PETRONEL AND PETRONILLA. THERE are as many poor people in Fairyland as in any other great country. It isn't all gold and silver and precious stones, as some fairy stories would lead one to believe; nor are all the dwelling-places palaces. And al though there are plenty of good and wicked fairies in Fairyland, they have so much to do, and so many people to attend to, A that unless you particularly wish to attract their attention, it is quite possible for you to pass through a long life without ever having, to your knowledge, seen one of either sort. For to attract their particular attention, you must take great pains to find, in the thickest parts of the woods, the places where they are accustomed to sleep at night; and go there before break of day, before they have raised their eyelids, and moisten these eyelids with the dew, culled from the hollow of a pink cowslip or a blue buttercup. And pink cowslips and blue buttercups are difficult things to find. And, indeed, perhaps it is just as well that they are, for the bad fairies can make themselves look so wonderfully like the good fairies at times, that it is hard to know which is which, and the only sure way to tell them is by their deeds. And it would be a very dreadful thing to spend a whole week looking for a pink cowslip or a blue buttercup, and then go and wake up the wrong fairy after all! Where Petronilla was born, nobody had ever seen a fairy. It was a poor enough place,—a little cottage built of clay, straw, and rough stones; a little garden, wherein Petronilla's mother worked from morning till night; and a few square yards of arid pasture land, railed in, where two lean-looking goats passed their whole day in turning over the stones with their soft noses, and nibbling at the little tufts of short fresh grass that they found underneath. That was all. Inside there were but very few necessaries, and no comforts at all. A bed for the mother and Petronilla, and one for Petronel, a three-legged stool, a table, a small mug for Petronilla's milk, a couple of spoons, a horn-handled knife or two. There was little else. The time had been when things had prospered well with the little family, when there had been far less hard work to do, and more to eat. But that was before Petronilla's father died, just one year ago, when she was but a few weeks old; and when Petronilla's mother, in her bitter, absorbing grief, had forgotten to bake her little Twelfthnight offering of wheaten-flour cakes for the fairies, so that when the fairies went their rounds before daybreak, to gather together their different Twelfth-night gifts, and found no cakes at all, however humble, outside the little cottage door, they were grievously offended-not for the value of the cakes, but because they like to be remembered. And since that, nothing had gone well with the little household. But Petronilla grew in beauty and in goodness, and very considerably in weight and in appetite; and so long as her mother could be awoke every morning by Pet ronilla's two fat little fists drumming on her cheeks-so long as she could feel Petronilla's fresh little mouth close to hers so long as she could open her weary, aching eyes and see Petronilla's two wide-open blue ones looking straight at her, she felt that each new day was a still more blessed day than the last, and that so long as there was Petronilla there was everything! -- One sultry summer evening, while the two sat before the cottage door, playing together after work was over, there passed by a little old peasant woman knitting a stocking, and as she passed she looked at Petronilla and smiled. 'Good evening,' said Petronilla's mother, smiling too. 'Good evening,' said the old woman pleasantly. 'That's a nice child you've got there. Is it a boy or a girl?' 'It's a girl,' said Petronilla's mother, holding her baby a little closer to her breast; for she knew that all fairies, good or bad, are extremely fond of personating old women. But Petronilla herself knew no fear. She was pleased with the old woman's kindly face, and held out her arms to her, and smiled her lovely baby smile. 'I should like to carry her for one minute, just to see how heavy she is. May I?' asked the old woman. |