“‘Well, those hard times after a while passed by. The people grew and increased. They conquered the wilderness, and built many towns. A different order of things sprang up. It was then that we fairies reaped the reward of our self-devotion. No longer was it considered sinful to spin fanciful tales, or sing funny rhymes. The children loved us, and listened for our voices. Their bright, untired eyes could perceive us, as we swung from the blue-bells, or pelted each other with the brown pollen of tiger-lilies; and they rejoiced with us. Babies crooned in the sun as we rocked their cradles. And we played no tricks,’ declared the fairy, growing excited: ‘we were a rational and well-conducted people. Whether the catechism and godly talk we had heard in the tents had sobered us, I know not; but certain it is we had lost some of our mischief. No longer did we tweak the noses of ploughboys, or incite the cow to kick over the milking-pail. No! On the contrary, we were the helpers in all useful work. We made the butter come; we swept the rooms, and straightened the shelves of good housewives; and were a general blessing to the land.
“‘Alas! what a poor return have we met for all this! For a new age has dawned, and another kind of child,—a child who reasons and thinks, and studies arithmetic and the science of objects. We have lost our worshippers. Even the babies sprawling in their mothers’ laps know better than to believe in us. Long we strove,—we practised all our lore, traced our rings in the grass, dropped fairy favors into little stockings, made bluebottle-fly and dragonfly our messengers,—but all in vain. The wish to see was wanting.
“‘Did we spin for hours, and overlay the grass with a silken carpet to dazzle and enchant early peepers? Nobody cared a button; and some parent would be heard explaining, “It is nothing but cobweb, my dear. Come to the library after breakfast, and I’ll read you about it in a book of Natural History.” Yes,’ said the fairy, bitterly, ‘it had come to that,—the book of Natural History instead of the “Fairy Book”! Or did we spread a tiny table like this, with strawberries ranged in row, and leave it in the path where little travellers were wont to pass, no one heeded it. “Only an old toadstool!” they would cry, and kick it aside with their copper-toed boots. Ah! it was enough to break a fairy’s heart!
“‘When we lit our tapers, and went out in procession in the evening, we were called fire-flies! Our pretty songs, as we rocked in the boughs, were ascribed to the wind; and “Hadn’t baby better have on something warmer, dear?” Our fairy favors were treated with scorn. Once I dropped a tester into a little girl’s shoe, as she paddled in the brook. Was she pleased? Not at all! “Here’s an ugly yellow leaf in my boot,” she said; and she plucked it out and threw it away.
“‘What was left for us to do, our occupation gone? Nothing! We resigned ourselves to the inevitable. One by one we deserted the haunts, which alas! knew us no more, and retreated farther and farther from the abodes of men. At last we chose this Marble Mountain for our home. Here long years we dwelt, a numerous colony; for other fugitives joined our retreat. The Banshee inhabited for some months a cave upon that western slope; but her perpetual lamentations made us sad, and at last we united in a remonstrance; and she left for the Ojibeway Country, where she still resides. Bogey too—harmless, though black—was for long our hewer of wood and drawer of water. He now sleeps yonder, under the greenwood tree; while beside him slumbers that forgotten worthy, “The man who lived in the chimney,” once the terror of refractory nurseries. Bug-a-boo also joined our band for a while, but deserted us for a situation among the Ku-Klux. Even Santa Claus talked at one time of uniting himself to our number, but he thought better of it. I conclude,’ said the fairy, ironically, ‘that mankind found out some way of turning him to account, and making him useful, or he would certainly have come.
“‘One by one our once merry company drooped and faded. The monotonous life of this place was too sad for them, used as they were to sunny nurseries, gay flower-beds, and the world of fun. The graves of my brothers and sisters lie about me, and here in the midst of them I dwell. It is years since I have left my hermitage or seen a child;—in fact, I don’t believe there is such a thing as a real child left in the land.’
“So saying, the fairy ended his tale with a profound sigh. He pulled his pointed cap (which was exactly like a little red extinguisher) over his eyes, and to all my questions replied not another word. And so I left him sitting alone and silent. Whether he still lives I do not know. His poor body was thin as a grasshopper’s; and I suspect when I visit the mountains again this year, I shall find his little skeleton hidden away under a bunch-berry or a blade of grass.”
“Oh,” sighed Thekla, “how lovely! That was the best yet.”
“So saying, the fairy ended his tale with a profound sigh.”