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 FLORIZEL 
 
 Isabel 
 
 McReynolds 
 
 Gray 
 
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 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 CERF LIBRARY 
 PRESENTED BY 
 
 REBECCA CERF 02 
 
 IN THE NAMES OF 
 
 CHARLOTTE CERF 95 
 
 MARCEL E. CERF 97 
 
 BARRY CERF 02 
 
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FLORIZEL 
 
 BY 
 
 ISABEL McREYNOLDS GRAY 
 
 LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA 
 1910 
 
THERE HAVE BEEN FIVE HUN 
 DRED COPIES OF THIS BOOK 
 PRINTED OF WHICH THIS Is No. 
 
 101 
 
 Copyright 1910, by 
 Isabel McReynolds Gray 
 
To MY SON 
 HARRY MCREYNOLDS GRAY 
 
 n7rrr i> > 
 
 Moo 
 
 o/ 
 
THE FIRST CHAPTER CONDUCTS 
 THE READER TO THE GARDEN, 
 WHICH IS TO BE THE SCENE OF 
 MANY PLAYS, BOTH SAD AND GAY 
 
 ILLY WRIGHT JR. was a Fairy. 
 Perhaps you have never been a 
 Fairy; but we hope you have. 
 Maybe you are one and don t know 
 about it, or have forgotten. Billy 
 Wright Jr. had been a Fairy for two seasons. He 
 was one of the flower-sprites who popped out of 
 the big red lilies in the fairyland scene of that 
 year s greatest comic opera success. You re 
 member how they smiled at you when the flowers 
 opened? And poised for a moment with the 
 dainty tips of their toes on the shiny petals. And 
 then went sailing off into the beautiful scenery. 
 More than likely someone explained to you that 
 the flower-sprites were not flying just moved 
 by wires. But it was pretty to see, anyway, and 
 glorious to do. Billy Wright Jr. loved it, and 
 he was a Fairy with all his heart and soul and 
 body, whether he flew with his own gauze wings, 
 or on wire ropes. 
 
 Possibly you may be of the opinion that play 
 ing at being a Fairy, in a theatre, is a very poor 
 substitute for the real experience. You have 
 heard people say that the stage-world is an illu 
 sion the scenery, the lights and the snow storm 
 
 
and the horses galloping up from the distance 
 and the door bells and the wind, all illusions. 
 And the actors, just people who make believe at 
 anything, the same man playing at being a king 
 one week, and a pea-nut man the next. Now, let 
 me tell you. It is all just as they say. The stage 
 is an illusion. And if you go behind the scenes 
 you will see the wrong sides of things, with 
 ropes and pulleys and a barrel full of old iron to 
 make the thunder. And a man at a desk punch 
 ing buttons to make the sun set. You will see 
 the actor, looking rather like an ordinary person, 
 perhaps reading some scraps of papers. And you 
 may perhaps not see any illusions. It all depends 
 on you. But they are there. If, after a while, 
 you can get the actor to notice you, and he begins 
 to talk, watch his eyes, and you will find the il 
 lusions. He lives on the wrong side of the stage 
 and he sees them make the thunder. Then he 
 goes out in front and helps with the deceptions. 
 There is such a mixture of the real and the make- 
 believe all about him that he forgets where one 
 ends and the other begins; or if he is a real actor, 
 he never knew. Other people grow wise and learn 
 to see through any make-believe that the cleverest 
 manager can think up. But did you ever know of 
 a disillusioned actor? 
 
 Something of this sort will probably account 
 for the fact that after two seasons of playing 
 Fairy at the Tivoli, Billy Wright Jr. was firmly 
 convinced that he was indeed a Fairy; not only 
 at the theatre, but everywhere and always. When 
 he went about with Billy Wright Sr., his father, 
 or, as it might happen, with his mother, who was 
 
Mrs. Billy Wright, or Mile. Mabelle Villiers, ac 
 cording to where she was, at such times, I say, 
 the young man turned to account the moments 
 that others spent in foolish conversations. He 
 turned the people he met into animals, or other 
 amusing things. This has been, as you know, a 
 favorite and profitable pastime among Fairies ever 
 since there were such. I had never seen nnyone 
 whom he had altered in this way; neither had Billy 
 Wright Jr., because he never followed them to see 
 how they liked their new shapes. But I was with 
 him one day in the motor car, and some people 
 came to speak to Mile. Mabelle Villiers who talked 
 to them all at once, except a very fat man, whom 
 she seemed not to like. And I suppose that Billy 
 Wright Jr. didn t like him, either. For when 
 the very fat man made a face and winked at him, 
 Billy Wright Jr. said quietly, 
 
 " I have turned you into a suet pudding." Just 
 then Mile. Mabelle Villiers finished her conver 
 sation with all the others and we whirled away. 
 And the last I saw of the very fat man, he was 
 looking surprised and quite like a suet pudding. 
 
 " It was less trouble to do that." Billy Wright 
 Jr. told me when I asked. "He looked so wet 
 and puffy. My Grandmother makes them. They 
 have raspberries and red currants inside." I said 
 that any very fat man should be contented with 
 that. 
 
 That evening, after the third act, when Mile. 
 Mabelle Villiers was touching up her make-up, 
 and, as Mrs. Billy Wright, was having tea served 
 in her dressing room for Billy Wright Sr. and 
 his friends, Billy Wright Jr. came in, in his pink 
 
tights and gauze wings of a Fairy, and perched 
 on his mother s dressing table. He rumpled my 
 hair with the toe of his slipper and 
 
 "Apollo," he said he calls me Apollo because 
 his mother does, and I shall always think, that 
 in spite of being very charming, she is just the 
 least in the world vindictive "Apollo," said her 
 son, "I don t think I ll change you into anything. 
 You are more useful as you are." For which I 
 thanked him, being gladder of the certainty of 
 Mrs. Billy Wright s tea in this state, than of any 
 possibilities in another. 
 
 Miss Maidie Manders, very long and slim, but 
 high-priced attraction of the Tivoli, was telling 
 a story to which everyone listened politely. And 
 when she had finished and everyone had laughed 
 nicely and she was feeling sweet, Billy Wright 
 Jr. leaned forward and said, 
 
 " I have changed you into a clothes-hanger." 
 And then, I suppose, because nobody seemed 
 pleased, and she least of all, he added tactfully, 
 "A nice shiny one." When Miss Maidie Manders 
 had gone away, Mrs. Billy Wright placed a gentle 
 hand upon her son s forehead. 
 
 " My precious," she complained, " I m afraid 
 this is going to be too much for you. You are 
 feverish." Then she kissed him. Then he 
 squirmed away, though I saw that he would have 
 stayed if no outsiders had been there. And Ma- 
 belle Villiers, touching up her lips, laughed and 
 said, 
 
 " But that is exactly what she is like! " I leave 
 it to you, what she meant. Billy Wright Jr. 
 curled himself up in a chair near the door and 
 
 8 
 
watched, with solemn eyes, while the stage hands 
 struck the set. 
 
 " I ve turned them all into roaches," he told me. 
 
 That night, after he got to bed, they say that 
 he tried being a Fairy in his sleep wanted to 
 fly up to the chandeliers; and turned his relatives 
 into lamb chops when they interfered; though 
 only his mother should have a frill, he insisted. 
 So they called me into consultation next day and 
 we decided that Billy Wright Jr. should visit his 
 Grandmother in the country. 
 
 They asked me to go down with him, as neither 
 his mother nor his father could get away. And 
 a young man in my position has nothing but time 
 which I am willing to place indefinitely at the 
 disposal of this charming family. Especially at 
 the disposal of one member of the charming 
 family. But if I tell you who I shall be going 
 ahead of my story. Mrs. Billy Wright packed up 
 the boy s treasures and cried a little bit; while 
 Mile. Mabelle Villiers laughed at him and de 
 clared that he would never get to be first comedy 
 if he used all his strength in his first engage 
 ment. 
 
 He didn t very much want to go. But I think 
 he most regretted leaving behind the pink tights 
 and the gauzy wings. He wanted them very 
 much. But the doctor said no, better leave every 
 thing of that sort behind. So they just packed 
 his clothes and put the Original Funny Man in 
 a cage. 
 
 "Coin to the show?" enquired the Original 
 Funny Man and stuck his green head out. He is 
 a parrot and Billy Wright Sr. had named him 
 
 Li, 
 

 that because he always took himself seriously. 
 Billy Wright Jr. s Grandmother, I am happy to 
 say, is a most delightful person; and though, as 
 Billy Wright Jr. said, she is only a step, she is a 
 real grandmother, right enough. She is not 
 nearly old enough to walk with a cane, nor does 
 she ride a broomstick. She doesn t look in the 
 least like a witch. But what she doesn t know 
 about White Magic, isn t of the slightest import 
 ance. She had cast her White Magic spells over 
 everybody who came near her, so everything the 
 cook made was the most delicious imaginable 
 and the gardener was always pleasant. That is 
 how Somebody and I discovered, long ago, that 
 the gardener was really Pan, the god of all out 
 doors. And we knew that his dominion extended 
 far and away to the shining blue strip in the 
 west where ships were sailing. That was the Grand 
 father s kingdom. The Grandfather came home 
 once in a long while, with chests filled with 
 strange beautiful things. And once, they said, 
 he brought home the White Magic Grandmother 
 and Florizel, and that was the strangest and most 
 beautiful of all, and the real beginning of the 
 Garden and the House of Dreams. Every time 
 the Grandfather came home, he told us tales of 
 his marvelous blue world. But Pan was always 
 in the Garden, or near it, doing his queer spells 
 to make things grow, like, 
 
 "Shower, shine, 
 Flower, vine!" 
 
 But the Garden! Let me observe, the Garden 
 was not at all like any other garden. In most 
 
 10 
 
gardens I know, the trees and plants are growing 
 in rows and circles and squares or along paths; 
 all so still and precise, and you can see that they 
 are waiting until night comes, to break ranks 
 and scatter around into natural and comfortable 
 positions. Well, Billy Wright Jr. s Grand 
 mother s White Magic had enabled her to arrange 
 her Garden in such a manner that every tree and 
 shrub and plant and flower and bush and stone 
 and blade of grass was exactly where it would 
 rather be than anywhere else. Consequently, it 
 was a good-natured Garden, a jolly Garden. You 
 felt that, as soon as you stepped foot in it, and 
 you were made welcome in such a manner that 
 you quite fell in love with yourself and wondered 
 why nobody had ever before found out how nice 
 it was to have you around. 
 
 If there ever was a place made for Fairies, it 
 was that Garden. It swarmed with them; real, 
 professional Fairies with the proper spirit, which 
 recognized talent in other people. And Billy 
 Wright Jr. s entrance was the signal for an ova 
 tion. I was astonished. Billy Wright Jr. was 
 surprised, himself, but not embarrassed. Giving 
 me his suit-case, he bowed and bowed, and at 
 last he made them a little speech in his best man 
 ner. You see, Billy Wright Jr. had been born 
 into the profession, and it all came about very 
 naturally. Now I am a fair amateur Fairy my 
 self, and the Garden had been familiar ground to 
 me for years; but I realized right there the im 
 mense difference between the amateur and the 
 professional; between the acquired proficiency 
 and the natural gift. I could never have made 
 
 11 
 
such a speech as Billy Wright Jr. made to the 
 Fairies. 
 
 Every arrangement of the Grandmother s house 
 was calculated to meet with a Fairy s enthusi 
 astic approval. While it lacked many of the 
 charms of the top-floor Play Room, Billy Wright 
 Jr. s room contained all the articles which might 
 be necessary to a boy s or a Fairy s happiness. 
 There was a book-case, not very large, and the 
 books in it put there on the slim chance that a 
 boy would ever stop thinking long enough to read 
 were pretty well chosen, for they were mostly 
 Gene Field s verses and two very well-worn 
 volumes, Andersen s Fairy Tales, and Grimm s 
 Twice-Told Tales, some Irish folk-lore and a huge 
 Shakespeare made up the list. Billy Wright Jr. 
 didn t read very much, though he knew all those 
 books, and they were old friends. I could see 
 that, by the way in which he took down one after 
 another and turned the pages, reading a line here 
 with a chuckle and turning over with a nod to 
 another place. Sometimes he read a long time, 
 he told me, just for the fun of pushing his own 
 fancies out of his head, and holding them off. 
 Then, when he dropped the book, back they came, 
 I suppose, laughing and gleeful and pelting him 
 with flowers. But if you kept them away too 
 long, he told me, they got tired of waiting, and 
 perhaps some day they might go away forever. 
 That was what he was afraid of. So this time he 
 slipped Shakespeare back into the case not be 
 fore I had seen it open at the Dream and he went 
 to the door. It is a wide door of glass that opens 
 in the middle and lets you on to the porch and 
 
 12 
 
into the midst of vines. For the Garden peers and 
 peeps and clambers to get into the House of 
 Dreams, here, and I perceived all manner of 
 whispering, giggling, suppressed laughter and 
 hushed callings, as Billy Wright Jr. and I went 
 down the one step and stood among the shrubs. 
 Part of the White Magic was that Billy Wright 
 Jr. was encouraged to take a blanket and sleep 
 out of doors if he liked, because the ground in 
 this part of the Garden was sweet and dry and 
 firm, and covered with pine-needles from the 
 two big beauties that sang high in the blue air 
 over Grandmother s House. 
 
 We saw to the unpacking of Billy Wright Jr. s 
 possessions. After consultation, we decided the 
 place of honor to be the stand at the head of the 
 bed. There we put his make-up box, with his ini 
 tials on the cover. That had come with him, 
 though the pink tights lay forlornly limp in a 
 trunk at the Tivoli. They were his own, and 
 the thought that never might they distend them 
 selves upon the form of another, brought com 
 fort of a kind. The Original Funny Man, called 
 sometimes O. F. M. for convenience though I 
 fancy he resented it emerged from his traveling 
 cage and ascended the door-casing. Thence he 
 swung to a vine, sidled along the swaying branch 
 with important flappings of his gorgeous wings, 
 reached a pine and went up, beak over claws, 
 to a belated branch much nearer the ground than 
 all the others. There he settled himself com 
 fortably and called out: 
 
 "Coin to the show?" 
 
 Billy Wright Jr. had just finished setting up a 
 
 13 
 
number of photographs of Mile. Mabelle Villiers 
 and Billy Wright Sr., as well as a flashlight of 
 Mrs. Billy Wright making fudge in the kitchen 
 of the flat. And I trembled for the effect of the 
 O. F. M. s remark. But Billy Wright Jr. ar 
 ranged the pictures with absorbed interest. And 
 then he turned to me with an air very like that of 
 Billy Wright Sr.. 
 
 " That wouldn t be a bad idea," he said. 
 
 "What?" 
 
 "Why not give these people a show?" said 
 Billy Wright Jr., nodding his head toward the 
 Garden. "Why not?" I admit that the idea was 
 new to me. But pleasing. Why shouldn t Fairies 
 enjoy the theatre? Of course. Why not? I was 
 going to tell Billy Wright Jr. that I had reached 
 this conclusion, when the White Magic Grand 
 mother looked in and said, 
 
 "Are you boys quite ready for dinner?" And 
 she put everything else out of my head, excepting 
 some things, which is the effect that that par 
 ticular Grandmother always has upon me. 
 
 Billy Wright Jr. was thoughtful during dinner. 
 But, when the strawberries and cream appeared 
 before him, he asked, 
 
 "When is Aunt Florizel coming home?" I 
 like the way in which he says Florizel, with a 
 lingering caress like this F-1-o-o-ri-z-el. I 
 sometimes manage a little to get him to say it. 
 It has a very musical sound, pronounced so, 
 though it is not at all a new way. I found out 
 about it myself, a good many years before Billy 
 Wright Jr. secured his present engagement. 
 
 The Grandmother said the college term would 
 
 14 
 
soon be ended, and Florizel would be home for 
 the summer. 
 
 "Is it a Ph. D.?" I asked. 
 
 " I think that is what she intends," said the 
 Grandmother. " She brought home an M. A. last 
 year. " 
 
 " Aunt Florizel " Billy Wright Jr. lingered 
 again " reads too much. I m afraid she s 
 spoiled. " 
 
 "I hope not!" The Grandmother shook her 
 head and looked kindly at me, and I smiled, but I 
 did not feel cheerful. 
 
 " I think she is going to marry that professor- 
 person. So does my mother," said Billy. 
 
 " Oh. " The Grandmother was tactful. " I 
 shouldn t say that, my dear. The professor is 
 very charming quite the foremost chemist of the 
 day, I believe. Your Aunt thinks him most in 
 teresting, as she does his sister, who is the pro 
 fessor s assistant. Florizel writes that the sister 
 is a lovely girl." There is one thing the Grand 
 mother s White Magic failed in. It could not 
 bring back my appetite. 
 
 After dinner I went with the Grandmother to 
 receive messages for Mr. and Mrs. Billy Wright 
 Sr. Later I went to look for Billy Wright Jr., 
 because it was almost time for me to go back to 
 the City. 
 
 " It s just as I thought," he said, when I joined 
 him on the grassy slope under the lemon tree. 
 
 " Now what! " I was rather alarmed. 
 
 " They have a theatre already of course. " 
 
 " Of course, " I echoed. Well, I hadn t thought 
 of that! 
 
 
"Who runs it?" I wanted to know. 
 
 " Puck Court Entertainer to Oberon. " 
 
 " Well, of course. I might have guessed that " 
 I began. And then I said " Look here! Do 
 you mean to tell me that Oberon himself lives 
 in this garden? " 
 
 " No, His Majesty and the Court are at the sum 
 mer palace in Fairyland. But Puck is here in 
 the Provinces for his health. " 
 
 " Oh." I said, " Oh." 
 
 "He has the Royal Seal over the Theatre," 
 said Billy Wright Jr. He reminded me startlingly 
 of his father. 
 
 " But I should think his methods would be out 
 of date," I said. 
 
 "They are! They are! And the people aren t 
 satisfied. " But for the difference between soprano 
 and barytone, I would have sworn it was Billy 
 Wright Sr. who spoke. " He has no kind of 
 method. The chorus isn t drilled, the leads are 
 all stale and a lot of Pixies get up in the gallery 
 and he can t keep order. " 
 
 " Oh well, then, it s time for somebody to in 
 terfere. I don t suppose you would have any 
 trouble filling the house if you started up across 
 the way from him. " 
 
 " Oh no," said Billy Wright Jr. " They would 
 have to close. But I don t like to make bad feel 
 ing when we all have to live in the Garden. And 
 anyway, he has the Royal Seal. " 
 
 " You ll have to buy him out. " 
 
 "They say he s awfully keen on it. Been at 
 it so long, I guess. Thinks he can act, and all 
 that. " I waited a second. Then 
 
 16 
 
" Give him comedy lead, " I suggested. I wait 
 ed another second. "Acting-managers are sel 
 dom successful. " I waited two seconds. 
 
 " I suppose so. Oh, gee, anyway, Apollo! " said 
 Billy Wright Jr. 
 
 We went by the fountain with the stone basin 
 and purple lilies. 
 
 "There s somebody lives in there," said Billy 
 Wright Jr. 
 
 "Pixies?" 
 
 " No, someone else, I don t know. A lady. The 
 Pixies are down in the pond." Just then the Lady 
 in the fountain called softly "Apollo!" and be 
 cause I started, and my heart went leaping wild 
 at the call of some old memory, she laughed and 
 laughed, and laughed. 
 
 " What shall you do if the Pixies try to break 
 up your show?" I asked Billy Wright Jr. 
 
 " I am going to put the O. F. M. in charge, " 
 he told me. Our eyes met. Billy Wright Jr. 
 looked worried. I lowered my voice. 
 
 " Does he know? " 
 
 " Not yet. " 
 
 " Well, you can t all be first comedy. " 
 
 " Nope. " 
 
 We walked under the twilight-filled branches. 
 The murmurings, stifled bursts of laughter and 
 whispered comment that I had noticed before 
 dinner, followed us now. Sudden illuminations in 
 dusky corners showed where merrymakings were 
 beginning. 
 
 " There are a good many People here I don t 
 know," said Billy Wright, Jr. 
 
 "What like?" 
 
 17 
 
"Different from the People I know. They re 
 as big as grown-ups. They re in the grove> 
 mostly, and some in the pond." Again I heard 
 faint and far, the voice of some old memory. 
 But Billy Wright Jr. s affairs were uppermost. 
 
 " Then you ll have good houses," I cheered. 
 
 " If we can get the talent. " 
 
 "But surely you have enough from which to 
 make a choice!" I remembered, you know, that 
 every Fairy is an actor, just as every actor every 
 real actor, that is is a Fairy. But Billy Wright 
 Jr. told me, 
 
 " It s as bad to have too much as too little. " 
 
 " You are very young to have found that out, " 
 I said, when I had thought about it a minute. 
 
 " I didn t find it out, Apollo, I knew it. " And 
 then I apologized, because I remembered that it 
 is a belief among the Fairies that you are born 
 with all you know, and that you can never know 
 any more, but you can forget it, if you are not 
 careful. And no matter how careful you are, you 
 are bound to forget some things as you grow up, 
 anyway, in order to relieve my embarrassment 
 at having forgotten so very much, Billy Wright 
 Jr. became cheerful. I responded as well as I 
 could because I was grateful to him for jogging 
 my memory. But I was quite overcome when 
 he said, casually, 
 
 "Suppose you write a play for us, Apollo?" I 
 was overcome. I admit it. I manage to scrape 
 along on my royalties. And I have had one or 
 two first-night thrills at the sound of an enthusias 
 tic gallery. But, to write to order a play to be 
 performed at the Royal Theatre of His Majesty 
 
 18 
 
Oberon, King of Fairies! I was dumb before 
 the possibility but I managed to grasp Billy 
 Wright Jr. s hand and squeeze it as a sign that I 
 would do my best. Then I found my voice and 
 thanked him. How soon would he want it? 
 
 " I have two or three things that I ll run, just 
 at first, " he told me. " But later on, we want 
 something good, and I think you can give it to 
 us. Say, Apollo, who do you spose will have my 
 flower at the Tivoli tonight?" Some one entirely 
 unworthy of it, I assured him. 
 
 " But about this play perhaps your Aunt Flori- 
 zel she is a college woman " J faltered. 
 
 "Aunt Florizel v this time he said it sadly, but 
 lingered, just the same " has read too many 
 books. She has forgotten almost everything she 
 ever knew. " And I was afraid that it was true, 
 that she had forgotten some things. 
 
 We strolled around to where a lighted window 
 was sending inquisitive fingers among the leaves, 
 and I perceived that it was time to think definitely 
 of taking a train for the City. 
 
 "Are you coming out next week?" His eager 
 ness was flattering, and I said I would, if my little 
 gods would permit. 
 
 "Who are they?" he wanted to know, and I 
 told him, 
 
 " They are little jujube-paste men, white and 
 pink and all colors, that you buy for a penny 
 apiece at a corner grocery. They amuse them 
 selves with me. Make me do anything they wish. 
 And sometimes they come and make faces at me; 
 twist and flatten and pull themselves into out 
 rageous shapes. Each one has a string tied to me 
 
 19 
 
somewhere. They pulled the strings to make me 
 dance. Sometimes they go away or go to sleep 
 and forget me, and the strings lie loose and I 
 don t dance. I don t do anything but just feel 
 lonely and mope." Billy Wright Jr. eyed me, 
 looking for the strings. He understood. 
 
 " I have some gods," he said. I wanted to know 
 and he told me. " Gallery gods." That was nat 
 ural, too, but I wanted to know what they were 
 like. 
 
 " They aren t like anything at all. They are 
 feelings you have when you ve made good or 
 haven t." And again I saw that he understood. 
 
 As we went into Billy Wright Jr. s room, the 
 O. F. M. came across the vine and down the door- 
 casing to meet us. 
 
 " Coin to the show? " he wanted to know, and 
 I said I hoped to, later. He went over the floor 
 and up the stand, to sit on the make-up box. Very 
 many rose leaves had blown in and were scat 
 tered on the floor. Billy Wright Jr. gathered 
 them up and put them on the stand. 
 
 " Look them over, O. F. M.," he said, and turn 
 ing to me, he explained with a pleased smile, 
 " Their cards. I didn t expect them to call so 
 soon. " 
 
 And I said that I thought that things looked as 
 promising as one could wish. 
 
 " We ll put up the ads tonight and begin re 
 hearsing the chorus tomorrow." Billy Wright 
 Jr. assumed a managerial pose. " I heard a good 
 voice in the jasmine, and I think I know where 
 I can get a soubrette. " I said I thought the 
 thing was as good as done, and he told me that 
 
 20 
 
in another week I might take a look in on the 
 finest show to be seen in Fairyland or any of its 
 provinces. I thanked him and was leaving. 
 
 " Coin to the show?" The O. F. M. cocked his 
 yellow eye at me. I said I was, and would be 
 glad to take any messages to Billy Wright Sr. 
 or to Mile. Mabelle Villiers. The O. F. M. didn t 
 think of anything he wanted to say, I presume. 
 But Billy Wright Jr. said, 
 
 " You can tell my father I ll get along all right 
 down here, I guess." Then he stepped out and 
 gathered a rose, fragrant and dewy, for Mile. 
 Mabelle Villiers. Just before he came inside to 
 put it in my care, I saw him place a kiss in it. 
 That, I understood, was for Mrs. Billy Wright. 
 
 At the gate I heard a sound like the bursting 
 of a pod, among the red cannas, and a round black 
 seed hit me squarely on the nose. There was a 
 high hysterical giggle somewhere in the dark. 
 Billy Wright Jr., when he had caught the seed and 
 looked at it, smiled queerly. 
 
 " It s from Puck. He wants an interview. " 
 
 "Has he heard?" I asked. 
 
 " Yes. " I wanted to know about that inter 
 view, but I had to catch the train. 
 
 21 
 
 
THE SECOND CHAPTER REVEALS 
 SOME MYSTERIES AND GUESSES AT 
 OTHERS, AWAKENS SOME MEMO 
 RIES AND DISCOVERS SOME FEARS 
 
 T S a whole week since you were 
 here!" I was very much flattered 
 that Billy Wright Jr. put it that 
 way; and besides, I had noticed, my 
 self, that the time had seemed long 
 since my last visit to the Garden. While Billy 
 Wright Jr. examined into the various packages 
 and messages of which I had been the bearer, I 
 went to find the Grandmother and to say how glad 
 I was to be able to pay her another visit. Also I 
 thought of several things I might say, should 
 Anyone Else be there. She was not. She had 
 gone to walk, said the Grandmother, " with that 
 nice boy who makes such excellent French verses. 
 She will be sorry to have missed you. " I tried 
 so very hard to believe that last, that I had be 
 come quite cheerful again when Billy Wright Jr. 
 came to share his chocolates with us, and to show 
 us the latest newspaper notices that Mile. Mabelle 
 Villiers and Billy Wright Sr. had received. There 
 were also, a bill for the new week s performance 
 at the Tivoli and a letter containing the news 
 that there were two new girls in the chorus, one 
 pretty and one not; that one of the stage-hands 
 had a new daughter whom he had named after 
 
 22 
 
Mabelle Villiers, and there had been a christen 
 ing; that a black cat had come to live in Billy 
 Wright Sr. s dressing room, which everyone said 
 was very good luck indeed; and that the boy who 
 played Fairy in Billy Wright Jr. s flower, was the 
 rankest amateur, but did very well, considering. 
 He folded the letter and sat, remembering very 
 many pleasant things, I have no doubt, such as, 
 between-act suppers in Mile. Mabelle Villiers 
 room, or forty winks in the same place, curled 
 up in a chair with the red shawl over him; and 
 lots of other happenings quite as delightful. Then 
 he squared his shoulders with a little inward sigh. 
 And looking at me he said, 
 
 "Want to see the rehearsal?" I was most 
 eager and I said so. We took our way across the 
 clover-bed, beyond the rose-hedge, through the 
 currant patch, past the fountain, under the oaks, 
 through the oranges, beyond the pond and down 
 the grassy slope to the hollow near the arbor 
 where the jasmine and clematis and the royal 
 red roses lavish themselves in the abandon of 
 giving. And as we went, Billy Wright Jr. told 
 me what had happened since I last saw him. 
 
 " I ve got a chorus of Butterflies this week. It s 
 not a new idea but they re good. Know their 
 business, and now that I ve got them so they ll 
 work together, they are all right. I ve found a 
 good leading woman, too. She s a native of Fairy 
 land, over here some time. Exiled, I think, but I 
 don t know. She can sing, though! And the lead 
 ing man is great. He s a Mocking Bird. " I could 
 not hide my astonishment, and Billy Wright Jr. 
 very kindly explained. 
 
 23 
 
" Lots of birds are Fairies, especially out here 
 in the Provinces. You see, it s a favorite pun 
 ishment. For anything you do that doesn t 
 please Oberon or Titania, you may just be exiled, 
 like the prima donna, or exiled and turned into a 
 bird or anything, like the leading man. " 
 
 "It must be uncomfortable " I shuddered, 
 "and dangerous." But Billy Wright Jr. said no, 
 if anything happened to them while they were 
 in the bird or other forms like hawks, for in 
 stance the Fairies just stepped out of the bird 
 or other forms, into their own forms. 
 
 " Why, " I learned, "All the orchestra are Fair 
 ies, of course, but most of them are different 
 things, most of the time. The bass viol is a Frog, 
 the first and second violins are Crickets, the horns 
 are different kinds of birds, the drums are Quail, 
 and so on. I think the orchestra at the Tivoli 
 looks like that, don t you?" They did, come to 
 think of it. 
 
 " So your leading man is a Mocking Bird," I 
 mused. " Is he at all like the lead at the Tivoli? " 
 
 " Well, " he considered. " Well, perhaps his 
 legs are a little. But this fellow can sing! He 
 could do a lot better than singing in light opera 
 here in the Provinces. He could be doing grand 
 opera at home, if he would take the trouble. He 
 has pull family, and all that if he wanted to 
 go back. But he s lazy. I can t make him work, 
 no matter how I try. And he s got talent loads 
 of it. " 
 
 " I wonder you keep him. " 
 
 "Why! He s the best there is! " cried the man 
 ager. " Gee! You should hear him. He ll whistle 
 
 24 
 
and shuffle along through a song like old Lovely 
 at the Tivoli, only he 1 can t help it and then all 
 of a sudden he ll begin to sing like sixty. He 
 can t be beat, Apollo! " 
 
 " Favorite? " 
 
 " Yep. He don t care. Say, I ve got a soubrette. 
 She s a Carnation Fairy, born right here in the 
 Garden, but she s as dainty, chic and spicy as 
 you ll find anywhere. She s all right!" Billy 
 Wright Jr. s wink was so like his father s that 
 it left me gasping. But I had noticed something. 
 
 " How s your comedy? " He boiled over. 
 
 "Oh, that comedy!" he fumed. "Why, Puck 
 is a disgrace to the profession why, he s a clown! 
 No, he isn t a clown, Apollo, he s an amateur. 
 Why, his business would disgrace a slap 
 stick man for life. He has no art, he isn t 
 funny. He s just a self-conscious poseur a silly, 
 conceited, practical joker!" "Oh, Billy Wright 
 Sr.," I thought, "how well your son has learned 
 of you!" But I marveled that all this should be 
 true of Puck. 
 
 " Did he make any trouble when you took over 
 the management?" 
 
 "No. He came and offered it to me. He s a 
 gentleman, all right, only he can t be and never 
 was, funny. " I thought a while, before asking, 
 
 " Why is he ov-er here? I thought he was Court 
 Entertainer. " Billy Wright Jr. kicked a pebble 
 into the pond. 
 
 " I guess they couldn t stand him, " he said. 
 Passing the pond I was reminded. I asked wheth 
 er the Pixies had given any trouble. He said no, 
 he had sworn in a dozen large Goose-Fairies as 
 
 25 
 
Their act is clever. 
 
 Know them?" 
 
 special policemen to patrol the pond and guard 
 the theatre. And as there had been a feud be 
 tween them and the Pixies for some time, he had 
 no trouble at all. The audiences were good. 
 They were appreciative. They knew a good thing, 
 and weren t afraid to say so. 
 
 " I m running a vaudeville turn between acts to 
 night, he told me as we neared the theatre. "A 
 couple of French Fairies were hard up. They 
 want to get back home. 
 They re artists, all right. " 
 
 " Who are they? " 
 
 " Pierrot and Pierrette. 
 
 " Oh, yes! " Then the voices of a thousand sweet 
 old memories called to me. " Of course I know 
 them. The play you asked me to write is to be 
 all about those very People. I am glad they are 
 to be here to play it. " 
 
 " Golly, Apollo, but you re all right! What s 
 the plot? I d like to begin on it right away." 
 Billy Wright Jr. halted me in front of the Royal 
 Garden, Theatre to His Majesty Oberon, King 
 of the Fairies. And I must say, that for a Pro 
 vincial affair, it was rather gorgeous. Why Puck 
 had chosen that location was easy to see. The 
 natural slope of the ground, to the level space, 
 with the roof of walnut trees and background of 
 arbor vines, was, of course, a great place for a 
 theatre. But it seemed to me a long way from 
 the house, and the pond was between us and the 
 main Garden, too. 
 
 I shall not go into the details of how the theatre 
 was built, because if you are a Fairy you will easily 
 imagine it. But if you are not, no amount of 
 
 26 
 
explaining will do any good. But one or two 
 of the things that Billy Wright Jr. showed me as 
 being inventions of his own, I will tell you about, 
 because they surprised me. 
 
 The flies and the wings, according to the old 
 methods, had been put up by spiders, who spun 
 webs across, and up and down, and then hung 
 them with leaves, for a forest scene, or with tap 
 estries for an interior. The Night Breeze had 
 always been scene-shifter. The footlights, since 
 time immemorial, had been black cats in rows, 
 facing the stage. Billy Wright Jr. changed those 
 things. He said, "Why not flies, and why not 
 wings?" And so, not on spider s webs, but on 
 delicate vine tendrils, hung, shining and decora 
 tive, the flies themselves, in airy design of leafy 
 covert or of frescoed interior. And up and down 
 the sides, clasping close the green grass columns, 
 were the beautiful plumed wings of huge moths 
 and other fly-by-nights. Now, the beauty of this 
 method was its simplicity. At the call of " Strike!" 
 there was a sudden buzzing, fluttering and blur, as 
 all the flies and wings rose at once, and whirled 
 off, while the new set took their places. It was 
 wonderfully simple and I am astonished that the 
 method had not before commended itself to Fairy 
 stage-managers. Especially as it obviated a de 
 pendence upon the uncertain, if well intentioned 
 Night Breeze. 
 
 Billy Wright Jr. s innovation in the matter of 
 footlights was also heartily to be applauded, I 
 think. Because he substituted groups of glow 
 worms for the black cats. Now, cat s eyes give 
 a steady yellow light that is very soft and pleas- 
 
 27 
 
ing, but it will hardly do where brilliant effects 
 are desired. And the glow-worms have the ad 
 vantage of being able to change color. Also, they 
 do not sing when pleased, and the cats do. 
 
 There were a great many other things which 
 I would have investigated, but rehearsal was 
 called just then, and I found a safe place, out 
 of the way, from which I could see everything 
 that happened. The play, which they were get 
 ting into shape for that night s performance, was 
 the old time Fairylan.d favorite, The Sleeping 
 Beauty; and Billy Wright Jr. s exiled prima donna 
 was ably fitted for the role, although she was 
 far from sleepy looking. When I first saw her, 
 she was chatting to the leading man I had no 
 difficulty in recognizing him and several of the 
 chorus. She carried a tiny yellow bird on her 
 finger, a rather nicer pet than a bull-dog, I should 
 imagine. I thought her very charming, with 
 something a little sad about her in quieter mo 
 ments. And I wondered what cause there could 
 be for the exile of so lovely a Person. But in 
 the midst of my wonderment, the soubrette danced 
 in, the Carnation Fairy, and set my wits glimmer 
 ing like fire-flies. She was all that Billy Wright 
 Jr. had said of her, and more, oh, much more. 
 In a very short time I had discovered that the 
 leading man, the second lead and all the male 
 chorus were hopelessly entangled. I was in 
 fatuated, I frankly admit it. When she ran up 
 to me, and without waiting to have me presented, 
 extended both pretty hands and cried, 
 
 " I know who you are, you re Apollo, and you ve 
 written us a new play! Is there a good part in 
 
 28 
 
it for me?" I was ravished and I stammered 
 something about writing the thing over for her. 
 But she chatted away gaily and wouldn t let me 
 remember my embarrassment, so that in a little 
 while I was pleased with myself and very happy. 
 She told me bits of gossipy news. How the male 
 chorus had been recruited from the Grasses 
 quite a common class but they could sing. And 
 they were nice boys, too, but ordinary. And how 
 the Butterflies were just daft over Billy Wright 
 Jr., and would rehearse all day and all night to 
 please him. And how the leading woman, Oiseau 
 d Or, was as sweet as she could be, but triste at 
 times, and that made her a little difficult, poor 
 dear! 
 
 "La! What a chatter-box you ll think me!" 
 she ended, to my intense regret. I don t know 
 of any more entrancing occupation than watching 
 this dainty Person as she waved about her pretty 
 hands and made delicious moues in imitation of 
 her fellow actors. 
 
 " My dear Miss Carnation " I was protesting 
 when she stopped me. 
 
 " Call me Pink, " she begged adorably, " every 
 body does. " And I consented at once. 
 
 " You haven t told me anything about the lead 
 ing man Pink, " I said with a thrill. 
 
 "Haven t I?" I noticed that the glow from 
 her fru-fru skirts was reflected in her delicate 
 face. She glanced at the leading man, who was 
 just then looking at her as I suspected he hac 1 
 been, since she had made her appearance. She 
 beckoned to him, and he came toward us eagerly. 
 
 " He can tell you about himself." She said 
 
 29 
 
 
"Apollo, this is Voix-belle, our leading man. Voix- 
 belle, Apollo has written us a play." Voix-belle 
 bowed stiffly to me and looked with a proud sort 
 of humble adoration at Pink. And I observed a 
 shyness in her that hadn t been evident before. 
 Voix-belle was a fine figure of a fellow, if he was 
 slightly inclined to plumpness of waist and slen- 
 derness of limb. He wore a curiously wrought 
 cape of grey and white feathers, and a cap of 
 the same. 
 
 Coin to the show?" asked someone rather 
 pointedly, and I turned to greet the O. F. M. A 
 very fat Tree-toad ran up a branch and called 
 out: 
 
 "Rehearsal! First act. Butterflies read} for 
 entrance. Miss Pink All right, Mr. Orchestra 
 Leader!" Pink and Voix-belle went away and 
 the O. F. M. and I settled down to watch. 
 
 Did you know that Fairy plays always begin 
 where ours leave off? "And they lived happy 
 ever after" is the signal for hats and street-cars 
 with us. But in the Fairy play it is the begin 
 ning in the Happily-Married play, that is. There 
 is another kind of play, all sad and drippy, where 
 the fond young lover is killed at the wars or mar 
 ries to please his mother; or the young girl sac 
 rifices herself to duty, whatever that may mean! 
 Or someone finds out something disgraceful that 
 one of them did in Grammar School, and it is all 
 off; and the audience gets up and goes away 
 quietly. This sort of a play, known as the Mis 
 erable Play, in Fairyland, begins where the mis 
 ery is completed and goes forward to a logical 
 happy ending. Because it is natural for things to 
 
 30 
 
end happily. It makes no difference to a Fairy 
 play or audience that one of the characters has 
 died. When a Fairy dies, he just takes some 
 other form and begins a new set of adven 
 tures. The " Sleeping Beauty " is a happily 
 married play. The way it goes with us is like 
 this: When it was clearly understood by ev 
 erybody that they had just been awakened 
 from a magic sleep by Prince Charming, there 
 was a great hubbub. And you might have heard 
 any number of accounts of how it all might 
 have been prevented, if Such-a-One had not 
 been overtaken by sleep just as he was about 
 to warn the constable. But they were all very 
 grateful to the Prince, whose wedding to the 
 Beauty took place that very day. And they lived 
 happy ever after. And that is where the real story 
 begins. 
 
 That Butterfly chorus! Maybe it wouldn t do 
 at the Tivoli. Maybe it wouldn t. But, in the way 
 of choruses it was the finest I ever saw. Pink 
 Was quite right in what she said about their re 
 gard for Billy Wright Jr. And he was proud of- 
 them. I could see that. And, as is the way with 
 managers, he made them work much harder on 
 that account. Nothing short of perfection would 
 please him, it seemed, and the poor pretty things 
 did their best to give it to him. 
 
 "You re slow, there!" he shouted, in admirable 
 imitation of the irascible manager of the Tivoli. 
 "Get in line, Tete-noir!" And Tete-noir would 
 
 I. 
 
 ^ ViM 1 /? 
 
 praising the best ones, I suppose, and advising or 
 
 get in line, looking ready to cry. But, after th;e 
 dance, Billy Wright Jr. would go among them, 
 
 31 
 
suggesting. I can t believe that he scolded them, 
 for he left a ripple of smiles and blushes all along 
 the line. 
 
 Pink and the second lead, Honey Suckle, had 
 a song about the gay little Firefly who had red 
 shoes; and then they did a dance that left me 
 speechless with admiration. Entered the Prince 
 Charming to tell his troubles to the chorus. The 
 Beauty, convinced that the world owed her a debt 
 of happiness, had determined to make up for all 
 the good times she had lost in the hundred-year- 
 magic-sleep, and this just when Prince Charm 
 ing had prepared to wind up all of his little af 
 fairs and settle down as a quiet king-elect. The 
 male chorus sympathized with the Prince. But 
 the Butterflies and Pink ran away laughing "La, 
 la, la!" in a ravishing fashion. 
 
 Voix-belle, as the Prince, did a really fine thing 
 in the way of recitative, "Where is now the peace 
 I sighed for?" Then he and the chorus sang 
 an ungallantly rollicking " Happy Bachelor Days," 
 and skipped off. Oiseau d Or and Pink ran 
 through a duet, "Time, the Rogue," and then 
 called in the Butterflies. They made their plans 
 for an exciting hundred years, and all exited 
 chanting "Let s Be Gay, Let s Be Gay!" 
 
 Voix-belle, Honey Suckle, and the second com 
 edy, Dan de Lion, who played the king, and 
 Tassel Top, the leader of the Grass chorus, en 
 tered with the manners of conspirators. I had 
 been wondering where Puck was. I saw that all 
 the People were apprehensive of something, and 
 I guessed that his cue was approaching. The 
 Tree Toad was scurrying about looking behind 
 
 32 
 
PINK 
 La! What a chatterbox you ll think me!" 
 
things. But I could have told him that Puck had 
 not come at all. I wondered at Billy Wright Jr., 
 who was calmly talking to Oiseau d Or. Sud 
 denly, out of nothing but the air, a red something 
 dropped plump into the demoralized orchestra. 
 I gasped. It was Puck! He scrambled out in 
 high glee and got on to the stage in time to 
 take up his cue; and the orchestra agitatedly re 
 arranged itself. To my surprise, no one paid the 
 slightest attention to Puck s extraordinary be 
 havior, which, nevertheless, he kept up as though 
 he enjoyed it. Undoubtedly, he had learned his 
 comedy in prehistoric times, when burning an un 
 suspecting friend in bed was the hugest kind of 
 a joke. I watched him with astonishment. But 
 utter weariness overspread the faces of all the 
 cast. I hardly wondered at that. Puck was play 
 ing the wizard, who, at the earnest request of all 
 the husbands and lovers, was to put the Beauty 
 and all her court ladies to sleep again. But his 
 " business " quite ran away with the situation. 
 Finally they brought the scene to an end, how 
 ever, and the climax saw the Prince and his 
 Grasses triumphant over the sleepy Beauty and 
 her nodding Butterflies. 
 
 Billy Wright Jr. came to talk to me during the 
 intermission. I congratulated him upon the ex 
 cellence of everything. He was pleased, but his 
 joy was not unmixed. 
 
 "Did you see him?" he asked. It was useless 
 to pretend, so I said " Yes," gravely, as the situa 
 tion demanded. Billy Wright Jr. looked at me 
 with tears in his eyes. 
 
 "What can a fellow do?" he asked. I couldn t 
 
 33 
 
tell him. I didn t know. But I tried to be cheer 
 ful. 
 
 " I should think he would please the gallery. " 
 
 " Well, he doesn t. They think he s rotten." 
 There was nothing more to say. 
 
 The second act was exclusively for male voices 
 something new in the way of opera comique. 
 And Voix-belle showed at once his possibilities 
 and his limitations. He could sing, but most of 
 the time he did not. The Prince and his gentle 
 men found life very dull without the fair ones, 
 and the wizard was again called to their aid, this 
 time to awaken the Beauty and her ladies. He 
 refused. And here Puck got his innings. But 
 I will omit. In time, the wizard was persuaded, 
 bribed and coerced into compliance. 
 
 In the third act, the awakening occurred. But 
 something went wrong. The wizard had forgot 
 ten the charm. In vain he repeated it, like a dull 
 boy at an oral examination. He could not get it 
 right. So the Beauty and her ladies awakened, 
 but they had forgotten the Prince and his gentle 
 men! A distressing state of affairs. But a happy 
 ending was devised. The Prince, by his true-love, 
 was able to find the charm which would recall him 
 to the memory of the Beauty. And she, twice 
 owing her consciousness to the Prince, agreed to 
 please him henceforth. The gentlemen having fol 
 lowed the Prince s example, the ladies followed 
 that of the Beauty and the opera came to an end. 
 
 " I wish I knew that spell," I told Billy Wright 
 Jr. " I would like to recall myself to the memory 
 of a certain Beauty. " 
 
 " You know it, Apollo," said he, " if you would 
 
 34 
 
only just think hard enough. " But if I did know 
 it, I couldn t think hard enough, I suppose. 
 
 " See you to-night! " Pink nodded to me as she 
 went out with her maid, a black-eyed Susan. I 
 went out to wait for Billy Wright Jr. in front of 
 the theatre. Oiseau d Or came out and got into 
 her motor car, a Red Beetle. She was quite alone, 
 and I wondered about her as she swept away. 
 Why was she sad? The Butterflies tripped off in 
 twos and threes, followed at discreet distances 
 by admiring Grasses, not only of the chorus. A 
 shower of water sprinkled me. Somebody giggled. 
 When I looked around Puck was sitting on 
 the stone wall near the pond. As he caught my 
 eye, he puffed out his cheeks, wriggled his nose, 
 and went over backwards with a shriek. I saw him 
 peeking through some bamboo on the other side, 
 to see how I was taking it. I suppose he is silly, 
 but I can t help liking the fellow. 
 
 Billy Wright Jr., the O. F. M., Voix-belle and 
 Dan de Lion came out together. They stood for 
 a moment, discussing something. Then Billy 
 Wright Jr. took Voix-belle by the hand, and I 
 heard him say: 
 
 " Well, old man, we re with you. And con 
 gratulations! " Then they all parted and Billy 
 Wright Jr. joined me. 
 
 "Somebody been getting engaged?" I asked. 
 
 "Yes. Voix-belle and Pink." 
 
 "Well, isn t that all right?" I felt a little en 
 vious, though. 
 
 " I hope so. Pink s all right. She s all right. 
 But Voix-belle doesn t belong out here, you know, 
 and his family may make trouble. That s all. " 
 
 ra 
 
 35 
 
" They wouldn t, if they could see Pink," I said 
 with confidence. 
 
 " Well, I hope they won t. I d hate to lose 
 either of them." 
 
 We found all the family on the veranda, and I 
 forgot Voix-belle s troubles in my own, when I 
 saw Florizel. She was listening to the Nice Boy s 
 French verses. She greeted me very kindly, and 
 invited me to listen, too. Billy Wright Jr. sat be 
 side me. After several French verses he whis 
 pered to me, 
 
 "Aunt Florizel knows some things. She told 
 me who those People are that I didn t know 
 the ones in the grove and the pond and the foun 
 tain. " 
 
 "Who are they?" I whispered. I didn t care 
 if the Nice Boy did scowl. 
 
 " They re Hamadryads and Fauns and Satyrs 
 and Naiads and Nymphs!" he hissed in my ear. 
 
 " No! " I gasped. 
 
 "Yes! And she says you and she knew them 
 all when you were little and played in the Gar 
 den, and she named you Apollo and you named 
 her Diana. She hasn t forgotten everything!" 
 After that, let the Nice Boy scowl. Let him read 
 his French verses, if Florizel remembered that 
 much! 
 
 Billy Wright Jr. went to call on a Mrs. Bird 
 who lived in the white La Marque at the veranda- 
 end. He climbed to the railing, very carefully 
 indeed, that he might not disturb Mrs. Bird, and 
 when his small nose was on a level with the little 
 round house, he peeped, very carefully, and smiled, 
 
 36 
 
but said never a word in our language. He 
 climbed down as carefully and came back to me. 
 
 " Golly, Apollo!" his eyes were shining, " three 
 of them, just as blue!" The Nice Boy shouted. 
 
 "Apollo! That s good!" He looked at me and 
 laughed rudely. "Apollo! By Jove!" Billy 
 Wright Jr. looked huffed. Florizel did not look 
 amused. I don t know how I looked. But the 
 Nice Boy didn t care. 
 
 "Where is Clytie, Apollo? I heard that she 
 turned herself into a flower because you wouldn t 
 notice her. That s no way to treat a nice girl." 
 
 "Clytie was a water-nymph before she became 
 a flower," said Florizel. " When sun-flowers be 
 came so common, she gave up the fad and went 
 to live in a fountain." I held my breath. That was 
 an old story in the Garden. If Florizel remem 
 bered that! My heart was tugging like a kite. 
 
 "Well, where is Daphne?" pursued the Nice 
 Boy. " I have always wanted to know your side 
 of that story. Rough on you, I thought, having 
 a girl turn herself into a tree to be rid of you!" 
 And the wretch laughed uproariously. He sud 
 denly stopped, seeing that Florizel was grave. 
 " Perhaps you were Daphne." Florizel flashed 
 me a little smile and I soared up amid singing 
 clouds and chanting winds. 
 
 " I am Diana," she told him. 
 
 "Diana!" echoed the Nice Boy. "Oh, his sis 
 ter! I see!" I came to earth. 
 
 " The Garden used to abound with Fauns and 
 Satyrs, and my Nymphs," said Florizel, gazing 
 wistfully, I thought, into the green distance. Did 
 she see a waving hand? 
 
 37 
 
 r 
 
"They are still here!" I said softly. I am not 
 sure she heard me. 
 
 " Youth is a Seer and a worker of miracles," 
 said she. "When I was a child, I thought as a 
 child. It is a finer thing to do than to dream." 
 
 " I am a Classic Myth, myself," said the Nice 
 Boy. " I am Endymion." 
 
 " Eternal sleep and eternal youth," I mused. 
 " I am not sure that you haven t chosen the bet 
 ter part, Endymion. To wake, and to grow old 
 that is the lot of mortals!" Billy Wright Jr. 
 slipped his arm about my neck. 
 
 " To be a pessimist is to be a clog in the wheels 
 of progress," Florizel told me. 
 
 "Who speaks of mortals?" asked the Nice 
 Boy. "The gods live forever!" 
 
 " While we believe," said I. Florizel laughed 
 at me. 
 
 " Can you no longer drown your troubles at 
 Clyde s fountain?" She turned to the Nice Boy. 
 " When Apollo was a very young child, and the 
 world was difficult, he went and dabbled his hands, 
 and sometimes his feet, too, in the fountain out 
 there. And the Lady, as he called her you 
 never would acknowledge that she was Clytie, 
 Apollo, why? she was so sympathetic, she bab 
 bled right along about her own affairs. But Apol 
 lo didn t mind that. He always came away com 
 forted. But once, he " She stopped and laughed 
 gaily at my face of dismay. " I ll not tell. I didn t 
 then, and I won t now. But oh, to think of it! 
 You might have been a myth in good earnest, if 
 I hadn t pulled you out bodily! " The Nice Boy 
 looked knowing. But I was glad that he did not 
 
 38 
 
know about th$ time when I determined to go and 
 live in the fountain because Florizel had quar 
 reled with me, and she had to promise everything 
 before I would come out, shivering, and exchange 
 my wreath of purple lilies and my dripping silk 
 en drape from the parlor mantle-piece for my 
 striped gingham suit. Oh well! There were com 
 pensations for not being Endymion. If a person 
 slept all the time, he couldn t have any memories. 
 But he could dream, and some dreams, I reflected, 
 were far better than most realities. 
 
 "You are the god of music and poetry, aren t 
 you, Apollo?" The Nice Boy was polite. "I 
 wish you would give me an idea or two, in French, 
 please. Do you inspire in French? Really? Well, 
 I would like to do a hymn to Diana, if you will 
 just send along an inspiration the next time I go 
 to sleep." 
 
 " It seems to me that you are hardly living up 
 to the reputation of the person who was sup 
 posed to sleep all the time." 
 
 "But the moon is shining!" said he. 
 
 " The moon," said I, " has been known to have 
 a peculiar effect." 
 
 " If you sleep in the moonlight, you go mad. 
 A man told me so," said round-eyed Billy Wright 
 Jr. 
 
 "A man who would sleep when he might stay 
 awake and worship, deserves madness." The Nice 
 Boy was heroic. 
 
 "After all," said I, " everyone is mad from 
 everyone s else point of view. Florizel thinks I 
 am mad because I remember more than she does. 
 You think I am mad because I am melancholy. 
 
 39 
 
Florizel thinks you are mad because you write 
 verses. I think you are mad because you do 
 anything else. You think Florizel is mad " 
 
 " There you are wrong," said the Nice Boy. 
 " From all possible points of view, Miss Florizel 
 is perfect." 
 
 " You can t deny that she knows too much." 
 
 "All the knowledge that a pretty woman can 
 acquire, will not possibly hurt her," said he large 
 ly. Aha, I thought, you Nice Boy, you would bet 
 ter stick to your verses. Florizel tip-tilted her nose 
 ever so slightly. Then she looked at me kindly. 
 
 " Did you say that my Nymphs are still here, 
 Apollo?" 
 
 " I am sure they are; Billy Wright Jr. has seen 
 them." 
 
 "Here!" The Nice Boy peered idiotically into 
 a rose bush. " Oh, I want to see some Nymphs 
 do show me ! " 
 
 " I hope you remember that Diana has an un 
 pleasant way of discouraging intruders," I warned 
 him. 
 
 "Oh Apollo." He laughed again. "Apollo! Of 
 course you wouldn t be willing to admit another 
 god to your sacred groves!" 
 
 " Indeed," I said crossly, " I have a very small 
 place in the Garden. Ask Billy Wright Jr." He 
 did so, and was told, 
 
 " There are lots of People here besides the 
 Wood People. There are the Elves and the Fays 
 and the Sprites and the Fairies from home, and 
 all the Garden Fairies, like the Flowers and the 
 Grasses, and the Wiggle Bugs and Creepy Craw- 
 leys. " 
 
 40 
 
"Ugh!" The Nice Boy shuddered. "Who are 
 they?" 
 
 " Oh, they haven t very much to do. Only give 
 bad dreams to people that displease the Garden." 
 
 " Best sleep high, Endymion," I advised. 
 
 " I don t know but that one inspiration is as 
 good as another!" said he. 
 
 " Why do you think I am mad, Apollo? " asked 
 Florizel. 
 
 " Because you ever left the Garden." 
 
 " But you leave it? " 
 
 " Oh, as for that I am mad in the dark of the 
 moon! " 
 
 " You are silly," said Florizel. There was a 
 little silence. 
 
 " They are just as blue, Apollo ! " said Billy 
 Wright Jr., and I went to see for myself. 
 
 The White Magic Grandmother came out and 
 said to me, 
 
 " You are to stop till the first train in the morn 
 ing, my boy, and Florizel shall sing to us this 
 evening." Oh, blessed White Magic Grandmother, 
 of course I stopped! 
 
 
THE THIRD CHAPTER INTRODUCES 
 TUMULT, VIOLENCE AND UTMOST 
 CONFUSION INTO THE MIDST OF A 
 NIGHT FILLED WITH GAY MUSIC 
 
 JLORIZEL did sing to us, first in the 
 music room, and afterwards on the 
 half-dark veranda, where the Nice 
 Boy and I could smoke the very 
 good cigars which the White Magic 
 Grandmother keeps for such as we. Florizel s 
 voice was glad and free and oh, so sweet! Some 
 times I thought it held a thousand memories and 
 ten thousand promises. And sometimes I thought 
 that it held the wind and water voices of that far 
 world from which she had come; and sometimes 
 she was a wise beautiful lady whom I did not un 
 derstand at all. The light from the house came 
 gently sifted through the curtained doorways and 
 windows. From where I sat, on the lowest step, 
 I could see the Grandmother gently swaying back 
 and forth in the shadow, and the creak of her 
 rocking chair, mingled with the tinkle of ukulilis, 
 made me very sleepy. "Till we meet again!" 
 sang Florizel and the Nice Boy. And as I gazed 
 away into the dark Garden, I felt my eye-lids 
 prickle with the sweet sentimentality of it all. 
 They sang a great many old songs such as are 
 fit for twilight singings. The soft harmony of 
 their voices and the minor strain of the little in- 
 
 42 
 
struments stirred me gently, and I sang with 
 them. Billy Wright Jr. had long ago said his 
 " good-nights." The dark reaches of the Garden 
 were filled with voices and stirrings. After a 
 time I became aware of a scarcely suppressed ex 
 citement a tip-toe of interest and somebody 
 pulled my sleeve. 
 
 It was Billy Wright Jr. in his blue pajamas. 
 He beckoned and drew me away. Florizel and 
 the Nice Boy were lost to all but their song, and 
 the Grandmother placidly rocked in the shadow. 
 Under the lemon-verbena, Billy Wright Jr. halt 
 ed me, and I could feel his tense muscles through 
 his clutching hands. 
 
 "The gallery is full of Pixies!" he said, "and 
 there s going to be trouble. Come on!" Away 
 he raced, and I managed to keep him in sight 
 among the trees and bushes. The greatest in 
 terest was evident all over the Garden and I was 
 more than once arrested by a detaining hand 
 from Rose Bush or Vine, and had to stop long 
 enough to satisfy some fair one s curiosity. 
 
 We reached the Royal Garden and slipped 
 around to the stage door. The cast was in a pit 
 iable state of nervousness. The Butterflies hud 
 dled in fluttering groups. Only Voix-belle and 
 Pink, talking in one of the entrances, were un 
 mindful of anything unusual in the situation. 
 
 Billy Wright Jr. and I stood where we could 
 look out over the house. The intermission be 
 tween the first and second acts was about over. 
 The audience seemed quiet. No one seemed to 
 have gone out between acts. My eye sought the 
 gallery. It was packed to the roof with as fine a 
 
 43 
 
set of Irish lads as I ever saw. The O. F. M. 
 was on guard at the back, pacing up and down 
 but with difficulty. He is very pigeon-toed. A 
 couple of special policemen came in to speak 
 with Billy Wright Jr. They were fine, showy fel 
 lows, I thought, in their white and yellow uni 
 forms. 
 
 "Veil!" said one of them, slapping Billy 
 Wright Jr/s shoulder, " someding iss doing, eh?" 
 
 " I hope not, Officer. 1 hope we can keep them 
 in order. " Billy Wright Jr. tried to be cheerful. 
 
 " Oh, veil, ve dry! " They narrowed their small 
 eyes and hissed quietly. 
 
 " They ve been very quiet during the intermis 
 sion. I think they mean to stop the play when 
 Puck goes on. Apollo has come to help us. Apol 
 lo, this is Officer Erste Cans; and Officer Zweite 
 Gans; gentlemen, Apollo." Billy Wright Jr. 
 turned his eye to the house. Erste Gans said to 
 me, 
 
 " Veil, I m glad to meed you." Zweite Gans said 
 " Wie geht s! " and I said as much. The orches 
 tra started up the opening chorus of the second 
 act and I heard the Tree Toad calling in a fright 
 ened voice, 
 
 "Second act! Grasses on the stage! Mr. Voix- 
 belle! Ladies off the stage, please!" Voix-belle 
 left Pink at the door of her dressing room and 
 came down-stage leisurely. Trouble was a thou 
 sand miles away from him. Erste and Zweite 
 Gans went away to their post at the stage en 
 trance. The Tree Toad signaled "all right" and 
 up went the curtain. The chorus went well. Voix- 
 belle got his encore. The main part of the house, 
 
 44 
 
I think, had no idea that anything out of the or 
 dinary was afoot. 
 
 I stood among the wings and watched. Some 
 one behind me whispered, 
 
 " Qu as tu done? " and some one else answered, 
 
 "Mais, il y a quelque chose la haut, je pense!" 
 I turned and saw two little Persons who were 
 peering curiously up at the gallery. 
 
 " Quoi done?" said the boy-one, facing around 
 at me. "Ah! C est M sieu Apollo! M sieu, I 
 make you my bow! I am that Pierrot for whom 
 you make the play. Accep my thanks, M sieu, 
 my many thanks, mille, mille fois! " Then the 
 girl-one danced up, and, 
 
 Be so good as to accep my thanks, also, 
 M sieu!" she said, "an my bows!" She made 
 them, very pretty ones. 
 
 " Mile. Pierrette," said Pierrot, presenting me. 
 Then I assured them that it was I who stood 
 obliged, and to them. That my writing a play for 
 them was simply an acknowledgment of the debt 
 of gratitude I owed them. 
 
 " Long, long ago, when I was a child, Mad moi- 
 selle, and M sieu, the most treasured of my pos 
 sessions was a certain blue-bound book of verses. 
 French verses, Mad moiselle, such as the children 
 sing in Provence. And illustrations, M sieu, 
 quaint colored plates, made by a half blind old 
 man in a little shop in the Rue Felice." They 
 were looking at me with starry eyes. " Those little 
 verses, Mad moiselle, and those quaint pictures, 
 M sieu, concerned themselves with the charming 
 adventures of one Pierrot and his play-fellow, 
 Pierrette." Pierrette clapped her hands softly. 
 
 45 
 
"Ah, I know that blue book, moi! " I love those 
 vers and those picture M sieu, are they like?" 
 
 " So like, Mad moiselle, that I greet you as 
 old friends. But one understands that the old 
 man was half blind! " 
 
 " M sieu is kind! " 
 
 " Grateful, Mad moiselle and M sieu, for the 
 very many happy days spent in merry adventure 
 with you." 
 
 " So long ago! " laughed Pierrette. " Mon ami, 
 did you hear? He said Long, long ago, when I 
 was a child! How old you think us, M sieu?" 
 
 "Mad moiselle, as old as Youth!" And her 
 laugh was my justification. 
 
 "But the book," said she, "you have it still?" 
 
 " No, Mad moiselle. When I left my home to 
 go to a school, I gave my dearest possessions 
 that blue book and some others to one who had 
 loved them as I had." 
 
 "Ah, those school!" exclaimed Pierrette. "It 
 is where one teach the children forget us! But 
 your friend, M sieu, she has kept the blue book 
 for you, through all these year! It is so?" 
 
 " She also went to school, Mad moiselle. I am 
 afraid that she has forgotten the blue book." 
 
 "Helas! Pauvre M sieu Apollo! I should like 
 to see that old blue book, moi! " 
 
 " That should be easy, Mad moiselle. It must 
 be in the Play Room in the Grandmother s house. 
 Or perhaps it is stowed away with Florizel s play 
 things." 
 
 "Eh bien! We will find it, per aps. Pauvre 
 M sieu Apollo!" She linked her arm through 
 Pierrot s. " Mon ami, don you think this Mees 
 
 46 
 
Florizel might remember sometime, hein?" 
 Pierrot, over whose rosy countenance a thou 
 sand expressions of delight, interest and sym 
 pathy had played as he listened, winked at me, 
 and said, 
 
 "C est possible!" 
 
 A hideous uproar broke out in the theatre. 
 What was it? All the Pixies shouting at once 
 some outlandish thing, half chant and half college- 
 yell. On the stage, poor Puck was singing man 
 fully, but not a note of him could be heard. 
 
 " Quel bruit affreux!" said Pierrette, her hands 
 over her ears. 
 
 " Ces diables des Pixies!" said Pierrot. "But 
 what would you? This poor Puck, his song are 
 so veree bad! " We couldn t help admiring Puck, 
 though, all of us. He bore himself jauntily in 
 what must have been a most trying situation, to 
 say the least of it. He went through every antic 
 he knew or could invent. He made wry faces 
 and twiddled his ears. His lips were moving, 
 and I guessed that he was shouting himself 
 hoarse. The noise in front increased. The more 
 timid of the audience were crowding the exits. 
 Even those who still remained seated were be 
 ginning to look to their wraps. It was the first 
 time this sort of thing had happened since Billy 
 Wright Jr. had taken over the management, and 
 they half expected him to restore order in some 
 way. My presence was known, of course, and 
 seemed to impress everyone but the Pixies. These 
 had ceased their chanting and were now calling 
 out according to their individual inspirations. We 
 could hear cries of "Go home!" "Be aff wid 
 
 47 
 
yez! " " Ow my, ow my! " " Dhry upp! " " To th 
 pond wid him!" Cat-calls, yowls, jeers, shrieks, 
 piercing whistles and every manner of noise, 
 abominable and insulting, was hurled at the target 
 on the stage. But Puck would not desert the 
 post. He had ceased his attempts at singing, but 
 stood and faced the rowdies gloomily. The or 
 chestra huddled together like frightened creatures, 
 as I dare say they were, but undecided whether to 
 leave. 
 
 "Come out of that, Puck!" Billy Wright Jr. 
 called from the wings. 
 
 " Come off, you idiot! " called Voix-belle from 
 the other side, seeing that Puck remained with his 
 puzzled eyes on the gallery. One or two rocks 
 came flying, then a shower of mud balls. The 
 orchestra dived out of danger. 
 
 " Puck! " shouted Billy Wright Jr. " You can t 
 do anything with them, come off! " Then, as Puck 
 made no sign of having heard him, " Lower the 
 curtain!" But the Person whose business it was 
 to do that, was, I have no doubt, watching de 
 velopments with an exclusive interest. At any 
 rate, the curtain was not lowered; and Billy 
 Wright Jr. and Voix-belle, rushing on from either 
 side, picked up the bewildered comedian and bore 
 him into safety. 
 
 The commotion rose to frenzy. The stage was 
 heaped with the refuse of the pond. 
 
 " Come out, Pajamas," one of them shouted, 
 "an let s have a shot at yez!" Then they all 
 yelled, "Pajamas! Pajamas! Paja-a-a-a-amas! " 
 
 " Let me talk to them, " I said to Billy Wright 
 Jr. " The rest of you get the girls out safely." 
 
 48 
 
THE TAILOR-MADE NASTURTIUM GIRLS 
 They would not lower their umbrellas. 
 
Voix-belle had Pink, wrapped in his cloak, already 
 at the stage door, and Oiseau d Or was with them. 
 
 " Oiseau dear!" I heard Pink say, "I m so 
 happy!" Oiseau d Or kissed her. 
 
 "You darling!" she said. She stood there a 
 little sadly as Voix-belle took Pink away. Then 
 Puck and Billy Wright Jr. bundled her off, and 
 the Grasses followed, each with a Butterfly. I 
 stepped out on to the stage. The Pixies, who had 
 begun to tear up the house, desisted when they 
 saw me. The theatre was quite empty, below 
 the gallery. I looked for the O. F. M. He was 
 scurrying about apparently in the greatest excite 
 ment. But I could not hear what he said. 
 
 " Tis the handsome man!" shouted some Pixie, 
 and then everybody yelled, "Apollo! Apollo! Apol 
 lo!" Their yell-leader mounted in front of them 
 brandishing his big stick, and they all brandished 
 their big sticks and gave three ear-splitting cheers. 
 Then they quieted and I began to speak. 
 
 " Gentlemen of the gallery, " The applause 
 deafened me and I waited. " Gentlemen of the 
 gallery gallery gods " There was another roar 
 in which I could distinguish " Musha, musha!" 
 "A-a-a-ah!" "Blatherskite!" " T row im in th 
 pond!" "Oh, wurra, wurra!" and other remarks. 
 I made unsuccessful attempts at continuing the 
 little speech, the main points of which I had gone 
 over in my mind. With a judicious interlarding 
 of blarney, it should have pacified them in a very 
 short time if they had listened. They did not. 
 Apparently they would not. I lost my temper. 
 
 "Be quiet, you little green devils!" I shouted 
 with all my voice. Instantly I was deluged with 
 
 49 
 
every unspeakable thing that may come from the 
 bottom of an old pond. I plowed my way over 
 them to the middle of the house, intending to 
 climb into the gallery and chastise the offenders 
 bodily. I heard a cry of "Hourra! Ganse!" and 
 Erste and Zweite poured through the main en 
 trance with at least fifty others of the special 
 police. At the same time, a shout of " Hoch die 
 Ganse!" rang out above, as Billy Wright Jr. and 
 more policemen appeared at the back of the gal 
 lery. We had the Pixies fairly surrounded. But 
 they outnumbered us. They poured over the 
 gallery-railing into the main theatre, and there 
 we had it. I must say that those Pixies could 
 fight. So could the police, and Voix-belle and Pier 
 rot and Puck and Dan de Lion and Tassel Top. 
 and all the other Grasses. It was noisy. They 
 spoke in their native tongues, and, beside myself, 
 I believe that Billy Wright Jr. was the only one 
 who fought with his mouth shut. 
 
 Slowly, they forced a way to the door. The 
 poor Grasses went down before them as they do 
 before the sweep of a summer storm. I know 
 that some of the Pixies were pretty badly beaten 
 up. The O. F. M. did a good deal of damage, 
 and the others were no less valiant. I spanked 
 every Pixie that I could get across my knee. But 
 the odds were against our party and after all, it 
 was Puck who executed the coup to which we 
 owed our final triumph. I saw him mount a tree, 
 and heard his shrill whistle, half scream, while 
 he knocked frantically on the tree-bark as though 
 it were somebody s door. I thought that the ex 
 citement had made him a little daft. But present- 
 
 50 
 
ly, came buzzing and swarming, an army of sleepy 
 bees and settled upon the Pixies. A howl, dif 
 ferent from any noise which had filled that night, 
 and louder than all, rose and fled with the Pixies, 
 and was quenched, bubbling, in the waters of 
 their home pond. The disturbance was ended. 
 
 We went back to the theatre. It was wrecked. 
 
 " You will have to close up for repairs," I 
 told Billy Wright Jr. Then Puck came up and 
 we congratulated him upon his clever idea. But 
 he seemed troubled, and quite unlike himself. 
 
 " It was funny to see them run," he said doubt 
 fully, looking around with an uncertain smile. 
 
 "It was mighty good : to see them run!" said 
 Billy Wright Jr. heartily. Puck shifted uneasily 
 from foot to foot. 
 
 "There isn t anything I can do there, is there?" 
 With a nod toward the demolished theatre. 
 
 " Nothing to do now," said Billy Wright Jr. 
 " We may as well all go home." Puck nodded. 
 
 " Well, good night, all," he said, with his un 
 certain smile, and darted away into the dark. 
 
 Erste and Zweite Cans had gathered their de 
 moralized forces, and they came up to us, in ele 
 gant order, though with the signs of the combat 
 upon them. They were hissing hotly, for their 
 rage cooled slowly. Billy Wright Jr. thanked 
 them for their good work, and dismissed them 
 with the hope that there would be no more 
 trouble. They marched away, still hissing. And 
 when they halted, further on, and broke ranks, 
 there arose such a discussion, as, I have no doubt, 
 caused the peaceful dwellers in the Garden to 
 wonder whether the night was to have no quiet. 
 
 51 
 
 Jrf 
 
Voix-belle, Honey Suckle, Pierrot, Dan de Lion 
 and Tassel Top bade us " good night " and hur 
 ried off. The Grasses, very much crumpled, but 
 still jaunty, went after them. But the O. F. M. 
 refused to leave the theatre. I gathered that he 
 held himself responsible for the disaster, although 
 he could not have prevented it, had he been a 
 flock of parrots. And he was only one. after 
 all, we explained to him. But, the orderly con 
 duct of the theatre being his especial charge, he 
 alone was to blame for the evening s row. So he 
 thought. And he was determined to remain on 
 guard till we should relieve him in the morning. 
 We pointed out to him that there remained noth 
 ing to guard, but he would not be persuaded. And 
 so we left him. 
 
 The Garden had resumed its wonted occupa 
 tions after the quieting of the disturbance. Along 
 the pond s edge, among the reeds, I heard the 
 Naiads singing. In the grove, indistinct figures 
 moved to the sound of pipes, and laughter came 
 from the fountain s brink. We did not speak at 
 all, but went silently, listening to what the Gar 
 den told us. Then we both halted, because very 
 near us, in the dark, a voice began to sing. It 
 was a slightly nasal voice, with something old in 
 it, and something very young. We stood where 
 we were, for fear of disturbing the singer, and 
 this is what he sang: 
 
 " Tu as une si belle voix, 
 
 Oiseau d Or, 
 
 Tu chantes, tu ris, et moi, 
 Je t adore! 
 
 52 
 
Tu as les si beaux yeux, 
 
 Oiseau d Or, 
 Vois mon triste cceur, 
 
 Je t implore! " 
 
 We moved on as silently as might be. 
 
 " I should know that voice," I said to Billy 
 Wright Jr. 
 
 "Don t you?" said he. 
 
 "By jove!" I said. "Is it can it be Puck?" 
 
 " Oiseau d Or lives in that jasmine," said Billy 
 Wright Jr. We went on. I felt sorry for Puck, 
 for some reason, and my sorrow tinged the night. 
 The soft tinklings, pipings, laughter, songs, all 
 seemed to me to have a little catch of sadness in 
 them. I thought of Voix-belle, wrapping his cloak 
 about Pink happy Pink happy Voix-belle and 
 I sighed. I thought of Oiseau d Or, as she had 
 looked when she watched them, and I stopped 
 breathing for a second. I thought of arch Pier 
 rette, how she had said, " Don t you think this 
 Mees Florizel might remember sometime hein?" 
 and my heart went thumping. I thought of Puck s 
 uncertain smile when he left us, and I sighed 
 again. I thought of Puck back there, singing a 
 serenade Puck. Ah, I was sorry for him! 
 
 We found the house all quiet. I went in through 
 Billy Wright Jr. s room, and found my own room 
 fragrant with the honey-suckle that climbs past 
 the window. I leaned out to get a last deep 
 breath of the night, and, far and faint, I heard a 
 somewhat nasal voice, with something old in it, 
 and something very young, singing. 
 
 53 
 

 " Dans 1 abime mysterieux, 
 Au fond de mon coeur, 
 Je vois tes yeux, 
 Si beaux! 
 
 Dans 1 ombre de 1 haut bois 
 Qui chant en soi, 
 J entends ta voix, 
 Oiseau! " 
 
 He may be silly, but I can t help liking the fel 
 low. 
 
 54 
 
THE FOURTH CHAPTER FINDS THE 
 THREADS OF ONE COMEDY HOPE 
 LESSLY TANGLED, AND LEAVES 
 ANOTHER AT A HAPPIER CLIMAX 
 
 N the radiant morning I walked 
 through the Garden with Florizel. 
 The little People of the flowers and 
 bushes gave us joyous greeting, but 
 Florizel seemed not to notice. The 
 Lady in the fountain threw kisses to her, and the 
 waving draperies left a spray on my shoulder. 
 When we sat ourselves down on a mossy bank, 
 under the greenwood tree, Florizel gave me a re 
 view of several lectures on something learned; and 
 I watched the swaying of the branches, where cer 
 tain ones were peering out at us. One of these 
 came quite boldly into view. He had a spotted 
 skin about him, and his brows were bound with 
 wild grape that grows at the uttermost part of 
 the Garden. He carried a reed-pipe, and though 
 he came slowly and uncertain of his greeting, I 
 knew him for the leader of the forest revels. He 
 was gazing at Florizel. 
 
 " It is Diana! " I said, when he still seemed puz 
 zled. 
 
 "To whom did you speak?" Florizel stopped 
 somewhere in lecture three. Several of the others 
 had come out from the trees and stood waiting, 
 as they used. 
 
 55 
 
" They are waiting for us," I told Florizel. 
 
 "Who?" 
 
 " Don t you remember the Hamadryads, your 
 Nymphs, and the Fauns all of them?" 
 
 "Where are they?" Her voice reminded me 
 of the nurse s when you are sick. I waved to 
 the wistful People, standing a little away from 
 us. 
 
 "Here!" 
 
 "Do you see them?" 
 
 " Don t you? " I asked her in dismay; and when 
 she looked at me, I saw that she was quite blind 
 to them. They saw it, too, and they melted back 
 into the leaves, wonderingly. One paused, hitched 
 his spotted mantle and waved his hand. I thought 
 his vanishing smile held a promise. 
 
 "Why don t you grow up?" Florizel asked 
 me. 
 
 "Is it worth while?" I asked her, and she 
 scorned me. 
 
 "Why don t you do something worth while? 
 You can t always dream. Why don t you work?" 
 
 " My plays " I faltered. 
 
 "Oh your plays! What do they amount to? 
 That sort of thing isn t work it is just your 
 make-believe, and you ve been at it ever since 
 I ve known you." 
 
 "How long is that, Florizel?" 
 
 " Why, ever since you were you nearly." 
 
 " And you still have hope! " I marveled. Again 
 she scorned me. She climbed into the big swing 
 that has swung there ever since there was a Gar 
 den around that tree. 
 
 " If you must write, why don t you write phi- 
 
 56 
 
losophy?" All her ribbons and laces fluttered as 
 she swung slowly past me. 
 
 " Don t you know that if I did, it would only 
 be another kind of make-believe?" 
 
 " Then write history." 
 
 " I could do that. I know a lot about the his 
 tory of a girl and a boy who lived in this Garden. 
 Originally, the girl was a flower, and bloomed 
 in the sea; and a certain Captain came along in 
 his ship, and gathered the Flower and its mother, 
 and the two of them came to live in the Garden, 
 and they brought all kinds of Magic, except the 
 Black. And originally the boy came over to visit. 
 But afterwards he forgot that he had ever had 
 any other home, and stopped in the Garden. Do 
 you remember how we used to be Pierrette and 
 Pierrot, before you found the Classic Myths and 
 turned us into gods?" For just a moment Flori- 
 zel held her breath and I knew that the right 
 word would bring back to her all the precious 
 knowledge that she had lost at school. But while 
 I wondered vainly after that word, she sighed and 
 slipped out of the swing. 
 
 " I must not neglect my guest," said she. 
 
 " I can write French verses," I told her. 
 
 "Ah," said scornful Florizel, " that boy is an 
 engineer by profession! Oh, aren t you ever go 
 ing to be useful? Aren t you going to add your 
 part to the world s knowledge?" 
 
 "Alas, for the world s knowledge! Do you 
 think that the world will ever be as wise as it was 
 when we made a wish to a great fluffy thistle- 
 seed, and sent it over the back fence to Fairyland? 
 Wonderful, wise lady! What can you give to 
 
 57 
 
 "-i 
 
the world that will make up for what you lost 
 it, when you forgot to look for the first star; 
 when you forgot what to say to a dandelion-top? 
 And I, I can never hope again to be able to do 
 as much good as I did when I stood in the Fairy 
 Ring of toad-stools and wished that you would 
 be cured of the mumps, so that we could play 
 at being gods again." 
 
 " Seriously," said Florizel, " why, why, won t 
 you do something practical? Oh, I can t tell 
 you how I love my work! And all because it is 
 work!" 
 
 " I went to college, too," I defended, " but 
 you take it seriously." 
 
 "Ah yes! Because I must. We are limited, we 
 women. But you you could do real things, if 
 you chose! " 
 
 " Go away. This isn t your Garden. You aren t 
 Florizel. You are a changeling, and I can see 
 through you. Why should you come to the House 
 of Dreams? Go away and let my old playfellow 
 come back. She wouldn t treat me cruelly be 
 cause I had kept my childhood s heart for her. 
 You had best go quietly and at once, or I shall 
 have to exorcise you!" I was stern; and Flori 
 zel looked at me sidelong, and smiled a little un 
 certainly. 
 
 We came to the door of the Green House. 
 
 " Let s go in and see what new things Pan has 
 found," said Florizel. And then her eyes defied 
 me. I followed silently into the dim odorous 
 place. But my heart beat absurdly because she 
 had remembered the gardener by the name our 
 childhood had given to the god of all out-doors. 
 
 58 
 
Perhaps the exorcism was working, and a little of 
 the old Florizel had come back? 
 
 There are not many flowers that can not live 
 in the air of the Garden, so the Green House is 
 filled with the most rare and fragile of the king 
 dom. There are the souls of languid poets who 
 have dreamed away their lives over the beauty of 
 a single word. There are the passionate earth- 
 loving pagans whose spirits still cling to some 
 form of perishable loveliness. Pale, slender art 
 ists lavish their multicolored souls in wondrous 
 interweavings of leaf and bud and bell. In the 
 inmost part of the humid place is a fountain; and 
 there a laughing god pours water from a lily- 
 cup over his green head. The gold-fish dart about 
 his feet and tall dank green things cling to his 
 knees. As Florizel and I stood before him, I 
 saw the lily-cup was gone and the slow water 
 trickled down his face and over his moss-grown 
 breast, turning his laughter to weeping as he 
 stretched forth empty, impotent hands. 
 
 " No wonder you cry! " I said to him. Florizel, 
 who had been counting the stamens of a wonder 
 ful Arabian bell that grew near, looked up at the 
 god. 
 
 " They have taken away his flower," she said. 
 
 " Yes! " She seemed surprised at my gloom. 
 
 " But they will bring a new one." We went 
 on. At the door I paused and looked back at the 
 weeping face and bereft hands of the god. 
 
 " He will never be the same," I mourned. 
 
 " The whole thing should be taken out, and a 
 new one, of marble, put in its place," said Flori 
 zel. 
 
 59 
 
"Yes!" I said. "Turn the old gods out. They 
 have had their day." Florizel was silent. I knew 
 that she was scorning me. 
 
 We went back to the house. I spent an hour 
 reading Carlyle to the White Magic Grandmother. 
 And when she went to see some people who had 
 called, and I was left to my own devices, I went 
 upstairs tip-toe; up more stairs tip-toe, and along 
 the hall, ever so softly, until I stood before the 
 closed door of the Play Room. It was very still 
 at the top of the house. The high branches of 
 the pines went swaying past the hall windows. 
 But even the wind talked in whispers up there; 
 and I heard the hushed footfalls of my memories. 
 I stood there with a frightened heart. Suppose, 
 oh, suppose that anything in that room should be 
 changed! I could not bear to have that changed, 
 too I was going away again. But in 
 stead, I went to look out of the hall window, at 
 the swaying pines and the smiling Garden below. 
 All the world rejoiced in the golden morning. 
 And all my memories put out shadowy hands and 
 pulled me back to the Play Room door. 
 
 It was such a big, quiet room and it was not 
 changed at all! The sunlight through the tripped 
 shutters illumined the same red roses in the 
 carpet. And in the shadows I found all the old 
 friends; the pictures, toys and books, and the old 
 square piano upon which Florizel and I had prac 
 ticed our scales. " Oh, Florizel," I thought, 
 " what magic can there be stronger than all this, 
 that has changed you from the dear child you 
 were? Dear Room, what can you think of a prac 
 tical Florizel a Florizel with no memories?" 
 
 60 
 
So I may have mourned for ten seconds, or an 
 hour, when the whisper of a turned page caught 
 my dreaming ear. In a corner, someone in white 
 was sitting on the floor, and her lap was filled 
 with books. But one of them had all her atten 
 tion an old book, bound in blue. 
 
 " Florizel! " The word sang itself from my glad 
 heart. She did not turn to me, but sighed and 
 closed the book. 
 
 " I hoped you would go away without seeing 
 me," she said. " Have you come to exorcise me? " 
 
 "What book is that?" She pretended not to 
 know which I meant. And when I took it from 
 her hands she laughed. "Oh, that old book! 
 French verses. And aren t the illustrations ridicu 
 lous? There has been such vast improvement in 
 the matter of illustrating books." I laid the book 
 down again. She went to the door and I fol 
 lowed. She looked back. " The place is dusty," 
 she said. " It must be cleaned." I closed the door 
 gently behind us, and we went down stairs to 
 lunch. 
 
 When I went away to town, Billy Wright Jr. 
 came with me to the gate. 
 
 " When you have time," I said, " I wish you 
 would look after your Aunt Florizel. She is in a 
 bad way." 
 
 SS? 38? <56T 
 
 For two weeks I was very unhappy. The last 
 play I had written not the one for Billy Wright 
 Jr., but another, for a manager in New York 
 this last play was so bad that it wouldn t do at 
 all. Not the beautiful costumes nor the very beau 
 tiful ladies nor an unusually funny man could in- 
 
 61 
 
duce an audience to sit through what we had 
 all thought was a fairly good show. My little 
 gods forgot me, and I wandered about feeling 
 very woe-begone. Then there arrived a letter 
 from Billy Wright Jr. 
 
 My dear Apollo: 
 
 We are very busy building a new theatre 
 where the old one used to be. I wish you 
 were here. Everyone works all the time. My 
 Grandmother has given me a new book that 
 was my Aunt Florizel s when she was little. 
 They found lots of them in the Play Room 
 and Aunt Florizel kept most of them for her 
 self. I think she has too many books, the 
 man who was here when you were sent her a 
 book that he made up. Puck is sick, I think. 
 O. F. M. is calling me. I hope you will come 
 back soon. 
 
 BILLY WRIGHT JR. 
 
 P. S. The book is Mother Goose with pic 
 tures. 
 
 B. W. Jr. 
 
 Although I was glad to hear from Billy Wright 
 Jr., I did not feel very much cheered. I won 
 dered what books Florizel had discovered in the 
 Play Room, that could possibly interest her. No 
 doubt the man was the Nice Boy, and the book 
 he had given Florizel was more of his excellent 
 French verses. Then my little gods awoke. One 
 of them suggested that if books pleased Florizel, 
 books were easily made. Not French verses. Not 
 plays, but what she herself had suggested phi- 
 
 62 
 
losophy. History, I reflected, would take time, 
 since one had to know things, and read parch 
 ments and dig in ruins, to make it authentic. But 
 philosophy! What undergraduate has not a Phi 
 losophy? So I made a philosophy for Florizel 
 and took it to a man I know who makes little 
 books by hand. He illuminated it and decorated 
 it. and printed it on satiny paper. He inscribed 
 it to Diana and bound it in a wonderful soft 
 leather cover. " Philosophy " it said on the out 
 side, and on the first page, " Nothing is real but 
 the make-believe." And on every page after that, 
 something to prove it. There was only one book 
 made and there would never be another like it. 
 I wrapped it up and sent it to Florizel. 
 
 I was writing some new scenes for the bad 
 play, when another letter came from Billy Wright 
 Jr. 
 
 My dear Apollo: 
 
 We put on the new play last night and it 
 is pretty good, not the one you wrote be 
 cause we want to keep that till you come back 
 so you can help. This is out of " Mother 
 Goose " about the Frog who would awooing 
 go, after the Lily White Duck came and gob 
 bled him up. Aunt Florizel came and talked 
 to me to-day. She told me about those Peo 
 ple in the trees and the one in the fountain. 
 She told me they lived a long time ago in 
 a place over the sea and they aren t alive 
 any more because nobody believes in them. 
 Isn t that funny? She told me there are lots 
 finer People than Fairies and maybe I m 
 
 63 
 
going to be a chemist when T get big. You 
 put lots of things in a glass and they turn 
 all different colors. Why don t you be one? 
 Maybe I might be an engineer and make 
 bridges. My Aunt Florizel says everyone has 
 lots of respect for you when you make 
 bridges. Puck won t act any more. He is 
 call-boy now and O. F. M. is the Lily White 
 Duck. I could play if I had my tights. My 
 mother had a party and she sent me some 
 of the candy. My father has a new part with 
 thirty sides. 
 
 I hope you will come back pretty soon. 
 BILLY WRIGHT JR. 
 
 I went to see Mrs. Billy Wright and we did 
 up the tights in a box with the gauze wings and 
 a spangled veil that Mile. Mabelle Villiers had 
 worn when she played the Fairy Queen, and we 
 sent them to Billy Wright Jr. Then I went away 
 and thought. And while I was still thinking, 
 there came a note from Florizel thanking me for 
 the book just that. And there was another letter 
 from Billy Wright Jr. 
 
 My dear Apollo: 
 
 My mother and you were pretty good, I 
 think to send me my tights and wings and 
 the spangled veil which comes in handy. I 
 am playing comedy lead this week and they 
 like it. My Aunt Florizel said you sent her 
 a book and it was foolish and she carries it 
 all around and she won t let that man see it. 
 He said was it nonsense verse and she said 
 
 64 
 
no it was in English. My Aunt Florizel is go 
 ing away to stop with the sister of the pro 
 fessor person that makes colors come in bot 
 tles. They have a place in their house where 
 they make things and find out what is in 
 side you when you get poisoned and may 
 be my Aunt Florizel is going to be one. She 
 says it is the most wonderful thing in the 
 world. Puck is still sick. Voix-belle sings 
 fine but Pink isn t very good any more. When 
 you come back we will put on your play. 
 
 BILLY WRIGHT JR. 
 
 For a week or two I wrote more scenes for 
 the bad play. Then I went to the librarv and 
 read history. Then I packed my suit-case and 
 went down to see Billy Wright Jr. The White 
 Magic Grandmother said that I might stop until 
 I felt quite better. 
 
 38? 56? <5S^ 
 
 " I want to tell you, Apollo," said Billy Wright 
 Jr., " that being properly dressed makes a lot of 
 difference to a fellow." I told him that a great 
 many people would agree with him. 
 
 " Since I ve had my tights," he skinned the 
 cat thoughtfully and rested on the pole. " Things 
 have been a lot different. I got a notice from 
 Court to-day." 
 
 " From from His Majesty! " 
 
 "Well, no! But from Pas du Tout, the Prime 
 Minister. He wanted to know all about us. You 
 see he couldn t notice us until the best People 
 here in the Garden sent him word of us. And I 
 knew all along that the best People didn t come. 
 
 65 
 
 \ "// sT t 
 
 -^ /A V - 
 
 . w/t ^* V* 
 
 i|i 
 
 1 i j*^ 
 
Puck and the O. F. M. used to let on that the 
 People were afraid of a row like the Pixies made. 
 But we all knew that they simply wouldn t stand 
 for a fellow in pajamas. It was too unconven 
 tional, you know! " 
 
 "And the tights are more acceptable?" I really 
 wanted to know. 
 
 " It s the only thing that would, Apollo. And 
 the wings just got em! " 
 
 " That s funny. Don t they know that the wings 
 are not so to speak pars corporis?" Billy Wright 
 Jr. eyed me curiously. 
 
 " Oh, I don t think they mind that," he said 
 largely. " You see, they like things they can t 
 understand." In which respect, I remarked, they 
 were not unlike other people. 
 
 " Tell me," I said, " what has happened to 
 Puck?" He turned puzzled eyes upon me. 
 
 " I don t know," he confessed. " I think he s 
 sick. He hasn t tried to be funny since the row." 
 We went down and got into the boat. Billy 
 Wright Jr. trailed his hands as I rowed us from 
 the landing, past the papiri out to the open pond. 
 An old Pixie, seated on a damp root, took his 
 dudeen out of his mouth and waved it with all 
 friendliness. 
 
 "How arre ye, Billy Wright Jr., me b y 5 " he 
 hailed. And Billy Wright Jr. responded cheer 
 fully. 
 
 "No more trouble from that quarter?" I 
 asked. 
 
 " No," said Billy Wright Jr. " They ve formed 
 a company and elected the O. F. M. Captain. 
 They call the pond the barracks, and they drill 
 
 66 
 
every day. They and the special police are going 
 to drill for a banner." 
 
 "You re all right, my friend!" I removed my 
 hat. 
 
 "Oh, well!" he said modestly, "the O. F. M. 
 helped to think it up." 
 
 " He s a good color, all right." But I reflect 
 ed. " How about that yellow top-knot of his? 
 I should have thought it would raise difficul 
 ties?" 
 
 " Oh, I made him up before we went to talk to 
 them. His top-knot is white, with a shamrock 
 of green." I rowed in silence and Billy Wright 
 Jr. trailed his arms. I had no sufficient com 
 ment. 
 
 Another boat put out from shore. It had a 
 glittering prow, and a blue awning was stretched 
 above it- The oarsman was a slender figure 
 in red. As they came near, I saw that it was 
 Puck. Oiseau d Or sat in the stern, amid downy 
 cushions, scarfs and flowers. Her golden bird 
 perched on her shoulder. She smiled at us faint 
 ly, and Puck, with his face of a thousand-year-old 
 baby, screwed up as though he were uncertain 
 whether to laugh or to cry, nodded to us. Billy 
 Wright Jr. and I arose and saluted them, and 
 looked after them and saw how the scarfs and 
 flowers trailed behind them on the water. Then 
 we came to shore and moored our boat. 
 
 On that side, I was in my own province, and 
 Billy Wright Jr. hung back a little, as the People 
 came to greet us. On the top of the knoll, where 
 the wind blew, Hamadryads danced in a ring, 
 and a Satyr played his pipe for them. At the 
 
 67 
 
foot of the knoll, among the laurel, and in the 
 reeds at the pond s edge, danced and played the 
 myriad Wood People. And when we came, they 
 paused and smiled. And they asked me: 
 
 "Where is she?" And again, "Where is she?" 
 And more eagerly, " Will she come? " And again, 
 sadly, " Where is she? " I shook my head. What 
 could I say? 
 
 " Do they want to know about Aunt Florizel?" 
 whispered Billy Wright Jr., and the People looked 
 puzzled. They did not know her by that name. 
 But I told him " Yes." And he turned to them. 
 
 " Diana won t come to you," he said, " she has 
 gone to stop in a professor person s house and 
 learn to mix things in a glass." They crowded 
 around us and I said, 
 
 " Yes, it is true. She has forgotten." They 
 were troubled, and they asked how she had 
 learned to forget. And I told them, from books. 
 Then they murmured and sang among themselves 
 a little, and presently, drifted away, turning to 
 smile, and wave their hands, and then melting 
 into the green. 
 
 We decided to walk back, around the pond. 
 Suddenly, as we went, the air became like rare 
 spiced wine for fragrance, and down from a tree- 
 top poured a song that filled the Garden with 
 a golden melody. And I realized that we had 
 come to where Voix-belle sang at the doors of 
 his Carnation lady-love. We paused a moment, 
 and the liquid notes fell, honeyed drop by drop 
 
 68 
 
deep into our hearts and diffused their sweetness 
 through all our beings. Then we went on. 
 
 " Pink can t act any more," said Billy Wright 
 Jr. 
 
 58? 58? 58? 
 
 There was a matinee that afternoon, and I has 
 tened away from the White Magic Grandmother s 
 cool luncheon table, that I might not miss the 
 first act. Billy Wright Jr. had preceded me, 
 and I found him standing in the entrance with 
 the O. F. M. 
 
 "Ah, Captain!" said I, saluting. The O. F. M. 
 returned the salute, pleased, and graciously. 
 
 " Coin to the show?" he asked, and I said yes, 
 of course. 
 
 " What do you think of it? " asked Billy Wright 
 Jr., and he watched me as I viewed all the im 
 provements in the Royal Garden Theatre. No 
 one would have guessed what a wreck it had 
 been a few weeks before. It was much gayer, 
 more modern and altogether more prosperous and 
 imposing. I told Billy Wright Jr. so. 
 
 " It s my design," he said. " But Puck helped 
 a lot, too." When I expressed my surprise at 
 that, he said, 
 
 " Puck s got some pretty good ideas. He s 
 seen a lot, you know, Apollo. He s got a pretty 
 level head." 
 
 " Doesn t he try to be funny any more? " 
 
 " No. That s funny, too. But he s call-boy 
 now, and usher sometimes, and he s no end seri 
 ous." A crowd of Grey Moths straggled up to 
 the stage entrance. They were dandy, military- 
 
 69 
 
 H 
 
 
looking chaps, in light grey uniforms with capes, 
 and little red-banded caps on the sides of their 
 heads. They were all smoking cigarettes, and 
 their glances and perfectly audible remarks 
 brought bright blushes to the faces of passing 
 Flower Fairies. 
 
 "You have a new chorus?" I asked Billy 
 Wright Jr. He looked not altogether happy. 
 
 " Those fellows aren t regular. They do a drill 
 in the third act. The Due Desireux des ficlairs 
 lent them to me. It s his regiment." 
 
 "Who in the world!" I was fairly startled 
 out of my composure, because I saw, coming up 
 the way, the most remarkable young Persons, I 
 am sure, that were ever seen in the light of day. 
 Young lady Persons, they were, rather tall, and 
 of a slimness that was insisted upon by the severe 
 elegance of their closely-fitting black gowns. They 
 wore rather large black hats and voluminous grey 
 automobile veils, under which I could dimly dis 
 cern their pale pointed faces, shadowy eyes and 
 fluffy masses of most vivid red hair. They moved 
 languidly, and seemed weary. Very remarkable 
 appearing young Persons, I thought them. I 
 turned to find Billy Wright Jr. smiling at me. 
 
 " Fire Flies," said he. " Keen dancers." 
 
 "Oh, that s why they seem tired!" I said. 
 " They properly belong to the night. Can they 
 dance at all in the day?" 
 
 "You ll see!" he promised. "We darken down 
 for them." And indeed, as they turned into the 
 stage entrance with the perky Grey Moth?, the 
 languid creatures seemed already to have livened 
 up a bit. 
 
 70 
 
" Have you changed your whole cast? " I asked 
 him. 
 
 " Well, pretty much. The leads are the same 
 Oiseau d Or and Voix-belle. Dan de Lion left 
 us last week. He d been getting seedy for some 
 time. Gone into business somewhere real es 
 tate, I think. Married, you know. Nearly all the 
 flower Fairies go that way. Pierrot has his lines." 
 
 "What about them Pierrette and Pierrot? 
 Have they decided to stop in the Garden? I 
 thought they wanted to get back to Fairyland?" 
 Billy Wright Jr. looked at me curiously. 
 
 " They ve got some kind of a scheme on here." 
 There was a buzz, the Red-Beetle swept up, and 
 Billy Wright Jr. assisted Oiseau d Or to alight. 
 She bowed to me sweetly, and stood talking to 
 Billy Wright Jr. for an instant. Then she went 
 on to her dressing room, followed by her maid 
 and Puck, who had just come out to bear the 
 trailing scarfs. 
 
 " Hello! " exclaimed Billy Wright Jr. A Dragon- 
 Fly motor car was stopping out in front of the 
 theatre, and in it was a party most unmistakably 
 bridal. Voix-belle jumped out, and lifted down 
 Pink in his arms. We went forward, tentatively 
 congratulatory, and Voix-belle presented us to 
 Madame Voix-belle. The rest of the theatre Peo 
 ple had got wind of their arrival, and came pour 
 ing out to greet them. The air was filled with 
 flowers and confetti; bells rang and the orchestra 
 played the Fairies Wedding March. Passers-by 
 gathered in a smiling crowd, till, presently, Billy 
 Wright Jr., remembering the time of day, we 
 went behind to make-up. 
 
 71 
 
THE FIFTH CHAPTER PRESENTS A 
 TRAGIC INCIDENT AND DISCOVERS 
 A SORROWFUL BUT TENDER SE 
 CRET AND ENDS WITH A TRIUMPH 
 
 LLY WRIGHT JR. asked me not to 
 say how the theatre was darkened 
 down for the matinee performance, 
 so that the Fireflies could do their 
 dance. You see, that was a bit of 
 very fine Magic and it wouldn t do, really, to 
 publish it where anybody but Fairies could read 
 it. Why, even some of the Provincial Fairies, 
 who had never been home, were astonished at it. 
 It was, really, a clever bit of work. 
 
 It was the first matinee performance I had 
 seen. The house filled rapidly with a most charm 
 ing audience. It was as though the concentrated 
 beauty and grace of the Garden filled the place, 
 and lifted sweet expectant flower-faces to our cur 
 tain. I remember very little about the play, be 
 cause so many things kept happening to take my 
 attention from it. You remember the Mother 
 Goose poem about the people who went to sea 
 in an open boat, " and the open boat bended, and 
 now my story s ended? " Well, this play began 
 where that poem ended. But in the first place, 
 before the first act, I was peering out at the house. 
 and I saw one of the Fly ushers having a time 
 with a crowd of those tailor-made Nasturtium 
 
 72 
 
girls, because they insisted on keeping their um 
 brellas up. They simply ignored the Fly, and 
 were deaf to what the people about them said. But 
 what was my delight to see Puck, who was head 
 usher, come down the aisle, carelessly elegant, 
 and bow with gallant grace to the tailor-made 
 Nasturtium girls! He talked with them, perhaps 
 a minute; and they were all in a flutter of ex 
 citement at being the center of attention, and 
 doubtless the objects of the envy of all the other 
 Flower Fairies in the theatre. And soon I saw 
 Puck lean over and appear to whisper some little 
 confidence. In another second he was swinging 
 back up the aisle with all the umbrellas in his 
 arms, and the tailor-made Nasturtium girls set 
 tled themselves for the afternoon, quite compla 
 cently. 
 
 There was great confusion behind scenes, oc 
 casioned by the Grey Moths, who crowded nbout 
 the Fireflies, appearing to admire them prodig 
 iously. There were one or two little differences 
 of opinion to be settled between certain ones of 
 them who aspired to the favors of the same Fire 
 fly. And Billy Wright Jr. was positively up in 
 the air. The wedding party came in for its share 
 of attention, of course. And I did not see how a 
 play was to be evolved out of the confusion. 
 The curtain did go up, however, in fairly good 
 time, and Voix-belle sang a serenade directly into 
 the wings, to Pink, who was behind scenes. It 
 troubled him not at all, that he was supposed to 
 be singing to Oiseau d Or in a casement on the 
 other side of the stage. It seemed to me that 
 people were regarding Voix-belle with something 
 
 73 
 
 

 more than their usual affectionate interest in the 
 leading man. I saw the Due Desireux des ficlairs, 
 who had come, no doubt, to see his men drill, 
 lean over the chair of the Star Fairy in the pro 
 scenium box. She had never before graced the 
 theatre with her presence, I am sure. In answer 
 to whatever the Due Desireux des ficlairs had 
 said, the Star Fairy looked long and earnestly at 
 Voix-belle, who was singing so fervently to his 
 bride and almost forgetful of the play. Then they 
 began what appeared to be a serious conversation 
 and paid no further heed to the performance. 
 
 In the middle of the first act, when the Grey 
 Moths were performing their most bewildering 
 evolutions, a sensation was caused by the en 
 trance of a party noticeable enough in the pro 
 vincial Garden. There were four of them, gen 
 tlemen. And it was plain, even to me, that they 
 were from the Court of His Majesty. There was 
 about them a certain air, a something, that de 
 clared them unmistakably of the beau monde. I 
 happened to be looking at the Star Fairy when 
 these late-comers made their entrance. And I 
 saw her turn to the Due Desireux des ficlairs 
 with what seemed to be an exclamation of the 
 greatest surprise. That gentleman, I perceived, 
 rose, and stood at attention as the four strangers 
 passed down the aisle. I am sure he met the 
 glance of one of them, and he seemed about to 
 salute. But then, I thought a little look of intel 
 ligence passed between them, and the Due sub 
 sided into his chair, with a whispered comment 
 to the Star Fairy. Others beside myself had 
 noticed this little by-play and the faint stir of in 
 
 74 
 
terest lasted long after the strange gentlemen had 
 taken their places in the first row of the orchestra, 
 bowed in and waved in by a more than usually 
 elegant Puck. 
 
 I left my point of observation in the wings, and 
 turned my attention to affairs behind scenes. The 
 wedding reception and the Firefly-Moth flirtations 
 were still going on. And Billy Wright Jr., in his 
 double role of first comedy and stage-manager, 
 had his hands full. He passed me once, making 
 his exit after one of his best scenes. He called 
 over his shoulder, 
 
 "Going all right?" I followed him up. 
 
 "Great!" 
 
 "Peach of a house!" he declared, and plunged 
 into the luminous midst of the Fireflies, I sup 
 pose, to give some last instructions. I knew that 
 he felt the success of the whole show hung upon 
 their dance. 
 
 The curtain came down. I was getting out of 
 the way of things, and I came upon Pierrot and 
 Pierrette, just as I had first seen them, looking 
 out and discussing the people in front. But I 
 was struck by the tenseness of their interest. 
 They were almost breathless, and I knew, well 
 enough, that they were watching the four distin 
 guished gentlemen. But when they turned and 
 saw me, all their old gay vivacity returned and I 
 found myself the object of their affectionate so 
 licitude. 
 
 "Ah, mon vieux!" cried Pierrot, "where have 
 you been? " and, 
 
 "Yes!" said Pierrette, "account for your 
 self!" 
 
 75 
 
" I went away," I told them, " so that I might 
 have the happiness of coming back." 
 
 " It is sweet to be missed! " Pierrette sighed 
 and then looked up archly. 
 
 " Billy Wright " I began, and they both 
 laughed. 
 
 " She carry your book all day, my frien". " said 
 Pierrot. 
 
 "An one other!" said Pierrette. 
 
 " Which? " I asked, but there was a call for the 
 second act and they ran away. 
 
 It was after the third act that the dreadful thing 
 happened. Billy Wright Jr. had come to talk to 
 me in the breathing space. He was looking very 
 Fairy-like in the pink tights and gauze wings. He 
 leaned against a rock. 
 
 "Seen the house?" he asked me. There was a 
 box party I had particularly noticed, and I asked 
 him about them. 
 
 " Lady Washingtons. One of the finest families 
 in the Garden. " 
 
 "And the fragile beauties in green and white 
 those in the poke bonnets and veils?" 
 
 " Those are the sweet Alyssum sisters, some of 
 the old stock. They very seldom come to a show." 
 I was not surprised. They looked like so many 
 Phebe Throssels. Suddenly I became aware that 
 something very unusual had occurred. A start 
 ling silence fell upon the fluttering crowd behind 
 scenes. The four strange gentlemen had appeared 
 at the stage door and were asking for Billy Wright 
 Jr. He went to them, and, after an exchange of 
 formal greetings, I saw one of them give a rolled 
 parchment to Billy Wright Jr., seeming to add a 
 
 76 
 
word of explanation. Then the gentlemen waited 
 until Billy Wright Jr. should finish reading. I 
 saw that one of them was in command of their 
 party, that two, younger than he, were, clearly, 
 aides, and that the other was apparently not con 
 cerned in the official part of their mission. 
 
 Billy Wright Jr. read the message, bowed again 
 to the gentlemen, and stepped toward Pink s dress 
 ing room. The babble of happy voices stopped 
 and in a moment Billy Wright Jr. came back with 
 Voix-belle. Pink and some of the company ap 
 peared at the door, pale and apprehensive. It 
 was clear that Voix-belle knew these Persons. 
 He greeted them all, and the one who seemed not 
 to be officially connected with the others, sprang 
 forward and grasped his hand warmly. Billy 
 Wright Jr. came hurriedly to me. 
 
 " I want you to come over and meet these gen 
 tlemen. Keep them interested until we get things 
 straightened out here." 
 
 "What is it all about?" I asked. 
 
 " Exactly what we all expected. The news of 
 his marriage has reached home, and a delegation 
 is sent recalling him from exile. That s all." 
 
 "What about Pink?" 
 
 " Nothing has been said about Pink." 
 
 "Can t she go?" I was really concerned. But 
 we reached the others before he could answer 
 me. I was presented to the gentleman in com 
 mand of the party no other than the famous 
 Cabinet Minister, Coup d fitat, Baron of Tour de 
 Force; and to the aides, who proved to be Point 
 d fipee, the young soldier of fortune, and the vola 
 tile Bon Mot, Duke of Bel Esprit; then to their 
 
 77 
 
companion, Jaune Gorge, a cousin of Voix-belle s. 
 I forgot my real distress concerning Pink and her 
 husband, in my pleasure at meeting these gentle 
 men, of whom I had heard so much. They were, 
 truly, fine fellows, and I suppose, acting under 
 orders, they were in no way to be blamed for the 
 sorrow they brought to the little Carnation Fairy 
 and her songster. But it seemed very clear that 
 their duty was the cruel one of separating the 
 newly married lovers; for I saw Voix-belle take 
 a sorrowful farewell of little Pink, and then come 
 toward us, as though to put himself in the hands 
 of the King s representatives. There was a still 
 ness about him that could not be mistaken for 
 indifference. He was resigned, but none the less 
 conscious of his suffering. The Duke of Bel Es 
 prit gave him a commiserating look. The others 
 bowed silently, and his cousin, Jaune Gorge, threw 
 his arm about Voix-belle s shoulder with cousinly 
 solicitude. So they went away. Pink saw them 
 go without a cry; but she wilted down among 
 her blooming sisters, and they carried her away 
 somewhere to be comforted. 
 
 "He shouldn t have done it!" I said hotly to 
 Billy Wright Jr. " He should have stayed by 
 her, now that he s married." Billy Wright Jr. was 
 testy. 
 
 " You don t know what you re talking about, 
 I guess, Apollo. He couldn t stay. How could 
 he? He was sent for." 
 
 "The King sent for him, you mean; well, what 
 if he did?" I was really indignant at the way 
 in which pretty little Pink had been treated. 
 "What if the King did send for Voix-belle? He 
 
 78 
 
should stop with Pink, now that he has married 
 her or he should have taken her with him." 
 
 " Well," Billy Wright Jr. had the air of explain 
 ing perfectly obvious things. " He had no right 
 to marry, anyway, because he was exiled. And 
 his family never marry in the Provinces; and 
 when you are sent for by His Majesty, you go. 
 And they wouldn t recognize his marriage, at 
 Court, where he belongs. And Voix-belle couldn t 
 help himself about going away, only he was fool 
 ish to marry Pink. We all told him so. I guess 
 you don t exactly understand about these things, 
 Apollo." 
 
 "No, I don t!" 
 
 "But what am I going to do?" Billy Wright 
 Jr. turned on me abruptly. " Pierrette can take 
 Pink s place, but who will sing the lead? Thai 
 last act must go on. I ve staked my professional 
 reputation on it." I couldn t help him. He couldn t 
 do it himself, because he had his hands full with 
 the first comedy. The O. F. M. couldn t sing, 
 and anyway, he was off somewhere with his boys 
 in green; and the audience was becoming restless. 
 All the company had their own lines. I couldn t 
 think of anybody who could do it. 
 
 " I ll take a try at it, if there isn t anyone else," 
 said a modest voice behind us, and we swung 
 around to face Puck. He shrunk a little from the 
 surprise in our eyes. But Billy Wright Jr. hesi 
 tated only a second. 
 
 " You do it, Puck! " he cried, seizing his hand. 
 " You do it go get your make-up on. Know the 
 lines? Here they are, look them over. How 
 quick can you do it? All right, I ll ring up the 
 
 ? .<* 
 
curtain!" Puck was off getting into Voix-belle s 
 costume, and the call-boy scurried about yelling 
 "Fourth act! " Billy Wright Jr. went out in front 
 and made a little speech announcing the changes 
 in the cast. Puck came out transformed; the 
 curtain went up and Pierrette danced on in Pink s 
 part, getting a huge hand almost immediately. I 
 stood there and considered how marvelously easy 
 it is to throw off the dampening effect of other 
 people s troubles. 
 
 "They forget soon!" said a sweet voice in an 
 swer to my thought; and I found Oiseau d Or 
 beside me. 
 
 " So long as the fourth act amuses them, they 
 have little cause to remember the first," I said, 
 thinking that these denizens of the Garden were 
 not greatly different from others I had known. 
 
 " If one could forget as quickly as one is for 
 gotten !" Her laugh and her eyes were so sad 
 that I felt an uncomfortable tightening about my 
 throat. And I watched her moodily, as she made 
 her entrance, so sweetly gay to delight her audi 
 ence. What was it that made this gentle lady so 
 sad at heart? 
 
 It was indeed a day of surprises. Puck, in the 
 beautiful scene with Oiseau d Or that closed the 
 first act, was the heart and soul of song. Surely, 
 I told myself, listening, there could be but on-e 
 cause for such singing. His voice, his lilting 
 voice, with something old in it, and something 
 very young, was full of the tremulous gladness 
 of life. I listened for an echo in the voice of 
 Oiseau d Or. But, in that golden-throated song, 
 I heard only the little laugh, sad, sad. 
 
 80 
 
OISEAU D OR 
 
 I am a fugitive." 
 
After the show, Puck slipped away from us 
 bashfully before we had half told him what we 
 thought of his performance. 
 
 " Isn t it funny," Billy Wright Jr. said to me, 
 " Puck isn t anything like as proud of himself as 
 he used to be when he d made a perfect ninny of 
 himself, trying to be funny! Isn t it queer? I 
 never knew a straight that didn t think he could 
 show us all how to play comedy. And I never 
 knew a comedy who wouldn t give his ears to 
 play straight. Funny?" " Yes," I said it was. 
 
 I waited outside until Billy Wright Jr. should 
 be ready to join me. The O. F. M. was drilling 
 his boys in green in the near distance. They were 
 singing " The Wearing of the Green." They pro 
 duced a fine volume of sound. 
 
 " The O. F. M. has a new line," said Billy 
 Wright Jr. when he came out. " He and the Pix 
 ies get pretty thirsty, marching around on land 
 all day. They said they felt pretty sorry for peo 
 ple who were always dry, so they ve started up 
 a club at the Barracks that s the pond, you know. 
 And all the fellows go there after the show every 
 night." 
 
 " Good idea! " 
 
 " Yep," said Billy Wright Jr. Just then the com 
 pany marched up. They presented arms, and 
 
 " Is it thirrsty ye arre? " said the O. F. M. 
 
 " I am," said I. 
 
 "Come along wid yez!" called a grizzled old 
 sergeant. And along we went; fell in at the head 
 of that company. And I was glad to forget that 
 we had been enemies, even for one night. 
 
 There is nothing very elegant about the Bar- 
 
 81 
 
 $$<& 
 
racks Club, but we were thoroughly satisfied there. 
 When Billy Wright Jr. and I turned our steps 
 houseward, the O. F. M. came with us. It was 
 late afternoon, and all the choirs were tuning 
 up for evensong. A golden haze filled the air 
 and a thousand perfumes wreathed about us. We 
 paused, in sheer delight of the hour; and Puck 
 joined us, by the jasmine thicket. 
 
 The light softened. Someone passed through 
 the Garden saying, 
 
 " Sh h! " I heard the silver sound 
 
 of trumpets far and faintly sweet; a dulcet sound 
 that grew and swelled and rang till all the air 
 was music. Down the slanting rays of the sun 
 came such a calvacade as, I am sure, had not made 
 the old Garden glad since the days when Oberon 
 himself, King of Fairies, lived on this earth. 
 Purple and gold and rainbow hues; prancing 
 steeds and tossing plumes, fluttering scarfs of 
 raveled tinsel, flash of jewels, sheen and billow- 
 ings of fabrics too fair for my words; backward 
 glance of star-bright eyes, waving hands, lilt and 
 swish and jingle, laugh and song and clink of 
 golden trappings; down they came, down the 
 slanting rays of the sun. They paused before 
 they reached us, beneath the jasmine thicket. 
 The heralds, pricking forward on gold-shod steeds, 
 raised their silver trumpets and blew an eerie 
 sweet blast. Then he rode forward who was first 
 knight of them all; came, azure-clad, on his danc 
 ing white horse, and sat, looking up, to where a 
 casement swung slowly open in the midst of jas 
 mine stars. 
 
 Oiseau d Or, radiant Oiseau d Or! 
 
 82 
 
The Azure Knight, springing from his saddle, 
 sank on one knee and proffered some mystic thing 
 to her at the jasmine casement. 
 
 "A pardon! A pardon!" cried all that joyous 
 company. Bells rang, and the trumpets. You 
 would have said that all the world was glad. 
 Oiseau d Or kissed her hands to them, and left 
 the casement. 
 
 " A pardon! " I said to Puck, " What for? " 
 
 "Never mind now, that s all forgotten!" 
 
 " But Puck I thought " But he was not listen 
 ing. He looked at Oiseau d Or who just then 
 came from the jasmine thicket, and put her hand 
 in that of the Azure Knight. That wonderful 
 Person led her to another steed of white, whose 
 yellow trappings swept the ground. When she 
 had mounted, he also took horse, and before those 
 two all that company passed and did them hom 
 age. Before they rode away up the slanting sun 
 bearos, Oiseau d Or turned and kissed her rosy 
 finger-tips to us. She was no longer sad. Radiant 
 Oiseau d Or! 
 
 When they had quite gone, and the sound of 
 the trumpet had melted away faint and fainter in 
 the evening air, all the Garden took a deep 
 breath, and we went on home. We paused at 
 Billy Wright Jr. s door. 
 
 "Well, good-bye, fellows!" said Puck. 
 
 "You ll be on hand to-night, will you?" asked 
 Billy Wright Jr. 
 
 " Oh yes, I ll be on hand all right." He was 
 cheerful, but not enthusiastic. 
 
 " Is it thirrsty ye arre? " suggested the O. F. M., 
 but Puck declined. He turned away. 
 
 83 W 
 
"Good night, Puck!" I called. 
 
 " S long, Apollo! See you again." He swung 
 off into the twilight. I like him immensely. 
 
 " What did it all mean? " I asked Billy Wright 
 Jr., as soon as I got the chance. 
 
 "About Oiseau d Or? Well you see, she was 
 exiled, because she refused to do something they 
 thought she ought to do. And now she s been 
 pardoned, and she s gone back." 
 
 "What did she refuse to do?" 
 
 " Well, I ll tell you. Oiseau d Or was one of 
 the greatest ladies at Court, and a favorite. There 
 wasn t anything she couldn t have, or do, if she 
 wanted to. And she was pretty much in love 
 with this Reveur des Reves, I guess." 
 
 " Who was he? " 
 
 " The one in blue, who rode off with her. And. 
 well, as near as I know, this Reveur des Reves 
 went off somewhere after one of his ideas, and 
 then someone started a scheme for marrying off 
 Oiseau d Or to someone else. Of course His 
 Majesty can t be expected to keep track of every 
 body s love affairs. And so he ordered the mar 
 riage." 
 
 "To the other fellow? Well, why didn t she 
 tell His Majesty about this Reveur des Reves? 
 If she was such a great favorite, I should think 
 she could have had her own way." 
 
 " Well, she couldn t tell, because she didn t 
 know for sure that he liked her." 
 
 "Oh, I see! He went away without a definite 
 understanding that he would come back. And 
 so Oiseau d Or refused this other marriage, and 
 could give no reason?" 
 
 84 
 
"That s it." 
 
 "And so they exiled her, and she thought he 
 had forgotten. But he hadn t. Well, I m sorry 
 for Puck!" 
 
 We went to dinner with the White Magic 
 Grandmother. " I am worried about Florizel," 
 said the Grandmother. " She writes me that she 
 is not happy. She speaks of being homesick for 
 the Garden! I never knew Florizel to feel so. I 
 am afraid she is ill." 
 
 " No ma am, Grandma! She s better." Said 
 Billy Wright Jr. positively. The Grandmother 
 smiled. Did she understand? I hoped that I did. 
 
 Billy Wright Jr. walked to the gate with me. 
 
 " I ll come out next week and help you to put 
 on that play of mine, if you like," I said. Five 
 Hamadryads clasped hands and danced around 
 us, then fled away, laughing, in the dark. 
 
 "All right, Apollo! Aunt Florizel is coming 
 back next week." Pierrot and Pierrette perched 
 on either side of the gate and nodded gaily to 
 me as I went by. 
 
 85 
 
 
THE SIXTH CHAPTER SHOWS REA 
 SON FOR SORROW, SEEKS A REM 
 EDY, HEARS COUNCIL; BUT ENDS 
 IN SAD CONFUSION AND SURPRISE 
 
 WENT up to the City, and for two 
 or three days I was very busy at 
 tending to some unimportant things. 
 Then, one evening I was sitting be 
 fore my fire. I was wrapped in my 
 dressing gown, and slippered. And I was smok 
 ing my rankest pipe. I was, really, very happy, 
 when someone brought a letter to my door. It 
 was from Billy Wright Jr. 
 
 Dear Apollo: 
 
 The professor person wrote a letter to my 
 Grandmother and he said that my Aunt Flori- 
 zel is the cleverest person there is because 
 she discovered something about flowers that 
 nobody knew before. Maybe she will go to 
 Europe and learn things. Puck says he is 
 going where she is and sing so she will want 
 to come back to the Garden. If she stops 
 away very much longer she may forget ev 
 erything. The man that gave her the French 
 book is going away to do something great. 
 My Grandmother said he is the youngest man 
 who ever did it and he is very smart. I am 
 going away somewhere and do something 
 
 86 
 
 
great when I grow up. Did you ever want 
 to do anything like that? But I think it is 
 nice to write plays and act like my father, 
 only people don t like you for it and give 
 you medals. I like your play all right, though, 
 Apollo, and I wish you would come down so 
 we can put it on. 
 
 BILLY WRIGHT JR. 
 
 Suddenly, my little gods remembered me. They 
 appeared along the mantel-shelf, a row of them; 
 little jujube-paste men, such as you buy at 
 the corner grocery for a penny apiece. One of 
 them was yellow. He flattened himself down 
 until his chin rested on his knees, and the top 
 of his head on his chin, almost. Then he scowled 
 and scowled. 
 
 " Everybody has been treating you very bad 
 ly," he said. " You are miserably unhappy." I 
 forgot to smoke while I assured myself of the 
 truth of what he said. " She thinks you can t 
 write plays and she thinks you can t write books 
 or French verses. She doesn t believe in you; 
 she is going away to Europe; she is breaking your 
 heart!" The yellow one gave a little jerk to 
 the string he had in his hand, and I felt my heart 
 tighten up. Yes, I was unhappy, miserably. A 
 red god grinned horribly and stretched out his 
 fingers to enormous lengths. " She thinks you re 
 a fool, a fool, a fool! That young man is an engi 
 neer! And he has gone to do something great. 
 Did you ever want to do something great?" He 
 tugged a string and I felt that I wanted to kick 
 something. A white god turned himself inside 
 
 87 
 
out, and " What chance have you, against that 
 chemist who changes things into other things 
 inside glass jars? He can do anything even 
 make Florizel love him!" He pulled a string and 
 my hands clenched. A green one stood up and 
 stretched himself until he was long and thin like 
 a thread. Then he looped over and asked me. 
 " Why don t you go away? Get out! Aren t they 
 going to put a new god in the Green House? 
 Aren t they going to clean the Play Room? Even 
 Billy Wright Jr. is getting practical. You are 
 out of date. Go away where no one can find you. 
 Go on!" And I felt a string pulling me away 
 to some dark and dreary place far beyond the 
 sight and sound of the Garden. That is how it 
 happened that I left the unimportant affairs and 
 started off with a gun and a khaki suit, and left 
 no forwarding address. I do not kill things. The 
 gun was a part of the suit. I do not like camp- 
 fires, so I lived in a small cottage that I knew 
 about, away in the mountains, and my food was 
 brought me from the hotel by a tiny Chinese boy. 
 I had been in exile about three hundred years. 
 At least, other people may have thought that 
 the sun rose and set only three times. But I 
 know how long I endured. Not even my little 
 gods were with me. You would have supposed, 
 that, having persuaded me from Paradise, they 
 would have consoled me in the outer darkness. 
 But they flew off, and I was alone. Of course, 
 there were People in the woods. But they were 
 busy with their own affairs, it seemed to me. At 
 least, none of them took the slightest heed of me 
 as I sat there day after day and watched them. 
 
 88 
 
On the fourth day, when he brought my lunch, 
 Wong, who was seven, and whom I had all along 
 suspected of being a Fairy, seemed to have some 
 thing on his mind beside the artistic arrangement 
 of my fruit and milk and muffins. He stopped 
 frequently to gaze back into the pine branches 
 and his pig-tail quivered with inquisitiveness. 
 
 "What is it, Wong? " 
 
 " One velly nine bird! " He told me. And be 
 cause I knew that he knew what he was talking 
 about, I went and gazed into the pine branches. 
 And who do you think was there? "Velly fline 
 bird," indeed not that Wong was far off, though, 
 he did look like a chipper flamingo it was Puck. 
 He had perched rather high, and now he came 
 hopping down, preserving his masquerade for 
 Wong s delight. He landed in front of the baby, 
 turned some dizzy cart-wheels and, coming right 
 side up, doffed his cap with all the gay aplomb 
 of the Court Entertainer. But when he turned 
 to me he sobered. He took the chair I offered 
 and we faced each other over my lunch table. 
 Then at last he spoke. 
 
 " You are going back at once." 
 
 "No, never!" I rebelled flatly. 
 
 "Why not?" Puck folded his arms and settled 
 himself. 
 
 "Now, what is the use of talking, Puck? You 
 know that I am out of it. That professor is 
 well, he is successful. And so is that engineer 
 fellow. I am not. I am out of it. I have been 
 too much of a dreamer, and I ve got to get prac 
 tical. Mind you, I don t think I can, but I am 
 going to try. And the Garden is no place for 
 
 89 
 

 me for two reasons. But I ll get practical, any 
 way." 
 
 "Just what will you gain by that?" 
 
 " Nothing. Everything is lost, now. But I 
 may learn to forget." Puck reached for the 
 cream all Fairies are inordinately fond of it. 
 
 " You are going back." 
 
 " Now, I m not, Puck, I want you to understand. 
 I am not going. I doubt whether I would go, 
 even if Anybody should ask me, which she will 
 not. Besides, she isn t there." 
 
 " Yes, she is there. I went to the professor s 
 house and I sang to her. So did Pierrot. She 
 came back at once. Get your hat." My heart 
 thumped. But I told myself what a silly thing it 
 was. 
 
 " I will not go. She does not care to see me. 
 I annoy her with my nonsensical memories." 
 
 "At least, it would be something to be near her. 
 And you might be of use, some time." I thought 
 of Puck s unquestioning devotion to Oiseau d Or. 
 and I felt a moment of uncertainty. But, 
 
 " Puck, I want to spare her the sight of my in 
 eptitude. Because I think she liked me once 
 as a friend." Puck finished the cream. 
 
 "So you think she liked you, once as a 
 friend?" He raised doubting eye-brows. 
 
 " Why, weren t we the best of friends in the 
 world? Didn t we play at being Fairies and gods? 
 Didn t we learn together all the deep sweet wis 
 dom of the Garden? Isn t she the most wonderful 
 person and haven t I worshipped her ever since 
 the beginning? And hasn t she known that, and 
 everything else that I ever thought or felt? Why, 
 
 90 
 
words were never necessary, we knew! Why, 
 there never were such friends!" 
 
 "Just so!" said Puck dryly. " We,ll, at least, 
 you might come back on account of the boy." 
 
 "Who Billy Wright Jr.?" I laughed. "Why, 
 he is rapidly becoming practical he is ahead of 
 me! But I ll catch up with him." Puck rose. 
 
 " I am tempted to repeat myself." He eyed 
 me narrowly. " I will repeat myself What fools 
 these mortals be! Practical! Bah! Bah!" He 
 left me without more words. As he passed Wong 
 he chirped, and, spreading his cape, jumped light 
 ly to a low branch. Then he doffed his cap, and 
 disappeared among the branches. 
 
 " Velly fline bird!" said Wong. 
 
 S8?> <S3T <52^ 
 
 Down in the City I worked at being practical 
 on the staff of a newspaper. It was hard work, 
 and interesting. But the best of it was, that it 
 took all of my time and almost all of my thoughts. 
 I could feel myself growing practical day by day. 
 Back in my head, of course, there was a thought 
 that kept ticking away like a clock that would 
 never run down. But I ignored it. 
 
 A letter came from Billy Wright Jr. 
 
 Dear Apollo: 
 
 The man who makes colors come in jars 
 is here now. His sister came too, she is 
 pretty, but she doesn t know anything at all. 
 I asked her was she a Fairy and she asked 
 Grandmother didn t they teach me anything 
 useful. The idea. My Aunt Florizel has a 
 new friend and he is Ragged Robin who 
 
 91 
 
lives in the arbor and makes poetry. He 
 doesn t put it in books. That isn t his real 
 name, he is Prince Charlie. My Aunt Flori 
 zel always calls him that, she goes there to 
 sew. He says she is like a woman he knew 
 once. He travels lots. That professor per 
 son says that colors and smells of flowers 
 is chemistry of the soils. My Aunt Florizel 
 wrote a paper about that for her college. He 
 told me how to spell it. I am not going to 
 be one when I grow up. That man who gave 
 a book to my Aunt Florizel has gone to meas 
 ure a mountain and dig a tunnel. Puck says 
 we could have a newspaper in the Garden if 
 you would show us how. I ve got Snow 
 White for a leading woman and Tommy 
 Tucker for a second comedy. The O. F. M. 
 will play first comedy and the play is all 
 ready whenever you come home. 
 
 BILLY WRIGHT, JR. 
 
 I felt all of me respond to the appeal in that last 
 sentence. But I happened to look up I was rid 
 ing in a street car and all of my little gods were 
 sitting opposite me on the bell-strap. They 
 wrinkled up their noses a*-t me and I felt the tug 
 ging of strings upon my sagging resolutions. 
 "The professor person is there!" they chanted in 
 chorus. They jerked all the strings at once. "The 
 Nice Boy has gone to measure a mountain and 
 dig a tunnel! " All my resolutions were taut again. 
 So I sent a box of Christmas-tree tinsels to Billy 
 Wright Jr. and wrote him that I did not know 
 when I would be able to get away. 
 
 92 
 
Every night after that, my little gods sat on 
 my mantel-shelf and pulled at the strings that 
 tightened up my heart with misery and loneliness. 
 Every day they followed me about. They jerked 
 back my thoughts that wanted to fly to the Gar 
 den. They tugged at my feet that would stray to 
 ward the flowery paths. And, "You are very 
 much abused! " said the little gods to me. " Some 
 day, Somebody may appreciate you when it is 
 too late maybe! " Then they laughed and pulled 
 harder than ever on the strings, so that the pen 
 fell from my hand that was going to write a let 
 ter. 
 
 One night I looked in at the Tivoli, just for old 
 times sake. Mile. Mabelle Villiers was quite as 
 charming, I had to admit, and Billy Wright Sr. 
 was funny. Funny. But how could I expect to 
 enjoy them I who was miserable? My little gods 
 followed me there, too. A yellow one went to 
 sit, between acts, on the head of a man four rows 
 away. The yellow one rolled his eyes. " But 
 you are not appreciated !" and the tug he gave 
 sent my head around with a jerk and I saw just 
 what he had intended I should, of course. The 
 White Magic Grandmother and Florizel were in 
 a stage-box. And with them was a remarkable- 
 looking male individual and a black and white 
 and red lady. Both the White Magic Grand 
 mother and Florizel beckoned to me, so I went. 
 
 " We are in for the evening," said the White 
 Magic Grandmother. "Isn t the play charming 1 ?" 
 Then she presented me. They were the professor 
 person and his sister. I had suspected as much. 
 The professor had a voice like a bass viol and a 
 
 93 
 
flabby hand. The black and white and red lady 
 had the stillest face in the world. 
 
 " You are coming out to dine next Wednesday." 
 The White Magic Grandmother was as dear as 
 she had always been. " We It is a particular oc 
 casion !" She and Florizel looked at each other 
 and smiled and the professor person looked at 
 them and smiled. Only the black and white and 
 red lady remained still. So I tried to beg off. I 
 was working, I said, and couldn t get off. 
 
 "But you must come!" The White Magic 
 Grandmother was concerned. 
 
 " Of course he will come," said Florizel. And 
 I felt that she was scorning me and my work and 
 the fact that I would go in spite of it, as she very 
 well knew. They wanted me to join them after 
 the play in Mrs. Billy Wright s dressing room. 
 But I said no, that I shouldn t feel at home there 
 without Billy Wright Jr. 
 
 " But he is there. We thought one evening of 
 the old delights would do no harm. " The White 
 Magic Grandmother smiled, insisting. 
 
 "Ah, but I should miss the O. F. M." 
 
 "You boy!" She gave me up and went away 
 on the professor person s arm. Florizel said noth 
 ing, but smiled as she passed me. I thought she 
 seemed very happy. 
 
 38? 38? 38? 
 
 I arrived in good time, that Wednesday. The 
 shadows had just begun to creep down the Gar 
 den and the sunlight still lay deep in the bowl of 
 the fountain. I wandered the long way to the 
 house, letting my glad feet stray along the flow- 
 
 94 
 
ery paths. The Garden was beginning to stir a 
 little, and all the sounds came soft and mellow 
 four o clock sounds, I call them. Not many Fair 
 ies were about, but pipes were playing, and among . 
 the trees I saw the dancing Wood-People. I 
 turned aside, in answer to a beckoning hand, and 
 paused at the fountain s brink. 
 
 " You have been away so long and we have 
 been alone! Don t you care? Are you forgetting? 
 Ah, you have been so long away! " said the Lady 
 in the fountain. And her voice, all made of little 
 sobs and sighs and laughter, ran on and on, and 
 my thoughts ran after, all tearful then halted in 
 the pursuit of the elusive music, to wonder wheth 
 er she laughed at me. 
 
 " I have been working," I defended, and, 
 
 " Alas! " She clasped her hands and wept. " You 
 will forget!" She swayed toward me, smiling 
 rainbows through her misty hair. " Do not for 
 get!" And I vowed that I would not. But as I 
 went away, I was followed by the sound of her 
 sobbing laughter or was it her mocking lament? 
 
 In a sunny spot, I became aware of the nearness 
 of some familiar presence, and found myself face 
 to face with Pink. Such a sad, faded, pensive 
 Pink! She would have passed me, walking with 
 down-cast eyes. But I paused in the way, and, 
 
 " If an old friend might presume " She lifted 
 tired eyes. 
 
 "Apollo!" She gave me her two pretty hands 
 impulsively, and her wan face brightened. But then 
 her eyes brimmed, and she shook her head, smil 
 ing at me pitifully. I drew her hand through my 
 arm and we walked on in silence. We were both 
 
 95 
 
 \ 
 
 wv 
 
thinking of that sad evening at the Royal Theatre, 
 and of unhappy Voix-belle. 
 
 " Has there been no word?" She told me no. 
 
 "Could I do anything?" I felt that I might, 
 indeed, do anything for this poor, pretty Pink. 
 
 " No, there is nothing to do, but wait. But, oh, 
 Apollo, never, never leave anyone who loves you! 
 Never go away." And I vowed that I would not, 
 if Anyone should ever love me. We paused at 
 Pink s door, there where all her sisters made the 
 Garden like a sunset cloud; and where Voix-belle 
 had once deluged the world with the golden flood 
 of his happiness. And as we stood, I heard voices 
 an ardent, wooing, velvet voice, and then a low 
 little answering laugh that I knew very well. 
 Florizel came walking toward us. Her arms were 
 filled with red roses, deep-hued, golden-hearted, 
 that were lavishing their petals all the way she 
 came. At her side walked the owner of the ar 
 dent wooing velvet voice. Such a royal beggar, 
 I had never seen. His once sumptuous suit of 
 dusky red velvet, was in tatters; but his sword 
 was bright enough, pricking out from under the 
 gorgeous rag of a cape. From his battered cap 
 flamed a flaunting plume and a broidered waist 
 coat spread its raveled gold over the heart of him. 
 In his dark face glowed poet s eyes and the mouth 
 of Endymion. And as I listened to what he said to 
 Florizel, I knew, that here, then, was a poet, in 
 deed! And she, looking into his eyes, over the 
 armful of his flowers she held, did not see me un 
 til we quite met. Then, 
 
 "Apollo! You have come!" and then, "This is 
 Prince Charlie. Are they not beautiful?" And 
 
 96 
 
THE LADY IN THE FOUNTAIN 
 " Never, never go away! " 
 
she held out his flowers to me. I saluted His 
 Princeship and he responded with fine courtesy. 
 
 " This is Pink Carnation." The girls smiled 
 into each others eyes. Pink and the Prince were 
 old acquaintances. We talked a moment, and 
 then Pink slipped away; and Florizel, the Prince 
 and I went on. 
 
 " I had heard much of His Highness, but by an 
 other name," I said. Florizel laughed. 
 
 "His nom de plume!" The Prince shrugged 
 
 " Nom de plume, nom de guerre " he touched 
 his rapier carelessly. 
 
 "Alias," I concluded. 
 
 "You have been away a long time," said Flori 
 zel. " Surely you have something to tell of your 
 adventures? " 
 
 " I have interviewed law-breakers and the vic 
 tims of law-breakers; I have assisted at conflagra 
 tions and wrecks and run-aways, and all unhap- 
 piness." 
 
 " But you feel that you have accomplished 
 something? " 
 
 " I have earned, by dint of working day and 
 night, just one-tenth of the amount of the royal 
 ties that come to me from my foolish plays. I 
 have learned something about the beginning of 
 what is meant by news and I have placed my 
 feet in the way that may lead, after infinite tra 
 vail, to the desk of the City Editor. That is the 
 extent of my horizon. It is a wider view than you 
 might suppose." 
 
 " Ah," said Florizel, " but think of the power you 
 have, even in the smallest story, of moulding the 
 public thought." 
 
 97 
 
" I have no compunction, for the public mind 
 will not retain the impression of any mould until 
 the evening papers are out. But I wish it might 
 be done more beautifully, since nothing but the 
 doing of it counts." Florizel sighed. Billy Wright 
 Jr., coming across the lawn, discovered me with 
 a shout. 
 
 "Oh, Apollo! Come along to the theatre. I 
 want you to help with something." I turned to 
 Florizel. 
 
 " You were going to the house? " 
 
 " Oh, no, it is early. I shall walk." She nodded, 
 and I felt myself dismissed. The Prince swept 
 me a grave bow, and they turned away together, 
 down a side path. But he did not wait until he 
 was beyond hearing, to begin his infernally good 
 poetry. 
 
 " So that s Prince Charlie. I have always known 
 him as Ragged Robin. He s a mere tramp, if he 
 is a Prince and a poet and beautiful as as Bac 
 chus! " 
 "Aunt Florizel likes his poetry all right, I guess." 
 
 " What I want to know is, whether she really 
 Sees him." Billy Wright Jr. looked at me queerly. 
 
 " You ve been away a long time, Apollo! " 
 <S8T 38T 30^ 
 
 Down at the theatre they were running over 
 the last act of my play. The O. F. M. was to 
 make his first appearance on the Garden stage, 
 and he was in a terrible flutter. His Company 
 and the rival Ganse had bought out the entire 
 gallery, and his debut promised to be a thing of 
 moment. I was presented to the new leading 
 lady, and all at once, as I looked at her, a line 
 
 98 
 
that had been dreaming in my mind awoke, and 
 it was "As white as snow, as red as blood, and 
 as black as the ebony of the embroidery-frame." 
 So that was Snow White! I said to Billy Wright 
 Jr. afterwards, 
 
 " Of course I remember reading about her in 
 Grimm s. But whom does she resemble? I have 
 seen someone like her very like." 
 
 " The professor s sister, I guess." 
 
 "Of course!" 
 
 "All the People know about the professor s sis 
 ter. She is a real Fairy. But she s so enchanted 
 by what she s read that maybe she ll never wake 
 up. We re waiting to see." 
 
 " I guessed as much. She is so still. Do you 
 think the Professor is a Fairy, too?" 
 
 " No one will ever know, whether he is, or not, 
 now." Billy Wright Jr. shook his head. I gath 
 ered that the professor s case was hopeless. I 
 was glad. 
 
 We lingered so long that the twilight had come, 
 with its songs and glimmers, when we started 
 back to the house; and I hastened to my room to 
 prepare myself for what was to come. I had reso 
 lutely turned my thoughts from speculations as 
 to the purpose of the dinner. Since the thought 
 of it had made the Grandmother and Florizel 
 smile happily, I was glad for them. But since it 
 had made the professor smile happily, I was sorry 
 for me. 
 
 On the stairway, Billy Wright Jr., looking very 
 Fairy-like in whites, with stockings and slippers 
 to match, clutched me excitedly. 
 
 " You ought to see Aunt Florizel she s got a 
 
 99 
 
softy greeny dress with twinkle-beads, and no 
 sleeves at all, and her shoulders are as white! She 
 looks just like a Hamadryad in the moonlight! " 
 I followed the little poet down stairs and found 
 that all he had said was quite true. 
 
 Oh, that was a miserable dinner. I couldn t talk 
 to the professor s sister. The few remarks I ven 
 tured, she met with silence stillness. She was 
 like a person in the profoundest of enchanted 
 slumbers. And I suppose her mind was busy 
 among the chemical properties of the things we 
 were eating. Florizel sat at the professor s right 
 hand. She was the loveliest vision that ever glad 
 dened the eyes of men. My thoughts went whirl 
 ing, tossed this way and that by the little breezes 
 that crept in from the Garden to puff at the shaded 
 candles. A thousand scenes pictured themselves 
 to my dreaming eyes, and every scene held Flori 
 zel. A tiny girl with an apron full of Flower 
 Fairies; a little larger girl, dreaming over an old 
 blue book, or wishing to the first star in the pale 
 evening sky, and a tall, slim girl being Diana for 
 the Hamadryads. I saw how two little people 
 trudged, hand in hand, to the highest part of the 
 Garden, which was the orchard. And they climbed 
 into a gnarled old peach tree and looked out to 
 ward the singing blue world where white ships 
 were sailing; and Florizel said to me, 
 
 " My mother and I came from out there," and, 
 " I think the Captain loves me as much as if I 
 were his very own little girl, don t you ? " The 
 Captain was what we called him, before he be 
 came the Grandfather on Billy Wright Jr. s ac 
 count. And I said, 
 
 100 
 
" You are his own. The Captain is a Fairy and 
 your Mother is and you are and I am and we all 
 belong." And then I saw how Florizel had loos 
 ened the hold of one fat hand, and had put a 
 chubby arm about my neck and kissed me at the 
 peril of both our lives. Other visions I saw, of a 
 boy who brought all his troubles to the wisest, 
 sweetest most loyal friend a boy ever had and 
 all these dreams and visions held me fast until 
 a sound from the quiet lady beside me brought me 
 back to the dinner. The quiet lady was smiling. 
 Why? I looked. Her brother, the professor, had 
 risen. He was saying that he had an announce 
 ment to make; one that made him very proud 
 and happy. I looked at Florizel. She was rosy, 
 downcast. I turned to the White Magic Grand 
 mother. She was smiling fondly at Florizel and 
 the professor. So it was for this, the dinner! 
 The professor had an announcement to make 
 one that made him very proud and happy, and I 
 was there to hear it- My visions flew into bits, 
 like smashed rainbows. Cruel Florizel, to lead 
 her captive bound in her triumph! I envied the 
 Nice Boy, away measuring his mountain where 
 no one could be moved to smiles by his grief. 
 Presently the professor raised his glass, and all 
 the guests rose and raised their glasses. So did 
 I. Only Florizel remained seated, rosy and down 
 cast. All at once she looked up and smiled into 
 my eyes, happily. Cruel Florizel! 
 
 What had the professor said? What had he said 
 that had made Florizel happy that had made him 
 happy everyone happy but me? I didn t know, 
 but I guessed that he had said that Florizel was 
 
 101 
 
 
to marry him and learn to chemically analyze the 
 songs of birds. 
 
 When that awful dinner was over, I managed 
 to be among the first to congratulate the profes 
 sor and wish Florizel happiness. Then I strug 
 gled out of the crowd and out of the house. The 
 Garden was hushed as I went by. There was only 
 a sobbing in the fountain, and a faint wind laid a 
 cool hand on my eyes; and then went on with a 
 little sigh. I came to the Green House, and felt 
 a desire for the company of the god who had lost 
 his flower. A dim green light shone in the depths 
 of the place, and when I had gone three steps, I 
 saw the shine of a green twinkle-bead gown and 
 the gleam of a white arm. I heard a little low 
 laugh that I knew very well. So I turned back 
 into the dark Garden. The Green House, I re 
 flected, was a place for happy people. Billy Wright 
 Jr. found me and we went to the theatre. The 
 neighborhood swarmed with Pixies. 
 
 " Tis the Captain makes his dayboo the night! " 
 They told me, and I smiled to think of the Origin 
 al Funny Man making a debut at his time of life. 
 But when I saw him, he was in as wild a flutter 
 as he could possibly have been at his long-ago 
 first appearance. He was wandering about from 
 room to room making sickish jokes and looking 
 preternaturallj r serious. 
 
 " Coin to the show?" he asked me, and before 
 I could answer, "Is it thirrsty ye arre?" And 
 he hooked his wing in mine and drew me away 
 toward his dressing room. But Billy Wright Jr. 
 interfered. 
 
 " See here, O. F. M., there s a limit. Go make 
 
 102 
 
up." It was early, but the O. F. M. was in a panic, 
 instantly, lest he be late. So we left him, before 
 his mirror, swathed in a towel, " lining in " his 
 make-up with feverish care. I went out in front 
 to see the People come in, and Puck went by, sing 
 ing in that strange young-old voice of his. I had 
 not seen him so cheerful since the day on which 
 Oiseau d Or left the Garden. 
 
 " Hello there! " I seized him by the arm. "Why 
 such haste?" He scarcely slackened his pace, nor 
 paused in his song, but he smiled and drew me 
 along with him. 
 
 We halted beneath the jasmine vine. There 
 was a glow behind the casement that I had once 
 seen open to frame the face of radiant Oiseau 
 d Or. 
 
 "Oiseau d Or!" I breathed. In a moment she 
 was with us. She and two others very enchant 
 ing Persons. I was presented, to Levres de Miel, 
 and to Rose Blanche, and later, to a very fine old 
 gentleman who was their escort. The Red Beetle 
 buzzed up, and in a few moments we were all 
 at the theatre. Going in, I had just a word with 
 Oiseau d Or. 
 
 " But" 
 
 "Sh!" She put her finger to her lips with a 
 charming air of conspiracy. " I am a fugitive! 
 Ah yes!" when I looked my dismay. Then she 
 smiled. "A fugitive. This it is, to love a dreamer 
 of dreams. One does not dream of one s sure pos 
 sessions. So, I am a fugitive. Remember this, 
 when your dreams come true! " I left them, and 
 went to find my own favorite seat, for the play 
 was about to commence. I pondered. So this 
 
 103 
 
Reveur des Reves, when he had caught his golden 
 bird, fell to dreaming other dreams, no doubt. 
 But I guessed that they had run more sweetly for 
 the accompanying song of Oiseau d Or. But she 
 was right, perhaps. If a man must dream, what 
 more beautiful dream could he pursue than an 
 ever-flitting golden bird? I thought of him, rid 
 ing up and down the wide world, sometimes with 
 a golden wing in sight, sometimes through empty 
 forests, sometimes with a faint song to guide him; 
 riding home at last, empty hearted, to find the 
 golden bird nestled close. 
 
 I heard the signal for the curtain, and the or 
 chestra struck up. Someone rustled beside me. 
 There was a faint green gleam and a flash of 
 twinkle beads. Florizel looked at me through Billy 
 Wright Jr. s mother s spangled veil. Cloud-draped 
 star-decked Diana! Far back in the Garden I heard 
 glad voices calling like the wind from tree to tree, 
 
 "Diana, Diana has returned!" 
 
 Florizel sat beside me. 
 
 " Please do not exorcise me, I came to see the 
 play," she said. Said I to myself, 
 
 "A laughing god was I, who am now bereft of 
 my flower, so that my tears run endlessly over 
 my face that was meant to be so happy. A dream 
 er of dreams am I, whose golden bird forgets its 
 song in the cage of another. I am a Pierrot who 
 has lost his Pierrette, a Voix-belle forever separat 
 ed from his Pink. The old gods are dead, and 
 there are no new ones. Shall I not have this 
 hour?" So I slipped my arm about Florizel and 
 she rested her head against my shoulder, and to 
 gether we watched the play. 
 
 104 
 
THE SEVENTH CHAPTER REVEALS 
 A FANTASTIC SHADOWING FORTH 
 OF A BOY S HEART AND MAKES 
 SOME VAGUE GUESSES AT A GIRL S 
 
 Florizel and I sat still and watched, and this is 
 what we saw: 
 
 THE CAST. 
 
 The Boy Pierrot 
 
 The Grown-up Original Funny Man 
 
 The Teacher Billy Wright Jr. 
 
 The Other Boy Tommy Tucker 
 
 The Fairy Puck 
 
 The Girl Pierrette 
 
 The Teacher s Sister Snow White 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 It is morning in the Garden. There is a Singing 
 far away and near at hand, that comes from the 
 deptli^s of the air and from every sunlit leaf and from 
 deep in the ground. 
 
 THE SINGING. 
 
 Tall grass growing, growing, 
 Sea-wind blowing, blowing, 
 
 Hill-tops, it is May! 
 New things springing, springing, 
 Old songs singing, singing, 
 
 Come away! 
 
 105 
 
 4- 
 
Said Florizel to me, "What is that sound? We 
 used to say the bells were ringing deep down inside 
 the hills do you remember? because it was 
 Spring. I haven t heard it since I was little, little. 
 What is it? " " Magic, pure magic! " said I. 
 
 There is a casement in the midst of roses. A sun 
 beam falls across the lattice, and out of the sunbeam 
 steps a Fairy. The Singing goes on as before. The 
 Fairy taps at the lattice. The Singing falls faint as 
 the lattice opens. The Girl is at the casement, among 
 the roses. 
 
 THE GIRL. 
 Who calls me hillwardf 
 
 THE FAIRY. 
 The day, the day! 
 
 Come and take the hill-top way! 
 Soft is the hillsward, 
 Green, gold, red. 
 There s a Singing overhead 
 Ohe, sweet life, it is May! 
 
 The Singing begins again, humming and chiming 
 and swelling like a great bell, till all the earth and 
 air are full of it. The Fairy takes the Girl by the 
 hand and they come down from the casement. . . . 
 Enter the Boy. He is dragging a blue cart, and sing 
 ing. 
 
 THE BOY. 
 It is morning, it is May! 
 
 (Ho! I have a fine blue cart!) 
 W hat delights adorn this day! 
 
 (Wheels of red, that come apart!) 
 
 106 
 
"That cart! Wherever did he get it, Apollo? 
 And do you remember how we used to call you 
 the singing boy? " Florizel spoke dreamily. 
 " Because you waked everybody up at dawn with 
 your singing. Away off there by yourself, in 
 your little room at the end of the hall, so sweet 
 ly singing, singing, like the lark at heaven s gate. 
 You were a dear little boy!" There was a tear 
 ful note in her voice that made me wonder wheth 
 er all young ladies who are going to be very. 
 very happy, grow wistful over the little boys they 
 used to know. And then I reminded myself that 
 I was an ungrateful wretch, and not likely to 
 make the most of my hour, if I permitted such 
 bitterness. 
 
 THE SINGING. 
 
 Hill-bells ringing, ringing, 
 Come away! 
 
 Old songs singing, singing, 
 It is May! 
 
 THE BOY. 
 (To the Girl.) 
 
 Would you like to ride in my blue cart? I will 
 take you on a journey. 
 
 THE GIRL. 
 
 A far one? 
 
 THE BOY. 
 Very far. To the end of the Garden! 
 
 THE GIRL. 
 No further? 
 
 THE BOY. 
 
 Oh, outside the Garden, that would be very far! 
 Ships are there, and mermaids. 
 
 107 
 
THE GIRL. 
 
 / came from out there. Sometime I shall go back. 
 But I will ride in your blue cart now. 
 
 She gets into the cart, and he starts to drag it. But 
 the wheels come apart and the Girl gets out while he 
 mends them. 
 
 "We never got very far in that cart. The wheels 
 always came apart." Florizel laughed. 
 
 " That was the great trouble with my under 
 takings," said I. " The wheels always came 
 apart." 
 
 " But you didn t mind." Again she laughed 
 softly. " You made songs about your broken 
 wheels, and made us think that they were better 
 than other people s solid ones. That was one of 
 the sweetest things about you!" When a girl 
 got engaged to someone else, I reflected, she be 
 came compassionate, and said beautiful things of 
 you, even to your face, as though you were dead 
 as indeed you were! x 
 
 THE BOY. 
 
 (Sorrowfully, after trying in vain to make the cart 
 wheels stay fixed.) 
 I cannot take you on a journey. 
 
 THE GIRL. 
 
 Never mind, then. Shall I tell you a story ? Per 
 haps the Fairy will tell us a story. 
 
 THE FAIRY. 
 
 (W ho has been dancing in the sunbeam.) 
 Let s each tell a story, and the best shall have three 
 wishes ! 
 
 108 
 
THE GIRL AND THE BOY. 
 
 Lefs! 
 
 They sit down on the grass, the three of them, and 
 the Fays come out from the leafy places and gather 
 around to listen. 
 
 THE GIRL. 
 The Fairy first, then the Boy, then I. 
 
 THE FAIRY. 
 
 The rose-heart held a drop of rain. 
 The parched bee, dragging wings of pain, 
 Crept in, drank, and Hew again! 
 
 THE BOY. 
 
 Once my cart got hard to hold. 
 Far and very far it rolled. 
 And its wheels were made of gold! 
 
 " Oh Apollo! " Florizel squeezed my hand kind- 
 
 ly. 
 
 " I was a hopeful little beggar," said I. 
 
 THE GIRL. 
 
 The blind King, bound with chains was he. 
 A fair child, singing happily, 
 Kissed his eyes, and set him free! 
 
 THE FAIRY. 
 Now, who has told the best story? 
 
 THE FAYS. 
 
 (Laughing and clapping their hands.) 
 The Girl! The Girl! 
 
 109 
 
THE GIRL. 
 
 Oh, no, the others were nice, too. Lefs each have 
 one wish. First the Fairy, then the Boy, then I. 
 
 THE FAIRY. 
 
 Two stars fell from heaven last night. I wish they 
 may meet at last. 
 
 THE BOY. 
 / wish I knew what the flowers think. 
 
 THE GIRL. 
 
 / wish that every child in the world may have a 
 happy dream to-night. 
 
 The Fays join hands with the Fairy and the Boy, 
 and all dance around the Girl. The Singing grows 
 louder. 
 
 "Was I ever such a nice child?" Florizel asked 
 me. 
 
 " No words of mine can tell how nice. It must 
 be Pierrette s acting." 
 
 " Dear little Pierrot! I remember you it was 
 long ago, wasn t it?" 
 
 T]ve voice of the Grown-up is heard calling. The 
 Singing ceases. The Fays and the Fairy and the Boy 
 run away among the flowers. The Girl is left alone. 
 . . . Enter the Grown-up and the Teacher and the 
 Teacher s Sister, who is a little girl, and the Other 
 Boy. The Teacher s Sister has her eyes tightly blind 
 folded. 
 
 110 
 
THE GROWN-UP. 
 
 Well, well, here we are! This is your teacher, little 
 Girl, and he will teach you a great many useful things. 
 
 THE GIRL. 
 / know some things now. 
 
 THE GROWN-UP. 
 
 Well, well, that is very nice! (Smiling sourly) 
 What things do you know? 
 
 THE GIRL. 
 
 7 know what the sun says to the tree-tops, and 
 where the wind goes, and I used to know why the 
 waves dance. But I have forgotten. 
 
 " I did know those things," said Florizel, " and 
 it was only yesterday!" She bent a pensive 
 glance upon the funny " business " of the O. F. M. 
 and Billy Wright Jr. " How could I have for 
 gotten so much?" she asked me. How could I 
 tell her? 
 
 THE OTHER BOY. 
 
 I know the multiplication table backwards, up to 
 twelve! 
 
 THE TEACHER S SISTER. 
 7 know the Kings of England. 
 
 THE GIRL. 
 Do you see Fairies? 
 
 Ill 
 
THE OTHER BOY. 
 
 / could, but I must not. Girls may. They tie up 
 her eyes so she can t. 
 
 THE TEACHER. 
 
 Come, my dear, and you shall learn all these things 
 and a great many more. Do you know who fought 
 the battle of Waterloo? No? Then I will tell you. 
 
 THE GIRL. 
 Is it a story? 
 
 THE TEACHER. 
 
 (Taking the Girl by the hand.) 
 Yes, a very great story. I will tell you. 
 
 THE GIRL. 
 
 A pretty story? (She turns back to call the Boy, 
 but he is still hiding among the flowers.) . . . 
 Exit the Teacher and the Girl, followed by the 
 Grown-up and the Other Boy and the Teacher s 
 Sister. . . . When they have gone, the Boy comes 
 out from his hiding place and kneels down, trying to 
 mend the wheels of his cart. 
 
 CURTAIN. 
 
 "Oh, that wicked Billy Wright Jr.! Isn t he 
 clever? The poor Professor!" But Florizel was 
 not at all as angry as she might have been. 
 
 We were silent, while the theatre-orchestra 
 
 112 
 
gave us a truly fine little thing in the way of a 
 serenade. 
 
 "Dear little Pierrot, with the broken cart! I 
 remember that you went on some pretty far 
 journeys in that cart, even in spite of the wheels 
 that would come apart. And you always came 
 back and told me, oh, such wonders! I know! 
 You had gold wheels hidden away somewhere, 
 and when no one was looking, you clapped them 
 on, and away you went. Confess that is where 
 you have been, now. And you would scarcely 
 come back, even to my dinner. Why don t you 
 tell me where you have been on your gold 
 wheels? " 
 
 " No. Those gold wheels were a dream of my 
 youth. I confess that it was hard to give up my 
 belief in them. But of late I have become prac 
 tical, at the earnest request of my friends, and 
 I have been fitting that cart up with a motor and 
 rubber tires. It may take me somewhere, yet." 
 
 Florizel sighed. But what she would have said, 
 I do not know, for the curtain rose upon the 
 second act. 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 It is noon in the Garden. There is everywhere a 
 low, deep hum or murmuring, but no creature stirs. 
 The Boy lies upon a mossy bank, his hands clasped 
 under his head. He is older and taller, and dressed 
 in white tennis flannels. He wears a wreath of laurel, 
 and a broad blue scarf falls loosely across his left 
 shoulder. He sings. 
 
 113 
 
THE BOY. 
 
 White noon lies dreaming on the hills. 
 Her quiet breath, from fragrant parted lips, 
 Stirs in the murmurous sliade, and gently fills 
 The lazy sails of little boats. Life stills 
 His happy-hearted laughter while he sips 
 Her quiet breath, from fragrant parted lips. 
 White noon lies dreaming on the hills. 
 
 The songs of all the hearts are stilled, 
 Save that low song that smiling nature croons 
 In the warm silence. The green world is filled 
 With happy dreaming creatures, who have thrilled 
 Beneath the warmth of lips as soft as June s. 
 Save the low song that smiling nature croons, 
 The songs of all the hearts are stilled. 
 
 The Girl comes slowly into view through the trees. 
 She, too, is taller and slimmer. Her straight white 
 frock is girded up to the left knee. Across her 
 shoulder is a silver chain, bearing a silver horn. A 
 silver crescent shines upon her forehead. Her bare 
 feet are sandaled. 
 
 " My moon-crown! " whispered Florizel. "Where 
 did you find it? " 
 
 The Girl lifts the horn to her lips and blows a 
 faint whispering call. Far and near, through all the 
 trees, rises and falls a soft laughter. Then all is still 
 again, but the low murmur, as before. 7 he Girl sits 
 beside the Boy and rests her chin in her hands. 
 Somewhere in the trees a Dryad begins to sing. 
 
 114 
 
THE DRYAD. 
 In the oak s heart, 
 There dwell I, 
 Happily 
 See the birds dart 
 Free and high! 
 
 Where the oak clings, 
 There cling I. 
 Hill and sky 
 Hear the wind s wings 
 Rustling by! 
 
 When the oak sings, 
 
 Sing I low, 
 
 Swaying, so, 
 
 When my branch swings 
 
 To and fro! 
 
 THE GIRL. 
 (To the Boy.) 
 Have they bothered you to-day? 
 
 THE BOY. 
 Yes. They want me to go to college. 
 
 THE GIRL. 
 Are you going? 
 
 THE BOY. 
 
 Perhaps. But you must keep all our secrets for 
 me. Promise that you will forget none of them. 
 
 THE GIRL. 
 
 / promise. Of course I will not forget. But you 
 may. 
 
 115 
 
THE BOY. 
 I may. 
 
 THE GIRL. 
 
 / hear them coming now. I am going. Good-bye! 
 Do not forget! She goes away through the trees. 
 Her silver horn can be heard, and after it, the soft 
 laughter rising and falling, hushing, then growing 
 louder. 
 
 " I shall never be as happy as I was then," said 
 Florizel. 
 
 THE VOICE OF THE GROWN-UP. 
 Well, well, that is very nice! 
 
 Enter the Grown-up and the Teacher and the 
 Teacher s Sister and the Other Boy. 
 
 THE GROWN-UP. 
 
 Ah, here is the Boy. So you are going to College, 
 eh, my boy? 
 
 THE BOY. 
 / suppose so. 
 
 THE TEACHER. 
 
 What, what, don t you know? Come, come, put 
 aside all this foolishness and be off with you. It is 
 high time, is it not? 
 
 THE GROWN-UP. 
 High time, indeed! 
 
 The Boy removes his laurel and the blue scarf re 
 gretfully, and goes slowly away. 
 
 THE GROWN-UP. 
 
 Well, well, that is very nice. He will learn a great 
 deal at college! Now, children, let us see what you 
 have learned. 
 
 116 
 
Florizel turned to me, after listening to the ab 
 surdities of Billy Wright Jr. s idea of a class in 
 Chemistry. 
 
 " Children are taught an immense deal of non 
 sense, aren t they? " I nodded. The Other Boy, 
 and the Teacher s Sister were doing experiments 
 with glass bottles and colored fires and reciting 
 doggerel to the entire satisfaction of the Fairy 
 audience. But Florizel was grave. 
 
 " I believe that the whole system of education 
 is wrong! What can children possibly learn that 
 will be as important in forming beautiful charac 
 ter, as the things they all know to begin with?" 
 She turned to me, breathless and starry-eyed with 
 her discovery. And I said, "What, indeed!" 
 
 The Other Boy, and the Teacher s Sister, who is 
 still blindfolded, are doing a very beautiful experi 
 ment, and the Grown-up and the Teacher retire to 
 one side, and watch them. The Other Boy throws 
 a stone upon the fire, from which rises a four-colored 
 name. The Teacher begins to recite a charm. 
 
 The silver horn blows clear and high, and the 
 laughter rises all about them, but none of them heeds. 
 There is a rushing and swaying in the branches. A 
 great Fairy stag breaks through the leaves and 
 charges across the open space. He is followed by the 
 Girl and all the Wood People in full chase. Their 
 laughter rings on every hand, and the cry of "Diana!" 
 The Other Boy leaps to his feet, calling "Diana!" and 
 joins in the chase. They pass like the summer wind. 
 The Teacher s Sister turns her head and listens wist 
 fully; but continues her work over the four-colored 
 
 117 
 
flame. The Grown-up, and the Teacher, who still 
 mumbles his spell, have not seen nor heard anything. 
 The Teacher s Sister, mixing the contents of all the 
 little glasses, produces a great green and black flower, 
 from the heart of which leap up little tongues of 
 flame. The laughter dies away, and the Teacher s 
 voice rises in a weird chant. There is a rustling 
 among the leaves, and the Girl appears. She is look 
 ing at the green and black flower. She takes the 
 moon from her head and unslings her horn. She un- 
 girds her frock and comes slowly to kneel beside the 
 Teacher s Sister. The Other Boy follows. The 
 Teacher, waving his arms in great excitement, pro 
 nounces a spell that fills the air with dazzling mists, 
 till they all are hidden from our sight. 
 
 CURTAIN. 
 
 " Poor Apollo, I did forget all our secrets, didn t 
 I? But you remembered them for yourself. That 
 was lucky! " 
 
 " The only thing that made them worth re 
 membering, was that they were ours." We sat 
 for a while and listened to the murmuring voices 
 of the audience. And I don t know whether Flor- 
 izel heard them, but the Wood People were re 
 joicing far and near through the Garden. Once 
 she turned to look at me squarely. 
 
 " You are not like yourself what has come to 
 you ? " 
 
 "How?" 
 
 " You are usually cheerful, at least." She drew a 
 little away from me. 
 
 118 
 
" It may be a distinction, to be dragged at the 
 wheels of triumph," I said. " But it doesn t make 
 one cheerful, necessarily." She hesitated, then 
 laughed uncertainly. 
 
 "My triumph? Oh! You didn t mind that?" 
 And the only answer I had was silence; and I 
 listened while the faint cries of "Diana!" were 
 lost in the overture to the third act. 
 
 ACT III, 
 
 It is night in the Garden. There is a light rain, 
 falling upon all the whispering leaves. The wind 
 comes in gusts. The moon shines faintly behind the 
 hurrying clouds. Rain-voices and wind-voices sing 
 the song of the night. . . . The Fairy enters and 
 goes tapping upon the casement among the dripping 
 roses. The casement swings open, and the Girl ap 
 pears. She is blind. 
 
 THE GIRL. 
 Who taps at my window? 
 
 THE FAIRY. 
 
 The night! The night! 
 Come out in the rain, 
 Come, feel the wind blow! 
 There s a faint green light 
 From the rain-wet moon 
 The wind again! 
 Dawn comes soon! 
 
 119 
 
THE GIRL. 
 / can t come out. I have forgotten the way. 
 
 The Fairy flies away. . . . Enter the Boy. He 
 is singing. 
 
 THE BOY. 
 
 All day long, and all day long, 
 I have followed the voice of a song. 
 It stirred with the dawn-wind s first faint sigh 
 A far sweet cry! 
 Down the wide halls of the day 
 It sang. I followed all the way; 
 Through the gardens of the west 
 Held you that to stay were best? 
 All the night s dim paths along, 
 I follow the voice of the song! 
 
 THE GIRL. 
 Boyf 
 
 THE BOY. 
 Come into the Garden! 
 
 THE GIRL. 
 
 / can not. But I wanted to tell you that you must 
 not sing. You must do something useful. 
 
 THE BOY. 
 What? 
 
 THE GIRL. 
 Oh, anything that is unpleasant. 
 
 THE BOY. 
 / only know how to sing. 
 
 THE GIRL. 
 But that is not useful nor learned. 
 
 120 
 
THE BOY. 
 
 It is the only thing I know. 
 Enter the Teacher s Sister and the Other Boy. 
 
 THE OTHER BOY. 
 
 Now I have just built a house, and I am going to 
 make a poem. 
 
 THE TEACHER S SISTER. 
 
 / have the voices of twelve nightingales in this jar. 
 I have found that they are three parts salt and four 
 parts honey and seven parts wine and the rest cream. 
 
 THE GIRL. 
 
 How useful you both are! 
 
 Enter the Teacher and the Grown-up. 
 
 THE TEACHER. 
 
 We have just found that the heart of a bee con 
 tains two grains of gold. 
 
 THE GIRL. 
 Oh, how learned! 
 
 " Oh, what nonsense! Apollo, how could you 
 write such stuff? " 
 
 " You have been asking me that, for a life 
 time," said I. Florizel pouted. And she refused 
 to listen to the nonsense I had written for Billy 
 Wright Jr. and the Fairies. And so she failed to 
 learn how the Boy refused to have more to do 
 with the Teacher and his unholy practices; and 
 how he was going his glad way, when the Wood 
 People appealed to him to save Diana for them. 
 
 121 
 
So he went back to bargain with the Teacher. 
 And here Florizel became interested again. 
 
 "What are they doing now?" she asked me. 
 
 " The Boy is going to give his memory and his 
 eyes, so that the Girl may have her s back." 
 
 " Sometimes you are almost horrid, Apollo." 
 
 " I had to make an interesting play," I protest 
 ed. " Not that any Boy wouldn t cheerfully do 
 it, if it would do any good." She seemed to un 
 derstand. But she turned troubled eyes to the 
 stage, without speaking. The Girl had resumed 
 her moon-crown and silver horn, and had girded 
 up her frock. The rain had ceased, and dawn 
 was breaking. 
 
 " You see, a Fairy play must have a happy end 
 ing," I said. 
 
 The Boy joins the Teacher s Sister and the Other 
 Boy over their books. As the sun comes up, the Sing 
 ing begins. But the Teacher and the Grown-up, mut 
 tering spells over the three, keep them from hearing 
 it. The Girl stands with her horn at her lips. 
 
 THE SINGING. 
 
 Green things growing, growing, 
 Sea winds blowing, blowing, 
 
 Children, it is day! 
 New things springing, springing, 
 Old songs singing, singing, 
 
 Come away! 
 
 The Girl blows a long, sweet blast on the horn. 
 Laughter passes through the Garden like a wind. 
 
 122 
 
THE GIRL. 
 Boy! 
 
 The Boy does not raise his head. The Teacher con 
 tinues his mumbled spells. The Girl goes away 
 slowly, calling "Boy!" once or twice, as she goes. 
 
 " I don t see why you write such nonsense." 
 And again Florizel refused to look on at Billy 
 Wright Jr. s idea of the Professor. But present 
 ly she listened, for the Girl was singing. 
 
 THE GIRL. 
 High on the hill-tops the loud winds are singing, 
 
 Listen, my heart, and be glad! 
 Purple and gold, and wild bells ringing, 
 Banners high to the mast-head clinging, 
 
 Heart of a lad! Heart of a lad! 
 
 The three enchanted children move restlessly. The 
 Other Boy raises his head and gazes off into the 
 Garden. The Girl s voice comes nearer. 
 
 Low at the hill-foot the poppies are singing. 
 
 Listen, my heart, and be glad! 
 Glow-worm to the grass-stalk clinging, 
 Grey moth through the dim light winging, 
 
 Heart of a lad! heart of a lad! 
 The Teacher s Sister takes the bandage from her 
 eyes, and looks about her. The Boy raises his head, 
 as though awakening. The Other Boy leaps up and 
 calls "Diana!" 
 
 The horn rings again, and the sound of laughter 
 grows louder and gladder. The leaves and branches 
 sway, and presently all the Wood People burst into 
 the place, dancing in the early sunshine. The Teacher, 
 
 123 
 
foolishly repeating his spells, is drawn into the dance, 
 and he and the Grown-up are drawn this way and 
 that in the swirling, swaying dance about the four 
 glad children, who can see and remember all they 
 ever knew. 
 
 The Singing grows louder, louder, mingled with 
 cries of "Diana!" The Fairy appears in a sunbeam, 
 and beckons to the children, who go away with him. 
 
 CURTAIN. 
 
 " Well, it was pretty," said Florizel, as we left 
 the theatre. 
 
 " It had to end that way," I apologized. She 
 laughed. 
 
 " But, I shall be afraid to look into another 
 book! And as for the Professor and his sister 
 do you suppose they are wizards?" I supposed 
 they were. Florizel laughed like a delighted child. 
 
 " Oh, I am so happy! " 
 
 " You know that I am glad for you, Florizel," 
 said I. Then, " Won t you come and meet the 
 cast?" But she said, no, that she would see Billy 
 Wright Jr. at the house, and meet the others some 
 other time. So I left her alone for a moment. 
 
 Pierrot and Pierrette were joyous. 
 
 " I told you she might remember some day, 
 hein? " 
 
 "Aha, aha, mon vieux, that was well done, no?" 
 I thanked them both. 
 
 " Your songs brought her back to the Gar 
 den," I told Pierrot. 
 
 "An now, the world is yours, petit!" 
 
 124 
 
" There is still the Professor." 
 
 "Pouf!" 
 
 "He is an old owl!" They ran away, laughing 
 gay contempt for the Professor. I went and 
 made pretty speeches to the rest of the cast. The 
 O. F. M. had really distinguished himself. Billy 
 Wright Jr. was in great spirits. 
 
 "Race you to the house!" he called to the O. 
 F. M., and off they flew, Billy Wright Jr. s gauze 
 wings doing almost as well as the O. F. M. s gor 
 geous ones. 
 
 Florizel had wandered a little. I found her 
 with Prince Charlie. He held her hand and wooed 
 her with his glowing poetry; but, seeing me, he 
 ceased abruptly, saluted us both, looked long at 
 Florizel with sad eyes, his sweet lips quivering. 
 Then he left us without a word. I would not 
 have denied him his farewell. More than my 
 heart would die in that Garden when she left it, 
 I reflected. And I saw that her spangled veil 
 was strewn with his crimson kisses; that some 
 had fallen on the sweeping hem of the twinkle- 
 bead gown. As we went on, 
 
 " It was a nice play," said Florizel. " Wouldn t 
 it be fine if we could marry off the Nice Boy to 
 the Professor s sister? They were just made for 
 each other! " 
 
 Somewhere in the fragrant dark, rose the high 
 sweet, young-old voice of Puck. 
 
 " Tu n as pas encore ce rire petit 
 Qu autrefois m as ravi 
 
 Pourquoi? 
 
 Est-ce qu on a fait triste ta vie? 
 Dites moi! " 
 
 125 
 
 m 
 
I wondered whether Florizel heard, and she 
 answered my thought, just as though we had 
 never grown up and away from each other. 
 
 " He came and sang to me when I was away." 
 We came to the house, and I would have detained 
 her, holding one end of the starry cloud. But 
 she whispered " Goodnight! " and melted into the 
 shadowy doorway with a last glint of the twinkle 
 beads, and the spangled veil fell limp, only a 
 spangled veil, now that Diana had gone. I turned 
 back to the Garden. I wanted to garner every 
 sad flitting beauty of that night. The Lady in 
 the fountain murmured and sang and sweetly 
 complained to the Night Breeze, and when she 
 saw me, she rippled into a little laugh, and, 
 "Apollo, Apollo, Apollo, Apollo! " she called. 
 
 " I am going away out of the Garden, for 
 ever and ever, and ever." Just for an instant her 
 voice was hushed, and then she deluged me with 
 protestations and questions. 
 
 "Forever, Apollo, why, why? To leave us, to 
 go away, out of the Garden! No! You will not, 
 Apollo, say you will not? " She swayed toward 
 me, with waving misty draperies and beckoning 
 hands. "Stay!" she implored. Then she mocked 
 me. "Go but you can never forget!" Then 
 again, " Oh, Apollo, stay with us." And as I went 
 away, I heard only tears in her voice. 
 
 "Tu n as pas encore cet chant joyeux, 
 Tu baisses tes yeux 
 
 Pourquoi? 
 Est-cc tu as peur? 
 
 Dites moi! " 
 
 126 
 
Puck came along and laid his arm about my 
 shoulders. 
 
 "Cheer up!" said he. 
 
 " You are cheerful enough, at least," said I, 
 "and you are as unfortunate as I!" 
 
 " As fortunate. Oiseau d Or is here, and so is 
 Florizel." 
 
 " So is the Professor, and he will probably re 
 main. Or Florizel will go away with him just 
 as Oiseau d Or will go again with her Reveur 
 des Reves! " 
 
 " But she is here now! " he triumphed. 
 
 " But my golden bird belongs in another man s 
 cage. So does yours. Perhaps you can be happy. 
 I cannot." Said Puck, 
 
 " The world holds no greater happiness, for 
 me, than the sight and sound of Oiseau d Or." 
 
 "But! She loves her Reveur des Reves." 
 
 "Ah!" said he, "but I love her." And with 
 that he left me. That is all very well, for a Fairy! 
 Though I own, I was ashamed of my selfishness, 
 while I hugged it. 
 
 Under the oaks, all the Wood People were danc 
 ing to the tunes of Pan s pipes. I watched them, 
 waving, weaving, wreathing, in the leafy shadows. 
 "Diana! Diana! Diana!" they sang. "She has 
 come, she is here, Diana is here!" 
 
 " She will not remain," I told them sadly. " You 
 have lost her now, forever." But the mad things 
 would not hear. "Diana is here!" they sang, 
 and their laughter followed me all the way back 
 into the house. 
 
 127 
 
THE EIGHTH CHAPTER PURSUES A 
 HOPE AND FINDS A CERTAINTY 
 TOO BEAUTIFUL TO BE REALIZED 
 FULLY BY ANY BUT THE FAIRIES 
 
 T is morning, it is May! " sang Some 
 one beneath my window. And when 
 I peered out, she was already far 
 away among the trees, singing as 
 she went. It was very early indeed. 
 The dew shone on every leaf and blade, and the 
 sunshine was just slanting up across the fields. 
 "It is morning, it is May! " sang my thoughts. 
 " Perhaps my hour is extended. I wonder wheth 
 er the Professor rises with the lark? " Some way, 
 in the light of early morning, the Professor 
 seemed a rather negligible rival. I could not 
 fancy him running across the wet grass after 
 Florizel. But I was going. In the midst of my 
 hasty preparations I was surprised by callers. 
 " Now what? " I asked my little gods. " What is 
 to prevent your running off with her? " they asked 
 me. "Carry her off, right from under his nose! 
 She ll like you for it, depend on it. She doesn t 
 really want to be a learned person no girl does. 
 She doesn t care particularly for the Professor. 
 Didn t she laugh at Billy Wright Jr. last night? 
 And anyway, haven t you first claim? Haven t 
 you always meant to marry her, as soon as she 
 should be old enough? You know that nice old 
 
 128 
 
white-haired minister who lives down the road? 
 Well? " I was ready. And I went out into the 
 morning to find Florizel. I found her in the 
 swing. 
 
 " Run under," she called, and I ran under, a 
 dozen times, and then stood and watched her 
 swing high and swing low, with my heart for 
 ballast. She threw herself back at arm s length, 
 and her two soft braids with the red ribbons 
 just like Florizel of old like my hopes, some 
 times went flying after her, and sometimes clung 
 close. Her dress was white, too, and like a pina 
 fore. 
 
 " Let s work up! " she challenged, when she had 
 swung slow. So we worked up. Up and up. 
 Away with your waltz and your skates, and all 
 crawling upon the earth. This was everything 
 fearful and sweet and dangerous and delightful in 
 motion; the swift rush up, the instant s pause, 
 when we held our breath, and then the rush down, 
 down, and up; and all the time, Florizel s ribbons 
 and laces fluttering against me, and Florizel s 
 flushed face laughing at me. Florizel s eyes 
 danced with wild fun, and my own happiness 
 burst bounds, so I said, between breathless places, 
 
 " I m going to take you away from 
 
 that Professor fellow I m going to take 
 
 you down the road to that minister s and 
 
 marry you!" Florizel wrinkled up her 
 
 nose in a smile, and, 
 
 "The old one with white hair?" said she. 
 
 "Will you come?" I asked, all at once feeling 
 ridiculously unsafe in that swing. 
 
 " If you take me, I ll have to, I suppose." She 
 
 129 
 
was so tractable! We swung slow, and got out. 
 I looked at her uncertainly, wondering whether 
 she would continue kind. 
 
 "Well, come!" I said, turning away. Florizel 
 was surprised. 
 
 "Not now? Before breakfast? Without tell 
 ing anyone?" I caught at that last. 
 
 " Why should we tell anyone?" Florizel flushed. 
 
 " Well, we should. I want to tell, at any rate." 
 
 "The Professor, I suppose?" She turned away. 
 
 " Yes. Of course, the Professor," said she. I 
 went a few steps toward the gate. 
 
 "Aren t you coming? " I called. But she set 
 off slowly toward the house. 
 
 " I think I must tell them first. And have some 
 breakfast!" I turned and strode resolutely away. 
 She called, 
 
 "You aren t going alone, are you?" 
 
 "Yes, if I must!" 
 
 " How can you?" 
 
 "What?" 
 
 " Get do that? He can t, if I m if no one 
 else is there, can he?" 
 
 " Perhaps he can find a substitute while you 
 have your breakfast. " She set off for the house 
 very determinedly. I relented. I went after her. 
 
 " I m going to town, to get some things. One 
 is a ring, and one is something else, and botft 
 are important." She kept her face turned from 
 me, but the tip of her ear was rose-colored. " I ll 
 be back for breakfast!" said I, and went away. I 
 was feeling at once curiously elated and curious 
 ly sobered. When I reached the gate, Someone 
 clutched my coat. 
 
 130 
 
" I m taggin along," said Florizel. 
 
 "How old are you?" I asked. 
 
 "Just six! " said she, and then we both laughed 
 uproariously. 
 
 First we went and found the Most-Important- 
 Man-in-the-World, and persuaded him to give 
 us what we wanted. Florizel signed her name, 
 and swore that her age was twenty-four. And 
 I signed my name and swore that my age was 
 twenty-seven. 
 
 "Why! You are almost thirty!" said Florizel 
 in mock veneration. 
 
 "Please to remember Miss Four-and-Twenty 
 that you would be an old maid, a hundred years 
 ago! " She laughed scornfully. 
 
 "Oh! A hundred years ago, sir, I would have 
 married you any time these last twenty years!" 
 Then we went to get the ring. Here I learned 
 what marvelously small fingers she had, and 
 from that, I got to thinking how infinitely frag 
 ile and fine a thing she was; and on the way 
 home, I had to keep swallowing to down a fear 
 that I was anything but worthy to be the possess 
 or of the most precious thing in the world. And 
 at the same time I was bursting with the proud 
 knowledge that I was a very fine fellow indeed, 
 to have won Florizel s love. But we bought some 
 candy at the grocery shop. 
 
 "Of all things, before breakfast!" said Flori 
 zel, and bit off the head of a yellow jujube paste 
 god before I could stop her. I explained what 
 a part these gods had had in my affairs. 
 
 " But this is a day in which to defy the gods," 
 said I madly. Florizel gazed at the decapitated 
 
 131 
 
body of the god, and the little bit of alarm that 
 was in her eyes, cleared away. 
 
 " But he really likes to be eaten by a nice 
 girl." She persuaded him, "Don t you? You see, 
 a very dirty little boy might have bought you. 
 Or you might have stopped in that shop, and got 
 stale." He was mollified, we both felt. But Flor- 
 izel wrapped the rest of him in her handkerchief. 
 
 When we reached the gate, Florizel was going 
 in. 
 
 "Shan t we go on to the minister s?" I asked 
 her. 
 
 "Now? Oh, I want my breakfast. And be 
 sides, I should like to have them all there." 
 
 "The Professor?" 
 
 "Of course the Professor." We went up the 
 Garden path. 
 
 "What will he say?" I asked, beginning to be 
 very uncomfortable. 
 
 "Why, what should he say? He will be ab 
 sently delighted, of course!" I looked at Flori 
 zel. Could it be true, as I had sometimes fancied, 
 that this sweet child was absolutely without a 
 conscience? 
 
 "After his announcement of last night," I said, 
 feeling that I must make her see what was due 
 the man, " I should think that our announcement 
 would rather upset his plans." 
 
 Well, of course, he will be sorry about that 
 a little." She wrinkled in a perplexed little 
 frown. But then she became serene. "When he 
 sees that it is my happiness, you see, he will 
 have nothing to say." 
 
 " Perhaps! " I was dubious. " But even a Pro- 
 
 132 
 
fessor might make decided objections to another 
 man s carrying off his future wife!" Florizel 
 gasped and opened her eyes very wide. 
 
 "What what did you think he announced?" 
 she asked. I stammered 
 
 " Why ? " She preceded me into the house. 
 On the steps she turned and looked at me, a little 
 startled, flushed, and altogether amused. 
 
 "Didn t he?" I asked; but she laughed, and ran 
 up stairs. So I confronted Billy Wright Jr., who 
 was coming from the breakfast room. 
 
 "My friend, just what did that Professor per 
 son announce last night at dinner?" 
 
 "He announced that my Aunt Florizel had won 
 a scholarship, and she can go to Europe if she 
 wants to, or she can be his assistant at the col 
 lege, and she got a prize for writing about chem 
 istry of the soils." 
 
 "Is that all?" "Yep." 
 
 " That is why the dinner was given, and that 
 is why the Grandmother was happy, and Florizel 
 was happy, and the Professor was happy, and 
 everybody was . I see!" 
 
 " Yep." 
 
 " Well, I have an announcement to make. Your 
 Aunt Florizel is going to marry me some time to 
 day, and you are to be my best man, if you will." 
 Billy Wright Jr. put his hand in mine. He was 
 not completely astonished. 
 
 " Golly, Apollo, I m glad. You ll both live in 
 the Garden, won t you, and Puck and I can start 
 that paper." 
 
 " Certainly, yes. But at present, I have to tell 
 the Grandmother and arrange details." 
 
 133 
 
 

 
 
 "Leave that to me, won t you, Apollo? The 
 arranging, I mean? The music, and the place, and 
 the time, and all that? Puck and I will fix it." 
 
 " If your Aunt Florizel is willing, I am 
 charmed." He ran away to find her. 
 
 " My boy, I am very, very happy." The White 
 Magic Grandmother had tears in her eyes when 
 she kissed me. " I have always wished it, always." 
 And I told her, that so had I. But she has known 
 that, too. When the Professor came down, I 
 wrung his hand with an enthusiasm that seemed 
 to astonish him a little. I had some vague notion 
 of trying to make up to him for the injustice I 
 had done him. And if he remembered my be 
 havior of the night before, he must have thought 
 me a very erratic person. Florizel joined us, 
 grave but rosy, in the habit of young lady Flori 
 zel. But her eyes were still six years old. The 
 Grandmother poured our coffee and made our 
 conversation. 
 
 "Did Billy Wright Jr. consult with you?" I 
 said aside to Florizel. She flushed a deeper rose. 
 
 "Yes. He is to arrange everything." The 
 Professor s sister came in looking far more like 
 a real girl than I had ever seen her. She carried 
 a little book. She went to Florizel and kissed her 
 shyly. 
 
 " I have been reading this little book of yours 
 it is beautiful. I read until ever so late, and I 
 awoke early and read them all again. Do you 
 know the writer?" Florizel took the book from 
 her, and when she had looked at it, she smiled. 
 
 " The Nice Boy s French verses. Do you like 
 them?" 
 
 134 
 
"Oh, indeed, I like them! What a very fine 
 and sweet nature his must be the author." 
 
 " Oh, I am sure you would like him. Perhaps 
 you may meet him sometime. He often comes 
 here, when he is not away making bridges and 
 railroads." 
 
 "Does he do such things? He must be very 
 interesting." She took the little book again. 
 
 "Indeed he is! I am sure you would like him." 
 Florizel looked unutterable wisdom. And I won 
 dered. 
 
 " Why does he call you a sea-flower, in this 
 poem?" The White Magic Grandmother and 
 Florizel smiled at each other. Then Florizel 
 looked out of the window a moment, and when 
 she turned back to us, her eyes were shining with 
 the light they always held when she thought of 
 the wonderful story of her youth. 
 
 " My father died before I was born," she said 
 softly. " And mother was coming home to her 
 mother, and I was born at sea. And then there 
 was a storm, and the ship was wrecked, and we 
 were in a little boat with some sailors. And the 
 Captain Billy Wright Jr. s grandfather, you 
 know came along in his ship, and took us on 
 board, and brought us home to my mother s 
 mother. And afterwards he brought us here, so 
 that mother could be Billy Wright Sr. s mother, 
 and so I could be his sister, and here we are." 
 
 " Oh," said the Professor s sister, " I would 
 like to be in a story! You were born in the sea, 
 and they called you the flower of the sea and 
 the Captain saved you, and brought you to this 
 beautiful place. It is like a romance. Brother. 
 
 135 
 
isn t there the least little bit of romance about 
 my life?" The Professor shook his head, smiling 
 a little sadly. 
 
 " No, my dear, there has been nothing in your 
 life but your unromantic brother. Our parents 
 died when you were a year old, and you have 
 had only me since then." He looked fondly at 
 her, and wistfully. 
 
 " You see," she said to Florizel, " my life has 
 been just all plain sailing with no wrecks and no 
 chance for a rescuing Captain. I should love to 
 have a romance." Florizel drew her away toward 
 the Garden. 
 
 " It wouldn t surprise me, if a real romance 
 should come stalking to meet you, directly up 
 this Garden walk!" said she. And their laughter 
 lingered with us. The Professor let his coffee 
 get quite cold, as he sat looking after them. The 
 Grandmother tried to draw him out of his reverie. 
 But he rose, smiling uncertainly. 
 
 "That is all the world has held for me, these 
 twenty-five years my little sister. She was born 
 the year that I left college." We were quite si 
 lent when he left us. Then the Grandmother said 
 that she had very many things to do, and I went 
 to find what Billy Wright Jr. and Puck had de 
 cided to do about my wedding. 
 
 No one, I suppose, would expect a man to re 
 member very much about his own wedding. I 
 know that the time was noon, and that the place 
 was the oak grove. I can shut my eyes now and 
 hear the crooning noon-song, and the stirring of 
 leaves, and the soft old voice of the white-haired 
 minister. I know that the White Magic Grand 
 
 136 
 
mother and Billy Wright Sr., and Mrs. Billy 
 Wright, and the Professor and his sister, and Billy 
 Wright Jr. were there. And I saw that beside the 
 Professor s sister walked Prince Charlie, and that 
 she carried great clusters of his roses. And Flor- 
 izel, who came after them, walked all the way 
 over the crimson petals. And I saw Puck and 
 Oiseau d Or, and the others of her party, and all 
 of the People from the theatre. And I saw the 
 shy-eyed Wood People. And when the white- 
 haired old minister, who was the greatest Fairy 
 of them all, had done his greatest magic, all at 
 once, the Garden was filled with a golden glorious 
 melody, and a wind came bringing a wonderful 
 fragrance. And then I knew that Voix-belle had 
 returned, and that Pink was happy again. And, 
 looking into Florizel s eyes, I knew that she knew 
 all these things, and very many more, the beauty 
 of which I could only dimly guess. 
 
 And so we were married, and we lived happy 
 ever afterward. And that is where the real story 
 begins. 
 
 137 
 
EPILOGUE. 
 
 And if you are a true Fairy, and haven t for 
 gotten too much, you will see, that after a while 
 I became very practical indeed, writing news- 
 stories; and that I forgot a great deal of every 
 thing else. It became difficult for me to see. 
 when I came home to the Garden, any of those 
 things that did not concern a daily paper. So 
 that is how it happened that Florizel made a 
 translation of the poems of Ragged Robin. And 
 though I may have smiled at it then, I know that 
 it is the most beautiful of all the books that were 
 ever in the Garden. 
 
 The poor Professor lost his sister, and had to 
 go to Europe alone, because she was too much 
 interested in her husband s tunnels and bridges 
 and too busily reading French poems between 
 times, to possibly be interested in radio-activity. 
 
 Puck and Billy Wright Jr. did start a news 
 paper for the Fairies. But, before very long, 
 Billy Wright Jr. went away to school, and every 
 vacation found him a little more practical than the 
 last. Voix-belle never left Pink again. But 
 Oiseau d Or passed through the Garden on her 
 yearly flights from her dreamer of dreams. 
 
 There was a time when Florizel and the White 
 Magic Grandmother went to the sea again. But 
 they loved the Garden best, and so all our hearts 
 
 138 
 
were saved from being broken, when they came 
 back. And, since a Fairy story must have a happy 
 ending, Billy Wright Jr. and I were won back to 
 a knowledge of beautiful things, and the Person 
 who did it was Rosemary. She is the only one 
 of us who has never lost the sight and knowledge 
 of true things, from the time when she came to 
 make a real grandmother of the White Magic 
 One, until now. 
 
 139 
 
HERE ENDS A STORY OF FLORIZEL 
 
 AS TOLD BY THE FAIRIES 
 
 AND WRITTEN INTO ENGLISH BY 
 
 ISABEL McREYNOLDS GRAY, 
 
 DONE INTO TYPE FOR HER BY THE 
 
 LOS ANGELES PRINTING COMPANY 
 
 AND PUBLISHED BY HER 
 
 AT LOS ANGELES 
 
 IN THE MONTH OF MARCH 
 
 ANNO DOMINI MCMX 
 

 
YC 4625 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY 
 BERKELEY 
 
 Return to desk from which borrowed. 
 This book is DUE on the last date stamped below. 
 
 -W, 
 
 
 LD 21-100m-ll, 49(B7146sl6)476