leaf, and after he had drunk, he told her that he had wounded one of his wings in a thorn-bush, and could not fly so fast as the other birds, who were soon far away on their journey to warm countries. Then at last he had fallen to the earth, and could remember no more nor how he came to be where she had found him.

The whole Winter the swallow remained underground, and Tiny nursed him with care and love. Neither the mole nor the field-mouse knew anything about it, for they did not like swallows. Very soon the Spring-time came, and the sun warmed the earth. Then the swallow bade farewell to Tiny, and she opened the hole in the ceiling which the mole had made. The sun shone in upon them so beautifully that the swallow asked her if she would go with him. She could sit on his back, he said, and he would fly away with her into the green woods. But Tiny knew it would make the field-mouse very grieved if she left her in that manner, so she said: “No, I cannot.”

“Farewell, then, farewell, you good, pretty, little maiden!” said the swallow. And he flew out into the sunshine.

Tiny looked after him, and the tears rose in her eyes. She was very fond of the poor swallow.

“Tweet! Tweet!” sang the bird, as he flew out into the green woods, and Tiny felt sad. She was not allowed to go out into the warm sunshine. The corn which had been sown in the field over the house of the field-mouse had grown up high into the air, and formed a thick wood to Tiny, who was only an inch high.

“You are going to be married, Tiny,” said the field-mouse. “My neighbour has asked for you. What good fortune for a poor child like you! Now we will prepare your wedding clothes. They must be both woollen and linen. Nothing must be wanting when you are the mole’s wife.”

Tiny had to turn the spindle; and the field-mouse hired four spiders, who were to weave day and night. Every evening the mole visited her, and was continually speaking of the time when the Summer would be over. Then he would keep his wedding-day with Tiny. But now the heat of the sun was so great that it burned the earth, and made it quite hard, like a stone. As soon as the Summer was over, the wedding should take place.

But Tiny was not at all pleased; for she did not like the tiresome mole. Every morning when the sun rose, and every evening when it went down, she would creep out at the door, and as the wind blew aside the ears of corn, so that she could see the blue sky, she thought how beautiful and bright it seemed out there, and wished so much to see her dear swallow again. But he never returned; for by this time he had flown far away into the lovely green forest.

When Autumn arrived, Tiny had her outfit quite ready; and the field-mouse said to her: “In four weeks the wedding must take place.”

Then Tiny wept, and said she would not marry the disagreeable mole.

“Nonsense,” replied the field-mouse. “Now, don’t be obstinate, or I shall bite you with my white teeth. He is a very handsome mole. The Queen herself does not wear more beautiful velvets and furs. His kitchen and cellars are quite full. You ought to be very thankful for such good fortune.”

So the wedding-day was fixed, on which the mole was to fetch Tiny away to live with him, deep under the earth, and never again to see the warm sun, because _he_ did not like it. The poor child was most unhappy at the thought of saying farewell to the beautiful sun; and, as the field-mouse had given her permission to stand at the door, she went to look at it once more.

“Farewell, bright sun!” she cried, stretching out her arm toward it. And then she walked a short distance from the house; for the corn had been cut, and only the dry stubble remained in the fields. “Farewell! Farewell!” she repeated, twining her arm round a little red flower that grew just by her side. “Greet the little swallow from me, if you should see him again.”

“Tweet! Tweet!” sounded over her head suddenly. She looked up, and there was the swallow himself flying close by. As soon as he spied Tiny, he was delighted; and then she told him how unwilling she felt to marry the ugly mole, and to live always beneath the earth, and never to see the bright sun any more. And as she told him she wept.

“Cold Winter is coming,” said the swallow, “and I am going to fly away into warmer countries. Will you go with me? You can sit on my back, and fasten yourself on with your sash. Then we can fly away from the ugly mole and his gloomy rooms--far away, over the mountains, into warmer countries, where the sun shines more brightly than here; where it is always Summer, and the flowers bloom in greater beauty. Fly now with me, dear little Tiny! You saved my life when I lay frozen in that dark, dreary passage.”

“Yes, I will go with you,” said Tiny. And she seated herself on the bird’s back, with her feet on his outstretched wings, and tied her girdle to one of his strongest feathers.

Then the swallow rose in the air, and flew over forest and over sea, high above the highest mountains, covered with eternal snow. Tiny would have been frozen in the cold air, but she crept under the bird’s warm feathers, keeping her little head uncovered, so that she might admire the beautiful lands over which they passed.

At length they reached the warm countries, where the sun shines brightly, and the sky seems so much higher above the earth. Here, on the hedges, and by the wayside, grew purple, green, and white grapes; lemons and oranges hung from trees in the woods; and the air was fragrant with myrtles and orange blossoms. Beautiful children ran along the country lanes, playing with large gay butterflies. And, as the swallow flew farther and farther, every place appeared still more lovely.

At last they came to a blue lake, and by the side of it, shaded by trees of the deepest green, stood a palace of dazzling white marble, built in the olden times. Vines clustered round its lofty pillars, and at the top were many swallows’ nests, and one of these was the home of the swallow who carried Tiny.

“This is my house,” said the swallow; “but it would not do for you to live there--you would not be comfortable. You must choose for yourself one of those lovely flowers, and I will put you down upon it, and then you shall have everything that you can wish to make you happy.”

“That will be delightful!” she said, and clapped her little hands for joy.

A large marble pillar lay on the ground, which, in falling, had been broken into three pieces. Between these pieces grew the most beautiful large white flowers; so the swallow flew down with Tiny, and placed her on one of the broad leaves. But how surprised she was to see, in the middle of the flowers, a tiny little man, as white and transparent as if he had been made of crystal! He had a gold crown on his head, and delicate wings at his shoulders, and was not much larger than Tiny herself. He was the Fairy of the flower; for a tiny man and a tiny woman dwell in every flower; and this was the King of them all.

“Oh, how beautiful he is!” whispered Tiny to the swallow.

The little King was at first quite frightened at the bird, who was like a giant compared to such a delicate little creature as himself. But when he saw Tiny, he was delighted, and thought her the prettiest little maiden he had ever seen. He took the gold crown from his head, and placed it on hers, and asked her name, and if she would be his wife, and Queen over all the flowers.

This certainly was a very different sort of husband to the son of the toad, or the mole, with his black velvet and fur; so she said “Yes,” to the handsome King.

Then all the flowers opened, and out of each came a little lady or a tiny lord, all so pretty it was quite a pleasure to look at them. Each of them brought Tiny a present. But the best gift was a pair of beautiful wings, which had belonged to a large white fly, and they fastened them to Tiny’s shoulders, so that she might fly from flower to flower.

Then there was much rejoicing, and the little swallow, who sat above them, in his nest, was asked to sing a wedding song, which he did as well as he could; but in his heart he felt sad, for he was very fond of Tiny, and would have liked never to part from her again.

“You must not be called Tiny any more,” said the Fairy of the flowers to her. “It is an ugly name, and you are so very pretty. We will call you Maia.”

“Farewell! Farewell!” said the swallow, with a heavy heart as he left the warm countries, to fly back into Denmark. There he had a nest over the window of a house in which dwelt the writer of Fairy tales. The swallow sang, “Tweet! Tweet!” And from his song came this whole story.

_Hans Christian Andersen_

THE IMMORTAL FOUNTAIN

In ancient times two little Princesses lived in Scotland, one of whom was extremely beautiful, and the other dwarfish, dark-coloured, and deformed. One was named Rose, and the other Marion.

The sisters did not live happily together. Marion hated Rose because the latter was handsome and everybody praised her. So Marion scowled and her face grew absolutely black when anybody asked her how her pretty little sister was. And once she was so wicked and jealous that she cut off all Rose’s glossy golden hair, and threw it in the fire. Poor Rose cried bitterly about it, but she did not scold or strike her sister, for she was an amiable and gentle little being.

No wonder, then, that all the family and all the neighbours disliked Marion; and no wonder that her face grew uglier and uglier every day. But the neighbours used to say that Rose had been blessed by the Fairies, to whom she owed her extraordinary beauty and goodness.

Not far from the castle where the Princesses resided was a deep grotto, said to lead to the Palace of Beauty where the Queen of the Fairies held her Court. Some said that Rose had fallen asleep there one day when she was tired of chasing a butterfly, and that the Queen had dipped her in an Immortal Fountain, from which she had risen with the beauty of an angel. Marion often asked Rose about this story, but the child always replied that she was forbidden to speak of it. When Rose saw any uncommon bird or butterfly, she would exclaim: “Oh, how much that looks like Fairyland!” But when asked what she knew about Fairyland, she blushed and would not answer.

Marion thought a great deal about this. “Why can I not go to the Palace of Beauty?” thought she. “And why may I not bathe in the Immortal Fountain?”

One Summer’s noon, when all was still save the faint twitterings of birds and the lazy hum of bees, Marion entered the deep grotto. She sat down on a bank of moss. The air around her was as fragrant as if it came from a bed of violets. And with the far-off sound of music in her ears, she fell into a gentle slumber.

When she awoke it was evening, and she found herself in a small hall, where opal pillars supported a rainbow roof, the bright reflection of which rested on crystal walls and on a golden floor inlaid with pearls. All around, between the opal pillars, stood the tiniest vases of pure alabaster, in which grew a multitude of brilliant and fragrant flowers; some of which, twining around the pillars, were lost in the floating rainbow above. This scene of beauty was lighted by millions of fireflies glittering in the air like wandering stars.

While Marion was gazing in amazement at all this, a little lady of rare loveliness stood before her. Her robe was of green and gold. Her flowing gossamer mantle was caught upon one shoulder with a pearl, and in her hair was a solitary star composed of five diamonds, each no bigger than a pin point. She smiled at Marion and sang:--

“_The Fairy Queen
Hath rarely seen
Creature of earthly mould
Within her door
On pearly floor
Inlaid with shining gold!
Mortal, all thou seest is fair!
Quick! Thy purposes declare!_”

As she concluded, the song was taken up and thrice repeated by a multitude of soft voices in the distance. It seemed as if birds and insects joined in the chorus; and ever and anon between the pauses, the sound of a cascade was heard, whose waters fell in music.

All these delightful sounds died away, and the Queen of the Fairies stood patiently awaiting Marion’s answer. Curtsying low, and with a trembling voice, the little maiden said:--

“Will it please Your Majesty to make me as handsome as my sister Rose?”

The Queen smiled again. “I will grant your request,” said she, “if you will promise to fulfil all the conditions I propose.”

Marion eagerly promised that she would.

“The Immortal Fountain,” continued the Queen, “is on the top of a high, steep hill. At four different places Fairies are stationed around it, who guard it with their wands. None can pass except those who obey my orders. Go home now. For one week speak no ungentle word to your sister. At the end of that time come again to the grotto.”

Marion went home light of heart. Rose was in the garden, watering flowers. And the first thing Marion observed was that her sister’s sunny hair had grown as long and beautiful as before it was cut off. The sight made her angry, and she was just about to snatch the watering-pot from Rose’s hand with cross words, when she remembered the Fairy, and passed into the castle in silence.

The end of the week arrived, and Marion had faithfully kept her promise. Again she entered the grotto. The Queen was feasting when Marion reached the hall with opal pillars. The bees had brought, as a gift, golden honey, and placed it on small rose-coloured shells which adorned a crystal table. Bright butterflies floated about the head of the Queen, and fanned her with their wings. Fireflies flew near to give her light. And a large diamond beetle formed her footstool. After she had supped, a dew-drop on a violet petal was brought her to bathe her royal fingers.

Behind the Queen’s chair hovered numerous bright Fairies, but when Marion entered the diamond sparkles on their wings faded as they always do in the presence of anything bad. And in a second all the Queen’s attendants vanished, singing as they went:--

“_The Fairy Queen
Hath rarely seen
Creature of mortal mould
Within her door
On pearly floor
Inlaid with shining gold!_”

“Mortal, have you fulfilled your promise?” asked the Queen.

“I have,” replied the maiden.

“Then follow me.”

Marion did as she was directed, and away they hastened over beds of Violets and Mignonette. Birds sang, butterflies fluttered, and the voices of many fountains came on the breeze.

Presently they reached the hill on the top of which was the Immortal Fountain. The foot of the hill was surrounded by a band of Fairies clothed in green gossamer, and with their ivory wands crossed to bar the ascent. The Queen waved her wand over them, and immediately they stretched their transparent wings and flew away.

The hill was steep, and far, far up climbed the Queen and Marion. The air became more and more fragrant; and more and more distinctly they heard the sound of waters falling in music. At length they were stopped by another band of Fairies, clothed in blue gossamer, with silver wands crossed.

“Here,” said the Queen, “our journey must end. You can go no farther until you have fulfilled the orders I shall give you. Go home now. For one month do by your sister as you would wish her to do by you, if you were Rose and she Marion.”

Marion promised and departed. She found the task harder than the first had been. When Rose asked her for playthings, she found it hard to give them gently and affectionately. When Rose talked to her, she wanted to go away in silence. And when a pocket mirror was found in her sister’s room, broken into a thousand pieces, she felt sorely tempted to conceal that she had done the mischief. But she was so anxious to be made beautiful that she did as she wished to be done by·

All the household remarked how Marion had changed.

“I love her dearly!” said Rose; “she is so good and amiable.”

“So do I!” said a dozen voices.

Marion blushed deeply, and her eyes sparkled with pleasure. “How pleasant it is to be loved!” thought she.

At the end of the month she went to the grotto again. Again the Fairy Queen conducted her up the hill, and this time the Fairies in blue lowered their silver wands and flew away. The two travelled on, higher and higher. The path grew steeper and steeper, but the fragrant air became more delicious, and more distinctly was heard the sound of waters falling in music.

At length their course was stayed by a troop of Fairies clothed in rainbow robes, and holding silver wands tipped with gold. In face and form they were far more beautiful than anything Marion had yet seen.

“Here we must pause,” said the Queen. “This boundary you cannot yet pass.”

“Why not?” asked the impatient Marion.

“Because those who pass the Rainbow Fairies must be very pure,” replied the Queen.

“Am I not very pure?” asked the maiden. “All the people in the castle tell me how good I have grown.”

“Mortal eyes see only the outside,” answered the Queen. “But those who pass the Rainbow Fairies must be pure in thought as well as action. Go home now. For three months never indulge in a wicked or envious thought. You shall then have a glimpse of the Immortal Fountain.”

Marion returned home. At the end of three months she again visited the hall with opal pillars. The Queen did not smile when she saw her; but in silence led the way up the hill toward the Immortal Fountain. The Green Fairies and the Blue Fairies flew away as they approached; but the Rainbow Fairies bowed low to the Queen, and kept their gold-tipped wands firmly crossed.

Marion saw that the silver specks on the Fairies’ wings began to grow dim, and she burst into tears.

“I knew,” said the Queen, “that you could not pass this boundary. Envy has been in your heart. But be not discouraged, for years you have been indulging in wrong feelings; and you must not wonder if it takes many months to drive them out. Go home and try once more.”

So poor Marion went sadly away. And when she visited the hall again, the Queen smiled, and touched her playfully with her wand. She then led her up the hill to the Immortal Fountain. The silver specks on the wings of the Rainbow Fairies shone bright as Marion approached, and the Fairies lowered their wings and flew away.

And now every footstep was on flowers that yielded beneath the feet like a pathway of clouds. The delicious fragrance could almost be felt, and loud and clear and sweet came the sound of waters falling in music. And now Marion could see a cascade leaping and sparkling over crystal rocks. Above it rested a rainbow. The spray fell in pearls forming delicate foliage around the margin of the Fountain. And deep and silent below the foam of the cascade was the Immortal Fountain of Beauty. Its amber-coloured waves flowed over a golden bed, and many Fairies were bathing in its waves, the diamonds in their hair gleaming like sunbeams on the water.

“Oh, let me bathe in the Fountain!” cried Marion, clapping her hands in delight.

“Not yet,” said the Queen. “Behold the Purple Fairies with golden wands that guard its brink.”

Marion looked, and saw Beings lovelier than any her eye had ever rested on.

“You cannot pass them yet,” said the Queen. “Go home. For one year drive from your heart all evil feelings, not for the sake of bathing in this Fountain, but because goodness is lovely and desirable for its own sake. Then your work is done.”

Marion returned home. This was the hardest task of all. For she had been willing to be good, not because it was right, but because she wished to be beautiful. Three times she sought the grotto, and three times she left in tears, for the golden specks on the wings of the Purple Fairies grew dim as she approached, and the golden wands were still crossed to shut her from the Immortal Fountain.

But the fourth time the Purple Fairies lowered their wands, singing:--

“_Thou hast scaled the mountain,
Go, bathe in the Fountain;
Rise fair to the sight,
As an angel of light;
Go bathe in the Fountain!_”

Marion, full of joy, was about to plunge in, but the Queen touched her, saying:--

“Look in the mirror of the water. Art thou not already as beautiful as heart can wish?”

Marion looked at herself, and saw that her eyes sparkled with new lustre, a bright colour shone in her cheeks, her hair waved softly about her face, and dimples played sweetly around her mouth.

“But I have not touched the Immortal Fountain!” cried she, turning in surprise to the Queen.

“True,” replied the Queen. “But its waters have been within your soul. Know that a pure and happy heart, and gentleness toward others, are the only Immortal Fountains of Beauty!”

Marion thanked the Queen, and joyfully returned home.

Rose ran to meet her, and clasped her to her bosom fervently.