An Enchanted Garden: Fairy Stories
Page 5
some sandwiches and twohard-boiled eggs and some slices of cake."
"Very good things in their way," said the old woman, as Alix unpackedthe little parcels and laid them on the plates which Rafe handed herfrom the dresser. "And if you look into my larder you'll find somefruit, maybe, which won't go badly for dessert. What should you say tostrawberries and cream?"
She nodded towards one corner of the kitchen where there was a littledoor which the children had not before noticed, so very neatly was itfitted into the wall.
The opening of it was another surprise; the "larder" was quite differentfrom the room inside. It was a little arbour, so covered over withgreenery that you could not see through the leaves to the outside,though the sunshine managed to creep in here and there, and thetwittering of the birds was clearly heard.
On a stone slab stood a curiously-shaped basket filled with--oh! suchlovely strawberries! and beside it a bowl of tempting yellow cream;these were the only eatables to be seen in the larder.
"Strawberries!" exclaimed Rafe; "just fancy, Alix, and it's only April."
"But we're in Fairyland, you stupid boy," said Alix; "or at leastsomewhere very near it."
"Quick, children," came the old woman's voice from the kitchen. "Youbring the strawberries, Alix, and Rafe the cream. There'll be no timefor stories if you dawdle!"
This made them hurry back, and soon they were seated at the table, withall the nice things neatly before them. They were not greedy childrenfortunately, for, as everybody knows, fairy-folk hold few things ingreater horror than greediness; and they were orderly children too.They packed up their basket neatly again when they had finished, andAlix asked if they should wash up the plates that had been lent to them,which seemed to please their old friend, for she smiled as she repliedthat it wasn't necessary.
"My china is of a different kind from any you've ever seen," she said."_Whiff_, plates," she added; and then, to the children's amusement,there was a slight rattle, and all the crockery was up in its placeagain, shining as clean and bright as before it had been used.
There was now no doubt at all that they were really in Fairyland.
CHAPTER FOUR.
THE STORY OF THE THREE WISHES.
"And now for a story," said Alix joyfully. "May we sit close besideyou, Mrs--oh dear! Mayn't we call you something?"
"Anything you like," replied the old woman, smiling.
"I know," cried Alix; "Mrs Caretaker--will that do? It's rather a nicename when you come to think of it."
"Yes," agreed their old friend; "and it should be everybody's name, moreor less, if everybody did their duty. There's no one without somethingto take care of."
"No," said Rafe thoughtfully; "I suppose not."
"Draw the two little stools close beside me--one at the right, one atthe left; and if you like, you may lean your heads on my knee, you'llhear none the worse."
"Oh, that's beautiful," said Alix; "it's like the children and the whitelady. Do you know about the white lady?" she went on, starting upsuddenly.
Mrs Caretaker nodded. "Oh yes," she said; "she's a relation of mine.But we mustn't chatter any more if you're to have a story."
And the children sat quite silent. Click, click, went theknitting-needles.
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The Story of the Three Wishes.
That was the name of the first of Mrs Caretaker's stories.
Once upon a time there lived two sisters in a cottage on the edge of aforest. It was rather a lonely place in some ways, though there was anold town not more than a mile off, where there were plenty of friendlypeople. But it was lonely in this way, that but seldom any of thetownsfolk passed near the cottage, or cared to come to see the sisters,even though they were good and pretty girls, much esteemed by all whoknew them.
For the forest had a bad name. Nobody seemed to know exactly why, orwhat the bad name meant, but there it was. Even in the bright longsummer days the children of the town would walk twice as far on theother side to gather posies of the pretty wood-flowers in a littlecopse, not to be compared with the forest for beauty, rather thanventure within its shade. And the young men and maidens of a summerevening, though occasionally they might come to its outskirts in theirstrolls, were never tempted to do more than stand for a moment or twoglancing along its leafy glades. Only the sisters, Arminel and Chloe,had sometimes entered the forest, though but for a little way, and notwithout some fear and trembling.
But they had no misgiving as to living in its near neighbourhood.Custom does a great deal, and here in the cottage by the forest-sidethey had spent all their lives. And the grandmother, who had taken careof them since they had been left orphans in their babyhood, told themthere was no need for fear so long as they loved each other and didtheir duty. All the same, she never denied that the great forest was anuncanny place.
This was the story of it, so far as any one knew. Long, long ago, whenmany things in the world were different from what they are now, a raceof giants, powerful and strong, were the owners of the forest, and solong as they were just and kindly to their weaker neighbours, all wentwell. But after a while they grew proud and tyrannical, and did somevery cruel things. Then their power was taken from them, and theybecame, as a punishment, as weak and puny as they had been the opposite.Now and then, so it was said about the countryside, one or two of themhad been seen, miserable-looking little dwarfs. And the seeing of themwas the great thing to be dreaded, for it was supposed to be a certainsign of bad luck.
But the grandmother had heard more than this, though where, or when, orhow, she could not remember. The spell over the forest dwarfs was notto be for ever; something some day was to break it, though what she didnot know.
"And who can tell," she would say now and then, "how better things maycome about for the poor creatures? There's maybe a reason for yourbeing here, children. Keep love and pity in your hearts, and never letany fear prevent you doing a kind action if it comes in your way."
But till now, though they had gone on living in the old cottage sincetheir grandmother's death in the same way, never forgetting what she hadsaid, Arminel and Chloe had never caught sight of their strangeneighbours. True, once or twice they had seen a small figure scutteringaway when they had ventured rather farther than usual along the forestpaths, but then it might have been only some wild wood creature, ofwhom, no doubt, there were many who had their dwellings in the lonelygloom. Sometimes a strange curiosity really to see one of the dwarfsfor themselves would come over them; they often talked about it in thelong winter evenings when they had nothing to amuse them.
But it was only to each other that they talked in this way. To theirfriends in the town, for they had friends there whom they saw once aweek on the market-day, they never chattered about the forest or thedwarfs; and when they were asked why they went on living in this strangeand lonely place, they smiled and said it was their home, and they werehappier there than anywhere else.
And so they were. They were very busy to begin with, for their butterand eggs and poultry were more prized than any to be had far or near.Arminel was the dairy-woman, and Chloe the hen-wife, and at the end ofeach week they would count up their earnings, eager to see which hadmade the more by their labours. Fortunately for their happy feelings toeach other, up till now their gains had been pretty nearly equal, forthere is no saying where jealousy will not creep in, even between thedearest of friends.
But quite lately, for the first time, things had not been going so well.It was late in the autumn, and there had been unusually heavy rains,and when they ceased the winter seemed to begin all at once, and beforeits time, and the animals suffered for it. The cow's milk fell offbefore Arminel had looked for its doing so, and some great plans whichshe had been making for the future seemed likely to be disappointed.She had hoped to save enough through the winter to buy another cow inthe spring, so that with the two she would have had a supply of butterfor her customers in the town all the
year round. And Chloe's hens werenot doing well either. One or two of them had even died, and shecouldn't get her autumn chickens to fatten. Worst of all, the eggs grewfewer day by day.
These misfortunes distressed the sisters very much. Sadder still, theygrew irritable and short-tempered, each reproaching the other, andmaking out that she herself had managed better.
"It is all your want of foresight," said Arminel to Chloe one market-daywhen the egg-basket looked but poorly filled.
"Everybody knows that hens stop laying with the first cold. You shouldhave potted some eggs a few weeks ago when they were so plentiful."
"My customers don't care for potted eggs," said Chloe. "Till now I havealways