Childhood's Favorites and Fairy Stories Part 115

La.s.sie Jean filled the spoon with the rich delicacy. She was about to raise it to her lips when the naughty Brownie poked his head over her shoulder, and lapped it out of the spoon before it had reached her mouth. La.s.sie Meg, believing that La.s.sie Jean had already swallowed some cream while she had had none, stretched out her hand to take away the spoon from her friend. La.s.sie Jean was not willing to give it up, since she said she had not yet tasted any cream. La.s.sie Meg was unwilling to believe her, for she declared she had heard her lapping the cream.

Without waiting for La.s.sie Jean to explain, she s.n.a.t.c.hed the spoon out of her friend's hand. She filled it with cream from the bowl, and was about to raise it to her lips when the Brownie jumped from behind La.s.sie Jean, and settling himself behind La.s.sie Meg's shoulders, poked forward his head, and again lapped up the cream from out of the spoon.

La.s.sie Jean in her turn s.n.a.t.c.hed back the spoon from La.s.sie Meg. Thus they went on, for every time one or the other raised the spoonful of cream to her lips it was lapped up by the Brownie. This continued until the bowl was emptied. The Brownie was full of cream, but the poor la.s.sies had not so much as tasted one drop, although each believed the other had drunk it all.

The la.s.sies were still quarreling when the door of the dairy was opened, and the farmer's wife entered, carrying a lighted candle in her hand. The moment that she did so the Brownie hopped under the bench and the la.s.sies started up guiltily.

The farmer's wife caught sight of the empty basin. She was very angry with them indeed. When they tried hastily to explain, each blaming the other, the farmer's wife would not listen, but only grew the more angry. She told them that, since they had supped so well, they should have none of the scones and eggs which she had prepared for the evening meal in the kitchen.

When the farmer's wife had entered she had left the door open, so while she was busily scolding the la.s.sies the Brownie slipped out from under the bench and made his escape. As he ran chuckling down the road, he could still hear her angry voice drowning the attempted explanations of the bewildered la.s.sies. When the little fellow curled himself up some time later in the tree trunk he was still laughing.

THE FAIRIES' Pa.s.sAGE

BY JAMES CLARENCE MANGAN

Tap, tap, tap, rap! "Get up, gaffer Ferryman,"

"Eh! Who is there?" The clock strikes three.

"Get up, do, gaffer! You are the very man We have been long, long, longing to see."

The ferryman rises, growling and grumbling, And goes fum-fumbling, and stumbling, and tumbling Over the wares on his way to the door.

But he sees no more Than he saw before; Till a voice is heard: "O Ferryman dear!

Here we are waiting, all of us, here.

We are a wee, wee colony, we; Some two hundred in all, or three, Ferry us over the river Lee, Ere dawn of day, And we will pay The most we may In our own wee way!"

"Who are you? Whence came you?

What place are you going to?"

"Oh, we have dwelt over-long in this land; The people get cross, and are growing so knowing, too!

Nothing at all but they now understand.

We are daily vanis.h.i.+ng under the thunder Of some huge engine or iron wonder; That iron, ah! it has entered our souls."

"Your souls? O gholes, You queer little drolls, Do you mean....?" "Good gaffer, do aid us with speed, For our time, like our stature, is short indeed!

And a very long way we have to go; Eight or ten thousand miles or so, Hither and thither, and to and fro, With our pots and pans And little gold cans; But our light caravans Run swifter than man's."

"Well, well, you may come," said the ferryman affably; "Patrick, turn out, and get ready the barge."

Then again to the little folk; "Tho' you seem laughably Small, I don't mind, if your coppers be large."

Oh, dear, what a rus.h.i.+ng, what pus.h.i.+ng, what crus.h.i.+ng (The watermen making vain efforts at hus.h.i.+ng The hubbub the while), there followed these words.

What clapping of boards, What strapping of cords, What stowing away of children and wives, And platters and mugs, and spoons and knives, Till all had safely got into the boat, And the ferryman, clad in his tip-top coat, And his wee little fairies were safely afloat!

Then ding, ding, ding, And kling, kling, kling, How the coppers did ring In the tin pitcherling.

Off, then, went the boat, at first very pleasantly, Smoothly, and so forth; but after a while It swayed and it sagged this and that way, and presently Chest after chest, and pile after pile, Of the little folks' goods began tossing and rolling, And pitching like fun, beyond fairy controlling.

O Mab! if the hubbub were great before, It was now some two or three million times more.

Cras.h.!.+ went the wee crocks and the clocks; and the locks Of each little wee box were stove in by hard knocks; And then there were oaths, and prayers, and cries: "Take care"--"See there"--"O, dear, my eyes!"

"I am killed!"--"I am drowned!"--with groans and sighs, Till to land they drew.

"Yeo-ho! Pull to Tiller-rope thro' and thro'!"

And all's right anew.

"Now, jump upon sh.o.r.e, ye queer little oddities.

(Eh, what is this? ... where are they, at all?

Where are they, and where are their tiny commodities?

Well, as I live" ...) He looks blank as a wall, Poor ferryman! Round him and round him he gazes, But only gets deeplier lost in the mazes Of utter bewilderment. All, all are gone, And he stands alone, Like a statue of stone, In a doldrum of wonder. He turns to steer, And a tinkling laugh salutes his ear, With other odd sounds: "Ha, ha, ha, ha!

Fol lol! zidzizzle! quee quee! bah! bah!

Fizzigig-giggidy! pshee! sha sha!"

"O ye thieves, ye thieves, ye rascally thieves!"

The good man cries. He turns to his pitcher, And there, alas, to his horror perceives That the little folk's mode of making him richer Has been to pay him with withered leaves!

THE WORLD

"The world is wet," said the little frog; "What isn't water is mostly bog."

"Oh, not at all!" said the little fly; "It's full of spiders, and very dry!"

"The world is dark," said the moth polite, "With ruddy windows and bows of light."

"My poor young friend, you have much to learn: The world is green," said the swaying fern.

"O listen to me," sang the little lark: "It's wet and dry, and it's green and dark.

To think that's all would be very wrong; It's arched with blue, and it's filled with song."

FANCIFUL STORIES

WHITE MAGIC

Blind folks see the fairies, Oh, better far than we, Who miss the s.h.i.+ning of their wings Because our eyes are filled with things We do not wish to see.

They need not seek enchantment From solemn printed books, For all about them as they go The fairies flutter to and fro With smiling friendly looks.

Deaf folk hear the fairies, However soft their song; Tis we who lose the honey sound Amid the clamor all around That beats the whole day long.

But they with gentle faces Sit quietly apart; What room have they for sorrowing While fairy minstrels sit and sing Close to each listening heart?

--From London _Punch_.

THE BROWNIES