Old Farm Fairies.

A Summer Campaign in Brownieland

AGAINST

King Cobweaver's Pixies.

A Story for Young People,

BY

Henry Christopher McCook,

AUTHOR OF

"Tenants of an Old Farm," "American Spiders and Their Spinningwork," etc., etc.

ONE HUNDRED AND FIFTY ILLUSTRATIONS.

PHILADELPHIA:
George W. Jacobs & Co.,
103 South 15th Street.
A. D. 1895.

Copyright, 1895,
by
Henry Christopher McCook.

PRESS OF
AVIL PRINTING COMPANY,
PHILADELPHIA.

In Tender Recollection of
Boyhood's Home, Loves, Joys, and Trials Among the Hills of
ever dear Ohio,
I dedicate this Book
to the
Memory of my Brother
Roderick Sheldon McCook
Late Commander United States Navy.
An able, honorable and patriotic officer, he waxed valiant in fight
both on sea and land
for his Country's honor and defence.
On this page
The Author would keep green his Name
as the
Roommate, Playmate and Companion of Early Days.

CONTENTS

PREFACE.

This preface shall be a personal explanation. The following book was written during the winter of 1876-77, more than eighteen years ago. Its origin was in this wise: Some of my readers will know that for more than twenty years I have studied the habits of our spider fauna. During the first years of these studies, the thought came to me to write a book for youth wherein my observations should be personified in the imaginary creatures of fairy lore, and thus float into the young mind some of my natural history findings in such pleasant form that they would be received quite unconsciously, and at least an impression thereof retained with sufficient accuracy to open the way to more serious lessons in the future.

It further seemed to me that the fairies of Scotland, with whom I had been familiar from childhood, might afford vivid personalities for my plan. Accordingly, the spiders were assigned the part of Pixies or goblins, the ill-natured fairies of Scotland and Northern England. The Brownies, or friendly folk, the "gude neebours," or household fairies, were made to personify those insect forms, especially those useful to man, against which spiders wage continual war. Moreover, to express the relations of the lower creatures to human life, and their actual as well as imaginary interdependence, human characters were introduced, and conflicts between Pixies and Brownies were interwoven with their behaviour.

This purely personal statement has been intruded upon the reader to explain that the Brownies, as represented in this book, are not imitations. They antedated, by a number of years, the popular creations of Mr. Palmer Cox. The writer well understands as a naturalist that priority depends not upon originality of intention or invention, or even of preparation, but upon precedence in publication. It will be found, however, that my conception and treatment of these wee folk differ from those of Mr. Cox. As they appear to me from the recollections of childhood, they have a more serious aspect, a more human-like nature, which ought not to be wholly sacrificed to their jovial characteristics. I have therefore presented the Brownies as beings with humanized affections, passions and methods reflected in miniature.

I confess some qualms, on the scientific side of my conscience, at compelling my friends, the spiders, to play the part of Pixies. But there seemed no other course out of regard both to common belief and the necessity imposed by the facts. As I went on with the work, I wondered at the ductility with which the current habits of the aranead tribes yielded to personification. The water spiders permitted the introduction of smugglers, pirates and sailors; the burrowing and trapdoor spiders opened up tales of caves and subterranean abodes; the ballooning spiders permitted an adaptation of modern military methods of reconnoissance; and so on through a long list of aranead habits.

In order to make this more apparent, and to give adult readers, parents and teachers, and the older class of youthful readers, a scientific key to the various situations, brief notes have been added in an Appendix, to which foot-note references have been made in most of the chapters. Moreover, the natural habits personified are interpreted by figures set into the text with no explanation but the legend written thereunder.

The crudely drawn cuts which figure in the pages as "The Boy's Illustrations" are exact reproductions of sketches made by a lad in my own family, between eight and nine years old, to whom, with others, the manuscript was read as a sort of test of its quality. Encouraged by the advice of one of the keenest and most sympathetic students of child life in America, I have ventured to give a few of these drawings to the public, as a curious study in the operations of child-mind.

I had agreed with myself not to print the Brownie Book until my scientific work upon the spiders was finished, and the manuscript remained untouched until the winter of 1885-6. At that time I seemed to see the nearing end of my studies, and portions of the Brownie-Pixie story were distributed to various artists, among them Mr. Dan. C. Beard and Mr. Harry L. Poore. Some of the illustrations at that time made, appear in the following pages, bearing date 1886. "Tenants of an Old Farm" had now appeared, and was so well received that it was thought advisable to connect this book with that by an "Introductory Chapter" intended for older readers, and which gives the key to the motive of the story. Early in 1886 I recalled all contracts and arrangements for publication, as a prolonged sickness compelled me to drop scientific work and defer the issue of the "American Spiders." On the very day that the binders placed the first finished copy of the third and last volume of that work in my hands, the "copy" of "Old Farm Fairies" went to the printer.

H. C. McC.

The Manse, Philadelphia, May 21, A. D. 1895.

THE INTRODUCTION.

AN INTRODUCTION.

This Chapter is for Grownups only. Children will please skip it.

THE SCHOOLMISTRESS AND THE FAIRIES.

In the south yard of the Old Farm at Highwood there stands a noble Elm tree. Its massive proportions, the stately pose of its furrowed trunk and the graceful outlines of its drooping branches have often drawn my pleased eyes and awakened admiration. There is nothing in Nature that better serves to stir up human enthusiasm than a fine tree; and as our vicinage for miles around abounds in worthy examples of American forest growths, there is ample opportunity for such sentiment to be kept aglow in the hearts of the Tenants at the Old Farm. Yet it must be confessed that there is also occasion at times for a kindling of quite another sort, when the stupidity, perversity, and penuriousness of men wage a vandal war against the noble monarchs of the woods.

The fall of a huge tree is a touching sight. See! the trunk trembles upon the last few fibres that stand in the gap which the axman has made. A shiver runs through the foliage to the summit and circumference of the branches. The tree-top bows with slightest trace of a lurch to one side. Then it sinks—slowly, faster, fast! With no undignified rush, but with a stately sweep it descends to the earth. Crash! The ground trembles at the fall. The nethermost branches in their breakage explode sharply like a farewell volley of soldiers over a comrade's grave. Boughs, twigs and leaves vibrate, as with a passionate earnestness of grief, for a few moments, and then are still. There, prone upon the forest mould the glorious monarch lies, majestic even in its fallen estate. A few bunches of human muscle, a keen steel edge and a scant fraction of time have destroyed two centuries of Nature's cunning work.

Well, one is inclined to so vary the version of a certain Scripture Text that it shall read "a man was infamous" rather than "a man was famous according as he had lifted up axes upon the thick trees."[A]

Of course Mr. Gladstone, and the multitude of undistinguished axmen who delight to fall a tree, have an honorable and lawful vocation. Trees ripen, like other animate things, and when they are full ripe they may be felled; when their time has come they ought to fall; when the exigencies of higher intelligences truly require, they also must fall before their time. But, this brings no justification of that murderous idiocy which sets so many citizen sovereigns of America to slaughtering the grand sovereigns of the plant world.

Fig. 1.—The Forest Monarch's Fall. The Brownie's Grief and Anger Thereat.

However, all this perhaps has little to do with our great Elm, except, that one must be grateful that it has been spared to cause the eyes to rejoice in its beauty and to refresh us with its shade. We built a rustic seat, against its trunk, and there in the warm summer days and evenings which succeeded the winter of our coming to the Old Farm, I was wont to sit and meditate, and sometimes doze. It was a favorite spot with me, but others of the family often shared it with me, or enjoyed it by themselves. This will well enough introduce a matter which I have now to lay before the reader. It came to me from the Schoolmistress, who, I venture to hope, is not forgotten by the readers of "The Tenants of An Old Farm."

My dear Mr. Mayfield:

The package that I herewith send you has a strange history which I beg to recite ere you break the wrappings and examine the contents of the parcel.

It happened during one of the warm days of last June that I sat on the rustic bench under the Great Elm and read Mr. Lowell's "Vision of Sir Launfal." I closed the book and thought, with an exquisite sense of its beauty and fitness, upon the poet's opening verses which contain a description of June, and in which are these lines:

"'Tis Heaven alone that is given away,
'Tis only God may be had for the asking;
There is no price set on the lavish Summer,
And June may be had by the poorest comer."

As I conned the words my eyes slowly wandered along the landscape, and my heart rejoiced in the royal bounty of beauty which the poet sings. Then my vision returned to the objects just around me, and gradually became fixed upon some of the living things about which you have kindly told us so much new and interesting. Indeed, they seemed already like old friends, and I watched with keen zest their various movements.

How bright everything was, and how peaceful the tone of Nature! Butterflies flitted by, beating the air in their leisurely way, then rested on leaf or flower while they opened and closed their wings with graceful, fanlike movements. The winged Hymenoptera dashed by with the sharp, quick wingstroke of their kind, or hung humming above the flowers. Honey-bees, Carpenter-bees, Digger-wasps, the blue Mud-dauber, the brown Paper-wasp, Hornets and Yellow-jackets were busy at their various occupations. One dusted pollen into its "basket;" another dumped aromatic pellets of sawdust from a cedar rail; another scooped up mandible hodfulls of mortar at the edge of the brook; others plucked chiplets of old wood from a weathered fence post; all seemed happy, and devoted to peaceful industry.

The great green Grasshopper was in hearing, if not in sight, the veritable "hopper" whose long threadlike antennæ and wedge shaped head you have taught us to recognize as marking the true from the so called grasshopper or locust. He sat upon the tall grass on the bank of the Run close by the spring house, and shrilled his piping love call to his mate. The annual Cicada, too ("Pruinosa" you called it), was sounding his amorous drum from the trees with a volume and sharpness of sound that far exceed those of his cousin german the Seventeen Year Cicada. His silent ladylove might occasionally be seen flitting from bough to bough. An Orbweaving spider's web was spun upon an adjacent bush, and three courtiers were established at different parts of the margin of the snare awaiting the complaisance of Madam Aranea the housekeeper. Near my feet a bevy of Fuscous Ants[B] were tugging with great to-do at a crumb of sweet cake, while their fellow formicarians were equally concerned in covering and screening the gate of their nest that lay to the right under the verge of the Elm's shadow. Birds of several species were near by; Robins whistled in the meadow, a Vireo sang in the tree tops, Sparrows twittered around the birdcote; Hens cackled in the barnyard, and wakened the hearty, answering "Tuk-aw, tuk-aw!" of the big red Rooster. Out in the lane Sarah's conch shell was sending a melodious call to Hugh whom the Mistress had bidden her to summon from the wood pasture. The whole aspect of Nature, indeed, was so charming that I was soothed into a delicious repose of body and mind.

I am conscious, dear Sir, that I shall lay a heavy tax upon your credulity by what I am now to relate. Or, perhaps, you will smile and say that your friend Abby has fallen to dreams and visions, and like some of her young pupils has imagination so little disciplined as to be quite unable to distinguish between a vivid waking fancy or dream of sleep, and a real occurrence. Very well, I must bear your unbelief as best I may, and at all events you will listen to my story.

Will you believe that among the Tenants of our Old Farm is a nation of Fairies? You have not suspected their existence heretofore; but then, neither did I suspect that legions of curious beings are all around us until the wand of your knowledge had touched my eyes, and opened them to the wonderful life histories that are being wrought out among our fellow tenants of the insect world.

The Boy's Illustration.
Fig. 2.—Queen Fancy and the Schoolmistress. [C]

Such, at least, was my own thought as I saw several wee dainty bodies spring from the backs of some Honey-bees hovering over the white clover, after the fashion of a rider dismounting from his horse, and another group alight from a bevy of yellow Butterflies that fluttered low down and just above the walk. They were joined by many others of like appearance, who suddenly emerged from the grass, from the flower border, from the drooping leaves of the Elm, and approached me. They clambered up the English Ivy that clings to the south side of the tree; they climbed upon the rustic bench, and a few even ventured upon the gnarled arm against which my elbow rested. This seemed a novel occurrence, certainly; but I assure you that I was rather pleased than surprised thereby, for it at once linked itself with your strange histories of insects, and seemed a natural and matter-of-course affair. Really, I have come to think that Nature has so many rare and beautiful facts hidden away in her secret places that one must never be surprised to see or hear of the most marvelous happenings. One of the brightest and most prettily robed of these tiny people, who seemed to be a sort of queen among them, drew quite near and addressed me.

"You are not alarmed at our appearance. Good! Fairies do not visit those who doubt or fear them. We are pleased to see you smile upon us. Thanks! We give you greeting! Would you like to know who we are? Yes? Well, we are called Brownies. Our folk came from Scotland. You know where that is?"

"Oh, yes," I replied, speaking, I suppose, quite mechanically, "Scotland is the northern part of the island of Great Britain; it is bounded on the south by England, on the east by the Ger——"

"Never mind the boundary," interrupted the Brownie with a dainty, tinkling laugh, "we are not a Schoolmistress and her Committee, and you needn't say your lesson now. It's enough for us that you know where Scotland is,—the dear auld land o' cakes! We're Scotch fairies—Brownies."

"But how came you here?" I asked.

"Oh! there's nothing odd about that; we follow our wandering Sawnies wherever they go. We have all been interested with you in Mr. Mayfield's accounts of insect life, and have been present at many of your walks and talks when you little suspected such company. Ah! we could give the Tenant some hints well worth following up! Although, he does very well, very well indeed! But we wish you to know that there are other tenants on the old farm than those Mr. Mayfield knows. We are here, you see! And, alack-a-day! there are other folk here not so agreeable as we!"

"Many thanks," I said, "for the pleasure of your acquaintance. I am delighted and honored by your action, Madam—Madam? what shall I call you?"

"Fancy; Queen Fancy, if you please; so I am called, although, to be sure, there is not much royal state among our folk."

"I beg your pardon, Madam Fancy! And now I—fancy that I can explain the beautiful repose that lies over the face of Nature in this royal month of June. I have just been meditating upon it with delight. How peaceful, how lovely in their peacefulness are all things around us! Yes, I see how it is! The good Brownies are abroad upon the landscape, and they have thrown the light and sweetness of their own natures upon these scenes. What a happy people you are, free from all conflict and care, and how happy those who feel the spell of your influence!"

"Oh! O-o-oh!" A chorus of exclamations uttered in a deprecating tone broke from the whole Brownie company.

I started, and looked around surprised beyond measure at this outburst of protesting voices. Then followed a moment of silence.

Queen Fancy spoke at last. "Yes, it is just as I supposed," she said. "You are yet a novice in Nature lore. You have much to learn, all you mortals have, ere you can know the true life of the inferior creatures. There is another side to Nature, I assure you, a very sad side, too. Come, I must teach you to read between the lines!"

She touched me with a tiny staff or wand. My mind at once was wide awake and all its faculties more alert than usual. But, curiously, the Brownies had disappeared! I wondered at this, but presently a series of incidents caught my attention which for the time quite banished all thought of my new acquaintances.

A long line of Sanguine Ants,[D] the Red Slavemakers, filed by me in irregular columns and crossed the walk to their nest which, as you know, is placed close by the fence nearly opposite the barn. The warriors carried in their jaws the plunder of a nest of Fuscous Ants which I have already said lies to the right under the verge of the Elm's shadow. Some warriors had yellowish cocoons, some white larvæ, a few carried the bodies (living or dead I could not determine) of their victims, and several bore upon their legs the severed heads of the poor blacks who had been slain in defence of their home, and whose decapitated heads still clung to their foes fixed in the rigor of death. I rose and followed up the column of Sanguines to the nest which they were plundering. Some of the kidnappers were plunging into the opened gates, others issuing therefrom laden with their stolen booty, others were engaged in fierce battle with groups of the invaded Fuscas. Only a few of the latter were inclined to fight. They seemed, for the most part, dazed by their misfortune. Numbers hung to the topmost leaves and stalks of the surrounding grass and weeds, holding in their jaws baby larvæ and cocoon cradles rescued from the invaders, with which they had hurriedly fled to the nearest elevated objects. It was truly a pitiful sight, and I began to wax indignant at the Sanguine wretches who could work such domestic misery and ruin.

Fig. 3.—A Red Slavemaker Ant with its Plunder.

"Ah!" said a faint voice close by my ear, "yet this is Nature!"

I could see no one, but recognized the tone of Queen Fancy. "True, most true!" I thought, and looked further. A little way from the Fuscas' nest, just outside the circle of confusion, I saw a solitary ant of an amber hue, the Schaufuss ant,[E] which you have told us is also sometimes enslaved. She was moving back and forth with cautious mien, and I easily perceived was putting finishing touches to the closure of a little hole that marked the gate of her formicary hut. A tiny pebble was placed, then a few pellets of soil were added. Then the worker walked away, took a few turns as though surveying the surroundings, and cautiously came back. The coast was clear! Now she deftly crawled into the small open space, and I could see from the movements inside, and an occasional glimpse of a tip of her antennæ, that she was completing the work of concealment from the inside. At last her task was done, and all was quiet. Just then a single Sanguine warrior, perhaps a straggler from the invaders' army, or some independent scout, it may be, approached the spot. It walked about the nest, which certainly looked much like the surrounding surface; sounded or felt here and there with its antennæ; passed over the very door into which the Schaufuss ant had disappeared, and although it evidently had its suspicion awakened, at last moved away.

Fig. 4.—"It was Swathed Like a Mummy at Last" (p. xxiii).

"Good!" I exclaimed heartily. "Baffled, Sir Sanguine, baffled! I am glad that the instinct of home protection has proved too much for your wretched kidnapping cunning!"

"Aye, aye!" again spoke the voice of my unseen fairy, "baffled this time, perhaps. But can you be sure that the slaveholder scout will not be back again, with a host of its fellows, and do its work more surely?"

Fig. 5.—The Orbweaver Captured by a Wasp.

I had not thought of that, and indeed, I was pained to think it when suggested. Now I left the two nests, the plundered one and its preserved neighbor, and followed the column of Sanguines which stretched a nearly straight line of red and black for several rods, to their home. The kidnappers were bearing their prey into the open gates. Look at this! Crowds of blacks in a high state of agitation came forth to meet and greet the plunderers of their own fellows! Yes, these were the domesticated slaves of the Sanguines, themselves Fuscous ants, the same species and perhaps from the very nest that was now being desolated. And there they were rejoicing in the booty, welcoming home the robbers, and if naturalists tell us truly, had even urged them forth upon the Expedition.

Fig. 6.—"The Clay Sarcophagus on Yonder Barn."

"That's the worst of all!" I exclaimed aloud, unable to suppress my indignation. "One might find excuse for the Sanguines, but for this unnatural behavior—"

"Unnatural!" echoed the unseen Brownie Queen, "unnatural? No, this, too, is Nature. You are only reading between the poet's lines of peaceful beauty. You will learn your lesson by and by."

Fig. 7.—"For a Ravenous Wasp Larva to Devour."

I went back to the rustic seat beneath the Elm, and thought. A butterfly flew by. I followed its flight. "Oh! that is too bad!" I cried involuntarily. It had struck the snare of the Orbweaving spider. It struggled helplessly in the toils. Swiftly the aranead sped from its pretty leafy tent along its trap line, and in a moment seized and began swathing its victim. A thick ribbon of pure white silk streamed from the spinnerets, and enwrapped the butterfly round and round as it was revolved by the spider's feet. It was swathed like a mummy at last, and left lashed and hanging to the cross lines, while its captor mounted to her nest and began leisurely to haul up the captive preparatory to a sumptuous meal.

Fig. 8.—The Cicada Wasp, Sphecius speciosus.

My pity had hardly time to express itself ere another insect form swept by. It was a blue wasp, a Mud-dauber. It flew to the Orbweaver's web. Another victim? It is within the toils! The spider leaves her prey and darts along the trap line. What? will she not venture? No! she recoils. But too late! The Wasp has seized her, plunged its sharp sting into her body, and shaking the bits of web from its feet flies away. I know what that means. The clay sarcophagus on yonder barn wall shall receive another morsel of preserved meat for a ravenous wasp larva to devour.

What had I to say about this incident? This; I found myself unconsciously asking, "What will destroy the Wasp, in its turn?" But I had no leisure to meditate an answer. A beautiful creature flitted past me, whose colors of orange and black were distinct even in flight. It was the fine, large Digger-wasp,[F] the largest of that family among our indigenous insects. Just then from the branch of a small oak a Cicada sounded his rolling love call. A note not very melodious to human ear, it is true, but it throbs with the passion of affection, and must have been sweet music to his mate on the branch near by. Unlucky lover! your love sonnet has sounded your doom. It shall be your death song. See! my beautiful Wasp has pounced upon the amorous Cicada, and pierced and paralyzed like the spider before him, he is being borne to a grave in that grassy bank. There, in the Wasp's burrow, buried alive though with a semblance of death, he shall feed the maw of a hungry worm.

"It is mother love!" exclaimed the unseen Brownie Queen, sadly I thought and tenderly. "But mother love seems cruel sometimes; and it alone has not taught the Wasp to spare the mating love of its fellow insects."

This is not all that I saw, but this is such as I saw on that memorable occasion. My experience started a train of meditation that was the reverse of agreeable. But what could I say? I had been observing the facts of Nature, nothing more nor less. I looked away over the landscape again and my feelings were not what they were before. Underneath the surface of all this beauty and summer repose I seemed to feel the beating of a fevered pulse. Yes, the Doctor of the Gentiles spake truly: "The whole creation groaneth and travaileth in pain."[G] Yes, I was beginning to read between the lines! Verily, I perceived that the insect world in the matter of anxiety, struggles and sufferings, in passions of love, hate and covetousness, is after all in some sort a miniature of our own world of human beings.

I do not know how long I sat pondering these things, but I was presently conscious that my Brownie friends had returned.

"You have changed your opinion about some of the inferior creatures, have you not?" began Queen Fancy. "I know that it must be so. And now it remains for you to change your opinion about us. You think we are perfectly happy, never touched by such conflicts and cares as mortals and insects have. No! it is with us as it is with you and all the rest. One idea runs through all Nature and all her creatures high and low. All alike, from gnats and fairies to mastodons and men, have friends and foes, perils and pleasures, pains and joys, loves and hates, bitter disappointments and proud attainments; watchings, cares, strifes, battles, defeats, heart desolations, sickness, oppressions, despoilment, death—all these and the reverse of all these happen to us all."

"It is true!" I answered, "I see now that it is quite true. The fact that creatures are small and unknown to us, and outside our ordinary region of feeling and thought, does not hinder them from having joys and sorrows, trials and triumphs even as we have. I will never think of Nature again, and of the insect world in particular, without remembering this double side of its life history."

"That is very good," said Queen Fancy, "and now we wish you to remember also that Brownies are a part of Nature and share the general rule. Our lives are so interwoven with all natural surroundings, and with yourselves as well, that we feel keenly everything that goes on around us. But enough for this time. I promised you something further about our history. Now I make the promise good. I am to deliver to you the records of some of our kin which have lately fallen into our hands. You will read them; write them out carefully, and give them to Mr. Mayfield to edit and print. Nobody can do that so well as he. Indeed, his name and his stories about our Old Farm Tenants have gone among our people on the far Ohio border; and that is the reason why these records of the Brownies and their wars have been sent hither to be given into his care. There, I have done."

Queen Fancy clapped her hands and a herald at her side blew upon a tiny shell, a wee miniature, for all the world, of the conch shell which Sarah the cook blows for dinner. Suddenly, a vast host of little folk issued from the grass plat along the slope toward the springhouse. They were arranged rank upon rank, whole companies in column, and they all were drawing at ropes no bigger than a lady's hair. Presently, I saw the round top of a rolled parcel emerge above the summit of the slope. It moved slowly, and I was puzzled to know by what force it was impelled, until I saw that it was mounted upon a toy cart which was being drawn by the Brownie host. On the night before I had been reading (it was a curious coincidence!) Wilkinson's account of the Ancient Egyptians, and had been especially interested in the manner in which their bulky architecture had been reared, and particularly in a picture that showed a colossal stone statue of some sovereign being drawn upon a sled by an army of laborers. The Brownie exploit reminded me of these old Egyptians. Here were the little folk of our Old Farm showing mimic reproduction of life on the Nile in the days of Abraham! Strange!

The Brownie host never stopped until the parcel reached my feet. Then the Queen called a halt, and, turning to me, said: "Abby, Schoolmistress, we commit this precious roll to you. Receive it as a sacred trust; do our will concerning it, and be forevermore the Brownies' good friend." She clapped her hands, the herald blew his shell bugle, and in a moment the entire host had melted away into the foliage and were lost to sight.

The Boy's Illustration.
Fig. 9.—Brownies Bringing the Roll of Records.

I have not seen them since, but I have tried to fulfill my part of the trust which came to me so curiously in the drowsy hours of that June day, and now I deliver my work to you that you in turn may fulfill your portion of the apportioned duty. That you will not fail is the confident hope of

Your obedient servant,

Abby Bradford.

"What do you think of that?" I asked, as I finished Abby's letter, for I had read it aloud to the Mistress.

"Perhaps," said the Mistress, looking up from her embroidery, "we had better open the parcel."

A familiar twinkle colored her smile, that raised a momentary suspicion that she perhaps knew something more of the contents than she chose to tell. The advice was good, albeit deftly dodging my question, so I cut the wrappings and exposed a roll of fair manuscript. "It is a story," I remarked, after glancing over the pages, "a sort of historical fairy tale, I fancy. But, hold! what is this?" My eye had fallen upon some sentences that arrested attention, and I read several continuous pages.

The Mistress interrupted the reading: "Well, what has interested you? And what have you to say about the whole affair?"

"I have been reading here a curious adaptation of the habits of my spider pets, and it is neatly put. And here is another of the same sort." I turned to a chapter further on, and read with great satisfaction a few pages more. "Really," I exclaimed, "the natural history is good, and is fairly inwoven with the tale. I have changed my opinion of the work; it is evidently an attempt to bring out some of the most interesting habits of our American spider fauna by personifying them with the imaginary creatures of fairy lore. You want to know my opinion of the matter? As to the manuscript I shall not, of course, venture an opinion until I have read it with some care. As to the author—well, perhaps you can tell better than I. When did Abby write it?"

The Mistress waited a moment or two and then in her quiet way replied, "Pray, how should I know? Abby is of age, ask her; she can speak for herself."

Thus the affair of the Brownie records rested until I had gone over the manuscript more carefully. Then the Mistress was again consulted.

"Will you print the papers?" she asked.

"I am in doubt what to do. I think that it might find a kindly welcome, but—I fear the verdict of the public, especially the clientage upon whose favor its fate most depends—the young people. Though, to be sure, it is evidently not written wholly for them."

"I have a suggestion," the Mistress remarked. "Let us take two evenings in the week and read it to our farm people. They form a typical audience, I am sure, and their judgment will be a fair test of the possible verdict of the public at large."

"The very idea!" I cried. "You have come to my help, my dear, with your usual practical wisdom. Let us have the readings."

Behold us, then, the entire Old Farm family, with the exception of Abby, who was absent on a visit to New England friends, seated around the great Elm during the long June evenings, trying the merits of the Fairies' history. When the early tea was over, we took our seats (or rather positions, for some of the party preferred to recline upon the grass), around the tree, and the reading began, and continued until twilight. Sometimes I read, sometimes the Mistress, and in three weeks the story was finished.

"Now for the verdict," I said. "The children first. What say you? Shall we print the Brownie book?"

"To be sure," said Joe, "why not, Sir? I think those wars and adventures with the Pixies are just the thing for boys like me."

"I would print it," said Jennie modestly. "I think the Brownies' love stories are pretty indeed; though I don't like so much fighting, and the Pixies are just horrid."

"Print it, Sir!" cried Harry enthusiastically. "I'm sure boys like me will want to hear all about the Moth, Wasp, Bee and Butterfly ponies, and the curious, wise tricks of the Spider-pixies."

"As for me," said Hugh, "I'm young enough yit to relish a fairy story uv mos' any sort. So I wote with the youngsters to prent the book."

"My 'pinion hain't much good, I reckon," said Sarah, who stood half concealed behind the Elm with her hands upon her hips in her favorite posture. "An' I hain't no sort uv notion uv witches an' sich, no way. Tho' laws-a-massy! I b'lieve in 'em; 'v course I do! But somehow, I don't feel over comfo'ble to hev sech things a-prentin' about our Ole Farm. W'at's people goin' to say about sech goins-on, any way? I don't mind about the Brownies; like es not ther be sech folk. An' w'y not here as well as other places? I don't know w'ere they'd find a nicer home than jes' aroun' here; an' I'm pos'tive my kitchen's trig enough fer any kind o' fairies as ever was. Folks as hev sense enough to use a conch shell, now, as them Brownie heralds do, would be jes' likely to settle at the Ole Farm. But es for them Pixies—w'at's the use uv sech critters, anyhow? 'Tain't no ways comfo'ble to think thet they mought be squattin' on our premises. Howsomever, I'd prent the book, I reckon. Leastways, ye kin do it, fer all me, 'f ye're a mine ter. My notion is it's a sight more interestener nor the Say-an-says. Though, they was worth prentin' too, that's a fac'!"

"Now, Dan, it's your turn," I said; "what say you?"

The old colored man sat on a low stool at the outer margin of the family circle, with his face leaning upon his hands. He raised his head, laid his palms upon his knees, rolled his eyes expressively and gave his verdict with all the solemnity of a judge passing sentence on a capital offender.

"'Pears to me, Mars Mayfiel' an' Misses," he began, "dat dat's a powerful good story, an' a true one, too! W'y, I've seed dem wery Brownies myse'f. Uv coorse I hev!" he exclaimed emphatically, turning an indignant glance upon Sarah, who had uttered a significant guttural expression of unbelief. "W'at do you know aboout Brownies, Sary Ann, I'd jes' like to know? Pixies is more in your line, a heap sight! Down in ole Marylan', now, dar's a power ob Brownies and Fairies an' all sech folkses. 'Tain't ebry one as gits to see 'em, dough. Dey's mighty 'tickler 'boout w'at company dey keeps, I kin tell you!

"I doan say es I eber seed any on 'em roun' dis Ole Farm,—an' I doan say es I didn't. But dat's needer hyar nur dar. Dey's hyar, I knows. I've done seed de signs ob 'em, many's de time. W'y, lookee hyar! How d'ye tink dem insecks an' bugs and tings w'at Mars Mayfiel' tole us aboout, done foun' out how to do dar peert tricks? Hit stans to reason dat sech critters ain't got de larnin' fer sech cunnin' doins. W'at wid dar nes's, an' burrows, an' cobwebs, an' cute little housens, an' all dat, dey show heap moah sense dan some w'ite folks es I could name. Now, whar dey gwine to fin' out all dat, I ax agin, an' how is dey gwine to do it, unless de Fairies helps 'em? Dey jes' kine ob obersee de job; dat's how it 'pears to me.

"Den dar's dat gubner Wille—shoo! He ain't no sucumstance ter w'at I knows 'boout how de insecks, an' fairies, an' goblins an' dem kine ob beins hes to do wid we uns. No, no!"—and he shook his head with serious gravity—"no, Sah! hit won't do ter go back on dat. We cullud folks knows heaps ob larnin' aboout dem critters; an' dey's jes' wove in, an' in, an' in, an' out ob dese yere mohtal libes ob ourn! Dar's de Deaf's-head moff, an' de catumpillars, an' de antemires, an' de death watch, an' de cricket, an' de money-spinners, an' de measurin' worm—sakes-alive! Dar's signs an' warnins fer we uns in dem critters agin all de Pixies, worl' widout en'. Amen. Yes, Sah, hit's all right; dat's a true story, an' no mistake."

"But, Dan," I said, "you haven't told us yet what you think about printing the story."

Fig. 10.—Our Farm Family in Literary Council.

"Needer I have, Sah!" the old man replied, rolling up the whites of his eyes and shaking his shaggy, gray poll. "Needer I have! an' wat's moah, I ain't gwine ter. I doan see much good in dem kine ob books no how—specially de picters. Dar's like to be bad work aboout dem tings. Hit doan do ter be too fumwiliar wid such tings. W'at's de good? Dar's no tellin' w'at dey mought do ter we'ns, ef dey gits sot agin us. You bes' keep clar ob dat business, Mars Mayfiel'. De ole Bible's good 'nough fer me, Sah; an' hit says dat much larnin' makes a man mad, an' books is a-wearisome to de flesh. An' dat's a fac', Sah,—leastways, readin' an' a-studyin' on 'em is. You kin do w'at you's a mine ter, an' I 'low you'll prent de Brownie book, any way. Hit's mighty good hearin', I'll say dat fer it, but—" he shook his head once more, and was silent.

The next day I wrote to the Schoolmistress as follows:

The Old Farm.

My dear Miss Abby:

I have gone over the manuscript that you sent, and on the whole I approve of it, and agree to print it with such editorial notes as Queen Fancy has suggested. We have also—the Mistress and I—read it to the Farm family, having revived our last winter's "Say-an-says" for that purpose. I have even translated bits of the story into simpler form and speech for the youngest member of our household, four-year-old Dorothy. Our young people are enthusiastic in their admiration, and vote to print the book. So do the others, with the exception of Dan, who is noncommittal. But the old fellow enjoyed the reading as much as the rest. He thinks the story a true one, and declares that he has seen the Brownies! You know his boundless superstition, and his odd habits of personifying all living things and talking aloud to them as he goes about his work. I have no doubt that he has peopled his little world with many queer imaginary creatures who may well stand to his undisciplined fancy for Fairies and Goblins, Brownies and Pixies. He has unwavering faith, also, in the occult influence of such beings and of insects generally upon the destinies of human kind.

By the way, this unexpected deliverance of Dan's has eased my mind as to one feature of the story, viz: the manner in which the life and behavior of the Willes are interwoven with, and interdependent upon, the movements of the Brownies and Pixies. Since I have thought more about it, I have greatly abated the fear that the verisimilitude of such relations might not sufficiently appear to readers.

In point of fact, the creatures of the Insect World, as personified in the story, have had and shall have much to do with determining the lot of man. The plagues of Egypt as written in the Book of Exodus, furnish an example; as also the incursions of cankerworm, locust, caterpillar and palmerworm recorded elsewhere in Scripture. African travelers tell us that the tetze fly has so circumscribed the geographical bounds within which certain domestic animals can live, as to greatly limit or modify civilization. We all know examples of the effects of mosquito supremacy at certain points of our country in determining the fortunes of men or places. The familiar stories of Bruce and the Spider, and Mahomet and the Spider, are also in point as showing how great interests may hinge upon the behavior of an humble animal. Here are facts enough, surely, to justify us in facing the public with Governor Wille and his relations to the imaginary folk of the story.

In conclusion, I must say that I have been greatly interested to note how admirably the habits of my spider friends admit of personification. The so-called engineering, ballooning, cavemaking, sailing, and other operations, are so accurately described by those words, that the manlike qualities, motives and passions attributed to the actors seem almost natural. At one moment I find myself accepting the representations as a matter of course, and anticipating the conduct described on the very ground of known natural habits. At another time I am startled at the strong tone of human behavior that the descriptions so easily admit. Certainly, this is something more than what the naturalists have called "anthropomorphism." What is the mysterious ligature that binds in this sympathy of movements the sovereign will of immortal man and the automatic brain cell of a spider?

Pardon me! it was not in my purpose to start so profound a question of philosophy and physiology. I only meant to say that the wishes of yourself and your Brownie acquaintances shall be cheerfully granted, and the manuscript be given to the public.

I am, very truly,

Your Friend,

Fielding Mayfield.

FOOTNOTES:

[A] Psalm lxxiv, 5.

[B] Formica fusca.

[C] In the little company referred to further on, to whom the manuscript of this book was read, was a friend's lad, eight years old, a visitor at the Old Farm. The Mistress noticed him during the intervals of the readings busy with pencil and paper, amusing himself with such drawings as children are wont to make. A number of these had been made and thrown away ere it occurred to the good woman to call my attention thereto. I was much surprised and delighted to find that the boy had been engaged in illustrating the Brownie Book (as we then familiarly called it). It was a good sign of the value of the work that it could produce such an impression upon a child of his tender years. Moreover, the rude figures were so apt and interesting to my own mind, that I fancied others might be equally interested therein. "Why not print them?" suggested the Mistress. And upon mature deliberation that is just what I resolved to do. No one but a child could make such pictures. Let the adult, however good an artist, try as much as he may, he could not reproduce such drawings. Indeed the better the artist, the further would he come from achievement. That children will take at once to these reflections of a child's mind, appears quite probable. Moreover, to the thinking adult they must have a special value as a psychological study. With all our knowledge of children, it is still marvellous how little we know of a child's mind. These little tokens of its workings perhaps may help us to a better knowledge. At all events, a few of these "Boy's Illustrations" have been selected for engraving, and the editor will be disappointed if they do not give to both his adult and youthful readers as much pleasure as they gave to himself.—The Editor.

[D] Formica sanguinea.

[E] Formica Schaufussii.

[F] Sphecius speciosus.

[G] Romans viii. 22.

THE BOOK.

Old Farm Fairies.

A Summer Campaign in Brownieland

AGAINST

King Cobweaver's Pixies.

CHAPTER I.

HOW THE BROWNIES CAME TO HILLSIDE.

Not many years ago a company of Brownies lived on the lawn at Hillside, the home of Governor Wille. Since the Brownies are Scotch fairies, one must ask how they came to be dwelling so far away from their native heather upon the green hummocks of the Ohio.

The question takes us back to the early part of the Nineteenth Century, and to a Manse and glebe on the banks of Loch Achray, the beautiful little lake that lies at the entrance to Trosachs Glen, quite near the foot of Loch Katrine in Scotland. Here dwelt Governor Wille's grandfather, a godly minister of the Gospel; and here he lived until there grew up around him a large family of sturdy lads and lasses. Often had the good minister looked over his household as they sat around the table eating with keen relish their cakes and oatmeal porridge, and wondered: "How shall I provide for them all? How shall I find fitting duty and engagement for these eager hearts, restless hands, and busy brains?"

At last he answered: "I will go with them to America, and join my brother there on the banks of the Ohio River."

Now the Manse and glebe were the seat of a nation of the wee fairyfolk whom Scotchmen call Brownies. The Manse site is on the skirt of Ben An's lowest slope; and across the Trosachs road, upon a point that pushes into the Loch, stands the kirk amid its kirkyard. The Brownies were fond of this home, but they loved the Manse folk much more dearly; and so when they heard the plan to emigrate to the New World, they resolved not to allow their friends to go to America without an escort of their fairy companions and caretakers.

A General Assembly of all the Manse Brownies was therefore called, to meet under the "hats" of a clump of broad toadstools growing on the mountain slope, close by the barn. The place was crowded from the stem of the central toadstool to the rim of the outer hat. Outside this clump the spears of grass, the drooping bluebells, and purple blossoms of heather were covered with boy Brownies, who climbed up delicate stems, smooth blades and gnarled stalks, much as city lads mount lampposts, trees and awnings to gaze upon a procession. From these points they looked upon their elders, quite as anxious and earnest, if not as well informed as they.

When the Assembly had been called to order, the King of the Brownies asked, "Who will volunteer to go to America with our dear friends, the Willes?"

There was a mighty shout; not one present failed to answer: "I!!"

The explosion fairly shook the roof of their toadstool tabernacle. Thereat the old monarch sprang to his feet, removed his plumed hat, and stood uncovered, bowing his white hairs and venerable beard before the Assembly, in honor of their noble response. The elders waved their tiny blue Scotch bonnets, wept, laughed and hallooed in turn. The youngsters danced upon the heather bells and swung from the grass blades until the tops swayed to and fro, and cheered again and again for the Willes, for the King, for the Brownies, for everybody!

By and by the King brought the Assembly to order, and proposed that a colony be drafted from the whole company to go to the New World. "I shall claim the privilege of naming the leader of the Expedition," said he, "and I name Murray Bruce. The rest may go by lot."

Whereat the Brownies cheered again, for they were always pleased to respect their good sovereign's wishes, and Bruce was one of the wisest, steadiest, and bravest of their number. He was tall, strong, comely, and in the prime of his years. Then the lot was cast. The names of all the active Brownies were placed in the tiny corol of a blue bell, which served as a voting urn. The King drew out fifty names, and these were the elect members of the colony. The interest was intense as the drawing went on. Again and again the King's hand sank into the urn, and came out holding the wee billet that decided some Brownie's destiny. As the name was announced, there was silence; but thereupon a flutter of excitement ran through the company; a whirl of noisy demonstration marked the spot where the fortunate nominee was receiving the congratulations of his friends; sometimes a cheer was given when a favorite or familiar name was announced.

"How many names have been drawn?" asked the King.

"Forty-nine," answered the Lord Keeper. Amid profound silence the last name was drawn and announced:

"Rodney Bruce!"

It was the Captain's brother, a young and promising sailor, who had won much praise for daring adventures with water pixies on "the stream that joins Loch Katrine and Achray." His name was welcomed with cheers, and then a buzz of disappointment arose from the crowd who heartily envied the "Fortunate Fifty." However, the disappointment soon passed away, for Brownies are a cheerful and contented folk. The hum of voices ceased, and the people waited to know what might be needed to forward the comfort and success of the emigrant escort.

"How shall we get off?" said Captain Bruce. "Has your Majesty any orders or counsel? Has the Assembly any advice?"

That was a puzzling question. The Lord Keeper, Lord Herald, and all the other lords and nobles shook their heads wisely and said nothing. Some one called out the name of "Rodney, the sailor," whereat the old Lord Admiral turned up his little red nose, looked contemptuously at the speaker, and muttered something about "land lubbers." As no one had any advice to venture, all waited for their sovereign's opinion.

"Hoot!" said the King at last, "Ye shall juist gae your ain gait. Howiver, ye maun steal awa' unbeknowns, I'se warrant ye; for Parson Wille, good heart! will never allow ye to risk anything for him. But how? Well, I dinna ken; ye maun e'en settle that, amang yoursels."

The difficulty was no nearer solution than before. There was another long pause. It was broken by a voice that called from the outer edge of the Assembly.

"I can tell you how!" It was Walter MacWhirlie who spoke, one of the chosen escort.

"Come to the front, then," said the King, "and say your say."

Every eye was at once fixed on the bold speaker. But MacWhirlie, nothing abashed, leaped from the heather stalk on which he stood, and making a double somersault above the whole company, landed erect upon the edge of a leaf whereon sat the King and lords.

Fig. 11.—Brownie MacWhirlie Comes to the Front by a Double Somersault.

"Ugh!" said the monarch, starting back; for MacWhirlie had well nigh alighted on his toes.

"Queak!" cried the Queen; and "queak, queak!" screamed the Princesses, tumbling over one another in their fright.

"You rude beast!" growled the Lord Keeper, laying his hand upon his broadsword.

But the youth and boys cheered, the young Princesses began to giggle, the old folks laughed outright, the Queen smoothed down her ruffles, the good King composed his countenance and smiled, and the Lord Keeper smothered his indignation and put up his sword.

"Speak up, laddie," said the King. MacWhirlie bowed low first to the royal party, and then to the lords. (My Lord Keeper's brow cleared up somewhat at that.)

"I was passin' thro' the barn the morn," he began, "and saw the gardener packin' the auld kist that lies on the barn floor, with tools, seeds, roots and herbs. It's a gude place for hidin', is yon kist."

"That it is," exclaimed the Queen laughing, "I've had mony a game o' bo-peep in 't mysel'."

"Aye, aye, so it is!" was the hearty assent from all parts of the hall, while the lads on the outside signified their approval by cheers for the old chest.

"A gude place for hidin' is yon auld kist," continued MacWhirlie. "I ken naethin' like it for Brownies. An' if your Majesty please, we can a' ride to America safe eneugh in that."

"It is gude counsel," cried the King, clapping his hands. "Forbye, I would na thoct it frae sic a giddy pate as yoursel', MacWhirlie. Many thanks, however, and mak' ready quarters in the auld kist for your journey to the New World. Herald, dismiss the Assembly."

Lord Herald skipped to the front and sounded a bugle, which in sooth was nothing more than a tiny shell fitted with a dainty mouthpiece.

"Hi-e-iero! ee-roo!"

Fig. 12.—The Old Chest on its Journey Across the Allegheny Mountains.

Then he struck his staff thrice, and cried, or rather intoned in a loud voice these words:

O-eez; O-eez; O-eez!
Bide by the King's decrees!
Brownies-O-bonnie, and Brownies-O-braw,
Hither gae, hame gae, Brownies awa'!

At the last word the Assembly arose, and speaking all together, responded,

Brownies aye, Brownies a
Leal and true, awa', awa'!

Then they separated, the elders moving soberly, the youth scampering off hither and thither, leaping, chattering, cheering, making the grass blades twinkle with their good natured frolic. In a moment the toadstools were deserted, and a great spider-pixie crept under the vacant central hat, and began to shake his head and talk to himself while uttering a low, harsh, chuckling laugh.

Bruce, Rodney, MacWhirlie and all the elect escort, together with their families, made the voyage across the Atlantic safely though somewhat uncomfortably. But their trials were not over when they landed in Philadelphia. The chest was hoisted into a big road wagon covered with canvas, known as a "Conestoga wagon," and wheeled on for many days over the Allegheny mountains. Down by old Fort Pitt it trundled, along the banks of the beautiful river Ohio, to the frontier village of Steubenville. There the wagon stopped. Parson Wille built his cabin on Hillside. The Brownies, happy as the beasts and birds that were turned out of Noah's Ark after the flood, were released from their prison in the old chest, and took up once more old duties and pleasures in the clearings, cornfields and garden of the new home.

That was many years ago. The good parson has long since been received to a fairer Home than either Scotland or America ever gave; but his grandson, Governor Wille, lives at Hillside. It is not the same Hillside that the brave and godly minister first built his log cabin upon, you may be sure. Great changes have occurred. But the same Brownies are there; as good natured, as frolicsome, as fond of their friends and as true to them as ever, yet, we are sorry to say, not so fortunate and happy. What has troubled them?

CHAPTER II.

SPITE THE SPY.

When the Assembly of Brownies, which had been held at the old Scotch Manse, was quite dispersed, a spider-pixie entered the vacant tent and began to spin a web. He belonged to a race of sprites as vicious and cruel as the Brownies are kind and good. They are called spider-pixies because they do much of their mischief by means of silken webs or snares which they spin, and in which they catch their enemies. The fact, however, should work no prejudice against those remarkable creatures, the spiders, which are doubtless worthy of all the loving attention that naturalists give them.

The chief enemies of these Pixies (next to themselves, to be sure) were the Brownies. Not that the good little fairies wished to harm any creature; but then, as the Pixies wished harm to every one, and were always showing their ill will by naughty tricks, the Brownies, out of very goodness, tried to thwart their evil plans and save intended victims from harm. Thus it came that the Brownies and Pixies lived in continuous warfare. Many a battle had they fought on and around the Manse glebe and kirkyard, for the Pixies hated Parson Wille most cordially, and dearly loved to annoy him.

The Brownies were just as hearty in their love, and by close watching, hard working and brave battling they had well nigh driven their enemies from the place. Only once in a while a few, more daring and cunning than the rest, would break through the boundaries and make a foray upon the forbidden grounds.

Among the most successful of these leaders of mischief was Spite the Spy. He was a great sneak, shrewd and sly, and well deserved his name. He was a coward in the main, and loved best to do his mischief in an underhand way. But for all that, he was so full of malice that he could be quite venturesome rather than miss a chance to work harm to those whom he hated. Thus it came that in spite of his natural cowardice he had a fair reputation for boldness. It was this miserable fellow who crawled into the tabernacle as the voices of the Brownies died away among the grasses.

How came he therein? Having chanced to hear of the proposed Assembly to consider the interest of the Manse folk, he set himself to spy out the proceedings. How should he do that without being discovered? "Let me think!" he said. He climbed up a tall weed that grew on the border of the Manse farm, swung himself by a thread of silk from a leaf, and hung there awhile, head downward, while he meditated.

"Ha! I have it!" he cried. He pulled himself up again hand over hand, scampered down the weed and plunged into the thick forest of grasses. He went swiftly, though cautiously, for a while. Then he ascended a tall spear of timothy, perched himself atop of the bearded head and reconnoitered.

"Yes, there it is," he said to himself. "I see the brown hat of the toadstool tent; and—let me see—yes, sure enough, there is the Black Pebble under which cousin Atypus used to have her nest. Any Brownies about? No, the coast's quite clear. But, caution, old fellow! you are pretty sly, but you may be caught after all. And they'd make short work of Spite if they got hold of him once, I warrant." At this he chuckled, puffed out his eyes, and swelled up his round pouch as though it were a fine thing to be quite deserving of the Brownies' anger.

Fig. 13.—"Silken Snares in Which They Catch Their Enemies."

Spite was not long in making his way to the Black Pebble which was at the outer edge of the Brownies' meeting place, and was imbedded in a little bank of sandy earth at the base of which the toadstools grew. He began to scratch in the surrounding soil. His claws soon struck something that gave him pleasure. It was a bit of silken tissue.

"Ha! I am in luck! Here is the door of the burrow. Now we shall see, brother Brownies, and hear too; and if there's any mischief agoing Spite the Spy will have his spinner in it."

Spite had come upon the door of a cave or tunnel. When a few more grains of sand had been thrown aside he lifted the tissue door and entered. It was dark at first, and there was a musty smell in the air. Spite did not care for that, and in a moment ran to the far end of the cave and back again. This strange place had once been the home of a Burrow Pixie. It was a tunnel scooped out of the sandy earth.[H] It ran horizontally for a short way, and then sloped downward. It was lined around the sides, top and bottom with a tight silken tube, and was about half an inch in diameter. It was, therefore, a tunnel within a tunnel, a silk within a sand one. The silk supported the sides so completely that not a particle of soil could pass through. The upper part of the tube projected from the earth, falling forward so as to form a flap which protected the mouth of the burrow or cave. At first the tube had been much longer and was bent and carried over the surface among the moss. This was the door which Spite had been looking for, and whose discovery so much pleased him.

"Well, well," said Spite, talking all the while to himself, "this is lucky indeed. It must now be several moons since cousin Atypus was cut off by the Brownies, and here is her old place just as good as ever. It looks right into the meeting house. How fortunate! But I must fix up this door a little, or I shall have those suspicious fellows smelling around here; although I doubt whether they know anything about the place. They caught Atypus when she had ventured out of doors."

Fig. 14.—English Atypus in Her Burrow.

Meanwhile Spite was busy with the door. He laid a dry leaf and a few bits of dry moss around the edge of the pebble, then gently lifted the silken flap and crept within. He made a wee hole in the flap, and through this saw and heard the proceedings of the Brownies. Little did the good folk suspect that one of their enemies was so near, almost in their midst. As for Spite, he was in high glee, although he was not without fears. The boy Brownies had climbed atop the Black Pebble, and crowded and capered upon it until they were like to shake it from the bank, and send it arolling into the Assembly.

"Serve 'em right, the little plagues," snarled Spite, "if the old rock did get loose, and break all their necks in the avalanche. Only, that would make a gap in my burrow, and—well, it isn't pleasant to think of the consequences."

Moreover, MacWhirlie and the restless youngsters who were mounted on the herbage that grew above and around the Pixie's cave, were continually tramping over the moss around the door, rocking to and fro on the overhanging heather sprays till the roots fairly shook, and scrambling up and down the little slope and over the flap itself. No wonder that Spite's heart seemed to jump into his throat occasionally.

However, the door of the cave was so cunningly disguised and fitted into the bank, that Spite was not discovered. He was well satisfied, for all that, when the meeting was dismissed and the last of the Brownies disappeared. He pushed open the flap, peeped out, then crawled slowly into the light, crept down the slope and entered the vacant meeting place. He was hungry; the labors and excitement through which he had passed had quite exhausted him. He therefore crouched behind a toadstool stem, and, after waiting patiently a while, sprang upon and devoured a hapless fly and beetle that chanced to straggle that way. Then he wiped his jaws with his hairy claw, rubbed his cheeks and head quite in the fashion of pussy washing her face,[I] stretched a few silken threads from the stem to the ground, and turned away.

"There," he said, "I leave those few lines to show that I have been here, and that Spite the Spy is sharper than all the Brownies. Now for home! King Cobweb will be interested in what I have to tell. As for Parson Wille and his Brownies, perhaps they shall not escape us quite so readily."

Spite gained great applause by this adventure, and when it was resolved to send out to the New World some one to watch the motions of Parson Wille, and do all the harm possible to his kind Brownie guardians, who but Spite the Spy should be chosen? "You need take but few companions," said King Cobweb; "there are plenty of our folk in that country. I shall send a letter with you to my cousin, King Cobweaver, and you can muster a goodly company in America."

Fig. 15.—"Having Overspun Themselves."

Now what should Spite do, but make his way straight to the old chest. He discovered that in one corner the joints of the planks had sprung open a little. "That will do bravely, I think!" He crept into the crack to try if it fitted his size.

"Very good indeed," he exclaimed, and then ran to report.

King Cobweb was quite satisfied. Spite thereupon hid himself in the open seam with two other Pixies named Hide and Heady, and, having overspun themselves with a silken covering, made the voyage to America in the old chest with the Brownies.[J]

When safely landed at Hillside, he reported to the nearest tribe of Pixies. He was received with great favor as a distinguished foreigner; was feasted, petted, and his wonderful skill in strategy heralded everywhere. In short, he was quite a lion, and his fame was even greater in America than on the other side of the Atlantic. Spite took his honors gracefully, enjoyed them hugely, acknowledged them publicly, hobnobbed with his friends, and took occasion when talking in private with his two countrymen, to ridicule the customs and manners of American Pixies. That was very mean, to be sure; but what better could you expect from Spite the Spy?

In the midst of all his junketings and sight-seeing Spite never once forgot the great object of his journey. He was spinning out his plots against the Brownies, counseling with his American friends how he might worry, injure and destroy them, and forming leagues for that purpose.

That was the beginning of troubles for the Brownies at Hillside.

FOOTNOTES:

[H] Appendix, [Note A.]

[I] Appendix, [Note B.]

[J] Appendix, [Note C.]

CHAPTER III.

ADVENTURES OF THE BROWNIE SCOUTS.

The war upon the Brownie colony thus begun by Spite the Spy had been waged from year to year until the third generation of the Willes, Governor Wille himself, occupied Hillside. Sometimes the Pixies got the advantage, sometimes the Brownies; but on the whole the Pixies gained ground. Slowly the Brownies were being driven in towards the Mansion house, followed closely by their foes. At last the malicious persecutors, led by Spite, pitched their tents and reared a strong fortification at the upper end of the Lawn. Their scouts bivouacked beneath the very windows of my Lady Governor's chamber. This would never have been had not Governor Wille lately grown heedless of his good fairy friends, and left them to struggle without his sympathy and aid. For Home Brownies lose heart and cease to prosper when their Home patrons and allies forget and neglect them. The Brownies were sore distressed. What should they do?

Early one morning the Captain and Lieutenant were in close consultation. The Brownies watched them anxiously as the two slowly walked back and forth underneath a rose bush in a border near the west window of the parlor. The point under discussion was this: "Shall we make another appeal to Governor Wille, or shall we first try an assault upon the new Pixie fort?"

The decision was soon announced by the bugle call to "fall in." From every quarter the Brownies crowded eagerly, and the column moved toward the northwestern corner of the Lawn. There lay a pool formed by a stream that bubbled from beneath the springhouse at the foot of the hill. The Brownies called the pool "Loch Katrine," in honor of the lovely and historic water in their old Scotch home from whose neighborhood they had come. Just beyond the "outlet," the point at which the Spring Run issues from the pool and goes singing down the hillside, the new Pixie fort had been erected. It was called Fort Spinder, and was a sign and token that Spite and his tribes had gained and meant to keep a foothold upon the Lawn, the Brownies' special domain.

Fig. 16.—The Demilune, or Crescent Barricade.

In a brief space the Brownie army had surrounded three sides of the fort; the fourth side faced the Lake, and was safe from approach of land troops. Then Captain Bruce sent out a number of scouts to view the Pixie works and report upon their strength and the best points for attack. Let us join the Captain and his staff, and listen to these scouts as one after another they return with their reports. We shall thus learn something of the Pixies' deft handicraft and cunning ways.

Fig. 17.—The Bell Shaped Turret of Pixie Globosa, of the Wheel Legion.

"The first obstacle that I met," said Sightwell, who was the first scout to report, "was a line of barricades occupied by the Wheel Legion. This is formed of round webs woven upon grass and weeds, closely joined to one another and strung in a semicircular form along the whole front of the fort. Armed pickets are stationed at the open centrals of the snares. At either end of this crescent or demilune is a large orbweb, surmounted by a tower. One tower is wrought out of leaves lashed together by silken threads; the other is the bell shaped turret of Pixie Globosa.[K]

Fig. 18.—Fort Spinder.

"The centre of the demilune is occupied by a company of the Tubeweaver Legion. They have built a broad, irregular pavilion above and around the surface foliage, whose margin is lashed by strong cords to grass stalks and other herbage. Near the middle is a long tubular entrance which opens out upon the top."[L]

"Did you venture into it?" asked the Captain.

The Boy's Illustration.
Fig. 19.—Fort Spinder as the Boy saw it.

"No! I climbed a tall weed to reconnoitre, and from the summit noticed that Pixies, whom I had seen to pass underneath the canvas, appeared again through a round hole in the roof and thence passed down into the camp. Then I descended, cautiously made my way through the grass, and came near enough to see the opening into the tube, which is really the southern or front gate to the encampment. It is set close to the ground and is well concealed. It is guarded on each side by a sentinel. From my weed-top observatory I could see that beyond the demilune, and between it and the fort, the main camp of the Pixies is pitched. The space is well covered with tents, and everything inside seems to be settled into homelike and comfortable condition."

"Yes, yes!" exclaimed Bruce with an impatient gesture. "The wretches evidently intend to stay—if they can. But what else did you observe?"

"Nothing important. I thought best to return with this news, while Glideaway, who went with me on the scout, went around the demilune to observe the front of Fort Spinder. He ought to be back ere long."

True to his friend's prediction, Glideaway soon appeared, slipped quietly into the circle of officers, touched his Scotch bonnet and awaited leave to report.

"Well," said Bruce, "what have you to tell?"

"When I left Sightwell," the scout replied, "I hurried around the west side of the demilune, which bends in pretty close to the fort, and ends in a tall, silk-lined leaf-tower. This is used by sentinels as a sort of guard house, but I managed to slip by unobserved. I got into the Pixie camp and moved about unnoticed, passed along the whole front of the fort and came out on the east side. The walls of the fort are under charge of the Lineweaving Legion, who built them. They consist of single silken cables, crossed, knotted and interlaced into a mass several inches thick. The cables are interwoven with and lashed to the blades of grass and sprigs and foliage of meadow weeds, forming a strong wall."

"Could our troops break through or climb over it?"[M]

Glideaway shook his head doubtingly. "It would be a difficult task. Engineer Theridion directed the construction and his work is thorough. However, it might be done, and I for one am ready to try, Sir."

"And I, and I!" cried in chorus the officers and men who stood around.

"Thanks, my brave fellows," said Bruce, his eyes kindling with pride. "We shall doubtless have a chance to try your mettle before long. What are the defences of the front walls?"

"In the centre of the wall is a gate built by Engineer Linyphia of the Lineweavers. It is a high dome hung amidst a maze of crossed lines and protected beneath by a curtain floor, which is swung from the dome. The dome is pierced for defence and observation, and a strong guard mans the curtain. The main entrance to the fort is here, and all who go in must pass underneath it, and through the guard.

"At each corner or angle of the fort is a gate like the central one, except that the dome is reversed and becomes a bowl. On the flanks or sides the fort is built and manned by Lineweavers and is precisely like the front."

"Very good," said Captain Bruce dismissing the scout. "Who will report as to the river front and interior?"

"We detailed our most skillful men for that service," Adjutant Blythe answered. "Sergeants Clearview and True have charge of the scout. It is a nice and dangerous service, and we can't expect an early return."

"Let us away, then, to put our command in the best condition possible; and when the report comes in I will summon you."

The morning had quite worn away when the news came that the scouts had returned. The officers speedily gathered at headquarters, where Sergeant True and three of his men were waiting. Where could the others be? Were they lost?

"We skirted the eastern face of the fort," began Sergeant True, "and reached Lake Katrine. Then we saw that the fort is built some distance from the water on the crown of the hill that forms the shore, which there slopes down to the lake. The defences on the water front are like those on the other side, but not so heavy. The tower at the angle is different, however. It has been built by the Wolf Legion, and Captain Arenicola is in command. It is a pentagon or five-sided turret of dry twigs, like a log chimney, and is silk-lined within.[N] The Pixies' skull-and-bones flag floats from the top.

"Here we held a consultation and agreed to divide our party. Sergeant Clearview with Corporal Dare and three men undertook to survey the river front. It fell to myself to explore the interior of the fort, aided by Corporal Swiftsure and two men, Lookclose and Treadlight. Having bidden good-bye to our companions, I explained to my men the delicate and dangerous work in which we were engaged. Then we divided our squad into two parties. I took Treadlight and pushed forward, having bidden Swiftsure and Lookclose to follow at a distance that would leave us just in view. In case of discovery or accident to either party, the first duty of the other was to escape and tell at headquarters the facts already learned.

"The fort is so newly built that the surface is not yet thickly covered with snares, traps and crosslines. This greatly favored us. We found the chief part of the fort to be an immense Tubeweaver's tent built by Engineer Agalena. The central tube runs downward toward the Lake, and opens out near a tower that guards the water front. The tent is built around tall weeds which stick out like the poles of a circus pavilion, and from their tips strong guy lines stretch to various points on the roof, thus bracing it up.[O]