50 Fairy Stories

by Belinda Gallagher

  They looked kindly on the child, and, after whispering long among themselves, two little bright-eyed elves flew over the shining water, and, lighting on the clover blossoms, said gently, “Little maiden, many thanks for your kindness, our queen bids us ask if you will go with us to Fairyland, and learn what we can teach you.”

  “I would go with you, dear fairies,” said Eva, “but I cannot sail in your little boat. See! I can hold you in my hand, and could not live among you without harming your tiny kingdom, I am so large.”

  Then the elves laughed, saying, “You are a good child to fear doing harm to those weaker than yourself. Look in the water and see what we have done.”

  Eva looked into the brook, and saw a tiny child standing between the elves. “Now I can go with you,” said she, “but I can no longer step from the bank to yonder stone, for the brook seems now like a great river, and you have not given me wings like yours.”

  But the fairies took each a hand, and flew lightly over the stream. The queen and her subjects came to meet her. “Now must we go home,” said the queen, “and you shall go with us, little one.”

  Then there was a great bustle, as they flew about on shining wings, some laying cushions of violet leaves in the boat, others folding the queen’s veil and mantle more closely round her, lest the falling dews should chill her.

  The cool waves’ gentle splashing against the boat, and the sweet chime of the lily-bells, lulled little Eva to sleep, and when she woke it was in Fairyland. A faint, rosy light, as of the setting sun, shone on the white pillars of the queen’s palace as they passed in. They led Eva to a bed of pure white leaves, above which drooped the fragrant petals of a crimson rose.

  With the sun rose the fairies, and, with Eva, hastened away to the fountain, whose cool waters were soon filled with little forms, as the elves floated in the blue waves among the fair white lilies, or sat on the green moss, smoothing their bright locks, and wearing fresh garlands of dewy flowers. Then they flew away to the gardens, and soon, high up among the tree-tops, or under the broad leaves, sat the elves in little groups, taking their breakfast of fruit and pure fresh dew, while the bright-winged birds came fearlessly among them, pecking the same ripe berries, and dipping their little beaks in the same flower cups.

  “Now, little Eva,” said they, “you will see that Fairies are not idle, wilful spirits, as mortals believe. Come, we will show you what we do.”

  They led her to a lovely room, through whose walls of deep green leaves the light stole softly in. Here lay many wounded insects, and creatures, and pale, drooping flowers grew beside urns of healing herbs, from whose fresh leaves came a faint, sweet perfume.

  Eva wondered, but silently followed her guide, little Rose-Leaf, who went to the insects – first to a little fly who lay in a flower-leaf cradle.

  “Do you suffer much, dear Gauzy-Wing?” asked the Fairy. “I will bind up your poor little leg.” So she folded the cool leaves tenderly about the poor fly, bathed his wings, and brought him refreshing drink, while he hummed his thanks, and forgot his pain.

  They passed on, and Eva saw beside each bed a fairy, who with gentle hands and loving words soothed the suffering insects.

  Then Rose-Leaf led Eva away, saying, “Come now to the Flower Palace, and see the Fairy Court.”

  Beneath green arches, bright with birds and flowers, went Eva into a lofty hall. The roof of pure white lilies rested on pillars of green clustering vines, while many-coloured blossoms threw their bright shadows on the walls, as they danced below in the deep green moss.

  Suddenly the music grew louder and sweeter, and the fairies knelt, and bowed their heads, as on through the crowd of loving subjects came the queen, while the air was filled with gay voices singing to welcome her.

  She placed the child beside her, saying, “Little Eva, you shall see now how the flowers on your great earth bloom so brightly. A band of loving little gardeners go daily forth from Fairyland, to tend and watch them Now, Eglantine, what have you to tell us of your rosy namesakes on the earth?”

  From a group of elves, whose rose-wreathed wands showed the flower they loved, came one bearing a tiny urn, and, answering the queen, she said:

  “Over hill and valley they are blooming fresh and fair as summer sun and dew can make them and this, the loveliest of their sisters, have I brought to place among the fairy flowers that never pass away.” Eglantine laid the urn before the queen, and placed the fragrant rose on the dewy moss beside the throne, while a murmur of approval went through the hall, as each wand waved to the little fairy who could bring so fair a gift to their good queen.

  Said little Rose-Leaf to Eva, “Come now and see where we are taught to read the tales written on flower-leaves, and the sweet language of the birds, and all that can make a fairy heart wiser and better.”

  Then into a cheerful place they went, where were many groups of flowers, among whose leaves sat the child elves, and learned from their flower-books all that fairy hands had written there. Some studied how to watch the tender buds – when to spread them to the sunlight, and when to shelter them from rain, how to guard the ripening seeds, and when to lay them in the warm earth or send them on the summer wind to far off hills and valleys, where other fairy hands would tend and cherish them. Others learned to heal the wounded insects, who, were it not for fairy hands, would die before half their happy summer life had gone. Eva nodded to the little ones, as they peeped from among the leaves at the stranger, and then she listened to the fairy lessons. Several tiny elves sat on leaves while the teacher sat among the petals of a flower beside them, and asked questions that none but fairies would care to know.

  “Twinkle, if there lay nine seeds within a flower cup and the wind bore five away, how many would the blossom have?”

  “Four,” replied the little one.

  “Rosebud, if a cowslip opens three leaves in one day and four the next, how many rosy leaves will there be when the whole flower has bloomed?”

  “Seven,” sang the gay little elf.

  “Harebell, if a silkworm spins one yard of fairy cloth in an hour, how many will it spin in a day?”

  “Twelve,” said the fairy child.

  “Primrose, where lies Violet Island?”

  “In the Lake of Ripples.”

  “Lilla, what are the bounds of Rose Land?”

  “On the north by Ferndale, south by Sunny Wave River, east by the hill of Morning Clouds, and west by the Evening Star.”

  “Now, little ones,” said the teacher, “you may go to your painting.”

  Then Eva saw how, on large, white leaves, the fairies learned to imitate the lovely colours, and with tiny brushes to brighten the blush on the anemone’s cheek, to deepen the blue of the violet’s eye, and add new light to the golden cowslip.

  “You have stayed long enough,” said the elves at length, “we have many things to show you. Come now and see what is our dearest work.”

  So Eva said farewell to the child elves, and hastened with little Rose-Leaf to the gates. Here she saw many bands of fairies, folded in dark mantles that mortals might not know them, who, with the child among them, flew away over hill and valley. Some went to the cottages amid the hills, some to the seaside to watch above the humble fisher folks, but little Rose-Leaf and many others went into the noisy city.

  Eva wondered within herself what good the tiny elves could do in this great place, but she soon learned, for the fairy band went among the poor and friendless, bringing pleasant dreams to the sick and old, sweet, tender thoughts of love and gentleness to the young, strength to the weak, and patient cheerfulness to the poor and lonely.

  Thus to all who needed help or comfort went the faithful fairies, and when at length they turned towards Fairyland, many were the grateful, happy hearts they left behind.

  All Fairyland was dressed in flowers, and the soft wind went singing by, laden with their fragrant breath. Sweet music sounded through the air, and troops of elves in their gayest robes hastened to the palace where the feas
t was spread.

  Soon the hall was filled with smiling faces and fair forms, and little Eva, as she stood beside the queen, thought she had never seen a sight so lovely.

  The many-coloured shadows of the fairest flowers played on the pure white walls, and fountains sparkled in the sunlight, making music as the cool waves rose and fell, while to and fro, with waving wings and joyous voices, went the smiling elves, bearing fruit and honey, or fragrant garlands for each other’s hair.

  Long they feasted, gaily they sang, and Eva, dancing merrily among them, longed to be an elf that she might dwell forever in so fair a home.

  At length the music ceased, and the queen said, as she laid her hand on little Eva’s shining hair:

  “Dear child, tomorrow we must bear you home, therefore we will guide you to the brook-side, and there say farewell till you come again to visit us. Nay, do not weep, dear Rose-Leaf, you shall watch over little Eva’s flowers, and when she looks at them she will think of you. Come now and lead her to the fairy garden, and show her what we think our fairest sight.”

  With Rose-Leaf by her side, they led her through the palace, and along green, winding paths, till Eva saw what seemed a wall of flowers rising before her, while the air was filled with the most fragrant odours, and the low, sweet music as of singing blossoms.

  “Where have you brought me, and what mean these lovely sounds?” asked Eva.

  “Look here, and you shall see,” said Rose-Leaf, as she bent aside the vines, “but listen silently or you cannot hear.”

  Then Eva, looking through the drooping vines, beheld a garden filled with the loveliest flowers. Fair as were all the blossoms she had seen in Fairyland, none were so beautiful as these. The rose glowed with a deeper crimson, the lily’s soft leaves were more purely white, the crocus and humble cowslip shone like sunlight, and the violet was blue as the sky that smiled above it.

  “How beautiful they are,” whispered Eva, “but, dear Rose-Leaf, why do you keep them here, and why call you this your fairest sight?”

  “Look again, and I will tell you,” answered the fairy.

  Eva looked, and saw from every flower a tiny form come forth to welcome the elves, who all, save Rose-Leaf, had flown above the wall, and were now scattering dew upon the flowers’ bright leaves and talking gaily with the spirits, who gathered around them, and seemed full of joy that they had come. The child saw that each one wore the colours of the flower that was its home. Delicate and graceful were the little forms, bright the silken hair that fell about each lovely face, and Eva heard the low, sweet murmur of their silvery voices and the rustle of their wings. She gazed in silent wonder, forgetting she knew not who they were, till the fairy said:

  “These are the spirits of the flowers, and this the fairy home where they come to bloom in fadeless beauty here, when their earthly life is past. Come now, for you have seen enough, and we must be away.”

  On a rosy morning cloud, went Eva through the sunny sky. The fresh wind bore them gently on, and soon they stood again beside the brook, whose waves danced brightly as if to welcome them.

  “Now, we say farewell,” said the queen, as they gathered nearer to the child.

  They clung about her tenderly, and little Rose-Leaf placed a flower crown on her head, whispering softly, “When you would come to us again, stand by the brook-side and wave this in the air, and we will gladly take you to our home again.

  Farewell, dear Eva. Think of your little Rose Leaf when among the flowers.”

  For a long time Eva watched their shining wings, and listened to the music of their voices as they flew singing home, and when at length the last little form had vanished among the clouds, she saw that all around her where the elves had been, the fairest flowers had sprung up, and the lonely brook side was a blooming garden.

  Thus she stood among the waving blossoms, with the fairy garland in her hair, and happy feelings in her heart,better and wiser for her visit to Fairyland.

  Betty and the Wood Maiden

  By A H Wratislaw

  READING TIME:12 MINUTES

  Many fairy stories involve spinning, a skill many girls had to learn to help their mothers weave linen. In this story, Betty takes her goats into the woods to feed every day, and while watching them, she must spin rough flax into thread. She uses a spindle, like a stick, to spin the thread but she is too poor to own a distaff, the tool which holds the raw fibre before it is spun. Her mother then reels the thread off the spindle into skeins (coils) ready for weaving.

  Betty was a little girl. Her mother was a widow, and had no more of her property left than a dilapidated cottage and two she-goats, but Betty was, nevertheless, always cheerful. From spring to autumn she pastured the goats in the birch wood. Whenever she went from home, her mother always gave her in a basket a slice of bread and a spindle, with the order, “Let it be full.”

  As she had no distaff, she used to twine the flax round her head. Betty took the basket and skipped off singing merrily after the goats to the birch wood. When she got there, the goats went after pasture, and Betty sat under a tree, drew the fibres from her head with her left hand, and let down the spindle with her right so that it just hummed over the ground, and therewith she sang till the wood echoed. When the sun indicated midday, she put aside her spindle, called the goats, and after giving them each a morsel of bread that they mightn’t stray from her, bounded into the wood for a few strawberries or any other woodland fruit that might happen to be just then in season, that she might have dessert to her bread.

  When she had finished her meal, she sprang up, danced and sang. After her dance, she spun again industriously, and at even, when she drove the goats home, her mother never scolded her for bringing back her spindle empty.

  Once, when according to custom, exactly at midday, after her scanty dinner, she was getting ready for a dance, all of a sudden – where she came, there she came – a very beautiful maiden stood before her. She had on a white dress as fine as gossamer, golden-coloured hair flowed from her head to her waist, and on her head she wore a garland of woodland flowers. Betty was struck dumb with astonishment. The maiden smiled at her, and said in an attractive voice, “Betty, are you fond of dancing?”

  When the maiden spoke so prettily to her, Betty’s terror quitted her, and she answered, “Oh, I should like to dance all day long!”

  “Come, then, let’s dance together. I’ll teach you!” So spoke the maiden, tucked her dress up on one side, took Betty by the waist, and began to dance with her. As they circled, such delightful music sounded over their heads, that Betty’s heart skipped within her. It was a company of choice musicians that had come together at the beck of the beautiful maiden – nightingales, larks, linnets, goldfinches, greenfinches, thrushes, blackbirds, and a very skilful mockingbird. Betty’s cheek flamed, her eyes glittered, she forgot her task and her goats, and only gazed at her partner, who twirled before and round her Betty and the Wood Maiden with the most charming movements, and so lightly that the grass didn’t even bend beneath her delicate foot. They danced from noon till eve, and Betty’s feet were neither wearied nor painful. Then the beautiful maiden stopped, the music ceased, and as she came so she disappeared. Betty looked about her. The sun was setting behind the wood. She suddenly remembered the unspun flax, and saw that her spindle, which was lying on the grass, was by no means full. She called the goats, and drove them home. The goats, hearing no merry song behind them, looked round to see whether their own shepherdess was really following them. Her mother, too, wondered, and asked her daughter whether she was ill, as she didn’t sing.

  “No, mother dear, I’m not ill, but my throat is dry from singing, and therefore I don’t sing,” said Betty in excuse, and went to put away the spindle and the unspun flax.

  Knowing that her mother was not in the habit of reeling up the yarn at once, she intended to make up the next day what she had neglected to do the first day, and therefore did not say a word to her mother about the beautiful maiden.

  The next day
Betty again drove the goats as usual to the birch wood, and sang to herself again merrily. On arriving at the birch wood the goats began to pasture, and she sat under the tree and began to spin industriously, The sun indicated midday. Betty went off for strawberries, and after returning began to eat her dinner and chatter with the goats. “Ah, my little goats, I mustn’t dance today,” sighed she.

  “And why mustn’t you?” spoke a pleasing voice, and the beautiful maiden stood beside her, as if she had dropped from the clouds.

  Betty answered modestly:

  “Excuse me, beautiful lady, I can’t dance with you, because I should again fail to perform my task of Betty and the Wood Maiden spinning, and my mother would scold me. Today, before the sun sets, I must make up what I left undone yesterday.”

  “Only come and dance, and before the sun sets help will be found for you,” said the maiden. She tucked up her dress, took Betty round the waist, the musicians sitting on the birch branches struck up, and the two dancers began to whirl.

  At last the dancer stopped, the music ceased, the sun was on the verge of setting. Betty clapped her hand on the top of her head, where the unspun flax was twined, and began to cry. The beautiful maiden put her hand on her head, took off the flax, twined it round the stem of a slender birch, seized the spindle, and began to spin. The spindle just swung over the surface of the ground, grew fuller before her eyes, and before the sun set behind the wood all the yarn was spun, as well as that which Betty had not finished the day before. While giving the full spool into the girl’s hand the beautiful maiden said: “Reel, and grumble not – remember my words – Reel, and grumble not!” After these words she vanished, as if the ground had sunk in beneath her. Betty was content, and thought on her way, ‘If she is so good and kind, I will dance with her again if she comes again.’ But her mother gave her no cheerful welcome. Wishing in the course of the day to reel the yarn, she saw that the spindle was not full, and was therefore out of humour.