Five Minutes' Stories

But though they got some fun out of it, I don't think Auntie's anecdote did Master Archie any harm.

THE BAD FAIRY

THERE is a bad fairy in this house. I don't care what you say. There must be. Here have I been hours hunting everywhere for my silver whistle. I know I had it yesterday evening, and I haven't been out since, and we can't play at our hunt in the wood without it. And they're all waiting for us. It's too bad – it is," and Leonard stamped about the room, flinging everything topsy-turvy in his vain search.

"And my umbrella, and my sleeve stud," said David, his two years older brother. "They have completely disappeared. Upon my word, Leonard, I think you're right, this house is bewitched."

"Master Leonard, please, here's your whistle. Cook found it just now lying beside the pump in the garden."

"There now – didn't I say so? It must be a bad fairy. Was I near the pump in the garden last night? How did the whistle get there, if it wasn't bewitched?" said Leonard, as he and David hurried off.

It was true he had not been near the pump, but he had left the whistle among some flowers on the nursery table, and "baby," as his six-years old sister was called, had thrown it into the basket with the remains of her nosegays. What more easy than for the heavy whistle to drop out of the lightly made open wicker work, as the nursemaid was carrying the withered flowers and leaves to throw away? David's umbrella, had he known it, was at that moment reposing in the pew-opener's care among various "lost and strayed" articles at church; and the sleeve stud was safely ensconced in a mouse-hole behind the chest of drawers on which it had been carelessly laid, to be flung off again in a frantic hunt for some fish hooks, whose disappearance no doubt Leonard explained in the same way.

It came to be rather a convenient idea. Not only losses, but breakages, tearings, all such annoyances were laid to the account of the bad fairy. And it was a very heavy account. Never had there been so many unlucky accidents as during these last few weeks spent by the boys and their sister with their mother, in a little country house, lessons being for the time put aside, nothing thought of but fun and frolic. Even old nurse, who usually took charge – too much charge – of the light-hearted careless boys, was away; there was no one to "worry" about putting things by tidily, wearing the proper clothes at the proper time, and so on. At least so it seemed for a while. But things grew worse and worse, the bad fairy more and more spiteful, till at last even their indulgent mother could take it all quietly no longer.

One evening, finding several of her own private possessions missing – scissors and pen-knife in particular – she came late into the boys room after they were asleep, there to look for them. But she almost forgot her errand in her horrified amazement at the disorder and confusion before her. What a difference from the neat room she used to peep into at night when nurse was at home – everything everywhere, nothing where it should be, almost a sort of ingenuity in the perfection of disorder.

"Really," thought the poor lady, "I could be tempted to believe in the spiteful fairy."

She set to work, and with a shaded candle, for the boys were fast asleep, cleared away some part of the confusion. But it was of course impossible to do it thoroughly. The next morning, without saying anything, she returned to the charge, in the children's absence. By degrees order gained the day, and in the process many of the missing articles turned up, and were quietly restored to their places. Late that evening again came the motherly fairy. Things were not as bad as the night before – they could scarcely have been so, since the morning's tidying. But they were bad enough. All the boys had had in use during the day was "pitched about" as before – again must their mother work for nearly an hour to get the room quite to her mind. And this went on for several days.

During this time there began to be less talk of "the bad fairy," and more than once both David and Leonard expressed their surprise and pleasure at several things having, as they called it, "come back again;" in other words, having been found in their proper places. And at last on the discovery of a "completely lost" treasure – I think it was Leonard's pocket microscope – in a place where he "knew" he had looked in vain, he burst into his mother's room with sparkling eyes.

"Mamma," he exclaimed, "do you know this house really is bewitched? Fancy my having found my microscope just where I looked for it yesterday. And not only that, ever so many other things have turned up. And when we wake in the morning the room doesn't look a bit the same as it does at night. All our things are as neat as can be, and everything ready, however we pitch them about at night."

Mamma listened and said nothing.

"You don't believe me, I suppose," said Leonard.

"I quite believe that a tidy fairy would find plenty to do in your room, if such a being existed," she said.

"But all boys are untidy," said Leonard. "I don't think we're – well," – for visions of really terrible chaos rose before his eyes as he spoke – "well, not much worse than others. But I know what I'll do," he added to himself. "I'll keep awake to-night and watch."

For a wonder he was able to keep his resolution. He was not quite asleep, though David had been snoring for some time, when he was roused by the door softly opening, and a figure with a shaded light, glided into the room. Leonard, though at first a very little frightened, kept his presence of mind, and neither called out nor started up, but lay still as if asleep. But soon, as he watched the figure moving about, rearranging the untidy heaps of clothes, picking up towels and handkerchiefs, putting boots and shoes neatly together in pairs – all so quickly and deftly, that it might indeed have been a fairy's work, a new feeling overcame him.

"Mamma," he cried – for mamma he soon saw it was – and his voice woke David too, "it is you then – you who are the good fairy! It is a shame for you to have such trouble for us. Oh, mamma, dear, I am ashamed," and out of bed sprang Leonard and David, and set to work with a will to help their mother, in what certainly should not have been left for her to do.

"We will never be so untidy again, mamma, never," said both boys.

"And it will save yourselves and other people a great deal of discomfort, of worse than discomfort, indeed," she replied.

"But, mamma, untidiness isn't such a very bad fault – not like telling falsehoods, or bullying, or anything like that?"

"It is a fault that leads to bad faults," said his mother gravely, "to waste of time and money – two of our 'talents' – to loss of temper, and undeserved blame of others, very often. It makes life ugly and ungraceful, and it puts the burden of our own duty on others. For some one must be tidy, or what would become of the world? And for my part I can never think but what untidiness in outside things too often ends in untidiness of mind and thought."

THE GOBLIN FACE

WHEN I was a very little girl, I spent a good deal of my life in a large old-fashioned house in a very out-of-the-way part of Scotland. It was not really our home, but it almost seemed so, for we used to go there as soon as the fine mild weather set in, and stay till the shortening days and the first frosts told of winter's approach. It was the home of our uncle – my mother's only brother – and as he had never married, and she was many years younger than he, she seemed to him more like his daughter than his sister, and he was never so happy as when he had her and all us children to brighten up his rather gloomy old house. Gloomy it might be in appearance, but in nothing else, for my uncle was the kindest of men, and he and all his old servants used to receive us with a welcome that would have made the grimmest of abodes seem sunshiny and cheerful. I could tell dozens – nay, scores of stories of our child-life in the old castle – of our games in the house, and out of doors, of the cottagers with all of whom we were on most intimate terms, of all sorts of adventures that befel us, but just now, I mean only to relate one very short, and perhaps not very interesting, story, because I think it may be of use to some children who may read it.

I was about five years old when the first cloud came over my happy life. I had been ill, but though I do not clearly remember the illness – and it seemed to me to have been rather pleasant than painful, as I was petted and made much of in every way – I believe it really was a bad illness, and had very much weakened me. We went to Scotland sooner than usual that year to strengthen me, but the weather, unluckily, was cold and rainy. We could not go out much, and had to amuse ourselves in the house. It was in this way that one of the old servants one day, meaning to please us, took to telling us ghost-stories. I was so little that I do not think she thought of me at all; the stories were told to my elder brother and sister, who only laughed at them, and rather liked the sort of "creepy" feeling of mystery which came over them as they listened. And nobody thought of poor little Nan, fanciful and nervous, though I did not know it, curled up in a corner, and drinking in every word.

From that moment my life was spoilt. I did not distinctly remember the stories: I mixed them up in my mind in a dreadful jumble, and never thought of their not being true. I grew so nervous that I hardly dared go up stairs alone, even in broad daylight, and I shut my eyes if I happened to be alone in a room where there were portraits, rather than see them staring at me, as I fancied they did. But all this was nothing to the terrors of the night, of which, even in my old age, I hardly like to think.

I slept in a little room off my mother's, and till now I had been very proud of my own nest. But all that was past. I now shivered and shuddered at the thought of bed-time, and would have done anything to avoid it. No one understood me, the nurses called me "naughty"; even dear mamma thought my temper spoilt. And no wonder, for I told nobody of my secret trouble! I think it was my fear of being laughed at, and here I would beg of "big" brothers and sisters never to laugh at little ones' terrors however silly. Try to explain them away, to comfort the poor tiny sufferers, but never laugh at them.

At last, happily for my life and health, the secret came out, and it was in this way: – There was a recess in the wall near my bed; it had shelves and went up nearly to the ceiling; in fact, it was like a cupboard with the doors off. And on the top shelf stood a curious vase, about the size of a rather fat flower-pot, of dark blue and white old Dutch stoneware. I had never noticed it, for in the daytime very little light fell on this corner, and I was seldom in the room except at night.

One evening I was put to bed as usual, feeling rather less frightened, for there were friends dining at the castle, and the sound of the piano came up to my room and cheered me.

"Leave the door open, please, I like the music," I said, and nurse did so, and thus with less shivering and heart-throbbing than usual I fell asleep. When I woke – quite suddenly – perhaps the shutting of the great door, or the guests' carriages driving away had wakened me – all was quite dark and silent. I shut my eyes, and tried to go to sleep again. But it was no use. I was quite awake, and unconsciously I opened my eyes. What was that? I have said it was quite dark, but up there, high up, there was a light that I had not seen till I turned my head. And there in the light – or did the light come from it? – was a round, staring, white face grinning down at me. I saw its eyes, its mouth, all its features – it seemed to me the goblin face by which a wicked man in one of old Effie's stories had been haunted. I stared at it like a bird at a serpent, though my heart had stopped from terror – then gradually I saw that it was moving, and that roused me. With a fearful shriek I dashed out of bed, getting by some instinct to the door, and knew nothing more till an hour or two later I opened my eyes to find myself in mamma's arms, for she was just coming into her room to go to bed when I fell into them!

It was all explained to me. There was a tiny window on to the stairs high up in that corner of the room, through which the light of mamma's candle had shone on to the old Delft vase, and even made it seem to move, as she stepped upwards. I was sensible enough for my age to understand and to believe it, but all the same I was ill for a long, long time. And the cloud over my childhood never entirely faded till childhood was left behind. Still good comes with ill. I might never, during the few years she was left with us, have learnt to know my darling mother as I did – her wonderful tenderness and "understandingness" – had it not been for my vision of the "Goblin Face."

The old vase now stands near my bedside, where night and morning I can see it and recall the memories connected with it, and there, I hope, it will stand till I die.

THE LOST BROOCH

WHAT is the matter, Linda? What are you looking for? It does so fidget me, dear, when I am sitting quietly reading, for you to keep moving about and pulling all the chairs and tables out of their places!" said Grandmamma, kindly of course – she always spoke kindly, but with a little vexation in her tone.

"It's my scissors, Grandmamma – my little beautiful new best scissors with the gilt ends," said Linda plaintively, "I know I left them with my work last night, and when I unfolded it they were gone. Some one must have taken them – I don't like that new housemaid, Grandmamma. I think she is pokey. I found her fiddling so among the books on the schoolroom table this morning."

"Trying to put them neat, I suppose – not very easy, judging by the state they were left in last night," said Grandmamma. "Linda, my dear, you must not let yourself grow suspicious. I am sure the girl is perfectly honest. I know all about her."

"But where can my scissors be, then?" said Linda. "They're not alive – they can't walk away by themselves."

"Sit down beside me for a few minutes and get cooler about it," said Grandmamma. "Something may come to your mind in a while to throw light on the disappearance. But never suspect others of anything so dreadful as even small thefts unless you are forced to do so. I will tell you a little story which has often served as a warning to me in such a case."

"Oh, yes, do please, Grandmamma," said Linda, the clouds clearing off her face in a wonderful way.

"Years and years ago when I was young, only lately married," began Grandmamma, "a curious thing happened to me. We were living in the country – it was lovely summer weather, and numbers of our friends used to drive over to see us and spend the day. My house was pretty, and I was very proud of it; I had lots of pretty things of all kinds – my wedding presents in fact – with which to adorn both it and myself, and sometimes your Grandpapa used to laugh at me, and call me a little peacock. One of my prettiest ornaments was a small diamond brooch – shaped like a star. It was really meant to wear in the evening, but I was so fond of it, that I sometimes wore it in the day-time. One morning I got a letter to say that an old school-friend of mine was staying in the neighbourhood, and that she and her husband were coming over to spend the day with us. I was very pleased to hear it, and so was your Grandpapa, as he too knew these friends of mine.

"I hurried over my breakfast, and ran away to give orders to have everything very nice for them, and I think the old cook, who knew a great deal more about luncheons and dinners than I did, was rather amused at all my charges.

"'It shall all be as nice as can be, Miss Lucy,' she said. She was always forgetting I was married, and calling me 'Miss Lucy' – 'You shall see – it shall all be just as nice as it used to be at your dear Mamma's. I'm only sorry that Maria should be away to-day, she has so much taste in arranging the fruit and flowers for the table.'

"'I'll do them myself,' I said, 'and Sophy shall help me. She seems a nice handy girl, I think.'

"'Yes, ma'am,' said cook, 'I dare say she is. But of course it's difficult to judge of a complete stranger. She's a little bit forward for my liking – so very fond of laughing.'

"'But she's so young,' I said, 'and she's never left home before. I think Maria's rather too strict.'

"Maria, I must tell you, was my maid, and Sophy was a young girl whom I had chosen out of the village school to be under Maria. I called Sophy to help me, and very proud she was to do so. We made the table look so pretty, that even the butler condescended to admire it, and then I began to think of adorning myself.

"'You may come and help me to dress,' I said to Sophy graciously which pleased her even more than dressing the table. I chose a white dress and blue ribbons, for it was very hot; and when I was all ready, I really did think I looked very nice, and I saw by Sophy's eyes that she thought so too.

"'Oh, ma'am,' she said, 'you would just be perfect if you'd put on your little brooch that sparkles so.'

"'My little diamond brooch,' I said doubtfully. 'It is rather too showy for the morning.'