Childhood's Favorites and Fairy Stories Part 118

Once upon a time there were three children named Wendy, John, and Michael, who lived with their father and mother in London. One evening the father and mother were invited to a party, and the mother, after lighting the dim lamp in the nursery and kissing them good-night, went away. That evening a little boy climbed in through the window, whose name was Peter Pan. He was a curious little fellow, very conceited, very forgetful, and yet very lovable. The most remarkable thing about him was that he never grew up. There came flitting in through the window with him his fairy, whose name was Tinker Bell. Peter Pan woke all the children up, and after he had sprinkled fairy dust on their shoulders, he took them away to the Neverland, where he lived with a family of lost boys. Tinker Bell was jealous of the little girl Wendy, and she hurried ahead of Peter Pan and persuaded the boys that Wendy was a bird who might do them harm, and so one of the boys shot her with his bow and arrow.

When Peter Pan came and found Wendy lying lifeless upon the ground in the woods he was very angry, but he was also very quick-witted. So he told the boys that if they would build a house around Wendy he was sure that she would be better. So they hurried to collect everything they had out of which they could make a house. Though she was not yet strong enough to talk, they thought perhaps she might sing the kind of house she would like to have, so Wendy sang softly this little verse:

"I wish I had a pretty house, The littlest ever seen, With funny little red walls And roof of mossy green."

When the house was done Peter Pan took John's hat for the chimney, and the little house was so pleased to have such a capital chimney that smoke at once began to come out through the hat. All that night Peter Pan walked up and down in front of Wendy's house, to watch over her and keep her from danger while she slept.

All these children lived in an underground cave, and the next day, when Wendy got well, they all went down into the cave and Wendy agreed to be their mother and Peter their father. They had many good times together. They also had some exciting adventures with the red-skins and with a pirate named Captain Hook and his crew. After a time the redskins became their friends, and Peter rescued his family from the pirates' s.h.i.+p.

One day Wendy and her brothers realized that they had been away so long that perhaps their mother had forgotten them and shut the window of the nursery so that they could not get back. They decided to hurry home. When they reached home Peter Pan was before them, and he closed the window so that they could not get back. But when he heard the children's mother singing such a sad song inside, his heart was made tender and he opened the window and the children crept back safely into their mother's arms. Wendy's mother invited Peter Pan to stay and be her child, but Peter was so afraid that he would have to go to school and grow up and be a man that he went back to his home in fairy-land.

Wendy promised to go once a year and stay a few days with Peter Pan and clean house and mend his clothes. Let us picture them in the little house that was built for Wendy, which the fairies had put up in the branches of a pine-tree. The birds are singing in their nests and in the branches, and far below the clouds you can see the land and the sea. Wendy is sewing for Peter and Peter Pan is playing his pipes while she works. When night comes the woods are full of flas.h.i.+ng lights like little stars, because the fairies are flitting around the house where Peter and Wendy live, and are singing to them as they go to sleep.

In a few days Wendy will go back to John and Michael to tell them what a good time she had on her visit in the little house in the woods.

SIR LARK AND KING SUN

BY GEORGE MACDONALD

"Good morrow, my lord!" in the sky alone, Sang the lark as the sun ascended his throne.

"s.h.i.+ne on me, my lord; I only am come, Of all your servants, to welcome you home.

I have flown right up, a whole hour, I swear, To catch the first s.h.i.+ne of your golden hair."

"Must I thank you then," said the king, "Sir Lark, For flying so high and hating the dark?

You ask a full cup for half a thirst: Half was love of me, and half love to be first.

There's many a bird makes no such haste, But waits till I come; that's as much to my taste."

And King Sun hid his head in a turban of cloud, And Sir Lark stopped singing, quite vexed and cowed; But he flew up higher, and thought, "Anon The wrath of the king will be over and gone; And his crown, s.h.i.+ning out of its cloudy fold, Will change my brown feathers to a glory of gold."

So he flew--with the strength of a lark he flew; But, as he rose, the cloud rose too; And not one gleam of the golden hair Came through the depths of the misty air; Till, weary with flying, with sighing sore, The strong sun-seeker could do no more.

His wings had had no chrism of gold; And his feathers felt withered and worn and old; He faltered, and sank, and dropped like a stone.

And there on his nest, where he left her, alone Sat his little wife on her little eggs, Keeping them warm with wings and legs.

Did I say alone? Ah, no such thing!

Full in her face was s.h.i.+ning the king.

"Welcome, Sir Lark! You look tired," said he; "_Up_ is not always the best way to me.

While you have been singing so high and away, I've been s.h.i.+ning to your little wife all day."

He had set his crown all about the nest, And out of the midst shone her little brown breast; And so glorious was she in russet gold, That for wonder and awe Sir Lark grew cold.

He popped his head under her wing, and lay As still as a stone, till King Sun was away.

THE IMPS IN THE HEAVENLY MEADOW

BY KATE E. BUNCE (after RUDOLF BAUNBACH)

To Heaven's Meadows, bright with flowers and suns.h.i.+ne, The little children go, When they have had enough of life's sad dreaming, And leave the earth below.

But as they had not time to learn their lessons Before they went away, There is a school, where all the angel children Must work four hours a day.

With golden pencils upon silver tablets, They copy fairy tales, And learn to keep their halos bright and s.h.i.+ning, And sing, and play their scales.

And twice a week they glide with merry laughter All down the Milky Way, And homeward in the evening wander softly Upon a sunset ray.

But Sunday is the day they love and long for, Then all the children go And play from morn till night within a meadow Where flowers in thousands grow.

The meadow is not green, but blue and golden The flowers like dewdrops bright; When it is night, they burn and glow and glisten-- Men call them stars of light.

Through Heaven's gate they all must pa.s.s to find it, Where Peter with the key Keeps watch and warns the little angels kindly How good they all must be.

They must not fly about or run too quickly, Nor go too far away, And when upon his golden key he calls them, Then they must all obey.

One day it was so very hot in Heaven That good St. Peter slept, And when the little angel children saw it, Away they quickly crept.

Ah! then they ran and flew about with laughter, And fluttered far and wide, So far they wandered that of Heaven's meadow They reached the other side.

They came to where the strong, tall, wooden paling Shuts all that place away, Where idle, careless, mischief-loving, naughty, The Imps of Darkness stray.

And there the angels stopped, devoutly wis.h.i.+ng Some opening there might be, So that they might each one in turn peep through it, And see what they could see.

But not a c.h.i.n.k or hole, for all their seeking, No gleam of light pierced through, So with their little wings outspread and eager, Right to the top they flew.

And looking down they saw with awe and wonder.

Imps all as black as soot; Each had two horns and each a tail to play with, And hoof, instead of foot.

They heard the rustle of the angel feathers, They felt the cool sweet air, And, lifting up their little coal-black faces, They saw Heaven's children there.

Then with one voice they cried: "Oh! angel Children, You look so good and fair, We pray you, let us come up into Heaven And play a little there.

"We will not tweak nor pull your s.h.i.+ning feathers, But be so very good; We will not try and steal your little halos, But all do as we should."

Then quick they flew away for Jacob's ladder, (Peter was still asleep), And placed it safely, where from Heaven to Imp-land The way was dark and steep.

Then every little imp, with shouts and laughter, Helped by an angel's hand, Scrambled right over the great wooden paling, And stood in Heaven's land.

They all, with air sedate and pious faces, Discreetly walked around, Their tails like trains upon their arms upholding, And eyes upon the ground.