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Not that she looked as if she would be easily frightened: she seemed so good and gentle that I'm sure she
would never expect that any one could wish to hurt her. She was only a few inches high, and was dressed in
green, so that you really would hardly have noticed her among the long grass; and she was so delicate and
graceful that she quite seemed to belong to the place, almost as if she were one of the flowers. I may tell you,
besides, that she had no wings (I don't believe in Fairies with wings), and that she had quantities of long
brown hair and large earnest brown eyes, and then I shall have done all I can to give you an idea of her.
[Image...Fairy-sylvie]
Sylvie (I found out her name afterwards) had knelt down, just as I was doing, to help the Beetle; but it needed
more than a little stick for her to get it on its legs again; it was as much as she could do, with both arms, to roll
the heavy thing over; and all the while she was talking to it, half scolding and half comforting, as a nurse
might do with a child that had fallen down.
"There, there! You needn't cry so much about it. You're not killed yet--though if you were, you couldn't cry,
you know, and so it's a general rule against crying, my dear! And how did you come to tumble over? But I can
see well enough how it was--I needn't ask you that-- walking over sand-pits with your chin in the air, as usual.
Of course if you go among sand-pits like that, you must expect to tumble. You should look."
The Beetle murmured something that sounded like "I did look," and Sylvie went on again.
"But I know you didn't! You never do! You always walk with your chin up--you're so dreadfully conceited.
Well, let's see how many legs are broken this time. Why, none of them, I declare! And what's the good of
having six legs, my dear, if you can only kick them all about in the air when you tumble? Legs are meant to
walk with, you know. Now don't begin putting out your wings yet; I've more to say. Go to the frog that lives
behind that buttercup--give him my compliments--Sylvie's compliments--can you say compliments'?"
CHAPTER 14. 62
The Beetle tried and, I suppose, succeeded.
"Yes, that's right. And tell him he's to give you some of that salve I left with him yesterday. And you'd better
get him to rub it in for you. He's got rather cold hands, but you mustn't mind that."
I think the Beetle must have shuddered at this idea, for Sylvie went on in a graver tone. "Now you needn't
pretend to be so particular as all that, as if you were too grand to be rubbed by a frog. The fact is, you ought to
be very much obliged to him. Suppose you could get nobody but a toad to do it, how would you like that?"
There was a little pause, and then Sylvie added "Now you may go. Be a good beetle, and don't keep your chin
in the air." And then began one of those performances of humming, and whizzing, and restless banging about,
such as a beetle indulges in when it has decided on flying, but hasn't quite made up its mind which way to go.
At last, in one of its awkward zigzags, it managed to fly right into my face, and, by the time I had recovered
from the shock, the little Fairy was gone.
I looked about in all directions for the little creature, but there was no trace of her--and my 'eerie' feeling was
quite gone off, and the crickets were chirping again merrily--so I knew she was really gone.
And now I've got time to tell you the rule about the crickets. They always leave off chirping when a Fairy
goes by--because a Fairy's a kind of queen over them, I suppose--at all events it's a much grander thing than a
cricket--so whenever you're walking out, and the crickets suddenly leave off chirping, you may be sure that
they see a Fairy.
I walked on sadly enough, you may be sure. However, I comforted myself with thinking "It's been a very
wonderful afternoon, so far. I'll just go quietly on and look about me, and I shouldn't wonder if I were to come
across another Fairy somewhere."
Peering about in this way, I happened to notice a plant with rounded leaves, and with queer little holes cut in
the middle of several of them. "Ah, the leafcutter bee!" I carelessly remarked--you know I am very learned in
Natural History (for instance, I can always tell kittens from chickens at one glance)--and I was passing on,
when a sudden thought made me stoop down and examine the leaves.
Then a little thrill of delight ran through me --for I noticed that the holes were all arranged so as to form
letters; there were three leaves side by side, with "B," "R," and "U" marked on them, and after some search I
found two more, which contained an "N" and an "O."
And then, all in a moment, a flash of inner light seemed to illumine a part of my life that had all but faded into
oblivion--the strange visions I had experienced during my journey to Elveston: and with a thrill of delight I
thought "Those visions are destined to be linked with my waking life!"
By this time the 'eerie' feeling had come back again, and I suddenly observed that no crickets were chirping;
so I felt quite sure that "Bruno was somewhere very near.
And so indeed he was--so near that I had very nearly walked over him without seeing him; which would have
been dreadful, always supposing that Fairies can be walked over my own belief is that they are something of
the nature of Will-o'-the-wisps: and there's no walking over them.
Think of any pretty little boy you know, with rosy cheeks, large dark eyes, and tangled brown hair, and then
fancy him made small enough to go comfortably into a coffee-cup, and you'll have a very fair idea of him.
"What's your name, little one?" I began, in as soft a voice as I could manage. And, by the way, why is it we
always begin by asking little children their names? Is it because we fancy a name will help to make them a
CHAPTER 14. 63
little bigger? You never thought of as king a real large man his name, now, did you? But, however that may
be, I felt it quite necessary to know his name; so, as he didn't answer my question, I asked it again a little
louder. "What's your name, my little man?"
"What's oors?" he said, without looking up.
I told him my name quite gently, for he was much too small to be angry with.
"Duke of Anything?" he asked, just looking at me for a moment, and then going on with his work.
"Not Duke at all," I said, a little ashamed of having to confess it.
"Oo're big enough to be two Dukes," said the little creature. "I suppose oo're Sir Something, then?"
"No," I said, feeling more and more ashamed. "I haven't got any title."
The Fairy seemed to think that in that case I really wasn't worth the trouble of talking to, for he quietly went
on digging, and tearing the flowers to pieces.
After a few minutes I tried again. "Please tell me what your name is." [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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