Chapter II: Part 2

'Do tell me which is the prince?' asked Mary. 'Oh!' she said, in a very excited whisper the next instant, 'that must be the prince, that one in the white and gold clothes. Look, he's going to dance with Evangeline!'

Mary was quite right. The prince offered Evangeline his right hand and they came to the middle of the large room together. Then the band, which had stopped for a little while, began to play again, and the prince and Evangeline began to dance.

'How lovely the prince looks!' said Mary; 'does he always look like that?'

'Hus--s--sh!' said Sister Agatha, 'or they won't let us stay.'

'Oh, do please let us stay,' answered Mary in such a low whisper that Sister Agatha scarcely knew she had spoken at all. But if ever she stepped away from the band, which seemed to make a great noise close to Mary's ears, Mary began to look tearful, so, although she felt rather heavy and Sister Agatha's arms were beginning to ache, she let the child stay on, until presently she found that she was fast asleep. And the next thing Mary knew was that she was sitting on her own bed, whilst Sister Agatha took off her stockings, and all the wonders she had seen were at an end for the present.

VI

MARY IS TAKEN AWAY

Mary quite believed that she was living in an enchanted place where she would always be able to have everything she wanted, and even a great many things she did not want in the least. Where there would always be plenty of nice things to eat and drink, and Evangeline to tell her stories as nobody had done before.

She hoped she should never see Mrs. Coppert again as long as she lived, because Evangeline had said that she should not go away until her foot was well again, and although it was certainly better it was not quite well yet.

But there were times when Mary felt just a little afraid, for now and then she dreamed she was back at William Street, where everything seemed much worse than it used to be. And one morning the tall man with the long beard looked at her foot a great while, and when it was covered over again, he quite frightened Mary.

'It is very much better,' he said, 'and there is no reason why she should not try to walk. In fact, the sooner she goes away the better.'

'There now,' said Sister Agatha when he had gone, 'what do you think of that? Won't it be nice to walk again? You will like that, won't you?'

'No,' answered Mary; 'I shan't like it at all. I don't want to walk.'

'Oh yes, you will like it!' said Sister Agatha. 'Now suppose you try to walk across the room.'

Mary rose from her chair, and Sister Agatha held her hand while she limped along by her side. It felt odd to be walking again, and Sister Agatha suggested she should race with her doll. So the doll was placed in a corner, and then Sister Agatha turned the key, which was necessary, she said, because the doll could not eat as Mary did, and the race began. But although Mary seemed to walk much more slowly than the doll, who made a great fuss whenever it walked a few yards, she reached the door first. Sister Agatha clapped her hands, and gave Mary a prize; she gave her a lump of sugar.

But although Mary laughed about the race, she began to look miserable again when she remembered that the tall man had said she was to go away, for of all things in the world she did not wish to leave Evangeline and Sister Agatha. When Evangeline came to see her that afternoon, Mary clasped her small arms round her neck and clung to her, and cried, 'Please don't send me away! Pray don't send me back to Mrs. Coppert!'

'Why, my dear child,' said Evangeline; 'I am not going to send you back. I have never dreamed of such a thing.'

'But he said I was to go away,' answered Mary.

'So you are going away,' Evangeline explained; 'but not to William Street. Sister Agatha and I are going with you, and I think you will like it very much indeed.'

'I shall if you and Sister Agatha go,' said Mary, and now she felt more satisfied, and she spent a happy afternoon with her toys. She went to bed quite happily, but when her head had been some time on the pillow Evangeline entered the room.

'Poor child!' she said, 'is she asleep yet?'

'Yes,' answered Sister Agatha, looking down at Mary's closed eyes; 'she did not lie awake long to-night.'

'How alarmed she was at the idea of leaving us,' said Evangeline quietly.

'And yet,' answered Sister Agatha, 'it is certain she can't stay here for ever. You will have to make up your mind what is to be done before long. Mary will soon be quite well again; besides, you will have other things to think of.'

This conversation made Mary feel uncomfortable again. Of course she ought not to have listened to it; she ought to have sat up in bed, or at least to have called out to let Evangeline know she was not asleep. But the fact was that Mary felt so interested to hear anything about herself that she could not resist the temptation to listen, and after Evangeline had gone downstairs again she still kept her eyes shut, although it was late before she really fell asleep that night.

There were so many other things to think of that she soon forgot all about her fear of going back to William Street, especially when Sister Agatha began to pack a trunk with Mary's clothes and toys. She told her they were going into the country--she and Evangeline and Mary. Of course Mary had no idea what the country could be like, but she tried to find out by asking a great many questions. Sister Agatha said there were fields instead of houses, and trees instead of lamp-posts, but Mary did not understand very clearly what a field was like; still the morning came when they were to start, and Mary was ready first. When she stood before the looking-glass with her new hat and jacket on, really she hardly knew herself. It seemed as if Evangeline must have changed her as Cinderella was changed, for you remember that even Cinderella's sisters did not recognise her at the ball.

Mary Brown stood before the tall glass, and she saw a little girl with a rather pale face; it looked very clean, and her brown hair was carefully tied back with ribbon. She wore tan-coloured stockings and high button boots, and altogether it was a little difficult to believe she was the same Mary Brown who used to wear the ragged dress and to make mud pies in the gutter.

She went downstairs holding Sister Agatha's hand, and on reaching the hall she saw two very tall men in pale blue coats and white stockings. Although they looked quite young men their hair was white, and one of them took Mary in his arms to carry her across the pavement to a carriage that was waiting before the door. It seemed so nice to be out in the sunshine that Mary laughed aloud, but she was soon seated in the carriage with Evangeline and Sister Agatha; then the horses started, and presently they reached a large railway station. Mary knew all about trains, because there was a bridge over William Street, and whilst she played in the road they used to rush by overhead with a noise like thunder. But she had never entered a train before, so that she felt curious to see what it would be like inside. She thought it seemed very nice, with soft blue cushions to sit upon, and windows to look out at.

Presently the train began to move, and looking out at the window Mary saw rows and rows of houses which looked very much like those in William Street. But when the houses were left behind Mary opened her eyes very widely; she thought she had never seen anything quite so wonderful as this! Not even the wonderful things she had seen the night Sister Agatha carried her downstairs had astonished her so much! For there were no houses, and she had never seen ground without houses until now.

She looked upon wide open spaces, with dozens of trees and oxen in green meadows, and the consequence was that she began to ask so many questions that Sister Agatha suggested that she should sit down and try to go to sleep.

'Oh no, thank you,' answered Mary, 'I'm not at all sleepy. I'd much sooner look out of window.'

'I thought perhaps you would like me to tell you a story,' said Evangeline.

'Yes, I should like you to tell me a story!' cried Mary, and she climbed down from the seat and nestled close to Evangeline's side.

VII

THE STORY OF THE LITTLE GIRL, THE DOG, AND THE DOLL

Once upon a time there was a little girl whose name was Bertha. She had no brother or sister, but she had two very dear friends: one was a doll with a broken nose and only half an arm; the other was a white terrier with a brown patch on his back, a short stump of a tail, and a cold black nose.

The dog's name was Samuel, and whilst he was very fond of Bertha he was deeply attached to Moggy too; Moggy, you understand, was the doll. Moggy might often be seen leaning against the nursery fender, with Samuel by her side blinking solemnly at the fire. But every now and then he would turn to look at Moggy, and put out his tongue and waggle his stumpy tail from side to side on the carpet.

Though Samuel wore a handsome collar he had quite forgotten what a chain was, for he had not been tied up for years. He never slept in the old kennel outside the kitchen door, because he preferred the mat in the hall.

Now, for a long time Moggy had slept on Bertha's pillow, and though Bertha had other dolls who were much prettier than Moggy she never took them to bed with her. But one day--it was Bertha's birthday--her mother bought her the prettiest doll she could find, a doll that opened and shut her eyes.

'I really think,' said Mrs. Western when Bertha bade her good-night, 'you ought to take the new doll to bed with you, or what is the use of having a doll who can go to sleep?'

'What would Moggy do?' asked Bertha, looking doubtful about it.

'Moggy is really too old to be jealous,' answered her mother.

So Bertha said she would take the new doll to bed, then she went upstairs with Samuel who was always in the room whilst she undressed. Bertha slept in a room by herself, but there was a door that led to her mother's room and this stood open all night. Moggy lay on the round table in the middle of the room, and she looked very shabby beside the fine new doll; still Bertha felt sorry for her as she got into bed. She placed the new doll on her pillow and said good-night to the nurse.

'Good-night, Miss Bertha.'

'Don't quite shut the door, please,' said Bertha; and leaving the door a little open as usual the nurse went downstairs, followed by Samuel. And nobody heard anything more of Bertha until the next morning.

As soon as she awoke she turned to look at her new doll, but to her great astonishment she could not see her. She could not see anything of the new doll, but there lay Moggy on the pillow just as she had done for many months past. Bertha sat up in bed and rubbed her eyes, thinking she could not be quite awake yet, but there was no mistake about it; it was certainly Moggy on her pillow, and there was no sign of the new doll.

'Nurse!' cried Bertha, when it was time to be dressed, 'what have you done with my new doll?'

'Why, Miss Bertha,' answered the nurse, 'you laid her on your pillow last night.'

'But she's not there now,' said Bertha, 'and Moggy is there. I can't see my new doll anywhere!'

The nurse stared at Moggy, and Moggy stared back with her dark eyes at the nurse; then the nurse began to search for the lost doll, but she could not find her anywhere. So she dressed Bertha, who went downstairs to breakfast.

'Mother!' she exclaimed, 'where's my new doll?'

'I thought you were going to take it to bed with you last night,' said Mrs. Western.

'So I did,' answered Bertha; 'and I left poor Moggy on the table, but when I woke this morning the other doll was gone and Moggy was on my pillow.'

'Nonsense,' said Mrs. Western; 'you must be making a mistake,' and Bertha looked as if she was going to cry. 'Sit down to breakfast,' her mother continued, 'and when we have finished we will go upstairs to look for her.'

But although they searched all over the nursery and looked into every corner, and although Samuel trotted about the room with his ears cocked and his tail waggling, the new doll could not be seen.

'Nurse,' said Mrs. Western, 'what can have become of Miss Bertha's new doll? She says she took it to bed with her last night!'

'So she did,' answered the nurse, 'because I gave the doll to Miss Bertha after she was in bed, and Moggy was lying on the table.'

'Then who do you suppose can have taken her away?' exclaimed Mrs. Western. Bertha seemed so disappointed that Mrs. Western took her out that afternoon to buy another doll--not quite such a nice doll as that which had disappeared, but a pretty doll all the same. 'This time,' said Mrs. Western, 'I shall see it laid on your pillow myself,' and she stayed in the nursery whilst Bertha had her bath. Then, as Samuel frisked about the room, Bertha got into bed and Mrs. Western placed the newest doll beside her on the pillow.

'Don't quite shut the door, please!' cried Bertha, and in two minutes she fell fast asleep. But on waking the next morning, it seemed a very strange thing! she found that her newest doll had disappeared whilst Moggy lay peacefully beside her on the pillow. She dressed more quickly than usual and ran downstairs so fast that her mother came out of the dining-room to tell her not to tumble head-foremost to the hall.

'Mother!' cried Bertha, 'she's gone! The doll you bought me yesterday's gone and Moggy was lying on the pillow.'

'Nonsense, Bertha,' said Mrs. Western, 'you must be making a mistake, because I laid her on your pillow myself.'

'She wasn't there when I woke this morning,' answered Bertha.

'Well, I cannot understand it!' cried Mrs. Western.

'I can understand it very easily,' said Mr. Western; 'of course the child is making a mistake. It must have been Moggy she took to bed.'

'I am sure it was not,' answered Mrs. Western; 'besides, what has become of the two new dolls? How do you account for their disappearance?'

'Oh, you will find them in the nursery!' he insisted. 'But to make sure, I will go upstairs with Bertha after breakfast and help her look.' So they all went upstairs together this time: Mr. Western, Mrs. Western, Bertha, and Samuel. And they examined every corner; they opened every cupboard, Samuel sniffed about the fireplace and waggled his tail, but still they saw nothing of either doll. 'Well,' said Mr. Western, 'I really can't lose any more time. You have put the dolls away somewhere and forgotten where.'

'I am positive,' said Mrs. Western, 'that the doll lay on Bertha's pillow last night and Moggy was on this table.'

'I wish you would buy another doll this afternoon,' he replied with a laugh, 'and to-night I will see it safely on Bertha's pillow myself.'

That day Mrs. Western bought a third doll, and when Bertha was comfortably tucked up in bed, her father came to her room to the great delight of Samuel. They all stood beside the bed, and having made sure that Moggy was on the table, they saw that the new black-haired doll lay beside Bertha.

'There will be no mistake this time,' said Mr. Western, and Samuel waggled his tail as if he thought on the whole his master was quite right. 'There she lies,' said Mr. Western, 'and she isn't likely to move before breakfast-time.'

But he was quite mistaken and also very much surprised. Being dressed early that morning, Mr. Western went to Bertha's room before she was up, she was in fact still asleep.

'This is really very remarkable!' he exclaimed. For there, on the pillow, lay poor Moggy, whilst he could not see the new black-haired doll anywhere. 'I can't buy a new doll every day,' he said when they were all downstairs. 'Besides, it seems to be of no use to buy them.' He looked quite bothered about it; he could not enjoy his breakfast, which was a good thing for Samuel, who had a whole sausage off his plate. 'Well,' said Mr. Western presently, 'I suppose Bertha must have another doll; this will be the fourth in four days! But,' he added, 'I am determined she shall not get away this time. I shall tie her to the bed.'

And this was what he did. He went to Bertha's room after she was in bed, and with a strong piece of string he tied the fourth fair-haired doll to the back of the bedstead. 'There!' exclaimed Mr. Western, 'I don't think this one will disappear.'

It did not disappear. But to his astonishment, when he came to the room before Bertha was awake, he saw two dolls on her pillow: one being the new, fair-haired doll, the other Moggy, whom he had left on the table in the middle of the room.

'I can't understand it at all,' he said at breakfast-time; 'any one would think that Moggy was alive.'

'At all events, she must be jealous,' answered Mrs. Western, while Samuel sat on his haunches begging for bacon.

'Well,' said Mr. Western, 'we shall not have to buy another doll to-day--that will be a change anyhow. But I am determined to find out how it happens. To-night I shall leave the new doll untied and fasten Moggy to the table.'

'Poor Moggy!' cried Bertha, looking quite tearful about it.

When bedtime came, Mr. Western took a piece of cord from his pocket and tied it tightly round Moggy's waist--she had a rather large waist, Moggy was not at all a fashionable doll--then he passed the cord under the table and fastened it securely to the leg. Samuel agreed with Bertha; he did not like to see his dear old friend treated in this way; he seemed very much distressed about it, and Bertha almost thought she heard him growl.

'There, Miss Moggy!' cried Mr. Western; 'I don't think your rest will be disturbed to-night.' And her rest was not disturbed, for when Mr. Western visited the nursery the next morning he found Moggy lying on the table in the middle of the room just as he had left her. 'Ah!' he said to himself, 'I thought so; I thought you would be safe this time!' And he turned towards Bertha's bed.

But where was the new doll? It was certainly not on the pillow where Mr. Western had left it last night! What could have become of it? He looked about the room, but there was no sign of the doll anywhere.

All breakfast-time Mr. Western was silent. He said nothing about the doll, he took no notice of Samuel, but when he rose from his chair, he said in a low, solemn voice--

'I should like you to buy another doll to-day--it need not be an expensive doll, because this will be the fifth doll we have bought in six days. But,' he added, 'it shall certainly be the last.'

So that afternoon Mrs. Western took Bertha out to buy another doll. Now she was growing used to it, Bertha rather liked the idea of having a new doll almost every day. But this doll was not a very nice one. Its hair was not real; it was only painted on its head. Bertha never felt quite at home with the doll, and it did not feel soft and warm when she pressed it against her cheek. Still her mother wished her to take it to bed with her and to leave Moggy on the table.

'Good-night, nurse,' said Bertha; 'don't quite shut the door, please.' She felt just a little disappointed that neither her father nor her mother came up as they had done the last two nights, but she soon fell asleep and forgot all about them.

Bertha had not been asleep many minutes before her door was pushed farther open, and Mr. Western softly entered the bedroom. Crossing the floor on tip-toes, he went to the window and loosening the wide curtains, carefully hid himself behind them. There he stood in a very uncomfortable position without moving for a long time. Now and then Bertha stirred in her sleep, but neither Moggy on the table nor the newest doll with the painted head, who lay on the pillow, moved the hundredth part of an inch. Although the room was dim it was not quite dark, because some light came in from the gas outside on the landing. For a long time Mr. Western stood behind the window-curtain, and presently--it must have been about a quarter to ten--he heard a soft pattering on the floor. Peeping out cautiously from behind the curtain, he saw first the tip of Samuel's nose, then his whole head, and at last his body. And now Mr. Western knew how the dolls had disappeared. He knew that Samuel was the culprit, and he smiled as he waited, expecting to see the terrier jump on the chair which stood beside the table and seize Moggy's skirt between his teeth. But before Samuel reached the chair he suddenly stopped and began to sniff. Then putting his nose close to the floor he slowly drew near to the window. After sniffing at this for some moments he seemed quickly to change his mind, and turning round he ran out of the room.

Mr. Western at once followed him. On reaching the drawing-room door, Samuel wanted to enter, but Mr. Western said--

'Samuel, come along!' and with his short tail close to his body and his head held very near the ground Samuel followed his master downstairs. At each step the dog looked more guilty, and when Mr. Western stopped outside the kitchen door, Samuel lay flat on the ground and turned over on his back, looking out of the corners of his eyes all the time. But when Mr. Western put his right hand into the kennel which Samuel never slept in, the dog became so excited again that he sprang to his feet and began to frisk about as if he had done something very clever indeed.

Mr. Western put his hand into the old kennel, and you can guess what he drew out. He drew out the black-haired doll, and with this in his hand he looked down and shook his head at Samuel. Then Samuel turned over on to his back again just as he did when he pretended to be dead. One after the other Mr. Western drew out of the kennel five new dolls, and as he stood holding them in his arms Samuel got upon his legs again and began to howl dismally.

'Come upstairs to your mistress, sir,' said Mr. Western, and Samuel followed him upstairs. But when she saw Mr. Western enter the drawing-room with the five dolls in his arms Mrs. Western laughed, and he threw them all into an arm-chair by the fireplace.

'The fact is,' said Mrs. Western, 'Samuel is a great friend of Moggy's, and I suppose he did not like to see another doll put into her place,' and Samuel waggled his tail just as if he understood all she said and quite approved of it. 'So,' she continued, 'he must have gone to the nursery after Bertha was asleep and moved Moggy from the table and put her on the pillow. Then he must have dragged the new doll downstairs. Very naughty of you, Samuel,' said Mrs. Western, shaking her finger.

Samuel crept along the carpet to her shoes and began to lick them.

'Up!' she cried, and as quickly as possible Samuel was in her lap, being kissed and patted and made completely happy. 'What a fine story we shall have to tell Bertha to-morrow!' said Mrs. Western, 'and I really think she will have to take Moggy back to sleep with her.'

VIII

MARY SEES SOMETHING WHICH SHE HAS NEVER SEEN BEFORE

Evangeline finished her story just as the train stopped at a small country station, where a porter opened the door and they all got out. The station looked like a summer-house, and when Mary went outside into the road, she clapped her hands with delight.

There was quite a small crowd of people waiting there, but what pleased Mary the most was a little brown carriage with four cream-coloured ponies. Beside the ponies stood two boys with bright buttons on their coats, whilst three rough, brown dogs jumped up at Evangeline as if they wanted to lick her face. Evangeline drove the ponies, and Mary sat wedged in between her and Sister Agatha. The two boys with bright buttons on their coats climbed into a seat behind; Evangeline flourished the whip, the sun shone, and the dogs ran barking beside the carriage.

'Where are the streets?' asked Mary a few minutes later. 'Oh!' she exclaimed, 'look at the stars on the ground!'

'Stars!' said Sister Agatha.

'Aren't they stars?' asked Mary.

'Why, of course not----'

'Then I know what they are,' said Mary; 'they're the magic counters you give to people when you want them to do things.'

'I'm afraid those don't grow by the roadside,' answered Evangeline; 'these are primroses, Mary.'

'What are primroses?' asked Mary with wondering eyes.

'You see,' said Evangeline, 'every winter the earth grows hard and cold; but when it feels the sun shine on it again it smiles, and to show you how glad it is, it puts forth all these bright little flowers.'

'I see,' answered Mary, still looking as if she did not understand at all.

'Perhaps you would like to pick some,' said Evangeline. She stopped the ponies, and at the same moment the two boys sprang to the ground and stood very stiffly at their heads. Sister Agatha and Mary got out of the carriage and, stooping by the roadside, plucked primrose after primrose, whilst the three dogs sniffed about as if they wanted to make a meal off the sweet, yellow flowers.

Then they got into the carriage again, and Evangeline flourished her whip. The boys climbed up into the back seat, and Mary felt she should not mind being driven along that sunny road for ever, or at least until tea-time. She had never smelled the air so sweet nor seen the sky so blue.

Presently they reached some shops and small houses, and the people came out to stand at the doors and bow to Evangeline as she passed.

'Why do they do that?' asked Mary.

'If you saw a fairy-queen driving four cream-coloured ponies past your house, don't you think you would bow to show how pleased you felt?' said Sister Agatha.

'I suppose I should,' answered Mary, as they came to a gate with a cottage beside it. Out from the cottage a funny little old woman came with a face the colour of a russet apple; she curtseyed so low that her chin seemed almost to touch the ground, and she wore a red cloak. In one hand she carried a stick, and Mary wondered whether she was a witch. She opened the gate, and stood bowing as Evangeline drove through it, and when Mary looked back at her afterwards the little old woman was bowing still.

Now, the road ran through a large park, and in the distance Mary saw a great white house, a part of which shone very brightly in the sunshine.

'Is that the palace?' asked the child.

'Yes,' answered Sister Agatha, 'that is your fairy's palace.'

'Why does it shine so much?' asked Mary.

'Oh, that's to welcome the queen, you know!'

'What are those things?' exclaimed Mary the next minute; 'those funny things with trees on their heads?'

'Those are deer,' said Evangeline.

'But that's what you call me!' cried Mary, with her eyes very widely open.

'Well,' said Sister Agatha, 'you're a dear too, only a different kind of dear.'

'I can't run so fast,' answered Mary. For as she spoke the deer began to trot away, then they stopped again, and one that was bigger than the rest stood in front whilst they all watched the carriage.

Several people stood at the door of the house, which seemed to be partly built of glass. All the people were young like Evangeline, and they all appeared pleased to see her. But Mary felt a little disappointed that none of them took any notice of her, and very few spoke to Sister Agatha, who took Mary's hand, and led her into the house. They passed through a wide hall with animals' heads hanging on the walls, and there was a large table with a green top and red and white balls on it.

'Where are their bodies?' asked Mary, as she walked upstairs with Sister Agatha.

'Whose bodies?'

'Belonging to the great heads downstairs?' said Mary.

'Oh!' answered Sister Agatha, 'I daresay their bodies have been turned into men.'

'I never heard of animals' bodies being turned into men before,' said Mary. 'Did Evangeline do that?' she asked; but before Sister Agatha answered she led Mary into a pretty room with two beds in it. And Mary became so deeply interested in the room that she forgot all about the animals' heads. She looked into each corner; she wanted to know which bed she was to sleep in, and then she went to one of the three windows.

'Sister Agatha!' she exclaimed the next moment, 'Sister Agatha!'

'What is the matter now?' asked Sister Agatha, with a smile.

'Do come here!' cried Mary excitedly; 'do come here! Look!' she said, pointing out at the window; 'there are two skies. This is a wonderful place!'

'I only see one,' answered Sister Agatha, coming to her side.

'But look! there are two. There's one up above and another down there.'

'That is the sea,' said Sister Agatha. 'Haven't you seen the sea before? But, of course, you have not. Yes,' said Sister Agatha quietly, as she placed a hand on Mary's shoulder, 'the sea is very wonderful!'

'What is the sea?' asked Mary.

'A great, great piece of water----'

'The same as we drink?' asked Mary.

'It would not be at all nice to drink,' was the answer. 'It would taste salt, you know.'

'Then what's the use of it if you can't drink it?' said Mary. Then she suddenly began to jump about more excitedly than ever. 'Look! look!' she cried. 'Look at that funny thing with smoke coming out of it! How fast it goes! What is that?'

'That is a ship,' Sister Agatha explained. 'It takes people on long journeys.'

'Where does it take them?' asked Mary.

'To countries a long way off.'

'Farther than we've come to-day?' cried Mary.

'Yes,' said Sister Agatha, 'a great deal farther--to countries where there are all kinds of wonderful things to be seen.'

'Not more wonderful than there are here,' said Mary.

'No,' answered Sister Agatha; 'they only seem more wonderful because we are not used to them. Everything is wonderful, you know; only we become so accustomed to things we see every day that they don't seem wonderful any longer. Now there's nothing more wonderful than a little girl, unless it is a big girl.'

'Oh, I think there is!' said Mary. 'I think ships are much more wonderful, and the sea, and the ponies, and primroses, and Evangeline, and----'

'And tea!' exclaimed Sister Agatha. 'I am going to ring for it, and then, when you have had tea, it will be time to go to bed. Now,' she added, 'we will pull down the blind.'

IX

EVANGELINE GIVES MARY SOME MAGIC COUNTERS

Sister Agatha felt afraid that Mary would be too excited to go to sleep that night, but as soon as her head touched the pillow she shut her eyes, although she dreamed of all manner of strange things. When she awoke the next morning Sister Agatha was already dressed, and as the blinds had been drawn up, Mary slipped out of bed and limped to the window.

Although her foot was a great deal better, she still walked as if she was lame, and she soon grew tired. She limped to the window, and if the sea had looked beautiful yesterday, it looked far more beautiful with the morning sun shining on it. When Mary was dressed, Sister Agatha took her downstairs to a smaller room, with open glass doors instead of windows, and when she stepped through them she found herself in a lovely garden. Some men who were digging in it touched their caps to Mary, and she said--

'Good morning,' and felt that she was quite an important little person. Then Sister Agatha called her into the room again, and they sat down to breakfast. 'I wish I could go to the sea,' said Mary.

'So you shall,' answered Sister Agatha, 'but not this morning. I am going to show you the park this morning.'

'This afternoon, then?'

'This afternoon there will be the Maypole,' said Sister Agatha.

'What's a Maypole?' asked Mary.

'I knew you would say that,' said Sister Agatha; 'but I am afraid you must wait until you see it.'

'Where's Evangeline?' cried Mary presently. 'I wish she could have breakfast with us!'

'The idea of such a thing,' was the answer. 'Evangeline has a great deal to do and a lot of friends to entertain.'

'Does the prince live here?' asked Mary.

'He lives next door,' said Sister Agatha; 'only next door is a quarter of a mile away.'

'How funny!' exclaimed Mary.

'And some day,' said Sister Agatha, 'he will go to live a long way off, and Evangeline will go with him--that will be very soon now.'

'Will she take me?' asked Mary, looking a little anxious.

'No,' said Sister Agatha quietly; 'I don't think she will want either of us, dear.'

'Shall I stay here?' asked Mary.

'No, you certainly can't stay here.'

'Then what shall I do?' cried Mary, putting out her lower lip, and looking as if she were going to cry.

Sister Agatha passed her right hand over the little girl's brown hair, and stared rather sadly into her face: 'I am sure I don't know what will happen,' she answered. 'But come, we will put on our clothes and go into the garden.'

When once they were out of the house, there were a great many things to see. There were the chickens to begin with, dozens of them, and they all came round Mary cackling so loudly that she could hardly hear herself speak. Then she went into a field where there were a lot of sheep with tiny frisking lambs, and into another field where six brown calves stood close together by the gate, and would not move to let Sister Agatha pass through. On the way home they went into a house built of glass. It felt very hot, and there were ever so many bunches of grapes hanging from the roof. And in the afternoon there was the Maypole. Mary stood in front of the house a little way from Evangeline and the prince and the other people, but they all seemed to be laughing and talking too much to look at Mary.

She felt disappointed that Evangeline took no notice of her, and she held Sister Agatha's hand more tightly. It was true that Sister Agatha was not quite so pretty as Evangeline nor so young, and she always wore the same dress, but still she was very nice for all that. Mary had always felt she belonged to Evangeline, because it was Evangeline who took her away from William Street. Besides, Sister Agatha seemed more like an ordinary person, only nicer and kinder than any one Mary had ever known, but Evangeline was not an ordinary person at all.

The Maypole stood before the door with a crown of flowers at the top, and a lot of prettily dressed children around it. Each child held a coloured ribbon in one hand, and they all sang as they danced round the Maypole winding and unwinding the ribbons. Mary thought it was all very nice, only she would have liked to hold one of the ribbons too, though it was true she did not know much about dancing, even if her foot had been quite well.

But the most delightful thing Mary had ever seen was the sea. It had been surprising when she looked at it from the window, but when Sister Agatha took her on to the beach, and her feet sank into the soft sand, and there were so many nice wet things to pick up, Mary began to laugh and to clap her hands for joy.

She liked to see the waves curling towards her, then to watch whilst they changed from green to the purest white, and just when she thought they were going to wet her shoes, they ran away again with a noise that made Mary think they were laughing at her, as if they were only playing and quite enjoying the game.

'There's another ship!' cried Mary. 'I wonder where it's going to?' she said, looking up into Sister Agatha's face.

'A long, long way,' was the answer. 'To a place where the people are different from us. They are all black, and they don't wear clothes.'

'What do they do when it's cold?' asked Mary.

'It's never cold in those countries,' said Sister Agatha. 'It is always very hot--far hotter than it is here.'

'Oh, then that's fairy-land, too!' Mary exclaimed.

'Yes, every place is full of wonders, you know,' answered Sister Agatha.

'All except William Street,' said Mary, and Sister Agatha took her hand and they walked slowly back to the house. The next day happened to be wet, and during the afternoon Evangeline came to see Mary for the first time since she left London. But when Mary had made up her mind for a nice chat, or perhaps for a story, Sister Agatha gave her a picture-book and told her to sit down.

'We have very serious matters to discuss,' she said, 'so you must keep still and not speak a word.'

Mary opened the book, but her attention soon turned from the pictures to Evangeline, who was sitting at a round table with a pencil in her hand making figures. Presently Evangeline took a purse from her pocket, and emptied it on to the table.

'I know what those are!' exclaimed Mary, unable to keep silent any longer. 'They're the magic counters! I wish I might have one,' she said.

'What should you do with it?' asked Evangeline.

'I should give it to some one when I wanted anything done very much,' said Mary.

'You may have one if you like,' answered Evangeline, and Mary eagerly held forth her hand. That evening Sister Agatha gave her a purse to keep her treasure in, but Mary was always taking it out to look at it and to make sure it was safe.

She had never had anything in her life that she liked so much. It was not only that it was bright and pretty to look at, but it made her feel so much safer. If she wanted anything done--anything very important--she could give some one the magic counter, and he would be sure to do it. Not that there seemed anything that Mary wanted done very particularly, only to see a little more of Evangeline. As it was, she saw hardly anybody but Sister Agatha, of whom she grew fonder each day. The fact was, they were all busily preparing for a great and important event, and sometimes even Sister Agatha was too busy to give much time to Mary.

Mary would have liked to see more of Evangeline, but there was another person whom she did not wish to see at all, and that was Mrs. Coppert. She had made up her mind to keep her magic counter lest Mrs. Coppert should ever try to take her back to William Street, then she would use it to send Mrs. Coppert away again.

But although Mary had quite decided to keep the counter for the benefit of Mrs. Coppert, she was tempted to change her mind one day. It was in the afternoon; she was sitting by the window that opened on to the garden, and being quite by herself she felt rather lonely. Then she saw Evangeline pass the window.

'Please come in!' Mary cried. 'I'm all alone!' and, stepping into the garden, she caught hold of Evangeline's dress.

'I'm afraid I haven't time to come in just now,' answered Evangeline, standing outside the window.

'Do come in and tell me a story!' pleaded Mary.

'I will try to tell you a story to-morrow,' said Evangeline.

'No, to-day!' said Mary, and, as Evangeline shook her head, Mary suddenly recollected her magic counter. She felt she wanted so much to hear a story that she could not even save the magic counter for Mrs. Coppert. So she put her hand in her pocket, and took out her purse, but unfortunately she could not open it.

'I want you to open it,' said Mary, holding out the purse to Evangeline. When the purse was opened Mary took it back, and she made up her mind that she would not quite shut it another time. Then she managed to take out the flat, round, yellow thing, which she placed in Evangeline's hand.

'What is this for?' asked Evangeline, looking a good deal surprised.

'It's one of the magic counters, you know,' said Mary, 'and I want you to tell me a story--a fairy story, please.'

Now as this was the first time she had used the magic counter, Mary felt a little anxious to see how it would act, and at all events she hoped Evangeline would give it back to her again, although she did not feel at all sure about it. She was greatly relieved to see Evangeline smile and look at the watch which she wore on her wrist.

'You can put this back in your purse again,' said Evangeline, and entering the room she sat down and drew Mary to her side.

'You'll tell me the story all the same,' answered Mary, as she put the magic counter back into her purse.

'Oh yes, I must, you see!' cried Evangeline with a laugh; 'only it will have to be rather a short one. You said nothing about the length.'

'Not too short,' said Mary, 'and about fairies, please;' and then she nestled snugly against Evangeline as she began the tale.

X

THE STORY OF THE PRINCE, THE BLUE-BIRD, AND THE CAGE

The Princess Fantosina had a very beautiful voice, and whilst walking in the palace gardens one day in spring, she began to sing. She was about to leave off singing and to re-enter the palace when she saw a strange-looking, little, old woman.

'My dear,' said the little old woman, hobbling towards the Princess Fantosina, 'I have not heard that song for two hundred years, and I should like you to sing it again.'

'I will sing it again with pleasure,' answered the princess, and she sang the song again from beginning to end.

'Now,' said the strange-looking little old woman, 'you have gratified me very much by singing without being asked twice, and I should like to do something to please you in return. Tell me what you would like to have done.'

'I don't think there is anything, thank you,' said the Princess Fantosina.

'There must be something,' was the answer, 'because the most contented person in the world always wants something else. Now,' said the old woman, 'how about a prince?'

'Oh!' cried Fantosina, smiling very brightly, 'my prince is on his way. He lives a long distance off, but he has set forth on his journey to fetch me. And though I have never seen him, I know he is very good and very handsome, and that I shall love him very dearly.' Whilst Fantosina was speaking a dove flew by. 'Oh!' she cried, 'how delightful it must be to fly!'

'So you shall,' said the little old woman. 'How should you like to be able to turn into a dove whenever you wished.'

'I should like it very much,' answered Fantosina, 'only a dove cannot sing--it can only coo, you know.'

'Then,' said the old woman, 'you shall have the power to take the form of a bird that sings more sweetly than the nightingale. It shall have a bright blue body and scarlet wings, and the loveliest song in the world. Now,' the little old woman continued, 'you must listen carefully to what I am going to say. If you pluck a primrose and hold the petals to your lips you will at once change into this bird, and a bird you will remain until you fly to a cowslip field and take a portion of the flower in your beak, then you will become a princess again just as you are now.'

With this the old woman hobbled away, and although the Princess Fantosina called to her several times she did not even glance back. So the princess returned to the palace wondering whether she should ever find the courage to pluck a primrose. Ever since she had been a small child she had thought how delightful it must be to fly through the air; to rest on the topmost branch of a tree in the sunshine and sing and sing to her heart's content.

And yet now Fantosina had the power to do what she had always longed to do, she did not feel at all sure she should do it. The reason was, that she feared lest any accident should prevent her from reaching a cowslip field and so becoming a princess again. For although she thought it would be very nice to be a bird for a few hours now and then, she would have been sorry to remain a bird always, especially as the prince was on his way to make her his bride.

But presently Fantosina went into the gardens again, and then she walked to a meadow where the grass beside the hedges was yellow with primroses. She looked around to make sure that nobody was in sight, and stooping she plucked a primrose. She did not put it at once to her lips, but carried it in her hand until she had crossed three fields and come to a standstill by a cowslip bank.

Even now she felt a little afraid to put the primrose to her lips, but the sun shone so brightly and the cloudless sky looked so blue, and she thought how delightful it must be to soar in the air on such a glorious day, and she told herself she would just change for a few minutes to see how the charm acted.

So the Princess Fantosina held the primrose to her lips and breathed upon its petals, and then there was no one standing on the cowslip bank but only a small bird with a blue body and scarlet wings hopping about the grass.

Fantosina could hardly believe at first that the bird was herself, although she was able to think of things just the same as before. But the first thing she thought of was, that it would be very pleasant to fly from the ground to the top of the tall acacia tree which stood a few yards from the bank. Only she might fly up there and be unable to come down again, or she might become giddy and tumble before she reached a bough. Still she began to move her wings, and then she felt the most delightful sensation you can imagine. She did not seem to be doing anything at all, and yet she was rising quickly through the air. It seemed so enjoyable that, when she got to the tree, she did not like to leave off flying, and instead of settling at once, she circled round and round several times before she came to rest on the highest branch.

She was not in the least frightened or giddy now; she could see farther than she had ever seen before, and everything looked very clear and distinct. She looked in the direction from which her prince was to come, but she could not see any sign of his arrival yet. Presently Fantosina began to sing, and that seemed even pleasanter than flying. She sang so loudly and so fast and enjoyed it so much, that it was later than she had intended before she thought of descending from the acacia tree. But at last she spread her scarlet wings, and dropped slowly to the grass; then she hopped to the nearest cowslip, and no sooner touched it with her beak than she became a princess again, just as she had been before.

From that day she never spent a morning without becoming a bird; she would leave the palace when nobody saw her, pluck a primrose, and walk or run to the cowslip bank. And gradually she grew bolder, and instead of waiting until she reached the cowslips, she would hold the primrose to her mouth at once, because she could fly to the other field much more quickly than she could walk. She amused herself by flying to the palace and singing outside her mother's window, and one day, after Fantosina had become a princess again, the queen spoke about the wonderful bird.

'I have never listened to such a beautiful song,' she said. 'I hear it every morning at the same hour. Have you heard it, Fantosina?'

Fantosina felt very much amused. 'Yes,' she answered, 'I heard it this morning.'

'I heard it too!' cried Abdullah, Fantosina's younger brother. 'But though I have looked for it I have not seen the bird yet.'

'It is the most beautiful bird in the world,' said Fantosina, trying not to laugh. 'It has a blue body and bright red wings. I don't believe there is another bird like it.'

Now Abdullah, being very fond of his sister, and seeing that she admired the strange bird, made up his mind to catch it for her, but he did not say anything of his intention, because he wanted to give Fantosina a pleasant surprise. But the next morning he hid himself in the shrubbery, and waited until he heard the bird's song; and peeping out he saw a scarlet wing flash in the sunshine. That afternoon Abdullah prepared a net, and the next morning again he hid in the same place. As soon as he heard the song he peeped forth and saw a spot of blue against the green leaves of an oak tree which grew close to the house, then he waited until Fantosina thought it was time to come back to her proper shape. In order to return to the cowslip bank she left the tree and flew along just above the ground, and she had spread her wings and was enjoying herself very greatly when she saw Abdullah running after her. And she saw too that her brother carried a long stick in his hands, and at the end of the stick was a large thin green net, the same as boys use to catch butterflies.

Fantosina had never felt so frightened in her life. Suppose Abdullah caught her before she could reach the cowslip bank! He might put her in a cage, or he might kill her and have her stuffed! She thought how sad it would be to have to spend her whole life in a cage, or to be put under a glass case in the queen's drawing-room!

The worst of it was that she could not tell him who she really was. When she tried to speak she could only sing, and it made her so nervous to see Abdullah running just underneath her that she could not fly nearly so fast as usual. But she did reach the sloping bank at last, and just as she was going to seize a cowslip, Abdullah held out his net. This alarmed her so much that she flew out of his reach to the top of the acacia tree, and made up her mind to stay there until Abdullah went home to luncheon.