PRISCILLA PLAYS FAIRIES.
Unrehearsed dramatic dialogue comes quite easily to some people, and so does a knowledge of the ways of the fairy world, but I am not one of those people. Also I was supposed to have a headache that afternoon and to be recovering from a severe cold. Also I was reading a very exciting book. I cannot help thinking therefore that the fairy Bluebell was taking a mean advantage of my numerous disabilities in appearing at all. She rattled the handle of the door a long time, and when I had opened it came in by a series of little skips on her toes, accompanied by wagglings of the arms rather in the fashion of a penguin. Every now and then she gave a slightly higher jump and descended flatly and rather noisily on her feet. She wore a new frock, with frills.
I. What are you doing, Priscilla?
She. I'm the Fairy Bluebell dancing. Don't you like my dancing?
I. It's beautiful.
She (rapidly). And you were a very poor old man who had a lot of nasty work to do and you were asleep.
I (feeling it might have been much worse and composing myself to slumber in my chair). Honk!
She (pinching my ear and pulling it very hard). And you woke up and said, "I do believe there's a dear little fairy dancing."
I (emerging from repose). Why, I do believe I heard a fairy dancing, or (vindictively) can it have been another ton of coal coming in?
She (disregarding my malice). And you said, "Alack, alack! I do want somefing to eat."
I. Alack, alack! I am so hungry.
She (fetching a large cushion from the sofa and putting it on the top of me). Lumpetty, lumpetty, lumpetty.
I. What's that, Priscilla?
She. Bitatoes pouring out of a sack. (Fetches another cushion and puts it on the top of the first.) Lumpetty, lumpetty, lumpetty.
I. And this?
She (opening her eyes very wide). Red plums. (Fetches another cushion.) Limpetty, limpetty, limpetty.
I. What's that?
She. Lovely honey.
I (affecting to simulate the natural gratification of a poor old man suddenly smothered in vegetables, fruit and liquid preserve). How perfectly delicious!
She. And you want to go to sleep again. [I go.
She (pulling my ear again). And you sawed a dragon coming up the drive, and the sofa was the dragon.
I. Alack, alack! I see a dragon coming up the drive. What shall I do? I must telephone to the police.
She (quickly). Did the police have a tuncheon?
I. Yes, he did.
She. Shall I be the police?
I (cautiously, because a "tuncheon" necessitates making a long paper roll out of "The Times"). I am afraid the telephone had broken down, so the police didn't hear. How I wish the Fairy Bluebell was about!
She. And so the Fairy Bluebell came and cut off the dragon's head and gave it to you.
[Fetches a fourth large cushion and adds it to the pile.
I. But why should I have the dragon's head?
She (enigmatically). You had to have it.
[The poor old man resigns himself to his increasingly glutinous fate.
She (fetching a waste-paper basket and returning to the sofa). Limpetty, limpetty, limpetty.
I (faint but inquisitive). Whatever are you doing now, Priscilla?
She. Poisoning the dragon's body.
I. Poisoning it?
She. Yes, wiv a can.
I. How?
She. Down its neck.
I (feeling that the immediate peril from the dragon's assault is now practically over and wishing to return the fairy's kindness). Shall we pretend that the sofa is where the Fairy Bluebell lived, and I built her a little home with flowers, and these cushions were the flowers, and (rather basely) she went to sleep in it?
She (with sparkling eyes). Yes, yes.
[I remove the potatoes, the plums, the honey and the head of the dragon and manufacture a grotto in which the Fairy Bluebell reclines with closed eyes. It appears to be a suitable moment for returning to my book.
She. And suddenly the Fairy Bluebell woke up, and what do you think she wanted?
I (disillusioned). I can't think.
She. She wanted to be readen to.
I (resignedly). And what did I do?
She. You said, "I'll read about Tom and the otter."
I (hopefully). I don't know where it is.
She. I think it's in the dining-room, and the Fairy Bluebell couldn't get it herself because she was only a little girl really.
As I say, there are a lot of people, and many of them, doubtless, readers of this paper, who understand all about fairies. I want to ask them, as one poor old hard-worked man to another, whether this is the proper way for a fairy to behave. There seems to be a lack of delicacy—and shall I say shyness?—about it.
Evoe.
Mrs. McNicol. "Found a poun' note in the street, Donal'? That's guid!"
Her Husband (sadly.) "Ay, but McTavish saw me pick it up, an' I owe him twenty-two an' saxpence."
Our Tactful Orators.
"At the close they asked President ——, who was in the chair, to present a very handsome umbrella to Mr. ——.
In a few well-chosen words the Chairman said he trusted that Mr. ——, while journeying through life, would be successful in warding off many a shower with his umbrella, but they all hoped they would be showers of goodwill."
—Trade Paper.
"This is great fun and mystifies your friends. Buy a few and you will be the cleverest fellow in your district.
Our leaders are 'Stink Bomb' (make bad smell when broken). Re. 1 a box.
'Sneeze Powder' (makes everybody sneeze when blown in the air) Re. 1 a bottle."
Advt. in Indian Paper.
Who says the East has no sense of humour?
