Violet: A Fairy Story

Shall I tell you why? Because the fairy Love went before her, picking up every rough stone and bur or brier, and when the sun was hottest, shaded the invalid with her delicate purple wings.

Violet, too, had taught Narcissa how many pleasant things there are in the world even for one who is sick. So, instead of fretting because the way was dusty and the sunshine hot, Narcissa looked up at the cool green leaves which were fanning her, and watched along all the way to see what beautiful flowers the heat and light were opening. She, too, had learned to love the cool song of the brook; to be glad – though she could not follow them herself, poor cripple! – that the butterflies could flutter about and drink honey from all the flowers, and the squirrels could dart away with their nuts, and the birds go sailing and singing up into the far blue sky.

Her old fairy, Envy, was banished forever from Narcissa's heart, and in its place dwelt Violet's fairy, Love, and Contentment, Love's unfailing friend.

The moment these fairies came, her heart began to grow larger and purer; for it only takes a small soul to hold such a miserable little sprite as Envy, who is so mean and poor that he makes every place poor into which he enters, though he looks fine enough in his cloak streaked with purple, gold, and red, like the gaudiest of tulips.

No wonder Narcissa was glad to make the exchange of friends; for Love soon taught her that the way to be happy is to forget all about ourselves, and be glad whenever another is glad, no matter how humble a thing. So when she watched the sunshine creep towards a flower that had been waiting for it in the shade, or when she saw a young bird fly for the first time, or, in frosty mornings that made her sick frame shiver, when she heard the nuts rattle down, and knew the frost had opened their burs, and that the children would be glad, Narcissa's heart would be so full of sympathy that I am not sure but she was the happiest of all.

CHAPTER XXV.

NEW PLANS

Violet saw Narcissa's white dress among the trees, – for the young elms in the avenue had grown so high as to meet now overhead, – and ran out to welcome her.

She helped the invalid into her house, brought her mother's easy chair out to the porch, and a footstool and fan, and last of all a little table, upon which she placed fresh flowers and a new book that had been given her, and then hurried away to mix a cooling drink, of which Narcissa was very fond.

"How good you are, Violet," said Narcissa when she came back, "and how little I deserve so much from you! A toad just hopped over the step – the queerest old fellow – looked as if he had been through a dozen wars, with his one eye and a missing leg. I could have laughed, we were so much alike; and yet I couldn't, for he made me think of that first day we came to your father's house, and – "

"O, yes," interrupted Violet; "and only think how much good has come to us from that first visit – how comfortably we have lived ever since! – your father was so kind."

"But I wasn't kind," said Narcissa, looking very sorrowful; "I did you nothing but harm; and think what you have done for me."

"Brought you a chair and a fan," laughed Violet; "wonderful deeds!"

"You may laugh if you will," answered the lady; "but I would not give what I have gained from you in exchange for a hundred times what I ever had before. My beauty only made me vexed if I was not admired; my health and strength made me restless, kept me always in search of what I could not find nor buy. Beauty, and health, and money are good for nothing by themselves. O Violet, you have given health and beauty to my heart, and now I am rich and happy because no living thing can be glad but I grow richer by sharing its joy – those cool cloud shadows flickering over the grass – this sweetness the air has caught from your violet beds; and look how that humming bird enjoys the dew and honey he is drinking out of the roses, hanging among them by his long, slim bill; I can almost taste it with him as clearly as I smell the odor he shakes from the roses with his glittering wings; and I feel, too, the coolness the shadows must bring to the heated grass. For all of this, my friend, I thank you constantly."

Violet was not fond of hearing herself praised; she thought it pleasure enough to help any one; so she changed the subject by offering Narcissa some more of the refreshing drink. She answered, —

"Not now, I thank you; but pray where do you buy this cordial? – it is so much pleasanter to me than the rich wines we have at home, which always make me sick."

When Violet told how she had made the cordial herself from wild raspberries of her own picking, had pressed the juice out with her own white hands, and that the same hands had made the light biscuit she brought with it, and arranged the tasteful bouquet, and nailed up the luxuriant rosebushes, Narcissa was quite enchanted, and wished she could live as independently herself.

"O," she said, "I am so tired of the noise and confusion at home, and so many new faces, such rich food. If I could live here, Violet, with you!"

"Why not make me a visit? and if you are contented with my simple fare, I shall be very glad to have you stay as long as you will. We might have beautiful times together."

"Are you in earnest?" asked Narcissa, eagerly. "I shall be so happy and so independent here! and I won't be in the way either, for you shall teach me to work, and I can paint, and draw, and play on the piano, and read ever so many languages. All these I will teach you." She smiled, and Violet asked why.

"I was thinking that the accomplishment of which I was proudest once must be taught by some one else."

"Why?"

"Every one praised my dancing; but how in the world could I teach you with my wooden leg? I will learn of you to work, to help others, to find out the best things in books, and the most beautiful things every where. Why, we shall be like two fairy queens in our little cottage palace."

Narcissa's father, instead of objecting to this plan, was very much pleased with it – said the change would be better than any medicine for the invalid.

CHAPTER XXVI.

SPRING AT THE COTTAGE

Love and Contentment waved their bright wings now; for the two friends became so fond of each other they were not contented apart. Narcissa even grew beautiful again, there was such a peaceful smile upon her face, and such an earnest, loving look within her eyes.

It was a real pleasure for Violet to comfort and amuse this friend, from whom she was constantly learning some new thing.

Narcissa painted beautifully, and Violet would bring her the freshest and loveliest flowers to copy; so there was hardly a blossom or a green leaf in the neighborhood, from April to November, but you could find it almost living again in their portfolio.

They would watch the birds too, find out all their names, and their different notes, and how they fed and taught their young; and Violet worked in her garden more than ever now, because Narcissa's maid took care of the cottage, and kept it as neat as even its mistress wished.

She had the lawn before the house enclosed in a border shaped like the half of a great ring, and this was planted full of snowdrops, which blossom quite early, you know, and are very delicate and beautiful. It was like a ring of living pearls; and when these wilted, odors began to steal towards the cottage door, which tempted Violet to look under another border thick with green leaves, and there would be more violets than you could count; so the pearl ring changed to one of emerald and amethyst.

Meantime the sweetbrier by the doorway would begin to have pale green buds on its brown stems, and the honeysuckle and bitter-sweet came forth in fresh green shoots, until there were so many new, tender, fragrant leaves, and buds, and blossoms that the birds were sure to select it as the place for their nests.

Narcissa loved to watch them while Violet was busy with her work. A flock of robins would settle upon the plum tree in the garden, peck at the gum, and dig insect eggs out from the bark, and then fly away towards the wood, singing all together; but soon two would steal back to the plum tree, and chirp and twitter to each other, and look at the cottage, and then at the wood, and then at the thickest boughs of the plum.

Presently both would fly together towards the house, one settling on the sweetbrier, and one on the roof, and then on the chimney, and then hop along the porch, and then back both would go to have another talk in the plum tree, and then fly off to find their brothers and sisters in the wood.

But sure as another morning came, back would come the birds too, looking with their little bright eyes all about the cottage, and always settling at last on that one sweetbrier branch.

Then they would begin to bring straws and hair, which they wove together into a soft little nest, working away as busy and happy as birds could be, now and then going back to the plum tree, as if from a distance to admire their tiny home.

Before very long, looking out of the cottage window, you might find the nest full of little cunning eggs; but you could not see these often, for the birds kept them almost constantly sheltered with their own warm breasts, waiting until the little things within should grow strong enough to break and creep out of their shells.

All this time the father bird would bring the mother food – bring her ripe cherries, seeds, buds, and worms; and sometimes he would take her place, letting her fly away for a look at the woods, or a drink from the sparkling brook.

But some bright morning you would hear the old birds twittering so joyfully, you might know something had come to pass; and the first time they flew away, if you looked from the window again, there would be, instead of the eggs, a little heap of the homeliest things in the world, with great eyes, and great legs and claws, and long red necks, and mouths half as large as the bodies, gaping at you – not a feather to be seen except a little down, like whiskers, about their ears.

Birds grow very fast; you would be surprised to find how soon they began to fill, and more than fill, the nest, until some morning one after another would hop out among the sweetbrier stems, and show you their glossy backs and speckled breasts, while the old birds watched so proud and happy, and began teaching them to fly and to sing.

One morning towards the last of May, when Violet was in the garden transplanting her forget-me-nots, and Narcissa, in the porch, sat watching her, enjoying the cool, fresh air, the new life that budded forth from every thing, and the freedom and joy of the golden orioles as they flashed in and out among the elm boughs, and twittered forth their wild and plaintive melodies, her attention was caught by a stir and fluttering in the sweetbrier, and then a song from the larch tree opposite. These sounds came from two yellow birds, a mother and her little one. The young one would go, "Twe-te-twee," timidly and sweetly, with such a tired tremble at the end; then forth poured the old bird a clear, connected strain, half repeated it, and then paused; and the little sweet voice came again, "Pee-te-wee – pee-te-wee – twee-te-wee." It was too cunning, and the old bird took up the trembling, broken strain so clearly, with such ease, "Twitter, witter, witter – wee-te-twee-te-twee – twitter, witter, witter" – "Wee-te-twee," ended the young one, with that same little tremble in the midst, the same baby sweetness, just such as in a child would make you snatch it up and kiss it – "twee-te-wee." Narcissa wondered if there could have been more exquisite music in paradise.

CHAPTER XXVII.

VIOLET'S SCHOLARS

Violet still had her little school of Narcissa's brothers and sisters; but she was so gentle and patient that study was never very hard to them, though the lessons might be long; and then at recess time the boys would go out and pick cherries, or apples, or plums, from the garden, bring them in on fresh green leaves, and they would all sit in the porch and have a little feast together.

Saturday afternoons they would take a walk in the woods; and Violet taught them how to weave oak leaves into crowns, and to make necklaces out of dandelion stems and lilac flowers, and baskets of rushes.

They always took something home to Narcissa, who could not enjoy long walks because of her lameness. One would pick up a pocket full of checkerberries, and one a handful of the young, spicy leaves; and the prettiest branch of hawthorn, the longest-stemmed violets, the largest-leaved bough of oak, were sure to go home for her.

When it grew late in the year, they had such sport gathering chestnuts, hazelnuts, and shagbarks; the boys climbed the trees, and shook or beat them with long poles, and down the nuts would come rattling by baskets full. These were stored away in the cottage; for they all knew that what Violet kept for them was safe.

When they came near the cottage again after one of these excursions, looking so bright, with their rosy cheeks, and flying hair, and laughing faces, Narcissa's smiling face was always at the window watching, and quickly appeared at the door to welcome them. Sometimes they all went home crowned with autumn leaves, sometimes with woodbine or ground pine, and early in spring with bloodroots, violets, or anemones.

But the prettiest crown, and the rarest flower, and the juiciest bunch of berries were always for Narcissa.

In stormy days, or when the ground was covered with snow, Violet still made the holidays pleasant for her scholars; they would play games and sing in the afternoon. She would teach the girls how to dress their dolls, and the boys how to make pasteboard boxes and kites, and how to put puzzles together. Then at evening they would gather around the fireplace, with Narcissa's great chair in the midst of the circle, and she or Violet would tell stories for hours together.

One of these stories Narcissa liked so much that she wrote it down, and after Violet was dead, – for, like the snowdrops and wild roses, our Violet died at last, – she read it to me. I will try and remember it for you; but first I must tell what sorrow there was in the great house on the hill, and not there only, but among all the poor in the neighborhood, when Violet went to heaven.

Under the elm tree they buried her, beside Mary and Reuben; and the orioles she loved to watch still hatch their young and sing sweet songs above her grave.

Alfred wanted to build a great marble monument over her; for he said the whole world did not contain a better or lovelier woman. But Narcissa said, —

"No; she has built her own monument of good deeds, which will last after marble has mouldered away. Let us cover her grave with her own sweet violets, that whenever we pass we may think of our Violet."

Long afterwards, even to this day, when any who knew her witness a kind action, or meet one with a cheerful, hopeful spirit, and a sunny smile, they say, "It is just like Violet."

So, dear children, let us try to make friends with her fairies, Love and Contentment, and let us remember that whenever the thought of her urges us to be cheerful, contented, and loving, we, too, shall plant a flower on Violet's grave.

VIOLET'S STORY

CHAPTER I

It was a snowy night, and the children, as we gathered around the fire, began to ask for stories. I told them a queer dream of my own, and then they insisted that Violet should give one of her fairy tales.

While she was puzzling her brain for a new one, my little sister Mabel, who had climbed upon the sofa and was nestling close to her, asked, —

"What makes you love violets so much? Here even in winter time you have some in your bosom. Aren't you sweeter than these little homely things?"

"Narcissa," she answered, "has told a dream, and now I will tell one. It's a kind of fairy story besides, and partly true. You must not ask any questions about the little girl, or make any guesses. Her name happened to be just like yours, Mabel."

"Little girl! I thought 'twas a dream," said Mabel.

"Listen, then: A little girl went out one day in search of strawberries. She went into a wide green field that was starred all over with dandelions, and clusters of wild lilies hanging like bells around their stems, and violets, and blue-eyed grass.

"There was not a living being in this place except the birds, and little fishes in the brook; for through the long grass all around the field ran a stream of clearest water over a dark-brown, pebbly bed.

"Rising on every side, so as to shut the field in by itself, were hills closely covered with trees and vines. Here birds sang all day long, and flowers bloomed, and nuts and berries ripened; the ground was in some places slippery with fallen pine leaves, and in others soft with a carpet of fresh moss.

"It was shady in these woods, but in the field the sun shone, opened the lilies, ripened the strawberries, and made the little girl feel bright and glad, although it was so warm.

"Strawberries are tiny things to pick; the little girl thought it would take a million to fill her pail; and often she longed to leave them and gather flowers, or play with the fish in the brook, or rest in the cool wood.

"But she had always loved violets, just as I love them; and a gardener's wife had promised Mabel that the first time she brought a pail full of strawberries to her, she should have in return a whole bunch of these fragrant flowers.

"So, stooping among the lilies, which were almost as tall as herself, and picking one by one, one by one, the bright sun pouring its heat down upon her, after a great while her pail was heaped with berries. Almost as fragrant as violets they were, too, and looked, upon their long green stems, like little drops of coral.

"Mabel's work was not over now; she climbed half way up the hill, found a beautiful shady place, where the grass was long, and the roots of a great tree had coiled themselves into a seat, which was cushioned over with moss.

"She threw aside her sun bonnet, and began to pick off the green hulls from her fruit, while the broad oak leaves overhead kept fanning her, and lifting the matted curls from her warm forehead.

"But then came a great mosquito, and then another, and another; they would whirl around her head, buzzing and buzzing, and fly from her forehead to her nose, and from nose to hand, and hand to shoulder, and then creep into the curly hair, and buzz so close to her ear it frightened her.

"Twenty times she had a mind to throw her berries into the brook and run home; but then she thought of the violets – how splendid it would be to have them all to herself; she should not give away one flower, not one, she had worked so hard for them.

"Throwing the stems away lowered the contents of her pail so much that Mabel had to go out in the hot field and pick again, and then back to the wood where the mosquitoes were, and work another hour. She never had such a long, hard task before.

"But the little girl travelled home at last with her pail brimful in one hand, and a splendid great bunch of lilies in the other. This last served as a parasol till she reached the gardener's gate.

"Then, taking her violets, Mabel hurried home. There were more of them, and they were larger and sweeter, than she had even hoped. She hardly took her eyes from them until she reached her mother's door.

"While she was placing her flowers in water, a woman came up the hot, dusty road, with a young child in her arms. She looked tired and warm, and said she had eaten nothing all day long. Mabel looked in the closet; there was plenty of bread, but she dared not give it without her mother's leave. She looked in all the rooms; but her mother was not to be found; and when the poor woman had rested a little, Mabel watched her creep out into the blazing sun again, dragging the little child after her. She could not bear to think that while she had every thing to make her happy, others must go hungry and tired; and 'Suppose it were my mother,' Mabel thought; 'I must do something for her; yet I have nothing in the world to give.'

"'Except the violets,' whispered something inside of Mabel's heart. Snatching them from the table, she ran after the beggar, and said, —

"'There, I gave a whole pail of strawberries for these; perhaps you can sell them for a loaf of bread.'"

The poor woman looked so pleased, and thanked Mabel so heartily, that she felt the violets could never have caused her so much joy as it had done to give them away.

CHAPTER II

"Not many days after these events, Mabel went again to the field where the lilies and strawberries grew, played about in the sun until she was tired, and then seated herself under a shady tree to rest, and hear the birds and rustling leaves, and watch the brook glide through the grass.

"The grass about her was long, and fine, and soft as any bed; it was cool too, and Mabel, listening to the quiet murmur of the brook, fell fast asleep; but all the while she thought herself wide awake, and wondered why the sound of the rippling of water changed to something like the tread of tiny feet; and then there came the sweetest, most delicate music; and all at once – could it be? – she saw a multitude of little beings marching through the very pathway her footsteps had made in the grass, and approaching her. They were hardly taller than a grasshopper would be if he could stand up like a man, and had formed themselves into the drollest little procession.

"First came the musicians; there were flute players, using each a joint of grass stem for instrument, bell ringers, jingling lilies of the valley, and trumpeters tooting through white lilac blossoms. Then came the guards, dressed in uniform, and bearing each a fern leaf for banner at once and parasol. With these leaves they shaded a group of little women, who marched along as dignified as nuns until they came to a bunch of fennel leaves that grew near Mabel's resting-place. Towards this they flew, for the tiny people had wings; they climbed the stems and clung to the feathery leaves, and then all at once, espying Mabel, trooped towards her, and ranged themselves upon a platform of plantain leaves.

"They were funny little women – tall, and prim, and slim, wearing green mantles and such big purple hoods. They were more polite than some larger people, and did nothing but bow, and courtesy, and smile to Mabel, who asked them who they were and whence they came.

"They shook their heads, and laughed, while the air was filled with sweetest odor. At last one said, —

"'We are flower spirits. Every year we come to earth and live in some blossom, which we fill with beauty and fragrance; but when it withers we go back to Fairyland until another spring. We have, besides our fairy queen, a queen whom we choose every year among mortals, and serve her faithfully. We have just returned from working in her service.'

"'Are you not hungry?' asked Mabel. 'I have brought luncheon. Won't you eat some of my gingerbread?'

"The fairies laughed again. 'We live,' they said, 'upon flower dust and dewdrops; we should not relish mortal food.'

"Then they called from the attendants who lingered among the fennel leaves their steward and butler; and it was Mabel's turn to laugh when she saw how queerly they ate.

"Some blossoms from the elder bush, little ivory urns, served them for goblets. These were set upon a mushroom, and some red clover blossoms were rolled around the table for seats. The little men had tried in vain to break these blossoms off; so they caught a caterpillar, whipped him along with grass blades, and made him use his teeth for a knife. Then they had caught a toad, and heaped his round back with the blossoms, which rolled off as fast as they could be picked up again; and by the time they reached their mistresses, the fairy servants were warm and red in the face as any hay makers.

"The fairies grew so hungry with waiting that they even tasted a crumb of Mabel's gingerbread; but not liking this very well, they took out from among the provisions that were packed in a wild rose, the petals nicely fastened together with cobweb threads, some poppy and caraway seeds, upon which they began to gnaw with their little white teeth.

"'You must have lived in violets,' said Mabel. 'Every time you shake your bonnets and laugh, the air is full of their odor. Can't you smell it?'