The Magic Nuts

'We shall have plenty of time, dear,' said her governess. 'See, we are at dessert now. And you will probably feel more tired this evening than you expect. No, my aunt lives more simply, though you will like her puddings and cakes, I am sure.'

The afternoon passed very pleasantly and quickly, though, as Fraulein had expected, Leonore did feel more tired when they came in for the second time than she had thought she would be, and quite ready for bed-time when it came – indeed, not sorry to allow that the dustman's summons was there, half an hour or so earlier than usual.

'Your eyes are looking quite sleepy, my child,' said Fraulein; 'and though we have no more long railway journeys before us, we have a drive of some hours to-morrow, and I should like you to reach Dorf feeling quite fresh. It makes such a difference in one's impressions of things if one is tired or not, and I do want your first feelings about our temporary home to be very pleasant ones.'

Leonore was used to her governess's rather prim, long-winded way of saying things, and had learnt by practice to pick out the kernel – always a kind one – of her speeches very quickly.

'Yes,' she said, 'I know how you mean. Last night in the railway train, before we got here, I thought everything was perfectly horrid and miserable and would never get nice again. And to-day I've been so happy – even though I am tired and sleepy now,' she added, looking rather puzzled. 'There must be different ways of being tired, I suppose.'

'Undoubtedly there are – but we won't talk any more to-night. I am so glad you have been happy to-day.'

And sleepy Leonore went off to bed, and was soon in dreamland. She had forgotten all about her apples and nuts – the former Fraulein found tied up in the handkerchief after the little girl had fallen asleep, and put them into her travelling-bag, thinking they might be nice to eat during the drive the next day, but the nuts did not come into her mind at all.

'We certainly seem very lucky,' she said to Leonore the next morning, as they were at breakfast. 'The weather could not be better, especially when we remember that it is already late autumn. My aunt will be so pleased at it; her last letter was full of regrets about the rain and fears of its lasting.'

Leonore glanced towards the window. The clear gray-blue sky was to be seen above the blinds, and the pale yellow sunshine was straying in as if to wish them good-morning.

'Is it a very long drive to Dorf?' she asked.

'About three hours,' Fraulein replied. 'It is longer through being partly uphill; but at the steepest bit the road is very pretty, so it may be pleasant to get out and walk a little.'

'Yes, I should like that,' said Leonore. And then Fraulein went on to tell her that she had arranged for them to have dinner a little earlier than usual by themselves, so as to start in good time to reach Dorf by daylight.

And when they started in a comfortable though rather shabby carriage, with their lighter luggage strapped on behind, the horses' collar bells ringing merrily, and the wheels making what Leonore called a lovely clatter on the old paved streets, the little girl's spirits rose still higher, and she began to think that Fraulein's praises of her own country had not been too great.

The first half of the way was fairly level, and not, so it seemed to Leonore, very unlike the part of England where she had spent most of her life, except, that is to say, the two or three villages through which they passed. These reminded her of pictures of Switzerland which she had seen – the houses having high pointed roofs, with deep eaves, and many of them little staircases outside. Some of them too were gaily painted in colours on a white ground, which she admired very much. And after a time the road began gently to ascend, and then indeed, as Fraulein said, the likeness to Switzerland grew greater. For now it skirted pine woods on one side, and on the other the ground fell away sharply, here and there almost like a precipice; and before very long the driver pulled up, getting down to push a heavy stone behind the wheel, to prevent the carriage slipping back while he gave the horses a rest.

'Mayn't we get out here and walk on a little way?' asked Leonore, and Fraulein said 'Yes,' it was just what she had been intending.

'It is pretty here,' said Leonore, looking about her with satisfaction; 'the woods are so thick and dark – I love Christmas-tree woods – and the road goes winding such a nice funny way. And see, Fraulein, there's another little well, all mossy, and the water so clear. Doesn't the running and trickling sound pretty? And, oh yes, there are goats down there, goats with bells. I hear them tinkling, and the man with them has some kind of a music-pipe – listen, Fraulein.'

They stood still for a moment, the better to catch the mingled soft sounds which Leonore spoke of. And behind them, some little way off, came the tingling of their horses' louder bells, and the voice of the driver talking to them and cracking his whip encouragingly.

'It is nice,' said Leonore. 'I'm getting to be very glad papa settled for me to come here with you, Fraulein.'

The good lady's eyes sparkled with pleasure.

'And I am glad too, more glad than I can say,' she replied, 'and so will my kind aunt be, if we can make you really happy at Dorf.'

'Are we half-way there yet?' asked Leonore.

'Quite that, but the rest of the way is mostly uphill, so it takes longer, you see.' As she spoke, Fraulein drew something out of the little bag on her arm which she was seldom without. It was one of the small grayish apples which they had bought from the old woman in the market-place. 'You forgot these,' she said, holding the apple out to Leonore. 'I found them last night after you were asleep, and I thought you might like one or two on our way to-day. I believe they will prove very good.'

'How stupid of me to have forgotten them,' said the little girl, as she bit off a piece. 'Yes,' she went on, 'it is very good indeed – you would not believe how sweet and juicy it tastes. Won't you eat one yourself?'

Fraulein was quite willing to do so, and soon got out another. 'The rest,' she said, 'are in my travelling-bag in the carriage. I am glad I was not mistaken,' she went on. 'I felt sure they were the same ugly little apples I remember as a child.'

'And oh,' said Leonore, suddenly diving into her jacket pocket, 'that reminds me, Fraulein – where are the nuts she gave me? They're not in this pocket, and,' feeling in the other, 'oh dear! they must have dropped out; there are only three left, and I am sure she gave me at least twenty.'

'Well, never mind, dear,' said the governess, who was contentedly munching her apple. 'They would not have been good for you to eat – you would have had to throw them away, and so long as the poor old dame's feelings were not hurt, it really is of no consequence.'

But Leonore was still eyeing the three nuts in her hand with a look of regret.

'I don't know,' she said. 'I might have used them for counters, or played with them somehow. It seems unkind to have lost them – do you want me to throw these last three away?' she went on rather plaintively.

'Oh no,' said Fraulein, 'you may keep them certainly if you like. And even if you eat them, three can't do you much harm.'

'I don't want to eat them,' said Leonore, 'but I should like to keep them,' and she stowed them away in her pocket again with a more satisfied look on her face.

As she did so, a sound, seemingly quite near, made her start and look round. It was that of a soft yet merry laugh, low and musical and clear, though faint.

'Did you hear that, Fraulein?' said the little girl.

'What?' asked her governess.

'Somebody laughing, close to us – such a pretty laugh, like little silver bells.'

'Most likely it was the bells, the goats' little bells. I heard nothing else,' Fraulein replied.

Leonore shook her head.

'No,' she said,' it was different from that, quite different. And the goats are some way off now; listen, you can only just hear them. And the laughing was quite near.'

But Fraulein only smiled.

'There could not have been any one quite near without my hearing it too,' she replied, 'even if – ' but here she stopped. She had said enough, however, to rouse her pupil's curiosity.

'Even if what?' repeated Leonore; 'do tell me what you were going to say, dear Fraulein.'

'I was only joking, or going to joke,' her governess answered. 'It came into my head that the woods about here – as indeed about most parts of this country – are said to be a favourite place for the fairies to visit. Some kinds of fairies, you know – gnomes and brownies and such like. The kinds that don't live in Fairyland itself make their homes in the woods, by preference to anywhere else.'

'And do you think it might have been one of them I heard laughing?' asked Leonore eagerly. 'Oh, how lovely! But then, why didn't you hear it too, Fraulein, and what was it laughing at, do you think? I wasn't saying anything funny. I was only – '

'Dear child,' said Fraulein, 'do not take me up so seriously. I am afraid your papa and your aunts would not think me at all a sensible governess if they heard me chattering away like this to you. Of course I was only joking.'

Leonore looked rather disappointed.

'I wish you weren't joking,' she said. 'I can't see that people need be counted silly who believe in fairies and nice queer things like that. I think the people who don't are the stupid silly ones. And you will never make me think I didn't hear some one laugh, Fraulein – I just know I did.' Then after a little pause she added, 'Would your old aunt think me very silly for believing about fairies? If she has lived so near Fairyland all her life I shouldn't think she would.'

This was rather a poser for poor Fraulein.

'She would not think you silly!' she replied; 'that is to say, she loves fairy stories herself. Life would indeed be very dull if we had no pretty fancies to brighten it with.'

'Oh, but,' said Leonore, 'that's just what I don't want. I mean I don't want to count fairy stories only stories – not real. I like to think there are fairies and brownies and gnomes, and all sorts of good people like that, though it isn't very often that mortals' – she said the last word with great satisfaction – 'see them. I am always hoping that some day I shall. And if this country of yours, Fraulein dear, is on the borders of Fairyland, I don't see why I don't run a very good chance of coming across some of them while we are here. They are much more likely to show themselves to any one who does believe in them, I should say. Don't you think so?'

Fraulein laughed.

'I remember feeling just as you do, my child, when I was a little girl,' she said. 'But time has gone on, and I am no longer young, and I am obliged to confess that I have never seen a fairy.'