AMELIA AND THE DWARFS.
My godmother's grandmother knew a good deal about the fairies._Her_ grandmother had seen a fairy rade on a Roodmas Eve, and sheherself could remember a copper vessel of a queer shape which had beenleft by the elves on some occasion at an old farm-house among thehills, The following story came from her, and where she got it I do notknow. She used to say it was a pleasant tale, with a good moral in theinside of it. My godmother often observed that a tale without a moralwas like a nut without a kernel; not worth the cracking. (We calledfire-side stories "cracks" in our part of the country.) This is thetale.
AMELIA.
A couple of gentlefolk once lived in a certain part of England. (Mygodmother never would tell the name either of the place or the people,even if she knew it. She said one ought not to expose one's neighbours'failings more than there was due occasion for.) They had an only child,a daughter, whose name was Amelia. They were an easy-going,good-humoured couple; "rather soft," my godmother said, but she was aptto think anybody "soft" who came from the southern shires, as thesepeople did. Amelia, who had been born farther north, was by no meansso. She had a strong resolute will, and a clever head of her own,though she was but a child. She had a way of her own too, and had itvery completely. Perhaps because she was an only child, or perhapsbecause they were so easy-going, her parents spoiled her. She was,beyond question, the most tiresome little girl in that or any otherneighbourhood. From her baby days her father and mother had taken everyopportunity of showing her to their friends, and there was not a friendwho did not dread the infliction. When the good lady visited heracquaintances, she always took Amelia with her, and if theacquaintances were fortunate enough to see from the windows who wascoming, they used to snatch up any delicate knick-knacks, or brittleornaments lying about, and put them away, crying, "What is to be done?Here comes Amelia!"
When Amelia came in, she would stand and survey the room, whilst hermother saluted her acquaintance; and if anything struck her fancy, shewould interrupt the greetings to draw her mother's attention to it,with a twitch of her shawl, "Oh, look, Mamma, at that funny bird in theglass case!" or perhaps, "Mamma, Mamma! There's a new carpet since wewere here last;" for, as her mother said, she was "a very observingchild."
Then she would wander round the room, examining and fingeringeverything, and occasionally coming back with something in her hand totread on her mother's dress, and break in upon the ladies' conversationwith--"Mamma! Mamma! What's the good of keeping this old basin? It'sbeen broken and mended, and some of the pieces are quite loose now. Ican feel them:" or--addressing the lady of the house--"That's not areal ottoman in the corner. It's a box covered with chintz. I know, forI've looked."
Then her mamma would say, reprovingly, "My _dear_ Amelia!"
And perhaps the lady of the house would beg, "Don't play with that oldchina, my love; for though it is mended, it is very valuable;" and hermother would add, "My dear Amelia, you must not."
Sometimes the good lady said, "You _must_ not." Sometimes shetried--"You must _not_" When both these failed, and Amelia was balancingthe china bowl on her finger-ends, her mamma would get flurried, and whenAmelia flurried her, she always rolled her r's, and emphasized her words,so that it sounded thus:
"My dear-r-r-r-Ramelia! You must not."
At which Amelia would not so much as look round, till perhaps the bowlslipped from her fingers, and was smashed into unmendable fragments.Then her mamma would exclaim, "Oh, dear-r-r-r, oh, dear-r-Ramelia" andthe lady of the house would try to look as if it did not matter, andwhen Amelia and her mother departed, would pick up the bits, and pourout her complaints to her lady friends, most of whom had suffered manysuch damages at the hands of this "very observing child."
When the good couple received their friends at home, there was noescaping from Amelia. If it was a dinner-party, she came in with thedessert, or perhaps sooner. She would take up her position near someone, generally the person most deeply engaged in conversation, andeither lean heavily against him or her, or climb on to his or her knee,without being invited. She would break in upon the most interestingdiscussion with her own little childish affairs, in the followingstyle--"I've been out to-day. I walked to the town. I jumped acrossthree brooks. Can you jump? Papa gave me sixpence to-day. I am savingup my money to be rich. You may cut me an orange; no, I'll take it toMr. Brown, he peels it with a spoon and turns the skin back. Mr. Brown!Mr. Brown! Don't talk to Mamma, but peel me an orange, please. Mr.Brown! I'm playing with your finger-glass."
And when the finger-glass full of cold water had been upset on to Mr.Brown's shirt-front, Amelia's mamma would cry--"Oh dear, ohdear-r-Ramelia!" and carry her off with the ladies to the drawing-room.
Here she would scramble on to the ladies' knees, or trample out thegathers of their dresses, and fidget with their ornaments, startlingsome luckless lady by the announcement, "I've got your bracelet undoneat last!" who would find one of the divisions broken open by force,Amelia not understanding the working of a clasp.
Or perhaps two young lady friends would get into a quiet corner for achat. The observing child would sure to spy them, and run on to them,crushing their flowers and ribbons, and crying--"You two want to talksecrets, I know. I can hear what you say. I'm going to listen, I am.And I shall tell, too;" when perhaps a knock at the door announced theNurse to take Miss Amelia to bed, and spread a general rapture ofrelief.
Then Amelia would run to trample and worry her mother, and after muchteasing, and clinging, and complaining, the Nurse would be dismissed,and the fond mamma would turn to the lady next to her, and say with asmile--"I suppose I must let her stay up a little. It is such a treatto her, poor child!"
But it was no treat to the visitors.
Besides tormenting her fellow-creatures, Amelia had a trick of teasinganimals. She was really fond of dogs, but she was still fonder of doingwhat she was wanted not to do, and of worrying everything and everybodyabout her. So she used to tread on the tips of their tails, and pretendto give them biscuit, and then hit them on the nose, besides pulling atthose few, long, sensitive hairs which thin-skinned dogs wear on theupper lip.
Now Amelia's mother's acquaintances were so very well-bred and amiable,that they never spoke their minds to either the mother or the daughterabout what they endured from the latter's rudeness, wilfulness, andpowers of destruction. But this was not the case with the dogs, andthey expressed their sentiments by many a growl and snap. At last oneday Amelia was tormenting a snow-white bulldog (who was certainly aswell-bred and as amiable as any living creature in the kingdom), andshe did not see that even his patience was becoming worn out. His pinknose became crimson with increased irritation, his upper lip twitchedover his teeth, behind which he was rolling as many warning R's asAmelia's mother herself. She finally held out a bun towards him, andjust as he was about to take it, she snatched it away and kicked himinstead. This fairly exasperated the bulldog, and as Amelia would notlet him bite the bun, he bit Amelia's leg.
Her mamma was so distressed that she fell into hysterics, and hardlyknew what she was saying. She said the bulldog must be shot for fear heshould go mad, and Amelia's wound must be done with a red-hot poker forfear _she_ should go mad (with hydrophobia). And as of course shecouldn't bear the pain of this, she must have chloroform, and she wouldmost probably die of that; for as one in several thousands diesannually under chloroform, it was evident that her chance of life wasvery small indeed. So, as the poor lady said, "Whether we shoot Ameliaand burn the bulldog--at least I mean shoot the bulldog and burn Ameliawith a red-hot poker--or leave it alone; and whether Amelia or thebulldog has chloroform or bears it without--it seems to be death ormadness every way!"
And as the doctor did not come fast enough, she ran out without herbonnet to meet him, and Amelia's papa, who was very much distressedtoo, ran after her with her bonnet. Meanwhile the doctor came in byanother way, and found Amelia sitting on the dining-room floor with thebulldog, and crying bitterly. She was telling him that they wanted toshoot hi
m, but that they should not, for it was all her fault and nothis. But she did not tell him that she was to be burnt with a red-hotpoker, for she thought it might hurt his feelings. And then she weptafresh, and kissed the bulldog, and the bulldog kissed her with his redtongue, and rubbed his pink nose against her, and beat his own tailmuch harder on the floor than Amelia had ever hit it. She said the samethings to the doctor, but she told him also that she was willing to beburnt without chloroform if it must be done, and if they would sparethe bulldog. And though she looked very white, she meant what she said.
But the doctor looked at her leg, and found that it was only a snap,and not a deep wound; and then he looked at the bulldog, and saw thatso far from looking mad, he looked a great deal more sensible thananybody in the house. So he only washed Amelia's leg and bound it up,and she was not burnt with the poker, neither did she get hydrophobia;but she had got a good lesson on manners, and thenceforward she alwaysbehaved with the utmost propriety to animals, though she tormented hermother's friends as much as ever.
Now although Amelia's mamma's acquaintances were too polite to complainbefore her face, they made up for it by what they said behind her back.In allusion to the poor lady's ineffectual remonstrances, one gentlemansaid that the more mischief Amelia did, the dearer she seemed to growto her mother. And somebody else replied that however dear she might beas a daughter, she was certainly a very _dear_ friend, and proposedthat they should send in a bill for all the damages she had done in thecourse of the year, as a round robin to her parents at Christmas. Fromwhich it may be seen that Amelia was not popular with her parents'friends, as (to do grown-up people justice) good children almostinvariably are.
If she was not a favourite in the drawing-room, she was still less soin the nursery, where, besides all the hardships naturally belonging toattendance on a spoilt child, the poor Nurse was kept, as she said, "onthe continual go" by Amelia's reckless destruction of her clothes. Itwas not fair wear and tear, it was not an occasional fall in the mire,or an accidental rent or two during a game at "Hunt the Hare," but itwas constant wilful destruction, which Nurse had to repair as best shemight. No entreaties would induce Amelia to "take care" of anything.She walked obstinately on the muddy side of the road when Nurse pointedout the clean parts, kicking up the dirt with her feet; if she climbeda wall she never tried to free her dress if it had caught; on sherushed, and half a skirt might be left behind for any care she had inthe matter. "They must be mended," or "They must be washed," was allshe thought about it.
"You seem to think things clean and mend themselves, Miss Amelia," saidpoor Nurse one day.
"No, I don't," said Amelia, rudely. "I think you do them; what are youhere for?"
But though she spoke in this insolent and unlady-like fashion, Ameliareally did not realize what the tasks were which her carelessnessimposed on other people. When every hour of Nurse's day had been spentin struggling to keep her wilful young lady regularly fed, decentlydressed, and moderately well behaved (except, indeed, those hours whenher mother was fighting the same battle down-stairs); and when at last,after the hardest struggle of all, she had been got to bed not morethan two hours later than her appointed time, even then there was norest for Nurse. Amelia's mamma could at last lean back in her chair andhave a quiet chat with her husband, which was not broken in upon everytwo minutes, and Amelia herself was asleep; but Nurse must sit up forhours wearing out her eyes by the light of a tallow candle, infine-darning great, jagged, and most unnecessary holes in Amelia'smuslin dresses. Or perhaps she had to wash and iron clothes forAmelia's wear next day. For sometimes she was so very destructive, thattowards the end of the week she had used up all her clothes and had noclean ones to fall back upon.
Amelia's meals were another source of trouble. She would not wear apinafore; if it had been put on, she would burst the strings, andperhaps in throwing it away knock her plate of mutton broth over thetablecloth and her own dress. Then she fancied first one thing and thenanother; she did not like this or that; she wanted a bit cut here orthere. Her mamma used to begin by saying, "My dear-r-Ramelia, you mustnot be so wasteful," and she used to end by saying, "The dear child haspositively no appetite;" which seemed to be a good reason for notwasting any more food upon her; but with Amelia's mamma it only meantthat she might try a little cutlet and tomato sauce when she had halffinished her roast beef, and that most of the cutlet and all the mashedpotato might be exchanged for plum tart and custard; and that when shehad spooned up the custard and played with the paste, and put the plumstones on the tablecloth, she might be tempted with a little Stiltoncheese and celery, and exchange that for anything that caught her fancyin the dessert dishes.
The Nurse used to say, "Many a poor child would thank GOD for what youwaste every meal-time, Miss Amelia," and to quote a certain good oldsaying, "Waste not, want not." But Amelia's mamma allowed her to sendaway on her plates what would have fed another child, day after day.
UNDER THE HAYCOCKS.
It was summer, and haytime. Amelia had been constantly in the hayfield,and the haymakers had constantly wished that she had been anywhereelse. She mislaid the rakes, nearly killed herself and several otherpersons with a fork, and overturned one haycock after another as fastas they were made. At tea-time it was hoped that she would depart, butshe teased her mamma to have the tea brought into the field, and hermamma said, "The poor child must have a treat sometimes," and so it wasbrought out.
After this she fell off the haycart, and was a good deal shaken, butnot hurt. So she was taken indoors, and the haymakers worked hard andcleared the field, all but a few cocks which were left till themorning.
The sun set, the dew fell, the moon rose. It was a lovely night. Ameliapeeped from behind the blinds of the drawing-room windows, and saw fourhaycocks, each with a deep shadow reposing at its side. The rest of thefield was swept clean, and looked pale in the moonshine. It was alovely night.
"I want to go out," said Amelia. "They will take away those cocksbefore I can get at them in the morning, and there will be no morejumping and tumbling, I shall go out and have some fun now."
"My dear Amelia, you must not," said her mamma; and her papa added, "Iwon't hear of it." So Amelia went up-stairs to grumble to Nurse; butNurse only said, "Now, my dear Miss Amelia, do go quietly to bed, likea dear love. The field is all wet with dew. Besides, it's a moonlightnight, and who knows what's abroad? You might see the fairies--bless usand sain us!--and what not. There's been a magpie hopping up anddown near the house all day, and that's a sign of ill-luck."
"I don't care for magpies," said Amelia; "I threw a stone at that oneto-day."
And she left the nursery, and swung down-stairs on the rail of thebanisters. But she did not go into the drawing-room; she opened thefront door and went out into the moonshine.
It was a lovely night. But there was something strange about it.Everything looked asleep, and yet seemed not only awake but watching.There was not a sound, and yet the air seemed full of half-sounds. Thechild was quite alone, and yet at every step she fancied some onebehind her, on one side of her, somewhere, and found it only a rustlingleaf or a passing shadow. She was soon in the hayfield, where it wasjust the same; so that when she fancied that something green was movingnear the first haycock she thought very little of it, till, comingcloser, she plainly perceived by the moonlight a tiny man dressed ingreen, with a tall, pointed hat, and very, very long tips to his shoes,tying his shoestring with his foot on a stubble stalk. He had the mostwizened of faces, and when he got angry with his shoe, he pulled so wrya grimace that it was quite laughable. At last he stood up, steppingcarefully over the stubble, went up to the first haycock, and drawingout a hollow grass stalk blew upon it till his cheeks were puffed likefootballs. And yet there was no sound, only a half-sound, as of a hornblown in the far distance, or in a dream. Presently the point of a tallhat, and finally just such another little wizened face, poked outthrough the side of the haycock.
"Can we hold revel here to-night?" asked the little green man.
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"That indeed you cannot," answered the other; "we have hardly room toturn round as it is, with all Amelia's dirty frocks."
"Ah, bah!" said the dwarf; and he walked on to the next haycock, Ameliacautiously following.
Here he blew again, and a head was put out as before; on which he said,
"Can we hold revel here to-night?"
"How is it possible," was the reply, "when there is not a place whereone can so much as set down an acorn cup, for Amelia's brokenvictuals?"
"Fie! fie!" said the dwarf, and went on to the third, where allhappened as before; and he asked the old question,
"Can we hold revel here to-night?"
"Can you dance on glass and crockery sherds?" inquired the other."Amelia's broken gimcracks are everywhere."
"Pshaw!" snorted the dwarf, frowning terribly; and when he came to thefourth haycock he blew such an angry blast that the grass stalk splitinto seven pieces. But he met with no better success than before. Onlythe point of a hat came through the hay, and a feeble voice piped intones of depression--"The broken threads would entangle our feet. It'sall Amelia's fault. If we could only get hold of her!"
"If she's wise, she'll keep as far from these haycocks as she can,"snarled the dwarf, angrily; and he shook his fist as much as to say,"If she did come, I should not receive her very pleasantly."
Now with Amelia, to hear that she had better not do something, was tomake her wish at once to do it; and as she was not at all wanting incourage, she pulled the dwarf's little cloak, just as she would havetwitched her mother's shawl, and said (with that sort of snarly whinein which spoilt children generally speak)--"Why shouldn't I come to thehaycocks if I want to? They belong to my papa, and I shall come if Ilike. But you have no business here."
"Nightshade and hemlock!" ejaculated the little man, "you are notlacking in impudence. Perhaps your Sauciness is not quite aware howthings are distributed in this world?" saying which he lifted hispointed shoes and began to dance and sing,
"All under the sun belongs to men, And all under the moon to the fairies. So, so, so! Ho, ho, ho! All under the moon to the fairies."
As he sang "Ho, ho, ho!" the little man turned head over heels; andthough by this time Amelia would gladly have got away, she could not,for the dwarf seemed to dance and tumble round her, and always to cutoff the chance of escape; whilst numberless voices from all aroundseemed to join in the chorus, with
"So, so, so! Ho, ho, ho! All under the moon to the fairies."
"And now," said the little man, "to work! And you have plenty of workbefore you, so trip on, to the first haycock."
"I shan't!" said Amelia.
"On with you!" repeated the dwarf.
"I won't!" said Amelia.
But the little man, who was behind her, pinched her funny-bone with hislean fingers, and, as everybody knows, that is agony; so Amelia ran on,and tried to get away. But when she went too fast, the dwarf trod onher heels with his long-pointed shoe, and if she did not go fastenough, he pinched her funny-bone. So for once in her life she wasobliged to do as she was told. As they ran, tall hats and wizened faceswere popped out on all sides of the haycocks, like blanched almonds ona tipsy cake; and whenever the dwarf pinched Amelia, or trod on herheels, the goblins cried "Ho, ho, ho!" with such horrible contortionsas they laughed, that it was hideous to behold them.
"Here is Amelia!" shouted the dwarf when they reached the firsthaycock.
"Ho, ho, ho!" laughed all the others, as they poked out here and therefrom the hay.
"Bring a stock," said the dwarf; on which the hay was lifted, and outran six or seven dwarfs, carrying what seemed to Amelia to be a littlegirl like herself. And when she looked closer, to her horror andsurprise the figure was exactly like her--it was her own face, clothes,and everything.
"Shall we kick it into the house?" asked the goblins.
"No," said the dwarf; "lay it down by the haycock. The father andmother are coming to seek her now."
When Amelia heard this she began to shriek for help; but she was pushedinto the haycock, where her loudest cries sounded like the chirrupingof a grasshopper.
It was really a fine sight to see the inside of the cock.
Farmers do not like to see flowers in a hayfield, but the fairies do.They had arranged all the buttercups, &c., in patterns on the haywalls;bunches of meadow-sweet swung from the roof like censers, and perfumedthe air; and the ox-eye daisies which formed the ceiling gave a lightlike stars. But Amelia cared for none of this. She only struggled topeep through the hay, and she did see her father and mother and nursecome down the lawn, followed by the other servants, looking for her.When they saw the stock they ran to raise it with exclamations of pityand surprise. The stock moaned faintly, and Amelia's mamma wept, andAmelia herself shouted with all her might.
"What's that?" said her mamma. (It is not easy to deceive a mother.)
"Only the grasshoppers, my dear," said Papa. "Let us get the poor childhome."
The stock moaned again, and the mother said, "Oh dear! ohdear-r-Ramelia!" and followed in tears.
"Rub her eyes," said the dwarf; on which Amelia's eyes were rubbed withsome ointment, and when she took a last peep, she could see that thestock was nothing but a hairy imp, with a face like the oldest and mostgrotesque of apes.
"--and send her below," added the dwarf. On which the field opened, andAmelia was pushed underground.
She found herself on a sort of open heath, where no houses were to beseen. Of course there was no moonshine, and yet it was neither daylightnor dark. There was as the light of early dawn, and every sound was atonce clear and dreamy, like the first sounds of the day coming throughthe fresh air before sunrise. Beautiful flowers crept over the heath,whose tints were constantly changing in the subdued light; and as thehues changed and blended, the flowers gave forth different perfumes.All would have been charming but that at every few paces the paths wereblocked by large clothes-baskets full of dirty frocks, And the frockswere Amelia's. Torn, draggled, wet, covered with sand, mud, and dirt ofall kinds, Amelia recognized them.
"You've got to wash them all," said the dwarf, who was behind her asusual; "that's what you've come down for--not because your society isparticularly pleasant. So the sooner you begin the better."
"I can't," said Amelia (she had already learnt that "I won't" is not ananswer for every one); "send them up to Nurse, and she'll do them. Itis her business."
"What Nurse can do she has done, and now it's time for you to begin,"said the dwarf. "Sooner or later the mischief done by spoilt children'swilful disobedience comes back on their own hands. Up to a certainpoint we help them, for we love children, and we are wilful ourselves.But there are limits to everything. If you can't wash your dirtyfrocks, it is time you learnt to do so, if only that you may know whatthe trouble is you impose on other people. _She_ will teach you."
The dwarf kicked out his foot in front of him, and pointed with hislong toe to a woman who sat by a fire made upon the heath, where a potwas suspended from crossed poles. It was like a bit of a gipsyencampment, and the woman seemed to be a real woman, not a fairy--whichwas the case, as Amelia afterwards found. She had lived underground formany years, and was the dwarfs' servant.
And this was how it came about that Amelia had to wash her dirtyfrocks. Let any little girl try to wash one of her dresses; not to halfwash it, not to leave it stained with dirty water, but to wash it quiteclean. Let her then try to starch and iron it--in short, to make itlook as if it had come from the laundress--and she will have some ideaof what poor Amelia had to learn to do. There was no help for it. Whenshe was working she very seldom saw the dwarfs; but if she were idle orstubborn, or had any hopes of getting away, one was sure to start up ather elbow and pinch her funny-bone, or poke her in the ribs, till shedid her best. Her back ached with stooping over the wash-tub; her handsand arms grew wrinkled with soaking in hot soapsuds, and sore withrubbing. Whatever she did not know how to do, the woman of the heathtaught her. At
first, whilst Amelia was sulky, the woman of the heathwas sharp and cross; but when Amelia became willing and obedient, shewas good-natured, and even helped her.
The first time that Amelia felt hungry she asked for some food.
"By all means," said one of the dwarfs; "there is plenty down herewhich belongs to you;" and he led her away till they came to a placelike the first, except that it was covered with plates of broken meats;all the bits of good meat, pie, pudding, bread-and-butter, &c., thatAmelia had wasted beforetime.
"I can't eat cold scraps like these," said Amelia, turning away.
"Then what did you ask for food for before you were hungry?" screamedthe dwarf, and he pinched her and sent her about her business.
After a while she became so famished that she was glad to beg humbly tobe allowed to go for food; and she ate a cold chop and the remains of arice pudding with thankfulness. How delicious they tasted! She wassurprised herself at the good things she had rejected. After a time shefancied she would like to warm up some of the cold meat in a pan, whichthe woman of the heath used to cook her own dinner in, and she askedfor leave to do so.
"You may do anything you like to make yourself comfortable, if you doit yourself," said she; and Amelia, who had been watching her for manytimes, became quite expert in cooking up the scraps.
As there was no real daylight underground, so also there was no night.When the old woman was tired she lay down and had a nap, and when shethought that Amelia had earned a rest, she allowed her to do the same.It was never cold, and it never rained, so they slept on the heathamong the flowers.
They say that "It's a long lane that has no turning," and the hardesttasks come to an end some time, and Amelia's dresses were clean atlast; but then a more wearisome work was before her. They had to bemended. Amelia looked at the jagged rents made by the hedges; the greatgaping holes in front where she had put her foot through; the torntucks and gathers. First she wept, then she bitterly regretted that shehad so often refused to do her sewing at home that she was very awkwardwith her needle. Whether she ever would have got through this taskalone is doubtful, but she had by this time become so well-behaved andwilling that the old woman was kind to her, and, pitying her blunderingattempts, she helped her a great deal; whilst Amelia would cook the oldwoman's victuals, or repeat stories and pieces of poetry to amuse her.
"How glad I am that I ever learnt anything!" thought the poor child:"everything one learns seems to come in useful some time."
At last the dresses were finished.
"Do you think I shall be allowed to go home now?" Amelia asked of thewoman of the heath.
"Not yet," said she; "you have got to mend the broken gimcracks next."
"But when I have done all my tasks," Amelia said; "will they let me gothen?"
"That depends," said the woman, and she sat silent over the fire; butAmelia wept so bitterly, that she pitied her and said--"Only dry youreyes, for the fairies hate tears, and I will tell you all I know and dothe best for you I can. You see, when you first came you were--excuseme!--such an unlicked cub; such a peevish, selfish, wilful, useless,and ill-mannered little miss, that neither the fairies nor anybody elsewere likely to keep you any longer than necessary. But now you are sucha willing, handy, and civil little thing, and so pretty and gracefulwithal, that I think it is very likely that they will want to keep youaltogether. I think you had better make up your mind to it. They arekindly little folk, and will make a pet of you in the end."
"Oh, no! no!" moaned poor Amelia; "I want to be with my mother, my poordear mother! I want to make up for being a bad child so long. Besides,surely that 'stock,' as they called her, will want to come back to herown people."
"As to that," said the woman, "after a time the stock will affectmortal illness, and will then take possession of the first black catshe sees, and in that shape leave the house, and come home. But thefigure that is like you will remain lifeless in the bed, and will beduly buried. Then your people, believing you to be dead, will neverlook for you, and you will always remain here. However, as thisdistresses you so, I will give you some advice. Can you dance?"
"Yes," said Amelia; "I did attend pretty well to my dancing lessons. Iwas considered rather clever about it."
"At any spare moments you find," continued the woman, "dance, dance allyour dances, and as well as you can. The dwarfs love dancing."
"And then?" said Amelia.
"Then, perhaps some night they will take you up to dance with them inthe meadows above-ground."
"But I could not get away. They would tread on my heels--oh! I couldnever escape them."
"I know that," said the woman; "your only chance is this. If ever, whendancing in the meadows, you can find a four-leaved clover, hold it inyour hand, and wish to be at home. Then no one can stop you. MeanwhileI advise you to seem happy, that they may think you are content, andhave forgotten the world. And dance, above all, dance!"
And Amelia, not to be behindhand, began then and there to dance somepretty figures on the heath. As she was dancing the dwarf came by.
"Ho, ho!" said he, "you can dance, can you?"
"When I am happy I can," said Amelia, performing several gracefulmovements as she spoke.
"What are you pleased about now?" snapped the dwarf, suspiciously.
"Have I not reason?" said Amelia. "The dresses are washed and mended."
"Then up with them!" returned the dwarf. On which half-a-dozen elvespopped the whole lot into a big basket and kicked them up into theworld, where they found their way to the right wardrobes somehow.
As the woman of the heath had said, Amelia was soon set to a new task.When she bade the old woman farewell, she asked if she could do nothingfor her if ever she got at liberty herself.
"Can I do nothing to get you back to your old home?" Amelia cried, forshe thought of others now as well as herself.
"No, thank you," returned the old woman; "I am used to this, and do notcare to return. I have been here a long time--how long I do not know;for as there is neither daylight nor dark we have no measure oftime--long, I am sure, very long. The light and noise up yonder wouldnow be too much for me. But I wish you well, and, above all, rememberto dance!"
The new scene of Amelia's labours was a more rocky part of the heath,where grey granite boulders served for seats and tables, and sometimesfor workshops and anvils, as in one place, where a grotesque and grimyold dwarf sat forging rivets to mend china and glass. A fire in ahollow of the boulder served for a forge, and on the flatter part washis anvil. The rocks were covered in all directions with theknick-knacks, ornaments, &c., that Amelia had at various timesdestroyed.
"If you please, sir," she said to the dwarf, "I am Amelia."
The dwarf left off blowing at his forge and looked at her.
"Then I wonder you're not ashamed of yourself," said he.
"I am ashamed of myself," said poor Amelia, "very much ashamed. Ishould like to mend these things if I can."
"Well, you can't say more than that," said the dwarf, in a mollifiedtone, for he was a kindly little creature; "bring that china bowl here,and I'll show you how to set to work."
Poor Amelia did not get on very fast, but she tried her best. As to thedwarf, it was truly wonderful to see how he worked. Things seemed tomend themselves at his touch, and he was so proud of his skill, and soparticular, that he generally did over again the things which Ameliahad done after her fashion. The first time he gave her a few minutes inwhich to rest and amuse herself, she held out her little skirt, andbegan one of her prettiest dances.
"Rivets and trivets!" shrieked the little man, "how you dance! It ischarming! I say it is charming! On with you! Fa, la fa! La, fa la! Itgives me the fidgets in my shoe-points to see you!" and forthwith downhe jumped, and began capering about.
"I am a good dancer myself," said the little man. "Do you know the'Hop, Skip, and a Jump' dance?"
"I do not think I do," said Amelia.
"It is much admired," said the dwarf, "when I dance it;" and hethereu
pon tucked up the little leathern apron in which he worked, andperformed some curious antics on one leg.
"That is the Hop," he observed, pausing for a moment. "The Skip isthus. You throw out your left leg as high and as far as you can, and asyou drop on the toe of your left foot you fling out the right leg inthe same manner, and so on. This is the Jump," with which he turned asomersault and disappeared from view. When Amelia next saw him he wassitting cross-legged on his boulder.
"Good, wasn't it?" he said.
"Wonderful!" Amelia replied.
"Now it's your turn again," said the dwarf.
But Amelia cunningly replied--"I'm afraid I must go on with my work."
"Pshaw!" said the little tinker. "Give me your work. I can do more in aminute than you in a month, and better to boot. Now dance again."
"Do you know this?" said Amelia, and she danced a few paces of a polkamazurka.
"Admirable!" cried the little man. "Stay"--and he drew an old violinfrom behind the rock; "now dance again, and mark the time well, so thatI may catch the measure, and then I will accompany you."
Which accordingly he did, improvising a very spirited tune, which had,however, the peculiar subdued and weird effect of all the other soundsin this strange region.
"The fiddle came from up yonder," said the little man. "It was smashedto atoms in the world and thrown away. But, ho, ho, ho! there isnothing that I cannot mend, and a mended fiddle is an amended fiddle.It improves the tone. Now teach me that dance, and I will patch up allthe rest of the gimcracks. Is it a bargain?"
"By all means," said Amelia; and she began to explain the dance to thebest of her ability.
"Charming, charming!" cried the dwarf. "We have no such danceourselves. We only dance hand in hand, and round and round, when wedance together. Now I will learn the step, and then I will put my armround your waist and dance with you."
Amelia looked at the dwarf. He was very smutty, and old, and wizened.Truly, a queer partner! But "handsome is that handsome does;" and hehad done her a good turn. So when he had learnt the step, he put hisarm round Amelia's waist, and they danced together. His shoe-pointswere very much in the way, but otherwise he danced very well.
Then he set to work on the broken ornaments, and they were all verysoon "as good as new." But they were not kicked up into the world, for,as the dwarfs said, they would be sure to break on the road. So theykept them and used them; and I fear that no benefit came from thelittle tinker's skill to Amelia's mamma's acquaintance in this matter.
"Have I any other tasks?" Amelia inquired.
"One more," said the dwarfs; and she was led farther on to a smoothmossy green, thickly covered with what looked like bits of brokenthread. One would think it had been a milliner's work-room from thefirst invention of needles and thread.
"What are these?" Amelia asked.
"They are the broken threads of all the conversations you haveinterrupted," was the reply; "and pretty dangerous work it is to dancehere now, with threads getting round one's shoe-points. Dance ahornpipe in a herring-net, and you'll know what it is!"
Amelia began to pick up the threads, but it was tedious work. She hadcleared a yard or two, and her back was aching terribly, when she heardthe fiddle and the mazurka behind her; and looking round she saw theold dwarf, who was playing away, and making the most hideous grimacesas his chin pressed the violin.
"Dance, my lady, dance!" he shouted.
"I do not think I can," said Amelia; "I am so weary with stooping overmy work."
"Then rest a few minutes," he answered, "and I will play you a jig. Ajig is a beautiful dance, such life, such spirit! So!"
And he played faster and faster, his arm, his face, his fiddle-bow allseemed working together; and as he played, the threads dancedthemselves into three heaps.
"That is not bad, is it?" said the dwarf; "and now for our own dance,"and he played the mazurka. "Get the measure well into your head. La, lafa la! la, la fa la! So!"
And throwing away his fiddle, he caught Amelia round the waist, andthey danced as before. After which, she had no difficulty in puttingthe three heaps of thread into a basket.
"Where are these to be kicked to?" asked the young goblins.
"To the four winds of heaven," said the old dwarf. "There are very fewdrawing-room conversations worth putting together a second time. Theyare not like old china bowls."
BY MOONLIGHT.
Thus Amelia's tasks were ended; but not a word was said of her returnhome. The dwarfs were now very kind, and made so much of her that itwas evident that they meant her to remain with them. Amelia oftencooked for them, and she danced and played with them, and never showeda sign of discontent; but her heart ached for home, and when she wasalone she would bury her face in the flowers and cry for her mother.
One day she overheard the dwarfs in consultation.
"The moon is full to-morrow," said one--("Then I have been a month downhere," thought Amelia; "it was full moon that night")--"shall we dancein the Mary Meads?"
"By all means," said the old tinker dwarf; "and we will take Amelia,and dance my dance."
"Is it safe?" said another.
"Look how content she is," said the old dwarf; "and, oh! how shedances; my feet tickle at the bare thought."
"The ordinary run of mortals do not see us," continued the objector;"but she is visible to any one. And there are men and women who wanderin the moonlight, and the Mary Meads are near her old home."
"I will make her a hat of touchwood," said the old dwarf, "so that evenif she is seen it will look like a will-o'-the-wisp bobbing up anddown. If she does not come, I will not. I must dance my dance. You donot know what it is! We two alone move together with a grace which evenhere is remarkable. But when I think that up yonder we shall haveattendant shadows echoing our movements, I long for the moment toarrive."
"So be it," said the others; and Amelia wore the touchwood hat, andwent up with them to the Mary Meads.
Amelia and the dwarf danced the mazurka, and their shadows, now asshort as themselves, then long and gigantic, danced beside them. As themoon went down, and the shadows lengthened, the dwarf was in raptures.
"When one sees how colossal one's very shadow is," he remarked, "oneknows one's true worth. You also have a good shadow. We are partners inthe dance, and I think we will be partners for life. But I have notfully considered the matter, so this is not to be regarded as a formalproposal." And he continued to dance, singing, "La, la, fa, la,la, la, fa, la." It was highly admired.
The Mary Meads lay a little below the house where Amelia's parentslived, and once during the night her father, who was watching by thesick bed of the stock, looked out of the window.
"How lovely the moonlight is!" he murmured; "but, dear me! there is awill-o'-the-wisp yonder. I had no idea the Mary Meads were so damp."Then he pulled the blind down and went back into the room.
As for poor Amelia, she found no four-leaved clover, and at cockcrowthey all went underground.
"We will dance on Hunch Hill to-morrow," said the dwarfs.
All went as before; not a clover plant of any kind did Amelia see, andat cockcrow the revel broke up.
On the following night they danced in the hayfield. The old stubble wasnow almost hidden by green clover. There was a grand fairy dance--around dance, which does not mean, as with us, a dance for two partners,but a dance where all join hands and dance round and round in a circlewith appropriate antics. Round they went, faster and faster, thepointed shoes now meeting in the centre like the spokes of a wheel, nowkicked out behind like spikes, and then scamper, caper, hurry! Theyseemed to fly, when suddenly the ring broke at one corner, and nothingbeing stronger than its weakest point, the whole circle were sentflying over the field.
"Ho, ho, ho!" laughed the dwarfs, for they are good-humoured littlefolk, and do not mind a tumble.
"Ha, ha, ha!" laughed Amelia, for she had fallen with her fingers on afour-leaved clover.
She put it behind her back, for the old tinker dwarf was comi
ng up toher, wiping the mud from his face with his leathern apron.
"Now for our dance!" he shrieked. "And I have made up my mind--partnersnow and partners always. You are incomparable. For three hundred yearsI have not met with your equal."
But Amelia held the four-leaved clover above her head, and cried fromher very heart--"I want to go home!"
The dwarf gave a hideous yell of disappointment, and at this instantthe stock came tumbling head over heels into the midst, crying--"Oh!the pills, the powders, and the draughts! oh, the lotions andembrocations! oh, the blisters, the poultices, and the plasters! menmay well be so short-lived!"
And Amelia found herself in bed in her own home.
AT HOME AGAIN.
By the side of Amelia's bed stood a little table, on which were so manybig bottles of medicine, that Amelia smiled to think of all the stockmust have had to swallow during the month past. There was an open Bibleon it too, in which Amelia's mother was reading, whilst tears trickledslowly down her pale cheeks. The poor lady looked so thin and ill, soworn with sorrow and watching, that Amelia's heart smote her, as ifsome one had given her a sharp blow.
"Mamma, Mamma! Mother, my dear, dear Mother!"
The tender, humble, loving tone of voice was so unlike Amelia's oldimperious snarl, that her mother hardly recognized it; and when she sawAmelia's eyes full of intelligence instead of the delirium of fever,and that (though older and thinner and rather pale) she lookedwonderfully well, the poor worn-out lady could hardly restrain herselffrom falling into hysterics for very joy.
"Dear Mamma, I want to tell you all about it," said Amelia, kissing thekind hand that stroked her brow.
But it appeared that the doctor had forbidden conversation; and thoughAmelia knew it would do her no harm, she yielded to her mother's wishand lay still and silent.
"Now, my love, it is time to take your medicine."
But Amelia pleaded--"Oh, Mamma, indeed I don't want any medicine. I amquite well, and would like to get up."
"Ah, my dear child!" cried her mother, "what I have suffered ininducing you to take your medicine, and yet see what good it has doneyou."
"I hope you will never suffer any more from my wilfulness," saidAmelia; and she swallowed two tablespoonfuls of a mixture labelled "Tobe well shaken before taken," without even a wry face.
Presently the doctor came.
"You're not so very angry at the sight of me to-day, my little lady,eh?" he said.
"I have not seen you for a long time," said Amelia; "but I know youhave been here, attending a stock who looked like me. If your eyes hadbeen touched with fairy ointment, however, you would have been awarethat it was a fairy imp, and a very ugly one, covered with hair. I havebeen living in terror lest it should go back underground in the shapeof a black cat. However, thanks to the four-leaved clover, and the oldwoman of the heath, I am at home again."
On hearing this rhodomontade, Amelia's mother burst into tears, for shethought the poor child was still raving with fever. But the doctorsmiled pleasantly, and said--"Ay, ay, to be sure," with a little nod,as one should say, "We know all about it;" and laid two fingers in acasual manner on Amelia's wrist.
"But she is wonderfully better, madam," he said afterwards to hermamma; "the brain has been severely tried, but she is marvellouslyimproved: in fact, it is an effort of nature, a most favourable effort,and we can but assist the rally; we will change the medicine." Which hedid, and very wisely assisted nature with a bottle of pure waterflavoured with tincture of roses.
"And it was so very kind of him to give me his directions in poetry,"said Amelia's mamma; "for I told him my memory, which is never good,seemed going completely, from anxiety, and if I had done anything wrongjust now, I should never have forgiven myself. And I always foundpoetry easier to remember than prose,"--which puzzled everybody, thedoctor included, till it appeared that she had ingeniously discovered arhyme in his orders--
'To be kept cool and quiet, With light nourishing diet.'
Under which treatment Amelia was soon pronounced to be well.
She made another attempt to relate her adventures, but she found thatnot even Nurse would believe in them.
"Why you told me yourself I might meet with the fairies," said Amelia,reproachfully.
"So I did, my dear," Nurse replied, "and they say that it's that put itinto your head. And I'm sure what you say about the dwarfs and all isas good as a printed book, though you can't think that ever I wouldhave let any dirty clothes store up like that, let alone your frocks,my dear. But for pity's sake, Miss Amelia, don't go on about it to yourmother, for she thinks you'll never get your senses right again, andshe has fretted enough about you, poor lady; and nursed you night andday till she is nigh worn out. And anybody can see you've been ill,Miss, you've grown so, and look paler and older like. Well, to be sure,as you say, if you'd been washing and working for a month in a placewithout a bit of sun, or a bed to lie on, and scraps to eat, it wouldbe enough to do it; and many's the poor child that has to, and getsworn and old before her time. But, my dear, whatever you think, give into your mother; you'll never repent giving in to your mother, my dear,the longest day you live."
So Amelia kept her own counsel. But she had one confidant.
When her parents brought the stock home on the night of Amelia's visitto the haycocks, the bulldog's conduct had been most strange. His usualgood-humour appeared to have been exchanged for incomprehensible fury,and he was with difficulty prevented from flying at the stock, who onher part showed an anger and dislike fully equal to his.
Finally the bulldog had been confined to the stable, where he remainedthe whole month, uttering from time to time such howls, with his snubnose in the air, that poor Nurse quite gave up hope of Amelia'srecovery.
"For indeed, my dear, they do say that a howling dog is a sign ofdeath, and it was more than I could abear."
But the day after Amelia's return, as Nurse was leaving the room with atray which had carried some of the light nourishing diet ordered by thedoctor, she was knocked down, tray and all, by the bulldog, who cametearing into the room, dragging a chain and dirty rope after him, andnearly choked by the desperate efforts which had finally effected hisescape from the stable. And he jumped straight on to the end ofAmelia's bed, where he lay, _thudding_ with his tail, and givingshort whines of ecstasy. And as Amelia begged that he might be left,and as it was evident that he would bite any one who tried to take himaway, he became established as chief nurse. When Amelia's meals werebrought to the bedside on a tray, he kept a fixed eye on the plates, asif to see if her appetite were improving. And he would even take asnack himself, with an air of great affability.
And when Amelia told him her story, she could see by his eyes, and hisnose, and his ears, and his tail, and the way he growled whenever thestock was mentioned, that he knew all about it. As, on the other hand,he had no difficulty in conveying to her by sympathetic whines thesentiment, "Of course I would have helped you if I could; but they tiedme up, and this disgusting old rope has taken me a month to worrythrough."
So, in spite of the past, Amelia grew up good and gentle, unselfish andconsiderate for others. She was unusually clever, as those who havebeen with the "Little People" are said always to be.
And she became so popular with her mother's acquaintances that theysaid--"We will no longer call her Amelia, for it is a name we learnt todislike, but we will call her Amy, that is to say, 'Beloved.'"
* * * * *
"And did my godmother's grandmother believe that Amelia had really beenwith the fairies, or did she think it was all fever ravings?"
"That, indeed, she never said, but she always observed that it was apleasant tale with a good moral, which was surely enough for anybody."
THE END.
_Richard Clay & Sons, Limited, London & Bungay._
[Transcriber's Note: The following statement was in the edition from whichthis copy was acquired.]
_The present Series of Mrs. Ewing's Works is
the only authorized,complete, and uniform Edition published.
It will consist of 18 volumes, Small Crown 8vo, at 2s. 6d. per vol.,issued, as far as possible, in chronological order, and these willappear at the rate of two volumes every two months, so that the Serieswill be completed within 18 months. The device of the cover wasspecially designed by a Friend of Mrs. Ewing._
_The following is a list of the books included inthe Series_--
1. MELCHIOR'S DREAM, AND OTHER TALES.
2. MRS. OVERTHEWAY'S REMEMBRANCES.
3. OLD-FASHIONED FAIRY-TALES.
4. A FLAT IRON FOR A FARTHING.
5. THE BROWNIES, AND OTHER TALES.
6. SIX TO SIXTEEN.
7. LOB-LIE-BY-THE-FIRE, AND OTHER TALES.
8. JAN OF THE WINDMILL.
9. VERSES FOR CHILDREN, AND SONGS.
10. THE PEACE EGG--A CHRISTMAS MUMMING PLAY--HINTS FOR PRIVATETHEATRICALS, &c.
11. A GREAT EMERGENCY, AND OTHER TALES.
12. BROTHERS OF PITY, AND OTHER TALES OF BEASTS AND MEN.
13. WE AND THE WORLD, Part I.
14. WE AND THE WORLD, Part II.
15. JACKANAPES--DADDY DARWIN'S DOVECOTE--THE STORY OF A SHORT LIFE.
16. MARY'S MEADOW, AND OTHER TALES OF FIELDS AND FLOWERS.
17. MISCELLANEA, including The Mystery of the Bloody Hand--WonderStories--Tales of the Khoja, and other translations.
18. JULIANA HORATIA EWING AND HER BOOKS, with a selection from Mrs.Ewing's Letters.
* * * * *
S.P.C.K., NORTHUMBERLAND AVENUE, LONDON, W.C.
The Brownies and Other Tales Page 5
