ELSIE

ELSIE.

If you were to search the whole of Australia you could not find a more beautiful place than “Hawthorne,” the residence of little Elsie Barton Elsie’s father was a merchant with plenty of money. He therefore erected a large house, a little way in the country, away from the dust and noise of the city. The building stood on a lofty hill, surrounded by trees and a lovely garden, with a broad river flowing down below among crags and thick foliage, and where the water seemed like a great mirror fixed in an emerald frame. Little Elsie loved music, and was always ready every morning to begin her music lessons without being scolded and driven to them, as some disobedient and naughty girls and boys are. It was a bright morning, and Elsie raised up the window to admit the fresh breeze and the sunshine, and then sat down to the piano. She had scarcely touched the keys, however, when she was startled at hearing some one pronounce her name. The voice which Elsie heard calling her was not a gruff or a rough voice by any means, neither was it shrill or disagreeable in its tone; yet it was decidedly unlike any other voice she had ever heard before. It seemed more like the tinkling of a tiny silver bell than anything else, save that the utterance was clear and decided, and sent a thrill, half of fear, half of surprise, through the frame of the listener.

“Elsie—Elsie Barton!” repeated the voice.

Elsie turned about quickly, and stood amazed to observe upon the toilet-table near the window the tiniest and most grotesque creature in the world. The form was that of an old woman. Such a wee, graceful old lady, with a lithe, slight figure, no higher than the bottle of perfume near her. She was attired in a purple robe, green baize shoes, and a shining cloak of the same colour, with a hood attached, but which she had thrown back, disclosing her yellow hair. She supported herself with a crutch stick, about the size of a wax match.

“Well, my dear, you are no doubt astonished at seeing me?” said the old lady, leaning on her staff, and looking at Elsie with a smile. “Pray take out those horrid long spikes you call pins from the pincushion, and I will sit down and rest myself, for I am really tired.”

There was nothing at all repulsive in the manner or the aspect of this strange visitor. So little Elsie, overcoming her wonder and amazement, prepared the pincushion and seated the old lady thereon, then inquired in a respectful tone how she came into the room.

“ ‘PRAY TAKE OUT THOSE HORRID LONG SPIKES.’ ”

“Through the window, of course, my dear,” answered the creature, smiling. “We fairies come and go at divers times and seasons, and exactly how and when we please.”

“Are you a fairy—a real fairy?” cried Elsie, approaching and gazing with deep interest on the little lady before her.

“Certainly, child. Couldn’t you see that? We Australian elves are not so tall as our kindred over the ocean, but we are fairies notwithstanding.”

“I—I have read of the fairies,” said Elsie shyly, “but I have never seen any of them before.”

“Oh, my dear, it’s a great favour for any mortal to see us. It is only good children who have the privilege. Do you know why I came here this morning?” said the old lady, fanning herself with a rose-leaf.

“No. Pray tell me.”

“A poor little boy, who has been dreadfully hurt, and who lives in the little hut near the quarry, sent me to you,” replied the fairy.

“Is it little Harry, the widow’s boy?”

“The same, my dear.”

“I will go this moment,” she replied; and running down the stairs, Elsie took her sun-bonnet from the rack in the hall, and joined the elfin in the garden. Without speaking another word the fairy led the way down the hill, and away along the sunny banks of the river, and onward to a secluded dell, where Nature had exhausted the skill of simplicity. The earth undulating into tiny hillocks, was clothed with a tender verdure as soft and green as moss. The deep blue waters rolled by with a hushed ripple, that was more soothing than silence, and a blueness that rivalled the deep azure of the skies. On one side rose great masses of rugged rocks, and these and all the trees around were draped with great masses of clematis. From the roots of these there crept along the ground the beautiful vines of the purple sarsaparilla, and the grass all around was gemmed with wild violets and the blossoms of a delicately pencilled little wild orchid. The scent of the clematis made the air heavy with perfume, and the song of birds came with added music from the other side of the stream.

In this pleasant spot were gathered together a troop of elves—little, transparent people, dressed in scarlet, and blue, and amber, others in white, shining robes, and with green jewels and wreaths decking their golden curls.

Elsie Barton stood spellbound with amazement at the wonderful sight before her. Many a time she had strolled through the lovely dell previously, but she had never met either fay or sprite. While she stood with mouth agape, the old lady fairy whispered in her ear and led the child away out of the glen and over the river, where the blue smoke from the cottage wherein lay the sick boy could be seen ascending in a thin, spiral column up toward heaven, as if bridging the void between the suffering child and the ministering angels of God.

Within sight of the hut, the fairy halted, and seating herself upon a mushroom, said in a sweet, piping tone: “I cannot venture farther, Elsie. We elves are but the emblem of good thoughts and benevolent deeds. Whoever thinks least of self can see us palpably everywhere, because we are beneficence personified. Wherever there may be an act of kindness to be done, we seek out the kindly disposed to do it; but it is death to us to look upon any other mortals, save the humane and kindly hearted. Bend down, my dear, so that I may kiss you. Now, good-bye,” and the tiny lady vanished in a moment.

It was a very rude dwelling built of slabs, and almost devoid of furniture, and little Elsie Barton’s eyes filled with tears as she entered it and beheld on a bed, in one corner of the room, a boy about her own age, lying pale and ill. The poor lad had been obliged to work in a quarry, to help his widowed mother and his two little brothers, and a large stone had fallen down and had crushed one of his legs dreadfully. The brave child was sinking fast for want of generous diet and such nourishment as the widow was unable to procure for him, and so the fairy had brought kind-hearted little Elsie Barton to visit him; and Elsie helped the widow to make the sick-room more light and cosy, then went home and told her mother about the sick boy; and Mrs. Barton, after filling a basket with nice food, returned with Elsie to the cottage.

And every day for weeks Elsie Barton carried her basket of flowers and fruit, and choice morsels of dainty food for the little sufferer, until the lad grew well and strong again; and sometimes, sitting in the small country church on Sundays, the quarry boy sees her in the family pew listening with upturned face to the preacher, while through the stained windows gleam broad bars of rich and gorgeous light, which float about her as a gossamer, and surround the gentle face as with a glory tint.