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Title: Prince Lazybones and Other Stories

Author: Mrs. W. J. Hays

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THE ADVENTURES OF PRINCE LAZYBONES AND OTHER STORIES

by

MRS. W. J. HAYS

Author of "Princess Idleways"

Illustrated

Harper & Brothers Publishers
New York and London

1884







[Illustration: "GOOD EVENING, MY DEAR PRINCE."]




CONTENTS


THE ADVENTURES OF PRINCE LAZYBONES

PHIL'S FAIRIES

FLORIO AND FLORELLA: A CHRISTMAS FAIRY TALE

BOREAS BLUSTER'S CHRISTMAS PRESENT




ILLUSTRATIONS

"Good-evening, my dear Prince" (Frontispiece)

"Approach of the swanlike boat"

"Look! There's an eagle"

"Making the sturgeon useful"





THE ADVENTURES OF PRINCE LAZY BONES




CHAPTER I


Of all the illustrious families who have shone like gems upon the
earth's surface, none have been more distinguished in their way than the
Lazybones family; and were I so disposed I might recount their virtues
and trace their talents from a long-forgotten period. But interesting as
the study might prove, it would be a difficult task, and the attention I
crave for Prince Leo would be spent on his ancestors.

Of princely blood and proud birth, Leo was a youth most simple-minded.
He knew that much was expected of him, and that he was destined to rule;
yet so easily was he satisfied that his greatest happiness was to lie
all day basking in the sun or dawdling through his father's park with
his dog at his heels, the heels themselves in a very down-trodden state
of humility, watching with languid gaze the movements of the world
about him.

And the world just where he lived was very beautiful. On a fertile
plain, surrounded by mountain-peaks of great height, threaded by silver
streams, and so well watered that its vegetation was almost tropical,
was the estate of Leo's father, Prince Morpheus Lazybones. It had been
in the family for ages, and was so rich in timber and mineral resources
that none of its owners had cared to cultivate the land. Timber was cut
sparingly, however, because the market for it was too distant, and the
minerals remained in their native beds for much the same reason.

The family throve, notwithstanding, and were well supplied with all
manner of delicacies, for the servants were many, and there was never a
lack of corn or wine.

Leo was most fair to see. To be sure, his drooping lids half concealed
his azure eyes, and his golden locks sometimes hid his snowy forehead;
but his smile was charming; his face had such an expression of calm
satisfaction, such a patient tranquillity, that his smile was as the
sudden sunshine on a placid lake. It was the smile of the family, an
inherited feature, like the blue hood of a Spanish Don. And then it was
given so freely: the beggar would have preferred it to be accompanied
with the jingle of a coin, but as the coin never came and the smile did,
he tried to think that it warmed his heart, though his wallet went
empty.

There were those who said a smile cost nothing, else it would not have
been bestowed. It had a peculiarity of its own which these same critics
also objected to--it nearly always ended in a yawn.

But Leo heard none of these ill-natured remarks, and, if he had, would
not have minded them any more than he did the burs which clung to his
garments as he rambled through the woods. Poor fellow! he would gladly
have shared his coppers with a beggar, but he had none to share.

Morpheus Lazybones never seemed to think his son required anything; so
long as the boy made no demands, surely nothing could be wanting, and
every one knew _he_ was not equal to any exertion. For years he had
lived the life of an invalid, shut up in his room most of the time,
venturing from it only in the sunniest weather, and then with great
caution. He had no particular malady except that he was a poet, but
surely that was burden enough. To have to endure the common sights and
sounds of this earth when one is composing poetry is indeed a trying and
troublesome thing. So Morpheus found it, and therefore he frequently
stayed in bed, and allowed his fancy to rove at its own sweet will.

They lived in what had been a monastery. There had been houses and farms
on the Lazybones property, but the money not being forthcoming for
repairs, they had been each in turn left for another in better
condition, until the monastery--what was left of it--with its solidly
built walls, offered what seemed to be a permanent home.

Here Morpheus lined a cell with tapestries and books, and wrote his
sonnets. Here Leo slept and ate, and housed his dogs. The servants
grumbled at the damp and mould, but made the chimneys roar with blazing
logs, and held many a merry carousal where the old monks had prayed and
fasted. The more devout ones rebuked these proceedings, and said they
were enough to provoke a visit from the Evil One; but as yet the warning
had no effect, as the revels went on as usual.

Besides being a poet, Morpheus was conducting Leo's education.
Undertaken in the common way, this might have interfered with the
delicate modes of thought required for the production of poems, but the
Lazybones were never without ingenuity. Morpheus so arranged matters
that Leo could study without damage to his father's poems. The books
were marked for a month's study, and Leo's recitations consisted of a
written essay which was to comprise all the knowledge acquired in that
time. Thus writing and spelling were included, and made to do duty for
the higher flights of his mind.

I do not tell how often Leo made his returns, neither do I mention how
many papers Morpheus found no time to examine, but I may urge that Leo's
out-door exercise demanded much attention, and that his father's
excursions in Dream-land were equally exacting. But Leo, though he hated
books, did not hate information. He knew every feathered thing by name
as far as he could see it. He knew every oak and pine and fir and nut
tree as a familiar friend. He knew every rivulet, every ravine, every
rabbit-burrow. The streams seemed to him as melodious as the song-birds,
and the winds had voices. He knew where to find the first blossom of
spring and the latest of autumn, the ripest fruit and most abundant
vines. He could tell just where the nests were and the number of eggs,
whether of the robin or the waterfowl. He knew the sunniest bank and
shadiest dell, the smoothest path, with its carpet of pine-needles and
fringe of fern, or the roughest crag and darkest abyss. He could read
the clouds like an open page, and predict fine weather or the coming
storm. He knew where the deer couched and where they came to drink, and
when the fawns would leave their mothers, and no trout was too cunning
for him.

But he did not know the use of a rifle. He had all sorts of lures for
the creatures he wanted to tame, but no ways of killing them. For why
should he kill them? There was always food enough; he was seldom hungry,
and these were his friends. He liked to look them in the eyes; he liked
to win them to him, soothe their fears if they had any, and then watch
their pretty joy when their liberty was regained. And how could he have
done this if their blood had been upon his hands? How could he have
quieted the throbbing little hearts if murder had been in his own?

Thus Leo spent his time, delightfully and innocently. If life were only
a summer's day! But already winter was approaching. Discontent was
brewing on the estate. Taxes were unpaid; tenants were grumbling at high
rents; laborers were threatening and their wives complaining.

Frequently, in the very midst of composing a poem, Morpheus would be
called to adjust a difficulty, settle a dispute, or revise an account.
This so disturbed his delicate nerves that illness, or the appearance of
it, was sure to follow. He would then take to his bed, refuse all but a
little spiced wine, allowing no coarse food to pass his lips, and strive
to remember the beautiful words of which he had intended to make verses;
but, alas! the words had flown, as well as the ideas which had suggested
them, like so many giddy little butterflies.




CHAPTER II


The monastery had been a grand old pile in its day; it was not one
simple building, but a cluster of habitations which had grown with the
growth and resources of the order which founded it. Like all feudal
structures it had its means of defence--its moat and drawbridge, its
tower of observation, and in its heavy gates and thick walls loop-holes
and embrasures for weapons.

But grass grew now in the moat and birds nested in the embrasures, while
Leo's dogs bounded through chapel and refectory and cloister, parts of
the latter being converted into a stable.

Many of the walls had tumbled in hopeless confusion, but those of the
buildings yet in use had carved buttresses and mullioned windows, on
which much skill had been displayed.

Leo knew, or thought he knew, every nook and cranny of his home, for
when it rained, or heavy fogs hung threateningly about, his rambles were
confined to the various quarters of the monastery.

On such days the stone floors and bare walls were very inhospitable,
but he would sometimes find a new passage to loiter in or a window-ledge
to loll over and look from as he watched the rain drip from the carved
nose of an ugly old monk whose head adorned the water-spout.

I don't know whether it ever occurred to Leo that this world is a busy
one. The very persistence of the pouring rain might have suggested it,
as well as the beehives down in the kitchen court, where some of his
many friends were storing their winter provision, for bees as well as
birds were familiar to him; but he had the true Lazybones instinct of
not following a thought too far, and so he looked and lolled and yawned,
wishing for fine weather, for a new lining to his ragged old coat, or
soles to his slipshod shoes, but never once supposing that any effort of
his own could gain them.

When it was cold the kitchen was apt to be his resort. It was a long and
low apartment on the ground-floor, and its wide fireplace, with stone
settle beside the hooks and cranes for pots and kettles, had doubtless
been as cheery a corner for the old monks to warm their toes after a
foraging expedition as it was for Leo, who liked to smell the savory
stews.

On the day of which I write the rain had fallen incessantly, and Leo had
been more than usually disturbed by it, for cold and dreary though it
was, the servants had turned him out of the kitchen. They would not have
him there.

"Idle, worthless fellow!" said the cook; "he lolls about as a spy upon
us, to repeat to the master every word he hears."

This was quite untrue and unjust, for Leo rarely conversed with his
father, and seldom saw him since Morpheus took his meals as well as his
woes to bed with him, as he had done at the present moment.

But the household was in revolt; the uneasiness from outside had crept
within, and there was quarrelling among the servants.

"What shall I do?" said Leo to himself. "The rain is too heavy, or I
would go out in it; but I have no place to get dry when I become soaked,
and I can't go to bed in the daytime, as my father does. I wonder what
he'd say if I went to him? Probably this: 'You have given wings to the
finest of rhymes, and spoiled the turn of an exquisite verse; now, sir,
what atonement can you make for so great an injury? It's the world's
loss, remember.' That's the way it always is when I disturb him.
Heigh-ho! what a dull day!"

"A very dull day indeed, your highness."

Leo started, his yawn ending abruptly, and he turned more quickly than
he had ever done in his life towards the sound which saluted him. Surely
he had been alone. Who ever came to this corridor? He looked up and down
its dingy length, but saw no one. He must have been mistaken. Then he
listened. The wind swept wailing through its accustomed approaches;
shutters and windows shook with the blast, but no footfall was to be
heard. He turned to the diamond-paned lattice, and again watched the
drops trickling from the nose of the water-spout. No one had spoken.
Again he yawned prodigiously, but brought his jaws together with a snap
which might have damaged his teeth; for, to his great surprise, a voice
said,

"I think I could amuse you."

"And pray who are you?" asked Leo, feeling very queer, and as if he were
talking to himself.

"That is of little consequence, so long as I do what I have proposed,"
was the reply.

"Very true," said Leo; "but I never before heard of a ghost in the
daytime."

"I am no ghost, your highness; I'd scorn to be such a useless thing."

"What are you, then, and where are you?"

"You will find out what I am after a while; and as to where I am, why, I
am here beside you. Do you suppose you human beings have all the world
to yourselves?"

"Not quite, to be sure; the birds and beasts have their share. But one
can see them."

"So could you see me if your vision were not imperfect. How about all
the living things you swallow every time you drink?"

"I have heard of something of the kind, but it was too much trouble to
understand it."

"Poor boy! It's a pity some old ghost of a monk could not interest
himself in your education; but, as I said before, ghosts are absurdly
useless, except to scare people whose consciences are bad, and nothing
more is needed to make me doubt their existence than the fact of your
living here in what should be their stronghold, and they never raise
hand or foot to help you. It's quite in keeping with their ridiculous
pretensions. Believe in ghosts? No, I never did, and I never will."

The voice, small and weak though it was, grew quite angry in tone, and
it seemed to Leo as if it were accompanied by the stamp of a foot; but
he saw nothing, not so much as a spider crawling over the stone
corridor.

It was very peculiar. He pinched himself to see if he was awake. Yes,
wide-awake, no doubt of that; besides, he seldom dreamed--indeed, never,
unless his foot had slipped in climbing a crag to peep into a nest, when
the fall was sometimes repeated in his sleep. Who was this speaking to
him? As if in answer to his thoughts, the voice went on:

"So far from being a good-for-nothing old ghost, I am one of the
founders of the S.P.C.C., a very old society--much older than people of
the present day imagine."

Leo was quite ashamed to be so ignorant, but he ventured to ask,

"What is the S.P.C.C.?"

"Is it possible you have never heard of it?"

"Never," replied Leo, still feeling as if he were talking to the walls.

There was a queer little gurgling "Ha! ha!" which was at once
suppressed.

"Well, how could you know away off in this remote region?"

"I am sure I don't understand you at all," said Leo.

"No, I see you don't; and it's by no means remarkable. You live so
entirely alone, and are so wretchedly neglected, that it is a wonder you
know anything."

Leo began to be angry, but it was too much of an effort; besides, what
was there to be angry at--a voice? So he remained sulkily silent until
the voice resumed, in a changed tone:

"I beg your highness's pardon; I quite forgot myself. I am very apt to
do that when I am much interested; it is a great fault, for I appreciate
fine manners. But to explain. In the faraway cities where people live
like ants in an ant-hill, all crowded together, there is often much
cruelty and oppression, as well as vice and poverty. Now for this state
of things they have laws and punishments, means of redress; but they
relate principally to grown people's affairs; so the kind-hearted ones,
noticing that little children are often in need of pity and care and
protection, have an association called the Society for the Prevention of
Cruelty to Children. It is as old as the hills, but they think it a
modern invention. I am one of the original founders of that society,
little as they know me; but human beings are _so_ vain."

"Indeed!" said Leo, lazily; he was already tired of the whole matter.

"Yes, vain and pretentious. Look at your father and his poems; he thinks
his doggerel verses a mark of genius."

"What has my father done to you that you attack him so rudely?" asked
Leo, angrily.

"Ah! you are aroused at last. I am glad. What has your father _not_
done, you had better ask. But I acknowledge that I am rude, and I won't
say more than just this: Your father has failed to prepare you for your
duties. Trouble is coming, and how are you to meet it?"

"Don't know, and don't care," came out with characteristic Lazybones
indifference.

"Ah! my dear Prince, do not speak so; it is quite time you knew and
cared. Do you study geography?"

"Sometimes."

"All surface work, I suppose?"

"Probably."

"Now my plan of study comprehends an interior view of the earth's
formation."

Leo gave a tremendous yawn, and said,

"Oh, please don't bother any more; I am awfully tired."

"So I should think. Well, do you want to be amused?"

"No; I don't want anything."

"Come with me, then."

"Where?"

"No matter where; just do as I bid you."

"How can I, when I don't even see you?"

"True. It will be necessary to anoint your eyes; shall I do it?"

"Just as you please."

Leo felt a little pressure forcing down his eyelids, and the pouring of
a drop of cool liquid on each.

When he opened his eyes again there stood before him the quaintest,
queerest being he had ever beheld.




CHAPTER III


Leo had heard of kobolds and gnomes and elves, but in all his wanderings
over the Lazybones estate in the brightness of noon, the dewy dawn, or
dusky eve, or later when the moon bathed every shrub in silver, he had
never so much as caught a glimpse of fairy folk.

Here, however, was a real elf--a most peculiar person. He was extremely
small, thin, and wiry, about two and a half inches high, and his costume
a cross between that of a student or professor and that of a miner, for
on his bushy head was a miner's cap with a lantern, and on his back was
a student's gown, while his thin legs were incased in black silk
stockings, and his feet in rough hobnailed boots. Slung over one
shoulder was a leather bag, and in his hand was a curious sort of a
tool.

"The Master Professor Knops has the honor of saluting Prince Leo
Lazybones," was the way in which this extraordinary person introduced
himself, making at the same time a deep bow and a military salute, but
with no raising of the cap from which the little lantern gleamed with a
bright blue flame. Leo returned the salutation with a lazy grace,
smiling curiously upon the queer little object before him, who proceeded
to say:

"And now let us go; I lead--you follow."

"Forward, then," responded Leo, rising from his lounging attitude.

The elf went nimbly down the corridor, as if accustomed to it, and
paused before a door which led to a flight of stone steps.

"Are you going down cellar?" asked Leo, who knew where the stairs led.

"I am," replied Knops; "but these huge doors and heavy hinges bother me.
Be so good as to open and close them for me. By-the-way, you may get
hungry; shall we find food down here?"

"Perhaps so," said Leo, following, and doing as requested.

They went down step after step, and it was wonderful how much light came
from that little blue flame.

On skipped the elf, his gown puffing out, his nailed boots pattering
over the stones, and Leo found himself quite breathless when they
reached the cellar, so unused was he to any rapidity of movement.

"Suppose we meet some one," said Leo.

"And what have we to fear if we do? No one can see me, and if you are
afraid of a scullion or house-maid you are not the Prince I take you
for. Tut! tut! don't be afraid--come on."

The cellar was damp, and great curtains of cobwebs, like gray lace, fell
over the empty bins and wine-vaults. From a heap of winter vegetables
Leo filled his pockets with apples and turnips.

They came at last to a door which Leo remembered having opened once, but
finding that it led to a passage which was dark, dismal, and unused, he
had not cared to explore it. He now followed the elf through it, but not
without misgivings, for as he groped along he stepped on a round object
which, to his horror when the little blue flame of the elf's lantern
revealed its empty sockets and grinning jaws, proved to be a skull.

Knops turned with a smile when he saw Leo's agitation, and said,
blandly,

"You are not interested in this form of natural history, I see." Then
taking up the skull, he placed it in a crevice of the wall, saying,
"Here is another proof that there are no ghosts about. Do you think any
one would be so careless of his knowledge-box as to leave it to be
kicked around in that way? Oh, those old monks were miserable
house-keepers; the idea of stowing away their skeletons so near their
kitchen closets!"

Leo smiled faintly, and went on after Knops, who every once in a while
gave a tap on the walls with his tool, starting the echoes.

"There!" said he, "do you hear that? This is the way we make old houses
haunted. I don't do it for fun, as do the elves of folly. I have a
sensible purpose; but they like nothing better than to frighten people,
and so they make these noises at all hours, and get up reports that a
house is bewitched; but even a common insect like the cricket can do
that, human beings are such ridiculous cowards."

Leo made an effort to assume the courage which he did not feel, and
asked his guide how much farther he intended to lead him.

"Now," said Knops, stopping, and putting on an air of intense gravity,
as if he were about to deliver a lecture, "I must beg you, my dear
Prince, to place perfect confidence in me. I promised not to harm you.
As a member of the S.P.C.C., I am pledged to protect you; besides, you
have no idea how much I am interested in you; this expedition has been
planned entirely for your benefit. Trust me, then, and give yourself
entirely up to my control. Ask as many questions as you wish, provided
they are useful ones. Just say, without ceremony, 'Knops, why is this?
or, Knops, what is that?' and I, in return, if you will be so good as to
allow me, will say, frankly, 'Leo, this is this,' or 'that is that.' But
here is the entrance to our habitations. You will have to stoop a
little." Striking again with his tool, a panel slid open in the wall,
through which they crept.

It was still dark, but the air had changed greatly; instead of the musty
dampness of a vault, there was a soft warmth, which was fragrant and
spicy, and a beam as of moonlight began to illuminate the passage, which
broadened until they stood at its termination, when Leo found himself on
a ledge or gallery of rock, which was but one of many in the vast cavern
which opened before them.

On its floor was burning an immense bonfire, which flashed and flamed,
and around which was a bevy of dwarfs, shovelling on fuel from huge
heaps of sandal-wood. Every gallery swarmed with elves and dwarfs in all
sorts of odd costumes, but all bore little lanterns in their caps, and
tools in their hands. Some were hammering at great bowlders, others with
picks were working in passages similar to the one Leo had left, and
others seemed to be turning lathes, sharpening knives, cutting and
polishing heaps of brilliant stones. Every once in a while a party of
queer little creatures much smaller than Knops would trundle in
wheelbarrows full of rough pebbles, and dumping them down before those
employed in cutting and polishing, would be off again in a jiffy for
another load.

Leo was so astonished that he stood perfectly silent, gazing now at the
flashing fire which reflected from all sides of the brilliant quartz of
the cavern, and now at the tier upon tier of galleries full of busy
little people.

"This is one of our workshops," said Knops, "but not the most important.
Now that you have rested a moment I will take you to that."

Line upon line of red and green in rubies and emeralds were at the base
of the grotto, and then he found that the emeralds sprang up into long
grasses, and the rubies into flaming roses, and on slender spears were
lilies of pearls and daisies of diamonds, and blending with these were
vines of honeysuckle and strawberries, gleaming with sapphires and topaz
and amethysts, wreathing and flashing up to a ceiling of lapis lazuli
blue as a June sky. The floor was a mosaic of turquoise forget-me-nots
on a turf of Egyptian jasper.

When Leo had looked at all this bewildering beauty, Knops pushed open
the mica door again, and they began to traverse the galleries of the
rock cavern. He was surprised that none of the elves noticed him, nor
even looked at him, and he asked Knops the reason.

"I have rendered you invisible to them, my dear Leo, for two reasons:
one is that you may be undisturbed in your examination of their work,
and the other is that they may not be interrupted; for of course your
presence would be a source of lively interest to them, and yet any
stoppage of work would necessitate punishment."

"Punishment?" repeated Leo, questioningly.

"Oh yes; most of our hardest workers are elves of mischief and it is
only by keeping them thus constantly employed that we prevent disorder.
You have no idea what pranks they play."

"And what is your authority among them?" asked Leo.

"I am one of our King's cabinet; my title is Master Professor. My
learning qualifies me to decide upon the plans of work, where to search
for precious stones, and how best to prepare them for man's finding.
Nothing is more amusing than the wonder and surprise men exhibit at what
they consider their discoveries of minerals and gems, when for ages we
have been arranging them for their clumsy hands."

"How do you do this?"

"Ah! it's a long story. Here you see the result of our long searches,
and were it not for the processes we conduct none of these stones would
ever be found. We can penetrate where man has never been; we can
construct what man has in vain tried to do. Come with me to our
diamond-room: we do not make many, preferring to find them; but as an
interesting scientific experiment we have always liked to test our
ability."

So saying, Knops turned down a little lane lighted by what looked like
small globes of white fire.

"Electric light," said Knops, with a gesture of disdain, as he saw Leo
blinking with wonder--"the commonest sort of a blaze; and yet men have
nearly addled their brains over it, while we made it boil our kettles.
It's the simplest and cheapest fuel one can have; but having utilized it
so long, I am on the lookout for something new. Here, this is the way;"
and again he opened a mica door.




CHAPTER IV


Blow-pipes and retorts, crucibles and jars, porcelain and glass vessels,
of all odd sorts and shapes, confronted them on tables and shelves, and
seated before small furnaces, with gauze protectors for their faces and
metal ones for their knees, and queer little rubber gloves for their
hands, were the very queerest of all the elves Leo had yet seen. They
were thinner and much less muscular than the miners and stone-polishers,
with eyes too large and legs too small for their bodies, so that they
resembled nothing so much as spiders.

"See how in the pursuit of the beautiful one can lose all beauty," said
Knops, confidentially.

"How hot it is here!" said Leo, gasping for breath.

"Yes, my dear fellow, there's no doubt of that; the heat is tremendous.
Now some of your thermometers go no higher than one hundred and thirty,
while ours can ascend to three and four hundred; that is, for the common
air of our dwellings. Of course the heat demanded by many of our
experiments is practically incalculable; for instance--"

"Oh, get me out of this!" entreated Leo.

"Here, step into this niche, put your mouth to this opening"--and Knops
pointed to one of many silver tubes which projected near them--"now
breathe. Is not that refreshing?"

"Yes," said Leo, reviving, as he took a long draught of fresh cool air.
"How do your people endure such heat?"

"They are used to it; besides, they can come to these little tubes, as
you have done, whenever they please."

"Where does this air come from?"

"It is pure oxygen; we manufacture it, and here is a lump of pure
carbon which we also manufacture," and he laid in Leo's hand what looked
like a drop of dew. It was a diamond of exquisite lustre.

As Leo looked with surprise and admiration at it, an elf came staggering
up to the niche. After breathing the oxygen he turned to Knops with a
heart-rending cry.

"I have lost it--lost it, Master Knops."

"Lost what, Paz?"

"The finest stone I ever made, and I have been years at it."

"How did that happen?"

"Burned it too long--look!" and he produced in his spidery hand a small
mass of charcoal.

"Never mind, Paz; better luck next time," said Knops, kindly.

"No, I am no longer fit for the profession; such a mistake is
inexcusable. I cannot hold up my head among the others. I meant that
diamond for our King's tiara or the Queen's necklace--bah! Please,
Master Professor, put me among the miners, or take me for your valet. I
care not what I do."

"You are depressed just now; wait awhile."

"No, I must go. I have broken my crucible and put out my furnace. I
will not stay to be scorned."

"Come with me, then, and I will see what I can do for you."

"He may be useful to us," said Knops to Leo, adding, "we never allow
these diamonds to be put in the quartz beds; they are all reserved for
our own particular uses. It takes so long a time to make them that only
elves of great patience and a certain quiet habit of mind are trained to
the task. Look!"

He pointed towards what appeared to be a glittering cobweb hanging from
a projection on the wall. It was composed of silver wires, on which were
strung numbers of small but most exquisite gems, each of which sparkled
and flashed with its imprisoned light.

"In the same way," he resumed, "all the pearls we use are of our own
cultivation, if I may use the term. We secure the oysters and insert
small objects within the shells, generally a seed-pearl of insignificant
size, leaving it to be worked upon by the living fish; when enough time
for the incrustation has elapsed we find our pearls grown to a
remarkable size, of rarest beauty and value. These processes are not
unknown to man, but men are so clumsy that they seldom succeed in
perfecting them."

Leo by this time was quite exhausted both by what he had seen and by
what he had heard, and he begged Knops to allow him to rest.

"Certainly, certainly, my dear," said Knops. "Pardon me for wearying
you. I am more scientific than hospitable. Come to our sleeping
apartment. I think I shall allow Paz to see you, for, as he is so
unhappy, it will divert him to serve you while you remain with us, and
perhaps, too, he can suggest something suitable for your food. I ought
to have thought of this before."

Leo had, with three or four bites, disposed of an apple, and had already
begun on a turnip, when Knops, giving Paz a peculiar sign, the spidery
little fellow reached up and snatched the turnip from Leo's hand.

"What's the matter now?" asked Leo, too tired to regain it, easily as he
could have done so.

"I can't see anybody eat such wretched stuff as that; wait till I cook
it," said Paz.

"Well, Paz, I am glad you can help me out of my difficulty," said Knops.
"I really am puzzled what to do for Prince Leo's hunger. My breakfast
is a wren's egg; for dinner, a sardine with a slice of mushroom is
enough for four of us; for supper, a pickled mouse tongue. How long
could you live on such fare, Leo?"

"Not long, I fear."

"So I supposed. Well, here is the dormitory; by pushing up a dozen or
more beds, you can stretch out awhile. Meanwhile I can attend to some
professional duties, after I have despatched Paz for your food. What are
you going to do with that turnip, Paz?"

"An elf who can make diamonds from charcoal can perhaps produce
beefsteak from a turnip," said Leo.

"Ah! don't remind me of my bitter humiliation, kind sir," said Paz, in a
sad tone. "I will do what I can for you. Do you like soup?"

"Immensely."

"And roast quail?"

"Delicious!"

"Apple tart?"

"Nothing better."

"Adieu, then, for an hour."

Knops too departed, leaving Leo to look about him, with curious eyes,
upon rows of little beds, each with a scarlet blanket, and each having
its pitcher and basin conveniently at hand. But he soon was fast asleep.

While all this was happening to Leo, at the monastery there was great
confusion. The servants had gone in a body to Prince Morpheus's bedroom
to demand their wages. With tearful eyes and wailing voice he had
protested that he had no money, that his life was hanging by a thread,
and that his brain was on fire. They loudly urged their claims,
declaring they would instantly leave the premises unless they were paid.
As they could not get a satisfactory reply from their master, who hid
his eyes at the sight of their angry faces, and put his fingers in his
ears to keep out their noisy voices, they concluded to go; so, packing
their boxes and bags, and pressing the mules and oxen into their
service, they one by one went off to the nearest village.

One old woman, who had never known any other home, alone remained, and
when the storm subsided and the house was quiet, Morpheus, being
hungry, crawled down to the kitchen fire to find her boiling porridge.

"Where is my son?" asked Morpheus.

The old woman was deaf, and only muttered, "Gone--all gone."

"Alas! and has my son also deserted his father?" cried Morpheus.

The old woman nodded, partly with the palsy, and partly because she knew
of nothing to say. Morpheus smote his forehead with a tragic gesture,
and allowed himself to fall--gently--upon the floor. When he had
remained in an apparent swoon long enough he was revived by some hot
porridge being poured down his throat, and his hair and hands sprinkled
with vinegar. Rousing himself as if with great effort, but really with
great ease, he stood up, and finding the kitchen warmer than his cell,
concluded to remain there; but the old woman was too stiff with
rheumatism to wait upon him, so he had to ladle out his own portion of
porridge, get his books and candle for himself, and finally bring in
some fagots for the fire.

When he sat down to study he found himself in a more cheerful mood than
he had been in for many a day, though he could not help wondering what
had become of Leo. As he went on thinking where the boy could be he was
inspired to write what he called a sonnet upon the subject. Here it is:

  "My boy has fled his father's home,
   No more he treads these halls;
   In vain my voice invokes his name,
   In vain my tears, my calls.
   The night winds sigh, the owlets cry,
   The moon's pale light appears,
   The stars are shivering in the sky--
   I tremble at my fears.
   Has then the Knight of Shadowy Dread
   My Leo forced away
   From his fond parent's loving heart
   In Death's grim halls astray?
   I bow reluctant to my fate;
   'Tis mine to weep and mine to wait!"

He counted the lines over carefully; the eighth and tenth seemed short,
but it scanned after a fashion. On the whole it suited him, and was
rather better done than many of his verses, so with soothed nerves he
sought his pillow.

The old woman had slumbered all the evening in her chair. Indeed her
snoring had been even and regular enough to act as a measure in marking
the time for the musical cadences of the sonnet.

Morpheus, having a pretty good appetite, ate some bread and cheese and
drank some ale before retiring.




CHAPTER V


Leo was awakened by being rudely jostled about and tumbled upon the
floor. When he opened his eyes the cause was apparent. The elves had
found their beds in disorder, and not being able to see him, had, in
their efforts to restore order, pitched him out. Hardly had Leo reached
the floor when in came Paz to the rescue.

"I beg your pardon, sir, for being so long absent," he said, "but the
hunters had not come in with any game, and the cooks had use for all the
skillets, so that I was obliged to go to the laboratory for a vessel
large enough to hold your turnip. Soup is made in great quantities for
our work-people, and by adding a few sauces I hope I have made it so
that it will please you. If you come with me now I think you may relish
your meal."

Leo followed Paz to a small cavern hung with a velvety gray moss, on
which were clusters of red berries. A small electric light burned in a
globe of crystal, set in bands of turquoise, and shone upon a table
which, like the bed he had used, was composed of several small ones,
covered with a cloth of crimson plush, over which was again spread a
white fabric of the thinnest texture and edged with lace. On this was
laid a dinner service, so small that it was evidently more for ornament
than use. Plates of crystal were bordered with gems, and jars and cups
of embossed metal glittered with precious stones. He was obliged,
however, to eat his soup from the tureen, and the turnip, now cooked in
a sort of _pate_, was presented on a silver platter. Slices of smoked
rabbit, with salted steaks of prairie-dog, were offered in place of the
quail, which had not come; but Leo, having a fondness for sweets, saw
with wonder one tart made from about a quarter of an apple. This proved
to be such a sweet morsel that he kept Paz running for more until he had
eaten a dozen. No wine was offered, but ices which looked like heaps of
snow with the sun shining on them were dissolving in glass vases, and
water as pure as the dew filled his goblet. Rising refreshed from his
meal Leo met Knops coming towards him. He had exchanged his dress for
what looked like a bathing suit of India rubber.

"Are you rested?" he inquired, kindly.

"Oh yes, very much, and I must thank you and Paz for so good a dinner,"
responded Leo.

"Don't mention it. If I had not acted on the spur of the moment, when
the impulse to amuse you seized me, I would have been better prepared.
We use many things for food which you would disdain, but I might have
secured antelope meat or Rocky Mountain mutton, and by way of rarity
something from Russia or China. Have you ever tasted birds' nests."

"Never."

"But I suppose you know why they are thought so great a delicacy?"

"No."

"It is merely the gluten with which they are fastened together, so to
speak, by the birds, which renders them agreeable. The Chinese like
rats, and in this we agree with them. Well dressed, stuffed with
chestnuts or olives, and roasted, they are delicious."

Leo made a wry face.

"Ah! you are not cosmopolitan."

"What is that?"

"A citizen of the world, a person free from national prejudices. Ah,
these words are long for you; I will try to be simple: you have not
learned to eat everything that is good."

"But rats are not good; they are vermin."

"Bah! yes, because you let them feed like your hogs on anything. We do
better; we pen them, and give them grain until they are fat and sweet,
and make them eatable."

Leo could not disguise his dislike, so Knops, shrugging his shoulders,
did not attempt any longer to convince him, but said,

"Are you interested in what I have shown you?"

"Certainly I am," said Leo, with more spirit than he had ever put into
words.

"And you care to go on?"

"Very much."

"Prepare then for great exertion. As you are so large it will be
necessary for you to creep through many passages. I am going to take
you to see our water-work. The visit may be tiresome, but I think you
will be repaid. It is generally supposed that giants have greater power
than we. It may be that it is true, but I think it is doubtful. But you
may wonder why I speak now of giants. It is because they have originated
the opinion among men that the great water-falls and cataracts, such as
those of the Nile and Niagara, are entirely of their producing, but we
all know the familiar adage, 'Great oaks from little acorns grow.' I am
going to show you where the little springs and rivulets have their
rise."

Leo's attention had flagged during this speech--he was so unaccustomed
to many words--now his interest revived.

"Do you remember a certain shady spot about half a mile from the
monastery, beneath a group of birch-trees, and overhung with alders?"
asked Knops.

"Do I not, indeed?" responded Leo, eagerly. "It is the sweetest, coolest
water on the estate. The moss around that spring is just like green
velvet. Many a time I have plunged my whole head in it. The birds know
it too, and always come there to drink. I sometimes find four or five of
them dipping in at once; it is a pretty sight to see them bathe; they
throw the water up under their wings until they drip, and then they are
hardly satisfied."

"Well," said Knops, "we have the supplying of that spring."

All the time they had been talking, Knops had been leading the way
through long passages and down steep steps, of which Leo's long legs had
to compass several at a stride.

Now they came to a low tunnel through which Leo had to creep for what
seemed to him miles. Strange to say, the weariness which so often
compelled him to rest or doze seemed to be leaving him. He felt an
altogether new impulse, a desire to explore these recesses, and a great
respect for Knops's learning also made him desirous of conversation,
which was something he had always avoided by answering questions in the
shortest possible way.

The tunnel was not only long and low, but it was dripping with moisture,
and the air oppressive with what seemed to be steam. Leo heard wheezing
and groaning sounds, which, though not frightful, were very peculiar,
and then the thump-thump, as of engines.

Very glad was he when the tunnel opened into another large cavern, at
the bottom of which was a lake. He could not have seen this had it not
been for the electric fluid which blazed like daylight from a great
globe overhead. On the margin of the lake were all kinds of hydraulic
machines, small as toys, but of every conceivable form; derricks and
wheels and screws and pumps, and all under the management of busy little
elves, who panted and puffed and tugged at ropes and wheels and pipes as
they worked, and kept up a constant chant not unlike the song of the
wind on a stormy night.

Leo watched them intently. Once in a while one restless little sprite
would turn a hose upon his companions, when the chant would stop long
enough for the rest to dip him head and heels into the lake, which had a
very quieting effect. Leo noticed great numbers of pipes running up the
sides of the cavern in all directions, but Knops soon opened the door of
what he called "the model-room," and here were new wonders displayed.




CHAPTER VI


The model-room of the elves' water-work department was a grotto of
salt--glittering, dazzling, sparkling, and flashing--divided into two
equal parts, or as if a huge shelf had been placed across it.

On the top of the shelf was a tiny park or forest, with all the natural
differences of the ground exactly represented by grasses, plants,
flowers, rocks, and trees, living and growing, but on a scale so small
that Leo was forced to use a microscope to properly enjoy its beauty.
Even the herbage was minute, and the trees no larger than small ferns,
but as his eyes grew accustomed to the glass he was amazed to find the
hills and dales of his home here reproduced in the most familiar manner.

It was truly an exquisite scene. Field upon field dotted with daisies,
woodland as dense and wild as untrained nature leaves it, and hill upon
hill clambering over one another, all so minute and yet so real, and
dashing down from the tiny mountains was a stream of foaming water,
winding about and gathering in from all sides other tributary brooks,
so small that they would hardly have floated a good-sized leaf.

And now Leo understood the meaning of it all, as he looked underneath
the shelf where tiny pumps and rams were forcing up the water for this
stream.

Knops touched a spring and set a new series of wheels in motion, when,
instantly, a gushing fountain flowed up in a small stone basin beneath a
rustic cross; then a little lake appeared, on which were sailing small
swans; and finally a rushing, roaring flood started some mill-wheels and
almost threatened destruction to the tiny buildings upon its banks.

"This," said Knops, "shows you how we use the power of our reservoirs,
but it can give you no idea of the immense trouble we have in laying
pipes for great distances. Some of our elves find it so difficult that
they beg for other work, and many run off altogether and live
above-ground, inhabiting the regions of springs and brooks, and so
muddying them and filling them up with weeds that men let them alone,
which is just what they desire."

"Do fish ever clog your pipes?" asked Leo.

"Never. We have none in our lakes; the water is too pure and free from
vegetable matter for fish. It is doubly distilled. Taste it."

Leo took the glass which Knops offered, and confessed he had never
tasted anything more delicious.

"We sometimes force carbonic gas into mineral springs, but that, as well
as the salts considered so beneficial, is left to our chemists to
regulate. Paz, do you know anything about this?"

"Not much, Master Knops. I have seen iron in various forms introduced,
but think that is usually controlled by the earth's formation."

Leo sighed at his own ignorance, and vowed to study up these matters;
but Knops, seeing his look of dejection, asked, "How would you like a
bath?"

"Delightful. Where? Surely not in the lake; it looks so cold and glassy
I should not dare."

"Oh, no, no," laughed Knops. "Do you think I'd let you bathe in a
reservoir? Never! We are too cleanly for that, begging your pardon. Here
is our general bath. It's quite a tub, isn't it?"

"I should think so," said Leo, surveying quite a spacious apartment,
about which were pipes and faucets, clothes-lines and screens.

Here his friend left him, and he was glad to doff his garments for a
plunge. He found that he could make the water hot or cold at will, and
so luxurious was it that he would have stayed in any length of time had
not a crowd of elves come chattering in, and with whoop and scream
surrounded him. Though they could not see him, they were conscious of
some disturbing force in the water, and in an instant a lot of them had
scrambled on his back, and were making a boat of him. They pulled his
hair and his ears unmercifully, and because he swam slowly, with their
weight upon him, they whacked and thumped him like little pirates. But
he had his revenge, for with one turn he tumbled them all off, and
sprang from the bath, leaving them to squirm and squabble by themselves.

Laughing heartily at their antics, he rejoined Knops and Paz, whom he
found poring over some maps spread out before them.

"We have been discussing the length of a journey to the Geysers of
Iceland, also to the hot springs of the Yellowstone, but I am afraid
either would require too much time. Was your bath agreeable?"

"Very," said Leo, describing how he had been pummelled.

"Those were the fellows from the steam-rooms--stokers probably. Rough
enough they are. Do you care to have a glance at them at work?"

"Don't care if I do," said Leo, in his old drawling manner; then,
correcting himself, he added: "If it suits your convenience, I shall be
very happy to take a look."

"That is all it will be, I promise you," said Paz; "the heat is awful."

Leo thought as much when Knops, having tied a respirator over his mouth,
opened another door. Such a cloud of vapor puffed out that he could but
dimly discern what seemed to be a tank of boiling, bubbling water,
resting on a bed of soft coal, about which stark little forms were
dancing and poking with long steel bars until flames leaped out like
tongues of fire.

"Oh," said Leo, as he quickly turned from his place, "how do they endure
it? It is dreadful!"

"They are used to it; they all came from Terra del Fuego," replied
Knops, calmly. "And now, as a contrast to them, look in here."

A hut of solid ice presented itself. Long pendants of ice hung from the
ceiling, snow in masses was being formed into shapes of statue-like
grace by a company of little furry objects whose noses were not even
visible, and others were tracing out, on a broad screen of lace-like
texture, patterns of every star and leaf and flower imaginable.

Leo was so delighted that, although shivering, he could not bear to
leave them, but begged Knops to lend him a wrap.

Taking from a pile of furs in a corner several small garments, Paz
pinned them together and threw them over Leo's shoulders, and as he
continued to watch the beautiful work Knops explained its character.

"This is our place for working out designs for those who are unskilled
in frost-work. Frostwork is something too delicate for human hands, but
in it we excel. Have you never seen on your window-pane of a cold winter
morning the picture of a forest of pines, or sheets of sparkling stars
and crystals? I am sure you have. Well, we do all that work on your
windows, not with artificial snow and ice such as you see here, but by
dexterous management we catch the falling flakes and mould them to our
will, sometimes doing nothing more than spangling a sheet of glass, and
again working out the most elaborate and fantastic marvels of
embroidery. But in art our productions are almost endless. We color the
tiniest blades of grass and beds of strawberry leaves until the moss
upon which they rest look like velvet with floss needlework. We polish
the chestnuts till they appear as if carved of rosewood. We strip
thistles of their prickly coat, and use the down for pillows. The
milk-weed, as it ripens its silken-winged seeds, serves us for many
beautiful purposes. We tint the pebbles of a brook till they compare
with Florentine mosaics. We wreathe and festoon every bare old bowlder
and every niche made barren by the winds. Indeed, the list of our works
would fill a volume."

Leo listened and looked, though his feet were getting numb and his
fingers nearly frozen. Many a time he had seen just such cappings to
gate-posts and projections as were here being moulded, and just such
rows of pearly drops on a gable's edge; but when, as if to specially
please him, the busy workers carved a little snow maid winding a scarf
about her curly locks, he clapped his hands in admiration, making such a
noise that each little Esquimau dropped his tool in alarm.

"Gently! gently!" said Paz and Knops; "they are easily frightened.
Though they do not see you, their instinct is so fine that they can
nearly guess your presence."

"I am sorry if I have frightened them," said Leo. "Can't you say
something to soothe them? Tell them how lovely their things are. I long
to try and imitate them."

Knops said a few words in a language Leo did not comprehend, and the
little people gathered up their trowels again. But it was time to go,
and Leo had to follow his guides and leave the snow people with more
reluctance than anything he had yet seen.




CHAPTER VII


Knops now led Leo through so many places full of machines and
contrivances which the water-power kept active that he was glad when
they went up a long inclined plane, and came out into a wide gallery
lined with mother-of-pearl, and paved with exquisite sea-shells.

Here was a luxurious couch of beautiful feathers, the plumage of birds
he had never beheld, and he was not sorry to see Paz bringing out
another dozen of tarts for his refreshment. As he ate them, he asked of
Knops, who was peeling a lime, "Have you no women and children among
your elves?"

"Oh yes," said Knops, smiling; "but they are not to be found near our
workshops."

"Where, then, do they live?"

Knops put on an air of mystery as he replied: "I am not permitted to
reveal everything concerning us, dear Leo. Our private life is of no
public interest; but I may tell you that our children are bred entirely
in the open air. Many an empty bird's nest is used as an elf cradle, for
so highly do we esteem pure air, sunshine, and exposure as a means of
making our children hardy, that we even accustom them to danger, and let
them, like the birds, face the fury of the weather."

"And do they all work as you do?"

"They do, not at the same employments, nor is all our labor done by
hand, as you might suppose. The songs which you hear are not all sung by
birds or insects, the crying child has often a pretty tale whispered in
his ear to soothe his grief or passion, and your garden roses are
witness to many a worm in the bud choked by the hand of an elf. But we
have many tribes, and the habits of each are different. I do not conceal
that much trouble is made by some of them. But look at the Indians of
North America and the Afghans of Asia."

Leo was yawning again fearfully, when a little "turn, turn, turn," came
to his ears, and as Knops ceased speaking a band of elves, habited as
troubadours in blue and silver, with long white plumes in their velvet
caps, climbed over the balustrade and began to play on zithers.

The music was a gentle tinkle, not unlike a rippling brook, and appeared
to be in honor of Master Knops, who listened with pleased attention, and
dismissed them politely.

Then came a message for Knops. A council was awaiting his presence; so,
leaving Leo to Paz, with promise of a speedy return, he departed.

"How do you get about so fast?" asked Leo. Paz took from his pocket a
tiny pipe, curiously carved from a nut; then he opened a small ivory
box, showing Leo a wad of something which looked like raw cotton
sprinkled with black seeds.

"One whiff of this, as it burns in my pipe, and I can wish myself where
I please."

"Let me have a try," said Leo, taking up the pipe.

Paz smiled. "It would have no more effect upon you than so much
tobacco--not as much, probably, for tobacco makes you deathly sick, does
it not?"

"Yes," said Leo, listlessly, disappointed that he could not go to the
ends of the earth by magic.

Paz noticed the disappointment, and said, by way of diversion, "Where do
you like best to be?"

"At home I like the kitchen," said Leo, with a little shrug.

"Good! Come, then, to one of ours: we can be back by the time Master
Knops returns." So saying, he started off, and Leo followed.

Paz trotted down a winding staircase that made Leo feel as if he were a
corkscrew, and in a little while ushered him into a place where jets of
gas gave a garden-like effect, sprouting as they did from solid rock in
the form of tulips and tiger-lilies, but over each was a wire netting,
and from the netting were suspended shining little copper kettles and
pans of all sorts and shapes.

Busily bending over these was a regiment of cooks, but instead of paper
caps on their heads, each wore a white bonnet of ludicrous form, which
they could tip over so as to shield their faces from the heat. It gave
them a top-heavy appearance which was extremely funny.

In the centre of the kitchen was a long table, before which were seated
a number of elves testing each compound to see if it were properly
prepared, and examining the cooked dishes as they were brought in that
all should be served rightly.

"I had an idea," said Leo, "that elves and fairies lived on rose leaves
and honey, and that you never had to have things cooked."

"The truth is," answered Paz, "we do both; it all depends on what are
our employments, whether we are living in the wild wood or down in
these caverns. I would ask nothing better than to dine off honeysuckle
and a bird's egg, or fill my pockets with gooseberries; but I must adapt
myself to circumstances, and while toiling here have to share the more
solid food provided for us." As he said this he handed Leo a pudding of
about three inches in the round, iced on the top.

Leo swallowed it down with such zest that Paz asked him to dispense with
ceremony, and help himself to anything he saw. The tasting-table was
full of puffs and tarts, and in a twinkling Leo had eaten two or three
dozen of them. They were really so light and frothy that they were
hardly equal to an ounce of lollypops such as an ordinary child could
devour, but Paz cautioned him, telling him that the sweet was so
concentrated he might have a headache.

While he was doing this, Leo watched with interest the bringing in of
some squirrels and rabbits, skinned and ready to be roasted. It took six
elves to bear the weight of an ordinary meat dish on which these were;
then they trussed and skewered them, and put them in small ovens.

"How do you kill your game?" asked Leo.

"We trap everything, and then have a mode of killing the creatures
which is entirely painless."

By this time Knops would have returned, so Paz hurried Leo off, not,
however, without first filling his pockets with goodies. Up they
clambered, until it seemed as if they might reach the stars by going a
little farther, and now Leo was really so tired that when he sank down
on the feathery couch in the sea-shell corridor he was asleep before he
could explain to Knops the cause of his absence.

He must have slept a very long while--a time quite equal to an ordinary
night, if not longer--for when he awoke he was thoroughly rested and
refreshed, and ready for any exertion he might be called upon to make;
but he found himself entirely alone.

At first this did not affect him, for he supposed his elfin friends had
taken the opportunity to rest themselves, but after minutes lengthened
into hours he began to be uneasy. What should he do if they never came
back? How would he ever find his way out of these caverns? The thought
was frightful, and to relieve his fears he began to call. His calls
became shouts, yells, and yet no answer came; nothing but echoes
responded.




CHAPTER VIII


After a long and impatient listening the echoes of Leo's calls seemed to
prolong themselves into musical strains, which, faint and far away at
first, gradually came nearer and nearer.

Soft as the sighing of the wind was this elfin music, but swelling into
mimic bursts of harmony and clashing of small cymbals.

Leo leaned over the balustrade of the corridor, and gazed down into the
depths of a cavernous abyss. Instantly the space seemed filled with
sprites in every conceivable attire. Some were dressed in the
party-colored habits of court pages, some in royal robes of ermine,
others as shepherds with crooks, and again others as cherubs with gauzy
wings; but all were whirling like snow-flakes to the strains of the
music.

Leo looked in vain for Paz or Knops. Indeed, so many were the fantastic
forms, and so rapidly did they move, that it was like watching a
snow-storm, and this effect was heightened by misty wreaths, upon which
were borne aloft the more radiant members, who danced and flashed as
heat-lightning on the clouds of a summer's night. The light, instead of
being a bright glare, was soft and mellow, and fell from crescent-shaped
lanterns on the staffs of pages, who moved in a measured way among the
throng, producing a kaleidoscopic effect.

Leo watched them with eager eyes. Beautiful as the sight was, he yet was
oppressed with fear, for he knew not how to reveal himself to these
sportive beings, and he could not imagine how he should ever be released
from his imprisonment.

Suddenly the dancers fled as if pursued, the music became martial, and
the steady tramp of a host of elves was heard. They were clad in mail,
with helmets and shields of flashing steel, and armed with glittering
lances; half of them had blue plumes and half had crimson. And now began
their mimic warfare. Ranged line upon line, facing each other, with
shouts and drum beats and bugle blasts, they fell upon each other in the
fury of combat. Swords clashed, javelins were hurled, and the slain fell
in heaps; but still the leaders charged, and still the martial blasts
were heard; and over and over were repeated the manoeuvres of the
advance, the retreat, the parrying of blows, the redoubled ardor of
assault, until Leo's breath came short and hard with the excitement of
the scene. It seemed a veritable battle-field, and to add to the glamour
rays as of moonbeams, shone now and again clouded by the shadows of an
approaching storm.

Gradually the rage of the combatants subsided. Those who were able
withdrew with those of their companions who were disabled, leaving the
prostrate forms of the dead and dying.

And now the music portrayed the rising of the wind, the falling of rain,
the roar of thunder. This was succeeded by low, plaintive strains, as of
people weeping, and a party of elves in the garb of monks headed a
procession bearing lighted tapers and carrying biers, upon which they
placed the inanimate forms of the warriors. Slowly they paced about,
chanting in low tones, and constantly accompanied by the funeral dirge
of the musicians.

And now to Leo's almost overtaxed vision came a picture of a lonely
graveyard in the mountains, where the procession stopped. Even as he
looked it faded away; the sun streamed forth, shining upon a field of
grain where merry reapers swung their scythes and sang with glee. Trees
sprouted from fissures in the rock, birds flew about and perched
undismayed, and little hay-carts, piled high with their loads, came
creaking along, led by peasant elves, who were also seated on top of
their fragrant heaps of hay. Then the sun beamed upon a party of
drovers--elves in smock-frocks or blouses, driving flocks of sheep and
horned cattle, while the bleating of the sheep and the blowing of the
cattle were well imitated by the music. All this was succeeded by
vineyards, grape trellises, and arbors, with busy elves gathering the
fruit which hung in purple clusters, and beneath the arbors other elves
rattling castanets, beating tambourines, and dancing.

Again the scene changed. Snow fell; the birds disappeared; the tree
boughs were glittering with ice, and were bending over a wide field of
the same glassy substance. On it were elves in bright costumes, merrily
skating. They glided about, cutting curious figures, pausing to bend
and bow to each other, or to warm themselves at bonfires blazing on the
banks.

Then night came again, and the darkness was only broken by twinkling
stars. The music became softer and more plaintive; it sounded like
little flutes.

A church tower loomed up, and then a blaze of light issued from its
arched doors. Two by two, in white array, came forth the elves, and from
the floating veils Leo saw that it was meant to represent a bridal
procession. Garlands were on their arms, and ribbons fluttered from
their caps. Roses were strewn in their path.

Again, these were followed by a company of elves in the habit of nuns
and Sisters of Charity. The music became a hymn. The church grew dark
and vanished. The space filled again with shadowy forms, as if all the
little actors had poured in. The sound of their coming was like that of
a bevy of birds with wings fluttering. Suddenly a starry cross appeared;
it flashed and flamed with a light which was as if it were composed of
myriads of gems, and then a clear radiance streamed from it, revealing
the whole multitude of elves kneeling in devotion. This lasted but a
few moments, and again all was still and dark, and Leo was alone.

But he was no longer afraid. His mind was filled with the beautiful
scenes he had witnessed, his imagination stirred to activity. Why might
he not behold these things again as a reality, instead of only a
semblance of it? How grand it would be to travel and see novel and
beautiful sights, to learn also wonderful things! And as he quietly
thought, he heard the click, click of little boots, and Knops was beside
him, followed by Paz. Leo greeted them warmly.

"Did you suppose that we had deserted you?" asked Knops, sitting down by
his side on the couch as if exhausted.

"Yes, I was a little alarmed; it was so strange to find myself alone in
such a place, for of course I had no idea which way to turn or what to
do."

"You were so soundly asleep that I had not the cruelty to disturb you,
and it was necessary for Paz to go with me. From what you have witnessed
you may guess how we have been employed and how much we have had to
detain us; but you may rest assured that nothing would keep me from
finishing what I have undertaken. You have now had a Vision of Life and
a Vision of Labor, for such I call our two pantomimes. Am I wrong in
supposing that they have pleased you?"

"No, indeed," said Leo, quickly, his usual drawl giving place to a tone
of bright animation. "I thank you a thousand times for your
entertainment and instruction. I have been so pleased and delighted that
I can hardly express myself as I ought to do. I am afraid I seem a very
good-for-nothing fellow to you."

"Indeed you do not. Don't suppose I would waste time on a
good-for-naught. Paz can tell you what attracted me to you--can't you,
Paz?"

"Yes, sir; the Prince Leo's kindness of heart is the secret of his power
with us."

Leo blushed as he looked up and asked, "How did you know I was
soft-hearted?"

"By your kindness to animals and all living things. Ah! we are close
observers, are we not, Paz?"

"Necessarily, Master Professor."

"Our powers of observation have revealed to us many of the mysteries
which man longs to solve. There's the Gulf Stream, for instance. But you
are not up in science yet. No matter. You have time enough before you if
you will only apply yourself. Has anything you have seen made you
anxious to know more?"

"Oh, don't mention it!" exclaimed Leo. "I am so awfully ashamed of my
ignorance that I would do anything to get rid of it. I want to know all
about those curious things."

"Good! the seed is sown, Paz," said Knops, complacently, with the
nearest approach to a wink Leo had seen on his grave little countenance.
"Now you must rest again before we start for home."

Leo would have been very willing to do without more rest, remembering
his alarm, but he could not be so selfish as to deprive his companion of
it; so he at once assented, tempted to ask only that he might not be
left quite so long again alone. But fearing this would imply distrust,
and being really no coward, he said nothing. He was relieved, however,
to hear Knops command Paz to remain with him.




CHAPTER IX


Leo tried to go to sleep; but after doing everything he could think of,
such as imagining a flock of sheep jumping a fence, and counting a
hundred backward and forward, he gave it up as useless. All the strange
things he had seen would come back, and his eyelids were like little
spring doors that bobbed open in spite of his attempts to close them. As
they lifted for the hundredth time he saw Paz doubled up in a heap, with
his knees drawn up to his chin, his elbows resting on them, and his face
in his hands. He was intently watching Leo.

"Hallo!" said Leo, "can't you go to sleep either?"

"No need at present."

"Why not?"

"I was going through a formula in D."

"What under the sun is that?"

"Something relating to my pursuits. Don't trouble yourself to try and
find out everything. In my opinion Master Knops has crammed you too
hard. What do you say to my telling you a story or two?"

"Splendid! I'm ready when you are."

"No, you are not; you're hungry. You must have a bite first; what shall
it be? Oh, no matter; I'll get you something if you promise not to ask
any questions."

"All right," said Leo, inwardly cringing at the thought of stuffed
rats.

Paz was gone but a little while. When he came back he was carrying a
basket, from which he produced a small flask of a very sweet, fruity
sirup, a dish of something that looked like little fish swimming in
golden jelly--salt and savory Leo found them--and a sort of salad
garnished with tiny eggs. These were followed by nuts of a peculiar
flavor, and small fruits as exquisite to look at as they were delicious
to taste.

When Leo had done ample justice to all these things Paz looked relieved,
as if he had feared they might not suit.

"Never ate anything better in my life," said Leo.

"I am glad to hear it; tastes differ so. Now these things come from all
parts of the world--the fish from Spain, the eggs from Africa, the nuts
from Italy, the fruits from France, and the sirup from Portugal."

"Oh dear!" said Leo, wondering how their freshness was preserved.

"Yes, I suppose you have no idea of our canning business."

"None in the world."

"I presumed as much," said Paz, wisely, "nor am I going to bore you
with any more information."

Leo looked quite shocked.

"Oh, well," said Paz, profoundly, "there's a limit to all things, and
I'm not a Knops."

"But have you been to all parts of the world?" asked Leo.

"Oh, yes," answered Paz, carelessly. "I have wandered far and wide in my
time. Until I caught the diamond fever I was used as an envoy."

"Indeed!" said Leo, having but a faint idea of what an envoy was. "What
did you do?"

"I went on errands of importance."

"Who for, and where did you go?"

"I was sent generally to carry messages from our King to the Queen of
the Wind Fairies or the Herb Elves, or the Sylphs, sometimes to warn
them of trouble or danger, sometimes to tell them that imps were
rampaging or giants were about to make war, but oftener to inform them
of some plan for assisting man, or some good to be done for a child: in
these things we delight."

"How kind!" said Leo.

"Kindness has so much power, if people only knew it. But you are
waiting; I must not detain you." So, without further preface, thus began


PAZ'S STORY

"It was a time of trouble to mankind--a year of strange events, and yet
so stupid are ordinary mortals--begging your pardon--that none were
making preparations either to meet or to avoid disaster. The King of the
Kobolds had been negotiating with our King for the purchase of some
immense tracts of iron ore, and in the course of conversation said he
had received news from Italy that there would soon be a volcanic
outbreak, that the giants there were quarrelling fiercely, and had not
hesitated to declare that unless matters were arranged to suit them they
would bid Vesuvius pour forth its death-dealing fires.

"Now on the side of that well-known mountain were living some friends of
our King--two children, a girl and a boy, Tessa and Tasso, daughter and
son of an Italian peasant.

"In their little vineyard one day our King's son, an infant, was
swinging in his leafy cradle; it looked like a bird's nest, and so I
suppose they thought it, but a rude playmate of theirs tried to tear it
down from its airy height, and would have succeeded had not both Tessa
and Tasso resolutely opposed him.

"First they sought to make him stop by appealing to his feelings, asking
him how he would like to have his cottage ruined, his home desolated;
but at this he only mocked and jeered. Then they urged that birds had
the same right to live and rear their young as had human beings; which
having no more effect, they openly forbade his attempt, saying that the
ground was theirs, the birds were their friends, and they should defend
them. Blows followed, Tessa and Tasso bearing their part bravely, and
compelling the young ruffian to take himself off. Little did they know
whom they were defending.

"Our King heard of the occurrence, and vowed unending friendship; so
when the King of the Kobolds told him of the danger impending at
Vesuvius I was at once sent for to convey the information, and do what I
could to save the lives of Tessa and Tasso. It took but a whiff of my
pipe to bring me to the desired place, but so calm and bright and
peaceful was the scene that I found it hard to believe in the
threatening evil. Never had I seen a bluer sky reflected in a more
silvery mirror than were the clouds and bay of Naples that day. The
people were merry and careless, tending their cattle, gathering their
fruit, singing their songs, and as indifferent to their old enemy as if
he had never harmed them.

"How should I approach the object of my mission? how put fear into the
hearts of joyous innocence? Their father had bidden them go to the city
with a load of oranges. These were to be conveyed in large baskets, or
panniers, on the back of a faithful donkey. If I could keep them away
from home, delay them by some pretext from returning for at least a day,
I might aid them. So with this determination I proceeded to act.

"At every place or with every person to whom they offered their fruit I
whispered objections, asked if their prices were not very high, or if
the fruit were not picked too early. So well did I succeed that I had
nearly upset my own plans, for poor Tessa, becoming discouraged, wanted
to return home at once, but Tasso stoutly declared he would sell every
orange before going back--that his fruit was good and ripe, and it
should be appreciated. I was pained to see Tessa's tears, but what could
I do? Already thick smoke was pouring down the mountain's side, and so
many were the rumbling sounds that although these children were
accustomed to such disturbances, fears began to assail them.

"They were now well away from home, and had paused at the roadside to
eat their bread-and-cheese. People were becoming unusually numerous.
Excitement was prevailing, and Tessa saw with alarm women and children
hurrying past. At that moment a travelling carriage appeared. One could
see at a glance from its neat compactness that it was English. I put my
head in the window, and whispered something. At once a gray-haired lady
leaned out, and beckoned to Tessa, who tremblingly obeyed.

"'My child,' said the lady, kindly, 'I want some oranges. Can you give
them to me quickly? You know we have no time to spare.'

"'Yes, madame,' said Tessa. 'But what is the matter? You and every one
look so anxious.'

"Instantly, as she spoke, there was a terrible quivering of the earth,
which made every one shudder. The driver could scarcely hold his horses;
they plunged and reared and trembled.

"'Ah! we cannot wait,' said the lady; but seeing the terrified looks of
the children, she paused to ask, 'Are you children alone?'

"'Entirely so, signorina.'

"'And where are you going?'

"'Home, to the mountain.'

"'You cannot go there; it is too late.' Then with a sudden resolution
she turned to the maid beside her. 'We will take them with us; their
load is too heavy for them to get on fast enough. Quick! quick! Leave
your donkey; he is tired; every one is so frightened he will not be
stolen if he escapes. Come in here,' pushing open the carriage door.

"Tessa turned irresolutely to Tasso, who was also uncertain what to do;
but the tone was imperative; they were accustomed to obey. Crowds were
now jostling them; women were crying; children were pushed hither and
thither, their little toys trodden underfoot, more a grievance to them
than the quaking earth. With a regretful glance at the donkey, Tessa and
Tasso jumped into the carriage, which drove away as fast as the
frightened horses could get through the throng. Miles and miles away
they went until the horses could go no farther. Then they stopped for
the night at a little inn overflowing with strangers, where they heard
that Vesuvius was pouring forth lava, and where they could see the lurid
glare of its flames reddening the evening sky. They were saved. My
mission was fulfilled."

Paz stopped; but Leo was unsatisfied.

"And what became of them? Did they ever go home again? Were their father
and mother killed?"

"No; their parents escaped, but their home was buried in ashes. The
children were cared for by the English lady until it was safe to return.
All that was left them was the one poor donkey which, unharmed, strayed
back to the place of its past abode, and with it they began a trade in
lava which proved very remunerative."

"Trade in lava?" repeated Leo, inquisitively.

"Yes; the people pour melted lava in moulds before it cools, and so
fashion ornaments out of it--perhaps they also carve it. I know they
color it beautifully, for I have had to carry bracelets made of it to
various people with whom we are on friendly terms, and they were blue as
a bird's egg or turquoise."

"How curious!"

"No; they were not remarkable, not half as singular as coral
formations."

"What are they?"

"Don't tell me you know nothing of coral!"

"I believe I have seen it, but that is all."

"Coral is made by wonderful little animals who live and die in its cells
until their structures are big enough for islands; but I will leave that
to Knops: my plan is not to cram."




CHAPTER X


"Well," said Leo, "you are not going to stop, I hope."

"Oh no," said Paz, cheerfully, "I can spin yarns with any sailor. What
will you have now?"

"Something funny."

"I wish I could oblige you, but fun is not my strong point. I went from
Greenland to the South Seas one day in search of a laugh, but I failed
to find it; indeed I came near doing worse, for in getting into the hoop
of a native's nose-ring for a swing--just by way of a new sensation--I
forgot to make myself invisible, and he caught me, thought I was a
spider, and would have crushed me, had not a baby put out its little
hands in glee to play with me. I can assure you I was for a time averse
to trying new sensations."

"How did you get out of your scrape?"

"I travelled down that baby's back in a hurry, and hid in an ant-hill;
he poked about with his little black fingers for a quarter of an hour,
but he did not find me. Ah, those were the days of my youth!"

"Do you ever have anything to do with witches?"

"Mark my words, ghosts and witches live only in the imagination of silly
human beings. We useful people scorn them. Now imps might be said to
belong to the same family were it not for the proofs we have of their
existence. They are everlastingly getting children into trouble by
suggesting things to them they never would have thought of--"

"Such as what?"

"Do you suppose I am going to tell you? No, indeed; they can do it fast
enough for themselves. Persons who take too much wine are their most
constant companions; they pounce upon them and twitch and tease and
torment them until the poor wine-bibber trembles from head to foot. They
won't let him sleep or eat or think, and fairly drive him crazy. Oh,
imps are really to be dreaded! But I must now begin my second story."


PAZ'S SECOND STORY

"There was to be a grand birthday festival among the Fays, who inhabit
the tropics. The wind fairies had brought us news of it as well as
urgent invitations for our royal family to be present; but so deeply
engrossed was our King at that moment in supplying the oil wells of
Pennsylvania with petroleum that he could not absent himself. The Queen
never goes from home without her liege lord.

"The princes and princesses were all too young, and could not be allowed
to leave their lessons; so the regrets were inscribed on lotus leaves,
and sent by special messenger--a bird of the Cypselina family. He was a
great sooty-black fellow, with a tinge of green in his feathers,
strong, well able to fly, as his family generally do from America to
Asia. But the gift could not be intrusted to him. I was chosen as bearer
of that.

"Much discussion had taken place as to what this gift should be. It was
desirable that nothing ordinary should be offered, for the Fays are, as
a rule, fastidious. Gems they possess in abundance. Flowers are so
common that their beds are made of them. Their books are 'the running
brooks,' and their art treasures hang on every bough. The Queen had
woven a veil of lace with her own fingers; it was filmy and exquisite,
but my heart sank within me when she declared that nothing less than a
wreath of snow-flakes must accompany it. To obtain this wreath and carry
it to the Fays as a birthday gift was to be my duty.

"How should I accomplish it? I dared not suggest the difficulties, for
at once I should have been displaced, and another elf chosen for the
performance of this arduous task. Besides, if it could be accomplished
by any one, I must be that person, having always been unwilling ever to
allow difficulties to deter me from any duty. Pride of the right sort
is a great help. I went to the frost-workers and told them what I
wanted. They said they could imitate any flower; but the Queen had
expressly said that the wreath must be of snow-flakes. Now the fantastic
impulse of a snow-storm is well known, but it is not so generally known
that there is a scientific accuracy even in the formation of
snow-flakes."

Here Paz stopped, shook his head, smiled, and said, "I do believe I am
as bad as Knops."

"Please go on," said Leo.

"Well, you must forgive me, for I shall have to tell you that the
frost-workers said there were no less than a thousand different forms
among the crystals of which snow-flakes are made.

"Now how could I tell what pattern to choose? It was impossible; so I
told them I should have nothing to do with the pattern. 'Make the
wreath,' said I, 'box it, and I will carry it, or die in the attempt.'

"They did so. The crystals were more beautiful than diamond stars. They
put it in a solid square of ice, which was packed in charcoal and straw,
and then cased in cocoa matting. To this I attached cords, and slung it
about my neck. The veil, in a satin case half an inch square, was in my
wallet.

"I started in the track of the marten that carried the despatches, but
changed my course many times, striving to keep in cold currents.
Finding, however, that as I neared the Equator this was impossible, I
took to the sea, and went down to its highway. Of course I had on
garments impervious to water--that is to say, water-proof--and my wallet
was as dry as a bone; but not being in the habit of travelling under
ocean, my eyes were a little affected by the salt, and I became
conscious that I was being followed.

"Fishes, you know, are not down on the hard rocky bed of the sea, and I
had passed the homes of mermen, so I was puzzled to know who could be my
enemy. I would not so much as betray my fears by looking behind, and I
had enough to do in looking forward, for at every other step there were
fissures which had to be leaped, deep abysses to be avoided, chasms to
be crossed, and sands which might ingulf me.

"Still, as I struggled on, I could hear the sound of other feet
following mine, now nearing me, now farther away, as my speed asserted
itself. It made me shiver to think what might be my fate, and I can
honestly say that the thought of failing to fulfill my errand bore as
heavily upon me as the sense of personal dangers; for it is a great
thing to be trusted, to be looked upon as honest and true, and deemed
capable of transacting affairs even of small moment.

"But this was not a trifling matter. The neglect to deliver this gift
could bring about serious trouble. The Fays were our friends, and
friendship is never to be slighted. It is not kind to allow selfish
matters to stand in the way when we are bidden to a joyous celebration,
and had not our King felt that the claims of man were more urgent than
those of the Fays he would have attended this feast in person. As he
could not, the gift was to represent him. I trust I have made it clear
to you."

"Quite so," said Leo. "But I am crazy to know who was following you."

"So was I at that time, and I resolved to get into the first empty shell
I could find where I might hide. There was soon an opportunity. A heap
of cast-off shells presented itself, and I popped into an enormous crab
cover, where I waited for my unknown companion to overtake me.

"As the steps came near I peeped carefully out, and what should I see
but an ugly South American river-wolf, about three and a half feet long,
with a short, close fur of a bright ruddy yellow. I could not imagine
what had brought him after me, but the ways of the wicked are often
difficult to explain. There he was, and if once he could get me within
reach I was lost. On he came, snuffing and barking like a dog, making my
very hair stand on end. I waited for him to pass, but I think his
instinct must have told him I had paused, for he began to turn over the
shells with his ugly nose, as if searching for something. My single
weapon was a small dirk, as we kill only in self-defence.

"Bracing myself against the wall of my slight shelter, I stood in
expectation of an assault, and I had not long to wait. With an angry cry
he rushed upon me. His size seemed to me enormous, but my little knife
was a trusty blade, and with a great effort I drew it across his
dreadful throat.

"I will not dwell on these particulars. I had overcome my enemy. I
resumed my journey, and soon came to a region of the most beautiful
water-plants growing in greatest profusion. I knew by these that I was
not far from the home of the Fays.

"I neglected to tell you that before starting out the chief frost-worker
had given me a small vial of clear liquid, which, in case of any danger
from heat, I was to use for the preservation of the snow-wreath. In my
tussle with the wolf this vial must have become partly uncorked, for I
became aware of a strong odor diffusing itself about me, and an
overpowering sleepiness getting the better of me. I had drawn the bottle
out, recorked it, and put it away again; but this was no sooner done
than I fell in a sleepy swoon on the roadside.

"I have no idea how long I slept: there is neither day nor night down
there, only a dim sort of twilight, which at times becomes illuminated
by the phosphorescent rays of fishes, or the fitful gleam of ocean
glow-worms. I was startled from my swoon by a rattling, dragging noise,
and came very near being scooped up by an uncouth-looking iron thing
which was attached to a cable. It flashed upon me, stupid as I was, that
this must be a deep-sea dredge; and as I was not at all inclined to be
hauled up on shipboard, in a lot of mud and shells as a rare specimen of
the sea, I got as quickly out of the way as possible.

"But it was now time for me to get on _terra firma,_ as Knops would say,
or dry land, as I prefer to put it. Among the beautiful vermilion leaves
or tentacles of the curious half animals and half flowers I observed a
vine not unlike the honeysuckle, only of tougher fibre. On this I
clambered up to take a look about me, and discovered that I was much
nearer shore than I supposed. Hardly had I done this when, to my horror,
I saw the arms of an octopus stretching towards me, its horid beak
projecting from between its ugly eyes. More alarmed than at any previous
danger, I strove to retain my self-command, but the fearful creature was
already touching me. Remembering, with wits sharpened by distress, the
effect of the drug in my little bottle, I drew out the cork, and making
a sudden lunge, dashed the ether in its face--if you can so call any
part of its disgusting head.

"Instantly it lost all power over its members, curled up in a writhing,
wriggling mass, and I with a bound reached the sandy shore."




CHAPTER XI


Paz, taking a long breath, and looking at Leo to see the effect of his
narrative, went on:

"It was quite time for me to be on land, for in the moonlight, which
bathed everything in silver, were to be seen troops of fays hurrying to
the festival. Some sailed along the shore in mussel shells, others were
on the backs of black swans whose bills looked like coral, and others
were skimming along with their own gauzy wings, or lolling luxuriously
on the feathers of flamingoes.

"I joined the ones on foot, and with them reached the plantation, which
presented a scene of great brilliancy. Gold and silver ferns hedged the
rose-leaf path which led to the bower of beauty; on every leaf were
myriads of fireflies, and glowing from higher plants bearing many-hued
flowers were Brazilian beetles. Plunging into the thicket, I made a
hasty toilet at a brook-side, and then rejoined the advancing guests.
The bell-bird could be heard clearly summoning our approach, while
sweetest warblers poured out their melody. The throne was formed of the
Santo-Spirito flowers, and beneath the wings of its dove-like calyx was
the lovely fay in whose honor was all this gayety, surrounded by her
young companions.

"Approaching quickly, I unstrapped my package, took the satin case from
my pocket, and fell upon my knees in the customary manner; perceiving
which, the beautiful being motioned for me to rise, and with the most
unassuming grace received my burden. As she unfolded the lace from its
silken cover a cry of delight escaped her, and shaking out its gossamer
folds she threw it over her head. With all the care I could use I had
laid bare the block of ice, which shone like silver in the moonbeams,
and now with a sudden blow of my dagger I cleft the ice, and lifted out
the wreath, placing it as I did so on the head of the fay.

"There was no time for ceremony. Had I waited to pass it from hand to
hand of the attendants it would have been gone. There was a hush over
all as I crowned the fay. Each snowy star stood out in perfect beauty.
She alone could not see its peerless charm. But I had provided for this.
Chipping off a thin layer of the ice-block, I laid a silver-lined leaf
from a neighboring bough behind it, and held this mirror before the
fay's wondering eyes. Never have I seen anything so beautiful or so
fleeting. Even as I held the reflected image before its reality, drops
as of dew began falling over the lace, and in a moment the wreath was
gone.

"Like a little child robbed of a treasure, the look of wonder and
delight gave place to one of bewildered disappointment. She turned a
questioning gaze upon me.

"'Alas!' said I, 'most sovereign lady, 'tis not in elfin power to
reproduce this wreath; it was the emblem of human life, as brief, as
fleeting. My Queen desired me to bring it. I have met with great
difficulties in so doing, but none has saddened me like your
disappointment.'

"With eager sweetness she bade her cavaliers respond. They assured me of
her gratitude and delight, and bade me welcome. The warbling birds again
started their liquid strains, and a mazy dance began which resembled a
fluttering band of snowy butterflies tangled in a silvery web. Slipping
off, I came to the side of a lake on which were boats and Indian canoes
of the moccasin flower. Here I rested, watching the measures of the
dance, and taking little refreshing sips of cocoa-nut milk. A
swift-winged night-hawk having been placed at my disposal, I had a safe
and speedy journey home."

"And is that all?" inquired Leo.

"Yes," said Paz, "for here comes Master Knops."

Leo thanked Paz warmly, and turned towards Knops, who, with hat in hand,
stood gravely waiting to speak.

"Is it the wish of Prince Leo to make further explorations, or will he
now return to his father and his home?"

With some self-reproach at having quite forgotten that he had a father
and a home, Leo said he was ready to return.

"And may his humble servants, the distinguished savant Paz and the
Master Professor Knops, have the pleasant assurance of Prince Leo's
satisfaction at this visit?" asked Knops, still in the most formal
manner.

"I cannot thank you half as I should like to do," replied Leo, "but I
hope to be able to show you that your entertainment and instruction have
not been wasted."

"Come, then, we will go."

"Adieu," said Paz. "Look out for me some fine frosty night when you are
skating. You may think you see some of your furry friends startled out
of their winter sleep, but just give a whistle, and say 'Paz,' and I
will be with you."

"Good-bye," said Leo. "I hope it will be soon that I shall see you."

But Knops was off and he had to follow. Away they went, climbing and
clambering, slipping and sliding, crawling and jumping, through forests
of coal, over mines of iron, and beside walls glittering with silver.
Presently, however, Leo found himself where they had started from, viz.,
his own cellar door, and Knops preparing to leave him. Dropping his
ceremonious manner, he said:

"I am sorry to bid you farewell, my dear boy; I have become heartily
interested in you and your welfare. The only souvenir I have to offer is
this little compass; it is a mere trifle, but the needle has the power
of finding precious metals. Learn how to make it useful. Good-bye."

Leo found himself alone. He pushed open the cellar door, and mounted the
steps to the kitchen. It was early morning, and the cocks were crowing
lustily. The one old deaf woman was striving to make a fire burn, but
the wood was wet and she found it difficult.

"Where are all the people?" shouted Leo in her ear, for he well knew her
infirmity.

"Gone--all gone," she answered.

"And my father, where is he?"

"In bed yet, and he had better stay there, for I've no breakfast for
him."

Leo suspected what was the matter. Taking a basket from a peg, and a
bowl from the dresser, he went out into the fields. Everything was
sodden with the rain, but the birds were singing with all their might;
those that were not were repairing the ravages of the storm.

"Even the birds are busy at their nests," thought Leo; "everything,
every creature, has its work to do. Shall I alone be idle? Never."

Putting aside the wet boughs, which sprinkled him well, he sought an old
tree-trunk for its store of honey. Filling his bowl with this, and his
basket with fresh eggs, he returned to the monastery. Here he helped the
old woman with the fire, and between them they soon had the kettle
steaming. The tray with his father's breakfast was made ready, and with
his own hands he took it to him.

"Leo, my long-lost son," exclaimed Morpheus at sight of him, "where have
you spent the night?"

"In Dream-land," was Leo's reply; and then, without preface, he asked of
his parent the privilege of looking over his accounts, and doing what he
could to assist him in his difficulties. Morpheus smiled indifferently,
but gave Leo his keys, with permission to do as he pleased.

All the morning Leo puzzled his brain examining books and papers, with
little result. Then he saddled his horse, rode into the nearest town,
and sought a lawyer whom his father knew. To him he related their
grievances, telling him that he was sure their property, well managed,
could be made to yield handsome returns, and informing him of his
wonderful compass, which could indicate the presence of minerals. The
lawyer was not very sanguine, but he put a young clerk in charge of the
matter, who, becoming much interested, looked up his residence at the
monastery, and went to work with diligence. Under his guidance Leo
studied and strove to regain their former prosperity. Laborers were
eager to resume their duties as soon as they saw the prospect of
payment. Crops became abundant. By the aid of Leo's compass--which was
only a scientific novelty yet to be discovered--mines were opened and
vast wealth displayed.

And Leo had become a different lad. No longer idle and careless, with
slow and lingering tread, he was now alert, vigorous, and manly. The
servants were glad to return and obey his wishes. The monastery was
rebuilt and repaired. Lawns and gardens were in trim array. Warm
tapestries and curtains lined the bare walls and windows, while ivy and
rose clambered without.

Even Morpheus, roused from his invalidism, rewrote his poems, sent them
to a publisher, and favored all his friends with copies bound in blue
velvet, with his monogram in silver on the covers. His pride in his son
became so great that at Leo's request he undertook to renew the library,
and the time that he had spent in bed was devoted to the step-ladder. It
was in this way he discovered that their name had been incorrectly
written. For his own part he did not care to make any change, but he
insisted that Leo should use the portion omitted, which an old copy of
the Doomsday-book had revealed to him, and sign himself in full, "Leo
Sans Lazybones."

Christmas was approaching; not a green Christmas, but an icy, snowy,
frozen one, with holly wreaths on his shoulders and a plum-pudding in
his hands.

The monastery was full of guests, relatives of Morpheus. These guests
were all poor--in one way--but they had a wealth of their own which made
them delightful to Leo. They were poets and painters and scribblers, and
as merry as larks; and as they all admired each others productions,
there was no end of cheerful nonsense. The children, however, were the
brightest of all. Each child was as merry as it was lovely, and the
painters were almost frantic in their efforts to make Christmas cards of
them, while the poets cudgelled their brains for rhymes.

To prevent too much industry in that way, Leo had induced them all to
put on their skates on Christmas-eve, and glide over the frozen ponds,
while he made ready the tree which stood in the great hall.

It was an immense spruce, all powdered with silvery fringe, and Leo had
only to tie on the little gilt tags numbered to correspond with the
packages of gifts, which were heaped on surrounding tables, and fasten
on the candles of red and blue wax. When this was done he put on his own
skates, for it was yet too early to light the tree, and away he went
skimming after the shouting, laughing crowd of friends and relatives.

Suddenly a squirrel darted from its hole, and went scudding across the
river. Leo started in pursuit, giving a low whistle. Instantly it
stopped, sat upon its haunches, threw off its skin, and out stepped Paz.

"Good-evening, my dear Prince, good-evening; we are well met; just in
time to exchange Christmas greetings. I have been looking for you
lately, but you seemed always so occupied that there was no chance for
me. You have no idea how pleased Knops is to hear of your prosperity. He
has sent for me a dozen times lately merely to express his satisfaction;
and he wants me to ask a favor of you, which I know already you will
grant."

"Anything in my power, dear Paz," replied Leo, eagerly.

"Of course; and we know how good a use you make of your power. Times
are greatly changed. You are benefiting every one about you; I hear it
on all sides. We are proud to be your friends. All that Knops asks is
that in clearing up your property, and cutting down all the rank growth
of weeds, you will spare a patch of wild-flowers here and there, and all
the empty birds' nests. Leave these for the use of our children, and we
will be greatly obliged."

"But that is a mere nothing; can I in any other way serve you?" asked
Leo.

"No," said Paz, "not that I know of. I am on my way now to see some new
minerals supposed to be similar to those of the moon. I haven't much
faith in them."

"How about the diamonds?"

"Don't mention them. I shall never try my hand at those again; and you,
if you are wise, will be contented to let Nature remain her own chemist.
Adieu. A very merry Christmas to you."

"The same to you," echoed Leo, but Paz was already muffled in his furs
and running rapidly away.




PHIL'S FAIRIES




CHAPTER I

THE WIND HARP


"Oh, Lisa, how many stars there are to-night! and how long it takes to
count just a few!" said a weak voice from a little bed in a garret room.

"You will tire yourself, dear, if you try to do that; just shut your
eyes up tight, and try to sleep."

"Will you put my harp in the window? there may be a breeze after a
while, and I want to know very much if there is any music in those
strings."

"Where did you get them, my darling,"

"From Joe."

"Joe, the fiddler?"

"Yes; he brought me a handful of old catgut; he says he does not play
any more at dances; he is so old and lame that they like a younger
darkey who knows more fancy figures, and can be livelier. He _is_ very
black, Lisa, and I am almost afraid of him; but he is so kind, and he
tells me stories about his young days, and all the gay people he used to
see. Hark! that is my harp; oh, Lisa, is it not heavenly?"

"I don't know," said poor, tired Lisa, half asleep, after her long day's
work of standing in a shop.

Phil's harp was a shallow box, across which he had fastened some violin
strings rather loosely; and Phil himself was an invalid boy who had
never known what it was to be strong and hardy, able to romp and run, or
leap and shout. He had neither father nor mother, but no one could have
loved him more or have been any gentler or more considerate than was
Lisa--poor, plain Lisa--who worked early and late to pay for Phil's
lodging in the top of the old house where they lived, and whose whole
earthly happiness consisted in making Phil happy and comfortable. It was
not always easy to do this, for Phil was a strange child; aside from the
pain that he suffered, he had odd fancies and strange likings, the
result of his illness and being so much alone. And Lisa could not always
understand him, for she lived among other people--rough, plain, careless
people, for whom she toiled, and who had no such thoughts as Phil had.

From the large closet that served as her bedroom Lisa often heard Phil
talking, talking, talking, now to this thing, now to that, as if it were
real and had a personality; sometimes his words were addressed to a
rose-bush she had brought him, or the pictures of an old volume she had
found on a stall of cheap books at a street corner, or the little
plaster cast that an image-seller had coaxed her to purchase. Then,
again, he would converse, with his knife and fork or plate, ask them
where they came from, how they were made, and of what material. No
answer coming, he would invent all sorts of answers, making them reply
in his own words.

Lisa was so used to these imaginary conversations that they did not seem
strange to her.

Phil had, too, a passion for music, and would listen intently to the
commonest strains of a hand-organ, and Lisa had given him a little toy
harmonica, from which he would draw long, sweet tones and chords with
much satisfaction.

Old Joe, who blackened boots for some of the lodgers, had heard the
child's attempts at music, and had brought his violin and played for
him. One day, happening to leave it for a while on the window-ledge,
Phil's quick ear had detected a low vibration from the instrument. This
circumstance, and something he had read about a wind harp, had given him
the wish to make one--with what success he was anxious to find out, when
Lisa laid it in the open window for him.

A soft south wind was blowing, and, as Phil spoke, it had stirred the
loose strings of the rude Aeolian harp, and a slight melodious sound had
arisen, which Phil had thought so beautiful. He drew his breath even
more softly, lest he should lose the least tone, and finding that Lisa
was really asleep, propped himself up higher on his pillows, and gazed
out at the starlit heavens.

He often talked to the stars, but very softly and wonderingly, and
somehow he could never find any answers that suited him; but to-night,
as the breeze made a low soft music come from his wind harp, filling him
with delight, it seemed to him that a voice was accompanying the melody,
and that the stars had something to do with it; for, as he gazed, he saw
a troop of little beings with gauzy wings fluttering over the
window-ledge, and upon the brow of each twinkled a tiny star, and the
leading one of all this bevy of wee people sang:

  "Come from afar,
  Here we are! here we are!
  From you Silver Star,
  Fays of the Wind,
  To children kind."

"How lovely they are!" thought Phil. "And so these really are fairies. I
never saw any before. They have wings like little white butterflies, and
how tiny their hands and feet, and what graceful motions they have as
they dance over my harp! They seem to be examining it to find out where
the music comes from; but no, of course they know all about it. I wonder
if they would talk to me?"

"Of course we will be very glad to," said a soft little voice in reply
to his thoughts.

"I was afraid I would frighten you away if I spoke," said Phil, gently.

"Oh no," replied the fairy who had addressed him; "we are in the habit
of talking to children, though they do not always know it."

"And what do you tell them?" asked Phil, eagerly.

"All sorts of nice things."

"Do you tell them all they want to know?"

"Oh no," laughed the fairy, with a silvery little voice like a
canary-bird's. "We cannot do that, for we do not know enough to be able
to: some children are much wiser than we. I dare say you are."

"Indeed I am not," said Phil, a little sadly; "there are so many things
that puzzle me. I thought that perhaps, as you came from the stars, you
knew something of astronomy."

"What a long, long word that is!" laughed the fairy again. "But we are
wind fairies; and yet the Father of the Winds is called Astraeus: that
sounds something like your long word, does it not?"

"It sounds more like Astrea, and that means a star."

"Why, where did you learn so much?"

"I saw it in a big book called a dictionary."

"Another long word. Doesn't your head ache?"

"Sometimes, not now. I have not any books now, except picture-books."

"Did you ever have?"

"Oh yes; when papa was living we had books and pictures and many
beautiful things; but there was a great fire, and all sorts of trouble,
and now I have only Lisa. But Lisa does not understand as papa did; it
was he showed me that word in the dictionary."

"Oh, don't say that great ugly word again! Shall I tell my friends to
make some more music?"

"Yes, please."

The wind fairy struck her little hands together, and waved her wings. In
a moment the little white troop danced over the strings of the harp, and
brought out sweet, wild strains, that made Phil nearly cry for joy. They
seemed to be dancing as they did it, for they would join hands and sway
to and fro; then, parting, they wound in and out in graceful,
wreath-like motions, and the tiny stars on their foreheads flashed like
diamonds. Up and down they went, the length of the strings, then across,
then back again; and all the time the sweet wild music kept vibrating.
"How lovely! how lovely!" said Phil, when there was a pause.

"I am so glad you like it! we often make music for people, and they
hardly hear it," said the fairy.

"I do not see how they can help hearing," said Phil.

"Why, I'll tell you how: we frequently are in the tree-tops, or whirling
about low bushes; every soft breeze that blows has some of our music in
it, for there are many of us; and yet very few people pay attention to
these sounds."

"When the wind screams and roars in winter, is it you, then, who does
that too?" asked Phil.

"Oh no," said the fairy, rustling her wings in some displeasure. "We are
of the South Wind only, and have no such rude doings; I hope I may never
have any work to do for the North Wind, he is so blustery. Now it is
time you went to sleep, and we cannot stay longer, for if the moon rises
we cannot see our star-beams, and might lose our way. We will just fan
you a little, and you will soon be in Dream-land."

As she spoke, Phil saw her beckon to her troupe, and they all flocked
about him, dazzling him so with their starry coronets that he was forced
to shut his eyes, and as he closed them he felt a gentle wafting as of a
hundred little wings about his forehead, and in another moment he was
asleep.




CHAPTER II

PHIL'S NEW FRIEND


Old black Joe had not always been either a boot-black or fiddler. In his
youthful days he had been a house-servant, and had prided himself on his
many accomplishments--his dexterity at dinners, his grace at evening
parties, the ease and unconcern with which he could meet embarrassing
emergencies at either. But times had changed for him: his old employers
had died, a scolding wife had made his home unhappy, he had lost the
little money he had saved, and he was no longer the bright, cheerful
young fellow he had been. Age and rheumatism had made him crusty; but
beneath the outward manner, which sometimes was very cross, he had a
tender heart and a pitiful nature.

Of late years he had picked up enough for his support in the many little
ways incident to city life. He could whitewash, sweep chimneys, run on
errands--or rather walk on them, and that, too, very slowly. He
shovelled snow and carried coal, sawed wood and helped the servants at
whose homes he was employed.

His occupations took him about to many houses, but he always irritated
the people with whom he came in contact by invariably assuring them that
their masters and mistresses were not of the real stuff that ladies and
gentlemen of _his_ day were made of; that fine feathers did not make
fine birds; that people nowadays were all alike, and had no manners.

He made one exception only, in favor of a maiden lady whose parents he
had known, whose servants were kind to him, and whose retired and
dignified way of living quite suited his fastidiousness.

This was a Miss Schuyler; and nothing pleased Joe more than to have this
one person, whom he regarded with unqualified admiration, send for him
to bestow the monthly allowance she was in the habit of giving him. On
the day that he expected this summons he always gave an extra touch to
his toilet, exchanged his torn coat for a patched one, his slouch hat
for a very much worn beaver adorned with a band of rusty crape, and out
of the pocket of his coat, but never upon his hands, was to be seen an
old pair of yellow kid gloves.

In the course of Joe's wanderings he had chanced to, hear of the
invalid boy Phil, who liked to listen to his fiddle, and it did not take
long to strike up an acquaintance between them.

Often on a rainy day, or when work was dull, Joe would spend an hour or
two with Phil, relieving his loneliness, soothing his pain, and cheering
him with his music and his rambling talk about "old times" and the
people he had seen.

It was the latter part of May, and had been very warm; but Joe buttoned
up his best coat and donned his beaver, for his pay was due at Miss
Schuyler's. She lived in a large house, rather imposing and handsome,
and in the gayest part of the city; but she was by no means imposing or
gay in her own person. A little figure, simply dressed, a kind face
without beauty, a gentle manner, and a certain gracious kindliness and
familiarity had endeared her to Joe. On this day she was not, as usual,
sitting with her work in the library, where the sun poured in on the
bronzes and richly bound volumes, on the old engravings and the frescoed
ceiling--for Miss Schuyler liked light and warmth and color--but she was
away up in the top of the house, directing her maids in the packing of
blankets and woollens and furs, preparatory to leaving her house for the
summer. Joe had mounted stair after stair seeking her, and by the time
he reached her was quite out of breath; this, and the odor of camphor
and cedar-wood, made him sneeze and cough until Miss Schuyler said to
one of the maids in a whisper, "The poor old soul would have been black
in the face had he ever been white."

To Joe himself she said, very kindly, "My good old friend, you need not
have taken so much trouble to see me; I could have come down to you."

"Laws, Miss Rachel, I knew you was busy, and nuffin's ever a trouble to
do for you; I go to the tops of houses often--just come from one where
poor Phil's a-groanin' with pain. That chile'll die if somebody don't do
suthin' fur him soon."

"What child?" asked Miss Schuyler, whose tender point was her love of
children. "You haven't any grandchildren, Joe, have you?"

"No, Miss Rachel, de Lord nebber trusted me with any chil'en."

"Well, who is Phil?" said Miss Schuyler, absently; adding, to one of
her maids, "Take care of that afghan; wrap it in an old linen sheet; it
was knitted by a very dear friend, and I do not want it moth-eaten; I
had rather lose a camel's-hair shawl." Which evidence or regard seemed
very extravagant to the girl who was obeying instructions, but which Joe
thought he appreciated.

"Haven't I tole ye about Phil, Miss Rachel?"

"I don't know. I don't think you have. But come down to my room, Joe,
and then I can listen to your story."

Giving a few more directions, Miss Rachel led the way to a lovely sunny
room, with flower-baskets in the windows, soft blue draperies, and
delicate appointments. Seating herself at a desk and pointing Joe to a
chair, upon which the old man carefully spread a silk handkerchief lest
his clothes should soil the blue cushions, she counted out the money due
him, and placed it in an envelope, saying as she did so, "Now tell me
about that child."

"It's a white chile, Miss Rachel."

"Well, I like white children, Joe, though I must confess the little
colored ones are much more interesting," said Miss Rachel, smiling.

"I thought you liked my people, Miss Rachel; but this poor Phil's a
gentleman's son, very much come down far's money goes. He is too young
to know much about it, but the girl who takes care of him was brought up
in his family, and she says they was well off once."

"But what about the boy?" asked Miss Schuyler, a little impatiently.

"He's a great sufferer, but he's a wonderful chile. He loves to have me
play for him, and then he tells me the thoughts that come to him from
the music. I's no great player, Miss Rachel," said Joe, modestly, "but
you'd think I was, to hear him talk. He sees fairies and he dreams
beautiful things, and his big brown eyes look as if he could a'most see
'way up into heaven. Oh, he's a strange chile; but he'll die if he stays
up in that garret room and nebber sees the green fields he's so hungry
for."

Miss Rachel's eyes were moist, but she took a card and pencil from her
desk. "Where does he live--in what street and what number?"

"I'm sorry, Miss Rachel--You jess go up the Avenue, and turn down the
fourth or fifth street, and up a block or two, and it's the fust house
with a high stoop and green shutters. I allers go in the alleyway, so I
forgit numbers."

Miss Schuyler bit her lip to keep from smiling, thought a moment,
scribbled a memorandum, rang the bell, and gave some more directions;
left the room, and came back with her bonnet on. "Can you show me the
way to Phil's house, Joe?"

"Course I can, Miss Rachel," replied the old man, delighted that his
words had aroused his listener's sympathies.

"It's not very far; he's all alone, 'cause Lisa has to be away all day.
And I shouldn't wonder"--here he dropped his voice to a whisper--"if
sometimes he was hungry; but he'd nebber say so."

This latter remark made Miss Schuyler bid Joe wait for her in the hall,
while she went to a closet, found a basket, in which she placed a snowy
napkin, some biscuit, some cold chicken, and a few delicious little
cakes. In her pocket she put a little flask of some strong cordial she
had found of service on her many errands of charity.

How proud Joe was to be her escort! but how meekly he walked behind the
lady whose footsteps he thought were those of a real gentlewoman, the
only one to whom he would accord this compliment, although he passed
many elegant dames in gay attire.

The little gray figure, with its neat, quiet simplicity, was his
embodiment of elegance, for somehow Joe had detected the delicate
perfume of a sweet nature and a loving heart--a heart full of Christian
charity and unselfishness.

They walked for some distance, and the day was so warm that Miss
Schuyler moderated her usual rapid pace to suit the old man's feebler
steps. Off the Avenue a long way, up another, down a side street, until,
amid a crowded, disagreeable neighborhood, Joe stopped.

"You had better lead me still, Joe. The boy might be frightened or
annoyed at seeing a stranger: I dare say he's nervous. Go up, and I will
wait outside the door while you ask him if I may come and see him. Wait,
there's a flower-stall a little way from here; I will get a bunch. Take
my basket, and I will be back in a few moments. I am glad I thought of
the flowers; children always like them."

She hastened off, while Joe leaned on his cane and muttered blessings
upon her; but some rude boys beginning to chaff him, he turned on them
with his usual crustiness, and quite forgot his beatitudes.

Miss Schuyler came back in a few minutes with a lovely bunch of bright
blossoms embosomed in geranium leaves.

"Now, then, Joe, this shall be my card; take it in, and tell Phil I am
coming."

"God bless you, Miss Rachel!" was all Joe could reply.

Miss Rachel had her own way of doing things. It was nothing new for her
to carry flowers and dainties to the sick poor. She had been much with
sick people, and she knew that those who have no luxuries and few
necessaries care for the things which do not really sustain life quite
as much as do those who can command both.




CHAPTER III

PHIL HAS A VISITOR


Phil was alone, as indeed he was always, except on Sundays, or the few
half-holidays that came to Lisa. Once in a while Lisa begged off, or
paid another woman for doing an extra share of work in her place, if
Phil was really too ill for her to leave him. The hot sun was pouring
into the garret room, though a green paper shade made it less blinding,
and Phil was lying back in a rocking-chair, wrapped in a shawl. On a
small table beside him were some loose pictures from a newspaper, a
pencil or two, and an old sketch-book, a pitcher of water, and an empty
plate.

The boy opened his closed eyes as Joe came in, after knocking, and
looked surprised.

"Why, Joe, what is the matter?" he asked. "You do not come twice a day
very often."

"No," said Joe, "nor are you always a-sufferin' as you was this mornin'.
I've come to know how you are, and to bring you _that_," said he
triumphantly putting the nosegay before the child's eyes.

The boy nearly snatched the flowers out of Joe's hand in his eagerness
to get them, and putting them to his face he kissed them in his delight.

"Oh, Joe dear, I am _so_ much obliged! Oh, you darling, lovely flowers,
how sweet you are! how delicious you smell! I never saw anything more
beautiful. Where did they come from, Joe?"

"Ah, you can't guess, I reckon."

"No, of course not; they are so sweet, so perfect, they take all my pain
away; and I have been nearly smothered with the heat to-day. Just see
how cool they look, as if they had just been picked."

"It's a pity the one who sent 'em can't hear ye. Shall I bring her in?"

"Who, Joe--who do you mean?"

"Joe means me," said a soft voice; "I sent them to you, and I am Miss
Rachel Schuyler, an old friend of Joe's. I want to know you, Phil, and
see if I cannot do something for that pain I hear you suffer so much
with. Shall I put the flowers in water, so that they will last a little
longer? Ah, no! you want to hold them, and breathe their sweet
fragrance."

Miss Schuyler had opened the door so gently, and appeared so entirely at
home, that Phil took her visit quite as a matter of course, and though
astonished, was not at all flurried. He fastened his searching gaze upon
her, over the flowers which he held close to his lips, and made up his
mind what to say. At last, after deliberating, he said, simply, "I thank
you very much." His thoughts ran this way: "She is a real lady, a kind,
lovely woman; she has on a nice dress--nicer than Lisa's; she has little
hands, and what a soft pleasant voice! I wonder if my mother looked like
her?"

Miss Schuyler's thoughts were very pitiful. She was much moved by the
pale little face and brilliant eyes, the pleased, shy expression, the
air of refinement, and the very evident pain and poverty. She could not
say much, and to hide her agitation took up the sketch-book, saying,
"May I look in this, please?"

Phil nodded, still over the flowers.

As the leaves were opened, one after the other, Miss Schuyler became
still more interested. The sketches were simply rude copies of newspaper
pictures, but there was no doubt of the taste and talent that had
directed their pencilling.

"Have you ever had any teaching, Phil?" she asked.

"No, ma'am," answered Joe for Phil, thinking he might be bashful. "He
hasn't had no larnin' nor teachin' of anythin'; but it is what he wants,
poor chile, and he often asks me things I can't answer for want of not
knowin' nuthin' myself."

"And what is this?" said Miss Schuyler, touching the box with violin
strings across it, which was on a chair beside her.

"Please don't touch it," answered Phil, anxiously; then fearing he had
been rude, added, "It is my harp, and I am so afraid, if it is handled,
that the fairies will never dance on it again. You ought to hear what
lovely music comes out of it when the wind blows."

Phil spoke as if fairies were his particular friends. Miss Schuyler
looked at him pitifully, thinking him a little light-headed. Joe nodded,
and looked wise, as much as to say, "I told you so."

Just then Phil's pain came on again, and it was as much as he could do
not to scream; but Miss Rachel saw the pallor of his face, and turning
to Joe, asked:

"Does he have a doctor? Is anything done for him?"

"Nuthin', Miss Rachel, that I knows of. I never knew of his havin' a
doctor."

"Poor child!" said Miss Rachel, smoothing his forehead, and fanning him.
Then she tucked a pillow behind him, and did all so gently that Phil
took her hand and kissed it--it eased his pain so to have just these
little things done for him. Then she poured a little of her cordial in a
glass with some water, and he thought he had never tasted anything so
refreshing. She sent Joe after some ice, and spreading her napkins out
on Phil's table, set all her little store of dainties before him,
tempting the child to eat in spite of his pain.

Phil thought it was all the fairies' doing and not Joe's--poor pleased
Joe--who looked on with a radiant face of delight. Phil would not eat
unless Joe took one of his cakes, so the old fellow munched one to
please him.

Meanwhile Miss Schuyler gazed at the boy with more and more interest; a
something she could hardly define attracted her. At first it had been
his suffering and poverty, for her heart was tender, and she was always
doing kind deeds; but now as she looked at him she saw in his face a
likeness to some one she had loved, the look of an old and familiar
friend, a look also of thought and ability, which only needed fostering
to make of Phil a person of great use in the world--one who might be a
leader rather than a follower in the path of industry and usefulness.
The grateful little kiss on her hand had gone deeply into her heart.
Phil must no longer be left alone: he must have good food and medical
care and fresh air, and Lisa must be consulted as to how these things
should be gained. So while Phil nibbled at the good things, and Joe
chuckled and talked, half to himself and half to Phil, Miss Schuyler
wrote a note to Lisa, asking her to come and see her that evening, if
convenient, explaining how her interest had been aroused in Phil, and
that she wanted to know more about him, and wanted to help him, and was
sure she could make his life more comfortable, and that Lisa must take
her interference kindly, for it was offered in a loving spirit. Then she
folded the note, and gave it to Phil for Lisa, and arranging all his
little comforts about him, bade him good-bye.

Phil thought her face like that of an angel's when she stooped to kiss
him; and after Joe, too, had hobbled off, promising to come again soon
with his violin, he took up his pencil, and tried to sketch Miss
Schuyler. Face after face was drawn, but none to his taste; first the
nose was crooked, then the eyes were too small, then the mouth would be
twisted, and just as Lisa came in, with a tired and flushed face, he
threw his pencil away and began to sob.

"Why, my dear Phil," said Lisa, in surprise, "are you so very miserable
to-night?"

"No, I am not miserable at all," said Phil, between his tears; "that is,
I have had pain enough, but I have had such a lovely visitor!--Joe
brought her--and I wanted to make a little picture of her, so that you
could see what she looked like, and I cannot. Oh dear! I wish I could
ever do anything!"

"Ah, you are tired; drink this nice milk and you will be better."

"I have had delicious things to eat, and I saved some for you, Lisa.
Look!" and he showed her the little parcel of cakes Miss Schuyler had
left. "And see the big piece of ice in my glass."

"Some one has been kind to my boy."

"Yes; and here is a note for you; and you must dress up, Lisa, when you
go to see our new friend."

Lisa looked down at her shabby garments; they were all she had; but she
did not tell Phil that her only black silk had been sold long ago. She
read the note, and her face brightened. There seemed a chance of better
things for Phil.

"I will go to-night, if you can spare me."

"Not till you have rested, Lisa; and you must drink all that milk your
own self. Did you ever hear of Miss Schuyler?"

"I don't know," said Lisa, meditating; "the name is not strange to me.
But there used to be so many visitors at your father's house, Phil dear,
that I cannot be sure."

"She is so nice and tender and kind--Have you had a tiresome day, Lisa,"
added Phil, quickly, fearing Lisa might think herself neglected in his
eager praise of the new friend.

"Yes, rather; but I can go. So Joe brought her here?"

"Yes; and see these flowers--yes, you must have some. Put them in your
belt, Lisa."

"Oh, flowers don't suit my old clothes, child; keep them yourself, dear.
Well, it is a long lane that has no turning," she said, half to herself
and half to Phil. "Perhaps God has sent us Miss Schuyler to do for you
what I have not been able to; but I have tried--he knows I have."

"And I know it too, dear Lisa," said Phil pulling her down to him, and
throwing both arms around her. "No one could be kinder, Lisa; and I
love this old garret room, just because it is your home and mine. Now
get me my harp, and when you have put it in the window you can go; and I
will try not to have any pain, so that you won't have to rub me
to-night."

"Dear child!" was all Lisa could say, as she did what he aske