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Once upon a time there was a gentleman who married for his second wife a woman who was the haughtiest and proudest ever seen. She had two daughters who resembled her in temper. The husband, however, had a young daughter by his first wife, who was of a sweetness and goodness without limit. She was like her own mother, who had been the most sweet-tempered woman in the world.

The wedding was no sooner over than the stepmother began to show her bad disposition. She could not endure the young girl, whose sweetness made her own daughters seem more detestable. She forced her to do the hardest work in the house. It was she who washed the dishes and put them in their places. It was she who polished the bedroom floors for her stepmother and two sisters. She slept under the eaves in a garret, on a wretched mattress; while her sisters lay in elegant rooms where the beds were soft and white, and the walls were lined with long mirrors in which the sisters could see themselves from head to foot.

The poor girl suffered all this with patience. And she did not dare complain to her father, for he would have scolded her, as he was completely governed by his wife.

Each day, after the girl had finished her work, she sat down in the chimney-corner among the cinders—so they called her Cinderella. Nevertheless, Cinderella, in spite of her shabby clothes, was more polite and a hundred times more beautiful than her sisters, although they were magnificently dressed.

It happened one day that the King’s son gave a ball, and that he invited everybody of rank. The ugly sisters were also invited, because they always made a grand figure at all Court festivities. They were very glad at the thought of attending the royal ball, and busied themselves in choosing the robes and head-dresses which should be most becoming. But, alas! it was more trouble and work for Cinderella, for it was she who did her sisters’ ironing, and fluted their ruffles. Night and morning, they talked only of their clothes.

“I,” said the eldest, “shall wear my red velvet robe with rich lace trimming.”

“I,” said the younger, “shall have only my plain skirt, but to make up for its plainness, I shall put on my cloak flowered with gold, and my tiara of diamonds.”

They called in Cinderella to ask her advice, for she had excellent taste. Cinderella gave them the best counsel in the world, and even offered to do their hair, for which they were very glad. And while she was arranging their locks in two rows of puffs, they asked:—

“Cinderella, would you not be delighted to go to the ball?”

“Alas, you are mocking me!” replied she. “It would be no place for me!”

“You are right,” answered the sisters, laughing scornfully. “Everybody would laugh well to see such a scrub-girl as you at the ball!”

Any one but Cinderella would have done their hair crooked out of rage, but she was so sweet that she did her very best. They went two days without eating, so excited were they with joy. They broke a dozen lacings trying to make their waists smaller, and they spent all their time before the mirrors.

At last the happy day arrived, and as they departed for the ball, Cinderella followed them with her eyes as long as she could. Then she burst into tears.

Her Godmother, who saw her in tears, asked what was the matter.

“I wish—I wish—” and Cinderella sobbed so that she could not finish.

Her Godmother, who was a Fairy, said: “You wish to go to the ball, don’t you?”“Alas! Yes!” sighed Cinderella.

“Then be a good girl,” said her Godmother, “and you shall go. Now, run into the garden and bring me a pumpkin.”

Cinderella went, and picked the biggest she could find; and as she carried it to her Godmother, she wondered how that pumpkin could help her go to the ball.

Her Godmother scooped out all the inside, leaving only the rind which she struck with her wand. Instantly it became a golden coach. Then she went to look at the mousetrap in which she found six mice. She bade Cinderella open the trap, and, as each mouse sprang out, she touched it with her wand. And instantly it was changed into a handsome horse.

As the Godmother was wondering out of what to make a coachman, Cinderella said: “I will go and see if there is a rat in the trap—then we can make a coachman.”

“That is a good thought,” said her Godmother, “go and see.”

Cinderella brought the trap in which were three large rats. Her Godmother chose one of the three because of his long whiskers; and when she touched him, he was instantly changed into a big coachman who had the handsomest moustaches ever seen.

Then she said to Cinderella: “Go into the garden. You will find there six lizards behind the watering-pot. Bring them to me.”

Cinderella had no sooner brought them than they were changed into six footmen in gold-laced coats, who sprang up behind the coach with the air of never having done anything else in their lives.

Then the Fairy said to Cinderella: “Here is a fine coach in which to go to the ball! Are you not glad?”

“Yes,” replied she, “but must I go in these ugly clothes?”

Her Godmother, in answer, touched her with her wand, and instantly her old clothes were changed into robes of gold and silver embroidered with gems. Then her Godmother presented her with a pair of glass slippers, the prettiest in the world.

Now that Cinderella was all dressed, she got into the coach; but her Godmother told her above all things not to remain a minute later than midnight. For if she remained a single minute longer, her coach would become a pumpkin; her horses, mice; her coachman, a rat; and her footmen, lizards; while all her fine clothes would change to rags.

Cinderella promised her Godmother that she would not fail to return before midnight.

She departed for the ball, so joyful that she did not know herself. The King’s son, who was informed by his servants of the arrival of a beautiful Princess whom nobody knew, ran to receive her. He assisted her to descend from the coach, and led her into the hall where the guests were assembled.

There was a great silence. People stopped dancing, and the violins ceased playing, while all crowded around to see the beauty of the unknown one. Then a confused murmur arose. “Oh, how beautiful she is!” The King even, old as he was, could not take his eyes off her, and he whispered to the Queen that it was long since he had seen such a handsome and amiable person.

All the ladies were anxious to examine her head-dress and robes, and they decided to have some made like them the very next morning, provided, of course, that they could procure beautiful enough materials and needlewomen sufficiently skilful.

The King’s son led Cinderella to the place of honour, and asked her to dance with him. She danced with such grace that she was more admired than ever. A superb banquet was served, but the young Prince did not taste it, so much was he occupied in gazing at her. She seated herself by her sisters, and showed them a thousand attentions. She offered them a share of the oranges and lemons that the Prince had given her, which greatly surprised them, for they did not know her.

While they were chatting, Cinderella heard the clock strike a quarter before twelve. She immediately bowed to the company, and hastened away as fast as she could.

When she arrived at home, she found her Fairy Godmother, and having thanked her, told her how she longed to go again the next night, for the Prince had invited her. And while she was relating all the things that had happened at the ball, she heard the two sisters rap at the door.

Cinderella opened it. “How late you are,” she said.

“If you had been at the ball,” replied one of the sisters, “you would not think it late! There came the most beautiful Princess you have ever dreamed of. She was devoted to us, and gave us oranges and lemons.”

Cinderella could scarcely contain herself for joy. She asked the name of the Princess.

“We do not know,” they said. “Even the King’s son is curious to learn who she is.”

Cinderella smiled and said to the elder sister: “Was she so beautiful then! How happy you are!”

The next night the sisters went to the ball. Cinderella went, too, even more magnificently attired than the first time. The King’s son was constantly by her side, and never ceased whispering sweet things. Cinderella was not at all weary, and she forgot what her Godmother had told her; so that when she heard the first stroke of midnight, she could not believe that it was more than eleven o’clock.

She sprang up, and fled as swiftly as a deer. The Prince followed her, but could not catch her. She lost one of her glass slippers, which he tenderly picked up.

Cinderella reached home breathless, without coach or footmen, and clad in rags. Nothing remained of all her splendour but one little glass slipper, for she had dropped the other.

The Prince’s attendants asked the palace guards if they had seen a Princess pass by. They said that they had seen no one except a poorly dressed girl, who looked more like a peasant than a Princess.

When her sisters returned, Cinderella asked if they had had a good time again, and if the lovely Princess had been present. They said yes, but that she had fled as soon as twelve o’clock had sounded, and that she had dropped one of her little glass slippers—it was the prettiest thing!—and that the Prince had picked it up. And that he had done nothing but look at it for the rest of the night! Assuredly he must be very much in love with the Princess to whom it belonged!

And they were right. A few days after this the King’s son sent a herald who announced, by sound of a trumpet, that the Prince would marry any lady whom the glass slipper fitted.

Then commenced a great trying-on by Princesses and Duchesses and all the ladies of the Court—but it was of no use. At last they brought the glass slipper to the two sisters, who did their best to get their feet into it, but they could not do so.

Cinderella, who was looking on and recognized her slipper, said smilingly: “Let me see if it will fit me.”

Her sisters began to laugh scornfully and to ridicule her; but the attendant who held the slipper, looking attentively at Cinderella, saw that she was very beautiful, and said that she had a right to do so, for he had been ordered to try the slipper on every girl in the Kingdom.

He made Cinderella seat herself, and, placing the slipper on her little foot, saw that it went on easily and fitted her like wax. The amazement of the sisters was great, but was greater still when Cinderella drew the other slipper from her pocket and put it on her other foot.

Immediately the Fairy Godmother arrived, and, having touched Cinderella’s clothes with her wand, changed them into garments more magnificent than those she had worn before.

Then the two sisters recognized her for the beautiful Princess whom they had seen at the ball. They threw themselves at her feet, and begged forgiveness for the cruel treatment she had suffered. Cinderella raised and embraced them, and assured them that she pardoned them with all her heart, and that she now entreated them to love her dearly.

She was then conducted to the palace of the Prince, adorned as she was in all her magnificence. The Prince found her more beautiful than ever, and a few days after he married her with great pomp.

Cinderella, who was as good as she was beautiful, lodged her sisters in the palace, and married them on the same day to two great lords of the Court.

Charles Perrault

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Once upon a time there lived a King and Queen who were most miserable because they had no children; but when a lovely baby girl was born to them, they were two of the happiest people in the world. And in order to make all things as propitious as possible for the little Princess, they invited seven Fairies who lived in the Kingdom, to be her Godmothers.

When the christening ceremony was over, there was a magnificent banquet given for the Fairies. Before each of them was laid a plate of massive gold, and a case—also of massive gold—containing a spoon, a fork, and a knife, all of the same precious metal, and richly studded with diamonds and rubies.

But just as everybody was seated at the table, who should enter but an old Fairy, who had not been invited because for more than fifty years she had been shut up in a tower, and was supposed to be either dead or enchanted.

The King immediately commanded that a chair should be placed for her at the table, but he could not offer her a golden plate and case, for only seven had been made for the seven Fairies. The unreasonable old creature considered herself insulted, and began to mutter frightful threats between her teeth. The youngest of the Fairies, hearing this, concealed herself behind the tapestry, in order to be the last to speak, and so perhaps prevent any harm being done to the little Princess.

Meanwhile the Godmothers began to bestow their gifts.

One said: “My Godchild shall be the most beautiful girl in the whole world.” The second added: “And she shall have the disposition of an angel.” The third said: “I give her the gift of perfect grace and graciousness.” The fourth added: “And she shall dance like a sylph.” The fifth said: “She shall sing like a nightingale.” The sixth added: “She shall excel in playing on every sort of musical instrument.”

Then came the turn of the old Fairy, who screamed like a cockatoo, while her head shook more from rage than from age: “The Princess shall pierce her hand with a spindle, and shall die!”

These dreadful words made the whole company—every one—shudder; and there was no one there who was not drowned in tears. At that moment the youngest Fairy appeared from behind the tapestry, and said sweetly:—

“Do not weep, Your Majesties, your daughter will not die. It is true that I have not power enough to entirely undo the evil that my elder sister has done. The Princess will hurt her hand with a spindle, but, instead of dying, she will fall asleep for a hundred years, and then a royal Prince will come and waken her.”

The King, hoping to prevent this calamity, forbade any person in the Kingdom either to spin or even to keep a spindle in the house. Any one who disobeyed was to be punished with death.

Sixteen years after this, the King and Queen went with their Court to a castle in the country, when it happened that the young Princess, wandering curiously from room to room, mounted to the top of a tower. There she found an old woman sitting alone before her wheel. This old woman had never heard that the King had forbidden any one to spin.

“What are you doing, my good mother?” asked the Princess.

“I am spinning, my beautiful child,” answered the old woman.

“Oh, how pretty it is!” exclaimed the Princess. “How do you do it? Give that to me, so I may see if I can do as well!”

And as she spoke, she took the spindle so eagerly and so quickly, that it pierced her hand, and she sank fainting to the floor. The poor old woman, in the greatest distress, cried for help. People came hurrying from all sides. They dashed water on the Princess. They unlaced her robes. They bathed her temples with perfumes. But she did not move. Then the King, who, hearing the commotion, was come into the tower-room, remembered the malediction of the old Fairy. He perceived that the misfortune was a thing that had to come about, since the Fairies had foretold it.

He caused the Princess to be carried to the most splendid apartment in the castle, and to be laid on a couch of down and on pillows of down embroidered with gold and silver. Her eyes were closed, but her soft breathing showed that she was not dead. Then, too, her cheeks were flushed a delicate rose-colour, and her lips were like coral. She seemed a sleeping angel, she was so beautiful.

The kind Fairy, who had saved the Princess’s life, was in the Kingdom of Mataquin, twelve thousand miles away, but the King instantly sent word of the misfortune, by a little dwarf, who travelled in seven-league boots—which are boots that pass over seven leagues at each step—and she arrived directly at the castle, in a chariot of fire drawn by dragons.

She approved of all that the King had done. But being exceedingly wise, she knew that the poor Princess would be in a pitiable condition when at the end of a hundred years she awoke to find herself alone in that old castle. She knew of but one thing to do, and she did it. At a wave of her wand every one fell asleep—ladies of honour, waiting-maids, squires, pages, stewards, cooks, scullions, porters, footmen,—every breathing thing, even the horses in the stables with the grooms, the mastiffs in the courtyard, and little Pouffi, the Princess’s lap dog, who was nestling beside her on the couch—all slept. The spits full of partridges over the fire, and even the fire itself, waited silently to serve their mistress when she should wake and need them.

Only the King and Queen were left to kiss their darling child, and go away from the castle. The King forbade any one to approach the place, but this command was not necessary, for within a quarter of an hour there was grown up around the castle park, such a vast wood, whose trees, great and small, were so interlaced with briars and thorns, that neither man nor beast could pass through. It was plain that the Fairy had arranged matters after Fairy fashion, taking care that the young Princess should not be disturbed while she slept.

When the hundred years were gone, a King, not of the family of the Princess, reigned over the land. One day his son was hunting near the Fairy wood, and asked what were those turrets he saw rising above the trees. People told him everything that they had heard. One said that it was an enchanted castle. Another said that all the witches in the country held their revels there. The most common belief, however, seemed to be that it was the dwelling-place of an ogre, who carried off all the children he could catch, and devoured them at his leisure; for no one could follow him, as only he could pass through the wood.

While the Prince was lost in wonder at these tales, an old peasant approached him, and said: “Your Highness, more than fifty years ago I heard my father say that in yonder castle was the most beautiful Princess on earth, and that she would sleep a hundred years and then be wakened by the son of a King, and that she would marry him.”

That was enough to set the Prince on fire for the adventure. In fact, he felt in his heart that he was the chosen one. He did not delay for an instant. No sooner had he taken a step toward the wood than the trees great and small, and the thorns and briars, disentangled themselves and opened a path.

He walked toward the castle which stood at the end of a broad avenue. He saw, with surprise, that none of his attendants had been able to follow him, for the wood had closed again behind him; but all the same he went on boldly.

He entered a spacious outer court, where a person less brave than he would have been paralyzed by fear. A deathlike silence reigned, and many dead men lay stretched upon the ground. But the Prince saw, at a second glance, that the men had only the appearance of being dead, that, indeed, they were really men-at-arms, who had fallen asleep with their half-emptied wine-glasses beside them.

He ascended the stairway. He entered an antechamber, where the guard, ranged in line, with their muskets on their shoulders, were snoring contentedly. He crossed a presence-chamber where many lords and ladies were sleeping, some standing and some sitting.

Then he found himself in a magnificent apartment where on a couch, whose curtains were lifted, slept a young Princess as lovely as if she had strayed from Paradise!

The Prince knelt beside her, and pressed his lips on her white hand that lay on the coverlet. The spell was broken! The Princess opened her eyes, and, looking at the Prince as if he was no stranger, said:—

“Is it you, my Prince! I know you, for the Fairy has sent me such happy dreams in order that I might know the one who should free me from enchantment.”Then they talked together. Each had so much to say. The Prince forgot the flight of time, and the Princess certainly did, it was so long since she had talked with any one.

Meanwhile the whole castle had awakened when the Princess did; and all the people had returned to their regular duties. They were naturally half-starved. Dinner was prepared.

Then the maid of honour, who was as hungry as the others, and who really had difficulty to keep her voice from being as sharp as her appetite, went to the Princess’s apartment, and said in a gentle tone: “Pardon, Your Highness, but dinner is served.”

The Princess was superbly dressed, and the Prince was careful not to say that her robe was like that of his great-grandmother. He did not find her any the less beautiful for all that. They dined in the Hall of Mirrors, and were served by the pages and ladies-in-waiting of the Princess. The violins and hautboys played delightfully considering that they had lain untouched for a hundred years. After dinner, the Prince and Princess were married in the chapel of the castle. And on the death of the Prince’s father, which occurred soon after the marriage, the Prince and Princess reigned happily over all that land.

Charles Perrault

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Long ago there lived a monarch, who was such a very honest man that his subjects entitled him “the Good King.” One day when he was out hunting, a little white rabbit, which had been half killed by his hounds, leaped right into His Majesty’s arms. Said he, caressing it, “This poor creature has put itself under my protection, and I will allow no one to injure it.” So he carried it to his palace, had prepared for it a neat little rabbit-hutch, with abundance of the daintiest food, such as rabbits love, and there he left it.

The same night, when he was alone in his chamber, there appeared to him a beautiful lady. She was dressed neither in gold nor silver nor brocade; but her flowing robes were white as snow, and she wore a garland of white roses on her head. The Good King was greatly astonished at the sight, for his door was locked, and he wondered how so dazzling a lady could possibly enter; but she soon removed his doubts.

“I am the Fairy Candide,” said she, with a smiling and gracious air. “Passing through the wood, where you were hunting, I took a desire to know if you were as good as men say you are. I therefore changed myself into a white rabbit, and sought refuge in your arms. You saved me; and now I know that those who are merciful to dumb beasts will be ten times more so to human beings. You merit the name your subjects give you: you are the Good King. I thank you for your protection, and shall be always one of your best friends. You have but to say what you most desire, and I promise you your wish shall be granted.”

“Madam,” replied the King, “if you are a Fairy, you must know, without my telling you, the wish of my heart. I have one well-beloved son, Prince ChÉri: whatever kindly feeling you have toward me, extend it to him.”

“Willingly,” said Candide. “I will make him the handsomest, richest, or most powerful Prince in the world. Choose whichever you desire for him.”

“None of the three,” returned the father. “I only wish him to be good—the best Prince in the world. Of what use would riches, power, or beauty be to him if he were a bad man?”

“You are right,” said the Fairy; “but I cannot make him good: he must do that himself. I can only change his external fortunes. For his personal character, the utmost I can promise is to give good counsel, reprove him for his faults, and even punish him, if he will not punish himself. You mortals can do the same with your children.”

“Ah, yes!” said the King, sighing.

Still, he felt that the kindness of a Fairy was something gained for his son, and died not long after, content and at peace.

Prince ChÉri mourned deeply, for he dearly loved his father, and would have gladly given all his kingdoms and treasures to keep him in life a little longer.

Two days after the Good King was no more, Prince ChÉri was sleeping in his chamber, when he saw the same dazzling vision of the Fairy Candide.

“I promised your father,” said she, “to be your best friend, and in pledge of this take what I now give you.” And she placed a small gold ring upon his finger. “Poor as it looks, it is more precious than diamonds; for whenever you do ill it will prick your finger. If after that warning you still continue in evil, you will lose my friendship, and I shall become your direst enemy.”

So saying she disappeared, leaving ChÉri in such amazement that he would have believed it all a dream, save for the ring on his finger.

He was for a long time so good that the ring never pricked him at all; and this made him so cheerful and pleasant in his humour that everybody called him “Happy Prince ChÉri.” But one unlucky day he was out hunting and found no sport, which vexed him so much that he showed his ill-temper by his looks and ways. He fancied his ring felt very tight and uncomfortable, but as it did not prick him, he took no heed of this; until, reËntering his palace, his little pet dog, Bibi, jumped up upon him, and was sharply told to get away. The creature, accustomed to nothing but caresses, tried to attract his attention by pulling at his garments, when Prince ChÉri turned and gave it a severe kick. At this moment he felt in his finger a prick like a pin.

“What nonsense!” said he to himself. “The Fairy must be making game of me. Why, what great evil have I done? I, the master of a great empire, cannot I kick my own dog?”

A voice replied, or else Prince ChÉri imagined it: “No, sire; the master of a great empire has a right to do good, but not evil. I—a Fairy—am as much above you as you are above your dog. I might punish you, kill you, if I chose; but I prefer leaving you to amend your ways. You have been guilty of three faults to-day—bad temper, passion, cruelty. Do better to-morrow.”

The Prince promised, and kept his word awhile; but he had been brought up by a foolish nurse, who indulged him in every way, and was always telling him that he would be a King one day, when he might do as he liked in all things. He found out now that even a King cannot always do that; it vexed him, and made him angry. His ring began to prick him so often that his little finger was continually bleeding. He disliked this, as was natural, and soon began to consider whether it would not be easier to throw the ring away altogether than to be constantly annoyed by it. It was such a queer thing for a King to have always a spot of blood on his finger!

At last, unable to put up with it any more, he took his ring off, and hid it where he would never see it; and believed himself the happiest of men, for he could now do exactly what he liked. He did it, and became every day more and more miserable.

One day he saw a young girl, so beautiful that, being always accustomed to have his own way, he immediately determined to marry her. He never doubted that she would be only too glad to be made a Queen, for she was very poor. But Zelia—that was her name—answered, to his great astonishment, that she would rather not marry him.

“Do I displease you?” asked the Prince, into whose mind it had never entered that he could displease anybody.

“Not at all, my Prince,” said the honest peasant-maiden. “You are very handsome, very charming; but you are not like your father the Good King. I will not be your Queen, for you would make me miserable.”

At these words the Prince’s love seemed all to turn to hatred. He gave orders to his guards to convey Zelia to a prison near the palace, and then took counsel with his foster-brother, the one of all his ill companions who most incited him to do wrong.

“Sir,” said this man, “if I were in Your Majesty’s place, I would never vex myself about a poor silly girl. Feed her on bread and water till she comes to her senses; and if she still refuses you, let her die in torment, as a warning to your other subjects should they venture to dispute your will. You will be disgraced should you suffer yourself to be conquered by a simple girl.”

“But,” said Prince ChÉri, “shall I not be disgraced if I harm a creature so perfectly innocent?”

“No one is innocent who disputes Your Majesty’s authority,” said the courtier, bowing; “and it is better to commit an injustice than allow it to be supposed you can ever be contradicted with impunity.”

This touched ChÉri on his weak point—his good impulses faded. He resolved once more to ask Zelia if she would marry him, and, if she again refused, to sell her as a slave. Arrived at the cell in which she was confined, what was his astonishment to find her gone! He knew not whom to accuse, for he had kept the key in his pocket the whole time. At last, the foster-brother suggested that the escape of Zelia might have been contrived by an old man, Suliman by name, the Prince’s former tutor, who was the only one who now ventured to blame him for anything that he did. ChÉri sent immediately, and ordered his old friend to be brought to him, loaded heavily with irons.

Then, full of fury, he went and shut himself up in his own chamber, where he went raging to and fro, till startled by a noise like a clap of thunder. The Fairy Candide stood before him.

“Prince,” said she, in a severe voice, “I promised your father to give you good counsels, and to punish you if you refused to follow them. My counsels were forgotten, my punishments despised. Under the figure of a man, you have been no better than the beasts you chase: like a lion in fury, a wolf in gluttony, a serpent in revenge, and a bull in brutality. Take, therefore, in your new form the likeness of all these animals.”

Scarcely had Prince ChÉri heard these words, than to his horror he found himself transformed into what the Fairy had named. He was a creature with the head of a lion, the horns of a bull, the feet of a wolf, and the tail of a serpent. At the same time he felt himself transported to a distant forest, where, standing on the bank of a stream, he saw reflected in the water his own frightful shape, and heard a voice saying:—

“Look at thyself, and know thy soul has become a thousand times uglier even than thy body.”

ChÉri recognized the voice of Candide, and in his rage would have sprung upon her and devoured her; but he saw nothing, and the same voice said behind him:—

“Cease thy feeble fury, and learn to conquer thy pride by being in submission to thine own subjects.”

Hearing no more, he soon quitted the stream, hoping at least to get rid of the sight of himself; but he had scarcely gone twenty paces when he tumbled into a pitfall that was laid to catch bears. The bear-hunters, descending from some trees hard by, caught him, chained him, and only too delighted to get hold of such a curious-looking animal, led him along with them to the capital of his own Kingdom.

There great rejoicings were taking place, and the bear-hunters, asking what it was all about, were told that it was because Prince ChÉri, the torment of his subjects, had been struck dead by a thunderbolt—just punishment of all his crimes. Four courtiers, his wicked companions, had wished to divide his throne among them; but the people had risen up against them, and offered the crown to Suliman, the old tutor whom ChÉri had ordered to be arrested.

All this the poor monster heard. He even saw Suliman sitting upon his own throne, and trying to calm the populace by representing to them that it was not certain Prince ChÉri was dead; that he might return one day to reassume with honour the crown which Suliman only consented to wear as a sort of viceroy.

“I know his heart,” said the honest and faithful old man; “it is tainted, but not corrupt. If alive, he may reform yet, and be all his father over again to you, his people, whom he has caused to suffer so much.”

These words touched the poor beast so deeply that he ceased to beat himself against the iron bars of the cage in which the hunters carried him about, became gentle as a lamb, and suffered himself to be taken quietly to a menagerie, where were kept all sorts of strange and ferocious animals—a place which he had himself often visited as a boy, but never thought he should be shut up there himself.

However, he owned he had deserved it all, and began to make amends by showing himself very obedient to his keeper. This man was almost as great a brute as the animals he had charge of, and when he was in ill-humour he used to beat them without rhyme or reason. One day, while he was sleeping, a tiger broke loose and leaped upon him, eager to devour him. ChÉri at first felt a thrill of pleasure at the thought of being revenged; then, seeing how helpless the man was, he wished himself free, that he might defend him. Immediately the doors of his cage opened.

The keeper, waking up, saw the strange beast leap out, and imagined, of course, that he was going to be slain at once. Instead, he saw the tiger lying dead, and the strange beast creeping up and laying itself at his feet to be caressed. But as he lifted up his hand to stroke it, a voice was heard saying, “Good actions never go unrewarded.” And, instead of the frightful monster, there crouched on the ground nothing but a pretty little dog.

ChÉri, delighted to find himself thus transformed, caressed the keeper in every possible way, till at last the man took him up into his arms and carried him to the King, to whom he related this wonderful story from beginning to end. The Queen wished to have the charming little dog; and ChÉri would have been exceedingly happy, could he have forgotten that he was originally a man and a King. He was lodged most elegantly, had the richest of collars to adorn his neck, and heard himself praised continually. But his beauty rather brought him into trouble, for the Queen, afraid lest he might grow too large for a pet, took advice of dog-doctors, who ordered that he should be fed entirely upon bread, and that very sparingly; so poor ChÉri was sometimes nearly starved.

One day, when they gave him his crust for breakfast, a fancy seized him to go and eat it in the palace-garden; so he took the bread in his mouth, and trotted away toward a stream which he knew, and where he sometimes stopped to drink. But instead of the stream he saw a splendid palace, glittering with gold and precious stones. Entering the doors was a crowd of men and women, magnificently dressed; and within there was singing and dancing, and good cheer of all sorts. Yet, however grandly and gaily the people went in, ChÉri noticed that those who came out were pale, thin, ragged, half-naked, covered with wounds and sores. Some of them dropped dead at once; others dragged themselves on a little way and then lay down, dying of hunger, and vainly begged a morsel of bread from others who were entering in—who never took the least notice of them.

ChÉri perceived one woman, who was trying feebly to gather and eat some green herbs. “Poor thing!” said he to himself; “I know what it is to be hungry, and I want my breakfast badly enough; but still it will not kill me to wait till dinner-time, and my crust may save the life of this poor woman.”

So the little dog ran up to her, and dropped his bread at her feet; she picked it up, and ate it with avidity. Soon she looked quite recovered, and ChÉri, delighted, was trotting back again to his kennel, when he heard loud cries, and saw a young girl dragged by four men to the door of the palace, which they were trying to compel her to enter. Oh, how he wished himself a monster again, as when he slew the tiger! For the young girl was no other than his beloved Zelia. Alas! what could a poor little dog do to defend her? But he ran forward and barked at the men and bit their heels, until at last they chased him away with heavy blows. And then he lay down outside the palace-door, determined to watch and see what had become of Zelia.

Conscience pricked him now. “What!” he thought, “I am furious against these wicked men, who are carrying her away; and did I not do the same myself? Did I not cast her into prison, and intend to sell her as a slave? Who knows how much more wickedness I might not have done to her and others, if Heaven’s justice had not stopped me in time?”

While he lay thinking and repenting, he heard a window open, and saw Zelia throw out of it a bit of dainty meat. ChÉri, who felt hungry enough by this time, was just about to eat it, when the woman to whom he had given his crust snatched him up in her arms.

“Poor little beast!” cried she, patting him, “every bit of food in that palace is poisoned; you shall not touch a morsel.”

And at the same time the voice in the air repeated again, “Good actions never go unrewarded.” And ChÉri found himself changed into a beautiful little white pigeon. He remembered with joy that white was the colour of the Fairy Candide, and began to hope that she was taking him into favour again.

So he stretched his wings, delighted that he might now have a chance of approaching his fair Zelia. He flew up to the palace windows, and, finding one of them open, entered and sought everywhere, but he could not find Zelia. Then, in despair, he flew out again, resolved to go over the world until he beheld her once more.

He took flight at once, and traversed many countries, swiftly as a bird can, but found no trace of his beloved. At length in a desert, sitting beside an old hermit in his cave and partaking with him of his frugal repast, ChÉri saw a poor peasant girl and recognized Zelia. Transported with joy, he flew in, perched on her shoulder, and expressed his delight and affection by a thousand caresses.She, charmed with the pretty little pigeon, caressed it in her turn, and promised it that, if it would stay with her, she would love it always.

“What have you done, Zelia?” said the hermit, smiling. And while he spoke the white pigeon vanished, and there stood Prince ChÉri in his own natural form. “Your enchantment ended, Prince, when Zelia promised to love you. Indeed, she has loved you always, but your many faults constrained her to hide her love. These are now amended, and you may both live happy if you will, because your union is founded upon mutual esteem.”

ChÉri and Zelia threw themselves at the feet of the hermit, whose form also began to change. His soiled garments became of dazzling whiteness, and his long beard and withered face grew into the flowing hair and lovely countenance of Fairy Candide.

“Rise up, my children,” said she; “I must now transport you to your palace, and restore to Prince ChÉri his father’s crown, of which he is now worthy.”

She had scarcely ceased speaking when they found themselves in the chamber of Suliman, who, delighted to find again his beloved pupil and master, willingly resigned the throne, and became the most faithful of his subjects.King ChÉri and Queen Zelia reigned together for many years, and it is said that the former was so blameless and strict in all his duties that, though he constantly wore the ring which Candide had restored to him, it never once pricked his finger enough to make it bleed.

Madame Le Prince de Beaumont
(After Miss Mulock)

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Once upon a time there was a widow who had two daughters. The elder was so exactly like her mother in disposition and in face that whoever saw one, saw the other. They were both so disagreeable and so proud that nobody could endure them.

The younger was the image of her dead father. She was sweet and kind-hearted, besides being very beautiful. While her mother loved the elder daughter to distraction, she hated the younger. The poor child had to eat in the kitchen, and work day and night. And twice every day she had to walk several miles to a distant fountain to fetch home a large pitcher of water.

One morning, while she was resting beside the fountain, a poor woman passing by, stopped and asked her for a drink.

“Yes, indeed!” said the obliging young girl. And immediately dipping her pitcher, she filled it where the water was coldest, and held it carefully up so that the woman might easily drink from it.

When the woman had finished drinking, she said: “You are so beautiful, so good, and so kind, that I must bestow a gift upon you. For every word that you speak, there shall fall from your lips either a flower or a jewel.”

Now the woman was not really a poor peasant, but a Fairy who had taken that form in order to find how kind-hearted the young girl was. She then vanished.

As soon as the daughter arrived at home, her mother scolded her for being absent so long.

“I beg your pardon, my mother, for being gone such a long time,” answered the girl. And as she spoke there fell from her lips three roses, three lilies, three pearls, and three large diamonds.

“What do I see!” exclaimed her mother in amazement. “Where did you get them, my child?” It was the first time in her life that she had ever called her “my child.” “I do believe those jewels came from your mouth!”

The poor girl told her in a few words what had happened, and while she was talking a shower of blossoms and gems fell to the ground.

“Truly!” exclaimed the mother; “I must send my darling there! Look!” called she to the elder daughter; “see what comes out of your sister’s mouth. Would you not be glad to have the same Fairy gifts? You have only to go and draw some water from the fountain, and when a poor woman asks for a drink to give it to her very politely.”“It would certainly look fine for me to carry a great pitcher to the fountain!” answered the elder daughter angrily.

“I wish you to go there at once,” said her mother.

So the girl went, but grumbling. She took the prettiest silver pitcher that there was in the house; and she was no sooner arrived at the fountain than she saw, stepping out of the wood, a magnificent lady attired in rich robes. She approached the girl and asked her for a drink. It was the same Fairy who had appeared to her sister, but who had taken the form of a Princess in order to find how rude the girl would be.

“Oh, indeed!” answered the insolent girl; “do you think that I am come here on purpose to give you a drink? I suppose you think that I have brought a silver pitcher expressly to draw water for you! Draw the water yourself, my fine lady!”

“You are rude,” replied the Fairy without becoming in the least angry. “Since you are so utterly disobliging, I bestow on you a gift. It is this, for every word that you speak, there shall fall from your mouth either a viper or a toad.”

Then the Fairy vanished.

When her mother saw the girl returning, she cried out: “Well, my daughter!”

“Well, my mother!” snapped the hateful girl, and as she spoke there sprang from her mouth two snakes and one toad.

“What do I see!” shrieked her mother. “Your sister is the cause of this, and she shall pay for it!”

And she rushed to beat the poor child, who fled into the neighbouring wood. The son of the King was returning from the chase, and met her as she was running away. Seeing how beautiful she was, he asked her why she was there alone, and why she wept.

“Ah, sir,” she said, “it is because my mother has driven me from home.”

The King’s son, seeing five or six pearls and as many diamonds fall from her lips, begged her to explain how such a marvel could be. When she told him about the Fairy’s gift, he thought that such a wedding portion was more than he could expect with a Princess, so he led the girl to his palace, and married her.

As for the sister, she made herself so hated, and so many vipers and toads sprang from her mouth, that at last her mother drove her from home. And, after having been refused shelter by all the neighbours, she died in a dark corner of the wood.

Charles Perrault

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Once upon a time there was a poor widow, who had two charming daughters. She named the elder Blanche, and the younger Rose, because they had the most beautiful complexions in the world.

One day, while the mother sat spinning at the door of her cottage, she saw a poor, bent, old woman hobbling by on a crutch. She pitied her, and said:—

“You are very tired. Sit down a minute and rest.”

Then she called her daughters to fetch a chair. They both hastened, but Rose ran faster than her sister and brought it.

“Will you not have a drink?” asked the mother kindly.

“Indeed, I will,” replied the old woman. “And it seems to me that I could eat a morsel, too, if you will give me something to strengthen me.”

“I will gladly give you all that I have,” said the mother, “but as I am poor, it will not be much.”

Then she bade her daughters wait on the old woman, who had seated herself at the table. She told Blanche to go and pick some plums from the plum tree that Blanche herself had planted, and of which she was very proud. But instead of obeying her mother pleasantly, she went away grumbling, and thinking, “What a shame that I have taken such care of my tree just for this greedy old woman!” However, she did not dare refuse to fetch some plums, and she brought them with a very bad grace, and evidently much against her will.

“And you, Rose,” said the mother, “you have no fruit to give this good lady, for your grapes are not yet ripe!”

“That is true,” answered Rose, “but I hear my hen cackling. She has just laid an egg, and I will give that with all my heart!”

And without allowing the old woman time to speak, Rose ran out to seek the egg. But when she came back the old woman had disappeared, and in her place stood the most beautiful lady—a Fairy.

“Good woman,” said she to the mother, “I am about to reward your two daughters as they deserve. The elder shall become a great Queen, and the younger shall be a farmer’s wife.”

Then the lady waved a wand and in a twinkling the little cottage was changed into a pretty farmhouse surrounded by a flourishing farm.

“This is your wedding portion,” said she to Rose. “I know I am giving to each of you what you like best.”So saying the Fairy disappeared, leaving the mother and daughters speechless with surprise and joy. They were delighted with the spotlessness of all the furniture. The chairs were of wood, but they were so well polished that they shone like mirrors. The beds were covered with linen as white as snow. In the stables there were twenty sheep, as many lambs, four oxen, four cows; and in the yard were chickens, ducks, and pigeons. There was also a pretty garden full of fruits and flowers.

Blanche saw without jealousy all that the Fairy had given her sister. She was taken up with the thought of the delightful times she should have when she became a Queen. Just then a party of royal hunters passed by. And while she stood in the door to look at them, she appeared so wonderfully beautiful in the eyes of the King that he determined to marry her.

After she became Queen, she said to Rose: “I do not wish you to be a farmer’s wife. Come with me, sister, and I will wed you to a great lord.”

“I am much obliged to you, my sister,” answered Rose, “but I am used to the country, and wish always to remain here.”

During the first months of her marriage Queen Blanche was so occupied with fine clothes, balls, and the theatre, that she thought of nothing else. But afterward she became accustomed to the gay doings of the Court, and nothing amused her. On the contrary, she had many troubles.

At first the courtiers paid her great deference, but she knew that when she was not present, they said to each other: “See how this little peasant puts on the airs of a fine lady! The King must have very low taste to choose such a wife!”

Talk like this came to the King, and he began to think that he had made a mistake in marrying Blanche, so he ceased to love her, and neglected her sadly. When the courtiers saw this, they no longer did her honour. She had not one true friend to whom she might confide her sorrows. She always had a doctor near her who examined her food and took away everything she liked. They put no salt in her soups. She was forbidden to walk when she wished to. In a word, she was interfered with from morning to night. The King took her children from her, and gave them in charge of governesses who brought them up badly. But the Queen dared not say a word.

Poor Blanche! She was dying of grief. She became so thin that everybody pitied her. She had not seen her sister for several years, because she thought that it would disgrace a Queen to visit a farmer’s wife. But now feeling herself so unhappy, she asked the King’s permission to pass a few days in the country. He gladly gave his consent, for he was delighted to be rid of her.When she arrived in the evening at the home of Rose, a band of shepherds and shepherdesses were dancing gaily on the grass. “There was a time,” sighed Blanche, “when I amused myself like these simple people! Then there was no one to prevent it!”

While she was thinking thus, her sister ran to embrace her, looking so happy and plump that Blanche could not help weeping as she gazed at her.

Rose had married a young farmer, who loved her dearly; and together they managed the farm that was the Fairy’s marriage portion. Rose had not many servants, but those she had she treated so kindly that they were as devoted to her as if they were her children. Her neighbours, too, were so fond of her that they were always trying to show it. She had not much money, but she had no need of it, for her farm produced wheat, wine, and oil; her flocks furnished milk; and she made butter and cheese. She spun the wool of her sheep into clothing for her household, all of whom enjoyed the best of health. When the day’s work was done, the whole family amused themselves with games, music, and dancing.

“Alas!” cried Queen Blanche, “the Fairy made me but a sad gift when she gave me a crown! People do not find happiness in magnificent palaces, but in the simple joys and labour of the country!”As she finished speaking, the Fairy herself appeared before her.

“I did not intend to reward you by making you a Queen,” she said, “but to punish you because you gave your plums with such bad grace. In order to be truly happy it is necessary to possess, like your sister, only those things that are simple and joyful, and not to wish for more.”

“Ah, madame!” cried Blanche, “you are sufficiently avenged! Pray put an end to my misery!”

“It is ended,” replied the Fairy. “Even now the King, who has ceased to love you, is sending his officers to forbid your returning to the palace.”

All happened as the Fairy had said. And Blanche passed the rest of her life with Rose. She was happy and contented, never even thinking of the royal Court, except when she thanked the Fairy for taking her from it, and bringing her back to the pretty farm and to her dear sister.

Madame Le Prince de Beaumont

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There once lived a gay young girl named Fannie, who never knew what time it was. Did she care? That I cannot say. And it is impossible for me to tell you how often she kept her father waiting, and caused him to be late for his appointments. And such a kind father as he was to Fannie, for she was his only child and he loved her very much. Indeed, he loved her so much that he overlooked her faults when he should have reproved them. Whole half-hours she used to keep the carriage waiting in front of the door, while she prinked before her mirror. And because she was never prompt, every one called her “Miss Tardy.” Yet, after keeping people waiting, she would excuse herself in the sweetest manner possible, and blame herself for thoughtlessness.

One day her old Godmother wrote that she was coming the next morning to lunch with Fannie at noon. She was a Fairy so celebrated for her promptness that people called her “the Fairy Prompt,” of which name she was very proud. With her, noon was not ten minutes after twelve, nor ten minutes before twelve, but it was exactly twelve o’clock.

So the next morning, at the first stroke of twelve, she set her foot on the bottom step of Fannie’s house, and, as the last stroke died away, she entered the dining-room. The table was beautifully laid, and all was ready, but Fannie was not there. Indeed, Miss Tardy had forgotten all about her Godmother, and was calling on a friend. She was trying on her friend’s beautiful new clothes and having such a fine time that the Godmother was utterly forgotten, as if she had never been in the world.

But at last hunger reminded Fannie of luncheon, and she hurried home. The servants informed her that her Godmother had arrived, but as Fannie’s shoes pinched her, she rushed to her room and put on a pretty little pair of slippers. Then, as her street clothes were not suitable for slippers, she changed her dress for a becoming house-gown. By this time it was two o’clock.

She found her Godmother asleep in a comfortable chair, such as is not made any more; and, I think, she was snoring a little. She awoke as Fannie opened the door hurriedly.

“My dear Godmother,” said she, “I am so sorry!—so ashamed!—I am indeed a thoughtless creature to keep you waiting this way!”

“That is all right,” said the Godmother, who was very kind and indulgent to Fannie. “I have slept a little, while waiting for you. That will do me no harm. What time is it?”“Oh, please do not ask me!” begged Fannie, “you will make me die with shame!”

And like a playful child she ran and stood in front of the clock, but her Fairy Godmother, who had good eyes, saw that the hand had passed two o’clock.

The dinner, as you may well imagine, was overdone, but the Fairy, who really loved her goddaughter, took it all as good-naturedly as possible, and made many gay jokes as she tried to eat the burnt roasts and the scorched creams.

It was soon four o’clock, and Fannie’s father hurriedly entered the drawing-room, where she was chatting with her Godmother.

“Well, Fannie!” he cried. “Are you ready? Are you ready?” Then he started back when he saw his daughter, in her pretty pink and blue house-gown, stretched indolently on a sofa, her feet to the fire, while she daintily sipped her coffee.

“What!” exclaimed her father. “Have you forgotten that you were to be ready at four o’clock!”

“Do you not see my Godmother with me, Papa?” said Fannie reproachfully.

“Pardon me, madame,” said the father, turning to the Fairy and bowing, although his face was red with anger. “Excuse my rudeness, but my daughter will cause me to die with grief!”“And what has the poor child done?” asked the Godmother.

“Judge for yourself,” said he. “Prince Pandolph has invited us to his villa. Fannie is to sing for his guests. They are all assembled and expecting her. The Prince has sent his carriage which is now waiting before the door.”

“But, Papa,” said Fannie, “cannot you go without me?”

“You know that cannot be, child,” said her father sadly. “It is you who are invited, and it is your fine voice that the Prince wishes for his musicale. He will now be offended for ever, since you cannot go in this dress.”

“Calm yourself, my good sir,” said the Godmother, seeing Fannie’s confusion. “It is because of me that this dear little one has forgotten you. It is for me to repair this evil.”

So saying she passed her hand over the unfortunate house-gown and it was instantly transformed into the most ravishing robe embroidered with gold and pearls. Fannie, who was naturally very pretty, shone like a star in this brilliant costume.

“Wait a minute,” said the Fairy to the impatient father, who was already leading his daughter away. “Let me finish my work.” And she put around the neck of her goddaughter a magnificent golden chain at the end of which hung an exquisite little watch the size of a locket, and all of chased gold studded with diamonds.

“Now, little one,” said she, kissing the forehead of the spoilt child, “here is something that will aid your naughty memory. With this you will never again forget an engagement. Be sure to come home by ten o’clock.”

“Oh, yes, indeed!” said Fannie, kissing her Godmother joyfully.

It is necessary to say here that it was the Fairy Prompt who invented watches in her youth. But hers were not like those sold nowadays in the shops. There was a magic virtue in each watch, for when the hour of an engagement arrived, it made so loud a ticking that the owner of it had no peace until he kept his engagement.

So it happened that while Fannie was listening to the praises of the Prince and his guests, who were saying that she had the most delightful voice in the world, she heard a gentle sound, but very distinct:—

“Tic! Tic! Tic!”

“It is ten o’clock!” exclaimed Fannie joyously to her father. “Oh! my dear, good, little watch, that my Godmother gave me, it has told me so! We must hurry home.”

Her father, who was very much pleased because she had charmed the Prince and his guests with her sweet voice, said as they drove away:—“My dear child, to-morrow I am going to take you to the finest jeweller in town, and buy for you the bracelet of antique cameos that you have been begging me for. At what time do you wish to go? At ten o’clock?”

“Oh, no!” cried Fannie, her eyes sparkling with delight, “at nine o’clock, please! Ever since I saw the bracelet I have been dying to possess it!”

“Very good! At nine o’clock, then. And what shall we do with the rest of our morning?”

“At exactly ten I am to go to the dressmaker’s to order some new gowns,” said Fannie, “but may we not lunch together at eleven?”

“Just as you say, dear little nightingale,” answered her father affectionately. “And order all the gowns and furbelows you wish, for the plumage should match the warbling. And since it suits you, I will meet you promptly at eleven, for at twelve I have an important business engagement.”

“At eleven o’clock, then, dear Papa,” said Fannie, “but do not forget to return in time this evening to escort me to the Baron’s ball!”

“Don’t worry!” said her father, smiling, “for nothing in the world would I make a pearl of a daughter like you wait for an escort!”

The next morning Fannie rose early and dressed more rapidly than usual, and was ready waiting for her father at nine. They drove to the jeweller’s. How her eyes sparkled as her father clasped the cameo bracelet on her arm! But the jeweller, who hoped to sell Fannie a necklace as well, took from his showcase such beautiful collars of pearls, rubies, amethysts, and other gems and precious stones that she forgot how the time was flying.

“Tic! Tic! Tic! Tic!”

“Thank you, dear watch, for warning me!” said Fannie gaily, “but the dressmaker must wait!”

“Tic! Tic! Tic! Tic! Tic!”

“You insupportable thing!” cried she, and taking the watch from her neck she handed it to her father, saying: “I beg you, dear Papa, to put this in your pocket. It is very annoying!”

He took the watch, and seeing a friend on the street, went to the door to speak with him.

“Toc! Toc! Toc! Toc!”

The watch raised its voice so that Fannie should hear it. The people in the shop all asked where the noise came from. And her father, mortified, said good-bye to his friend, gave back the watch to Fannie, and hurried her into the carriage.

She was soon at the dressmaker’s, and her ill-humour passed as she ordered a dress of pink brocade trimmed with rich lace, and a robe of garnet velvet embroidered with gold threads, and a cloak of silver cloth trimmed with pearls. She was not yet through when she glanced at the clock, and saw that it was eleven.

“Oh!” thought she, “that horrid watch is going to disturb me again! But I’ll finish my ordering!”

“Toc! Toc! Toc! Toc!”

The dressmaker turned her head. “What’s that, Miss?” she exclaimed with fright.

“It is nothing, let us go on!” said Miss Tardy.

“Toc! Toc! Toc! Toc!” louder than before.

“It is thieves! It is thieves!” cried the dressmaker.

“It is nothing I tell you—unfold this gown.”

“Toc!—Toc!—Toc!—Toc!” louder and louder!

And the poor dressmaker, half dead with fright, was in such a state that she could show no more clothes. And Fannie put on her hat and coat, and hurried away to the restaurant where she found her father walking nervously up and down.

“Ah! how thoughtful of you, dear child, to be prompt!” he said, as he led her to a table. And the delicious food soon made her forget her annoyance.

When Fannie returned home she was so fatigued that she put on a charming wrapper, and lay down to rest. Then she remembered that she had an engagement to see a poor man at two o’clock, whose want she had promised to relieve. She took the fatal watch from her neck, and giving it to the maid, said:—

“Take this, and carry it to the cellar, so that I may be rid of it!”

Two o’clock struck, and the poor old man, who had had nothing to eat for three days, presented himself. The maid told him that Miss Fannie was sleeping and would not see him. With tears streaming down his cheeks, he bowed humbly and was turning away, when everybody in the house jumped to the ceiling.

“Paf! Paf! Paf! Paf!” It was like so many shots from a pistol.

The neighbours commenced screaming. The servants ran frantically to and fro.

Fannie sprang up from her couch.

“Paf! Paf! Paf! Paf!”

“It must be that wretched watch!” cried she.

“Paf!—Paf!—Paf!—Paf!”

“Yes! Yes! I am coming! I am coming!” And she hurried to the cellar and, picking up the watch, returned to her room in silence.

Then she called the poor old man, fed him, and comforted him, and sent him away with a full purse.

Evening arrived, and Fannie, all dressed for the Baron’s ball, shone more beautifully than ever in her magnificent gown. And just as her father was leading her to the carriage, a clumsy wagon drove up, and an old countrywoman descended from it, crying out that she must see her dear child—her Fannie—just once more before she died. It was Fannie’s old nurse who had come all the way from her village miles distant to hold her dear child in her arms. When she saw that Fannie was ready to go out, she screamed loudly and would have made herself ill, if Fannie had not embraced her tenderly, and promised to return before midnight. On the strength of this promise the old woman grew calm, and Fannie and her father went away to the ball.

But as the carriage drove through the streets, Fannie regretted her promise, and slipping her little hand under her cloak, she loosened the fatal watch, and flung it into a deep ditch.

“At last! At last!” she said to herself, with a sigh of relief.

Midnight sounded, and found her breathlessly twirling around in the dance, her eyes sparkling and her cheeks glowing.

“Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom!”

The orchestra stopped suddenly. The thunderclaps—for so they seemed to be—continued to follow each other without interruption.

“Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom!”

All the city was awake. Women cried out that the end of the world was come.The unfortunate Fannie knew in a minute what it was. Fright seized her, and she lost her head. Instead of returning home quietly, which would have put an end to the horrible racket, she ran out into the street, and, wild with fright, hastened with all speed to the spot where she had thrown the watch.

“Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom!”

The houses were lighted. The amazed people thrust their heads out the windows. All that they saw was a young girl running through the streets, her neck and head bare, and her ball-gown flying in the wind.

“Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom!”—every stroke was louder and more fearful.

The firemen came hurrying up to see if there was a fire, and one of them held his lantern under Fannie’s nose, and cried out: “Why, it is little Miss Tardy! She has doubtless lost the time, and is hunting for it! Ha! Ha!”

Meanwhile Fannie ran on, and arrived breathlessly at the ditch into which she had flung the watch. Guided by its thunderous blows, she quickly laid her fingers on it. In a fury she was about to dash it against a stone when she felt a hand on her arm.

It was her Fairy Godmother, who, in gentle tones of reproach, said: “What are you doing, my child? You can never succeed!”

Then she took the watch from Fannie, which instantly became quiet, and passed the chain around the neck of her goddaughter, who was trembling with penitence and shame.

“Neither violence nor trickery,” said her Godmother, “have any power over my gift to you. All you can do is to take it, and obey. And then you will find yourself happy.”

At the same moment Miss Tardy felt herself being transported through the air, and found herself once more in her own room, holding the hand of her old nurse, who was weeping with tenderness and joy.

I have no need to tell you that Fannie never again attempted to disobey the protecting tyrant that she wore around her neck. And as the watch no longer had to warn her with its loud ticking, she learned in time to enjoy sacrificing her whims to her duty.

Jean MacÉ (Adapted)

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In the days of yore there lived a very idle, greedy, naughty boy such as we never hear of in these times. His name was Master No-Book. The young gentleman hated lessons like mustard, both of which brought tears to his eyes. And during school hours he sat gazing at his books, pretending to be busy, while he considered where he could get the nicest pies, pastries, ices, and jellies. He smacked his lips at the very thought of them.

Whenever Master No-Book spoke, it was to ask for a piece of cake, or an apple, or a bit of plum pudding. Indeed, very frequently when he did not get permission to eat the goodies, this naughty glutton helped himself without leave.

One afternoon Master No-Book, having played truant from school, was lolling on his mamma’s best sofa, with his leather boots tucked up on the satin cushions, and nothing to do but to suck a few oranges, and nothing to think of but how much sugar to put into them, when suddenly an event took place which filled him with astonishment.

A sound of soft music stole into the room, becoming louder and louder, the longer he listened, till at length a large hole burst open in the wall of the room. Then there stepped into his presence two magnificent Fairies, just arrived from their castles in the air, to pay him a visit. They had travelled all the way on purpose to talk with Master No-Book.

The Fairy Do-Nothing was gorgeously dressed with a wreath of flames round her head, a robe of gold tissue, a necklace of rubies, and a bouquet of glittering diamonds in her hand. Her teeth were gold, her hair was of the most brilliant purple, and her eyes were green. In fact she was a most fine and fashionable Fairy.

The Fairy Teach-All, who followed next, was simply dressed in white muslin, with bunches of natural flowers in her brown hair; and she carried a few, neat, small books, which made Master No-Book shudder.

The two Fairies now informed him that they very often invited large parties of children to spend some time at their palaces. Therefore they had now come to invite Master No-Book, but as they lived in opposite directions, he would have to choose which he would visit first.

“In my house,” said the Fairy Teach-All, speaking with a very sweet smile, and a soft, pleasing voice, “my young friends rise at seven every morning, and amuse themselves with working in a beautiful garden of flowers, raising fruits of all kinds, visiting the poor, playing together, and learning to know the world they live in and how to fulfill the purposes for which they have been brought into it. In short, all our amusements tend to some useful object; and you will grow wiser, better, and happier every day you remain in the Palace of Knowledge.”

“But in the Castle Needless, where I live,” interrupted the Fairy Do-Nothing, rudely pushing her companion aside, “we never think of working. No one is ever asked a question. We lead the most fashionable life imaginable. Each of my visitors sits with his back to as many of the company as possible, and whenever he can, he sits in the most comfortable chair. If he takes the trouble to wish for anything, he gets it. Clothes are provided of the most magnificent kinds, which go on by themselves without buttons or strings. Delicious dishes are served smoking hot under his nose, at all hours, while any rain that falls is of lemonade, chocolate, and cider. And in Winter it generally snows ice-cream and tutti-frutti, for an hour during the forenoon.”

Nobody need be told which Fairy Master No-Book preferred. And quite charmed at his good fortune in receiving such a delightful invitation, he eagerly gave his hand to his splendid new acquaintance, who promised him so much pleasure and ease. He gladly proceeded with her in a carriage lined with velvet, stuffed with downy pillows, and drawn by milk-white swans, to that magnificent residence, Castle Needless, which was lighted by a thousand windows during the day and by a million lamps at night.

Here Master No-Book enjoyed a constant holiday and a continual feast. A beautiful lady, covered with jewels, was ready to tell him stories from morning till night. Servants waited to pick up his playthings if they fell, and to draw out his purse or pocket handkerchief when he wished to use them.

Thus Master No-Book lay dozing for hours and days on richly embroidered cushions, never stirring from his place in the garden, but admiring the view of trees covered with the richest burnt almonds, the grottoes of sugar-candy, a fountain of lemonade, and a bright clear pond filled with goldfish that let themselves be caught.

Nothing could be more complete, yet strange to say Master No-Book did not seem particularly happy. Every day he became more peevish. No sweetmeats were worth the trouble of eating, no game was pleasant to play, and he wished that it were possible to sleep all day as well as night.

Not a hundred miles from the Fairy Do-Nothing’s palace, there lived a cruel monster called the Giant Snap-’Em-Up. When he stood erect, he looked like the tall steeple of a great church. He raised his head so high that he could peep over the loftiest mountains; and he was obliged to climb a ladder to comb his own hair.

Every morning this prodigiously great Giant walked round the world before breakfast, looking for something to eat. He lived in fine style, and his dinners were most magnificent, consisting of an elephant roasted whole, ostrich patties, a tiger smothered in onions, stewed lions, and whale soup. But for a side dish, his favourite of all consisted of little boys, as fat as possible, fried in crumbs of bread with plenty of pepper and salt.

No children were so well-fed or in such good condition for eating as those in the Fairy Do-Nothing’s garden, who was a particular friend of the Giant Snap-’Em-Up. She oftentimes laughingly said that she gave him permission to help himself, whenever he pleased, to as many of her visitors as he chose. And in return for such civility the Giant often invited her to dinner.

One day, when Master No-Book felt even more lazy, more idle, more miserable than ever, he lay beside a perfect mountain of toys and cakes, wondering what to wish for next, and hating the very sight of everything and everybody. At last he gave so loud a yawn of weariness and disgust, and he sighed so deeply, that the Giant Snap-’Em-Up heard the sounds as he passed along the road before breakfast.

Instantly he stepped into the garden to see what was the matter. On observing a large, fat, overgrown boy, as round as a dumpling, lying on a bed of roses, he gave a cry of delight, followed by a gigantic peal of laughter which was heard three miles off.

Picking up Master No-Book between his finger and thumb, with a pinch that nearly broke his ribs, he carried him rapidly toward his own castle; while the Fairy Do-Nothing laughingly shook her head as he passed, saying:—

“That little man does me great credit! He has been fed only for a week, and is as fat already as a prize ox! What a dainty morsel he will be! When do you dine, my friend Snap-’Em-Up, in case I should have time to look in upon you?”

On reaching home the Giant immediately hung up Master No-Book by the hair of his head on a prodigious hook in the larder. Then he went away to look for more little boys.

There, in torture of mind and body—like a fish on a hook—the wretched Master No-Book began to reflect seriously on his former ways, and to consider what a happy home he might have had if he had been satisfied to go to school and study with the other boys.In the midst of these sad reflections, Master No-Book’s attention was attracted by the sound of many voices laughing, talking, and singing, which caused him to turn his eyes and look out of the larder window. For the first time he observed that the Fairy Teach-All’s garden lay upon a beautiful sloping bank not far away.

There a crowd of merry, noisy, rosy-cheeked boys were busily employed, and seemed happier than the day was long. Poor Master No-Book watched them, envying the enjoyment with which they raked the flower-borders, gathered fruit, carried baskets of vegetables to the poor, worked with carpenters’ tools, drew pictures, shot with bows and arrows, and played ball. Then they sat in sunny arbours learning their lessons, till, the dinner-bell having been rung, the whole party sat down to a feast of roast meat, apple-pie, and other good wholesome things. The Fairy Teach-All presided, and helped her guests to as much as was good for them.

Large tears rolled down the cheeks of Master No-Book while watching this scene, and remembering that if he had known what was best for him, he might have been as happy as the happiest of these excellent boys, instead of being about to suffer a most miserable death.

Now, as the Giant Snap-’Em-Up wished a nice dish of fried boys for dinner, and as there was plenty of time, he seized a large basket in his hand, and set off at a rapid pace toward the Fairy Teach-All’s garden. It was very seldom that Snap-’Em-Up ventured to forage there, as he had never once succeeded in carrying off a single captive from that garden, it was so well fortified and so bravely defended. But on this occasion, being desperately hungry, he felt bold as a lion, and walked with outstretched hands straight toward the Fairy Teach-All’s dinner-table, taking such huge strides that he seemed almost to trample on himself.

A cry of consternation arose the minute this tremendous Giant appeared. And as usual, as when on such occasions he had made the same attempt before, a dreadful battle took place. Fifty active little boys flew upon the enemy with their dinner knives, and like a nest of hornets, stung him in every direction, till he roared with pain, and would have run away; but the Fairy Teach-All rushed forward, and cut off his head with the carving-knife.

If a great mountain had fallen to the earth, it would have seemed like nothing in comparison with the Giant Snap-’Em-Up, who crushed houses to powder under him. But the greatest event which occurred was the death of the Fairy Do-Nothing, who had been looking on at this battle, and who was too lazy to run away. When the Giant fell, his sword came with so violent a stroke on her head that she instantly expired.

The Fairy Teach-All, seeing the enemy dead, hastened to the Giant’s Castle, and lost no time in liberating Master No-Book from his hook in the larder.

From this very hour, Master No-Book became the most diligent, active, happy boy in the Fairy Teach-All’s garden. And on returning home a few months afterward, he astonished all his teachers at school by his wisdom and studiousness. He scarcely ever stirred without a book in his hand, never lay on a sofa again, and preferred a three-legged stool to a comfortable chair with a back. He detested holidays, and never ate a morsel of food till he had worked very hard and got an appetite.

When he grew up, he was known as Sir Timothy Bluestocking. And though generally very good-natured and agreeable, Sir Timothy was occasionally to be seen in a violent passion, laying around him with his walking-stick, and beating little boys within an inch of their lives. It invariably appeared that he had found them to be lazy, idle, or greedy.

Catherine Sinclair (Adapted)

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Timothy Tuttle, Esquire, was reclining on his soft, comfortable sofa. The gas-light flashed brilliantly over the rich rug and rosewood furniture, and fell softly on the velvet-seated chairs and heavy curtains. It was a mild evening in June, and the cool air came refreshingly in, while the bright light flashed gaily out the windows.

Timothy Tuttle, Esquire, one of the richest merchants in the city, was reposing after the fatigues of the day. He was thinking how very good and respectable he was, and of his success in life, of his great wealth, and especially of his ships now in the China seas, which were bringing him even more wealth. Then he thought of his plans for a fine new mansion, and how he would now be able to purchase many costly things for his home. Very soon he grew weary, and fell asleep.

Suddenly he awoke and heard something moving over the rug, and turning his head to see what it was, beheld a dozen or more of the strangest little creatures capering about. They were like little Imps in human form, but winged and not higher than Timothy’s knee. They were coal-black from head to foot, and were moving around with grace and agility.

Timothy Tuttle was a brave man, but he was very much startled to see this unexpected sight. For as soon as the little Imps perceived that he was awake, they began to bow to him in quick succession, more and more rapidly, and all the time grinning and showing their white teeth from ear to ear.

Then Timothy Tuttle heard something squeak close to his head, and saw one of the little creatures sitting on the arm of the sofa and mowing at him.

“Don’t be afraid, Timothy, it’s only I!” it squeaked.

“Who on earth are you,” asked Timothy, “and what do you want?”

This question seemed to amuse all the little fellows hugely, for they began to bow again, grinning and capering in fine style, and crying out:—

“How do you do, Timothy?”

“We are very glad to see you, Timothy!”

“Don’t be afraid, Timothy, we’re all here!”

“I am glad of that!” exclaimed Timothy; “I’m glad that there are no more of you!”

“Plenty more! Plenty more, Timothy!” they cried, laughing and holding their sides. “But we’ll do, Timothy! We’ll do! Oh, yes, we’ll do! We’ll do!”Timothy Tuttle was no coward, but he could not help feeling somewhat frightened as he looked at their antics; and he gazed around to see where they could have come in. The door was locked, and only the window was open.

“What do you want? Go away! Go away!” he cried, in a husky voice.

The little Imps grinned all the more.

“Dee-lighted to see you, Timothy!”

“Flattering reception, Timothy!”

“We’ll be happy to stay, Timothy!”

And with that they began to bow again with great politeness.

Timothy looked about for some weapon of defence, but saw nothing within reach.

“What do you want?” he demanded again.

“Want you, Timothy!”

“Must come with us, Timothy!”

“Where to?” he demanded.

At that all the little Imps pointed over their shoulders with their thumbs, to the open window.

Timothy reflected that, as he was in the second story of the house, any attempt to go out by the window, without wings, would be preposterous. He drew his hand across his eyes to make sure that he was not asleep; then he looked again, and there were all the little Imps bowing more politely than ever. He seized a pillow, and was about to throw it at them, when they flew at him, dragged the pillow out of his hands, overpowered him, and picking him up by the arms and legs, flew out of the window, carrying him off bodily.

How far he was carried Timothy Tuttle never knew, but it seemed to him a very long distance. When he found himself again at liberty, he was lying on the bare ground in the cold moonlight. He sprang up, and saw all the little Imps standing in a circle around him, bowing and nodding with great good-humour.

He looked about. He found himself on an open plain, surrounded by forests. Nothing was in sight except a very large Gothic building in the centre of the plain. It was old, but a larger and more magnificent building Timothy had never seen. Its pointed roof rose to the skies, and stained-glass windows adorned its gray stone walls. The turrets and towers were beautifully carved, and the walls were hung here and there with green ivy. But the building was falling into decay. Some of the windows were broken, and some of the stones crumbling to ruin. A few of the arches were fallen, and the roof threatened to cave in.

Timothy Tuttle turned from surveying this building, to look at his grinning companions.

“You’re wanted, Timothy!” cried one.

“Where?” he asked hoarsely.They all pointed over their shoulders with their thumbs at the great door of the building.

“But what if I will not go?” he asked, in as cool and determined a voice as he could assume.

At this all the little Imps began to caper about in great glee, singing:—

At that instant Timothy Tuttle felt a sharp pain in one of his legs, and he could not help crying out. He knew that there was nothing to do but to obey, so he turned and walked toward the building, while the quick patter of tiny feet and the flutter of wings told him that the little Imps were close behind.

Only once did he turn his head, and his ears were greeted with:—

“Oh, yes, Timothy! We’re all here!”

When Timothy had entered the door, he found that the interior of the building was one great room. Around its sides were galleries rising tier above tier, and under the galleries were recesses and alcoves; still, it was all one room.From the centre of the arched ceiling hung a splendid chandelier, with a thousand lamps. But most of the lights were extinguished, and the few that were burning, flickered and smoked so badly that the building was dimly lighted.

When Timothy first entered, his ears were filled with a hissing and fluttering sound, and after he had been there long enough to become used to the dim light, he saw that the whole building was full of just such little Imps as had brought him hither. They were flying up and down, and flitting to and fro, and seemed very busy. Looking up, he saw four or five large windows through which some appeared to fly away, while others would dart through into the building with great swiftness, just as bees come and go from the hive. But the most astonishing part of it all was their extraordinary politeness to Timothy, and the grinning that showed on all sides as he entered.

Now, as we have said before, Timothy Tuttle was no coward, and, stepping up to one of the little Imps who had just flown in, he said:—

“You seem to know me.”

“Oh, yes, Timothy!” replied the little fellow, nodding violently. “Yes! I know you! I know you!”

“Well, where do you all go to out those windows? And where do you come from?”

“Oh, I’ve just been to China!”Timothy looked as if he did not believe him.

“Yes, I’ve just been to the China seas, on board your ships, and I have been counting your wealth.” And the little wretch winked fast and knowingly.

Timothy was dumb. He remembered what he had been thinking when he fell asleep.

His grinning companion left him, and he wandered about the great edifice, where he saw a large number of little Imps busily at work. Some were painting the wall with small brushes. It was amazing to see how rapidly they could sketch a picture.

Timothy watched them for a moment, and fairly held his breath when he saw one by one past scenes of his own life start out upon the wall. Many of the scenes he had thought that no one knew of but himself. But here one or another of his deeds, good and bad, was drawn to the very life upon the wall! And as they worked, the little fellows grinned and sang, but Timothy could not understand what they said.

Timothy turned away from these grinning little creatures, and moved to where another group were sketching other pictures. He was almost afraid to look at the pictures, but when he did so, he saw that the painters were making designs too ugly and horrid to look at. But Timothy was perplexed, for of all the pictures there was none that he did not think he had seen somewhere before. And these little Imps were singing the same song that the others were singing, and Timothy thought that he caught the refrain:—

Here he turned to look into the recesses and alcoves under the galleries. Not all the inhabitants of the edifice were like the little creatures who had brought him hither. Oh, no! In the shadows of the great pillars there lurked and crawled great slimy things that made one shudder to see. Enormous spiders, larger than any Timothy had ever dreamed of, ran swiftly across the floor. Centipedes and lizards clung to the mouldy walls, and cold, slippery serpents glided noiselessly along. Occasionally he came upon huge shapeless creatures who lay curled upon the floor, staring at him with watery eyes.

Timothy hastily picked his way out into the light again. Here he found other groups of painters. One group was using brighter colours and blending them beautifully. But he could scarcely believe his own eyes when he saw the picture of the fine mansion he was planning, and the images of a thousand other things he had wished and hoped for.But the painters in the next group were acting very strangely. They touched their brushes to the wall hastily and tremblingly, glancing over their shoulders as if in terror. And though their pictures did not assume any definite form, Timothy felt most uneasy. There he saw the dim outline of another world of which he had heard, but had forgotten to think of for many years.

Meanwhile Timothy had reached the upper end of the room, and found himself close to a great curtain tightly drawn. On either side of it he beheld a marble basin. One of the basins had evidently contained a fountain, but it was now half choked with mud, and only a little water oozed out of it. On looking into the other, he was astonished to find it full of liquid fire.

Just then he heard behind the curtain the sound as of a mighty rushing wind, and at the same moment the two fountains boiled up and cast out their dirt, and this they continued to do until each basin was brimming full, one of pure water and the other of pure fire.

The little Imps, too, heard the sound. At first they were awed and hushed; then they began to fly about in confusion until Timothy was bewildered by the noise and movement.

Suddenly the curtain was parted, and Timothy saw a stately Lady seated upon a throne in a noble arched recess. Her head was thrown back, her eyes flashed, and in her hand she held a scourge every thong of which seemed to writhe and twist and end in little snappers of fire.

At the sight of this scourge and the frown on the Lady’s face, all the little Imps began to howl dismally. The Lady arose, and came down from her throne into the centre of the room, and the little Imps fled before her. But they could not escape. Seizing the first one she met, she plunged him several times into the basin of water. Then taking him out, she carried him kicking and quivering to the other basin, and plunged him into the fire. Timothy stood horror-stricken. He leaned against a pillar to support himself, but what was his astonishment to see the Lady take the little fellow out of the basin, and release him; and he ran away unharmed. But a strange thing had happened. The little Imp was no longer so black, and instead of grinning maliciously, he was now smiling as pleasantly as possible.

The Lady seized every little Imp in the room, in the same manner, and plunged him into both basins. Then she collected troops of the Imps, and drove them before her with the fiery scourge. She made them begin to scrape the dirt off the floor, and down from the walls, to repair the broken places in the roof, and to polish the rusty and musty spots. And all the rubbish she made them throw into the basin full of pure fire. Sometimes two or three little Imps would carry one of the great slimy reptiles, and drop him in, and all those thus dropped into the fire never came out again.

And as the little Imps worked, they broke into a song:—

Timothy watched and listened until he became very weary; then he stretched himself out on the floor and fell asleep.When he awoke, he found himself lying in a dazzling light. How long he had been asleep he did not know. He sprang to his feet with an agility and ease that he had never felt before. He looked about him. There was still the same great room, the same chandelier with its thousand lamps, the same pattering of little feet and rustling of wings! But, oh, how changed! How changed!

The arched roof was composed of transparent pearl, delicately carved, and fretted with lines of brilliant rose-diamonds. Pendants hung from the arches, formed of great diamonds and pearls cut into exquisite shapes. The walls were of ruby and topaz, and sparkled with mosaics of precious gems, representing scenes more beautiful than any ever seen on earth. The huge pillars were of jasper and around them was twined the graceful immortal amaranth. The floor was of coloured marble, inlaid with onyx and amethyst.

In the noble recess at the end of the room, sat the Lady on a throne carved from ivory and studded with diamonds. Her scourge and frown had disappeared, and from her smiling countenance shone a divine beauty.

The chandelier, every lamp of which was now pouring out a silver light, sent a glowing radiance into the farthest corners and recesses under the galleries, and revealed no signs of stain or shadow. The basins threw high their spray of sparkling water and pure fire, looking like fountains of liquid light, which fell back again with the softest music.

But the greatest change of all was in the little Imps. They were each and all of a purer transparency of white than anything Timothy had ever conceived. And there was not one upon whose face did not play a smile of joy. Some of them were working harder than ever, while others were bathing in the fountains, darting and fluttering in and out of the spray. They looked as light and brilliant as soap-bubbles in the sun, and flashing from their wings were all the colours of the rainbow. Indeed, the little Imps shone so brightly that Timothy could scarcely look at them.

But while he was examining all these wonderful changes with admiration, he heard a silver trumpet ring through the edifice. And as its sweet notes died away among the pearl arches, the little Imps with myriad voices, as sweet and clear as the trumpet-call, sang:—

Then the most amazing thing of all happened. Timothy Tuttle, Esquire, suddenly found himself lying once more on the soft, comfortable sofa in his own home. The gas-light was flashing over the rich rug and rosewood furniture, just as it had done when he had last seen the room. He raised himself on his elbow and looked around, but not one of the little Imps was there. Indeed, he could find no traces of them except the marks of their tiny black feet on the rug.

But from that day forward Timothy was a changed man. His face was no longer hard and selfish, but it beamed with good and kind thoughts. He no longer preferred wealth to everything else in the world. He gave up the plan for his fine new mansion—indeed, he no longer wished for one—and he spent the remainder of his days making his family and friends happy, and relieving the poor and needy.

Dr. John Todd (Adapted)

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Once upon a time there was a little Fairy who was remarkable for her impatience and laziness. She was called Fairy Butterfly because she had such splendid green wings with silver spots on them. She loved dearly to be dressed in gorgeous colours, and to sleep in the rich chambers of the Foxgloves, or to flutter over beds of fragrant Mignonette. In truth, she was as luxurious a little Fairy as the sun ever shone on. So much did she like her ease that she would not gather a single dew-drop to bathe her face, nor would she pick a fresh rose-petal for a napkin. She played all day long, or slept curled up in the heart of a flower. Oh, she was a lazy Fairy!

When the Queen of the Fairies observed the faults of Butterfly, she resolved to help her to correct them. One day she summoned the lazy one to Court, and said:—

“Fairy Butterfly, we command you to go at once to the Green Cavern in the Island of Ceylon, and remain there until you have fashioned a diamond more pure and brilliant than any that has ever rested on the brow of mortal or Elf.”

Little Butterfly bowed in silence and withdrew. As soon as she was outside the green mound in which the Fairy Queen held her Court, she burst into a passionate flood of tears.

“I shall have to watch that diamond for months and months and years and years,” sobbed she, “and every day I must turn it over with my wand so that the crystals will form evenly! Oh, it is an endless labour to make a diamond! Oh, I am a most wretched Fairy!”

So she sat, and sobbed, and murmured for several minutes. Then she jumped up and stamped her little feet on the ground so furiously that the blue-eyed grasses trembled.

“I won’t bear it!” she exclaimed. “I’ll run away to the Fairies of the Air. I am sure they will be so pleased with my beauty that they will feed me, and I shall never need to work again! As for the diamond, why, it is just impossible for a little Fairy like me to make it!”

Then she peeped into a fountain to admire herself, and saw, alas! that the splendid green of her wings had faded, and the silver spots were dim. For, if Fairies have naughty thoughts, their wings always droop and their beauty fades. At this sight, little Butterfly wept aloud with vexation and shame.

“I suppose the old tyrant, our Queen, thinks that now I am so ugly, I’ll hide myself in the Green Cavern in the Island of Ceylon! But I’ll let her see that I do not care about her!” And, alas! as Butterfly spoke thus, the silver spots disappeared entirely, and her wings became a dirty brown.

Trembling with anger, the little one waved her wand, and called:—

In an instant a tiny hummingbird, shining like a jewel, alighted at her feet. She sprang on his back, and away they flew to the golden clouds in the West where the Queen of the Air Fairies held her Court. And when the Queen and all her Fairies saw Butterfly’s dirty brown wings, they waved their wands and vanished. And little Butterfly was left alone in the Palace of the Air.

But such a beautiful palace as it was! The clouds hung around it like transparent curtains of opal. The floor was paved with a rainbow. Thousands of gorgeous birds fluttered in the sunlight, and a multitude of voices filled the place with sweet sounds. Butterfly, fatigued by her flight through the sky and lulled by the voices, lay down on a rosy cloud, and fell into a gentle slumber.

When she awoke, she saw that a tiny bird, smaller than the hummingbird, was building a nest beside her. Straw after straw, shred after shred, the patient little creature brought in her bill and wove together. And then she flew away over hills and fields to find soft down with which to line the nest.

“She is a foolish thing!” murmured Butterfly. “How hard she works, and I don’t believe that she will finish it after all!”

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:—

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:—

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:—

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)

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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)

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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

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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:—

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:—

“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:—

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.

“I know all,” she said; “I have been in Fairyland. Disguised as a bird, I have watched all your steps. When you first went to the grotto, I begged the Queen to grant your wish.”

Ever after the sisters lived lovingly together. It was the remark of every one: “How handsome Marion has grown! The ugly scowl has departed from her face, her eyes are so clear and gentle, her mouth is so pretty and smiling. To my taste she is as handsome as Rose.”

Lydia Maria Child (Adapted)

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Once upon a time there lived in the west country a little girl who had neither father nor mother; they both died when she was very young, and left their daughter to the care of her uncle, who was the richest farmer in all that country. He had houses and lands, flocks and herds, many servants to work about his house and fields, a wife who had brought him a great dowry, and two fair daughters.

All their neighbours, being poor, looked up to the family—insomuch that they imagined themselves great people. The father and mother were as proud as peacocks; the daughters thought themselves the greatest beauties in the world, and not one of the family would speak civilly to anybody they thought low.

Now it happened that though she was their near relation, they had this opinion of the orphan girl, partly because she had no fortune, and partly because of her humble, kindly disposition. It was said that the more needy and despised any creature was, the more ready was she to befriend it: on which account the people of the west country called her Childe Charity, and if she had any other name, I never heard it.Childe Charity was thought very mean in that proud house. Her uncle would not own her for his niece; her cousins would not keep her company; and her aunt sent her to work in the dairy, and to sleep in the back garret, where they kept all sorts of lumber and dry herbs for the winter. The servants learned the same tune, and Childe Charity had more work than rest among them. All the day she scoured pails, scrubbed dishes, and washed crockeryware. But every night she slept in the back garret as sound as a Princess could in her palace chamber.

Her uncle’s house was large and white, and stood among green meadows by a river’s side. In front it had a porch covered with a vine; behind, it had a farmyard and high granaries. Within, there were two parlours for the rich, and two kitchens for the poor, which the neighbours thought wonderfully grand. And one day in the harvest season, when this rich farmer’s corn had been all cut down and housed, he condescended so far as to invite his neighborhood to a harvest supper. The west country people came in their holiday clothes and best behaviour. Such heaps of cakes and cheese, such baskets of apples and barrels of ale, had never been at feast before.

They were making merry in kitchen and parlour, when a poor old woman came to the back door, begging for broken victuals and a night’s lodging. Her clothes were coarse and ragged; her hair was scanty and grey; her back was bent; her teeth were gone. She had a squinting eye, a clubbed foot, and crooked fingers. In short, she was the poorest and ugliest old woman that ever came begging.

The first who saw her was the kitchen-maid, and she ordered her to be gone for an ugly witch. The next was the herd-boy, and he threw her a bone over his shoulder. But Childe Charity, hearing the noise, came out from her seat at the foot of the lowest table, and asked the old woman to take her share of the supper, and sleep that night in her bed in the back garret.

The old woman sat down without a word of thanks. All the company laughed at Childe Charity for giving her bed and her supper to a beggar. Her proud cousins said it was just like her mean spirit, but Childe Charity did not mind them. She scraped the pots for her supper that night and slept on a sack among the lumber, while the old woman rested in her warm bed.

And next morning, before the little girl awoke, the old woman was up and gone, without so much as saying “Thank you,” or “Good morning.”