“You must know,” she said, “that way up North, in a region which I sometimes visit, are two beautiful peaks called the ‘Marble Mountains.’ No mountains in all the country are so beautiful as they. When the full noon smites them, they gleam like snow; and their glistening seams give out sharp glints, between which lie shadows of the purest, softest gray. But at sunset and sunrise they are all lovely pink, like roses; and so enchanting do they look, that miles and miles away the children watch them, and fancy the fairies must live there.
“It is a wild spot, and few people have ever reached it. Excepting me: I go everywhere. But for a long time I contented myself with hasty calls, and did not force my way to the heart of the place, where the thick shadows lie. Last year, however, I resolved to make more thorough work. Slowly and carefully I toiled through the dense brushwood and the deep glens; and at last, in the very loneliest recess of the mountain, I came upon—what do you think?—a fairy! The little children far away had been right in their guess, you see.
“It was Midsummer-eve, the fairies’ own day; and he was celebrating it with an out-door tea. His seat was in the middle of a circle of vivid green grass, the kind that once went by the name of a ‘fairy ring.’ He was quite an old fairy. It is difficult to determine about ages, but I saw that at a glance. Beside him stood an immense toadstool, upon which was placed his supper of honey posset; but he didn’t seem to have much appetite,—in fact, he was dreadfully out of spirits, as I found after we had talked a little while.
“‘I am the last of the little men in green,’ he said, glancing down at his clothes, which were indeed of a delicate duckweed tint. ‘Many, many centuries have I lived on earth; in fact, I may say that you see before you that “oldest inhabitant” so frequently referred to in the newspapers. My youth was a happy one,—how happy I do not now like to recall. We fairies then were the great folk in England. Perhaps you have heard of England?’
“I mentioned that I had, and was in the habit of making a visit there every year.
“This pleased the fairy. ‘Ah! that is a country,’ he went on. ‘Such moonlight! such woods! such delightful society! Sherwood Forest now! Many and many a night have I danced and made merry there in the days of bold Robin Hood! But that was long, long ago.
“‘When we little people heard that a ship was to cross the sea, and bring a colony of English to settle on these shores, we held a meeting to consider what was to be done. There were children among the colonists. Now it is a fixed rule among us that, wherever children go, fairies must go too.
“‘It was a sad and painful thing to leave that dear land where we were honored and believed in, but we are not of the kind who shrink from the call of duty. I was among the earliest volunteers. Ah! if I had known,’ said the fairy, shaking his head, ‘had guessed, half what lay before us, I should never have “signified in the usual manner”—by raising my right wing—a readiness to go. But I was young in those days,—young and ardent; and my soul was full of courage and adventure.
“‘Of the voyage I will not trust myself to speak. None of the remedies—blue-pill, quassia, chloroform, ice on the spine, mustard on the stomach, or keeping-your-eye-immovably-on-a-fixed-object—had been invented, and we suffered agonies. When the ship touched Plymouth Rock, I could hardly drag myself ashore.
“‘It was cold, very cold. No going out of doors was possible. We huddled together in the tents, keeping in dark corners, and as much out of sight as we could, for fear of getting our little friends into trouble. For these colonists were a severe folk; and children will talk, you know. And if ever we crept out to crack a tiny joke with one, tell a story to another, or sing a snatch in the ear of the cooing baby, some chatterer was sure to spill and bubble over with fun and merriment; and then, lo! and behold, there would be a catechism lesson to learn, or some stern reproof, which sent us cowering into our retreats to weep over our poor little sobbing friends. So in time the children learned to keep all the secrets we whispered them to themselves; and that did not please us either, for we love jests and laughter and outspoken words.