Mark raised his tearful eyes, and seeing a kind face, told his pitiful story.
"Oh, don't be down-hearted," cried Harry. "Why, don't you know the fairies are not all dead yet? Now, there's the fairy Benevolence; just you ask her, good and loud, to help you, and see if she won't do it;" and he patted the little boy encouragingly on the head, slipped a quarter of a dollar—all the money he had with him—in his hand, and walked quickly away.
Harry's father was a skilful physician, with one of the largest and most loving hearts I ever knew; and when Harry told Mark to call upon the fairy for assistance, his idea was that the fairy this time would come in the shape of a rather stout gentleman, with the pleasantest smile and finest set of snow-white teeth that ever were seen. He had a kind, delicate way of doing a service, which made it better to take, and did more good than all the medicine in Mr. Hegeman's apothecary shop.
Very soon little Mark got up and went into the cottage. His mother was still sleeping. It was now sunset, and the shadows began to deepen and darken in the room. Mark sat down by the bedside, and commenced thinking of what Harry had told him. He was a little bit of a fellow, you know, and of course would believe what such a great boy would say. So he concluded it must be true that the fairies were still to be found; and at last his longing grew so intense that he cried aloud, "Oh, Fairy Benevolence! come quickly, and make my poor mother well."
A sweet strain of music seemed to float in the air; the poor, whitewashed wall of the cottage opened in the middle, through which a beautiful lady entered, with a wreath of flowers round her head, and a wand of ivory in her hand.
"Well, my little friend," said she in a soft voice, "what do you want of me?"
Mark was almost speechless with astonishment and admiration; but he managed to say, "Oh, lady, if you are the fairy Benevolence, save my poor mother."
"It is not in my power, my good child. You must do it yourself. You can, if you have the courage to go where I tell you, and hunt for a certain plant. It grows on the top of a mountain, and is called 'The Plant of Life.' The juice of that plant will cure your mother the moment she tastes of it."
"I will go this instant," he cried; "but who will take care of my mother?"