Fairies Afield

Linde shook her head, yet she smiled a little.

"Only a very tiny thing happened to me," she said, "hardly worth noticing. I strolled some way along the path that leads straight to the heart of the forest – the main path, you know, Aria – and I was just thinking of turning home, when, a short way down a much smaller path, scarcely one at all, I caught sight of something bright lying on the ground. At first I thought it was a scarlet berry or two, or some of the red leaves one often sees, but when I stooped to pick it up, it was this," and she held out a small feather.

Aria took it – it was of a peculiar shade, almost more orange than red.

"I know what you are thinking," said the elder sister, – "that it is a robin's feather – from his red breast, and it certainly looks very like it, but – "

"Wait, Aria, till you hear the rest," interrupted Linde, and she opened her other hand, in which lay two more of the fairy-like feathers, exactly similar to the first. "The wonderful part of it was that though they are so tiny," and she glanced at the treasures tenderly, "and though it was not a bright day, there was no sunshine, they glowed and gleamed as if they were gems. I walked on a little way, you see, after I had picked up the one, and there, some yards ahead, lay the second, and the same with the third. But it was the last. I feel sure it was the last, though I went on some distance. And somehow, three seem the right number for a fairy message. It matches the three times in my dreams."

"Then you do think they are a message?" asked Aria.

"Of course I do. I marked the path well by breaking off twigs and making a little heap of pebbles. Indeed it was necessary, for I had never noticed before that there was a path there at all," and when she went on to describe its position Aria agreed with her that it seemed quite a new discovery.

For the rest of the week Linde appeared satisfied to rest quietly on her oars. She made no more expeditions to the forest, and indeed spoke less than she had done of her dreams and their interpretation, though that she was thinking much about them her sister felt sure, from the look in her pretty eyes and the way she sometimes smiled to herself for no apparent reason.

So the days passed till again it was Friday evening and the sisters went early to bed. Everything was ready for their little stall at the market, but Aria sighed as she remarked that their autumn posies now made but a poor show.

"But there are the rose-leaves," said Linde.

"Yes," her sister replied, "but the last of them, alas! See, Linde, the jar is quite emptied!"

"Do not be so downcast, darling," said Linde as they kissed each other for good-night. "Why, we have seemed to change places of late! It used to be you always cheering me – now it is I to cheer you."

Aria smiled. She felt sure that it was the hope of the dream being repeated for the magic third time that was brightening her sister. But she said nothing that night. Only the next morning when she woke very early, just as the first faint streaks of coming dawn were beginning to appear, she listened anxiously, wondering if Linde was still asleep, and felt glad when a tiny rustle, followed by a whisper, showed that the little girl was also awake.

"Aria," she said, "Aria."

"Yes, dear, what is it?"

"It's come again, the third time," she exclaimed joyously. "My dream! Quite the same as before, only that the old woman just smiled at me, and said, 'Once more, then ask the robin.' Aria, darling, it must mean something."

And Aria herself was impressed.

"But where are we – or you – to find the robin?" she questioned.

"You're forgetting about the feathers, and the mysterious path," replied Linde.

She had carefully wrapped up the tiny treasures and hidden them in the front of her frock. The knowledge that she had them safely there seemed to give her courage and hope. That Saturday's sale was again a great success, and on the following day, as on the Sunday before, when they returned from church and their simple mid-day dinner was over, Linde told her sister that she was going to the forest. This time she scarcely asked Aria's leave, and though the elder girl was a little anxious, she felt that it would have been useless to attempt to stop her.

"Very well, darling," she said. "But don't go very far or stay very long. Promise me."

Linde considered.

"I think I can promise," she said, "to be back by sundown. But, Aria, I believe I may have to go again much farther, or to do – I know not what – but feelings are coming to me," and she unconsciously touched the place where the redbreast feathers were nestling. "You won't forbid it, sister, will you?"

Aria's face grew very grave.

"Whatever has to be done, and wherever," she said, "why cannot we go together? I am afraid of the forest. Even father believed that there was some spell or enchantment over it. You remember he never allowed us to go into it beyond a certain distance.

"Yes," said Linde dreamily, "I remember. But maybe," and her face lighted up with a bright smile, "maybe, Aria, the spell, or whatever it is, is going to be broken," and though the elder sister trembled a little at the words, she, too, felt a curious thrill of pleasant excitement.

So the two kissed each other fondly and Linde set off. She was well wrapped up in a warm cloak, for the autumn days were fast growing chilly, especially of course in the forest, where the short amount of mid-day sunshine scarcely penetrated, so closely growing were the trees. The cloak had originally been their mother's, then Aria's, and now the elder girl had refreshed and rebound it for her sister. It was of good, thick stuff and red in colour, and as Linde turned for a moment to wave another good-bye at the entrance to the wood, it struck Aria that the child looked rather like a human robin redbreast herself. She smiled at the idea; somehow it cheered her. "May all good angels and the saints guard her," she murmured as she re-entered the cottage.

Linde walked on steadily. Not very fast, for she was keenly on the look-out for any signs or tokens to direct her, and most anxious not to miss the opening to what in her own mind she called "the feather path."

And to her satisfaction she found it without any difficulty. It was still of course broad daylight, that is to say as light as was usual among the trees, and as she made her way along she kept her eyes on the ground in hopes of seeing some more tiny specks of the unmistakable orange-red.

But in vain. There were no more feathers waiting for her.

Feeling rather discouraged, Linde stopped short, and looked around her.

"I must have quite passed the place where I picked up the third feather," she said to herself. "I did not come as far as this the last time. Must I go home – what shall I do?"

She drew her cloak a little closer, and as she did so, her fingers touched the spot where nestled her treasures. Immediately her hopes revived.

"Go on, go on," something above her seemed to say. She glanced upwards, almost fancying that a voice had spoken to her, but nothing was to be seen – except – yes, on the branch of a fir-tree near at hand, some yards overhead, a bird was perching, and not only a bird, to her immense delight she saw that it was a robin!

Had it spoken? She gazed at it. It chirped encouragingly and spreading its wings flew down, and then flew onwards in front of her.

"Stay, robin, stay, and tell me what to do," cried the child. But it only turned its little head towards her for half a second, and then continued its flight. Linde by this time, however, had lost all hesitation. On she ran, as fast as she could go, though now and then, as if in consideration for her, her small winged friend stopped for a moment or two, and Linde grew less breathless. Then it looked back at her again, and in this way they got over a good deal of ground, till at last – why, she could not have told – Linde stopped. And looking up, she saw that her guide had disappeared.

She gazed round her. It was a strange spot. She had never been here before. Of that she felt certain, for she could not have forgotten it.

She was standing by the edge of a small clearing among the trees. It was in the shape of a circle, and in front of the firs, whose stems are of course as a rule bare, were planted short thick bushes as if for still greater enclosing of the spot. So thickly indeed were these placed, that turning round to look behind her, Linde wondered how she had come through them, for no opening was to be seen. It was like standing in a room of which the doorway is in some way or other completely concealed. Her heart began to beat faster, for even though she had scarcely moved she felt as if she could never find her way out again.

Suddenly a clear chirping made her look up, and to her amazement she saw, in the very centre of the circular clearing, an object which she was almost certain had not been there a moment before. And it was not only her eyes which told her this, for her nostrils at once inhaled a delicious perfume which she could not, for an instant, have been unconscious of. It was that of the precious leaves!

And the object which she was gazing at was an indescribably beautiful rose-bush in full bloom, on the topmost branch of which sat her friend the robin!

He nodded encouragingly – and now his chirps took shape. They grew into words, but whether other ears than little Linde's would have heard this I cannot say. Enough that she understood.

"Yes," he said, as if in answer to her unexpressed surprise, "yes, I went down to fetch it up," and she knew that he was speaking of the rose-bush, "for you to see it for yourself, my child."

Linde gazed at him for a moment or two without speaking. Was she dreaming? she asked herself. But the familiar fragrance reassured her.

"Is it – ?" she began, "are these the roses that our fairy powder came from?"

Again the robin bent his little head.

"Even so," he replied. "Fairy roses, that never lose their perfume. And you would gladly fill the old jar again, would you not?"

Linde clasped her hands.

"Oh yes, yes!" she exclaimed. "The leaves mean everything to us. Not only food and clothing, but a home – a home for us two together, instead of terrible separation. Oh Robin, darling, may I gather the flowers and dry the leaves, ready for the market? I'd come any day – or every day, to fetch them, and oh how grateful we should be," and the tears rushed to her eyes in her eagerness.

But the redbreast's tone grew grave, and Linde began to tremble with fear that he would say it could not be. But when he spoke again his words surprised her.

"Do you know the story of the forest?" he asked.