Violet: A Fairy Story

And what do you think the fairies did? They looked out of Violet's eyes, right through them, into his; and whenever she spoke they flew into his heart with the words, till the proud man, who had not wept since Narcissa's mother died, long and long ago, felt great tears gathering in his eyes; and as these fell into the grass, Contentment took care to wash away all the pride dust with her own white wings.

"The money will not cure your toad," said he; "but I can mend his leg, for I am a physician, and know all about broken bones."

So he made the servant bring a case from the carriage, and taking a sharp little knife from it, he cut away the eye, which was too much crushed to be of any use, and then bound up the leg.

But Toady kicked, and struggled, and made such a time about it, and seemed in such pain, that Violet begged him to unfasten the bandage.

"Well, you are right," he said; "the limb cannot be cured, and if I cut it off it will be out of his way, at least."

He had no sooner done this than Toady hopped right out of his grassy nest, and looking at Violet, winked so drolly with his one eye that she laughed and cried at once, and thanked the doctor over and over again.

"You needn't thank me," he said; "for it seems you knew better what would suit him than I did, little girl. I wonder who taught you."

Then Love and Contentment looked at each other and smiled; they knew very well who had taught Violet, and they knew besides that Violet was teaching the proud, rich, learned man a lesson better than he could find in all his books or buy with all his money; for the sweet smile of Contentment and the beautiful words of Love, which had come to him through the lips of the little berry girl, Violet, would be remembered for long years, and prompt him to perform kind deeds, and thus to forget his pride and his cares, and be sometimes light-hearted as a little child.

CHAPTER XII.

WHO ARE HAPPIEST

Do you know, dear children, that as soon as people have grown up they begin to wish they were young again, and had not troublesome servants to manage, and great houses to take care of, and purses full of money to spend or to save, and, worst of all, whole troops of wicked fairies? They call them habits; but fairies they are, for all that.

These spirits lead into so much mischief that there are very few men and women who don't sometimes fold their hands and say, "O, dear! if I could go back and be a little child once more!"

Ask your mother if she wouldn't give all her jewels away in exchange for as pure a heart as children have. Ask your father whether he wouldn't give all his bonds and railroad stocks if that would make him as merry and free from care as you are when you climb upon his knee to ask the question.

And if they say "No," ask them which fairy they would rather you took for a friend – Pride or Truth.

Now, here you are, children still; and if I were you, I'd enjoy being young while it lasts. I'd make friends with as many good fairies, and scare away as many bad ones, as I could find. Scare them away! I wouldn't wait to look at them or hear them talk; for some have pretty faces and sweet words, but they are dreadful cheats.

I would find out ever so many things, – and there's no end to the number there are, – ever so many things which are right, and good, and beautiful. I wouldn't look for any thing else, but would be so happy among these that other people would notice it, and look after them too; and then I would give them as many as they wanted of my treasures, and teach them where to find more; for fairy Love takes care that the more we give the more we shall have; and even if we didn't, who wants to be a miser?

Think how much God has given us! – this whole great world, all the sky over your head, and the air, and sunshine, and woods, and gardens full of flowers, and fathers and mothers to love and take care of us, and a million other things.

And what do we give God? Every thing that we give away at all we give to him just as much as if we laid it in his hand.

Don't you know that Christ called the poor and ignorant God's little children, and declared he loved them all better than your mother and father love you?

And not only this, God cares when even a bird falls to the ground with his wing broken, and is watching to see how much you are willing to do for his creature.

CHAPTER XIII.

VIOLET BERRYING

I called Violet a little berry girl, and I'll tell you why.

On the great hill above their hut, all over one side of it, were blackberry vines; and in autumn, when the berries were ripe, Violet and her mother would spend hours and hours picking them.

The sun would be scorching hot sometimes, and the thorny vines would tangle into Violet's dress and tear her arms, and mosquitos would buzz around her, until she was ready to cry or to declare she could not pick any more.

Poor Violet! You think, perhaps, that it is hard to walk to school under your parasol these sunny days; and she had, day after day, to stand out there among the vines, picking, and picking, and picking, till the two great water pails were full of berries.

But when she grew tired, Love would point to her poor old mother working so patiently, and looking so tired and warm; and when the fairy whispered, "Will you leave her here to finish the work alone?" Violet would forget in a minute her own weariness, and sing and laugh so merrily, and tell so often how fast her pail was filling up, that the mother would forget her weariness too, and only think how fortunate and how rich she was to have such a good, bright child.

When she found a place where the berries grew thick and large, Violet would call her mother to pick there; and old Mary, Reuben's wife, said that "somehow she never could find such splendid places as Violet did."

So, leaving her there, the little girl would move on; and no matter how low she found the bushes, or how thinly covered with fruit, fairy Contentment, hovering over her head, would sing, "Who cares? The fewer, the sweeter."

What with Contentment's singing, and that of Violet, and the crickets and locusts, and the bees and bobolinks, there was music enough in the blackberry pasture; and it all chimed together just like the instruments in an orchestra.

CHAPTER XIV.

THE BIRDS' HARVEST TIME

But I was telling you about Violet's birthday; so let us go back to the doorstep of her father's little hut.

Narcissa called impatiently that she was tired of waiting; so her father, bidding good by to his new acquaintance, sprang into the carriage, and it rolled lightly through the green field once more.

Violet sat watching until it was out of sight, and she could no longer see Narcissa's feathers and flowers fluttering in the wind. Some how she never thought of her afterwards, except as a whole bunch of lace and finery, with a little girl inside of it.

Then she looked around for her violets; they were gone, and in their place lay the stranger's money.

But Toady hopped in sight just then, looking so brisk, and getting about so well on his three legs, she thought her flowers were little enough to pay for so much good as he had received.

So, happy as ever, Violet took her pail and went towards the blackberry hill.

It seemed to her the berries were never so thick and large; she soon had enough, and setting them in a shady place, she went to the brook to wash her hands.

There were long, deep scratches on her arms. How they smarted when the water touched them! but Violet only thought how much worse Toady's scratches and bruises were; and then she loved to be clean, for she had watched how the birds wash in the brook a dozen times a day, and how smooth the squirrels keep their fur, and how the flowers and leaves bathe their faces every morning in dew. She didn't want the leaves and birds to be ashamed of her.

The little girl strolled on towards the wood, singing and laughing, and talking to every thing she met, but most of all to kitty, who followed after her; while whole troops of grasshoppers and little yellow butterflies flew before, and settled in advance of Violet, and when she came up, flew a little farther, as if they wanted to lead her on.

Then there were flocks and flocks of birds; the ground seemed alive with them, for it was harvest time, and they came for the ripe grain which had fallen when the farmers cut their crops, and was scattered all over the fields.

The thistle seeds were ripe too; and the birds, and butterflies, and bees seemed to love this best of all. Violet stood watching them eat, and laughed as she told puss that must be where she learned to be so greedy.

The bees went buzzing down into the very heart of the purple flowers, and took such long, deep honey draughts, and went back again and again, as if they could never have enough, and hurried away to their hives, for the sake of hurrying back for more.

The birds were not much better. They would hover an instant over the whole thistle bed, and then, selecting a good large flower, they would fly at it, fanning away with their fluttering wings till they were lost in a cloud of down, and tear out the rich, ripe seeds, swallowing them so fast it seemed as if they were eating for all winter.

Violet was never tired of watching, for she loved to see every creature happy, and knew, besides, that the birds and bees only have so good a chance to eat once in the year; and therefore, though she laughed at it, she couldn't blame them for their greediness.

There were such handsome yellow birds, with black spots and stripes over their bright breasts and wings. They buried their black and golden heads away in among the thistle down, while they clung to the stem with claws and wings, and were so busy eating that they did not see how near Violet crept to them.

Then a beautiful great butterfly, its rich brown wings spotted with blue and orange, settled upon a flower, and sipped daintily, and fluttered away again to take another sip somewhere else, and then went sailing off into the sunshine. So she skipped along after it, kitty running close behind her, until they came to a bank covered with white everlasting flowers – so many it looked a little way off like snow; and Violet, whose mother had told her that in heaven flowers did not fade, but were all everlasting, wondered if the door of heaven had not been left ajar, some day, long enough for a whole shower of seed to blow down towards this hill, and planting itself, come up in these pearl-white flowers.

Ah, Violet! the commonest seeds sprang up into heavenly flowers if they fell in your pathway.

CHAPTER XV.