Uncle Joe's Stories

Philip stood rooted to the ground with surprise, when a sound, somewhat different from the rest, attracted his attention; and looking round he perceived a large white owl attentively regarding him with her eyes wide open. As soon as she saw that he was aware of her presence, the owl gravely bowed her head three times, and then began to speak in a voice so exactly like that of a human being, that you would not have known the difference, unless you had actually seen her in her feathers, and been assured by the evidence of your own eyesight that she was a veritable bird. And these were the words that fell upon the ears of her astonished listener: —

"In every glade of forest lone,
Some mystic word of might is known,
Which, once pronounced, to mortals' eyes
Gives sight they have not otherwise;
Gives mortal ears a hearing new
Of things much disbelieved – yet true;
And suffers mortal hand to trace
The circle of the magic space.
Boy! list – thou hast obtained this aid.
"By Jingo" – motto of our glade —
Converts all here to friends from foes,
And bids all secrets to disclose.
Break branch from tree where thou dost stand,
'Twill serve thee for a magic wand;
Around thee then a circle trace
Within this same enchanted place;
Then wish a wish, and speak the word —
'Tis granted ere thy voice be heard;
And thou shall rule like any king
Within the sacred Fairy Ring."

Philip listened with great attention to the observations of the owl, which appeared to him to be exceedingly clear and distinct, although the circumstances under which they were made were singular, and the quarter from which they came unexpected. He felt, however, that he was "in for the thing," as he afterwards expressed it, and that he had better comply with the directions of the worthy bird. He therefore stretched out his hand and broke off a branch from the nearest tree, which happened to be hazel. He then sharpened the end of the branch, and drew with it a circle, in the midst of which he remained standing.

Now, of course, the correct and proper thing for the boy to have done would have been to have immediately pronounced the magic words; wished for his sister back at the same moment; for her then to have appeared and thrown herself into his arms, and for the story to have thus ended in a comfortable, good, old-fashioned way, which would have been eminently satisfactory to all parties concerned. Why should not I make this happen? Well, I really would if I could, but you must remember that all these stories are as true as the histories of "Don Quixote," "Baron Munchausen," "Gulliver's Travels," and all those other histories, upon the veracious nature of which no sensible person has ever entertained a doubt. So you will see at once that I cannot, as a fair and true historian, invent anything, even for the purpose of pleasing my beloved readers, but must go on perforce and relate the facts as they really occurred.

Philip was doubtless very fond of his sister, and if it had been put to him by anyone at the moment that the above course was that which he ought to pursue, I am sure that he would have done so without the slightest hesitation. But as nobody did tell him, and the owl (probably because it was not her business to do so) made no such suggestion, I regret to say that, for the instant, Philip followed another line of thought, and when he again pronounced the mystic words, "By Jingo," he wished – not that his sister might instantly appear, but – that he might understand what was the nature of the strange place in which he seemed to be, and the meaning of all that had occurred. You will see at once that this was rather a different thing from wishing for his sister; and the reason of his not doing so probably was that, in the hurry and surprise of the whole affair, he did not connect it with her disappearance. So, as I say, he wished that he might be able to understand the mysteries of the place.

As soon as ever he had formed this wish, the fairies of course became visible to the boy. They came out on all sides, just as they had come when they had disclosed themselves to Evelyn. They peered from strange corners and holes, they darted quickly from spot to spot, and abandoned altogether the rest and sleep from which the coming of the boy had disturbed them.

Soon, however, their proceedings acquired greater regularity. I suppose it was in consequence of his standing in the magic ring, or perhaps it might have been by the mere virtue of the mystic words which he had pronounced; but for some reason or other the fairies had no power over him as they had had over his sister. More than this, they seemed to have been constrained by some one of those mysterious rules which obtain in Fairy-land to pay him some kind of respect and homage.

They linked hand in hand, and whilst Philip looked on in the greatest astonishment, they formed in a circle round the space in which he stood, and danced merrily round him for at least a couple of minutes. Then they stopped, and whilst all the rest fell back into the fern and brushwood behind, the queen remained, and after a short pause, addressed the boy as follows: —

"Possessor of the magic words
Which here control both fays and birds:
What would'st thou in this glade to-day,
That we can give thee – if we may?"

Now Philip was not much of a hand at rhyming: to tell the truth, he disliked all poetry particularly, from Dr. Watts' hymns up to the Latin verses he had to do at school. For an instant he doubted whether, in spite of this, he was not bound to make some reply in rhyme, as well as he could manage it, having been addressed in this manner by the lady before him. However, on second thoughts, it appeared to him that probably this was needless, as he had accidentally acquired a position which was evidently one of authority. Therefore he replied in the way ordinarily employed among mortals, that is, in prose; and, having now remembered the main object of his expedition into the wood, he thus replied: —

"Madam, I want my sister Evelyn. I cannot tell whether or no you can help me in the matter, but my sister has disappeared and I am looking for her everywhere."

The fairy bowed with grave courtesy when Philip had spoken thus, and then answered him at once, —

"Those who invade our magic bower,
And hold – and speak – the words of power,
Have their first wish – and thou hast prayed
To know the nature of the glade.
If thou had'st wished thy sister free,
It had not been denied to thee;
And she no longer might have been
The subject of the Fairy Queen.
But we small children of the moon
Are bound to grant no second boon;
And if thou would'st regain the lost,
Thou now wilt have to count the cost!
Reseek thine home – for one whole day
No single word to mortal say:
And by no sign or look or sigh
Permit them to discover why!
For that same time be only fed
With crystal water and with bread,
Then, at the rising of the moon,
Come here and ask the second boon!"

She spoke; and, even as she ended, her little form appeared to grow fainter and less perceptible to Philip's eyes, and at last faded away altogether. He stood at first amazed, and then wrapped in deep thought. It was evident, from what the fairy had said, that she not only knew what had become of Evelyn, but had the power to restore her.

It seemed a very wonderful thing, but he could not disbelieve the evidence of his own senses, which had assured him of the presence of fairies; and if they could be present, as he had seen and heard them, they might certainly possess power of which he had previously had no idea. There was no doubt in his mind that, if he could only carry out the directions which the Fairy Queen had given, he would stand a very good chance of recovering his sister. It was true that there might be some difficulty in not speaking to anybody for a whole day, especially as no one would understand or guess the reason, and there would also be required a certain amount of self-denial – especially in the case of a schoolboy just come home for the holidays – in restricting himself to the homely diet of bread and water. However, then and there he made up his mind to try his best, and all the more so as he could not but feel that he had been somewhat thoughtless and negligent of Evelyn's interests in not having made her the subject of his first wish.

Pincher now showed as much eagerness to leave the spot as he had previously evinced to keep to the tree. I forgot to mention that he had crept to his master's side within the magic circle just as the fairies appeared. Probably, being a sagacious dog, he knew that if he remained outside it, he might be changed into a rat or a hedgehog, or something unpleasant, and so made sure of his safety from such a fate. Now, however, he seemed actuated by one sole desire, namely, that of leaving the place; and, as his young master was entirely of the same opinion, they made no longer stay.

Philip walked back through the wood the same way that he had come, regained the shrubberies, walked up the lawn and re-entered the house. There he was at once encountered by his mother, who accosted him with affectionate words, and eagerly asked him if he had heard any news of his sister. When the boy for reply merely placed one finger upon his mouth and said nothing, the good lady seemed, and doubtless was, rather astonished.

"My darling boy," she said, "what is the matter? Why don't you speak? Are you hurt? Have you any pain anywhere?" And withal she poured upon him such a torrent of questions that Philip did not know what to do. Still, however, he persevered in his silence, although it was very hard to do so when his mother kissed him and spoke so kindly to him all the while. He could hardly bear it, so broke hastily from her, and ran up to his own room, pushing almost rudely past Mrs. Trimmer, who met him on the stairs and was quite ready for a chat.

When he got to his room he threw himself into a chair, and pondered over all the strange events of that afternoon, which seemed to him beyond belief, only that, as they had actually taken place under his own eyes, he could not help believing them. Whilst thus engaged, the dressing-bell rang, and the servant brought up some warm water and put out his evening clothes.

"What time shall I call you to-morrow morning, master Philip?" asked the man, and was exceedingly surprised to find that the young gentleman made no reply whatever. He repeated the question with the same result, and then, supposing that Philip must have some unknown reason for his conduct, left the room without further remark.

The boy proceeded to dress and, at the proper time, descended to the drawing-room, where his father and mother already were. They were both in a melancholy frame of mind, as may well be supposed, for no tidings had been heard of their daughter, and they could not but fear that she was lost to them for ever. Philip walked stealthily into the room, in the direst perplexity how he should be able to avoid speaking.

"Well, my dear boy," began his mother directly, "have you found your tongue yet?"

The boy made no reply, upon which his father joined in.

"Philip, my boy, why do not you answer your mother?"

Still no word came from Philip, and his father, who was accustomed to be treated with respect and obedience, grew angry at his continued silence.

"Why don't you speak, boy?" he asked again. "Your mother and I are in trouble enough to-day without your adding to it by any childish folly of this kind. I should have thought you would have felt the same as we do."

Still the poor boy spoke not a word, which made his father still more angry.

"Have you got no tongue in your head, sir?" he cried, and laid his hand upon Philip's shoulder somewhat roughly.

But the mother here interposed.

"Don't scold him, James," she said. "Don't be cross with the boy – remember he is the only child we have left now," and she burst into tears.