LIBRARY 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 RIVERSIDE
 
 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND
 
 Ol 
 
 MACMILLAN AND CO., Limited 
 
 LONDON • BOMBAY • CALCUTTA • MADRAS 
 
 MELBOURNE 
 
 THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 
 
 NEW YORK • BOSTON • CHICAGO 
 DALLAS • SAN FRANCISCO 
 
 THE MACMILLAN CO. OF CANADA, Ltd. 
 
 TORONTO
 
 A PRISONER IN 
 FAIRYLAND 
 
 (THE BOOK THAT 'UNCLE PAUL' WROTE) 
 
 BY 
 
 ALGERNON BLACKWOOD 
 
 iii 
 
 AUTHOR OF 'jIMBO,' ' JOHN SILENCE,' 
 ' THE CENTAUR,' ' EDUCATION OF UNCLE PAUL,' ETC. 
 
 MACMILLAN AND CO., LIMITED 
 ST. MARTIN'S STREET, LONDON 
 
 1925
 
 ci.2- 
 
 COPYRIGHT 
 
 Pocket Edition 1913 
 Reprinted 1914, 1917, 191S, 1920, 1922, 1925 
 
 PRINTED IN GREAT BRTTAIN
 
 TO 
 
 ' LITTLE MOUSE THAT, LOST IN WONDER, 
 FLICKS ITS WHISKERS AT THE THUNDER i *
 
 The Illustration on the Title-page, * Per aspera ad astra,' 
 by K. IV. Diefenbach, is reproduced by permission of 
 B. G. Teubner, Leipzig, to whom the copyright belongs.
 
 ** Les Pens^es ! 
 O leurs essors fougueux, leurs flammes disperses, 
 Leur rouge acharnement ou leur accord vermeil ! 
 Comme la-haut les etoiles criblaient la nue, 
 Elles se constellaient sur la plaine inconnue ; 
 Elles roulaient dans l'espace, telles des feux, 
 Gravissaient la montagne, illuminaient la fleuve 
 Et jetaient leur parure universelle et neuve 
 De mer en mer, sur les pays silencieux." 
 
 Le Monde.., Emile Verhaeren
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 Man is his own star ; and the soul that can 
 Render an honest and a perfect man 
 Commands all light, all influence, all fate, 
 Nothing to him falls early, or too late. 
 Our acts our angels are, or good or ill, 
 Our fatal shadows that walk by us still. 
 
 Beaumont and Fletcher. 
 
 Minks — Herbert Montmorency — was now some- 
 thing more than secretary, even than private 
 secretary : he was confidential - private - secretary, 
 adviser, friend ; and this, more because he was a safe 
 receptacle for his employer's enthusiasms than 
 because his advice or judgment had any exceptional 
 value. So many men need an audience. Herbert 
 Minks was a fine audience, attentive, delicately 
 responsive, sympathetic, understanding, and above all 
 — silent. He did not leak. Also, his applause was 
 wise without being noisy. Another rare quality he 
 possessed was that he was honest as the sun. To 
 prevaricate, even by gesture, or by saying nothing, 
 which is the commonest form of untruth, was im- 
 possible to his transparent nature. He might hedge, 
 but he could never lie. And he was c friend,' so far 
 as this was possible between employer and employed, 
 because a pleasant relationship of years' standing had 
 established a bond of mutual respect under conditions 
 of business intimacy which often tend to destroy it. 
 Just now he was very important into the bargain, 
 
 I b
 
 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND chap. 
 
 for he had a secret from his wife that he meant to 
 divulge only at the proper moment. He had known 
 it himself but a few hours. The leap from being 
 secretary in one of Henry Rogers's companies 
 to being that prominent gentleman's confidential 
 private secretary was, of course, a very big one. He 
 hugged it secretly at first alone. On the journey 
 back from the City to the suburb where he lived, 
 Minks made a sonnet on it. For his emotions 
 invariably sought the safety valve of verse. It was a 
 wiser safety valve for high spirits than horse-racing 
 or betting on the football results, because he always 
 stood to win, and never to lose. Occasionally he 
 sold these bits of joy for half a guinea, his wife 
 pasting the results neatly in a big press album from 
 which he often read aloud on Sunday nights when 
 the children were in bed. They were signed { Mont- 
 morency Minks ' ; and bore evidence of occasional 
 pencil corrections on the margin with a view to 
 publication later in a volume. And sometimes there 
 were little lyrical fragments too, in a wild, original 
 metre, influenced by Shelley and yet entirely his own. 
 These had special pages to themselves at the end of 
 the big book. But usually he preferred the sonnet 
 form ; it was more sober, more dignified. And 
 just now the bumping of the Tube train shaped his 
 emotion into something that began with 
 
 Success that poisons many a baser mind 
 With thoughts of self, may lift 
 
 but stopped there because, when he changed into 
 another train, the jerkier movement altered the 
 rhythm into something more lyrical, and he got 
 somewhat confused between the two and ended by 
 losing both.
 
 , A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 3 
 
 He walked up the hill towards his tiny villa, 
 hugging his secret and anticipating with endless 
 detail how he would break it to his wife. He felt 
 very proud and very happy. The half-mile trudge 
 seemed like a ftw yards. 
 
 He was a slim, rather insignificant figure of a 
 man, neatly dressed, the City clerk stamped plainly 
 over all his person. He envied his employer's burly 
 six-foot stature, but comforted himself always with 
 the thought that he possessed in its place a certain 
 delicacy that was more becoming to a man of letters 
 whom an adverse fate prevented from being a regular 
 minor poet. There was that touch of melancholy in 
 his fastidious appearance that suggested the atmo- 
 sphere of frustrated dreams. Only the firmness of 
 his character and judgment decreed against the luxury 
 of longish hair ; and he prided himself upon re- 
 membering that although a poet at heart, he was 
 outwardly a City clerk and, as a strong man, must 
 permit no foolish compromise. 
 
 His face on the whole was pleasing, and rather 
 soft, yet, owing to this warring of opposing inner 
 forces, it was at the same time curiously deceptive. 
 Out of that dreamy, vague expression shot, when 
 least expected, the hard and practical judgment of 
 the City — or vice versa. But the whole was gentle 
 — admirable quality for an audience, since it invited 
 confession and assured a gentle hearing. No harsh- 
 ness lay there. Herbert Minks might have been a 
 fine, successful mother perhaps. The one drawback 
 to the physiognomy was that the mild blue eyes were 
 never quite united in their frank gaze. He squinted 
 pleasantly, though his wife told him it was a fascinat- 
 ing cast rather than an actual squint. The chin, 
 too, ran away a little from the mouth, and the lips
 
 4 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND chap. 
 
 were usually parted. There was, at any rate, this 
 air of incompatibility of temperament between the 
 features which made all claim to good looks out of 
 the question. 
 
 That runaway chin, however, was again deceptive. 
 It did, indeed run off, but the want of decision it 
 gave to the countenance seemed contradicted by the 
 prominent forehead and straight eyebrows, heavily 
 marked. Minks knew his mind. If sometimes 
 evasive rather than outspoken, he could on occasion 
 be surprisingly firm. He saw life very clearly. He 
 could certainly claim the good judgment stupid 
 people sometimes have, due perhaps to their inability 
 to see alternatives — just as some men's claim to 
 greatness is born of an audacity due to their total 
 lack of humour. 
 
 Minks was one of those rare beings who may be 
 counted on — a quality better than mere brains, being 
 of the heart. And Henry Rogers understood him 
 and read him like an open book. Preferring the 
 steady devotion to the brilliance a high salary may 
 buy, he had watched him for many years in every sort 
 of circumstance. He had, by degrees, here and there, 
 shown an interest in his life. He had chosen his private 
 secretary well. With Herbert Minks at his side he 
 might accomplish many things his heart was set upon. 
 And while Minks bumped down in his third-class 
 crowded carriage to Sydenham, hunting his evasive 
 sonnet, Henry Rogers glided swiftly in a taxi-cab to 
 his rooms in St. James's Street, hard on the trail of 
 another dream that seemed, equally, to keep just 
 beyond his actual reach. 
 
 It would certainly seem that thought can travel 
 across space between minds sympathetically in tune, 
 for just as the secretary put his latch-key into his
 
 , A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 5 
 
 shiny blue door the idea flashed through him, ' I 
 wonder what Mr. Rogers will do, now that he's got 
 his leisure, with a fortune and — me ! ' And at the 
 same moment Rogers, in his deep arm-chair before 
 the fire, was saying to himself, ' I'm glad Minks has 
 come to me ; he's just the man I want for my big 
 Scheme ! ' And then — ' Pity he's such a lugubrious 
 looking fellow, and wears those dreadful fancy waist- 
 coats. But he's very open to suggestion. We can 
 change all that. I must look after Minks a bit. 
 He's rather sacrificed his career for me, I fancy. 
 He's got high aims. Poor little Minks ! ' 
 
 * I'll stand by him whatever happens,' was the 
 thought the slamming of the blue door interrupted. 
 ' To be secretary to such a man is already success.' 
 And again he hugged his secret and himself. 
 
 As already said, the new-fledged secretary was 
 married and wrote poetry on the sly. He had four 
 children. He would make an ideal helpmate, wor- 
 shipping his employer with that rare quality of being 
 interested in his ideas and aims beyond the mere 
 earning of a salary ; seeing, too, in that employer 
 more than he, the latter, supposed. For, while he 
 wrote verses on the sly, c my chief,' as he now pre- 
 ferred to call him, lived poetry in his life. 
 
 ' He's got it, you know, my dear,' he announced 
 to his wife, as he kissed her and arranged his tie 
 in the gilt mirror over the plush mantelpiece in 
 the ' parlour ' ; ' he's got the divine thing in him 
 right enough ; got it, too, as strong as hunger or 
 any other natural instinct. It's almost functional 
 with him, if I may say so ' — which meant ' if 
 you can understand me '— ' only, he's deliberately 
 smothered it all these years. He thinks it wouldn't 
 go down with other business men. And he's been
 
 6 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND chap. 
 
 in business, you see, from the word go. He meant 
 to make money, and he couldn't do both exactly. 
 Just like myself ' 
 
 Minks wandered on. His wife noticed the new 
 enthusiasm in his manner, and was puzzled by it. 
 Something was up, she divined. 
 
 ' Do you think he'll raise your salary again soon ? ' 
 she asked practically, helping him draw off the paper 
 cuffs that protected his shirt from ink stains, and 
 throwing them in the fire. ' That seems to be the 
 real point.' 
 
 But Herbert evaded the immediate issue. It was 
 so delightful to watch her and keep his secret a little 
 longer. 
 
 ' And you do deserve success, dear,' she added ; 
 ' you've been as faithful as a horse.' She came closer, 
 and stroked his thick, light hair a moment. 
 
 He turned quickly. Had he betrayed himself 
 already ? Had she read it from his eyes or manner ? 
 
 ' That's nothing,' he answered lightly. * Duty 
 is duty.' 
 
 ' Of course, dear,' and she brought him his 
 slippers. He would not let her put them on for 
 him. It was not gallant to permit menial services to 
 a woman. 
 
 'Success,' he murmured, 'that poisons many a 
 
 baser mind ' and then stopped short. ' I've got 
 
 a new sonnet,' he told her quickly, determined to 
 prolong his pleasure, ' got it in the train coming 
 home. Wait a moment, and I'll give you the rest. 
 It's a beauty, with real passion in it, only I want to 
 keep it cold and splendid if I can. Don't interrupt 
 a moment.' He put the slippers on the wrong feet 
 and stared hard into the fire. 
 
 Then Mrs. Minks knew for a certainty that some-
 
 i A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 7 
 
 thing had happened. He had not even asked after 
 the children. 
 
 ' Herbert,' she said, with a growing excitement, 
 ' why are you so full of poetry to-night ? And 
 what's this about success and poison all of a sudden ? ' 
 She knew he never drank. ' I believe Mr. Rogers 
 has raised your salary, or done one of those fine things 
 you always say he's going to do. Tell me, dear, 
 please tell me.' There were new, unpaid bills in 
 her pocket, and she almost felt tempted to show 
 them. She poked the fire fussily. 
 
 ' Albinia,' he answered importantly, with an 
 expression that brought the chin up closer to the 
 lips, and made the eyebrows almost stern, ' Mr. 
 Rogers will do the right thing always — when the 
 right time comes. As a matter of fact ' — here he 
 reverted to the former train of thought — ' both he 
 and I are misfits in a practical, sordid age. We should 
 have been born in Greece ' 
 
 ' 1 simply love your poems, Herbert,' she inter- 
 rupted gently, wondering how she managed to conceal 
 her growing impatience so well, ' but there's not the 
 money in them that there ought to be, and they don't 
 pay for coals or for Ronald's flannels ' 
 
 ' Albinia,' he put in softly, ' they relieve the heart, 
 and so make me a happier and a better man. But — 
 I should say he would,' he added, answering her 
 distant question about the salary. 
 
 The secret was almost out. It hung on the edge 
 of his lips. A moment longer he hugged it delici- 
 ously. He loved these little conversations with his 
 wife. Never a shade of asperity entered into them. 
 And this one in particular afforded him a peculiar 
 delight. 
 
 ' Both of us are made for higher things than mere
 
 8 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND chap 
 
 money-making,' he went on, lighting his calabash 
 pipe and puffing the smoke carefully above her head 
 from one corner of his mouth, ' and that's what first 
 attracted us to each other, as I have often mentioned 
 to you. But now ' — his bursting heart breaking 
 through all control — ' that he has sold his interests 
 to a company and retired into private life — er — my 
 own existence should be easier and less exacting. I 
 shall have less routine, be more my own master, and 
 also, I trust, find time perhaps for ' 
 
 ' Then something has happened ! ' cried Mrs. 
 Minks, springing to her feet. 
 
 ' It has, my dear,' he answered with forced calm- 
 ness, though his voice was near the trembling point. 
 
 She stood in front of him, waiting. But he him- 
 self did not rise, nor show more feeling than he could 
 help. His poems were full of scenes like this in 
 which the men — strong, silent fellows — were fine and 
 quiet. Yet his instinct was to act quite otherwise. 
 One eye certainly betrayed it. 
 
 * It has,' he repeated, full of delicious emotion. 
 
 ' Oh, but Herbert ! ' 
 
 ' And I am no longer that impersonal factor in 
 City life, mere secretary to the Board of a com- 
 pany ' 
 
 ' Oh, Bertie, dear ! ' 
 
 ' But private secretary to Mr. Henry Rogers — 
 private and confidential secretary at ' 
 
 ' Bert, darling ! ' 
 
 'At ^300 a year, paid quarterly, with expenses 
 extra, and long, regular holidays,' he concluded with 
 admirable dignity and self-possession. 
 
 There was a moment's silence. 
 
 ' You splendour ! ' She gave a little gasp of 
 admiration that went straight to his heart, and set
 
 , A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 9 
 
 big fires alight there. * Your reward has come at 
 last 1 My hero ! ' 
 
 This was as it should be. The beginning of an 
 epic poem flashed with tumult through his blood. 
 Yet outwardly he kept his admirable calm. 
 
 ' My dear, we must take success, like disaster, 
 quietly.' He said it gently, as when he played with 
 the children. It was mostly put on, of course, this 
 false grandiloquence of the prig. His eyes already 
 twinkled more than he could quite disguise. 
 
 1 Then we can manage the other school, perhaps, 
 for Frank ? ' she cried, and was about to open various 
 flood-gates when he stopped her with a look of proud 
 happiness that broke down all barriers of further 
 pretended secrecy. 
 
 ' Mr. Rogers,' was the low reply, ' has offered to 
 do that for us — as a start.' The words were leisurely 
 spoken between great puffs of smoke. ' That's what 
 I meant just now by saying that he lived poetry in 
 his life, you see. Another time you will allow judg- 
 ment to wait on knowledge ' 
 
 1 You dear old humbug,' she cried, cutting short 
 the sentence that neither of them quite understood, 
 ' I believe you've known this for weeks ' 
 
 ' Two hours ago exactly,' he corrected her, 
 and would willingly have prolonged the scene in- 
 definitely had not his practical better half prevented 
 him. For she came over, dropped upon her knees 
 beside his chair, and, putting both arms about his 
 neck, she kissed his foolish sentences away with all 
 the pride and tenderness that filled her to the brim. 
 And it pleased Minks hugely. It made him feel, for 
 the moment at any rate, that he was the hero, not 
 Mr. Henry Rogers. 
 
 But he did not show his emotion much. He did
 
 lo A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND ch. i 
 
 not even take his pipe out. It slipped down side- 
 ways into another corner of his wandering lips. And, 
 while he returned the kiss with equal tenderness and 
 pleasure, one mild blue eye looked down upon her 
 soft brown hair, and the other glanced sideways, 
 without a trace of meaning in it, at the oleograph of 
 Napoleon on Elba that hung upon the wall. . . . 
 
 Soon afterwards the little Sydenham villa was barred 
 and shuttered, the four children were sound asleep, 
 Herbert and Albinia Minks both lost in the world of 
 happy dreams that sometimes visit honest, simple folk 
 whose consciences are clean and whose aims in life are 
 commonplace but worthy.
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 When the creation was new and all the stars shone In their first splendour, 
 the gods held their assembly in the sky and sang 'Oh, the picture of per- 
 fection ! the joy unalloyed ! ' 
 
 But one cried of a sudden — ' It seems that somewhere there is a break in the 
 chain of light and one of the stars has been lost.' 
 
 The golden string of their harp snapped, their song stopped, and they cried 
 in dismay — ' Yes, that lost star was the best, she was the glory of all heavens ! ' 
 
 From that day the search is unceasing for her, and the cry goes on from one 
 to the other that in her the world has lost its one joy ! 
 
 Only in the deepest silence of night the stars smile and whisper among 
 themselves — 'Vain is this seeking ! Unbroken perfection is over all ! ' 
 
 Rabindranath Tagore. 
 (Prose translation by Author from his original Bengali.) 
 
 It was April 30th and Henry Rogers sat in his 
 rooms after breakfast, listening to the rumble of the 
 traffic down St. James's Street, and found the morn- 
 ing dull. A pile of letters lay unopened upon the 
 table, waiting the arrival of the discriminating Mr. 
 Minks with his shorthand note-book and his mild 
 blue eyes. It was half-past nine, and the secretary 
 was due at ten o'clock. 
 
 He smiled as he thought of this excellent fellow's 
 first morning in the promoted capacity of private 
 secretary. He would come in very softly, one eye 
 looking more intelligent than the other ; the air of 
 the City clerk discarded, and in its place the bearing 
 that belonged to new robes of office worn for the 
 first time. He would bow, say ' Good morning, 
 Mr. Rogers,' glance round with one eye on his 
 employer and another on a possible chair, seat him- 
 
 11
 
 12 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND chap. 
 
 self with a sigh that meant ' I have written a new 
 poem in the night, and would love to read it to you 
 if I dared,' then flatten out his oblong note-book and 
 look up, expectant and receptive. Rogers would say 
 ' Good morning, Mr. Minks. We've got a busy day 
 
 before us. Now, let me see ' and would meet his 
 
 glance with welcome. He would look quickly from 
 one eye to the other — to this day he did not know 
 which one was right to meet — and would wonder for 
 the thousandth time how such an insignificant face 
 could go with such an honest, capable mind. Then 
 he smiled again as he remembered Frank, the little 
 boy whose schooling he was paying for, and realised 
 that Minks would bring a message of gratitude from 
 Mrs. Minks, perhaps would hand him, with a gesture 
 combining dignity and humbleness, a little note of 
 thanks in a long narrow envelope of pale mauve, 
 bearing a flourishing monogram on its back. 
 
 And Rogers scowled a little as he thought of the 
 air of gruffness he would assume while accepting it, 
 saying as pleasantly as he could manage, ' Oh, Mr. 
 Minks, that's nothing at all ; I'm only too delighted 
 to be of service to the lad.' For he abhorred the 
 expression of emotion, and his delicate sense of tact 
 would make pretence of helping the boy himself, 
 rather than the struggling parents. 
 
 Au fond he had a genuine admiration for Minks, 
 and there was something lofty in the queer per- 
 sonality that he both envied and respected. It made 
 him rely upon his judgment in certain ways he could 
 not quite define. Minks seemed devoid of personal 
 ambition in a sense that was not weakness. He was 
 not insensible to the importance of money, nor 
 neglectful of chances that enabled him to do well by 
 his wife and family, but — he was after other things
 
 „ A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 13 
 
 as well, if not chiefly. With a childlike sense of 
 honesty he had once refused a position in a company 
 that was not all it should have been, and the high 
 pay thus rejected pointed to a scrupulous nicety of 
 view that the City, of course, deemed foolishness. 
 And Rogers, aware of this, had taken to him, seek- 
 ing as it were to make this loss good to him in 
 legitimate ways. Also the fellow belonged to 
 leagues and armies and ' things,' quixotic some of 
 them, that tried to lift humanity. That is, he gave 
 of his spare time, as also of his spare money, to help. 
 His Saturday evenings, sometimes a whole bank 
 holiday, he devoted to the welfare of others, even 
 though the devotion Rogers thought misdirected. 
 
 For Minks hung upon the fringe of that very 
 modern, new-fashioned, but almost freakish army 
 that worships old, old ideals, yet insists upon new- 
 fangled names for them. Christ, doubtless, was his 
 model, but it must be a Christ properly and freshly 
 labelled ; his Christianity must somewhere include 
 the prefix ' neo,' and the word ' scientific ' must also 
 be dragged in if possible before he was satisfied. 
 Minks, indeed, took so long explaining to himself the 
 wonderful title that he was sometimes in danger of 
 forgetting the brilliant truths it so vulgarly con- 
 cealed. Yet never quite concealed. He must be 
 up-to-date, that was all. His attitude to the world 
 scraped acquaintance with nobility somewhere. His 
 gift was a rare one. Out of so little, he gave his 
 mite, and gave it simply, unaware that he was doing 
 anything unusual. 
 
 This attitude of mind had made him valuable, even 
 endeared him, to the successful business man, and 
 in his secret heart Rogers had once or twice felt 
 ashamed of himself. Minks, as it were, knew actual
 
 i 4 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND chap 
 
 achievement because he was, forcedly, content with 
 little, whereas he, Rogers, dreamed of so much, yet 
 took twenty years to come within reach of what he 
 dreamed. He was always waiting for the right 
 moment to begin. 
 
 His reflections were interrupted by the sunlight, 
 which, pouring in a flood across the opposite roof, 
 just then dropped a patch of soft April glory upon 
 the black and yellow check of his carpet slippers. 
 Rogers got up and, opening the window wider than 
 before, put out his head. The sunshine caught him 
 full in the face. He tasted the fresh morning air. 
 Tinged with the sharp sweetness of the north it had 
 a fragrance as of fields and gardens. Even St. 
 James's Street could not smother its vitality and 
 perfume. He drew it with delight into his lungs, 
 making such a to-do about it that a passer-by looked 
 up to see what was the matter, and noticing the hang- 
 ing tassel of a flamboyant dressing-gown, at once 
 modestly lowered his eyes again. 
 
 But Henry Rogers did not see the passer-by in 
 whose delicate mind a point of taste had thus van- 
 quished curiosity, for his thoughts had flown far 
 across the pale- blue sky, behind the cannon-ball 
 clouds, up into that scented space and distance where 
 summer was already winging her radiant way towards 
 the earth. Visions of June obscured his sight, and 
 something in the morning splendour brought back 
 his youth and boyhood. He saw a new world spread 
 about him — a world of sunlight, butterflies, and 
 flowers, of smooth soft lawns and shaded gravel 
 paths, and of children playing round a pond where 
 rushes whispered in a wind of long ago. He saw 
 hayfields, orchards, tea-things spread upon a bank of 
 flowers underneath a hedge, and a collie dog leaping
 
 n A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 15 
 
 and tumbling shoulder high among the standing 
 grass. ... It was all curiously vivid, and with a 
 sense of something about it unfading and delight- 
 fully eternal. It could never pass, for instance, 
 whereas. . . . 
 
 * Ain't yer forgotten the nightcap ? ' sang out a 
 shrill voice from below, as a boy with a basket on 
 his arm went down the street. He drew back from 
 the window, realising that he was a sight for all 
 admirers. Tossing the end of his cigarette in the 
 direction of the cheeky urchin, he settled himself 
 again in the arm-chair before the glowing grate-fire. 
 
 But the fresh world he had tasted came back with 
 him. For Henry Rogers stood this fine spring 
 morning upon the edge of a new life. A long 
 chapter had just closed behind him. He was on the 
 threshold of another. The time to begin had come. 
 And the thrill of his freedom now at hand was very 
 stimulating to his imagination. He was forty, and 
 a rich man. Twenty years of incessant and intelli- 
 gent labour had brought him worldly success. He 
 admitted he had been lucky, where so many toil on 
 and on till the gates of death stand up and block 
 their way, fortunate if they have earned a com- 
 petency through years where hope and disappoint- 
 ment wage their incessant weary battle. But he, for 
 some reason known only to the silent Fates, had 
 crested the difficult hill and now stood firm upon 
 the top to see the sunrise, the dreadful gates not 
 even yet in sight. At yesterday's Board meeting, 
 Minks had handed him the papers for his signature ; 
 the patents had been transferred to the new company ; 
 the cheque had been paid over ; and he was now a 
 gentleman of leisure with a handsome fortune lying 
 in his bank to await investment. He was a director
 
 1 6 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND chap. 
 
 in the parent, as well as the subsidiary companies, 
 with fees that in themselves alone were more than 
 sufficient for his simple needs. 
 
 For all his tastes were simple, and he had no expen- 
 sive hobbies or desires ; he preferred two rooms and 
 a bath to any house that he had ever seen ; pictures 
 he liked best in galleries ; horses he could hire with- 
 out the trouble of owning ; the f&w books worth 
 reading would go into a couple of shelves ; motors 
 afflicted, even confused him — he was old-fashioned 
 enough to love country and walk through it slowly 
 on two vigorous legs ; marriage had been put aside 
 with a searing disappointment years ago, not for- 
 gotten, but accepted ; and of travel he had enjoyed 
 enough to realise now that its pleasures could be 
 found reasonably near home and for very moderate 
 expenditure indeed. And the very idea of servants 
 was to him an affliction ; he loathed their prying 
 closeness to his intimate life and habits, destroying 
 the privacy he loved. Confirmed old bachelor his 
 friends might call him if they chose ; he knew what 
 he wanted. Now at last he had it. The ambition 
 of his life was within reach. 
 
 For, from boyhood up, a single big ambition had 
 ever thundered through his being — the desire to be 
 of use to others. To help his fellow-kind was to be 
 his profession and career. It had burned and glowed 
 in him ever since he could remember, and what first 
 revealed it in him was the sight — common enough, 
 alas — of a boy with one leg hobbling along on 
 crutches down the village street. Some deep power 
 in his youthful heart, akin to the wondrous sympathy 
 of women, had been touched. Like a shock of fire 
 it came home to him. He, too, might lose his 
 dearest possession thus, and be unable to climb trees,
 
 ii A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 17 
 
 jump ditches, risk his neck along the edge of the 
 haystack or the roof. ' That might happen to me too ! ' 
 was the terrible thing he realised, and had burst into 
 tears. . . . 
 
 Crutches at twelve ! And the family hungry, as 
 he later learned ! Something in the world was wrong ; 
 he thought every one had enough to eat, at least, and 
 only the old used crutches. ' The Poor was a sort 
 of composite wretch, half criminal, who deserved to 
 be dirty, suffering, punished ; but this boy belonged 
 to a family that worked and did its best. Something 
 in the world-machinery had surely broken loose and 
 caused violent disorder. For no one cared particu- 
 larly. The ' 'thorities,' he heard, looked after the 
 Poor — ' 'thorities in law,' as he used to call the 
 mysterious Person he never actually saw, stern, but 
 kindly in a grave impersonal way ; and asked once 
 if some relation-in-law or other, who was mentioned 
 often but never seen, had, therefore, anything to do 
 with the poor. 
 
 Dropping into his heart from who knows what 
 far, happy star, this passion had grown instead of 
 faded : to give himself for others, to help afflicted 
 folk, to make the world go round a little more easily. 
 And he had never forgotten the deep thrill with 
 which he heard his father tell him of some wealthy 
 man who during his lifetime had given away 
 a million pounds — anonymously. . . . His own 
 pocket-money just then was five shillings a week, 
 and his expectations just exactly — nothing. 
 
 But before his dreams could know accomplish- 
 ment, he must have means. To be of use to any- 
 body at all he must make himself effective. The 
 process must be reversed, for no man could fight 
 without weapons, and weapons were only to be had 
 
 c
 
 1 8 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND chap. 
 
 as the result of steady, concentrated effort — selfish 
 effort. A man must fashion himself before he can 
 be effective for others. Self-effacement, he learned, 
 was rather a futile virtue atter all. 
 
 As the years passed he saw his chances. He cut 
 short a promising University career and entered 
 business. His talents lay that way, as his friends 
 declared, and unquestionably he had a certain genius 
 for invention ; for, while scores of futile processes 
 he first discovered remained mere clever solutions of 
 interesting problems, he at length devised improve- 
 ments in the greater industries, and, patenting them 
 wisely, made his way to practical results. 
 
 But the process had been a dangerous one, and 
 during the long business experience the iron had 
 entered his soul, and he had witnessed at close 
 quarters the degrading influence of the lust of 
 acquisition. The self-advertising humbug of most 
 philanthropy had clouded something in him that he 
 felt could never again grow clear and limpid as before, 
 and a portion of his original zest had faded. For 
 the City hardly encouraged it. One bit of gilt after 
 another had been knocked off his brilliant dream, 
 one jet of flame upon another quenched. The 
 single eye that fills the body full of light was a thing 
 so rare that its possession woke suspicion. Even of 
 money generously given, so little reached its object ; 
 gaping pockets and grasping fingers everywhere lined 
 the way of safe delivery. It sickened him. So few, 
 moreover, were willing to give without acknowledg- 
 ment in at least one morning paper. ' Bring back the 
 receipt ' was the first maxim even of the office-boys ; 
 and between the right hand and the left of every one 
 were special ' private wires ' that flashed the news as 
 quickly as possible about the entire world.
 
 ii A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 19 
 
 Yet, while inevitable disillusion had dulled his 
 youthful dreams, its glory was never quite destroyed. 
 It still glowed within. At times, indeed, it ran into 
 flame, and knew something of its original splendour. 
 Women, in particular, had helped to keep it alive, 
 fanning its embers bravely. For many women, he 
 found, dreamed his own dream, and dreamed it far 
 more sweetly. They were closer to essential realities 
 than men were. While men bothered with fuss and 
 fury about empires, tariffs, street-cars, and marvellous 
 engines for destroying one another, women, keeping 
 close to the sources of life, knew, like children, more 
 of its sweet, mysterious secrets — the things of value 
 no one yet has ever put completely into words. He 
 wondered, a little sadly, to see them battling now to 
 scuffle with the men in managing the gross machinery, 
 cleaning the pens and regulating ink-pots. Did they 
 really think that by helping to decide whether rates 
 should rise or fall, or how many buttons a factory- 
 inspector should wear upon his uniform, they more 
 nobly helped the world go round ? Did they never 
 pause to reflect who would fill the places they thus 
 vacated ? With something like melancholy he saw 
 them stepping down from their thrones of high 
 authority, for it seemed to him a prostitution of 
 their sweet prerogatives that damaged the entire 
 sex. 
 
 'Old-fashioned bachelor, no doubt, I am,' he 
 smiled quietly to himself, coming back to the first 
 reflection whence his thoughts had travelled so far — 
 the reflection, namely, that now at last he possessed 
 the freedom he had longed and toiled for. 
 
 And then he paused and looked about him, con- 
 fronted with a difficulty. To him it seemed unusual, 
 but really it was very common.
 
 2o A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND chap. 
 
 For, having it, he knew not at first what use to 
 make of it. This dawned upon him suddenly when 
 the sunlight splashed his tawdry slippers with its 
 gold. The movement to the open window was really 
 instinctive beginning of a search, as though in the 
 free, wonderful spaces out of doors he would find the 
 thing he sought to do. Now, settled back in the 
 deep arm-chair, he realised that he had not found it. 
 The memories of childhood had flashed into him 
 instead. He renewed the search before the dying 
 fire, waiting for the sound of Minks' ascending foot- 
 steps on the stairs. . . . 
 
 And this revival of the childhood mood was 
 curious, he felt, almost significant, for it was sym- 
 bolical of so much that he had deliberately, yet with 
 difficulty, suppressed and put aside. During these 
 years of concentrated toil for money, his strong will 
 had neglected of set purpose the call of a robust 
 imagination. He had stifled poetry just as he had 
 stifled play. Yet really that imagination had merely 
 gone into other channels — scientific invention. It 
 was a higher form, married at least with action that 
 produced poetry in steel and stone instead of in 
 verse. Invention has ever imagination and poetry 
 at its heart. 
 
 The acquirement of wealth demanded his entire 
 strength, and all lighter considerations he had con- 
 sistently refused to recognise, until he thought them 
 dead. This sudden flaming mood rushed up and 
 showed him otherwise. He reflected on it, but 
 clumsily, as with a mind too long trained in the rigid 
 values of stocks and shares, buying and selling, hard 
 figures that knew not elasticity. This softer subject 
 led him to no conclusion, leaving him stranded 
 among misty woods and fields of flowers that had no
 
 ii A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 21 
 
 outlet. He realised, however, clearly that this 
 side of him was not atrophied as he thought. 
 Its unused powers had merely been accumulating — 
 underground. 
 
 He got no further than that just now. He poked 
 the fire and lit another cigarette. Then, glancing 
 idly at the paper, his eye fell upon the list of births, 
 and by merest chance picked out the name of Cray- 
 field. Some nonentity had been ' safely delivered of 
 a son ' at Crayfield, the village where he had passed 
 his youth and childhood. He saw the Manor House 
 where he was born, the bars across the night-nursery 
 windows, the cedars on the lawn, the haystacks just 
 beyond the stables, and the fields where the rabbits 
 sometimes fell asleep as they sat after enormous meals 
 too stuffed to move. He saw the old gravel-pit that 
 led, the gardener told him, to the centre of the earth. 
 A whiff of perfume from the laurustinus in the drive 
 came back, the scent of hay, and with it the sound 
 of the mowing-machine going over the lawn. He 
 saw the pony in loose flat leather shoes. The bees 
 were humming in the lime trees. The rooks were 
 cawing. A blackbird whistled from the shrubberies 
 where he once passed an entire day in hiding, after 
 emptying an ink-bottle down the German governess's 
 dress. He heard the old family butler in his wheezy 
 voice calling in vain for ' Mr. 'Enery ' to come in. 
 The tone was respectful, seductive as the man could 
 make it, yet reproachful. He remembered throwing 
 a little stone that caught him just where the Newgate 
 fringe met the black collar of his coat, so that his 
 cry of delight betrayed his hiding-place. The 
 whacking that followed he remembered too, and how 
 his brother emerged suddenly from behind the curtain 
 with, 'Father, may I have it instead of Henry, please ?'
 
 22 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND chap 
 
 That spontaneous offer of sacrifice, of willingness to 
 suffer for another, had remained in his mind for a 
 long time as a fiery, incomprehensible picture. 
 
 More dimly, then, somewhere in mist behind, he 
 saw other figures moving — the Dustman and the 
 Lamplighter, the Demon Chimneysweep in black, 
 the Woman of the Haystack — outposts and sentries 
 of a larger fascinating host that gathered waiting in 
 the shadows just beyond. The creations of his boy's 
 imagination swarmed up from their temporary graves, 
 and made him smile and wonder. After twenty 
 years of strenuous business life, how pale and thin 
 they seemed. Yet at the same time how extra- 
 ordinarily alive and active ! He saw, too, the huge 
 Net of Stars he once had made to catch them with 
 from that night-nursery window, fastened by long 
 golden nails made out of meteors to the tops of the 
 cedars. . . . There had been, too, a train — the 
 Starlight Express. It almost seemed as if they knew, 
 too, that a new chapter had begun, and that they called 
 him to come back and play again. . . . 
 
 Then, with a violent jump, his thoughts flew to 
 other things, and he considered one by one the 
 various philanthropic schemes he had cherished 
 against the day when he could realise them. That day 
 had come. But the schemes seemed one and all wild 
 now, impracticable, already accomplished by others 
 better than he could hope to accomplish them, and 
 none of them fulfilling the first essential his practical 
 mind demanded — knowing his money spent precisely 
 as he wished. Dreams, long cherished, seemed to 
 collapse one by one before him just when he at 
 last came up with them. He thought of the woman 
 who was to have helped him, now married to another 
 who had money without working for it. He put the
 
 „ A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 23 
 
 thought back firmly in its place. He knew now a 
 greater love than that — the love for many. . . . 
 
 He was embarking upon other novel schemes 
 when there was a ring at the bell, and the charwoman, 
 who passed with him for servant, ushered in his 
 private secretary, Mr. Minks. Quickly readjusting 
 the machinery of his mind, Rogers came back to the 
 present. 
 
 ' Good morning, Mr. Rogers. I trust I am 
 punctual.' 
 
 ' Good morning, Minks ; yes, on the stroke of 
 ten. We've got a busy day. Let's see now. How 
 are you, by the by ? ' he added, as an afterthought, 
 catching first one eye, then the other, and looking 
 finally between the two. 
 
 ' Very well, indeed, thank you, Mr. Rogers.' He 
 was dressed in a black tail-coat, with a green tie 
 neatly knotted into a spotless turn-down collar. He 
 glanced round him for a chair, one hand already in 
 his pocket for the note-book. 
 
 ' Good,' said Rogers, indicating where he might 
 seat himself, and reaching for the heap of letters. 
 
 The other sighed a little and began to look 
 expectant and receptive. 
 
 ' If I might give you this first, please, Mr. Rogers,' 
 he said, suddenly pretending to remember something 
 in his breast-pocket and handing across the table, 
 with a slight flush upon his cheeks, a long, narrow, 
 mauve envelope with a flourishing address. ' It was 
 a red-letter day for Mrs. Minks when I told her of 
 your kindness. She wished to thank you in person, 
 but — I thought a note — I knew,' he stammered, 
 ' you would prefer a letter. It is a tremendous help 
 to both of us, if I may say so again.' 
 
 ' Yes, yes, quite so,' said Rogers, quickly ; ' and
 
 24 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND chap. 
 
 I'm glad to be of service to the lad. You must let 
 me know from time to time how he's getting on.' 
 
 Minks subsided, flattening out his oblong note- 
 book and examining the points of his pencil sharpened 
 at both ends as though the fate of Empires depended 
 on it. They attacked the pile of correspondence 
 heartily, while the sun, watching them through the 
 open window, danced gorgeously upon the walls and 
 secretly put the fire out. 
 
 In this way several hours passed, for besides 
 letters to be dictated, there were careful instruc- 
 tions to be given about many things. Minks 
 was kept very busy. He was now not merely 
 shorthand clerk, and he had to be initiated into the 
 inner history of various enterprises in which his chief 
 was interested. All Mr. Rogers's London interests, 
 indeed, were to be in his charge, and, obviously aware 
 of this, he bore himself proudly with an air of im- 
 portance that had no connection with a common office. 
 To watch him, you would never have dreamed that 
 Herbert Minks had ever contemplated City life, 
 much less known ten years of drudgery in its least 
 poetic stages. For him, too, as for his employer, a 
 new chapter of existence had begun — c commenced ' 
 he would have phrased it — and, as confidential adviser 
 to a man of fortune whose character he admired 
 almost to the point of worship, he was now a person 
 whose importance it was right the world should 
 recognise. And he meant the world to take this 
 attitude without delay. He dressed accordingly, 
 knowing that of every ten people nine judge value 
 from clothes, and hat, and boots — especially boots. 
 His patent leather, buttoned boots were dazzling, 
 with upper parts of soft grey leather. And his 
 shiny * topper ' wore a band of black. Minks, so
 
 ii A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 25 
 
 far as he knew, was not actually in mourning, but 
 somebody for whom he ought to be in mourning 
 might die any day, and meanwhile, he felt, the band 
 conveyed distinction. It suited a man of letters. It 
 also protected the hat. 
 
 1 Thank'ee,' said his chief as luncheon time drew 
 near ; ' and now, if you'll get those letters typed, 
 you might leave 'em here for me on your way home 
 to sign. That's all we have to-day, isn't it ? ' 
 
 'You wanted, I think, to draft your Scheme for 
 
 Disabled ' began the secretary, when the other 
 
 cut him short. 
 
 * Yes, yes, but that must wait. I haven't got it 
 clear yet in my own mind. You might think it out 
 a bit yourself, perhaps, meanwhile, and give me 
 your ideas, eh ? Look up what others have done in 
 the same line, for instance, and tell me where they 
 failed. What the weakness of their schemes was, 
 you know — and — er — so forth.' 
 
 A faint smile, that held the merest ghost of 
 merriment, passed across the face of Minks, leaping, 
 unobserved by his chief, from one eye to the other. 
 There was pity and admiration in it ; a hint of 
 pathos visited those wayward lips. For the suggestion 
 revealed the weakness the secretary had long ago 
 divined — that the practical root of the matter did 
 not really lie in him at all, and Henry Rogers for- 
 ever dreamed of ' Schemes ' he was utterly unable 
 and unsuited to carry out. Improvements in a silk 
 machine was one thing, but improvements in humanity 
 was another. Like the poetry in his soul they could 
 never know fulfilment. He had inspiration, but no 
 constructive talent. For the thousandth time Minks 
 wondered, glancing at his employer's face, how such 
 calm and gentle features, such dreamy eyes and a
 
 26 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND chap. 
 
 Vandyke beard so neatly trimmed, could go with 
 ambitions so lofty and so unusual. This sentence he 
 had heard before, and was destined often to hear 
 again, while achievement came no nearer. 
 
 ' I will do so at the first opportunity.' He put 
 the oblong note-book carefully in his pocket, and 
 stood by the table in an attitude of ' any further 
 instructions, please ? ' while one eye wandered to the 
 unopened letter that was signed ' Albinia Minks, 
 with heartfelt gratitude.' 
 
 ' And, by the by, Minks,' said his master, turning 
 as though a new idea had suddenly struck him and 
 he had formed a hasty plan, ' you might kindly look 
 up an afternoon train to Crayfield. Loop line from 
 Charing Cross, you know. Somewhere about two 
 o'clock or so. I have to — er — I think I'll run down 
 that way after luncheon.' 
 
 Whereupon, having done this last commission, 
 and written it down upon a sheet of paper which he 
 placed with care against the clock, beside the unopened 
 letter, the session closed, and Minks, in his mourning 
 hat and lavender gloves, walked up St. James's 
 Street apparently en route for the Ritz, but suddenly, 
 as with careless unconsciousness, turning into an 
 A.B.C. Depot for luncheon, well pleased with himself 
 and with the world, but especially with his considerate 
 employer. 
 
 Ten minutes later Mr. Rogers followed him on 
 his way to the club, and just when Minks was re- 
 flecting with pride of the well-turned phrases he had 
 dictated to his wife for her letter of thanks, it passed 
 across the mind of its recipient that he had forgotten 
 to read it altogether. And, truth to tell, he never 
 yet has read it ; for, returning late that evening from 
 his sentimental journey down to Crayfield, it stood
 
 n A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 27 
 
 no longer where he had left it beside the clock, and 
 nothing occurred to remind him of its existence. 
 Apart from its joint composers, no one can ever 
 know its contents but the charwoman, who, noticing 
 the feminine writing, took it back to Lambeth 
 and pored over it with a candle for full half an 
 hour, greatly disappointed. ' Things like that,' she 
 grumbled to her husband, whose appearance suggested 
 that he went for bigger game, ' ain't worth the trouble 
 of taking at all, whichever way you looks at it.' 
 And probably she was right.
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 And what if All of animated nature 
 
 Be but as Instruments diversely framed 
 
 That tremble into thought, as o'er them sweeps 
 
 One infinite and intellectual Breeze, 
 
 At once the Soul of each, and God of all ? 
 
 The Mollan Harp, S. T. Coleridge. 
 
 In the train, even before St. John's was passed, a 
 touch of inevitable reaction had set in, and Rogers 
 asked himself why he was going. For a sentimental 
 journey was hardly in his line, it seemed. But no 
 satisfactory answer was forthcoming — none, at least, 
 that a Board or a Shareholders' Meeting would have 
 considered satisfactory. 
 
 There was an answer in him somewhere, but he 
 couldn't quite get down to it. The spring glory had 
 enticed him back to childhood. The journey was 
 symbolical of escape. That was the truth. But the 
 part of him that knew it had lain so long in abeyance 
 that only a whisper flitted across his mind as he sat 
 looking out of the carriage window at the fields 
 round Lee and Eltham. The landscape seemed 
 hauntinglv familiar, but what surprised him was the 
 number of known faces that rose and smiled at him. 
 A kind of dream confusion blurred his outer sight. 
 
 At Bexley, as he hurried past, he caught dimly a 
 glimpse of an old nurse whom he remembered trying 
 to break into bits with a hop-pole he could barely 
 
 28
 
 ch.hi A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 29 
 
 lift ; and, most singular thing, on the Sidcup platform, 
 a group of noisy schoolboys, with smudged faces and 
 ridiculously small caps stuck on the back of their 
 heads, had scrambled viciously to get into his com- 
 partment. They carried brown canvas satchels full 
 of crumpled books and papers, and though the names 
 had mostly escaped him, he remembered every single 
 face. There was Barlow — big, bony chap who 
 stammered, bringing his words out with a kind of 
 whistling sneeze. Barlow had given him his first 
 thrashing for copying his stammer. There was 
 young Watson, who funked at football and sneaked 
 to a master about a midnight supper. He stole 
 pocket-money, too, and was expelled. Then he 
 caught a glimpse of another fellow with sly face and 
 laughing eyes ; the name had vanished, but he was 
 the boy who put jalap in the music-master's coffee, 
 and received a penny from five or six others who 
 thus escaped a lesson. All waved their hands to 
 him as the train hurried away, and the last thing he 
 saw was the station lamp where he had lit the 
 cigar that made three of them, himself included, 
 deadly sick. Familiar woods and a little blue-eyed 
 stream then hid the vision . . . and a moment later 
 he was standing on the platform of his childhood's 
 station, giving up his first - class ticket (secretly 
 ashamed that it was not third) to a station-master- 
 ticket -collector person who simply was not real 
 at all. 
 
 For he had no beard. He was small, too, and 
 insignificant. The way he had dwindled, with the 
 enormous station that used to be a mile or so in 
 length, was severely disappointing. That Station- 
 master with the beard ought to have lived for ever. 
 His niche in the Temple of Fame was sure. One
 
 30 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND chap. 
 
 evening he had called in Full uniform at the house 
 and asked to see Master Henry Rogers, the boy 
 who had got out ' while-the-train-was-still-in- 
 motion,' and had lectured him gravely with a 
 face like death. Never again had he left a train 
 ' whilestillinmotion,' though it was years before he 
 discovered how his father had engineered that awful, 
 salutary visit. 
 
 He asked casually, in a voice that hardly seemed 
 his own, about the service back to town, and received 
 the answer with a kind of wonder. It was so respect- 
 ful. The porters had not found him out yet ; but 
 the moment they did so, he would have to run. He 
 did not run, however. He walked slowly down the 
 Station Road, swinging the silver-knobbed cane the 
 office clerks had given him when he left the City. 
 Leisurely, without a touch of fear, he passed the 
 Water Works, where the huge iron crank of the 
 shaft rose and fell with ominous thunder against 
 the sky. It had once been part of that awful hidden 
 Engine which moved the world. To go near it was 
 instant death, and he always crossed the road to 
 avoid it ; but this afternoon he went down the cinder 
 pathway so close that he could touch it with his 
 stick. It was incredible that so terrible a thing could 
 dwindle in a few years to the dimensions of a motor 
 piston. The crank that moved up and down 
 like a bending, gigantic knee looked almost flimsy 
 now. . . . 
 
 Then the village street came into view and he 
 suddenly smelt the fields and gardens that topped 
 the hill beyond. The world turned gold and amber, 
 shining beneath a turquoise sky. There was a rush 
 of flaming sunsets, one upon another, followed by 
 great green moons, and hosts of stars that came
 
 in A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 31 
 
 twinkling across barred windows to his very bedside . . . 
 that grand old Net of Stars he made so cunningly. 
 Cornhill and Lombard Street flashed back upon him 
 for a second, then dived away and hid their faces for 
 ever, as he passed the low grey wall beside the 
 church where first he had seen the lame boy hobbling, 
 and had realised that the whole world suffered. 
 
 A moment he stood here, thinking. He heard 
 the wind sighing in the yew trees beside the dark 
 brown porch. Rooks were cawing among the elms 
 across the churchyard, and pigeons wheeled and 
 fluttered about the grey square tower. The wind, 
 the tower, the weather-stained old porch — these had 
 not changed. This sunshine and this turquoise sky 
 were still the same. 
 
 The village stopped at the churchyard — significant 
 boundary. No single building ventured farther ; the 
 houses ran the other way instead, pouring down the 
 steep hill in a cataract of bricks and roofs towards 
 the station. The hill, once topped, and the church- 
 yard left behind, he entered the world of fields and 
 little copses. It was just like going through a gate- 
 way. It was a Gateway. The road sloped gently 
 down for half-a-mile towards the pair of big iron 
 gates that barred the drive up to the square grey 
 house upon whose lawns he once had chased butter- 
 flies, but from whose upper windows he once had 
 netted — stars. 
 
 The spell came over him very strongly then as he 
 went slowly down that road. The altered scale of 
 distance confused him ; the road had telescoped 
 absurdly ; the hayfields were so small. At the 
 turn lay the pond with yellow duckweed and a bent 
 iron railing that divided it to keep the cows from 
 crossing. Formerly, of course, that railing had been
 
 32 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND chap, 
 
 put to prevent children drowning in its bottomless 
 depths ; all ponds had been bottomless then, and the 
 weeds had spread to entice the children to a watery 
 death. But now he could have jumped across it, 
 weed and railing too, without a run, and he looked in 
 vain for the shores that once had been so seductively 
 far away. They were mere dirty, muddy edges. 
 
 This general shrinkage in space was very curious. 
 But a similar contraction, he realised, had taken place 
 in time as well, for, looking back upon his forty 
 years, they seemed such a little thing compared to 
 the enormous stretch they offered when he had stood 
 beside this very pond and looked ahead. He 
 wondered vaguely which was the reality and which 
 the dream. But his effort was not particularly suc- 
 cessful, and he came to no conclusion. Those years 
 of strenuous business life were like a few weeks, yet 
 their golden results were in his pockets. Those 
 years of childhood had condensed into a jumble of 
 sunny hours, yet their golden harvest was equally in 
 his heart. Time and space were mere bits of elastic 
 that could stretch or shrink as thought directed, 
 feeling chose. And now both thought and feeling 
 chose emphatically. He stepped back swiftly. His 
 mind seemed filled with stars and butterflies and 
 childhood's figures of wonder. Childhood took him 
 prisoner. 
 
 It was curious at first, though, how the acquired 
 nature made a struggle to assert itself, and the 
 practical side of him, developed in the busy markets 
 of the world, protested. It was automatic rather, 
 and at best not very persistent ; it soon died away. 
 But, seeing the gravel everywhere, he wondered if 
 there might not be valuable clay about, what labour 
 cost, and what the nearest stations were for haulage ;
 
 „i A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 33 
 
 and, seeing the hop-poles, he caught himself specu- 
 lating what wood they were made of, and what 
 varnish would best prevent their buried points from 
 going rotten in this particular soil. There was a 
 surge of practical considerations, but quickly fading. 
 The last one was stirred by the dust of a leisurely 
 butcher's cart. He had visions of a paste for motor- 
 roads, or something to lay dust . . . but, before the 
 dust had settled again through the sunshine about 
 his feet, or the rumble of the cart died away into 
 distance, the thought vanished like a nightmare in 
 the dawn. It ran away over the switchback of the 
 years, uphill to Midsummer, downhill to Christmas, 
 jumping a ditch at Easter, and a hedge at that terrible 
 thing known as ' 'Clipse of the Moon.' The leaves 
 of the elm trees whispered overhead. He was 
 moving through an avenue that led towards big 
 iron gates beside a little porter's lodge. He saw the 
 hollies, and smelt the laurustinus. There lay the 
 triangle of uncut grass at the cross-roads, the long, 
 grey, wooden palings built upon moss-grown bricks ; 
 and against the sky he just caught a glimpse of the 
 feathery, velvet cedar crests, crests that once held 
 nails of golden meteors for his Net of Stars. 
 
 Determined to enjoy his cake and eat it at the 
 same time as long as possible, he walked down the 
 road a little distance, eyeing the lawns and windows 
 of the house through narrow gaps between the board- 
 ing of the fence. He prolonged the pleasures of 
 anticipation thus, and, besides, he wished to see if the 
 place was occupied or empty. It looked unkempt 
 rather, the gardens somewhat neglected, and yet 
 there hung an air of occupancy about it all. He had 
 heard the house had changed hands several times. 
 But it was difficult to see clearly ; the sunshine 
 
 D
 
 34 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND chap. 
 
 dazzled ; the lilac and laburnum scattered sheets of 
 colour through which the shadows wove themselves 
 an obscuring veil. He kept seeing butterflies and 
 chasing them with his sight. 
 
 ' Can you tell me if this house is occupied ? ' he 
 asked abruptly of an old gentleman who coughed 
 suddenly behind him. 
 
 It was an explanation as well as a question, for 
 the passer-by had surprised him in a remarkable 
 attitude. He was standing on tiptoe upon the 
 parapet of brick, pulling himself up above the fence 
 by his hands, and his hat had fallen into the road. 
 
 ' The shrubberies are so dense I can't see through 
 them,' he added, landing upon his feet with a jump, 
 a little breathless. He felt rather foolish. He was 
 glad the stranger was not Minks or one of his fellow 
 directors. ' The fact is I lived here as a boy. I'm 
 not a burglar.' 
 
 But the old gentleman — a clergyman apparently — 
 stood there smiling without a word as he handed him 
 the fallen hat. He was staring rather intently into 
 his eyes. 
 
 1 Ahem ! ' coughed Mr. Rogers, to fill an awkward 
 gap. ' You're very kind, sir,' and he took the hat 
 and brushed the dust off. Something brushed off 
 his sight and memory at the same time. 
 
 ' Ahem ' coughed the other, still staring. ' Please 
 
 do not mention it ' adding after a second's pause, 
 
 to the complete amazement of his listener, ' Mr. 
 Rogers.' 
 
 And then it dawned upon him. Something in 
 the charming, peace-lit face was strangely familiar. 
 
 ' I say,' he exclaimed eagerly, ' this is a pleasure,' 
 and then repeated with even greater emphasis, ' but 
 this is a pleasure, indeed. Who ever would have
 
 in A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 35 
 
 thought it?' he added with delicious ambiguity. 
 He seized the outstretched hand and shook it 
 warmly — the hand of the old vicar who had once 
 been his tutor too. 
 
 ' You've come back to your boyhood, then. Is 
 that it ? And to see the old place and — your old 
 friends ? ' asked the other with his beautiful, kindly 
 smile that even false quantities had never been able 
 to spoil. ' We've not forgotten you as you've for- 
 gotten us, you see,' he added ; ' and the place, though 
 empty now for years, has not forgotten you either, 
 I'll be bound.' 
 
 They stood there in the sunshine on the dusty 
 road talking of a hundred half-forgotten things, as 
 the haze of memory lifted, and scenes and pictures, 
 names and faces, details of fun and mischief rained 
 upon him like flowers in a sudden wind of spring. 
 The voice and face of his old tutor bridged the years 
 like magic. Time had stood still here in this fair 
 Kentish garden. The little man in black who came 
 every Saturday morning with his dingy bag had for- 
 gotten to wind the clocks, perhaps. . . . 
 
 ' But you will like to go inside and see it all for 
 yourself — alone,' the Vicar said at length. ' My 
 housekeeper has the keys. I'll send a boy with them 
 to the lodge. It won't take five minutes. And then 
 you must come up to the Vicarage for tea — or dinner 
 if you're kept — and stay the night. My married 
 daughter — you remember Joan and May, of course ? 
 — is with us just now ; she'll be so very glad to see 
 you. You know the way.' 
 
 And he moved off down the country road, still 
 vigorous at seventy, with his black straw hat and big 
 square-toed boots, his shoulders hardly more bent 
 than when his mischievous pupil had called every
 
 36 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND chap 
 
 morning with Vero-il and Todhunter underneath one 
 arm, and in his heart a lust to hurry after sleepy 
 rabbits in the field. 
 
 ' My married daughter — you remember May ? ' 
 
 The blue-eyed girl of his boyhood passion flitted 
 beside his disappearing figure. He remembered the 
 last time he saw her — refusing to help her from a 
 place of danger in the cedar branches — when he put 
 his love into a single eloquent phrase : ' You silly 
 ass ! ' then cast her adrift for ever because she said 
 ' Thanks awfully,' and gave him a great wet kiss. 
 But he thought a lot of her all the same, and the 
 thoughts had continued until the uproar in the City 
 drowned them. 
 
 Thoughts crowded thick and fast. 
 
 How vital thinking was after all ! Nothing 
 seemed able to kill its eternal pictures. The co- 
 incidence of meeting his old tutor again was like 
 a story-book, though in reality likely enough ; for 
 his own face was not so greatly altered by the close 
 brown beard perhaps ; and the Vicar had grown 
 smaller, that was all. Like everything else, he had 
 shrunk, of course — like road and station-master and 
 water-works. He had almost said, ' You, too, have 
 shrunk ' — but otherwise was the same old fluffy 
 personality that no doubt still got sadly muddled 
 in his sermons, gave out wrong hymns, and spent 
 his entire worldly substance on his scattered parish. 
 His voice was softer too. It rang in his ears still, 
 as though there had been no break of over two 
 decades. The hum of bees and scythes was in it 
 just as when it came through the open study 
 window while he construed the Georgics. . . . But, 
 most clearly of all, he heard two sentences — 
 
 * You have come back to your boyhood,' and
 
 in A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 37 
 
 'The empty place has not forgotten you, I'll be 
 bound.' Both seemed significant. They hummed 
 and murmured through his mind. That old net 
 of starlight somehow caught them in its golden 
 meshes.
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 A Spirit gripped him by the hair and carried him far away, 
 
 Till he heard as the roar of a rain-fed ford the roar of the Milky Way : 
 
 Till he heard the roar of the Milky Way die down and drone and cease. 
 
 Tomlinson, R. Kipling. 
 
 The boy presently came up in a cloud of dust with 
 the key, and ran off again with a shilling in his 
 pocket, while Henry Rogers, budding philanthropist 
 and re-awakening dreamer, went down the hill of 
 memories at high speed that a doctor would have 
 said was dangerous, a philosopher morbid, and the 
 City decreed unanimously as waste of time. 
 
 He went over the house from cellar to ceiling. . . 
 
 And finally he passed through a back door in the 
 scullery and came out upon the lawn. With a shock 
 he realised that a long time had intervened. The 
 dusk was falling. The rustle of its wings was 
 already in the shrubberies. He had missed the tea 
 hour altogether. And, as he walked there, so softly 
 that he hardly disturbed the thrushes that busily 
 tapped the dewy grass for supper, he knew suddenly 
 that he was not alone, but that shadowy figures hid 
 everywhere, watching, waiting, wondering like him- 
 self. They trooped after him, invisible and silent, 
 as he went about the old familiar garden, finding 
 nothing changed. They were so real that once he 
 stopped beneath the lime trees, where afternoon tea 
 was served in summer, and where the Long Walk 
 
 38
 
 ch. iv A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 39 
 
 began its haunted, shadowy existence — stood still a 
 moment and called to them — 
 
 ' Is any one there ? Come out and show your- 
 selves. . . . ! ' 
 
 And though his voice fell dead among the 
 foliage, winning echoes from spots whence no 
 echoes possibly could come, and rushing back upon 
 him like a boomerang, he got the curious impression 
 that it had penetrated into certain corners of the 
 shrubberies where it had been heard and understood. 
 Answers did not come. They were no more audible 
 than the tapping of the thrushes, or the little feet of 
 darkness that ran towards him from the eastern sky. 
 But they were there. The troop of Presences drew 
 closer. They had been creeping on all fours. They 
 now stood up. The entire garden was inhabited and 
 alive. 
 
 * He has come back ! ' 
 
 It ran in a muted whisper like a hush of wind. 
 The thrill of it passed across the lawn in the dusk. 
 The dark tunnel of the Long Walk filled suddenly 
 to the brim. The thrushes raised their heads, peep- 
 ing sideways to listen, on their guard. Then the 
 leaves opened a little and the troop ventured nearer. 
 The doors and windows of the silent, staring house 
 had also opened. From the high nursery windows 
 especially, queer shapes of shadow flitted down to 
 join the others. For the sun was far away behind 
 the cedars now, and that Net of Starlight dropped 
 downwards through the air. So carefully had 
 he woven it years ago that hardly a mesh was 
 torn. . . . 
 
 ' He has coyne back again . . . / ' the whisper ran 
 a second time, and he looked about him for a place 
 where he could hide.
 
 4 o A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND chap. 
 
 But there was no place. Escape from the golden 
 net was now impossible. . . . 
 
 Then suddenly, looming against the field that held 
 the Gravel-Pit and the sleeping rabbits, he saw the 
 outline of the Third Class Railway Carriage his father 
 bought as a Christmas present, still standing on the 
 stone supports that were borrowed from a haystack. 
 
 That Railway Carriage had filled whole years with 
 joy and wonder. They had called it the Starlight 
 Express. It had four doors, real lamps in the roof, 
 windows that opened and shut, and big round buffers. 
 It started without warning. It went at full speed in 
 a moment. It was never really still. The foot- 
 boards were endless and very dangerous. 
 
 He saw the carriage with its four compartments 
 still standing there in the hayfield. It looked mys- 
 terious, old, and enormous as ever. There it still 
 stood as in his boyhood days, but stood neglected 
 and unused. 
 
 The memory of the thrilling journeys he had 
 made in this Starlight Express completed his re- 
 capture, for he knew now who the troop of Presences 
 all about him really were. The passengers, still 
 waiting after twenty years' delay, thinking perhaps 
 the train would never start again, were now im- 
 patient. They had caught their engine-driver again 
 at last. Steam was up. Already the blackbirds 
 whistled. And something utterly wild and reckless 
 in him passionately broke its bonds with a flood of 
 longings that no amount of years or ' Cities ' could 
 ever subdue again. He stepped out from the dozing 
 lime trees and held his hat up like a flag. 
 
 ' Take your seats,' he cried as of old, ' for the 
 Starlight Express. Take your seats ! No luggage 
 allowed ! Animals free ! Passengers with special
 
 iv A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAxND 41 
 
 tickets may drive the engine in their turn ! First 
 stop the Milky Way for hot refreshments ! Take 
 your seats, or stay at home for ever ! ' 
 
 It was the old cry, still remembered accurately ; 
 and the response was immediate. The rush of 
 travellers from the Long Walk nearly took him 
 off his feet. From the house came streams of 
 silent figures, families from the shrubberies, tourists 
 from the laurels by the scullery windows, and throngs 
 of breathless oddities from the kitchen-garden. The 
 lawn was littered with discarded luggage ; umbrellas 
 dropped on flower-beds, where they instantly took 
 root and grew ; animals ran scuttling among them — 
 birds, ponies, dogs, kittens, donkeys, and white mice 
 in trailing swarms. There was not a minute to spare. 
 One big Newfoundland brought several Persian kittens 
 on his back, their tails behind them in the air like 
 signals ; a dignified black retriever held a baby in his 
 mouth ; and fat children by the score, with unfastened 
 clothes and smudged faces, many of them in their night- 
 clothes, poured along in hurrying, silent crowds, softer 
 than clouds that hide a crescent moon in summer. 
 
 1 But this is impossible,' he cried to himself. ' The 
 multiplication tables have gone wrong. The City has 
 driven me mad. No shareholder would stand such 
 a thing for a minute ! ' 
 
 While, at the same time, that other voice in him 
 kept shouting, ever more loudly — 
 
 ' Take your seats ! Take your seats ! The Star- 
 light Express is off to Fairyland ! Show your tickets ! 
 Show your tickets ! ' 
 
 He laughed with happiness. 
 
 The throng and rush were at first so great that 
 he recognised hardly any of the passengers ; but, the 
 first press over, he saw several bringing up the rear
 
 42 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND chap. 
 
 who were as familiar as of yesterday. They nodded 
 kindly to him as they passed, no sign of reproach 
 for the long delay in their friendly eyes. He had 
 left his place beside the lime trees, and now stood 
 at the carriage door, taking careful note of each 
 one as he showed his ticket to the Guard. And 
 the Guard was the blue-eyed girl. She did not 
 clip the tickets, but merely looked at them. She 
 looked, first at the ticket, then into the face of the 
 passenger. The glance of the blue eyes was the 
 passport. Of course, he remembered now — both 
 guard and engine-driver were obliged to have blue 
 eyes. Blue eyes furnished the motor-power and 
 scenery and everything. It was the spell that 
 managed the whole business — the Spell of the Big 
 Blue eyes — blue, the colour of youth and distance, 
 of sky and summer flowers, of childhood. 
 
 He watched these last passengers come up one 
 by one, and as they filed past him he exchanged a 
 word with each. How pleased they were to see 
 him ! But how ashamed he felt for having been 
 so long away. Not one, however, reminded him of 
 it, and — what touched him most of all — not one 
 suspected he had nearly gone for good. All knew 
 he would come back. 
 
 What looked like a rag-and-bone man blundered 
 up first, his face a perfect tangle of beard and hair, 
 and the eyebrows like bits of tow stuck on with 
 sealing-wax. It was The Tramp — Traveller of the 
 World, the Eternal Wanderer, homeless as the 
 wind ; his vivid personality had haunted all the 
 lanes of childhood. And, as Rogers nodded kindly 
 to him, the figure waited for something more. 
 
 1 Ain't forgot the rhyme, 'ave yer ? ' he asked in 
 a husky voice that seemed to issue from the ground
 
 iv A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 43 
 
 beneath his broken boots. ' The rhyme we used to 
 sing together in the Noight-Nursery when I put my 
 faice agin' the bars, after climbin' along 'arf a mile 
 of slippery slaites to git there.' 
 
 And Rogers, smiling, found himself saying it, 
 while the pretty Guard fixed her blue eyes on his 
 face and waited patiently : — 
 
 I travel far and wide, 
 But in my own inside ! 
 
 Such places 
 
 And queer races ! 
 I never go to them, you see, 
 Because they always come to me ! 
 
 'Take your seat, please,' cried the Guard. 'No 
 luggage, you know ! ' She pushed him in sideways, 
 first making him drop his dirty bundle. 
 
 With a quick, light step a very thin man hurried 
 up. He had no luggage, but carried on his shoulder 
 a long stick with a point of gold at its tip. 
 
 1 Light the lamps,' said the Guard impatiently, 
 * and then sit on the back buffers and hold your pole 
 out to warn the shooting stars.' 
 
 He hopped in, though not before Rogers had 
 passed the time of night with him first : — 
 
 I stand behind the sky, and light the stars, — - 
 Except on cloudy nights ; 
 And then my head 
 Remains in bed, 
 And takes along the ceiling — easier flights ! 
 
 Others followed quickly then, too quickly for com- 
 plete recognition. Besides, the Guard was getting 
 more and more impatient. 
 
 ' You've clean forgotten me] said one who had an 
 awful air of darkness about him ; * and no wonder,
 
 44 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND chap. 
 
 because you never saw me properly. On Sundays, 
 when I was nicely washed up you couldn't 'ardly 
 reckernise me. Nachural 'nuff, too ! ' 
 
 He shot by like a shadow, then pulled up a 
 window with a rattle, popped his dirty head out, 
 and called back thickly as if his mouth was full of 
 smoke or pudding : — 
 
 The darkness suits me best, 
 
 For my old face 
 
 Is out of place, 
 
 Except in chimney stacks ! 
 
 Upon my crown 
 
 The soot comes down 
 
 Filling my eyes with blacks. 
 
 Don't light the fire, 
 
 Or I'd .' 
 
 * Stop it ! ' cried the Guard, shutting the window 
 with a snap, so that Rogers never knew whether the 
 missing word used to be ' expire ' or ' perspire ' ; 
 ' and go on to your proper place on the tender.' 
 Then she turned quickly to fix her big blue eyes 
 upon the next comer. 
 
 And how they did come, to be sure ! There was 
 the Gypsy, the Creature of the Gravel-Pit, the long- 
 legged, long-armed thing from the Long Walk — she 
 could make her arm stretch the whole length like 
 elastic — the enormous Woman of the Haystack, who 
 lived beneath the huge tarpaulin cover, the owner of 
 the Big Cedar, and the owner of the Little Cedar, all 
 treading fast upon one another's heels. 
 
 From the Blue Summer-house came the Laugher 
 Rogers remembered pretending once that he was 
 going to faint. He had thrown himself upon the 
 summer-house floor and kicked, and the blue-eyed 
 girl, instead of being thrilled as both anticipated, had 
 laughed abominably.
 
 iv A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 45 
 
 * Fainters don't kick ! ' she had said with scorn, 
 while he had answered, though without conviction, 
 ' Men-fainters do — kick dreadfully.' And she had 
 simply laughed till her sides ached, while he lay there 
 kicking till his muscles were sore, in the vain hope of 
 winning her belief. 
 
 He exchanged a glance with her now, as the 
 Laugher slipped in past them. The eyes of the 
 Guard were very soft. He was found out and for- 
 given at the same time. 
 
 Then came the very mysterious figure of authority 
 — the Head Gardener, a composite being who in- 
 cluded all the lesser under-gardeners as well. His 
 sunburned face presented a resume of them all. He 
 was the man who burned the hills of dead leaves in 
 autumn. 
 
 ' Give me of your fire, please,' whispered Rogers, 
 something between joy and sadness in his heart, 
 ' for there are hills of leaves that I would burn up 
 
 quickly ' but the man hurried on, tossing his 
 
 trowel over the Guard's head, and nearly hitting 
 another passenger who followed too close. This 
 was the Woman of the Haystack, an enormous, 
 spreading traveller who utterly refused to be hurried, 
 and only squeezed through the door because Rogers, 
 the Guard, and several others pushed behind with 
 all their might, while the Sweep, the Tramp, and 
 those already in tugged breathlessly at the same 
 time. . . . 
 
 Last of all, just as the train was starting, came a 
 hurrying shadowy thing with dreamy eyes, long hair 
 like waving grass, and open hands that he spread 
 like wings, as though he were sowing something 
 through the air. And he was singing softly as he 
 came fumbling along the byeways of the dusk.
 
 46 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND chap. 
 
 1 Oh, but I know you well,' cried Rogers, watch- 
 ing him come with a thrill of secret wonder, ' and I 
 love you better than all the rest together.' 
 
 The face was hidden as he wafted silently past 
 them. A delicious odour followed him. And some- 
 thing, fine as star-dust, as he scattered it all about 
 him, sifted down before the other's sight. The 
 Dustman entered like a ghost. 
 
 ' Oh, give me of your dust ! ' cried Rogers again, 
 * for there are eyes that I would blind with it — eyes 
 in the world that I would blind with it — your dust 
 of dreams and beauty . . . ! ' 
 
 The man waved a shadowy hand towards him, 
 and his own eyes filled. He closed the lids a 
 moment ; and when he opened them again he saw 
 two monster meteors in the sky. They crossed in 
 two big lines of glory above the house, dropping 
 towards the cedars. The Net of Stars was being 
 fastened. He remembered then his old Star Cave — 
 cave where lost starlight was stored up by these 
 sprites for future use. 
 
 He just had time to seize the little hand the 
 Guard held out, and to drop into a seat beside her, 
 when the train began to move. It rose soundlessly 
 with lightning speed. It shot up to a tremendous 
 height, then paused, hovering in the night. 
 
 The Guard turned her big blue eyes upon him. 
 
 * Where to ? ' she whispered. And he suddenly 
 remembered that it was always he who decided the 
 destination, and that this time he was at a loss what 
 to say. 
 
 * The Star Cave, of course,' he cried, * the cave 
 where the lost starlight gathers.' 
 
 ' Which direction ? ' she asked, with the yellow 
 whistle to her lips ready to signal the driver.
 
 ,v A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 47 
 
 ' Oh, out there — to the north-west,' he answered, 
 'to the mountains of across the Channel.' 
 
 But this was not precise enough. Formerly he 
 had always given very precise directions. 
 
 ' Name, please,' she urged, ' but quickly. The 
 Interfering Sun, you know — there's no time to lose. 
 We shall be meeting the Morning Spiders soon.' 
 
 The Morning Spiders ! How it all came back ! 
 The Morning Spiders that fly over the fields in the 
 dawn upon their private threads of gossamer and 
 fairy cotton. 
 
 He remembered that, as children, they had never 
 actually found this Star Cave, for the Interfering Sun 
 had always come too soon and spoilt it all. 
 
 * Name, please, and do hurry up. We can't 
 hover here all night,' rang in his ears. 
 
 And he made a plunge. He suddenly thought of 
 Bourcelles, the little village in the Jura mountains, 
 where he and his cousin had spent a year learning 
 French. The idea flashed into him probably because 
 it contained mountains, caves, and children. His 
 cousin lived there now to educate his children and 
 write his books. Only that morning he had got a 
 letter from him. 
 
 * Bourcelles, of course, Bourcelles ! ' he cried, 
 ' and steer for the slopes of Boudry where the forests 
 dip towards the precipices of the Areuse. I'll send 
 word to the children to meet us.' 
 
 * Splendid ! ' cried the Guard, and kissed him 
 with delight. The whistle shrieked, the train turned 
 swiftly in a tremendous sweeping curve, and vanished 
 along the intricate star-rails into space, humming 
 and booming as it went. It flew a mane of stars 
 behind it through the sky.
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 Oh ! thou art fairer than the evening air 
 Clad in the beauty of a thousand stars. 
 
 Doctor Faustus, Christopher Marlowe, 
 
 The plop of a water-rat in the pond that occupied 
 the rock-garden in the middle of the lawn brought 
 him back to earth, and the Vicar's invitation to tea 
 flashed across his mind. 
 
 ' Stock Exchange and typewriters ! ' he exclaimed, 
 ' how rude he'll think me !' And he rubbed some- 
 thing out of his eyes. He gave one long, yearning 
 glance at the spangled sky where an inquisitive bat 
 darted zigzag several times between himself and the 
 Pleiades, that bunch of star-babies as yet unborn, as 
 the blue-eyed guard used to call them. 
 
 1 And I shall miss my supper and bed into the 
 bargain ! ' 
 
 He turned reluctantly from his place beside the 
 lime trees, and crossed the lawn now wet with dew. 
 The whole house seemed to turn its hooded head 
 and watch him go, staring with amusement in its 
 many lidless eyes. On the front lawn there was 
 more light, for it faced the dying sunset. The Big 
 and Little Cedar rose from their pools of shadow, 
 beautifully poised. Like stately dowagers in volu- 
 minous skirts of velvet they seemed to curtsey to 
 him as he passed. Stars like clusters of sprinkled 
 
 48
 
 ch.v A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 49 
 
 blossoms hung upon their dignified old heads. The 
 whole place seemed aware of him. Glancing a 
 moment at the upper nursery windows, he could just 
 distinguish the bars through which his little hands 
 once netted stars, and as he did so a meteor shot 
 across the sky its flashing light of wonder. Behind 
 the Little Cedar it dived into the sunset afterglow. 
 And, hardly had it dipped away, when another, com- 
 ing crosswise from the south, drove its length of 
 molten, shining wire straight against the shoulder of 
 the Big Cedar. 
 
 The whole performance seemed arranged ex- 
 pressly for his benefit. The Net was loosed — this 
 Net of Stars and Thoughts — perhaps to go else- 
 where. For this was taking out the golden nails, 
 surely. It would hardly have surprised him next to 
 see the Starlight Express he had been dreaming about 
 dart across the heavens overhead. That cool air 
 stealing towards him from the kitchen-garden might 
 well have been the wind of its going. He could 
 almost hear the distant rush and murmur of its flying 
 mass. 
 
 ' How extraordinarily vivid it all was ! ' he thought 
 to himself, as he hurried down the drive. c What 
 detail ! What a sense of reality ! How carefully I 
 must have thought these creatures as a boy ! How 
 thoroughly ! And what a good idea to go out and 
 see Jack's children at Bourcelles. They've never 
 known these English sprites. I'll introduce 'em ! ' 
 
 He thought it out in detail, very vividly indeed. 
 His imagination lingered over it and gave it singular 
 reality. 
 
 Up the road he fairly ran. For Henry Rogers 
 was a punctual man ; these last twenty years he had 
 never once been late for anything. It had been part 
 
 E
 
 50 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND chap. 
 
 of the exact training he had schooled himself with, 
 and the Vicar's invitation was not one he desired to 
 trifle with. He made his peace, indeed, easily enough, 
 although the excuses sounded a little thin. It was 
 something of a shock, too, to find that the married 
 daughter after all was not the blue-eyed girl of his 
 boyhood's passion. For it was Joan, not May, who 
 came down the gravel path between the roses to 
 greet him. 
 
 On the way up he had felt puzzled. Yet ' be- 
 mused,' perhaps, is the word that Herbert Minks 
 would have chosen for one of his poems, to describe 
 a state of mind he, however, had never experienced 
 himself. And he would have chosen it instinctively 
 — for onomatopoeic reasons — because it hums and 
 drones and murmurs dreamily. ' Puzzled ' was too 
 sharp a word. 
 
 Yet Henry Rogers, who felt it, said ' puzzled ' 
 without more ado, although mind, imagination, 
 memory all hummed and buzzed pleasantly about his 
 ears even while he did so. 
 
 'A dream is a dream,' he reflected as he raced 
 along the familiar dusty road in the twilight, ' and a 
 reverie is a reverie ; but that, I'd swear, went a bit 
 further than either one or t'other. It puzzles me. 
 Does vivid thinking, I wonder, make pictures every- 
 where ? . . . And — can they last ? ' 
 
 For the detailed reality of the experience had been 
 remarkable, and the actuality of those childhood's 
 creations scarcely belonged to dream or reverie. 
 They were certainly quite as real as the sleek Directors 
 who sat round the long Board Room table, fidgeting 
 with fat quill pens and pewter ink-pots ; more alive 
 even than the Leading Shareholder who rose so 
 pompously at Annual Meetings to second the resolu-
 
 v A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 51 
 
 tion that the ' Report and Balance Sheet be adopted 
 without criticism.' 
 
 And he was conscious that in himself rose, too, 
 a deep, passionate willingness to accept the whole 
 experience, also ' without criticism.' Those picturesque 
 passengers in the Starlight Express he knew so inti- 
 mately, so affectionately, that he actually missed 
 them. He felt that he had said good-bye to genuine 
 people. He regretted their departure, and was 
 keenly sorry he had not gone off" with them — such 
 a merry, wild, adventurous crew ! He must find 
 them again, whatever happened. There was a yearn- 
 ing in him to travel with that blue-eyed guard among 
 the star-fields. He would go out to Bourcelles and 
 tell the story to the children. He thought very 
 hard indeed about it all. 
 
 And now, in the Vicarage drawing-room after 
 dinner, his bemusement increased rather than grew 
 less. His mind had already confused a face and 
 name. The blue-eyed May was not, after all, the 
 girl of his boyhood's dream. His memory had been 
 accurate enough with the passengers in the train. 
 There was no confusion there. But this gentle 
 married woman, who sang to her own accompaniment 
 at her father's request, was not the mischievous, 
 wilful creature who had teased and tortured his heart 
 in years gone by, and had helped him construct 
 the sprites and train and star-trips. It was, surely, 
 the other daughter who had played that delicious 
 role. Yet, either his memory was at fault, or the 
 Vicar had mixed the names up. The years had 
 played this little unimportant trick upon him any- 
 how. And that was clear. 
 
 But if with so-called real people such an error 
 was possible, how could he be sure of anything ?
 
 52 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND chap 
 
 Which after all, he asked himself, was real ? It was 
 the Vicar's mistake, he learned later, for May was 
 now a teacher in London ; but the trivial incident 
 served to point this confusion in his mind between 
 an outer and an inner world — to the disadvantage, if 
 anything, of the former. 
 
 And over the glass of port together, while they 
 talked pleasantly of vanished days, Rogers was con- 
 scious that a queer, secret amusement sheltered in 
 his heart, due to some faint, superior knowledge that 
 this Past they spoke of had not moved away at all, 
 but listened with fun and laughter just behind his 
 shoulder, watching them. The old gentleman seemed 
 never tired of remembering his escapades. He told 
 them one after another, like some affectionate nurse 
 or mother, Rogers thought, whose children were — 
 to her — unique and wonderful. For he had really 
 loved this good-for-nothing pupil, loved him the 
 more, as mothers and nurses do, because of the 
 trouble he had given, and because of his busy and 
 fertile imagination. It made Rogers feel ridiculously 
 young again as he listened. He could almost have 
 played a trick upon him then and there, merely to 
 justify the tales. And once or twice he actually 
 called him ' Sir.' 
 
 So that even the conversation helped to deepen 
 this bemusement that gathered somewhat tenderly 
 about his mind. He cracked his walnuts and watched 
 the genial, peace-lit eyes across the table. He chuckled. 
 Both chuckled. They spoke of his worldly success 
 too — it seemed unimportant somehow now, although 
 he was conscious that something in him expected, 
 nay demanded tribute — but the former tutor kept 
 reverting to the earlier days before achievement. 
 
 ' You were indeed a boy of mischief, wonder, and
 
 v A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND $ 3 
 
 mystery,' he said, his eyes twinkling and his tone 
 almost affectionate ; ' you made the whole place alive 
 with those creatures of your imagination. How Joan 
 helped you too — or was it May ? I used to wonder 
 sometimes — ' he glanced up rather searchingly at his 
 companion a moment — * whether the people who took 
 the Manor House after your family left did not 
 encounter them sometimes upon the lawn or among 
 the shrubberies in the dusk — those sprites of yours. 
 Eh ? ' He passed a neatly pared walnut across the 
 table to his guest. ' These ghosts that people now- 
 adays explain scientifically — what are they but 
 thoughts visualised by vivid thinking such as yours 
 was — creative thinking? They may be just pictures 
 created in moments of strong passionate feeling that 
 persist for centuries and reach other minds direct 
 They're not seen with the outer eye ; that's certain, 
 for no two people ever see them together. But I'm 
 sure these pictures flame up through the mind some- 
 times just as clearly as some folk see Grey Ladies 
 and the rest flit down the stairs at midnight.' 
 
 They munched their walnuts a moment in silence. 
 Rogers listened very keenly. How curious, he re- 
 flected, that the talk should lie this way. But he 
 said nothing, hoping that the other would go on. 
 
 i And if you really believed in your things,' the 
 older man continued presently, ' as I am sure you 
 did believe, then your old Dustman and Sweep and 
 Lamplighter, your Woman of the Haystack and 
 your Net of Stars and Star Train — all these, for 
 instance, must still be living, where you left them, 
 waiting perhaps for your return to lead their fresh 
 adventures.' 
 
 Rogers stared at him, choking a little over a nut 
 he had swallowed too hurriedly
 
 54 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND chap. 
 
 ' Yet,' mused on the other, ' it's hardly likely the 
 family that succeeded you met them. There were 
 no children ! ' 
 
 ' Ah,' exclaimed the pupil impulsively, ' that's 
 significant, yes — no children.' He looked up quickly, 
 questioningly. 
 
 ' Very, I admit.' 
 
 ' Besides, the chief Magician had gone away into 
 the City. They wouldn't answer to anybody's call, 
 you know.' 
 
 ' True again. But the Magician never forgot 
 them quite, I'll be bound,' he added. ' They're only 
 in hiding till his return, perhaps ! ' And his bright 
 eyes twinkled knowingly. 
 
 * But, Vicar, really, you know, that is an extra- 
 ordinary idea you have there — a wonderful idea. 
 Do you really think ? ' 
 
 ' I only mean,' the other replied more gravely, 
 ' that what a man thinks, and makes with thinking, 
 is the real thing. It's in the heart that sin is first 
 real. The act is the least important end of it — 
 grave only because it is the inevitable result of the 
 thinking. Action is merely delayed thinking, after 
 all. Don't think ghosts and bogeys, I always say to 
 children, or you'll surely see them.' 
 
 ' Ah, in that sense ! ' 
 
 ' In any sense your mind and intuition can grasp. 
 The thought that leaves your brain, provided it be 
 a real thought strongly fashioned, goes all over the 
 world, and may reach any other brain tuned to its 
 acceptance. You should understand that ! ' he laughed 
 significantly. 
 
 ' I do/ said Rogers hastily, as though he felt 
 ashamed of himself or were acknowledging a fault 
 in his construing of Homer. * I understand it
 
 v A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND S5 
 
 perfectly. Only I put all those things — imaginative 
 things — aside when I went into business. I had to 
 concentrate my energies upon making money.' 
 
 ' You did, yes. Ah ! ' was the rejoinder, as 
 though he would fain have added, ' And was that 
 wise r 
 
 ' And I made it, Vicar ; you see, I've made it.' 
 He was not exactly nettled, but he wanted a word of 
 recognition for his success. ' But you know why, 
 don't you ? ' he added, ashamed the same moment. 
 
 There was a pause, during which both looked 
 closely at their broken nuts. From one of the men 
 came a sigh. 
 
 ' Yes,' resumed the older man presently, ' I 
 remember your great dream perfectly well, and a 
 noble one it was too. Its fulfilment now, I suppose, 
 lies well within your reach ? You have the means to 
 carry it out, eh ? You have indeed been truly 
 blessed.' He eyed him again with uncommon 
 keenness, though a smile ran from the eyes and 
 mouth even up to the forehead and silvery hair. 
 ' The world, I see, has not yet poisoned you. To 
 carry it out as you once explained it to me would be 
 indeed success. If I remember rightly,' he added, 
 • it was a — er — a Scheme for Disabled ' 
 
 Rogers interrupted him quickly. ' And I am full 
 of the same big dream still,' he repeated almost shyly. 
 ' The money I have made I regard as lent to me for 
 investment. I wish to use it, to give it away as one 
 gives flowers. I feel sure ' 
 
 He stopped abruptly, caught by the glow of 
 enthusiasm that had leaped into the other's face with 
 a strangely beautiful expression. 
 
 ' You never did anything by halves, I remember,' 
 the Vicar said, looking at him proudly. ' You were
 
 56 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND chap, 
 
 always in earnest, even in your play, and I don't 
 mind telling you that I've often prayed for some- 
 thing of that zeal of yours — that zeal for others. It's 
 a remarkable gift. You will never bury it, will you ? ' 
 He spoke eagerly, passionately, leaning forward a little 
 across the table. ' Few have it nowadays ; it grows 
 rarer with the luxury and self-seeking of the age. 
 It struck me so in you as a boy, that even your 
 sprites worked not for themselves but for others — 
 your Dustman, your Sweep, your absurd Lamplighter, 
 all were busy doing wonderful things to help their 
 neighbours, all, too, without reward.' 
 
 Rogers flushed like a boy. But he felt the thrill 
 of his dream course through him like great fires. 
 Wherein was any single thing in the world worth 
 doing, any object of life worth following, unless as 
 means to an end, and that end helping some one else. 
 One's own little personal dreams became exhausted 
 in a few years, endeavours for self smothered beneath 
 the rain of disappointments ; but others, and work 
 for others, this was endless and inexhaustible. 
 
 1 I've sometimes thought,' he heard the older man 
 going on, * that in the dusk I saw ' — his voice 
 lowered and he glanced towards the windows where 
 the rose trees stood like little figures, cloaked and 
 bonneted with beauty beneath the stars — ' that I saw 
 your Dustman scattering his golden powder as he 
 came softly up the path, and that some of it reached 
 my own eyes, too ; or that your swift Lamplighter 
 lent me a moment his gold-tipped rod of office so 
 that I might light fires of hope in suffering hearts here 
 in this tiny world of my own parish. Your dreadful 
 Head Gardener, too ! And your Song of the Blue- 
 Eyes Fairy,' he added slyly, almost mischievously, 
 ' you remember that, I wonder ? '
 
 v A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 57 
 
 1 H'm — a little, yes — something,' replied Rogers 
 confusedly. f It was a dreadful doggerel. But I've 
 got a secretary now,' he continued hurriedly and in 
 rather a louder voice, ' a fellow named Minks, a jewel 
 really of a secretary he is — and he, I believe, can 
 write real ' 
 
 ' It was charming enough for us all to have 
 remembered it, anyhow,' the Vicar stopped him, 
 smiling at his blushes, ' and for May — or was it Joan ? 
 dear me, how I do forget names ! — to have set it to 
 music. She had a little gift that way, you may 
 remember ; and, before she took up teaching she 
 wrote one or two little things like that.' 
 
 ' Ah, did she really ? ' murmured the other. He 
 scarcely knew what he was saying, for a mist of blue 
 had risen before his eyes, and in it he was seeing 
 pictures. ' The Spell of Blue, wasn't it, or something 
 like that ? ' he said a moment later, ' blue, the colour 
 of beauty in flowers, sea, sky, distance — the childhood 
 colour par excellence ? ' 
 
 ' But chiefly in the eyes of children, yes,' the 
 Vicar helped him, rising at the same time from the 
 table. ' It was the spell, the passport, the open 
 sesame to most of your adventures. Come now, if 
 you won't have another glass of port, and we'll go 
 into the drawing-room, and Joan, May I mean — no, 
 Joan, of course, shall sing it to you. For this is a 
 very special occasion for us, you know,' he added as 
 they passed across the threshold side by side. * To 
 see you is to go back with you to Fairyland.' 
 
 The piano was being idly strummed as they went 
 in, and the player was easily persuaded to sing the 
 little song. It floated through the open windows 
 and across the lawn as the two men in their corners 
 listened. She knew it by heart, as though she often
 
 5 8 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND chap. 
 
 played it. The candles were not lit. Dusk caught 
 the sound and muted it enchantingly. And some- 
 how the simple melody helped to conceal the meagre- 
 ness of the childish words. Everywhere, from sky 
 and lawn and solemn trees, the Past came softly in 
 and listened too. 
 
 There's a Fairy that hides in the beautiful eyes 
 
 Of children who treat her well ; 
 In the little round hole where the eyeball lies 
 
 She weaves her magical spell. 
 
 Oh, tell it to me, 
 
 Oh, how can it be, 
 
 This Spell of the Blue-Eyes Fairy. 
 
 Well, — the eyes must be blue, 
 
 And the heart must be true, 
 
 And the child must be better than gold ; 
 
 And then, if you'll let her, 
 
 The quicker the better, 
 
 She'll make you forget that you're old, 
 
 That you're heavy and stupid, and — old ! 
 
 So, if such a child you should chance to see, 
 
 Or with such a child to play, 
 No matter how weary and dull you be, 
 
 Nor how many tons you weigh ; 
 You will suddenly find that you're young again, 
 
 And your movements are light and airy, 
 And you'll try to be solemn and stiff in vain — 
 
 It's the Spell of the Blue- Eyes Fairy ! 
 
 Now I've told it to you, 
 
 And you know it is true — 
 
 It's the Spell of the Blue-Eyes Fairy ! 
 
 * And it's the same spell,' said the old man in his 
 corner as the last notes died away, and they sat on 
 some minutes longer in the fragrant darkness, ' that 
 you cast about us as a boy, Henry Rogers, when you
 
 v A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 59 
 
 made that wonderful Net of Stars and fastened it 
 with your comets' nails to the big and little cedars. 
 The one catches your heart, you see, while the other 
 gets your feet and head and arms till you're a hopeless 
 prisoner — a prisoner in Fairyland.' 
 
 ' Only the world to-day no longer believes in 
 Fairyland,' was the reply, ' and even the children 
 have become scientific. Perhaps it's only buried 
 though. The two ought to run in harness really — 
 opposite interpretations of the universe. One might 
 revive it — here and there perhaps. Without it, all 
 the tenderness seems leaking out of life ' 
 
 Joan presently said good-night, but the other two 
 waited on a little longer ; and before going to bed 
 they took a turn outside among the flower-beds and 
 fruit-trees that formed the tangled Vicarage garden 
 at the back. It was uncommonly warm for a night 
 in early spring. The lilacs were in bud, and the air 
 most exquisitely scented. 
 
 Rogers felt himself swept back wonderfully among 
 his early years. It seemed almost naughty to be out 
 at such an hour instead of asleep in bed. It was quite 
 ridiculous — but he loved the feeling and let himself go 
 with happy willingness. The story of ' Vice Versa,' 
 where a man really became a boy again, passed through 
 his mind and made him laugh. 
 
 And the old Vicar kept on feeding the semi-serious 
 mood with what seemed almost intentional sly digs. 
 Yet the digs were not intentional, really ; it was 
 merely that his listener, already prepared by his 
 experience with the Starlight Express, read into them 
 these searching meanings of his own. Something in 
 him was deeply moved. 
 
 1 You might make a great teacher, you know,' 
 suggested his companion, stooping to sniff a lilac
 
 6o A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 
 
 CHAP. 
 
 branch as they paused a moment. ' I thought so 
 years ago ; I think so still. You've kept yourself so 
 simple.' 
 
 ' How not to do most things,' laughed the other, 
 glad of the darkness. 
 
 ' How to do the big and simple things,' was the 
 rejoinder ; ' and do them well, without applause. 
 You have Belief.' 
 
 * Too much, perhaps. I simply can't get rid of it.' 
 ' Don't try to. It's belief that moves the world ; 
 
 people want teachers — that's my experience in the 
 pulpit and the parish, a world in miniature, after all 
 — but they won't listen to a teacher who hasn't got 
 it. There are no great poets to-day, only great 
 discoverers. The poets, the interpreters of discovery, 
 are gone — starved out of life by ridicule, and by 
 questions to which exact answers are impossible. 
 With your imagination and belief you might help 
 a world far larger than this parish of mine at any 
 rate. I envy you.' 
 
 Goodness ! how the kind eyes searched his own 
 in this darkness. Though little susceptible to flattery, 
 he was aware of something huge the words stirred in 
 the depths of him, something far bigger than he yet 
 had dreamed of even in his boyhood, something that 
 made his cherished Scheme seem a little pale and 
 faded. 
 
 * Take the whole world with you into fairyland,' 
 he heard the low voice come murmuring in his ear 
 across the lilacs. And there was starlight in it — that 
 gentle, steady brilliance that steals into people while 
 they sleep and dream, tracing patterns of glory they 
 may recognise when they wake, yet marvelling whence 
 it came. ' The world wants its fairyland back again, 
 and won't be happy till it gets it.'
 
 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 61 
 
 A bird listening to them in the stillness sang a 
 little burst of song, then paused again to listen. 
 
 ' Once give them of your magic, and each may 
 shape his fairyland as he chooses . . .' the musical 
 voice ran on. 
 
 The flowers seemed alive and walking. This was 
 a voice of beauty. Some lilac bud was singing in its 
 sleep. Sirius had dropped a ray across its lips of 
 blue and coaxed it out to dance. There was a 
 murmur and a stir among the fruit-trees too. The 
 apple blossoms painted the darkness with their tiny 
 fluttering dresses, while old Aldebaran trimmed them 
 silently with gold, and partners from the Milky Way 
 swept rustling down to lead the violets out. Oh, 
 there was revelry to-night, and the fairy spell of the 
 blue-eyed Spring was irresistible. . . . 
 
 'But the world will never dance,' he whispered 
 sadly, half to himself perhaps ; ' it's far too weary.' 
 
 ' It will follow a leader,' came the soft reply, 
 ' who dances well and pipes the true old music so 
 that it can hear. Belief inspires it always. And 
 that Belief you have.' There was a curious vibra- 
 tion in his voice ; he spoke from his heart, and his 
 heart was evidently moved. 
 
 ' I wonder when it came to me, then, and how ? ' 
 
 The Vicar turned and faced him where they 
 stood beneath the lime trees. Their scent was 
 pouring out as from phials uncorked by the stars. 
 
 ' It came,' he caught the answer that thrilled with 
 earnestness, ' when you saw the lame boy on the 
 village hill and cried. As long ago as that it came.' 
 
 His mind, as he listened, became a plot of fresh- 
 turned earth the Head Gardener filled with flowers. 
 A mass of covering stuff the years had laid ever 
 thicker and thicker was being shovelled away. The
 
 62 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND chap. 
 
 flowers he saw being planted there were very tiny 
 ones. But they would grow. A leaf from some far- 
 off rocky mount of olive trees dropped fluttering 
 through the air and marvellously took root and 
 grew. He felt for a moment the breath of night 
 air that has been tamed by an eastern sun. He saw 
 a group of men, bare-headed, standing on the slopes, 
 and in front of them a figure of glory teaching little, 
 simple things they found it hard to understand. . . . 
 
 ' You have the big and simple things alive in 
 you,' the voice carried on his pictured thought 
 among the flowers. ' In your heart they lie all 
 waiting to be used. Nothing can smother them. 
 Only — you must give them out.' 
 
 * If only I knew how ! ' 
 
 ' Keep close to the children,' sifted the strange 
 answer through the fruit-trees ; ' the world is a big 
 child. And catch it when it lies asleep — not thinking 
 of itself,' he whispered. 
 
 ' The time is so short ' 
 
 ' At forty you stand upon the threshold of life, 
 with values learned and rubbish cleared away. So 
 many by that time are already dead — in heart. I 
 envy your opportunities ahead. You have learned 
 already one foundation truth — the grandeur of toil 
 and the insignificance of acquisition. The other 
 foundation thing is even simpler — you have a neigh- 
 bour. Now, with your money to give as flowers, 
 and your Belief to steer you straight, you have the 
 world before you. And — keep close to the children.' 
 
 'Before there are none left,' added Rogers under 
 his breath. But the other heard the words and 
 instantly corrected him — 
 
 ' Children of any age, and wherever you may find 
 them.'
 
 v A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 63 
 
 And they turned slowly and made their way in 
 silence across the soaking lawn, entering the house 
 by the drawing-room window. 
 
 ' Good-night,' the old man said, as he lit his 
 candle and led him to his room ; ' and pleasant, 
 happy, inspiring dreams.' 
 
 He seemed to say it with some curious, heartfelt 
 meaning in the common words. He disappeared 
 slowly down the passage, shading the candle with 
 one hand to pick his way, and Rogers watched him 
 out of sight, then turned and entered his own room, 
 closing the door as softly as possible behind him. 
 
 It had been an astonishing conversation. All his 
 old enthusiasm was stirred. Embers leaped to flame. 
 No woman ever had done as much. This old fellow, 
 once merely respected tutor, had given him back his 
 first original fire and zeal, yet somehow cleansed and 
 purified. And it humbled him at the same time. 
 Dead leaves, dropped year by year in his City life, 
 were cleared away as though a mighty wind had 
 swept him. The Gardener was burning up dead 
 leaves ; the Sweep was cleaning out the flues ; the 
 Lamplighter waving his golden signal in the sky — 
 far ahead, it is true, but gleaming like a torch and 
 beacon. The Starlight Express was travelling at top 
 speed among the constellations. He stood at the 
 beginning of the important part of life. . . . 
 
 And now, as he lay in bed and heard the owls 
 hooting in the woods, and smelt the flowers through 
 the open window, his thoughts followed strongly 
 after that old Star Train that he used to drive about 
 the sky. He was both engine-driver and; passenger. 
 He fell asleep to dream of it. 
 
 And all the vital and enchanting thoughts of his
 
 64 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND chap. 
 
 boyhood flowed back upon him with a rush, as 
 though they had never been laid aside. He remem- 
 bered particularly one singular thing about them — 
 that they had never seemed quite his own, but that 
 he had either read or heard them somewhere else. 
 As a child the feeling was always strong that these 
 'jolly thoughts,' as he called them, were put into 
 him by some one else — some one who whispered to 
 him — some one who lived close behind his ears. 
 He had to listen very hard to catch them. It was 
 not dreams, yet all night long, especially when he 
 slept tightly, as he phrased it, this fairy whispering 
 continued, and in the daytime he remembered what 
 he could and made up his stories accordingly. He 
 stole these ideas about a Star Net and a Starlight 
 Express. One day he would be caught and punished 
 for it. It was trespassing upon the preserves of 
 some one else. 
 
 Yet he could never discover who this some one 
 else was, except that it was a ' she ' and lived among 
 the stars, only coming out at night. He imagined 
 she hid behind that little dusty constellation called 
 the Pleiades, and that was why the Pleiades wore a 
 veil and were so dim — lest he should find her out. 
 And once, behind the blue gaze of the guard-girl, 
 who was out of his heart by this time, he had known 
 a moment of thrilling wonder that was close to awe. 
 He saw another pair of eyes gazing out at him 
 They were ambery eyes, as he called them — just 
 what was to be expected from a star. And, so great 
 was the shock, that at first he stood dead still and 
 gasped, then dashed up suddenly close to her and 
 stared into her face, frightening her so much that 
 she fell backwards, and the amber eyes vanished 
 instantly. It was the c some one else ' who whispered
 
 v A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 6$ 
 
 fairy stories to him and lived behind his ear. For a 
 second she had been marvellously close. And he 
 had lost her ! 
 
 From that moment, however, his belief in her 
 increased enormously, and he never saw a pair of 
 brown-ambery eyes without feeling sure that she was 
 somewhere close about him. The lame boy, for 
 instance, had the same delicate tint in his sad, long, 
 questioning gaze. His own collie had it too ! For 
 years it was an obsession with him, haunting and 
 wonderful — the knowledge that some one who 
 watched close beside him, filling his mind with 
 fairy thoughts, might any moment gaze into his 
 face through a pair of ordinary familiar eyes. And 
 he was certain that all his star-imagination about the 
 Net, the Starlight Express, and the Cave of Lost 
 Starlight came first into him from this hidden ' some 
 one else ' who brought the Milky Way down into 
 his boy's world of fantasy. 
 
 1 If ever I meet her in real life,' he used to say, 
 ' I'm done for. She is my Star Princess ! ' 
 
 And now, as he fell asleep, the old atmosphere of 
 that Kentish garden drew thickly over him, shaking 
 out clusters of stars about his bed. Dreams usually 
 are determined by something more remote than 
 the talk that has just preceded going to bed, but 
 to-night it was otherwise. And two things the old 
 Vicar had let fall — two things sufficiently singular, 
 it seemed, when he came to think about them — 
 influenced his night adventures. ' Catch the world 
 when it's asleep,' and ' Keep close to the children ' — 
 these somehow indicated the route his dream should 
 follow. For he headed the great engine straight for 
 the village in the Jura pine woods where his cousin's 
 children lived. He did not know these children, 
 
 F
 
 66 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND ch.v 
 
 and had seen his cousin but rarely in recent years ; 
 yet, it seemed, they came to meet the train up 
 among the mountain forests somewhere. For in 
 this village, where he had gone to study French, 
 the moods of his own childhood had somehow known 
 continuation and development. The place had once 
 been very dear to him, and he had known delightful 
 adventures there, many of them with this cousin. 
 Now he took all his own childhood's sprites out in 
 this Starlight Express and introduced them to these 
 transplanted children who had never made acquaint- 
 ance with the English breed. They had surprising, 
 wild adventures all together, yet in the morning he 
 could remember very little of it all. The interfering 
 sun melted them all down in dew. The adventures 
 had some object, however ; that was clear ; though 
 what the object was, except that it did good some- 
 where to some one, was gone, lost in the deeps of 
 sleep behind him. They scurried about the world. 
 The sprites were very active indeed — quite fussily 
 energetic. And his Scheme for Disabled Something- 
 orother was not anywhere discoverable in these 
 escapades. That seemed forgotten rather, as though 
 they found bigger, more important things to do, and 
 nearer home too. Perhaps the Vicar's hint about the 
 ' Neighbour ' was responsible for that. Anyhow, 
 the dream was very vivid, even though the morning 
 sun melted it away so quickly and completely. It 
 seemed continuous too. It filled the entire night. 
 
 Yet the thing that Rogers took off with him to 
 town next morning was, more than any other detail, 
 the memory of what the old tutor had said about 
 the living reality and persistence of figures that 
 passionate thinking has created — that, and the value 
 of Belief.
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 Be thou my star, and thou in me be seen 
 To show what source divine is, and prevails. 
 I mark thee planting joy in constant fire. 
 
 To Sirius, G. Meredith. 
 
 And he rather astonished the imperturbable Minks 
 next day by the announcement that he was thinking 
 of going abroad for a little holiday. ' When I 
 return, it will be time enough to take up the 
 Scheme in earnest,' he said. For Minks had brought 
 a sheaf of notes embodying the results of many 
 hours' labour, showing what others had already done 
 in that particular line of philanthropy. 
 
 ' Very good indeed, Minks, very good. I'll take 
 'em with me and make a careful study of the lot. I 
 shall be only gone a week or so,' he added, noticing 
 the other's disappointment. For the secretary had 
 hoped to expound these notes himself at length. 
 ' Take a week's holiday yourself,' he added. ' Mrs. 
 Minks might like to get to the sea, perhaps. 
 There'll only be my letters to forward. I'll give 
 you a little cheque.' And he explained briefly that 
 he was going out to Bourcelles to enjoy a few days' 
 rest before they attacked great problems together. 
 After so many years of application to business he 
 had earned it. Crayfield, it seemed, had given him 
 a taste for sentimental journeys. But the fact was, 
 
 67
 
 68 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND chap. 
 
 too, the Tramp, the Dustman, the Lamplighter, and 
 the Starlight Express were all in his thoughts still. 
 
 And it was spring. He felt this sudden desire to 
 see his cousin again, and make the acquaintance of 
 his cousin's children. He remembered how the two 
 of them had tramped the Jura forests as boys. They 
 had met in London at intervals since. He dictated 
 a letter to him then and there — Minks taking it 
 down like lightning — and added a postscript in his 
 own handwriting : — 
 
 * I feel a longing,' he wrote, * to come out and 
 see the little haven of rest you have chosen, and to 
 know your children. Our ways have gone very far 
 apart — too far — since the old days when we climbed 
 out of the windows of la cure with a sheet, and 
 tramped the mountains all night long. Do you 
 remember ? I've had my nose on the grindstone 
 ever since, and you've worked hard too, judging by 
 your name in publishers' lists. I hope your books 
 are a great success. I'm ashamed I've never any 
 time to read now. But I'm "retired" from business 
 at last and hope to do great things. I'll tell you 
 about a great Scheme I have in hand when we meet. 
 I should like your advice too. 
 
 ' Any room will do — sunny aspect if possible. 
 And please give my love to your children in 
 advance. Tell them I shall come out in the Star- 
 light Express. Let me have a line to say if it's all 
 right.' 
 
 In due course the line — a warm-hearted one — 
 arrived. Minks came to Charing Cross to see him 
 off*, the gleam of the sea already in his pale-blue 
 eyes.
 
 vi A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 69 
 
 * The Weather Report says " calm," Mr. Rogers,' 
 he kept repeating. • You'll have a good crossing, I 
 hope and trust. I'm taking Mrs. Minks my- 
 self ' 
 
 ' Yes, yes, that's good,' was the quick reply. 
 * Capital. And — let me see — I've got your notes 
 with me, haven't I? I'll draft out a general plan 
 and send it to you as soon as I get a moment. You 
 think over it too, will you, while I'm away. And 
 enjoy yourself at the same time. Put your children 
 in the sea — nothing like the sea for children — sea 
 and sun and sand and all that sort of thing.' 
 
 ' Thank you very much, Mr. Rogers, and I 
 trust ' 
 
 Somebody bumped against him, cutting short a 
 carefully balanced sentence that was intended to be 
 one-third good wishes, one-third weather remark, 
 and the last third Mrs. Minks. Her letter of 
 thanks had never been referred to. It rankled, 
 though very slightly. 
 
 'What an absurd -looking person!' exclaimed 
 the secretary to himself, following the aggressor with 
 one eye, and trying to recapture the lost sentence at 
 the same time. ' They really should not allow such 
 people in a railway terminus,' he added aloud. The 
 man was ragged and unkempt to the last degree — a 
 sort of tramp ; and as he bought a ticket at the 
 third-class wicket, just beyond, he kept looking up 
 slyly at Minks and his companion. ' The way he 
 knocked against me almost seemed intentional,' 
 Minks thought. The idea of pickpockets and 
 cleverly disguised detectives ran confusedly in his 
 mind. He felt a little flustered for some reason. 
 
 ' I beg your pardon,' Mr. Rogers was saying to a 
 man who tried to push in front of him. * But we
 
 70 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND cha? 
 
 must each take our turn, you know.' The throng 
 of people was considerable. This man looked like a 
 dustman. He, too, was eagerly buying a ticket, but 
 had evidently mistaken the window. ' Third-class 
 is lower down I think,' Mr. Rogers suggested with 
 a touch of authority. 
 
 * What a lot of foreigners there are about,' re- 
 marked Minks. ' These stations are full of suspicious 
 characters.' The notice about loitering flashed 
 across him. 
 
 He took the ticket Mr. Rogers handed to him, 
 and went off to register the luggage, and when later 
 he joined his chief at the carriage door he saw him 
 talking to a couple of strangers who seemed anxious 
 to get in. 
 
 ' I took this corner seat for you, Mr. Rogers,' he 
 explained, both to prove his careful forethought and 
 to let the strangers know that his master was a person 
 of some importance. They were such an extra- 
 ordinary couple too ! Had there been hop-pickers 
 about he could have understood it. They were 
 almost figures of masquerade ; for while one re- 
 sembled more than anything else a chimney-sweep 
 who had forgotten to wash his face below the level 
 of the eyes, the other carried a dirty sack across his 
 shoulders, which apparently he had just been trying 
 to squeeze into the rack. 
 
 They moved off when they saw Minks, but the 
 man with the sack made a gesture with one hand, as 
 though he scattered something into the carriage 
 through the open door. 
 
 The secretary threw a reproachful look at a 
 passing guard, but there was nothing he could do. 
 People with tickets had a right to travel. Still, he 
 resented these crowding, pushing folk. ' I'm sorry,
 
 vi A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 71 
 
 Mr. Rogers,' he said, as though he had chosen a 
 poor train for his honoured chief ; ' there must be an 
 excursion somewhere. There's a big fe~te of Vege- 
 tarians, I know, at Surbiton to-day, but I can hardly 
 think these people ' 
 
 ' Don't wait, Minks,' said the other, who had 
 taken his seat. ' I'll let you hear from me, you 
 know, about the Scheme and — other things. Don't 
 wait.' He seemed curiously unobservant of these 
 strange folk, almost absent-minded. 
 
 The guard was whistling. Minks shut the door 
 and gave the travelling-rug a last tuck-in about his 
 feet. He felt as though he were packing off a child. 
 The mother in him became active. Mr. Rogers 
 needed looking after. Another minute and he 
 would have patted him and told him what to eat 
 and wear. But instead he raised his hat and smiled. 
 The train moved slowly out, making a deep purring 
 sound like flowing water. The platform had 
 magically thinned. Officials stood lonely among the 
 scattered wavers of hats and handkerchiefs. As he 
 stepped backwards to keep the carriage window in 
 sight until the last possible moment, Minks was 
 nearly knocked over by a man who hurried along 
 the platform as if he still had hopes of catching the 
 train. 
 
 1 Really, sir ! ' gasped the secretary, stooping to 
 pick up his newspaper and lavender glove — he wore 
 one glove and carried the other — the collision had sent 
 flying. But the man was already far beyond the reach 
 of his voice. ' He must be an escaped lamplighter, 
 or something,' he laughed good-naturedly, as he saw 
 the long legs vanish down the platform. He leaped 
 on to the line. Evidently he was a railway employe. 
 He seemed to be vainly trying to catch the departing
 
 72 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND chap. 
 
 buffers. An absurd and reckless fellow, thought 
 Minks. 
 
 But what caught the secretary's attention last, 
 and made him wonder a little if anything unusual 
 was happening to the world, was the curious fact 
 that, as the last carriage glided smoothly past, he 
 recognised four figures seated comfortably inside. 
 Their feet were on the cushions — disgracefully. 
 They were talking together, heads forward, laughing, 
 even — singing. And he could have sworn that they 
 were the two men who had watched himself and Mr. 
 Rogers at the ticket window, and the strangers who 
 had tried to force their way into Mr. Rogers's carriage 
 when he came up just in time to interfere. 
 
 ' They got in somehow after all, then,' he said to 
 himself. ' Of course, I had forgotten. The Com- 
 pany runs third-class carriages on the continental 
 trains now. Odd ! ' He mentally rubbed his eyes. 
 
 The train swept round the corner out of sight, 
 leaving a streaming cloud of smoke and sparks 
 behind it. It went out with a kind of rush of 
 delight, glad to be off, and conscious of its passengers' 
 pleasure. 
 
 1 Odd.' This was the word that filled his mind 
 as he walked home. ' Perhaps — our minds are in 
 such intimate sympathy together — perhaps he was 
 thinking of — of that kind of thing — er — and some 
 of his thoughts got into my own imagination. Odd, 
 though, very, very odd.' 
 
 He had once read somewhere in one of his new- 
 fangled books that ' thoughts are things.' It had 
 made a great impression on him. He had read about 
 Marconi too. Later he made a more thorough study 
 of this 'thinking business.' 
 
 And soon afterwards, having put his chief's papers
 
 vi A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 73 
 
 in order at the flat, he went home to Mrs. Minks and 
 the children with this other thought — that he had 
 possibly been overworking himself, and that it was a 
 good thing he was going to have a holiday by the 
 sea. 
 
 He liked to picture himself as an original thinker, 
 not afraid of new ideas, but in reality he preferred 
 his world sober, ordinary, logical. It was merely 
 big-sounding names he liked. And this little in- 
 cident was somewhere out of joint. It was — odd. 
 
 Success that poisons many a baser mind 
 May lift 
 
 But the sonnet had never known completion. In 
 the space it had occupied in his mind another one 
 abruptly sprouted. The first subject after all was 
 banal. A better one had come to him — 
 
 Strong thoughts that rise in a creative mind 
 May flash about the world, and carry joy 
 
 Then it stuck. He changed 'may' to 'shall,' 
 but a moment later decided that ' do ' was better, 
 truer than either. After that inspiration failed him. 
 He retired gracefully upon prose again. 
 
 ' Odd,' he thought, ' very odd ! ' 
 
 And he relieved his mind by writing a letter to a 
 newspaper. He did not send it in the end, for his 
 better judgment prevented, but he had to do some- 
 thing by way of protest, and the only alternative was 
 to tell his wife about it, when she would look half 
 puzzled, half pained, and probably reply with some 
 remark about the general cost of living. So he 
 wrote the letter instead. 
 
 For Herbert Minks regarded himself as a man 
 with the larger view of citizenship, a critic of public
 
 74 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND ch.yi 
 
 affairs, and, in a measure, therefore, an item of that 
 public opinion which moulded governments. Hence 
 he had a finger, though but a little finger, in the 
 destiny of nations and in the polity — a grand word 
 that ! — of national councils. He wrote frequent 
 letters, thus, to the lesser weekly journals ; these 
 letters were sometimes printed ; occasionally — oh, 
 joy ! — they were answered by others like himself, 
 who referred to him as ' your esteemed correspon- 
 dent.' As yet, however, his following letter had 
 never got into print, nor had he experienced the 
 importance of that editorial decision, appended 
 between square brackets : ' This correspondence 
 must now cease ' — so vital, that is, that the editor 
 and the entire office staff might change their opinions 
 unless it did cease. 
 
 Having drafted his letter, therefore, and carried 
 it about with him for several hours in his breast- 
 pocket, he finally decided not to send it after all, for 
 the explanation of his ' odd ' experience, he well 
 knew, was hardly one that a newspaper office could 
 supply, or that public correspondence could illumin- 
 ate. His better judgment always won the day in 
 the end. Thinking was creative, after all.
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 . . . The sun, 
 Closing his benediction, 
 Sinks, and the darkening air 
 Thrills with a sense of the triumphing night- 
 Night with her train of stars 
 And her great gift of sleep. 
 
 W. E. Henley. 
 
 In a southern-facing room on the first floor of La 
 Citadelle the English family sat after tea. The 
 father, a spare, mild-eyed man, his thatch of brown 
 hair well sprinkled with grey above the temples, 
 was lighting his pipe for the tenth time — the tenth 
 match, but the same pipeful of tobacco ; and his 
 wife, an ample, motherly woman, slightly younger 
 than himself, was knitting on the other side of the 
 open fireplace, in which still glowed a mass of peat 
 ashes. From time to time she stirred them with a 
 rickety pair of tongs, or with her foot kicked into 
 the grate the matches he invariably threw short upon 
 the floor. But these were adventures ill-suited to 
 her. Knitting was her natural talent. She was 
 always knitting. 
 
 By the open window stood two children, a boy 
 and a girl of ten and twelve respectively, gazing out 
 into the sunshine. It was the end of April, and 
 though the sun was already hot, there was a sharp- 
 ness in the air that told of snow still lying on the 
 mountain heights behind the village. Across vine- 
 
 75
 
 76 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND chap. 
 
 yard slopes and patches of agricultural land, the 
 Lake of Neuchatel lay blue as a southern sea, while 
 beyond it, in a line of white that the sunset soon 
 would turn to pink and gold, stretched the whole 
 range of Alps, from Mont Blanc to where the Eiger 
 and the Weisshorn signalled in the east. They filled 
 the entire horizon, already cloud-like in the haze of 
 coming summer. 
 
 The door into the corridor opened, and a taller 
 child came in. A mass of dark hair, caught by a 
 big red bow, tumbled untidily down her back. She 
 was sixteen and very earnest, but her eyes, brown 
 like her father's, held a curious puzzled look, as 
 though life still confused her so much that while she 
 did her duties bravely she did not quite understand 
 why it should be so. 
 
 ' Excuse me, Mother, shall I wash up ? ' she said 
 at once. She always did wash up. And ' excuse 
 me ' usually prefaced her questions. 
 
 ' Please, Jane Anne,' said Mother. The entire 
 family called her Jane Anne, although her baptismal 
 names were rather fine. Sometimes she answered, too, 
 to Jinny, but when it was a question of household 
 duties it was Jane Anne, or even ' Ria.' 
 
 She set about her duties promptly, though not 
 with any special deftness. And first she stooped 
 and picked up the last match her father had dropped 
 upon the strip of carpet that covered the linoleum. 
 
 ' Daddy,' she said reprovingly, ' you do make 
 such a mess.' She brushed tobacco ashes from his 
 coat. Mother, without looking up, went on talking 
 to him about the bills — washing, school-books, boots, 
 blouses, oil, and peat. And as she did so a puzzled 
 expression was visible in his eyes akin to the expres- 
 sion in Jane Anne's. Both enjoyed a similar mental
 
 vii A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 77 
 
 confusion sometimes as to words and meanings and 
 the import of practical life generally. 
 
 1 We shan't want any more now, thank goodness,' 
 he said vaguely, referring to the peat, though Mother 
 was already far ahead, wading among boots and shirts 
 and blouses. 
 
 ' But if we get a load in now, you see, it's cheaper,'' 
 she said with emphasis on every alternate word, 
 slowing up the pace to suit him. 
 
 * Mother, where did you put the washing-up 
 rag ? ' came the voice of Jinny in plaintive accents 
 from the tiny kitchen that lay beyond the adjoining 
 bedroom. * I can't find it anywhere,' she added, 
 poking her head round the door suddenly. 
 
 ' Pet lamb,' was Mother's answer, still bending 
 over her knitting — she was prodigal of terms like 
 this and applied them indiscriminately, for Jane Anne 
 resembled the animal in question even less than did 
 her father — ' I saw it last on the geranium shelf — 
 you know, where the fuchsias and the — ' She 
 hesitated, she was not sure herself. ' I'll get it, my 
 duckie, for you,' she added, and began to rise. She 
 was a voluminous, very stately woman. The opera- 
 tion took time. 
 
 ' Let me,' said Daddy, drawing his mind with 
 difficulty from the peat, and rising too. They rose 
 together. 
 
 ' It's all right, I've got it,' cried the child, who 
 had disappeared again. ' It was in the sink. That's 
 Jimbo ; he washed up yesterday.' 
 
 ' Pas vrai ! ' piped a little voice beside the open 
 window, overhearing his name, ' because I only 
 dried. It was Monkey who washed up.' They 
 talked French and English all mixed up together. 
 
 But Monkey was too busy looking at the Alps
 
 78 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND chap. 
 
 through an old pair of opera-glasses, relic of her 
 father's London days that served for telescope, to 
 think reply worth while. Her baptismal names were 
 also rather wonderful, though neither of her parents 
 could have supplied them without a moment's 
 reflection first. There was commotion by that 
 window for a moment but it soon subsided again, for 
 things that Jinny said never provoked dissension, and 
 Jimbo and Monkey just then were busy with a 
 Magic Horse who had wings of snow, and was making 
 fearful leaps from the peaks of the Dent du Midi 
 across the Blumlisalp to the Jungfrau. 
 
 ' Will you please carry the samovar for me ? ' ex- 
 claimed Jane Anne, addressing both her parents, as 
 though uncertain which of them would help her. 
 * You filled it so awfully full to-day, I can't lift it. 
 I advertise for help.' 
 
 Her father slowly rose. ' I'll do it, child,' he said 
 kindly, but with a patience, almost resignation, in his 
 tone suggesting that it was absurd to expect such a 
 thing of him. ' Then do exactly as you think best,' 
 he let fall to his wife as he went, referring to the 
 chaos of expenses she had been discussing with him. 
 1 That'll be all right.' For his mind had not yet 
 sorted the jumble of peat, oil, boots, school-books, 
 and the rest. ' We can manage that at any rate ; 
 you see it's francs, not shillings,' he added, as Jane 
 Anne pulled him by the sleeve towards the steaming 
 samovar. He held the strings of an ever empty purse. 
 
 ' Daddy, but you've always got a crumb in your 
 beard,' she was saying, ' and it it isn't a crumb, it's 
 ashes on your coat or a match on the floor.' She 
 brushed the crumb away. He gave her a kiss. And 
 between them they nearly upset the old nickel-plated 
 samovar that was a present from a Tiflis Armenian
 
 vii A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 79 
 
 to whom the mother once taught English. They 
 looked round anxiously as though afraid of a 
 scolding: ; but Mother had not noticed. And she 
 was accustomed to the noise and laughter. The 
 scene then finished, as it usually did, by the mother 
 washing up, Jane Anne drying, and Daddy hovering 
 to and fro in the background making remarks in his 
 beard about the geraniums, the China tea, the in- 
 digestible new bread, the outrageous cost of the 
 necessaries of life, or the book he was at work on at 
 the moment. 
 
 He often enough gave his uncertain assistance in 
 the little menial duties connected with the prepara- 
 tion or removal of the tea-things, and had even been 
 known to dry. Only washing-up he never did. 
 Somehow his vocation rendered him immune from 
 that. He might bring the peat in, fill the lamps, 
 arrange and dust the scanty furniture, but washing- 
 up was not a possibility even. As an author it was 
 considered beneath his dignity altogether, almost 
 improper — it would have shocked the children. 
 Mother could do anything ; it was right and natural 
 that she should — poor soul ! But Daddy's profession 
 set him in an enclosure apart, and there were certain 
 things in this servantless menage he could not have 
 done without disgracing the entire family. Washing- 
 up was one ; carrying back the empty basket of 
 tea-things to the Pension was another. Daddy wrote 
 books. As Jane Anne put it forcibly and finally 
 once, ' Shakespeare never washed up or carried a 
 tea-basket in the street ! ' — which the others accepted 
 as a conclusive statement of authority. 
 
 And, meantime, the two younger children, who 
 knew how to amuse each other for hours together 
 unaided, had left the Magic Horse in its stables for the
 
 80 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND chap. 
 
 night — an enormous snow-drift — and were sitting 
 side by side upon the sofa conning a number of 
 Punch some English aunt had sent them. The girl 
 read out the jokes, and her brother pointed with a 
 very dirty finger to the pictures. None of the jokes 
 were seized by either, but Jimbo announced each one 
 with, ' Oh ! I say ! ' and their faces were grave and 
 sometimes awed ; and when Jimbo asked, ' But what 
 does that mean ? ' his sister would answer, ' Don't 
 
 you see, I suppose the cabman meant ' finishing 
 
 with some explanation very far from truth, where- 
 upon Jimbo, accepting it doubtfully, said nothing, 
 and they turned another page with keen anticipation. 
 They never appealed for outside aid, but enjoyed it 
 in their own dark, mysterious way. And, presently, 
 when the washing-up was finished, and the dusk 
 began to dim the landscape and conceal the ghostly- 
 looking Alps, they retired to the inner bedroom — 
 for this was Saturday and there were no school tasks 
 to be prepared — and there, seated on the big bed in 
 the corner, they opened a book of cantiques used in 
 school, and sang one hymn and song after another, 
 interrupting one another with jokes and laughter and 
 French and English sentences oddly mixed together. 
 Jimbo sang the tune, and Monkey the alto. It was 
 by no means unpleasant to listen to. And, upon the 
 whole, it was a very grave business altogether, graver 
 even than their attitude to Punch. Jane Anne con- 
 sidered it a foolish waste of time, but she never 
 actually said so. She smiled her grave smile and 
 went her own puzzled way alone. 
 
 Usually at this hour the Den presented a very 
 different appearance, the children, with slates and 
 cahiers y working laboriously round the table, Jane 
 Anne and mother knitting or mending furiously,
 
 vii A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 81 
 
 Mere Riquette, the old cat, asleep before the fire, 
 and a general schoolroom air pervading the place. 
 The father, too, tea once finished, would depart for 
 the little room he slept in and used as work-place 
 over at the carpenter's house among the vineyards. 
 He kept his books there, his rows of pipes and 
 towering little heap of half-filled match-boxes, and 
 there he wrote his clever studies that yet were un- 
 productive of much gold and brought him little 
 more than pleasant notices and occasional letters 
 from enthusiastic strangers. It seemed very un- 
 remunerative labour indeed, and the family had done 
 well to migrate from Essex into Switzerland, where, 
 besides the excellent schools which cost barely two 
 pounds annually per head, the children learned the 
 language and enjoyed the air of forest and mountain 
 into the bargain. Life, for all that, was a severe 
 problem to them, and the difficulty of making both 
 ends come in sight of each other, let alone meeting, 
 was an ever-present one. That they jogged along 
 so well was due more than the others realised to 
 the untiring and selfless zeal of the Irish mother, a 
 plucky, practical woman, and a noble one if ever 
 such existed on this earth. The way she contrived 
 would fill a book ; her economies, so clever they 
 hardly betrayed themselves, would supply a comic 
 annual with material for years, though their comedy 
 involved a pathos of self-denial and sleepless nights 
 that only those similarly placed could have divined. 
 Herself a silent, even inarticulate, woman, she never 
 spoke of them, least of all to her husband, whose 
 mind it was her brave desire to keep free from un- 
 necessary worries for his work. His studies she did 
 not understand, but his stories she read aloud with 
 patient resignation to the children. She marked the 
 
 o
 
 82 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND chap. 
 
 place when the reading was interrupted with a crim- 
 son paper-knife, and often Jimbo would move it 
 several pages farther on without any of them dis- 
 covering the gap. Jane Anne, however, who made 
 no pretence of listening to 'Daddy's muddle-stories,' 
 was beginning to realise what went on in Mother's 
 mind underground. She hardly seized the pathos, 
 but she saw and understood enough to help. And 
 she was in many ways a little second edition — a 
 phrase the muddle-stories never knew, alas ! — of her 
 mother, with the same unselfishness that held a touch 
 of grandeur, the same clever domestic instinct for 
 contrivance, and the same careful ways that yet sat 
 ill upon a boundless generosity of heart beneath. 
 She loved to be thought older than she was, and she 
 used the longest, biggest, grandest words she could 
 possibly invent or find. 
 
 And the village life suited them all in all respects, 
 for, while there was no degrading poverty anywhere, 
 all the inhabitants, from the pasteur to the carpenter, 
 knew the exact value of a centime ; there was no 
 question of keeping up impossible appearances, but a 
 general frankness with regard to the fundamental 
 values of clothing, food, and education that all shared 
 alike and made no pretence about. Any faintest sign 
 of snobbery, for instance, would have been drummed 
 out of the little mountain hamlet at once by Gygi, 
 the gendarme, who spent more time in his fields and 
 vineyards than in his uniform. And, while every one 
 knew that a title and large estates were a not im- 
 possible future for the famille anglaise, it made no 
 slightest difference in the treatment of them, and 
 indeed hardly lent them the flavour of a faintest 
 cachet. They were the English family in La Cita- 
 delle, and that was all there was about it.
 
 vii A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 83 
 
 The peasants, however, rather pitied the hard- 
 working author who ' had to write all those books,' 
 than paid him honourable tribute for his work. It 
 seemed so unnecessary. Vineyards produced wine a 
 
 man could drink and pay for, but books ! Well, 
 
 results spoke for themselves, and no one who lived 
 in La Citadelle was millionaire. 
 
 Yet the reputation of John Frederic Campden 
 stood high enough, for all his meagre earnings, and 
 he was an ineffective author chiefly, perhaps, because 
 he missed his audience. Somewhere, somehow, he 
 fell between two stools. And his chagrin was un- 
 deniable ; for though the poet's heart in him kept 
 all its splendid fires alight, his failure chilled a little 
 the intellect that should fashion them along effect- 
 ive moulds. Now, with advancing years, the in- 
 creasing cost of the children's growing-up, and the 
 failing of his wife's health a little, the burdens of life 
 were heavier than he cared to think about. 
 
 But this evening, as the group sat round the wide 
 peat fire, cheerful and jolly in the lamplight, there 
 was certainly no sign of sadness. They were like a 
 party of children in which the grave humour of the 
 ever-knitting mother kept the balance true between 
 fun and foolishness. 
 
 ' Please, Daddy, a story at once,' Jane Anne de- 
 manded, ' but a told one, not a read-aloud one. I 
 like a romantic effort best.' 
 
 He fumbled in his pocket for a light, and Jimbo 
 gravely produced a box he had secretly filled with 
 matches already used, collected laboriously from the 
 floor during the week. Then Monkey, full of mis- 
 chief, came over from the window where she had 
 been watching them with gasps of astonishment no 
 one had heeded through the small end of the opera-
 
 84 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND chap 
 
 glasses. There was a dancing brilliance in her 
 movements, and her eyes, brown like her mother's, 
 sparkled with fun and wickedness. Taking the 
 knee Jimbo left unoccupied, and waiting till the 
 diversion caused by the match-box had subsided, she 
 solemnly placed a bread-crumb in his rather tangled 
 beard. 
 
 ' Now you're full-dress,' she said, falling instantly 
 so close against him that he could not tickle her, 
 while Mother glanced up a second uncertain whether 
 to criticise the impertinence or let it pass. 
 
 She let it pass. None of the children had the 
 faintest idea what it meant to be afraid of their 
 father. 
 
 'People who waste bread,' he began, 'end by 
 getting so thin themselves that they double up like 
 paper and disappear.' 
 
 ' But how thin, Daddy ? ' asked Jane Anne, ever 
 literal to the death. 'And is it romantic or just silly ?' 
 
 He was puzzled for a moment what to reply. 
 
 ' He doesn't know. He's making up,' piped 
 Jimbo. 
 
 ' I do know,' came the belated explanation, as he 
 put the crumb into the bowl of his extinguished pipe 
 with a solemnity that delighted them, but puzzled 
 Jane Anne, who suggested it would taste ' like toast 
 smelt.' ' People who take bread that doesn't belong 
 to them end by having no dinner ' 
 
 ' But that isn't anything about thinness,' inter- 
 rupted Jinny, still uncomforted. Some one wasted 
 by love was in her mind perhaps. 
 
 ' It is, child, because they get so frightfully thin,' 
 he went on, ' that they end by getting thinner than 
 the thin end of a wedge.' 
 
 The eyes of Mother twinkled, but the children
 
 vii A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 85 
 
 still stared, waiting. They had never heard of this 
 phrase about the wedge. Indeed Jane Anne shared 
 with Jimbo total ignorance of the word at all. Like 
 the audience who read his books, or rather ought to 
 have read them, they expected something different, 
 yet still hoped. 
 
 f It's a rhyme, and not a story though,' he added, 
 anticipating perhaps their possible disappointment. 
 For the recent talk about expenses had chilled his 
 imagination too much for an instantaneous story, 
 whereas rhymes came ever to him easily. 
 
 ' All right ! Let's have it anyhow,' came the 
 verdict in sentences of French and English. And 
 in the breathless pause that followed, even Mother 
 looking up expectantly from her busy fingers, was 
 heard this strange fate of the Thin Child who stole 
 another's bread-crumb : — 
 
 He then grew thinner than the thin, 
 The thin end of the wedge ; 
 He grew so pitifully thin 
 It set his teeth on edge ; 
 But the edge it set his teeth upon 
 Was worse than getting thinner, 
 For it was the edge of appetite, 
 And his teeth were in no dinner ! 
 
 There was a deep silence. Mother looked as though 
 she expected more, — the good part yet to come. 
 The rhyme fell flat as a pancake, for of course 
 the children did not understand it. Its nonsense, 
 clever enough, escaped them. True nonsense is for 
 grown-ups only. Jane Anne stared steadily at him 
 with a puzzled frown. Her face wore an expression 
 like a moth. 
 
 ' Thank you, Daddy, very much,' she said, certain 
 as ever that the fault if any was her own, since all
 
 86 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND chap. 
 
 that Daddy said and did was simply splendid. Where- 
 upon the others fairly screamed with delight, turning 
 attention thereby from the dismal failure. 
 
 ' She doesn't understand it, but she's always so 
 polite ! ' cried Monkey. 
 
 Her mother quickly intervened. ' Never mind, 
 Jane Anne,' she soothed her, lest her feelings should 
 be ruffled ; ' you shall never want a dinner, lovey ; 
 and when all Monkey's teeth are gone you'll still be 
 able to munch away at something.' 
 
 But Jinny's feelings were never ruffled exactly, only 
 confused and puzzled. She was puzzled now. Her 
 confidence in her father's splendour was unshakable. 
 
 * And, anyhow, Mother, you'll never be a thin 
 wedge,' she answered, meaning to show her gratitude 
 by a compliment. She joined herself as loudly as 
 anybody in the roar that followed this sally. 
 Obviously, she had said a clever and amusing thing, 
 though it was not clear to her why it was so. Her 
 flushed face was very happy ; it even wore a touch 
 of proud superiority. Her talents were domestic 
 rather than intellectual. 
 
 ' Excuse me, Daddy,' she said gravely, in a pause 
 that followed presently. ' But what is a wedge, 
 exactly ? And I think I'd like to copy that poetry 
 in my book, please.' For she kept a book in which 
 his efforts were neatly inscribed in a round copy- 
 book handwriting, and called by Monkey ' The 
 Muddle Book.' There his unappreciated doggerels 
 found fame, though misunderstood most of all by 
 the affectionate child who copied them so proudly. 
 
 The book was brought at once. Her father wrote 
 out the nonsense verse on his knee and made a funny 
 little illustration in the margin. ' Oh, I say ! ' said 
 Jimbo, watching him, while Monkey, lapsing into
 
 vii A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 87 
 
 French, contributed with her usual impudence, * Pas 
 tant mal ! ' They all loved the illustrations. 
 
 The general interest, then, as the way is with 
 children, puppies, and other young Inconsistencies, 
 centred upon the contents of the book. They eagerly 
 turned the pages, as though they did not know its 
 contents by heart already. They praised for the 
 hundredth time the drawing of the Muddle Animal 
 who 
 
 Hung its hopes upon a nail 
 
 Or laid them on the shelf; 
 
 Then pricked its conscience with its tail, 
 
 And sat upon itself. 
 
 They looked also with considerable approval upon 
 the drawings and descriptions of the Muddle Man 
 whose manners towards the rest of the world were 
 cool ; because 
 
 He saw things with his naked eye, 
 That's why his glance was chilly. 
 
 But the explanation of the disasters he caused every- 
 where by his disagreeable sharpness of speech and 
 behaviour did not amuse them. They observed as 
 usual that it was ' too impossible ' ; the drawings, 
 moreover, did not quite convince : — 
 
 So cutting was his speaking tone 
 
 Each phrase snipped off a button, 
 
 So sharp his words, they have been known 
 
 To carve a leg of mutton ; 
 
 He shaved himself with sentences, 
 
 And when he went to dances, 
 
 He made — Oh shocking tendencies ! — 
 
 Deep holes with piercing glances. 
 
 But on the last page the Muddle Man behaved 
 so badly, was so positively indecent in his conduct, 
 that he was persuaded to disappear altogether ; and
 
 88 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND chap. 
 
 his manner of extinguishing himself in the illustration 
 delighted the children far more than the verse whose 
 fun again escaped them : — 
 
 They observed he was indecent, 
 But he said it wasn't true, 
 For he pronounced it ' in descent ' — 
 Then disappeared from view ! 
 
 Mother's alleged ' second sight ' was also attri- 
 buted to the fact that she * looked twice before she 
 leaped ' — and the drawing of that leap never failed 
 to produce high spirits. For her calm and steady 
 way of walking — sailing — had earned her the name 
 of the frigate — and this was also illustrated, with 
 various winds, all coloured, driving her along. 
 
 The time passed happily ; some one turned the 
 lamp out, and Daddy, regardless of expense — he had 
 been grumbling about it ten minutes before — heaped 
 on the bricks of peat. Riquette, a bit of movable 
 furniture without which the room seemed incom- 
 plete, deftly s'ipped in between the circle of legs and 
 feet, and curled up upon Jinny's lap. Her snoring, 
 a wheezy noise that made Jimbo wonder ' why it 
 didn't scrape her,' was as familiar as the ticking of 
 the clock. Old Mere Riquette knew her rights. 
 And she exacted them. Jinny's lap was one of 
 these. She had a face like an old peasant woman, 
 with a curious snub nose and irregular whiskers that 
 betrayed recklessly the advance of age. Her snores 
 and gentle purring filled the room now. A hush 
 came over the whole party. At seven o'clock they 
 must all troop over to the Pension des Glycines for 
 supper, but there was still an hour left. And it was 
 a magic hour. Sighs were audible here and there, as 
 the exhausted children settled deeper into their chairs.
 
 vii A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 89 
 
 A change came over the atmosphere. Would nothing 
 exciting ever happen ? 
 
 ' The stars are out,' said Jimbo in his soft, gentle 
 little voice, turning his head towards the windows. 
 The others looked too — all except Mother, whose 
 attitude suggested suspiciously that she slept, and 
 Riquette, who most certainly did sleep. Above the 
 rampart of the darkened Alps swung up the army of 
 the stars. The brighter ones were reflected in the 
 lake. The sky was crowded. Tiny, golden path- 
 ways slid down the purple walls of the night. 
 * Some one in heaven is letting down the star- 
 
 o 
 
 ladders . . . ' he whispered. 
 
 Jimbo's sentence had marked the change of key. 
 Enchantment was abroad — the Saturday evening spell 
 was in the room. 
 
 And suddenly a new enormous thing stirred in 
 their father's heart. Whence it came, or why, he 
 knew not. Like a fire it rose in him deep down, 
 from very far away, delightful. Was it an inspira- 
 tion coming, he wondered? And why did Jimbo 
 use that phrase of beauty about star-ladders ? How 
 did it come into the mind of a little boy ? The 
 phrase opened a new channel in the very depths of 
 him, thence climbing up and outwards, towards the 
 brain. . . . 
 
 And, with a thrill of curious high wonder, he let 
 it come. It was large and very splendid. It came 
 with a rush — as of numerous whispering voices that 
 flocked about him, urging some exquisite, distant 
 sweetness in him to unaccustomed delivery. A 
 softness of ten thousand stars trooped down into 
 his blood. Some constellation like the Pleiades had 
 flung their fiery tackle across the dusk upon his 
 mind. His thought turned golden. . . .
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 We are the stars which sing. 
 
 We sing with our light. 
 
 We are the birds of fire. 
 
 We fly across the heaven. 
 
 Our light is a star. 
 
 We make a road for Spirits, 
 
 A road for the Great Spirit. 
 
 Among us are three hunters 
 
 Who chase a bear : 
 
 There never was a time 
 
 When they were not hunting ; 
 
 We look down on the mountains. 
 
 This is the Song of the Mountains. 
 
 Red Indian [Algonquin) Lyric. 
 Translator, J. D. Prince. 
 
 * A star-story, please,' the boy repeated, cuddling 
 up. They all drew, where possible, nearer. Their 
 belief in their father's powers, rarely justified, was 
 pathetic. Each time they felt sure he would make 
 the adventures seem real, yet somehow he never 
 quite did. They were aware that it was invention 
 only. These things he told about he had not ex- 
 perienced himself. For they badly needed a leader, 
 these children ; and Daddy just missed filling the 
 position. He was too ' clever,' his imagination 
 neither wild nor silly enough, for children. And he 
 felt it. He threw off rhymes and stories for them 
 in a spirit of bravado rather — an expression of dis- 
 appointment. Yet there was passion in them too — 
 concealed. The public missed the heart he showed 
 them in his books in the same way. 
 
 90
 
 ch.viii A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 91 
 
 ' The stars are listening. . . .' Jimbo's voice 
 sounded tar away, almost outside the window. 
 Mother now snored audibly. Daddy took his 
 courage in both hands and made the plunge. 
 
 ' You know about the Star Cavern, I sup- 
 pose ? ' he began. It was the sudden idea that 
 
 had shot into him, he knew not whence. 
 
 < No.' 
 
 ' Never heard of it.' 
 
 • Where is it, please ? ' 
 
 1 Don't interrupt. That wasn't a real question. 
 Stories always begin like that.' It was Jane Anne 
 who thus finally commanded order. 
 
 ' It's not a story exactly, but a sort of adventure,' 
 he continued, hesitating yet undaunted. 'Star 
 Caverns are places where the unused starlight 
 gathers. There are numbers of them about the 
 world, and one I know of is up here in our moun- 
 tains,' he pointed through the north wall towards the 
 pine-clad Jura, ' not far from the slopes of Boudry 
 where the forests dip towards the precipices of the 
 
 Areuse ' The phrase ran oddly through him 
 
 like an inspiration, or the beginning of a song he 
 once had heard somewhere. 
 
 ' Ah, beyond le Vallon Vert ? I know,' whispered 
 Jimbo, his blue eyes big already with wonder. 
 
 * Towards the precipices on the farther side,' 
 came the explanation, ' where there are those little 
 open spaces among the trees.' 
 
 ' Tell us more exactly, please.' 
 
 4 Star-rays, you see,' he evaded them, c are visible 
 in the sky on their way to us, but once they touch 
 the earth they disappear and go out like a candle. 
 Unless a chance puddle, or a pair of eyes happens 
 to be about to catch them, you can't tell where
 
 92 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND chap. 
 
 they've gone to. They go really into these Star 
 Caverns.' 
 
 ' But in a puddle or a pair of eyes they'd be lost 
 just the same,' came the objection. 
 
 ' On the contrary,' he said ; ' changed a little — 
 increased by reflection — but not lost.' 
 
 There was a pause ; the children stared, expect- 
 antly. Here was mystery. 
 
 * See how they mirror themselves whenever pos- 
 sible,' he went on, * doubling their light and beauty 
 by giving themselves away ! What is a puddle 
 worth until a Star's wee golden face shines out of it ? 
 And then — what gold can buy it ? And what are 
 your eyes worth until a star has flitted in and made 
 a nest there ? ' 
 
 ' Oh, like that, you mean ! ' exclaimed Jane 
 
 Anne, remembering that the wonderful women in 
 the newspaper stories always had ' starry eyes.' 
 
 ' Like that, yes.' Daddy continued. ' Their light 
 puts sympathy in you, and only sympathy makes 
 you lovely and — and ' 
 
 He stopped abruptly. He hesitated a moment. 
 He was again most suddenly aware that this strange 
 idea that was born in him came from somewhere else, 
 almost from some one else. It was not his own idea, 
 nor had he captured it completely yet. Like a 
 wandering little inspiration from another mind it 
 seemed passing through him on uncertain, feathery 
 feet. He had suddenly lost it again. Thought 
 wandered. He stared at Jimbo, for Jimbo somehow 
 seemed the channel. 
 
 The children waited, then talked among them- 
 selves. Daddy so often got muddled and inattentive 
 in this way. They were accustomed to it, expected 
 it even.
 
 viii A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 93 
 
 1 I always love being out at night,' said Monkey, 
 her eyes very bright ; ' it sort of excites and makes 
 me soft and happy.' 
 
 'Excuse me, Daddy, but have you been inside 
 one ? What's it like ? The Cave, I mean ? ' 
 Jinny stuck to the point. She had not yet travelled 
 beyond it. 
 
 ' It all collects in there and rises to the top like 
 cream,' he went on, ' and has a little tiny perfume 
 like wild violets, and by walking through it you get 
 clothed and covered with it, and come out again all 
 soft-shiny ' 
 
 ' What's soft-shiny, please ? ' 
 
 1 Something half-primrose and half-moon. You're 
 like a star ' 
 
 ' But how — like a star ? * 
 
 'Why,' he explained gently, yet a little dis- 
 appointed that his adventure was not instantly 
 accepted, 'you shine, and your eyes twinkle, and 
 everybody likes you and thinks you beautiful ' 
 
 4 Even if you're not ? ' inquired Jinny. 
 
 ' But you are ' 
 
 1 Couldn't we go there now ? Mother's fast 
 asleep ! ' suggested Jimbo in a mysterious whisper. 
 He felt a curious excitement. This, he felt, was 
 more real than usual. He glanced at Monkey's eyes 
 a moment. 
 
 1 Another time,' said Daddy, already half believ- 
 ing in the truth of his adventure, yet not quite sure 
 of himself. ' It collects, and collects, and collects. 
 Sometimes, here and there, a little escapes and creeps 
 out into yellow flowers like dandelions and butter- 
 cups. A little, too, slips below the ground and fills 
 up empty cracks between the rocks. Then it hardens, 
 gets dirty, and men dig it out again and call it
 
 94 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND chap. 
 
 gold. And some slips out by the roof — though 
 very, very little — and you see it flashing back to 
 find the star it belongs to, and people with tele- 
 scopes call it a shooting star, and ' It came 
 
 pouring through him again. 
 
 ' But when you're in it — in the Cavern,' asked 
 Monkey impatiently ; ' what happens then ? ' 
 
 ' Well,' he answered with conviction, ' it sticks to 
 you. It sticks to the eyes most, but a little also to 
 the hair and voice, and nobody loves you unless 
 you've got a bit of it somewhere on you. A girl, 
 before any one falls in love with her, has always 
 been there, and people who write stories and music 
 and things — all have got some on their fingers or 
 else nobody cares for what they write ' 
 
 ' Oh, Daddy, then why don't you go there and 
 get sticky all over with it?' Jinny burst out with 
 sudden eagerness, ever thinking of others before 
 herself. ' I'll go and get some for you — lots and 
 lots.' 
 
 ' I have been there,' he answered slowly, ' once 
 long, long ago. But it didn't stick very well with 
 me. It wipes off so quickly in the day-time. The 
 sunlight kills it.' 
 
 ' But you got some ! ' the child insisted. c And 
 you've got it still, I mean ? ' 
 
 ' A little, perhaps, a very little.' 
 
 All felt the sadness in his voice without under- 
 standing it. There was a moment's pause. Then 
 the three of them spoke in a single breath — 
 
 'Please show it to us — now, they cried. 
 
 * I'll try,' he said, after a slight hesitation, ' but — 
 er — it's only a rhyme, you see ' ; and then began to 
 murmur very low for fear of waking Mother : he 
 almost sang it to them. The flock of tiny voices
 
 viii A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 95 
 
 whispered it to his blood. He merely uttered what 
 he heard : — 
 
 Starlight 
 
 Runs along my mind 
 
 And rolls into a ball of golden silk — 
 
 A little skein 
 
 Of tangled glory ; 
 
 And when I want to get it out again 
 
 To weave the pattern of a verse or story, 
 
 It must unwind. 
 
 It then gets knotted, looped, and all up-jumbled, 
 
 And long before I get it straight again, unwumbled, 
 
 To make my verse or story, 
 
 The interfering sun has risen 
 
 And burst with passion through my silky prison 
 
 To melt it down in dew, 
 
 Like so much spider-gossamer or fairy-cotton. 
 
 Don't you ? 
 
 / call it rotten ! 
 
 A hushed silence followed. Eyes sought the fire. 
 No one spoke for several minutes. There was a 
 faint laughter, quickly over, but containing sighs. 
 Only Jinny stared straight into her father's face, 
 expecting more, though prepared at any stage to 
 explode with unfeigned admiration. 
 
 ' But that " don't you " comes in the wrong place,' 
 she objected anxiously. ' It ought to come after " I 
 
 call it rotten " ' She was determined to make it 
 
 seem all right. 
 
 4 No, Jinny,' he answered gravely, ' you must 
 always put others before yourself. It's the first rule 
 in life and literature.' 
 
 She dropped her eyes to the fire like the others. 
 ' Ah,' she said, c I see ; of course.' The long word 
 blocked her mind like an avalanche, even while she 
 loved it. 
 
 • / call it rotten,' murmured Monkey under her
 
 96 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND chap. 
 
 breath. Jimbo made no audible remark. He 
 crossed his little legs and folded his arms. He was 
 not going to express an opinion until he understood 
 better what it was all about. He began to whisper 
 to his sister. Another longish pause intervened. It 
 was Jinny again who broke it. 
 
 * And "wumbled," ' she asked solemnly as though 
 the future of everybody depended on it, ' what is 
 wumbled, really ? There's no such thing, is there ? — 
 In life, I mean ? ' She meant to add ' and literature,' 
 but the word stopped her like a hedge. 
 
 ' It's what happens to a verse or story I lose in 
 that way,' he explained, while Jimbo and Monkey 
 whispered more busily still among themselves about 
 something else. * The bit of starlight that gets lost 
 and doesn't stick, you see — ineffective.' 
 
 ' But there is no such word, really/ she urged, 
 determined to clear up all she could. ' It rhymes — 
 that's all.' 
 
 'And there is no verse or story,' he replied with 
 a sigh. ' There was — that's all.' 
 
 There was another pause. Jimbo and Monkey 
 looked round suspiciously. They ceased their mys- 
 terious whispering. They clearly did not wish the 
 others to know what their confabulation was about. 
 
 * That's why your books are wumbled, is it ? ' 
 she inquired, proud of an explanation that excused 
 him, yet left his glory somehow unimpaired. Her 
 face was a map of puzzled wrinkles. 
 
 * Precisely, Jinny. You see, the starlight never 
 gets through properly into my mind. It lies there 
 in a knot. My plot is wumbled. I can't disentangle 
 it quite, though the beauty lies there right enough ' 
 
 ' Oh, yes,' she interrupted, ' the beauty lies there 
 still.' She got up suddenly and gave him a kiss.
 
 viii A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 
 
 97 
 
 ' Never mind, Daddy,' she whispered. ' I'll get it 
 straight for you one day. I'll unwumble it. I'll do 
 it like a company promoter, I will.' She used words 
 culled from newspapers. 
 
 * Thank you, child,' he smiled, returning her kiss ; 
 1 I'm sure you will. Only, you'd better let me know 
 when you're coming. It might be dangerous to my 
 health otherwise.' 
 
 She took it with perfect seriousness. * Oh, but, 
 excuse me, I'll come when you're asleep,' she told 
 him, so low that the others could not hear. ' I'll 
 come to you when I'm dreaming. I dream all night 
 like a busy Highlander.' 
 
 ' That's right,' he whispered, giving her a hug. 
 ' Come when I'm asleep and all the stars are out ; 
 and bring a comb and a pair of scissors ' 
 
 ' And a hay-rake,' added Monkey, overhearing. 
 
 Everybody laughed. The children cuddled up 
 closer to him. They pitied him. He had failed 
 again, though his failure was as much a pleasure as 
 his complete success. They sat on his knees and 
 played with him to make up for it, repeating bits 
 of the rhyme they could remember. Then Mother 
 and Riquette woke up together, and the spell was 
 broken. The party scattered. Only Jimbo and his 
 younger sister, retiring into a corner by themselves, 
 continued their mysterious confabulation. Their 
 faces were flushed with excitement. There was a 
 curious animation in their eyes — though this may 
 have been borrowed from the embers of the peat. 
 Or, it may have been the stars, for they were close 
 to the open window. Both seemed soft-shiny some- 
 how. They, certainly, were not wumbled. 
 
 And several hours later, when they had returned 
 
 H
 
 98 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND chap. 
 
 from supper at the Pension and lay in bed, exchang- 
 ing their last mysterious whispers across the darkness, 
 Monkey said in French — 
 
 'Jimbo, I'm going to find that Cavern where the 
 star stuff lies,' and Jimbo answered audaciously, ' I've 
 already been there.' 
 
 ' Will you show me the way, then ? ' she asked 
 eagerly, and rather humbly. 
 
 * Perhaps,' he answered from beneath the bed- 
 clothes, then added, ' Of course I will.' He merely 
 wished to emphasise the fact that he was leader. 
 
 ' Sleep quickly, then, and join me — over there.' 
 It was their game to believe they joined in one 
 another's dreams. 
 
 They slept. And the last thing that reached them 
 from the outer world was their mother's voice calling 
 to them her customary warning : that the ramoneur 
 was already in the chimney and that unless they were 
 asleep in five minutes he would come and catch them 
 by the tail. For the Sweep they looked upon with 
 genuine awe. His visits to the village — once in the 
 autumn and once in the spring — were times of shivery 
 excitement. 
 
 Presently Mother rose and sailed on tiptoe round 
 the door to peep. And a smile spread softly over her 
 face as she noted the characteristic evidences of the 
 children beside each bed. Monkey's clothes lay in a 
 scattered heap of confusion, half upon the floor, but 
 Jimbo's garments were folded in a precise, neat pile 
 upon the chair. They looked ready to be packed 
 into a parcel. His habits were so orderly. His 
 school blouse hung on the back, the knickerbockers 
 were carefully folded, and the black belt lay coiled 
 in a circle on his coat and what he termed his 
 4 westkit.' Beneath the chair the little pair of very
 
 viii A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 99 
 
 dirty boots stood side by side. Mother stooped and 
 kissed the round plush-covered head that just emerged 
 from below the mountainous duvet. He looked like 
 a tiny radish lying in a big ploughed field. 
 
 Then, hunting for a full five minutes before she 
 discovered the shoes of Monkey, one beneath the bed 
 and the other inside her petticoat, she passed on into 
 the little kitchen where she cleaned and polished both 
 pairs, and then replaced them by their respective 
 owners. This done, she laid the table in the outer 
 room for their breakfast at half-past six, saw that 
 their school-books and satchels were in order, gave 
 them each a little more unnecessary tucking-up and 
 a kiss so soft it could not have waked a butterfly, 
 and then returned to her chair before the fire where 
 she resumed the mending of a pile of socks and 
 shirts, blouses and stockings, to say nothing of other 
 indescribable garments, that lay in a formidable heap 
 upon the big round table. 
 
 This was her nightly routine. Sometimes her 
 husband joined her. Then they talked the children 
 over until midnight, discussed expenses that threat- 
 ened to swamp them, yet turned out each month 
 'just manageable somehow' and finally made a cup 
 of cocoa before retiring, she to her self-made bed 
 upon the sofa, and he to his room in the carpenter's 
 house outside the village. But sometimes he did not 
 come. He remained in the Pension to smoke and 
 chat with the Russian and Armenian students, who 
 attended daily lectures in the town, or else went over 
 to his own quarters to work at the book he was 
 engaged on at the moment. To-night he did not 
 come. A light in an attic window, just visible above 
 the vineyards, showed that he was working. 
 
 The room was very still ; only the click of the
 
 ioo A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND ch. v.,. 
 
 knitting needles or the soft noise of the collapsing 
 peat ashes broke the stillness. Riquette snored before 
 the fire less noisily than usual. 
 
 * He'sworking very late to-night,' thought Mother, 
 noticing the lighted window. She sighed audibly ; 
 mentally she shrugged her shoulders. Daddy had 
 long ago left that inner preserve of her heart where 
 she completely understood him. Sympathy between 
 them, in the true sense of the word, had worn rather 
 thin. 
 
 ' I hope he won't overtire himself,' she added, but 
 this was the habit of perfunctory sympathy. She 
 might equally have said, ' I wish he would do some- 
 thing to bring in a little money instead of earning 
 next to nothing and always complaining about the 
 expenses.' 
 
 Outside the stars shone brightly through the fresh 
 spring night, where April turned in her sleep, dream- 
 ing that May was on the way to wake her.
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 Wrap thy form in a mantle gray, 
 
 Star-inwrought ! 
 Blind with thine hair the eyes of Day } 
 Kiss her until she be wearied out, 
 Then wander o'er city, and sea, and land, 
 Touching all with thine opiate wand — 
 
 Come, long sought ! 
 
 To Night, Shelley. 
 
 Now, cats are curious creatures, and not without 
 reason, perhaps, are they adored by some, yet regarded 
 with suspicious aversion by others. They know so 
 much they never dare to tell, while affecting that 
 they know nothing and are innocent. For it is 
 beyond question that several hours later, when the 
 village and the Citadelle were lost in slumber, Mere 
 Riquette stirred stealthily where she lay upon the 
 hearth, opened her big green eyes, and — began to 
 wash. 
 
 But this toilette was pretence in case any one was 
 watching. Really, she looked about her all the time. 
 Her sleep also had been that sham sleep of cats 
 behind which various plots and plans mature — a 
 questionable business altogether. The washing, as 
 soon as she made certain no one saw her, gave place 
 to another manoeuvre. She stretched as though her 
 bones were of the very best elastic. Gathering her- 
 self together, she arched her round body till it 
 resembled a toy balloon straining to rise against the 
 
 IOI
 
 102 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND chap. 
 
 pull of four thin ropes that held it tightly to the 
 ground. Then, unable to float off through the air, 
 as she had expected, she slowly again subsided. The 
 balloon deflated. She licked her chops, twitched her 
 whiskers, curled her tail neatly round her two front 
 paws — and grinned complacently. She waited before 
 that extinguished fire of peat as though she had never 
 harboured a single evil purpose in all her days. ' A 
 saucer of milk,' she gave the world to understand, 
 ' is the only thing / care about.' Her smile of 
 innocence and her attitude of meek simplicity pro- 
 claimed this to the universe at large. ' That's me,' 
 she told the darkness, ' and I don't care a bit who 
 knows it.' She looked so sleek and modest that a 
 mouse need not have feared her. But she did not 
 add, ' That's what I mean the world to think,' for 
 this belonged to the secret life cats never talk about. 
 Those among humans might divine it who could, and 
 welcome. They would be admitted. But the rest 
 of the world were regarded with mere tolerant dis- 
 dain. They bored. 
 
 Then, satisfied that she was unobserved, Mere 
 Riquette abandoned all further pretence, and stalked 
 silently about the room. The starlight just made 
 visible her gliding shadow, as first she visited the 
 made-up sofa-bed where the exhausted mother snored 
 mildly beneath the book-shelves, and then, after a 
 moment's keen inspection, turned back and went at 
 a quicker pace into the bedroom where the children 
 slept. There the night-light made her movements 
 easily visible. The cat was excited. Something 
 bigger than any mouse was coming into her life 
 just now. 
 
 Riquette then witnessed a wonderful and beautiful 
 thing, yet witnessed it obviously not for the first
 
 ix A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 103 
 
 time. Her manner suggested no surprise. ' It's like 
 a mouse, only bigger,' her expression said. And by 
 this she meant that it was natural. She accepted it 
 as right and proper. 
 
 For Monkey got out of herself as out of a case. 
 She slipped from her body as a sword slips from its 
 sheath, yet the body went on breathing in the bed 
 just as before ; the turned-up nose with the little plat- 
 form at its tip did not cease from snoring, and the 
 lids remained fastened tightly over the brilliant brown 
 eyes, buttoned down so securely for the night. Two 
 plaits of hair lay on the pillow ; another rose and fell 
 with the regular breathing of her little bosom. But 
 Monkey herself stood softly shining on the floor 
 within a paw's length. 
 
 Riquette blinked her eyes and smiled complacently. 
 Jimbo was close behind her, even brighter than his 
 sister, with eyes like stars. 
 
 The visions of cats are curious things, no doubt, 
 and few may guess their furry, silent pathways as 
 they go winding along their length of inconsequent 
 development. For, softer than any mouse, the 
 children glided swiftly into the next room where 
 Mother slept beneath the book-shelves — two shining 
 little radiant figures, hand in hand. They tried for 
 a moment to pull out Mother too, but found her 
 difficult to move. Somewhere on the way she stuck. 
 They gave it up. 
 
 Turning towards the window that stood open 
 beyond the head of the sofa-bed, they rose up lightly 
 and floated through it out into the starry night. 
 Riquette leaped like a silent shadow after them, but 
 before she reached the roof of red-brown tiles that 
 sloped down to the yard, Jimbo and Monkey were 
 already far away. She strained her big green eyes in
 
 104 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND chap. 
 
 vain, seeing nothing but the tops of the plane trees, 
 thick with tiny coming leaves, the sweep of vines and 
 sky, and the tender, mothering night beyond. She 
 pattered softly back again, gave a contemptuous 
 glance at Mother in passing, and jumped up at once 
 into the warm nest of sheets that gaped invitingly 
 between the shoulder of Jimbo's body and the pillow. 
 She shaped the opening to her taste, kneading it with 
 both front paws, turned three times round, and then 
 lay down. Curled in a ball, her nose buried between 
 her back feet, she was asleep in a single moment. 
 Her whiskers ceased to quiver. 
 
 The children were tugging at Daddy now over in 
 the carpenter's house. His bed was short, and his 
 body lay in a kind of knot. On the chair beside it 
 were books and papers, and a candle that had burnt 
 itself out. A pencil poked its nose out among the 
 sheets, and it was clear he had fallen asleep while 
 working. 
 
 ' Wumbled ! ' sighed Jimbo, pointing to the 
 scribbled notes. But Monkey was busy pulling him 
 out, and did not answer. Then Jimbo helped her. 
 And Daddy came out magnificently — as far as the head 
 — then stuck like Mother. They pulled in vain. 
 Something in his head prevented complete release. 
 
 ' En voila un! ' laughed Monkey. ' Quel homme ! ' 
 It was her natural speech, the way she talked at 
 school. 
 
 ' It's a pity,' said Jimbo with a little sigh. They 
 gave it up, watching him slide slowly back again. 
 The moment he was all in they turned towards the 
 open window. Hand in hand they sailed out over 
 the sleeping village. And from almost every house 
 they heard a sound of weeping. There were sighs 
 and prayers and pleadings. All slept and dreamed
 
 ix A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 105 
 
 — dreamed of their difficulties and daily troubles. 
 Released in sleep, their longings rose to heaven uncon- 
 sciously, automatically as it were. Even the cheerful 
 and the happy yearned a little, even the well-to-do 
 whom the world judged so secure — these, too, had 
 their burdens that found release, and so perhaps relief 
 in sleep. 
 
 ' Come, and we'll help them,' Jimbo said eagerly. 
 * We can change all that a little. Oh, I say, what a 
 lot we've got to do to-night.' 
 
 • Je crois bien,' laughed Monkey, turning somer- 
 saults for joy as she followed him. Her tendency to 
 somersaults in this condition was irresistible, and a 
 source of worry to Jimbo, who classed it among the 
 foolish habits of what he called ' womans and things 
 like that ! ' 
 
 And the sound came loudest from the huddled 
 little building by the Church, the Pension where they 
 had their meals, and where Jinny had her bedroom. 
 But Jinny, they found, was already out, off upon 
 adventures of her own. A solitary child, she always 
 went her independent way in everything. They 
 dived down into the first floor, and there, in a narrow 
 bedroom whose windows stood open upon the wistaria 
 branches, they found Madame Jequier — ' Tante 
 Jeanne,' as they knew the sympathetic, generous 
 creature best, sister-in-law of the Postmaster — not 
 sleeping like the others, but wide awake and praying 
 vehemently in a wicker-chair that creaked with every 
 nervous movement that she made. All about her 
 were bits of paper covered with figures, bills, calcula- 
 tions, and the rest. 
 
 1 We can't get at her,' said Monkey, her laughter 
 hushed for a moment. ' There's too much sadness. 
 Come on ! Let's go somewhere else.'
 
 106 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND chap. 
 
 But Jimbo held her tight. * Let's have a try. 
 Listen, you silly, can't you ! ' 
 
 They stood for several minutes, listening together, 
 while the brightness of their near approach seemed to 
 change the woman's face a little. She looked up and 
 listened as though aware of something near her. 
 
 ' She's praying for others as well as herself,' 
 explained Jimbo. 
 
 ' (^a vaut la peine alors,' said Monkey. And they 
 drew cautiously nearer. . . . But, soon desisting, the 
 children were far away, hovering about the mountains. 
 They had no steadiness as yet. 
 
 ' Starlight,' Jimbo was singing to himself, * runs 
 along my mind.' 
 
 4 You're all up-jumbled,' Monkey interrupted him 
 with a laugh, turning repeated somersaults till she 
 looked like a Catherine wheel of brightness. 
 
 * . . . the pattern of my verse or story . . .' 
 continued Jimbo half aloud, * . . . a little ball of 
 tangled glory. . . .' 
 
 ' You must unwind ! ' cried Monkey. * Look 
 out, it's the sun ! It'll melt us into dew ! ' 
 
 But it was not the sun. Out there beyond them, 
 towards the purple woods still sleeping, appeared a 
 draught of starbeams like a broad, deep river of gold. 
 The rays, coming from all corners of the sky, wove 
 a pattern like a network. 
 
 4 Jimbo ! ' gasped the girl, ' it's like a fishing-net. 
 We've never noticed it before.' 
 
 4 It is a net,' he answered, standing still as a stone, 
 though he had not thought of it himself until she 
 said so. He instantly dressed himself, as he always 
 translated /'/ se dressait in his funny Franco-English. 
 Dijh and comme fa y too, appeared everywhere. ' It is 
 a net like that. I saw it already before, once/
 
 ,x A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 107 
 
 ' Monkey,' he added, ' do you know what it reall) 
 is ? Oh, I say ! ' 
 
 'Of course I do.' She waited nevertheless for 
 him to tell her, and he was too gallant just then in 
 his proud excitement for personal exultation. 
 
 ' It's the Star Cave — it's Daddy's Star Cave. He 
 said it was up here " where the Boudry forests dip 
 below the cliffs towards the Areuse." . . .' He 
 remembered the very words. 
 
 His sister forgot to turn her usual somersaults. 
 Wonder caught them both. 
 
 'A pair of eyes, then, or a puddle! Quick!' 
 she cried in a delighted whisper. She looked about 
 her everywhere at once, making confused and 
 rushing little movements of helplessness. ' Quick, 
 quick ! ' 
 
 ' No,' said Jimbo, with a man's calm decision, 
 ' it's when they cant find eyes or puddles that they 
 go in there. Don't interfere.' 
 
 She admitted her mistake. This was no time to 
 press a petty advantage. 
 
 ' I'll shut my eyes while you sponge up the puddles 
 with a wedge of moss,' she began. But her brother 
 cut her short. He was very sure of himself. He 
 was leader beyond all question. 
 
 ' You follow me,' he commanded firmly, ' and 
 you'll get in somehow. We'll get all sticky with it. 
 Then we'll come out again and help those crying 
 people like Tante Jeanne and. . . .' A list of names 
 poured out. ' They'll think us wonderful ' 
 
 1 We shall be wonderful,' whispered Monkey, 
 obeying, yet peeping with one big brown eye. 
 
 The cataract of starbeams rushed past them in a 
 flood of gold. 
 
 They moved towards an opening in the trees
 
 108 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND chap. 
 
 where the limestone cliffs ran into rugged shapes 
 with pinnacles and towers. They found the entrance 
 in the rocks. Water dripped over it, making little 
 splashes. The lime had run into hanging pillars 
 and a fringe of pointed fingers. Past this the river 
 of starlight poured its brilliant golden stream. Its 
 soft brightness shone yellow as a shower of primrose 
 dust. 
 
 * Look out ! The Interfering Sun ! ' gasped 
 Monkey again, awed and confused with wonder. 
 ' We shall melt in dew or fairy cotton. Don't 
 you ? . . . I call it rotten. . . ! ' 
 
 ' You'll unwind all right,' he told her, trying hard 
 to keep his head and justify his leadership. He, 
 too, remembered phrases here and there. ' I'm a bit 
 knotted, looped, and all up -jumbled too, inside. 
 But the sun is miles away still. We're both soft- 
 shiny still.' 
 
 They stooped to enter, plunging their bodies to 
 the neck in the silent flood of sparkling amber. 
 
 Then happened a strange thing. For how could 
 they know, these two adventurous, dreaming chil- 
 dren, that Thought makes images which, regardless 
 of space, may flash about the world, and reach minds 
 anywhere that are sweetly tuned to their acceptance ? 
 
 1 What's that ? Look out ! Gare ! Hold 
 tight ! ' In his sudden excitement Jimbo mixed 
 questions with commands. He had caught her by 
 the hand. There was a new sound in the heavens 
 above them — a roaring, rushing sound. Like the 
 thunder of a train, it swept headlong through the 
 sky. Voices were audible too. 
 
 ' There's something enormous caught in the star- 
 net,' he whispered. 
 
 ' It's Mother, then,' said Monkey.
 
 ix A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 109 
 
 They both looked up, trembling with anticipa- 
 tion. They saw a big, dark body like a thunder- 
 cloud hovering above their heads. It had a line of 
 brilliant eyes. From one end issued a column of 
 white smoke. It settled slowly downwards, moving 
 softly yet with a great air of bustle and importance. 
 Was this the arrival of a dragon, or Mother coming 
 after them ? The blood thumped in their ears, their 
 hands felt icy. The thing dipped slowly through 
 the trees. It settled, stopped, began to purr. 
 
 ' It's a railway train,' announced Jimbo finally 
 with authority that only just disguised amazement. 
 ' And the passengers are getting out.' With a sigh 
 of immense relief he said it. 'You're not in any 
 danger, Monkey,' he added. 
 
 He drew his sister back quickly a dozen steps, 
 and they hid behind a giant spruce to watch. The 
 scene that followed was like the holiday spectacle in 
 a London Terminus, except that the passengers had 
 no luggage. The other difference was that they 
 seemed intent upon some purpose not wholly for 
 their own advantage. It seemed, too, they had 
 expected somebody to meet them, and were accord- 
 ingly rather confused and disappointed. They 
 looked about them anxiously. 
 
 1 Last stop ; all get out here ! ' a Guard was cry- 
 ing in a kind of pleasant singing voice. ' Return 
 journey begins five minutes before the Interfering 
 Sun has risen.' 
 
 Jimbo pinched his sister's arm till she nearly 
 screamed. ' Hear that ? ' he whispered. But 
 Monkey was too absorbed in the doings of the busy 
 passengers to listen or reply. For the first passenger 
 that hurried past her was no less a person than — 
 Jane Anne ! Her face was not puzzled now. It
 
 no A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND chap. 
 
 was like a little sun. She looked utterly happy and 
 contented, as though she had found the place and 
 duties that belonged to her. 
 
 ' Jinny ! ' whispered the two in chorus. But 
 Jane Anne did not so much as turn her head. She 
 slipped past them like a shaft of light. Her hair 
 fell loose to her waist. She went towards the 
 entrance. The flood rose to her neck. 
 
 ' Oh ! there she is ! ' cried a voice. ' She travelled 
 with us instead of coming to meet us.' Monkey 
 smiled. She knew her sister's alien, unaccountable 
 ways only too well. 
 
 The train had settled down comfortably enough 
 between the trees, and lay there breathing out a 
 peaceable column of white smoke, panting a little as 
 it did so. The Guard went down the length of it, 
 turning out the lamps ; and from the line of open 
 doors descended the stream of passengers, all hurry- 
 ing to the entrance of the cave. Each one stopped 
 a moment in front of the Guard, as though to get a 
 ticket clipped, but instead of producing a piece of 
 pasteboard, or the Guard a punching instrument, 
 they seemed to exchange a look together. Each 
 one stared into his face, nodded, and passed on. 
 
 ' What blue eyes they've got,' thought Monkey 
 to herself, as she peered into each separate face as 
 closely as she dared. ' I wish mine were like that ! ' 
 The wind, sighing through the tree-tops, sent a 
 shower of dew about their feet. The children 
 started. ' What a lovely row ! ' Jimbo whispered. 
 It was like footsteps of a multitude on the needles. 
 The fact that it was so clearly audible showed 
 how softly all these passengers moved about their 
 business. 
 
 The Guard, they noticed then, called out the
 
 « A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND m 
 
 names of some of them ; perhaps of all, only in the 
 first excitement they did not catch them properly. 
 And each one went on at once towards the entrance 
 of the cave and disappeared in the pouring river of 
 gold. 
 
 The light-footed way they moved, their swiftness 
 as of shadows, the way they tossed their heads and 
 flung their arms about — all this made the children 
 think it was a dance. Monkey felt her own legs 
 twitch to join them, but her little brother's will 
 restrained her. 
 
 ' If you turn a somersault here,' he said solemnly, 
 * we're simply lost.' He said it in French ; the long 
 word had not yet dawned upon his English con- 
 sciousness. They watched with growing wonder 
 then, and something like terror seized them as they 
 saw a man go past them with a very familiar look 
 about him. He went in a cloud of sparkling, black 
 dust that turned instantly into shining gold when it 
 reached the yellow river from the stars. His face 
 was very dirty. 
 
 * It's not the ramoneur] whispered Jimbo, un- 
 certain whether the shiver he felt was his sister's or 
 his own. ' He's much too springy.' Sweeps always 
 had a limp. 
 
 For the figure shot along with a running, dancing 
 leap as though he moved on wires. He carried 
 long things over his shoulders. He flashed into the 
 stream like a shadow swallowed by a flame. And 
 as he went, they caught such merry words, half 
 sung, half chanted : — 
 
 ' I'll mix their smoke with hope and mystery till 
 
 they see dreams and faces in their fires ' and he 
 
 was gone. 
 
 Behind him came a couple arm in arm, their
 
 ii2 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND chat. 
 
 movements equally light and springy, but the one 
 behind dragging a little, as though lazily. They 
 wore rags and torn old hats and had no collars to 
 their shirts. The lazy one had broken boots 
 through which his toes showed plainly. The other 
 who dragged him had a swarthy face like the 
 gypsies who once had camped near their house in 
 Essex long, oh, ever so long ago. 
 
 ' I'll get some too,' the slow one sang huskily as 
 he stumbled along with difficulty ' but there's never 
 any hurry. I'll fill their journeys with desire and 
 make adventure call to them with love ' 
 
 ' And I,' the first one answered, ' will sprinkle 
 all their days with the sweetness of the moors and 
 open fields, till houses choke their lungs and they 
 come out to learn the stars by name. Ho, ho ! ' 
 
 They dipped, with a flying leap, into the rushing 
 flood. Their rags and filthy slouched hats flashed 
 radiant as they went, all bathed and cleaned in glory. 
 
 Others came after them in a continuous stream, 
 some too outlandish to be named or recognised, 
 others half familiar, very quick and earnest, but 
 merry at the same time, and all intent upon bringing 
 back something for the world. It was not for them- 
 selves alone, or for their own enjoyment that they 
 hurried in so eagerly. 
 
 ' How splendid ! What a crew ! ' gasped 
 Monkey. ' Quel spectacle ! ' And she began a 
 somersault. 
 
 ' Be quiet, will you ?' was the rejoinder, as a figure 
 who seemed to have a number of lesser faces within 
 his own big one of sunburned brown, tumbled by 
 them somewhat heavily and left a smell of earth and 
 leaves and potting-sheds about the trees behind him. 
 ' Won't my flowers just shine and dazzle 'em ? And
 
 ix A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 113 
 
 won't the dead leaves crackle as I burn 'em up ! ' he 
 chuckled as he disappeared from view. There was 
 a rush of light as an eddy of the star-stream caught 
 him, and something certainly went up in flame. A 
 faint odour reached the children that was like the 
 odour of burning leaves. 
 
 Then, with a rush, came a woman whose im- 
 mensely long thin arms reached out in front of her 
 and vanished through the entrance a whole minute 
 before the rest of her. But they could not see the 
 face. Some one with high ringing laughter followed, 
 though they could not see the outline at all. It went 
 so fast, they only heard the patter of light footsteps 
 on the moss and needles. Jimbo and Monkey felt 
 slightly uncomfortable as they watched and listened, 
 and the feeling became positive uneasiness the next 
 minute as a sound of cries and banging reached 
 them from the woods behind. There was a great 
 commotion going on somewhere in the train. 
 
 ' I can't get out, I can't get out ! ' called a voice 
 unhappily. * And if I do, how shall I ever get in 
 again? The entrance is so ridiculously small. I 
 shall only stick and fill it up. Why did I ever 
 come ? Oh, why did I come at all ? ' 
 
 1 Better stay where you are, lady,' the Guard was 
 saying. ' You're good ballast. You can keep the 
 train down. That's something. Steady thinking's 
 always best, you know.' 
 
 Turning, the children saw a group of figures 
 pushing and tugging at a dark mass that appeared 
 to have stuck halfway in the carriage door. The 
 pressure of many willing hands gave it a different 
 outline every minute. It was like a thing of india- 
 rubber or elastic. The roof strained outwards with 
 ominous cracking sounds ; the windows threatened 
 
 1
 
 ii 4 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND chap 
 
 to smash ; the foot-board, supporting the part of 
 her that had emerged, groaned with the weight 
 already. 
 
 'Oh, what's the good of meV cried the queer 
 deep voice with petulance. ' You couldn't get a 
 wisp of hay in there, much less all of me. I should 
 block the whole cave up ! ' 
 
 * Come out a bit !' a voice cried. 
 
 * I can't.' 
 
 ' Go back then ! ' suggested the Guard. 
 
 'But I can't. Besides I'm upside down!' 
 
 'You haven't got any upside down,' was the 
 answer ; ' so that's impossible.' 
 
 ' Well, anyhow, I'm in a mess and muddle like 
 this,' came the smothered voice, as the figures pulled 
 and pushed with increasing energy. ' And my 
 tarpaulin skirt is all askew. The winds are at it as 
 usual.' 
 
 ' Nothing short of a gale can help you now,' was 
 somebody's verdict, while Monkey whispered beneath 
 her breath to Jimbo. 'She's even bigger than 
 Mother. Quelle masse ! ' 
 
 Then came a thing of mystery and wonder from 
 the sky. A flying figure, scattering points of light 
 through the darkness like grains of shining sand, 
 swooped down and stood beside the group. 
 
 ' Oh, Dustman,' cried the guard, ' give her of 
 your dust and put her to sleep, please. She's mak- 
 ing noise enough to bring the Interfering Sun above 
 the horizon before his time.' 
 
 Without a word the new arrival passed one hand 
 above the part of her that presumably was the face. 
 Something- sifted downwards. There was a sound 
 of gentle sprinkling through the air ; a noise fol- 
 lowed that was half a groan and half a sigh. Her
 
 ix A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 115 
 
 struggles grew gradually less, then ceased. They 
 pushed the bulk of her backwards through the door. 
 Spread over many seats the Woman of the Haystack 
 slept. 
 
 * Thank you,' said several voices with relief. 
 'She'll dream she's been in. That's just as good.' 
 
 ' Every bit,' the others answered, resuming their 
 interrupted journey towards the cavern's mouth. 
 
 1 And when I come out she shall have some 
 more,' answered the Dustman in a soft, thick voice ; 
 'as much as ever she can use.' 
 
 He flitted in his turn towards the stream of gold. 
 His feet were already in it when he paused a moment 
 to shift from one shoulder to the other a great sack 
 he carried. And in that moment was heard a low 
 voice singing dreamily the Dustman's curious little 
 song. It seemed to come from the direction of 
 the train where the Guard stood talking to a man 
 the children had not noticed before. Presumably 
 he was the engine-driver, since all the passengers 
 were out now. But it may have been the old 
 Dustman himself who sang it. They could not tell 
 exactly. The voice made them quite drowsy as they 
 listened : — 
 
 The busy Dustman flutters down the lanes, 
 He's off" to gather star-dust for our dreams. 
 
 He dusts the Constellations for his sack, 
 
 Finding it thickest on the Zodiac, 
 
 But sweetest in the careless meteor's track ; 
 
 That he keeps only 
 
 For the old and lonely, 
 
 (And is very strict about it !) 
 Who sleep so little that they need the best ; 
 
 The rest, — 
 
 The common stuff", — 
 
 Is, good enough
 
 n6 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND chap. 
 
 For Fraulein, or for Baby, or for Mother, 
 Or any other 
 Who likes a bit of dust, 
 But yet can do without it 
 If they must ! 
 
 The busy Dustman hurries through the sky 
 The kind old Dustman's coming to your eye ! 
 
 By the time the song was over he had disappeared 
 through the opening. 
 
 ' I'll show 'em the real stuff ! ' came back, a voice 
 — this time certainly his own — far inside now. 
 
 ' I simply love that man,' exclaimed Monkey. 
 ' Songs are usually such twiddly things, but that was 
 real.' She looked as though a somersault were im- 
 minent. c If only Daddy knew him, he'd learn how 
 to write unwumbled stories. Oh ! we must get 
 Daddy out.' 
 
 ' It's only the head that sticks,' was her brother's 
 reply. ' We'll grease it.' 
 
 They remained silent a moment, not knowing 
 what to do next, when they became aware that the 
 big man who had been talking to the Guard was 
 coming towards them. 
 
 ' They've seen us ! ' she whispered in alarm. 
 ' He s seen us.' An inexplicable thrill ran over her. 
 
 ' They saw us long ago,' her brother added con- 
 temptuously. His voice quavered. 
 
 Jimbo turned to face them, getting in front of his 
 sister for protection, although she towered above him 
 by a head at least. The Guard, who led the way, 
 they saw now, was a girl — a girl not much older than 
 Monkey, with big blue eyes. ' There they are,' the 
 Guard said loudly, pointing ; and the big man, look- 
 ing about him as though he did not see very clearly, 
 stretched out his hands towards him. ' But you
 
 ix A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 117 
 
 must be very quick,' she added, ' the Interfering 
 Sun ' 
 
 ' I'm glad you came to meet us. I hoped you 
 might. Jane Anne's gone in ages ago. Now we'll 
 all go in together,' he said in a deep voice, ' and 
 gather star-dust for our dreams . . .' He groped 
 to find them. His hands grew shadowy. He felt 
 the empty air. 
 
 His voice died away even as he said it, and the 
 difficulty he had in seeing seemed to affect their own 
 eyes as well. A mist rose. It turned to darkness. 
 The river of starlight faded. The net had suddenly 
 big holes in it. They were slipping through. Wind 
 whispered in the trees. There was a sharp, odd 
 sound like the plop of a water-rat in a pond. . . . 
 
 ' We must be quick,' his voice came faintly from 
 far away. They just had time to see his smile, and 
 noticed the gleam of two gold teeth. . . . Then 
 the darkness rushed up and covered them. The 
 stream of tangled, pouring beams became a narrow 
 line, so far away it was almost like the streak of a 
 meteor in the sky. . . . Night hid the world and 
 everything in it. . . . 
 
 Two radiant little forms slipped past Riquette and 
 slid feet first into the sleeping bodies on the beds. 
 
 There came soon after a curious sound from the 
 outer room, as Mother turned upon her sofa-bed and 
 woke. The sun was high above the Blumlisalp, 
 spreading a sheet of gold and silver on the lake. 
 Birds were singing in the plane trees. The roof 
 below the open windows shone with dew, and draughts 
 of morning air, sweet and fresh, poured into the room. 
 With it came the scent of flowers and forests, of 
 fields and peaty smoke from cottage chimneys. . . . 
 
 But there was another perfume too. Far down
 
 n8 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND chap. 
 
 the sky swept some fleet and sparkling thing that 
 made the world look different. It was delicate and 
 many-tinted, soft as a swallow's wing, and full of 
 butterflies and tiny winds. 
 
 For, with the last stroke of midnight from the 
 old church tower, May had waked April ; and April 
 had run off into the mountains with the dawn. Her 
 final shower of tears still shone upon the ground. 
 Already May was busy drying them. 
 
 That afternoon, when school was over, Monkey 
 and Jimbo found themselves in the attics underneath 
 the roof together. They had abstracted their father's 
 opera-glasses from the case that hung upon the door, 
 and were using them as a telescope. 
 
 'What can you see?' asked Jimbo, waiting for 
 his turn, as they looked towards the hazy mountains 
 behind the village. 
 
 ' Nothing.' 
 
 ' That must be the opening, then,' he suggested, 
 'just air.' 
 
 His sister lowered the glasses and stared at him. 
 ' But it can't be a real place ? ' she said, the doubt in 
 her tone making her words a question. ' Daddy's 
 never been there himself, I'm sure — from the way he 
 told it. You only dreamed it.' 
 
 ' Well, anyhow,' was the reply with conviction, 
 ' it's there, so there must be somebody who believes in 
 it.' And he was evidently going to add that he had 
 been there, when Mother's voice was heard calling 
 from the yard below, ' Come down from that 
 draughty place. It's dirty, and there are dead rats 
 in it. Come out and play in the sunshine. Try and 
 be sensible like Jinny.' 
 
 They smuggled the glasses into their case again,
 
 ix A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 119 
 
 and went off to the woods to play. Though their 
 union seemed based on disagreements chiefly they 
 were always quite happy together like this, living in 
 a world entirely their own. Jinny went her own 
 way apart always — ever busy with pots and pans and 
 sewing. She was far too practical and domestic for 
 their tastes to amalgamate ; yet, though they looked 
 down upon her a little, no one in their presence could 
 say a word against her. For they recognised the 
 child's unusual selflessness, and rather stood in awe 
 of it. 
 
 And this afternoon in the woods they kept coming 
 across places that seemed oddly familiar, although 
 they had never visited them before. They had one of 
 their curious conversations about the matter — queer 
 talks they indulged in sometimes when quite alone. 
 Mother would have squelched such talk, and Daddy 
 muddled them with long words, while Jane Anne 
 would have looked puzzled to the point of tears. 
 
 ' I'm sure I've been here before,' said Monkey, 
 looking across the trees to a place where the lime- 
 stone cliffs dropped in fantastic shapes of pointed 
 rock. ' Have you got that feeling too ? ' 
 
 Jimbo, with his hands in the pockets of his blue 
 reefer overcoat and his feet stuck wide apart, stared 
 hard at her a moment. His little mind was search- 
 ing too. 
 
 ' It's natural enough, I suppose,' he answered, too 
 honest to pretend, too proud, though, to admit he 
 had not got it. 
 
 They were rather breathless with their climb, and 
 sat down on a boulder in the shade. 
 
 ' I know all this awfully well,' Monkey presently 
 resumed, looking about her. ' But certainly we've 
 never come as far as this. I think my underneath
 
 120 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 
 
 CHAP. 
 
 escapes and comes to places by itself. I feel like 
 that. Does yours ? ' 
 
 He looked up from a bundle of moss he was 
 fingering. This was rather beyond him. 
 
 'Oh, I feel all right,' he said, 'just ordinary.' 
 He would have given his ten francs in the savings 
 bank, the collection of a year, to have answered 
 otherwise. 'You're always getting tummy- aches 
 and things,' he added kindly. ' Girls do.' It was 
 pride that made the sharp addition. But Monkey 
 was not hurt ; she did not even notice what he said. 
 The insult thus ignored might seem almost a com- 
 pliment Jimbo thought with quick penitence. 
 
 ' Then, perhaps,' she continued, more than a little 
 thrilled by her own audacity, c it's somebody else's 
 thinking. Thinking skips about the world like any- 
 thing, you know. I read it once in one of Daddy's 
 books.' 
 
 1 Oh, yes — like that * 
 
 ' Thinking hard does make things true, of course,' 
 she insisted. 
 
 ' But you can't exactly see them,' he put in, to 
 explain his own inexperience. He felt jealous of 
 these privileges she claimed. ' They can't last, I 
 mean.' 
 
 ' But they can't be wiped out either,' she said 
 decidedly. ' I'm sure of that.' 
 
 Presently they scrambled higher and found among 
 the rocks an opening to a new cave. The Jura 
 mountains are riddled with caves which the stalac- 
 tites turn into palaces and castles. The entrance 
 was rather small, and they made no attempt to crawl 
 in, for they knew that coming out again was often 
 very difficult. But there was great excitement about 
 it, and while Monkey kept repeating that she knew
 
 IX 
 
 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 121 
 
 it already, or else had seen a picture of it somewhere, 
 Jimbo went so far as to admit that they had certainly 
 found it very easily, while suggesting that the rare 
 good fortune was due rather to his own leadership 
 and skill. 
 
 But when they came home to tea, full of the glory 
 of their discovery, they found that a new excitement 
 made the announcement fall a little flat. For in the 
 Den, Daddy read a telegram he had just received 
 from England to say that Cousin Henry was coming 
 out to visit them for a bit. His room had already 
 been engaged at the carpenter's house. He would 
 arrive at the end of the week. 
 
 It was the first of May 1
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 One ot the great facts of the world I hold to be the registration in the 
 Universe of every past scene and thought. 
 
 F. W. M. 
 
 No place worth knowing yields itself at sight, and 
 those the least inviting on first view may leave the 
 most haunting pictures upon the walls of memory. 
 
 This little village, that Henry Rogers was thus 
 to revisit after so long an interval, can boast no 
 particular outstanding beauty to lure the common 
 traveller. Its single street winds below the pine 
 forest ; its tiny church gathers close a few brown- 
 roofed houses ; orchards guard it round about ; the 
 music of many fountains tinkle summer and winter 
 through its cobbled yards ; and its feet are washed 
 by a tumbling stream that paints the fields with the 
 radiance of countless wild-flowers in the spring. 
 
 But tourists never come to see them. There is 
 no hotel, for one thing, and ticket agents, even at 
 the railway stations, look puzzled a moment before 
 they realise where this place with the twinkling name 
 can hide. . . . Some consult books. Yet, once you 
 get there, it is not easy to get away again. Some- 
 thing catches the feet and ears and eyes. People 
 have been known to go with all their luggage on 
 Gygi's handcart to the station — then turn aside at 
 the last moment, caught back by the purple woods. 
 
 A traveller, glancing up at the little three-storey 
 
 122
 
 ch.x A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 123 
 
 house with ' Poste et Telegraphe ' above the door, 
 could never guess how busy the world that came 
 and went beneath its red-tiled roof. In spring the 
 wistaria tree (whence the Pension borrowed its brave 
 name, Les Glycines) hangs its blossoms between 
 * Poste ' and ' Telegraphe,' and the perfume of invisible 
 lilacs drenches the street from the garden at the back. 
 Beyond, the road dips past the bee-hives of la cure ; 
 and Boudry towers with his five thousand feet of 
 blue pine woods over the horizon. The tinkling of 
 several big stone fountains fills the street. 
 
 But the traveller would not linger, unless he 
 chanced to pass at twelve o'clock and caught the 
 stream of people going into their mid-day dinner at 
 the Pension. And even then he probably would not 
 see the presiding genius, Madame Jequier, for as 
 often as not she would be in her garden, busy with 
 eternal bulbs, and so strangely garbed that if she 
 showed herself at all, it would be with a shrill, plaintive 
 explanation — ' Mais il ne faut pas me regarder. Je 
 suis invisible ! ' Whereupon, consistently, she would 
 not speak again, but flit in silence to and fro, as though 
 she were one of those spirits she so firmly believed in, 
 and sometimes talked to by means of an old Planchette. 
 
 And on this particular morning the Widow Jequier 
 was 'invisible' in her garden clothes as Gygi, the 
 gendarme, came down the street to ring the midi 
 bell. Her mind was black with anxiety. She was 
 not thinking of the troop that came to dejeuner^ 
 their principal meal of the day, paying a franc for it, 
 but rather of the violent scenes with unpaid trades- 
 men that had filled the morning — tradesmen who 
 were friends as well (which made it doubly awkward) 
 and often dropped in socially for an evening's music 
 and conversation. Her pain darkened the sunshine,
 
 i2 4 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND chap. 
 
 and she found relief in the garden which was her 
 passion. For in three weeks the interest on the mort- 
 gages was due, and she had nothing saved to meet it. 
 The official notice had come that morning from the 
 Bank. Her mind was black with confused pictures 
 of bulbs, departed pensionnaires, hostile bankers, and 
 — the ghastly chariti de la Commune which awaited 
 her. Yet her husband, before he went into the wine- 
 business so disastrously, had been pasteur here. He 
 had preached from this very church whose bells 
 now rang out the mid-day hour. The spirit of 
 her daughter, she firmly believed, still haunted the 
 garden, the narrow passages, and the dilapidated little 
 salon where the ivy trailed along the ceiling. 
 
 Twelve o'clock, striking from the church- tower 
 clock, and the voice of her sister from the kitchen 
 window, then brought the Widow Jequier down the 
 garden in a flying rush. The table was laid and the 
 soup was almost ready. The people were coming 
 in. She was late as usual ; there was no time to 
 change. She flung her garden hat aside and scrambled 
 into more presentable garments, while footsteps 
 already sounded on the wooden stairs that led up 
 from the village street. 
 
 One by one the retired governesses entered, hung 
 their cloaks upon the pegs in the small, dark hallway, 
 and took their places at the table. They began talk- 
 ing among themselves, exchanging the little gossip 
 of the village, speaking of their books and clothes and 
 sewing, of the rooms in which they lived, scattered 
 down the street, of the heating, of barking dogs that 
 disturbed their sleep, the behaviour of the postman, 
 the fine spring weather, and the views from their 
 respective windows across the lake and distant Alps. 
 Each extolled her own position : one had a garden ;
 
 x A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 125 
 
 another a balcony ; a third was on the top floor and 
 so had no noisy tenant overhead ; a fourth was on 
 the ground, and had no stairs to climb. Each had 
 her secret romance, and her secret method of cheap 
 feeding at home. There were five or six of them, 
 and this was their principal meal in the day ; they 
 meant to make the most of it ; they always did ; 
 they went home to light suppers of tea and coffee, 
 made in their own appartements. Invitations were 
 issued and accepted. There were some who would 
 not speak to each other. Cliques, divisions, societes 
 a part, existed in the little band. And they talked 
 many languages, learned in many lands — Russian, 
 German, Italian, even Armenian — for all had laboured 
 far from their country, spending the best of their 
 years teaching children of foreign families, many of 
 them in important houses. They lived upon their 
 savings. Two, at least, had less than thirty pounds 
 a year between them and starvation, and all were of 
 necessity careful of every centime. They wore the 
 same dresses from one year's end to another. They 
 had come home to die. 
 
 The Postmaster entered with the cash-box under- 
 neath one arm. He bowed gravely to the assembled 
 ladies, and silently took his seat at the table. He 
 never spoke ; at meals his sole remarks were state- 
 ments : ' Je n'ai pas de pain,' ' II me manque une 
 serviette,' and the like, while his black eyes glared 
 resentfully at every one as though they had done him 
 an injury. But his fierceness was only in the eyes. 
 He was a meek and solemn fellow really. Nature 
 had dressed him in black, and he respected her taste 
 by repeating it in his clothes. Even his expression 
 was funereal, though his black eyes twinkled. 
 
 The servant-girl at once brought in his plate of
 
 126 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND chap. 
 
 soup, and he tucked the napkin beneath his chin 
 and began to eat. From twelve to two the post was 
 closed ; his recreation time was precious, and no 
 minute must be lost. After dinner he took his coat 
 off and did the heavy work of the garden, under the 
 merciless oversight of the Widow Jequier, his sister- 
 in-law, the cash-box ever by his side. He chatted 
 with his tame corbeau, but he never smiled. In the 
 winter he did fretwork. On the stroke of two he 
 went downstairs again and disappeared into the 
 cramped and stuffy bureau, whose window on the 
 street was framed by the hanging wistaria blossoms ; 
 and at eight o'clock his day of labour ended. He 
 carried the cash-box up to bed at 8.15. At 8.30 
 his wife followed him. From nine to five he slept. 
 
 Alone of all the little household the Widow Jequier 
 scorned routine. She came and went with the un- 
 certainty of wind. Her entrances and exits, too, 
 were like the wind. With a scattering rush she 
 scurried through the years — noisy, ineffective, yet 
 somewhere fine. Her brother had finished his plate 
 of soup, wiped his black moustaches elaborately, and 
 turned his head towards the kitchen door with the 
 solemn statement ' Je n'ai pas de viande,' when she 
 descended upon the scene like a shrill-voiced little 
 tempest. 
 
 ' Bonjour Mesdames, bonjour Mademoiselle, bon- 
 jour, bonjour,' she bowed and smiled, washing her 
 hands in the air ; ' et comment allez-vous ce matin ? ' 
 as the little band of hungry governesses rose with 
 one accord and moved to take their places. Some 
 smiled in answer ; others merely bowed. She made 
 enemies as well as friends, the Widow Jequier. With 
 only one of them she shook hands warmly — the one 
 whose payments were long overdue. But Madame
 
 x A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 127 
 
 Jequier never asked for her money ; she knew the 
 old body's tiny income ; she would pay her when 
 she could. Only last week she had sent her food 
 and clothing under the guise of a belated little Easter 
 present. Her heart was bigger than her body. 
 
 ' La famille Anglaise n'est pas encore ici,' announced 
 the Postmaster as though it were a funeral to come. 
 He did not even look up. His protests passed ever 
 unobserved. 
 
 ' But I hear them coming/ said a governess, 
 swallowing her soup with a sound of many waters. 
 And, true enough, they came. There was a thunder 
 on the stairs, the door into the hall flew open, voices 
 and laughter filled the place, and Jimbo and Monkey 
 raced in to take their places, breathless, rosy, voluble, 
 and very hungry. Jane Anne followed sedately, 
 bowing to every one in turn. She had a little sen- 
 tence for all who cared for one. Smiles appeared on 
 every face. Mother, like a frigate coming to anchor 
 with a favourable wind, sailed into her chair ; and 
 behind her stumbled Daddy, looking absent-minded 
 and pre-occupied. Money was uncommonly scarce 
 just then — the usual Bourcelles complaint. 
 
 Conversation in many tongues, unmusically high- 
 pitched, then at once broke loose, led ever by la 
 patronne at the head of the table. The big dishes 
 of meat and vegetables were handed round ; plates 
 were piled and smothered ; knives and forks were 
 laid between mouthfuls upon plate-edges, forming a 
 kind of frieze all round the cloth ; the gossip of the 
 village was retailed with harmless gusto. Dijeuner 
 at Les Glycines was in full swing. When the apples 
 and oranges came round, most of the governesses 
 took two apiece, slipping one or other into little black 
 velvet bags they carried on their laps below the table.
 
 128 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND chap. 
 
 Some, it was whispered, put bread there too to keep 
 them company. But this was probably a libel. 
 Madame Jequier, at any rate, never saw it done. She 
 looked the other way. ' We all must live,' was her 
 invariable answer to such foolish stories. ' One can- 
 not sleep if one's supper is too light.' Like her 
 body, her soul was a bit untidy — careless, that is, with 
 loose ends. Who would have guessed, for instance, 
 the anxiety that just now gnawed her very entrails ? 
 She was a mixture of shameless egotism, and of 
 burning zeal for others. There was a touch of 
 grandeur in her. 
 
 At the end of the table, just where the ivy leaves 
 dropped rather low from their trailing journey across 
 the ceiling, sat Miss Waghorn, her vigorous old face 
 wrapped, apparently, in many apple skins. She was 
 well past seventy, thin, erect, and active, with restless 
 eyes, and hooked nose, the poor old hands knotted 
 with rheumatism, yet the voice somehow retaining 
 the energy of forty. Her manners were charming 
 and old-fashioned, and she came of Quaker stock. 
 Seven years before she arrived at the Pension for the 
 summer, and had forgotten to leave. For she forgot 
 most things within ten minutes of their happening. 
 Her memory was gone ; she remembered a face, as 
 most other things as well, about twenty minutes ; 
 introductions had to be repeated every day, and 
 sometimes at supper she would say with her gentle 
 smile, ' We haven't met before, I think,' to some one 
 she had held daily intercourse with for many months. 
 'I was born in '37,' she loved to add, 'the year of 
 Queen Victoria's accession ' ; and five minutes later 
 you might hear her ask, ' Now, guess how old I am ; 
 I don't mind a bit.' She was as proud of her load of 
 years as an old gentleman of his thick hair. ' Say
 
 x A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 129 
 
 exactly what you think. And don't guess too low, 
 mind.' Her numerous stories were self-repeaters. 
 
 Miss Waghorn's memory was a source of worry 
 and anxiety to all except the children, who mercilessly 
 teased her. She loved the teasing, though but half 
 aware of it. It was their evil game to extract as 
 many of her familiar stories as possible, one after 
 another. They knew all the clues. There was the 
 Cornishman — she came from Cornwall — who had seen 
 a fairy ; his adventure never failed to thrill them, 
 though she used the same words every time and they 
 knew precisely what was coming. She was particu- 
 larly strong on family reminiscences : — her father was 
 bald at thirty , her brother's beard was so long that 
 he tied it round his neck when playing cricket ; her 
 sister l had the shortest arms you ever saw.' Always 
 of youth she spoke ; it was pathetic, so determined 
 was she to be young at seventy. Her family seemed 
 distinguished in this matter of extremes. 
 
 But the superiority of Cornish over Devonshire 
 cream was her piece de resistance. Monkey need 
 merely whisper — Miss Waghorn's acuteness of hear- 
 ing was positively uncanny — ' Devonshire cream is 
 what / like,' to produce a spurt of explanation and 
 defence that lasted a good ten minutes and must be 
 listened to until the bitter end. 
 
 Jimbo would gravely inquire in a pause — of a 
 stranger, if possible, if not, of the table in general — 
 
 ' Have you ever seen a fairy ? ' 
 
 ' No, but I've eaten Cornish cream — it's poison, 
 you know,' Monkey would reply. And up would 
 shoot the keen old face, preened for the fray. 
 
 'We haven't been introduced, I think' — forgetting 
 the formal introduction of ten minutes ago — ' but I 
 overheard, if you'll forgive my interrupting, and I 
 
 K
 
 130 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND chap 
 
 can tell you all about Cornish cream. I was born in 
 '37' — with her eager smile — 'and for years it was 
 on our table. I have made quantities of it. The 
 art was brought first by the Phoenicians ' 
 
 'Venetians,' said Monkey. 
 
 ' No, Phoenicians, dear, when they came to Corn- 
 wall for tin ' 
 
 ' To put the cream in,' from the same source. 
 
 ' No, you silly child, to get tin from the mines, of 
 course, and ' 
 
 Then Mother or Daddy, noting the drift of things, 
 would interfere, and the youngsters would be obliter- 
 ated — until next time. Miss Waghorn would finish 
 her recital for the hundredth time, firmly believing it 
 to be the first. She was a favourite with everybody, 
 in spite of the anxiety she caused. She would go 
 into town to pay her bill at the bootmaker's, and 
 order another pair of boots instead, forgetting why 
 she came. Her income was sixty pounds a year. 
 She forgot in the afternoon the money she had 
 received in the morning, till at last the Widow Jequier 
 seized it for her the moment it arrived. And at night 
 she would doze in her chair over the paper novel she 
 had been " at " for a year and more, beginning it 
 every night afresh, and rarely getting beyond the 
 opening chapter. For it was ever new. All were 
 anxious, though, what she would do next. She was 
 so full of battle. 
 
 Everybody talked at once, but forced conversation 
 did not flourish. Bourcelles was not fashionable ; 
 no one ever had appendicitis there. Yet ailments of 
 a milder order were the staple, inexhaustible subjects 
 at meals. Instead of the weather, mon estomac was the 
 inexhaustible tale. The girl brought in the little 
 Cantonal newspaper, and the widow read out selections
 
 x A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 131 
 
 in a high, shrill voice, regardless who listened. Mis- 
 fortunes and accidents were her preference. Grand del 
 and quelle horreur punctuated the selections. ' There's 
 Tante Jeanne grand-cieling as usual,' Mother would 
 say to her husband, who, being a little deaf, would 
 answer, ' What ? ' and Tante Jeanne, overhearing him, 
 would re-read the accident for his especial benefit, 
 while the governesses recounted personal experiences 
 among themselves, and Miss Waghorn made eager 
 efforts to take part in it all, or tell her little tales of 
 fairies and Cornish cream. . . . 
 
 One by one the governesses rose to leave ; each 
 made a comprehensive bow that included the entire 
 company. Daddy lit a cigarette or let Jimbo light it 
 for him, too wumbled with his thoughts of afternoon 
 work to notice the puff stolen surreptitiously on the 
 way. Jane Anne folded her napkin carefully, talking 
 with Mother in a low voice about the packing of 
 the basket with provisions for tea. Tea was included 
 in the Pension terms ; in a small clothes-basket she 
 carried bread, milk, sugar, and butter daily across to 
 La Citadelle, except on Sundays when she wore gloves 
 and left the duty to the younger children who were 
 less particular. 
 
 The governesses, charged with life for another 
 twenty-four hours at least, flocked down the creaking 
 stairs. They nodded as they passed the Bureau 
 window where the Postmaster pored over his collec- 
 tion of stamps, or examined a fretwork pattern of a 
 boy on a bicycle — there was no heavy garden work 
 that day — and went out into the street. They stood 
 in knots a moment, discussing unfavourably the food 
 just eaten, and declaring they would stand it no 
 longer. * Only where else can we go ? ' said one, 
 feeling automatically at her velvet bag to make sure
 
 132 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND chap. 
 
 the orange was safely in it. Upstairs, at the open 
 window, Madame Jequier overheard them as she 
 filled the walnut shells with butter for the birds. 
 She only smiled. 
 
 ' I wish we could help her,' Mother was saying to 
 her husband, as they watched her from the sofa in 
 the room behind. ' A more generous creature never 
 lived.' It was a daily statement that lacked force 
 owing to repetition, yet the emotion prompting it 
 was ever new and real. 
 
 * Or a more feckless,' was his reply. 'But if we 
 ever come into our estates, we will. It shall be the 
 first thing.' His mind always hovered after those 
 distant estates when it was perplexed by immediate 
 financial difficulty, and just now he was thinking of 
 various bills and payments falling due. It was his 
 own sympathetic link with the widow — ways and 
 means, and the remorseless nature of sheets of paper 
 with columns of figures underneath the horrible word 
 doit. 
 
 ' So Monsieur 'Enry Rogairs is coming,' she said 
 excitedly, turning to them a moment on her way to 
 the garden. ' And after all these years ! He will 
 find the house the same, and the garden better — oh, 
 wonderfully improved. But us, hilas ! he will find 
 old, oh, how old ! ' She did not really mean herself, 
 however. 
 
 She began a long ' reminiscent ' chapter, full of 
 details of the days when he and Daddy had been boys 
 together, but in the middle of it Daddy just got up 
 and walked out, saying, ' I must get over to my work, 
 you know.' There was no artificiality of manners at 
 Bourcelles. Mother followed him, with a trifle more 
 ceremony. ' Ah, c'est partir a l'anglaise ! ' sighed 
 the widow, watching them go. She was accustomed
 
 x A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 133 
 
 to it. She went out into her garden, full of excite- 
 ment at the prospect of the new arrival. Every 
 arrival for her meant a possible chance of help. She 
 was as young as her latest bulb really. Courage, 
 hope, and generosity invariably go together.
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 Take him and cut him out in little stars, 
 And he will make the face of heaven so fine 
 That all the world will be in love with night 
 And pay no worship to the garish sun ! 
 
 Romeo and Juliet. 
 
 The announcement of Henry Rogers's coming was 
 received — variously, for any new arrival into the 
 Den circle was subjected to rigorous criticism. This 
 criticism was not intentional ; it was the instinctive 
 judgment that children pass upon everything, object 
 or person, likely to affect themselves. And there is 
 no severer bar of judgment in the world. 
 
 ' Who is Cousinenry ? What a name ! Is he 
 stiff, I wonder ? ' came from Monkey, almost before 
 the announcement had left her father's lips. ' What 
 will he think of Tante Jeanne ? ' Her little torrent 
 of questions that prejudged him thus never called 
 for accurate answers as a rule, but this time she 
 meant to have an answer. ' What is he exaccur- 
 ately ? ' she added, using her own invention made up 
 of ' exact ' and ' accurate.' 
 
 Mother looked up from the typewritten letter to 
 reply, but before she could say, ' He's your father's 
 cousin, dear ; they were here as boys twenty years 
 ago to learn French,' Jinny burst in with an explo- 
 sive interrogation. She had been reading La Bonne 
 Minagere in a corner. Her eyes, dark with con- 
 
 134
 
 ch.xi A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 135 
 
 jecture, searched the faces of both parents alternately. 
 ' Excuse me, Mother, but is he a clergyman ? ' she 
 asked with a touch of alarm. 
 
 ' Whatever makes you think that, child ? ' 
 
 ' Clergymen are always called the reverundhenry. 
 He'll wear black and have socks that want mending.' 
 
 ' He shouldn't print his letters,' declared Monkey. 
 1 He's not an author, is he ? ' 
 
 Jimbo, busy over school tasks, with a huge slate- 
 pencil his crumpled fingers held like a walking-stick, 
 watched and listened in silence. He was ever fearful, 
 perhaps, lest his superior man's knowledge might be 
 called upon and found wanting. Questions poured 
 and crackled like grapeshot, while the truth slowly 
 emerged from the explanations the parents were 
 occasionally permitted to interject. The personality 
 of Cousin Henry Rogers grew into life about them 
 — gradually. The result was a curious one that 
 Minks would certainly have resented with indigna- 
 tion. For Cousinenry was, apparently, a business 
 man with pockets full of sovereigns ; stern, clever, 
 and important ; the sort of man that gets into 
 Governments and things, yet somewhere with the 
 flavour of the clergyman about him. This clerical 
 touch was Jane Anne's contribution to the picture ; 
 and she was certain that he wore silk socks of the 
 most expensive description — a detail she had read 
 probably in some chance fragments of a newspaper. 
 For Jinny selected phrases in this way from any- 
 where, and repeated them on all occasions without 
 the slightest relevancy. She practised them. She 
 had a way of giving abrupt information and making 
 startling statements a propos of nothing at all. Cer- 
 tain phrases stuck in her mind, it seemed, for no 
 comprehensible reason. When excited she picked
 
 136 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND chap. 
 
 out the one that first presented itself and fired it off 
 like a gun, the more inapt the better. And ' busy ' 
 was her favourite adjective always. 
 
 ' It's like a communication from a company,' 
 Mother was saying, as she handed back the type- 
 written letter. 
 
 ' Is he a company promoter then ? ' asked Jinny 
 like a flash, certainly ignorant what that article of 
 modern life could mean. 
 
 1 Oh, I say ! ' came reproachfully from Jimbo, 
 thus committing himself for the first time to speech. 
 He glanced up into several faces round him, and then 
 continued the picture of Cousin Henry he was draw- 
 ing on his slate. He listened all the time. Occa- 
 sionally he cocked an eye or ear up. He took in 
 everything, saying little. His opinions matured 
 slowly. The talk continued for a long time, 
 questions and answers. 
 
 ' I think he's nice,' he announced at length in 
 French. For intimate things, he always used that 
 language ; his English, being uncertain, was kept 
 for matters of unimportance. 'A gentle man.' 
 
 And it was Jimbo's verdict that the children 
 then finally adopted. Cousin Henry was gen til. 
 They laughed loudly at him, yet agreed. His 
 influence on their little conclaves, though never 
 volubly expressed — because of that very fact, perhaps 
 — was usually accepted. Jimbo was so decided. 
 And he never committed himself to impulsive judg- 
 ments that later had to be revised. He listened in 
 silence to the end, then went plump for one side or 
 the other. ' I think he'll be a nice man,' was the 
 label, therefore, then and there attached to Mr. 
 Henry Rogers in advance of delivery. Further than 
 that, however, they would not go. It would have
 
 xi A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 137 
 
 been childish to commit themselves more deeply till 
 they saw him. 
 
 The conversation then slipped beyond their com- 
 prehension, or rather their parents used long words 
 and circumventing phrases that made it difficult to 
 follow. Owing to lack of space, matters of import- 
 ance often had to be discussed in this way under the 
 children's eyes, unless at night, when all were safe in 
 bed ; for French, of course, was of no avail for 
 purposes of concealment. Long words were then 
 made use of, dark, wumbled sentences spoken very 
 quickly, with suggestive gestures and expressions of 
 the eyes labelled by Monkey with, ' Look, Mother 
 and Daddy are making faces — something's up ! ' 
 
 But, none the less, all listened, and Monkey, 
 whose intuitive intelligence soaked up hidden mean- 
 ings like a sponge, certainly caught the trend of 
 what was said. She detailed it later to the others, 
 when Jinny checked her exposition with a puzzled 
 ' but Mother could never have said that,' while Jimbo 
 looked wise and grave, as though he had understood 
 it all along, and was even in his parents' councils. 
 
 On this occasion, however, there was nothing 
 very vital to retail. Cousin Henry was to arrive 
 to-morrow by the express from Paris. He was a 
 little younger than Daddy, and would have the room 
 above him in the carpenter's house. His meals he 
 would take at the Pension just as they did, and for 
 tea he would always come over to the Den. And 
 this latter fact implied that he was to be admitted 
 into intimacy at once, for only intimates used the 
 Den regularly for tea, of course. 
 
 It was serious. It involved a change in all their 
 lives. Jinny wondered if it ' would cost Daddy any 
 more money,' or whether ' Cousinenry would bring
 
 138 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND chap. 
 
 a lot of things with him,' though not explaining 
 whether by ' things ' she meant food or presents or 
 clothes. He was not married, so he couldn't be very 
 old ; and Monkey, suggesting that he might ' get to 
 love ' one of the retired governesses who came to the 
 Pension for their mid-day dinner, was squelched by 
 Jimbo with ' old governesses never marry ; they come 
 back to settle, and then they just die off.' 
 
 Thus was Henry Rogers predigested. But at any 
 rate he was accepted. And this was fortunate ; for 
 a new arrival whom the children did not ' pass ' had 
 been known to have a time that may best be 
 described as not conducive to repose of body, mind, 
 or spirit. 
 
 The arrival of Mr. Henry Rogers in the village 
 — in La Citadelle, that is — was a red-letter day. 
 This, however, seems a thin description of its glory. 
 For a more adequate description a well-worn phrase 
 must be borrowed from the poems of Montmorency 
 Minks — a ' Day of Festival,' for which ' coronal ' 
 invariably lay in waiting for rhyming purposes a 
 little further down the sonnet. 
 
 Monkey that afternoon managed to get home 
 earlier than usual from Neuchatel, a somewhat 
 suspicious explanation as her passport. Her eyes 
 were popping. Jimbo was always out of the 
 village school at three. He carried a time-table 
 in his pocket ; but it was mere pretence, since he 
 was a little walking Bradshaw, and knew every 
 train by heart — the Geneva Express, the Paris 
 Rapide, the ' omnibus ' trains, and the mountain ones 
 that climbed the forest heights towards La Chaux de 
 Fonds and Le Locle. Of these latter only the white 
 puffing smoke was visible from the village, but he
 
 xi A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 139 
 
 knew with accuracy their times of departure, their 
 arrival, and the names of every station where they 
 stopped. In the omnibus trains he even knew some 
 of the guards personally, the engine-drivers too. 
 He might be seen any day after school standing in 
 the field beside the station, waiting for them to 
 pass ; mecanicien and conducteur were the commonest 
 words in his whole vocabulary. When possible he 
 passed the time of day with both of these important 
 personages, or from the field he waved his hand and 
 took his cap off. All engines, moreover, were 
 ' powerful locomotives.' The phrase was stolen from 
 his father — a magnificent sound it had, taking several 
 seconds to pronounce. No day was wholly lived in 
 vain which enabled him to turn to some one with, 
 ' There's the Paris Rapide ; it's five minutes late '; or 
 ' That's the Geneva omnibus. You see, it has to 
 have a very ' — here a deep breath — ' powerful loco- 
 motive.' 
 
 So upon this day of festival it was quite useless 
 to talk of common things, and even the holidays 
 acquired a very remote importance. Everybody in 
 the village knew it. From Gygi, the solitary gend- 
 arme, to Henri Beguin, who mended boots, but had 
 the greater distinction that he was the only man Gygi 
 ever arrested, for periodical wild behaviour — all knew 
 that ' Cousin Henry, father's cousin, you know,' was 
 expected to arrive in the evening, that he was an 
 important person in the life of London, and that 
 he was not exactly a pasteur, yet shared something 
 of a clergyman's grave splendour. Clothed in a 
 sacerdotal atmosphere he certainly was, though it 
 was the gravity of Jane Anne's negative descrip- 
 tion that fastened this wild ecclesiastical idea upon 
 him.
 
 i 4 o A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND chap. 
 
 ' He's not exactly a clergyman,' she told the dress- 
 maker, who for two francs every Monday afternoon 
 sat in the kitchen and helped with the pile of in- 
 discriminate mending, ' because he has to do with 
 rather big companies and things. But he is a serious 
 man all the same — and most fearfully busy always.' 
 
 1 We're going to meet him in the town,' said 
 Jimbo carelessly. ' You see, the Paris Rapide 
 doesn't stop here. We shall come back with him 
 by the 6.20. It gets here at 6.50, so he'll be in 
 time for supper, if it's punctual. It usually is.' 
 
 And accordingly they went to Neuchatel and 
 met the Paris train. They met their Cousin Henry, 
 too. Powerful locomotives and everything else were 
 instantly forgotten when they saw their father go up 
 to a tall thin man who jumped — yes, jumped — down 
 the high steps on to the level platform and at once 
 began to laugh. He had a beard like their father. 
 ' How will they know which is which ?' thought Jinny. 
 They stood in everybody's way and stared. He was 
 so tall. Daddy looked no bigger than little Beguin 
 beside him. He had a large, hooked nose, brown 
 skin, and keen blue eyes that took in everything at a 
 single glance. They twinkled absurdly for so big a 
 man. He wore rough brown tweeds and a soft felt 
 travelling hat. He wore also square-toed English 
 boots. He carried in one hand a shiny brown leather 
 bag with his initials on it like a member of the 
 Government. 
 
 The clergyman idea was destroyed in a fraction of 
 a second, never to revive. The company promoter 
 followed suit. Jinny experienced an entirely new 
 sensation in her life — something none but herself 
 had ever felt before — something romantic. 
 
 'He's like a soldier — a General,' she said to
 
 xi A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 141 
 
 anybody who cared to listen, and she said it so 
 loudly that many did listen. But she did not care 
 She stood apart trom the others, staring as though 
 it were a railway accident. This tall figure of a 
 cousin she could fit nowhere as yet into her limited 
 scheme of life. She admired him intensely. Yet 
 Daddy laughed and chatted with him as if he were 
 nothing at all ! She kept outside the circle, wonder- 
 ing about his socks and underclothes. His beard was 
 much neater and better trimmed than her father's. 
 At least no crumb or bit of cotton was in it. 
 
 But Jimbo felt no awe. After a moment's hesita- 
 tion, during which the passers-by butted him this way 
 and that, he marched straight up and looked him in 
 the face. He reached to his watch-chain only. 
 
 ' I'll be your sekrity, too,' he announced, inter- 
 rupting Daddy's foolishness about ' this is my 
 youngest lad, Rogers.' Youngest lad indeed ! 
 
 And Henry Rogers then stooped and kissed the 
 lot of them. One after the other he put his big 
 arms round them and gave them a hug that was 
 like the hug of a bear standing on its hind legs. 
 They took it, each in his own way, differently. 
 Jimbo proudly ; Monkey, with a smacking return 
 kiss that somehow conveyed the note of her 
 personality — impudence ; but Jane Anne, with a 
 grave and outraged dignity, as though in a public 
 railway station this kind of behaviour was slightly 
 inappropriate. She wondered for days afterwards 
 whether she had been quite correct. He was a 
 cousin, but still he was — a man. And she wondered 
 what she ought to call him. ' Mr. Rogers ' was not 
 quite right, yet ' Mr. Cousin Henry ' was equally 
 ill-chosen. She decided upon a combination of her 
 own, a kind of code- word that was affectionate yet
 
 i 4 2 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND chap. 
 
 distant : ' Cousinenry.' And she used it with an 
 explosive directness that was almost challenge — he 
 could accept which half he chose. 
 
 But all accepted him at once without fear. They 
 felt, moreover, a secret and very tender thing ; there 
 was something in this big, important man that made 
 them know he would love them for themselves ; and 
 more — that something in him had need of them. 
 Here lay the explanation of their instant confidence 
 and acceptance. 
 
 * What a jolly bunch you are, to be sure ! ' he 
 exclaimed. 'And you're to be my secretary, are 
 you ? ' he added, taking Jimbo by the shoulders. 
 ' How splendid ! ' 
 
 • Vm not,' said Monkey, with a rush of laughter 
 already too long restrained. Her manner suggested 
 a somersault, only prevented by engines and officials. 
 
 But Jimbo was a little shocked. This sort of 
 thing disgraced them. 
 
 ' Oh, I say ! ' he exclaimed reproachfully. 
 
 'Daddy, isn't she awful?' added Jane Anne 
 under her breath, a sentence of disapproval in daily 
 use. Her life seemed made up of apologising for 
 her impudent sister. 
 
 'The 6. 20 starts at 6.20, you know,' Jimbo 
 announced. ' The Lausanne Express has gone. 
 Are your "baggages" registered? ' And the party 
 moved off* in a scattered and uncertain manner to 
 buy tickets and register the luggage. They went 
 back second class — for the first time in their lives. 
 It was Cousin Henry who paid the difference. That 
 sealed his position finally in their eyes. He was a 
 millionaire. All London people went first or second 
 class. 
 
 But Jimbo and his younger sister had noticed
 
 xi A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 143 
 
 something else about the new arrival besides his 
 nose and eyes and length. Even his luxurious 
 habit of travelling second class did not impress 
 them half as much as this other detail in his appear- 
 ance. They referred to it in a whispered talk behind 
 the shelter of the conducteurs back while tickets were 
 being punched. 
 
 ' You know,' whispered Monkey, her eyes pop- 
 ping, ' I've seen Cousin Henry before somewhere. 
 I'm certain.' She gave a little gasp. 
 
 Jimbo stared, only half believing, yet undeniably 
 moved. Even his friend, the Guard, was temporarily 
 neglected. * Where ? ' he asked ; ' do you mean in a 
 picture ? ' 
 
 ' No,' she answered with decision, * out here, I 
 think. In the woods or somewhere.' She seemed 
 vague. But her very vagueness helped him to 
 believe. She was not inventing ; he was sure ot 
 that. 
 
 The conducteur at that moment passed away 
 along the train, and Cousin Henry looked straight 
 at the pair of them. Through the open window 
 dusk fluttered down the sky with spots of gold 
 already on its wings. 
 
 ' What jolly stars you've got here,' he said, 
 pointing. 'They're like diamonds. Look, it's a 
 perfect network far above the Alps. By gum — 
 what beauties ! ' 
 
 And as he said it he smiled. Monkey gave her 
 brother a nudge that nearly made him cry out. 
 He wondered what she meant, but all the same he 
 returned the nudge significantly. For Cousin Henry, 
 when he smiled, had plainly shown — two teeth of 
 gold. 
 
 The children had never seen gold-capped teeth.
 
 i 4 4 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND ch.x, 
 
 ' I'd like one for my collection,' thought Jimbo, 
 meaning a drawer that included all his loose posses- 
 sions of small size. But another thing stirred in him 
 too, vague, indefinite, far away, something he had, as 
 it were, forgotten.
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 O star benignant and serene, 
 
 I take the good to-morrow, 
 That fills from verge to verge my dream, 
 
 With all its joy and sorrow ! 
 The old sweet spell is unforgot 
 
 That turns to June December ; 
 And, though the world remember not, 
 
 Love, we would remember. 
 
 Life and Death, W. E. Henley. 
 
 And Rogers went over to unpack. It was soon 
 done. He sat at his window in the carpenter's 
 house and enjoyed the peace. The spell of even- 
 ing stole down from the woods. London and all 
 his strenuous life seemed very far away. Bourcelles 
 drew up beside him, opened her robe, let down her 
 forest hair, and whispered to him with her voice of 
 many fountains. . . . 
 
 She lies just now within the fringe of an enormous 
 shadow, for the sun has dipped behind the blue- 
 domed mountains that keep back France. Small 
 hands of scattered mist creep from the forest, 
 fingering the vineyards that troop down towards 
 the lake. A dog barks. Gygi, the gendarme, 
 leaves the fields and goes home to take his uniform 
 from its peg. Pere Langel walks among his bee- 
 hives. There is a distant tinkling of cow-bells from 
 the heights, where isolated pastures gleam like a 
 patchwork quilt between the spread of forest ; and 
 
 MS L
 
 146 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND chap. 
 
 farther down a train from Paris or Geneva, boom- 
 ing softly, leaves a trail of smoke against the 
 background of the Alps where still the sunshine 
 lingers. 
 
 But trains, somehow, do not touch the village ; 
 they merely pass it. Busy with vines, washed by 
 its hill-fed stream, swept by the mountain winds, it 
 lies unchallenged by the noisy world, remote, un- 
 noticed, half forgotten. And on its outskirts 
 stands the giant poplar that guards it — la sentinelle 
 the peasants call it, because its lofty crest, rising to 
 every wind, sends down the street first warning of 
 any coming change. They see it bend or hear the 
 rattle of its leaves. The coup de Joran, most sudden 
 and devastating of mountain winds, is on the way 
 from the precipice of the Creux du Van. It comes 
 howling like artillery down the deep Gorges de 
 l'Areuse. They run to fasten windows, collect the 
 washing from roof and garden, drive the cattle into 
 shelter, and close the big doors of the barns. The 
 children clap their hands and cry to Gygi, ' Plus 
 vite ! Plus vite ! ' The lake turns dark. Ten 
 minutes later it is raging with an army of white 
 horses like the sea. 
 
 Darkness drapes the village. It comes from 
 the whole long line of Jura, riding its troop of 
 purple shadows — slowly curtaining out the world. 
 For the carpenter's house stands by itself, apart. 
 Perched upon a knoll beside his little patch of 
 vineyard, it commands perspective. From his upper 
 window Rogers saw and remembered. . . . 
 
 High up against the fading sky ridges of lime- 
 stone cliff shine out here and there, and upon the 
 vast slopes of Boudry — /'immense geant de Boudry 
 — lies a flung cloak of forest that knows no single
 
 xii A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 147 
 
 seam. The smoke from bucheron fires, joining the 
 scarves of mist, weaves across its shoulder a veil of 
 lace-like pattern, and at its feet, like some great 
 fastening button, hides the village of the same name, 
 where Marat passed his brooding youth. Its even- 
 ing lights are already twinkling. They signal across 
 the vines to the towers of Colombier, rising with its 
 columns of smoke and its poplars against the sheet 
 of darkening water — Colombier, in whose castle 
 milord marechal Keith had his headquarters as 
 Governor of the Principality of Neuchatel under the 
 King of Prussia. And, higher up, upon the flank 
 of wooded mountains, is just visible still the great 
 red-roofed farm of C6tendard, built by his friend 
 Lord Wemyss, another Jacobite refugee, who had 
 strange parties there and entertained Jean Jacques 
 Rousseau in his exile. La Citadelle in the village 
 was the wing of another castle he began to build, but 
 left unfinished. 
 
 White in the gathering dusk, Rogers saw the 
 strip of roadway where passed the gorgeous coach — 
 cette fameuse diligence du milord marechal Keith — or 
 more recent, but grimmer memory, where General 
 Bourbaki's division of the French army, 80,000 
 strong, trailed in unspeakable anguish, hurrying from 
 the Prussians. At Les Verrieres, upon the frontier, 
 they laid down their arms, and for three consecutive 
 days and nights the pitiful destitute procession passed 
 down that strip of mountain road in the terrible 
 winter of 1870-71. 
 
 Some among the peasants still hear that awful 
 tramping in their sleep : the kindly old vigneron 
 who stood in front of his chalet from dawn to 
 sunset, giving each man bread and wine ; and the 
 woman who nursed three soldiers through black
 
 148 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND chap 
 
 small-pox, while neighbours left food upon the wall 
 before the house. . . . Memories of his boyhood 
 crowded thick and fast. The spell of the place 
 deepened about him with the darkness. He recalled 
 the village postman — fragment of another romance, 
 though a tattered and discredited one. For this 
 postman was the descendant of that audacious pale- 
 frenier who married Lord Wemyss' daughter, to live 
 the life of peasants with her in a yet tinier hamlet 
 higher up the slopes. If you asked him, he would 
 proudly tell you, with his bullet-shaped, close-cropped 
 head cocked impertinently on one side, how his 
 brother, now assistant in a Paris shop, still owned the 
 title of baron by means of which his reconciliated 
 lordship sought eventually to cover up the unfortunate 
 escapade. He would hand you English letters — and 
 Scotch ones too ! — with an air of covert insolence 
 that was the joy of half the village. And on Sundays 
 he was to be seen, garbed in knickerbockers, gaudy 
 stockings, and sometimes high, yellowish spats, 
 walking with his peasant girl along the very road 
 his more spirited forbear covered in his runaway 
 match. . . . 
 
 The night stepped down more quickly every 
 minute from the heights. Deep-noted bells floated 
 upwards to him from Colombier, bringing upon the 
 evening wind some fragrance of these faded boyhood 
 memories. The stars began to peep above the peaks 
 and ridges, and the mountains of the Past moved 
 nearer. A veil of gossamer rose above the tree-tops, 
 hiding more and more of the landscape ; he just 
 could see the slim new moon dip down to drink 
 from her own silver cup within the darkening lake. 
 Workmen, in twos and threes, came past the little 
 house from their toil among the vines, and fragments
 
 xii A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 149 
 
 of the Dalcroze songs rose to his ear — songs that the 
 children loved, and that he had not heard for nearly 
 a quarter of a century. Their haunting refrains 
 completed then the spell, for all genuine spells are set 
 to some peculiar music of their own. These Dal- 
 croze melodies were exactly right. . . . The figures 
 melted away into the single shadow of the village street. 
 The houses swallowed them, voices, footsteps, and all. 
 And his eye, wandering down among the lights 
 that twinkled against the wall of mountains, picked 
 out the little ancient house, nestling so close beside the 
 church that they shared a wall in common. Twenty- 
 five years had passed since first he bowed his head 
 beneath the wistaria that still crowned the Pension 
 doorway. He remembered bounding up the creak- 
 ing stairs. He felt he could still bound as swiftly 
 and with as sure a step, only — he would expect less 
 at the top now. More truly put, perhaps, he would 
 expect less for himself. That ambition of his life 
 was over and done with. It was for others now that 
 his desires flowed so strongly. Mere personal aims 
 lay behind him in a faded heap, their seductiveness 
 exhausted. . . . He was a man with a Big Scheme 
 now — a Scheme to help the world. . . . 
 
 The village seemed a dull enough place in those 
 days, for the big Alps beckoned beyond, and day and 
 night he longed to climb them instead of reading dull 
 French grammar. But now all was different. It 
 dislocated his sense of time to find the place so 
 curiously unchanged. The years had played some 
 trick upon him. While he himself had altered, 
 developed, and the rest, this village had remained 
 identically the same, till it seemed as if no progress 
 of the outer world need ever change it. The very 
 people were so little altered — hair grown a little
 
 150 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND chap. 
 
 whiter, shoulders more rounded, steps here and 
 there a trifle slower, but one and all following the 
 old routine he knew so well as a boy. 
 
 Tante Jeanne, in particular, but for wrinkles that 
 looked as though a night of good sound sleep would 
 smooth them all away, was the same brave woman, 
 still ' running ' that Wistaria Pension against the 
 burden of inherited debts and mortgages. ' We're 
 still alive,' she had said to him, after greetings 
 delayed a quarter of a century, ' and if we haven't got 
 ahead much, at least we haven't gone back ! ' There 
 was no more hint of complaint than this. It stirred 
 in him a very poignant sense of admiration for the 
 high courage that drove the ageing fighter forward 
 still with hope and faith. No doubt she still turned 
 the kitchen saucer that did duty for planchette, un- 
 consciously pushing its blunted pencil towards the 
 letters that should spell out coming help. No doubt 
 she still wore that marvellous tea-gown garment that 
 did duty for so many different toilettes, even wearing 
 it when she went with goloshes and umbrella to 
 practise Sunday's hymns every Saturday night on the 
 wheezy church harmonium. And most likely she 
 still made underskirts from the silk of discarded 
 umbrellas because she loved the sound of frou-frou 
 thus obtained, while the shape of the silk exactly 
 adapted itself to the garment mentioned. And 
 doubtless, too, she still gave away a whole week's 
 profits at the slightest call of sickness in the village, 
 and then wondered how it was the Pension did not 
 pay . . . ! 
 
 A voice from below interrupted his long reverie. 
 
 ' Ready for supper, Henry ? ' cried his cousin up 
 the stairs. ' It's past seven. The children have 
 already left the Citadelle.'
 
 xii A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 151 
 
 And as the two middle-aged dreamers made their 
 way along the winding street of darkness through the 
 vines, one of them noticed that the stars drew down 
 their grand old network, fastening it to the heights 
 of Boudry and La Tourne. He did not mention it 
 to his companion, who was wumbling away in his 
 beard about some difficult details of his book, but the 
 thought slipped through his mind like the trail of a 
 flying comet : * I'd like to stay a long time in this 
 village and get the people straight a bit,' — which, 
 had he known it, was another thought carefully 
 paraphrased so that he should not notice it and feel 
 alarm : ' It will be difficult to get away from here. 
 My feet are in that net of stars. It's catching about 
 my heart.' 
 
 Low in the sky a pale, witched moon of yellow 
 watched them go. . . - 
 
 ' The Starlight Express is making this way, I do 
 believe,' he thought. But perhaps he spoke the 
 words aloud instead of thinking them, 
 
 ' Eh ! What's that you said, Henry ? ' asked the 
 other, taking it for a comment of value upon the 
 plot of a story he had referred to. 
 
 ' Oh, nothing particular,' was the reply. ' But 
 just look at those stars above La Tourne. They 
 shine like beacons burning on the trees.' Minks 
 would have called them ' braziers.' 
 
 ' They are rather bright, yes,' said the other, 
 disappointed. 'The air here is so very clear.' And 
 they went up the creaking wooden stairs to supper in 
 the Wistaria Pension as naturally as though the 
 vears had lifted them behind the mountains of the 
 past in a single bound — twenty-five years ago.
 
 CHAPTER XIII 
 
 Near where yonder evening star 
 
 Makes a glory in the air, 
 Lies a land dream-found and far 
 
 Where it is light alway. 
 There those lovely ghosts repair 
 
 Who in sleep's enchantment are, 
 In Cockayne dwell all things fair — 
 
 (But it is far away). 
 
 Cockayne Country, Agnes Duclauz. 
 
 The first stage in Cousinenry's introduction took 
 place, as has been seen, at a railway station ; but 
 further stages were accomplished later. For real 
 introductions are not completed by merely repeating 
 names and shaking hands, still less by a hurried kiss. 
 The ceremony had many branches too — departments, 
 as it were. It spread itself, with various degrees, 
 over many days as opportunity offered, and included 
 Gygi, the gendarme, as well as the little troop of 
 retired governesses who came to the Pension for 
 their mid-day dinner. Before two days were passed 
 he could not go down the village street without 
 lifting his cap at least a dozen times. Bourcelles was 
 so very friendly ; no room for strangers there ; a 
 new-comer might remain a mystery, but he could 
 not be unknown. Rogers found his halting French 
 becoming rapidly fluent again. And every one knew 
 so much about him — more almost than he knew 
 himself. 
 
 152
 
 ch.x.ii A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 153 
 
 At the Den next day, on the occasion of their first 
 tea together, he realised fully that introduction — to the 
 children at any rate — involved a kind of initiation. 
 
 It seemed to him that the room was full of 
 children, crowds of them, an intricate and ever shift- 
 ing maze. For years he had known no dealings with 
 the breed, and their movements now were so light 
 and rapid that it rather bewildered him. They were 
 in and out between the kitchen, corridor, and bedroom 
 like bits of a fluid puzzle. One moment a child 
 was beside him, and the next, just as he had a suitable 
 sentence ready to discharge at it, the place was 
 vacant. A minute later ' it ' appeared through 
 another door, carrying the samovar, or was on the 
 roof outside struggling with Riquette. 
 
 ' Oh, there you are ! ' he exclaimed. c How you 
 do dart about, to be sure ! ' 
 
 And the answer, if any, was invariably of the 
 cheeky order — 
 
 1 One can't keep still here ; there's not room 
 enough.' 
 
 Or, worse still — 
 
 ' I must get past you somehow ! ' This, needless 
 to say, from Monkey, who first made sure her 
 parents were out of earshot. 
 
 But he liked it, for he recognised this proof that 
 he was accepted and made one of the circle. These 
 were tentative invitations to play. It made him feel 
 quite larky, though at first he found his machinery 
 of larking rather stiff. The wheels required oiling. 
 And his first attempt to chase Miss Impudence 
 resulted in a collision with Jane Anne carrying a 
 great brown pot of home-made jam for the table. 
 There was a dreadful sound. He had stepped on 
 the cat at the same time.
 
 i 5 4 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND chap. 
 
 His introduction to the cat was the immediate 
 result, performed solemnly by Jimbo, and watched 
 by Jinny, still balancing the jar of jam, with an 
 expression of countenance that was half amazement 
 and half shock. Collisions with creatures of his size 
 and splendour were a new event to her. 
 
 * I must advertise for help if it occurs again ! ' 
 she exclaimed. 
 
 ' That's Mere Riquette, you know/ announced 
 Jimbo formally to his cousin, standing between them 
 in his village school blouse, hands tucked into his 
 belt. 
 
 ' I heard her, yes.' From a distance the cat 
 favoured him with a single comprehensive glance, 
 then turned away and disappeared beneath the sofa. 
 She, of course, reserved her opinion. 
 
 ' It didn't really hurt her. She always squeals 
 like that.' 
 
 1 Perhaps she likes it,' suggested Rogers. 
 
 ' She likes better tickling behind the ear,' Jimbo 
 thought, anxious to make him feel all right, and then 
 plunged into a description of her general habits — 
 how she jumped at the door handles when she wanted 
 to come in, slept on his bed at night, and looked for 
 a saucer in a particular corner of the kitchen floor. 
 This last detail was a compliment. He meant to 
 imply that Cousin Henry might like to see to it 
 himself sometimes, although it had always been his 
 own special prerogative hitherto. 
 
 * I shall know in future, then,' said Rogers 
 earnestly, showing, by taking the information seri- 
 ously, that he possessed the correct instinct. 
 
 ' Oh yes, it's quite easy. You'll soon learn it,' 
 spoken with feet wide apart and an expression of 
 careless importance, as who should say, ' What a
 
 xiii A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 155 
 
 sensible man you are ! Still, these are little things 
 one has to be careful about, you know.' 
 
 Mother poured out tea, somewhat laboriously, as 
 though the exact proportions of milk, hot water, and 
 sugar each child took were difficult to remember. 
 Each had a special cup, moreover. Her mind, 
 ever crammed with a thousand domestic details which 
 she seemed to carry all at once upon the surface, 
 ready for any sudden question, found it difficult to 
 concentrate upon the teapot. Her mind was ever 
 worrying over these. Her husband was too vague 
 to be of practical help. When any one spoke to her, 
 she would pause in the middle of the operation, 
 balancing a cup in one hand and a milk jug in the 
 other, until the question was properly answered, 
 every t crossed and every i dotted. There was no 
 mistaking what Mother meant — provided you had 
 the time to listen. She had that careful thorough- 
 ness which was no friend of speed. The result was 
 that hands were stretched out for second cups long 
 before she had completed the first round. Her own 
 tea began usually when everybody else had finished — 
 and lasted — well, some time. 
 
 1 Here's a letter I got,' announced Jimbo, pulling 
 a very dirty scrap of paper from a pocket hidden 
 beneath many folds of blouse. ' You'd like to see 
 it.' He handed it across the round table, and 
 Rogers took it politely. ' Thank you very much ; 
 it came by this morning's post, did it ? ' 
 
 ' Oh, no,' was the reply, as though a big corre- 
 spondence made the date of little importance. ' Not 
 by that post.' But Monkey blurted out with the 
 jolly laughter that was her characteristic sound, ' It 
 came ages ago. He's had it in his pocket for 
 weeks.'
 
 156 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND chap. 
 
 Jimbo, ignoring the foolish interruption, watched 
 his cousin's face, while Jinny gave her sister a secret 
 nudge that every one could see. 
 
 € Darling Jimbo,' was what Rogers read, ' I have 
 been to school, and did strokes and prickings and 
 marched round. I am like you now. A fat kiss 
 
 and a hug, your loving ' The signature was 
 
 illegible, lost amid several scratchy lines in a blot 
 that looked as if a beetle had expired after violent 
 efforts in a pool of ink. 
 
 ' Very nice indeed, very well put,' said Rogers, 
 handing it gravely back again, while some one ex- 
 plained that the writer, aged five, had just gone to a 
 kindergarten school in Geneva. « And have you 
 answered it ? ' 
 
 ' Oh, yes. I answered it the same day, you see. 
 It was, perhaps, a foolish letter for a man to have in 
 his pocket. Still — it was a letter. 
 
 ' Good ! What a capital secretary you'll make 
 me.' And the boy's flush of pleasure almost made 
 the dish of butter rosy. 
 
 ' Oh, take another ; take a lot, please,' Jimbo 
 said, handing the cakes that Rogers divined were a 
 special purchase in his honour ; and while he did so, 
 managed to slip one later on to the plates of Monkev 
 and her sister, who sat on either side of him. The 
 former gobbled it up at once, barely keeping back 
 her laughter, but Jinny, with a little bow, put hers 
 carefully aside on the edge of her plate, not knowing 
 quite the ' nice ' thing to do with it. Something in 
 the transaction seemed a trifle too familiar perhaps. 
 She stole a glance at mother, but mother was filling 
 the cups and did not notice. Daddy could have 
 helped her, only he would say ' What ? ' in a loud 
 voice, and she would have to repeat her question for
 
 xui A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 157 
 
 all to hear. Later, she ate the cake in very small 
 morsels, a little uncomfortably. 
 
 It was a jolly, merry, cosy tea, as teas in the Den 
 always were. Daddy wumbled a number of things 
 in his beard to which no one need reply unless they 
 felt like it. The usual sentences were not heard 
 to-day : ' Monkey, what a mouthful ! You must 
 not shovel in your food like that ! ' or, ' Don't 
 gurgle your tea down ; swallow it quietly, like a 
 little lady ' ; or, ' How often have you been told not 
 to drink with your mouth full ; this is not the 
 servants' hall, remember ! ' There were no signs of 
 contretemps of any kind, nothing was upset or 
 broken, and the cakes went easily round, though 
 not a crumb was left over. 
 
 But the entire time Mr. Rogers was subjected to 
 the keenest scrutiny imaginable. Nothing he did 
 escaped two pairs of eyes at least. Signals were 
 flashed below as well as above the table. These 
 signals were of the kind birds know perhaps — others 
 might be aware of their existence if they listened 
 very attentively, yet might not interpret them. No 
 Comanche ever sent more deft communications un- 
 observed to his brother across a camp fire. 
 
 Yet nothing was done visibly ; no crumb was 
 flicked ; and the table hid the pressure of the toe 
 which, fortunately, no one intercepted. Monkey, at 
 any rate, had eyes in both her feet, and Jimbo knew 
 how to keep his counsel without betrayal. But in- 
 flections of the voice did most of the work — this, 
 with flashes of brown and blue lights, conveyed the 
 swift despatches. 
 
 ' My underneath goes out to him,' Monkey 
 telegraphed to her brother while she asked inno- 
 cently for 'jam, please, Jimbo'; and he replied,
 
 158 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND chap. 
 
 ' Oh, he's all right, I think, but better not go too 
 fast,' as he wiped the same article from his chin and 
 caught her big brown eye upon him. ' He'll be our 
 Leader,' she conveyed later by the way she stirred her 
 cup of tea-hot-water-milk, ' when once we've got him 
 " out " and taught him ' ; and Jimbo offered and 
 accepted his own resignation of the coveted, long- 
 held post by the way he let his eyelid twiddle in 
 answer to her well-directed toe-nudge out of sight. 
 
 This, in a brief resume^ was the purport of the 
 give and take of numerous despatches between them 
 during tea, while outwardly Mother — and Father, too, 
 when he thought about it — were delighted with their 
 perfect company manners. 
 
 Jane Anne, outside all this flummery, went her 
 own way upon an even keel. She watched him 
 closely too, but not covertly. She stared him in the 
 face, and imitated his delicate way of eating. Once 
 or twice she called him ' Mr. Rogers,' for this had a 
 grown-up flavour about it that appealed to her, and 
 ' Cousin Henry ' did not come easily to her at first. 
 She could not forget that she had left the hole 
 secondaire and was on her way to a Geneva Pension 
 where she would attend an hole menagere. And 
 the bursts of laughter that greeted her polite ' Mr. 
 Rogers, did you have a nice journey, and do you 
 like Bourcelles ? ' — in a sudden pause that caught 
 Mother balancing cup and teapot in mid-air — puzzled 
 her a good deal. She liked his quiet answer though 
 — ' Thank you, Miss Campden, I think both quite 
 charming.' He did not laugh. He understood, 
 whatever the others might think. She had wished 
 to correct the levity of the younger brother and 
 sister, and he evidently appreciated her intentions. 
 He seemed a nice man, a very nice man.
 
 xiii A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 159 
 
 Tea once over, she carried off the loaded tray to 
 the kitchen to do the washing-up. Jimbo and 
 Monkey had disappeared. They always vanished 
 about this time, but once the unenvied operation was 
 safely under way, they emerged from their hiding- 
 places again. No one ever saw them go. They 
 were gone before the order, * Now, children, help 
 your sister take the things away,' was even issued. 
 By the time they re-appeared Jinny was halfway 
 through it and did not want to be disturbed. 
 
 ' Never mind, Mother,' she said, ' they're chronic. 
 They're only little busy Highlanders ! ' For ' chronic ' 
 was another catch-word at the moment, and some- 
 times by chance she used it appropriately. The 
 source of ' busy Highlanders ' was a mystery known 
 only to herself. And resentment, like jealousy, was a 
 human passion she never felt and did not understand. 
 Jane Anne was the spirit of unselfishness incarnate. 
 It was to her honour, but made her ineffective as a 
 personality. 
 
 Daddy lit his big old meerschaum — the 'squelcher' 
 Jinny called it, because of its noise — and mooned 
 about the room, making remarks on literature or 
 politics, while Mother picked a work-basket cleverly 
 from a dangerously overloaded shelf, and prepared 
 to mend and sew. The windows were wide open, 
 and framed the picture of snowy Alps, now turning 
 many -tinted in the slanting sunshine. Riquette, 
 gorged with milk, appeared from the scullery and 
 inspected knees and chairs and cushions that seemed 
 available, selecting finally the best arm-chair and curl- 
 ing up to sleep. Rogers smoked a cigarette, pleased 
 and satisfied like the cat. A hush fell on the room. 
 It was the hour of peace between tea and the noisy 
 Pension supper that later broke the spell. So quiet
 
 160 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND chap. 
 
 was it that the mouse began to nibble in the bed- 
 room walls, and even peeped through the cracks it 
 knew between the boards. It came out, flicked its 
 whiskers, and then darted in again like lightning. 
 Jane Anne, rinsing out the big teapot in the scullery, 
 frightened it. Presently she came in softly, put the 
 lamp ready for her mother's needle, in case of need 
 later, gave a shy queer look at ' Mr. Rogers ' and 
 her father, both of whom nodded absent-mindedly to 
 her, and then went on tip-toe out of the room. She 
 was bound for the village shop to buy methylated 
 spirits, sugar, blotting-paper, and — a * plaque ' of 
 Suchard chocolate for her Cousinenry. The forty 
 centimes for this latter was a large item in her 
 savings ; but she gave no thought to that. What 
 sorely perplexed her as she hurried down the street 
 was whether he would like it * milk ' or ' plain.' In 
 the end she bought both. 
 
 Down the dark corridor of the Citadelle, before 
 she left, she did not hear the muffled laughter 
 among the shadows, nor see the movement of 
 two figures that emerged together from the farther 
 end. 
 
 ' He'll be on the sofa by now. Shall we go for 
 him ? ' It was the voice of Monkey. 
 
 ' Leave it to me.' Jimbo still meant to be leader 
 so far as these two were concerned at any rate. Let 
 come later what might. 
 
 ' Better get Mother out of the way first, though.' 
 
 ' Mother's nothing. She's sewing and things,' 
 was the reply. He understood the conditions 
 thoroughly. He needed no foolish advice. 
 
 ' He's awfully easy. You saw the two gold 
 teeth. It's him, I'm sure.' 
 
 ' Of course he's easy, only a person doesn't want
 
 xiii A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 161 
 
 to be pulled about after tea,' in the tone of a man 
 who meant to feel his way a bit. 
 
 Clearly they had talked together more than once 
 since the arrival at the station. Jimbo made up for 
 ignorance by decision and sublime self-confidence. 
 He answered no silly questions, but listened, made 
 up his mind, and acted. He was primed to the brim 
 — a born leader. 
 
 ' Better tell him that we'll come for him to-night,' 
 the girl insisted. ' He'll be less astonished then. 
 You can tell he dreams a lot by his manner. Even 
 now he's only half awake.' 
 
 The conversation was in French — school and 
 village French. Her brother ignored the question 
 with ' va te cacher ! ' He had no doubts himself. 
 
 1 Just wait a moment while I tighten my belt,' he 
 observed. l You can tell it by his eyes,' he added, 
 as Monkey urged him forward to the door. ' I 
 know a good dreamer when I see one.' 
 
 Then fate helped them. The door against their 
 noses opened and Daddy came out, followed by his 
 cousin. All four collided. 
 
 ' Oh, is the washing-up finished ? ' asked Monkey 
 innocently, quick as a flash. 
 
 ' How you startled me ! ' exclaimed Daddy. 
 ' You really must try to be less impetuous. You'd 
 better ask Mother about the washing,' he repeated, 
 1 she's in there sewing.' His thoughts, it seemed, 
 were just a trifle confused. Plates and linen both 
 meant washing, and sometimes hair and other stuff 
 as well. 
 
 'There's no light, you see, yet,' whispered Jimbo. 
 A small lamp usually hung upon the wall. Jane 
 Anne at that moment came out carrying it and 
 asking for a match. 
 
 M
 
 1 62 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND CH *r 
 
 * No starlight, either,' added Monkey quickly, 
 giving her cousin a little nudge. ' It's all up- 
 wumbled, or whatever Daddy calls it.' 
 
 The look he gave her might well have suppressed 
 a grown-up person — ' grande personne,' as Jimbo 
 termed it, translating literally — but on Monkey it 
 had only slight effect. Her irrepressible little spirit 
 concealed springs few could regulate. Even avoir- 
 dupois increased their resiliency the moment it was 
 removed. But Jimbo checked her better than most. 
 She did look a trifle ashamed — for a second. 
 
 ' Can't you wait ? ' he whispered. ' Daddy'll spoil 
 it if you begin it here. How you do fidget ! ' 
 
 They passed all together out into the yard, the 
 men in front, the two children just behind, walking 
 warily. 
 
 Then came the separation, yet none could say 
 exactly how it was accomplished. For separations 
 are curious things at the best of times, the forces 
 that effect them as mysterious as wind that blows 
 a pair of butterflies across a field. Something equally 
 delicate was at work. One minute all four stood to- 
 gether by the fountain, and the next Daddy was 
 walking downhill towards the carpenter's house alone, 
 while the other three were already twenty metres up 
 the street that led to the belt of forest. 
 
 Jimbo, perhaps, was responsible for the deft 
 manoeuvring. At any rate, he walked beside his 
 big cousin with the air of a successful aide-de-camp. 
 But Monkey, too, seemed flushed with victory, roll- 
 ing along — her rotundity ever suggested rolling 
 rather than the taking of actual steps — as if she led 
 a prisoner. 
 
 ' Don't bother your cousin, children,' their father's 
 voice was heard again faintly in the distance. Then
 
 xiii A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 163 
 
 the big shoulder of La Citadelle hid him from view 
 and hearing. 
 
 And so the sight was seen of these three, arm in 
 arm, passing along the village street in the twilight. 
 Gygi saw them go and raised his blue, peaked cap ; 
 and so did Henri Favre, standing in the doorway of 
 his little shop, as he weighed the possible value of 
 the new customer for matches, chocolate, and string 
 — the articles English chiefly bought ; and likewise 
 Alfred Sandoz, looking a moment through the 
 window of his cabaret, the Guillaume Tell, saw them 
 go past like shadows towards the woods, and ob- 
 served to his carter friend across the table, ' They 
 choose queer times for expeditions, these English, 
 onah ! ' 
 
 ' It's their climate makes them like that,' put in 
 his wife, a touch of pity in her voice. Her daughter 
 swept the Den and lit the fourneau for la famille 
 anglaise in the mornings, and the mother, knowing 
 a little English, spelt out the weather reports in the 
 Daily Surprise she sometimes brought. 
 
 Meanwhile the three travellers had crossed the rail- 
 way line, where Jimbo detained them for a moment's 
 general explanation, and passed the shadow of the 
 sentinel poplar. The cluster of spring leaves rustled 
 faintly on its crest. The village lay behind them 
 now. They turned a moment to look back upon 
 the stretch of vines and fields that spread towards 
 the lake. From the pool of shadow where the houses 
 nestled rose the spire of the church, a strong dark 
 line against the fading sunset. Thin columns of 
 smoke tried to draw it after them. Lights already 
 twinkled on the farther shore, five miles across, and 
 beyond these rose dim white forms of the tremendous 
 ghostly Alps. Dusk slowly brought on darkness.
 
 1 64 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND chap 
 
 Jimbo began to hum the song of the village he 
 had learned in school — 
 
 P'tit Bourcelles sur sa colline 
 De partout a gentille mine ; 
 On y pratique avec succes 
 Sexploitation du frantjais, 
 
 and the moment it was over, his sister burst out with 
 the question that had been buzzing inside her head 
 the whole time — 
 
 ' How long are you going to stay ? ' she said, as 
 they climbed higher along the dusty road. 
 
 ' Oh, about a week,' he told her, giving the 
 answer already used a dozen times. ' I've just come 
 out for a holiday — first holiday I've had for twenty 
 years. Fancy that ! Pretty long time, eh ? ' 
 
 They simply didn't believe that ; they let it pass 
 — politely. 
 
 ' London's stuffy, you know, just now,' he added, 
 aware that he was convicted of exaggeration. ' Be- 
 sides, it's spring.' 
 
 ' There are millions of flowers here,' Jimbo covered 
 his mistake kindly, ' millions and millions. Aren't 
 there, Monkey ? ' 
 
 ' Oh, billions.' 
 
 ' Of course,' he agreed. 
 
 ' And more than anywhere else in the whole 
 world.' 
 
 ' It looks like that,' said Cousin Henry, as proudly 
 as they said it themselves. And they told him how 
 they picked clothes-baskets full of the wild lily of 
 the valley that grew upon the Boudry slopes, hepa- 
 ticas, periwinkles, jonquils, blue and white violets, as 
 well as countless anemones, and later, the big yellow 
 marguerites.
 
 xiii A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 165 
 
 ' Then how long are you going to stay — really ? ' 
 inquired Monkey once again, as though the polite 
 interlude were over. It was a delicate way of sug- 
 gesting that he had told an untruth. She looked up 
 straight into his face. And, meeting her big brown 
 eyes, he wondered a little — for the first time — how 
 he should reply. 
 
 ' Daddy came here meaning to stay only six 
 months — first.' 
 
 ' When I was littler,' Jimbo put in. 
 
 * and stayed here all this time — four years.' 
 
 * I hope to stay a week or so — just a little holiday, 
 you know,' he said at length, giving the answer 
 purposely. But he said it without conviction, halt- 
 ingly. He felt that they divined the doubt in him. 
 They guessed his thought along the hands upon his 
 arm, as a horse finds out its rider from the touch 
 upon the reins. On either side big eyes watched and 
 judged him ; but the brown ones put a positive 
 enchantment in his blood. They shone so wonder- 
 fully in the dusk. 
 
 1 Longer than that, I think,' she told him, her 
 own mind quite made up. ' It's not so easy to get 
 away from.' 
 
 ' You mean it ? ' he asked seriously. * It makes 
 one quite nervous.' 
 
 ' There's such a lot to do here,' she said, still 
 keeping her eyes fixed upon his face till he felt 
 the wonder in him become a little unmanageable. 
 ' You'll never get finished in a week.' 
 
 ' My secretary,' he stammered, ' will help me,' and 
 Jimbo nodded, fastening both hands upon his arm, 
 while Monkey indulged in a little gust of curious 
 laughter, as who should say ' He who laughs last, 
 laughs best.'
 
 1 66 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND chap. 
 
 They entered the edge of the forest. Hepaticas 
 watched them with their eyes of blue. Violets marked 
 their tread. The frontiers of the daylight softly 
 closed behind them. A thousand trees opened a 
 way to let them pass, and moss twelve inches thick 
 took their footsteps silently as birds. They came 
 presently to a little clearing where the pines stood 
 in a circle and let in a space of sky. Looking up, 
 all three saw the first small stars in it. A wild faint 
 scent of coming rain was in the air — those warm 
 spring rains that wash the way for summer. And 
 a signal flashed unseen from the blue eyes to the 
 brown. 
 
 1 This way,' said Jimbo firmly. ' There's an arm- 
 chair rock where you can rest and get your wind a 
 bit,' and, though Rogers had not lost his wind, he 
 let himself be led, and took the great grey boulder 
 for his chair. Instantly, before he had arranged his 
 weight among the points and angles, both his knees 
 were occupied. 
 
 ' By Jove,' flashed through his mind. * They've 
 brought me here on purpose. I'm caught ! ' 
 
 A tiny pause followed. 
 
 ' Now, look here, you little Schemers, I want to 
 know what ' 
 
 But the sentence was never finished. The hand 
 of Monkey was already pointing upwards to the space 
 of sky. He saw the fringe of pine tops fencing it 
 about with their feathery, crested ring, and in the 
 centre shone faint, scattered stars. Over the fence 
 of mystery that surrounds common objects wonder 
 peeped with one eye like a star. 
 
 ' Cousinenry,' he heard close to his ear, so soft it 
 almost might have been those tree-tops whispering to 
 the night, ' do you know anything about a Star
 
 kiu A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 167 
 
 Cave — a place where the starlight goes when there 
 are no eyes or puddles about to catch it ? ' 
 
 A Star Cave ! How odd ! His own boyhood's 
 idea. He must have mentioned it to his cousin 
 perhaps, and he had told the children. And all that 
 was in him of nonsense, poetry, love rose at a bound 
 as he heard it. He felt them settle themselves more 
 comfortably upon his knees. He forgot to think 
 about the points and angles. Here surely a gateway 
 was opening before his very feet, a gateway into that 
 world of fairyland the old clergyman had spoken 
 about. A great wave of tenderness swept him — a 
 flood strong and deep, as he had felt it long ago 
 upon the hill of that Kentish village. The golden 
 boyhood's mood rushed over him once more with all 
 its original splendour. It took a slightly different 
 form, however. He knew better how to direct it 
 for one thing. He pressed the children closer to 
 his side. 
 
 * A what ? ' he asked, speaking low as they did. 
 ' Do I know a what ? ' 
 
 ' A cave where lost starlight collects,' Monkey 
 repeated, ' a Star Cave.' 
 
 And Jimbo said aloud the verses he had already 
 learned by heart. While his small voice gave the 
 words, more than a little mixed, a bird high up 
 among the boughs woke from its beauty sleep and 
 sang. The two sounds mingled. But the singing 
 of the bird brought back the scenery of the Vicarage 
 garden, and with it the strange, passionate things the 
 old clergyman had said. The two scenes met in his 
 mind, passed in and out of one another like rings of 
 smoke, interchanged, and finally formed a new picture 
 all their own, where flowers danced upon a carpet of 
 star-dust that glittered in mid-air.
 
 168 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND chap. 
 
 He knew some sudden, deep enchantment of the 
 spirit. The Fairyland the world had lost spread all 
 about him, and — he had the children close. The 
 imaginative faculty that for years had invented in- 
 genious patents, woke in force, and ran headlong down 
 far sweeter channels — channels that fastened mind, 
 heart, and soul together in a single intricate network 
 of soft belief. He remembered the dusk upon the 
 Crayfield lawns. 
 
 ' Of course I know a Star Cave,' he said at length, 
 when Jimbo had finished his recitation, and Monkey 
 had added the details their father had told them. 
 ' I know the very one your Daddy spoke about. It's 
 not far from where we're sitting. It's over there.' 
 He pointed up to the mountain heights behind them, 
 but Jimbo guided his hand in the right direction — 
 towards the Boudry slopes where the forests dip upon 
 the precipices of the Areuse. 
 
 ' Yes, that's it — exactly,' he said, accepting the 
 correction instantly ; ' only / go to the top of the 
 mountains first so as to slide down with the river of 
 starlight.' 
 
 1 We go straight,' they told him in one breath. 
 
 ' Because you've got more star-stuff in your eyes 
 than I have, and find the way better,' he explained. 
 
 That touched their sense of pity. ( But you can 
 have ours,' they cried, ' we'll share it.' 
 
 ' No,' he answered softly, ' better keep your own. 
 I can get plenty now. Indeed, to tell the truth — 
 though it's a secret between ourselves, remember — 
 that's the real reason I've come out here. I want to 
 get a fresh supply to take back to London with me. 
 One needs a fearful lot in London ' 
 
 ' But there's no sun in London to melt it,' objected 
 Monkey instantly.
 
 xiii A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 169 
 
 ' There's fog though, and it gets lost in fog like 
 ink in blotting-paper. There's never enough to go 
 round. I've got to collect an awful lot before I go 
 back.' 
 
 ' That'll take more than a week,' she said tri- 
 umphantly. 
 
 They fastened themselves closer against him, like 
 limpets on a rock. 
 
 ' I told you there was lots to do here,' whispered 
 Monkey again. ' You'll never get it done in a week.' 
 
 4 And how will you take it back ? ' asked Jimbo 
 in the same breath. 
 
 The answer went straight to the boy's heart. 
 
 ' In a train, of course. I've got an express train 
 here on purpose ' 
 
 * The " Rapide " ? ' he interrupted, his blue eyes 
 starting like flowers from the earth. 
 
 ' Quicker far than that. I've got ' 
 
 They stared so hard and so expectantly, it was 
 almost like an interruption. The bird paused in its 
 rushing song to listen too. 
 
 ' a Starlight Express,' he finished, caught now 
 
 in the full tide of fairyland. ' It came here several 
 nights ago. It's being loaded up as full as ever it 
 can carry. I'm to drive it back again when once it's 
 ready.' 
 
 ' Where is it now ? ' 
 
 * Who's loading it ? ' 
 
 ' How fast does it go ? Are there accidents and 
 collisions ? ' 
 
 1 How do you find the way ?' 
 
 ' May I drive it with you ? ' 
 
 ' Tell us exactly everything in the world about 
 it — at once ! ' 
 
 Questions poured in a flood about him, and his
 
 170 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND chap. 
 
 imagination leaped to their answering. Above them 
 the curtain of the Night shook out her million stars 
 while they lay there talking with bated breath 
 together. On every single point he satisfied them, 
 and himself as well. He told them all — his visit to 
 the Manor House, the sprites he found there still 
 alive and waiting as he had made them in his boy- 
 hood, their songs and characters, the Dustman, 
 Sweep, and Lamplighter, the Laugher, and the 
 Woman of the Haystack, the blue-eyed Guard 
 
 ' But now her eyes are brown, aren't they ? ' 
 Monkey asked, peering very close into his face. At 
 the same moment she took his heart and hid it deep 
 away among her tumbling hair. 
 
 1 1 was coming to that. They're brown now, of 
 course, because in this different atmosphere brown 
 eyes see better than blue in the dark. The colours 
 of signals vary in different countries. 
 
 * And I'm the micanicienj cried Jimbo. ' I drive 
 the engine.' 
 
 ' And I'm your stoker,' he agreed, ' because here 
 we burn wood instead of coal, and I'm director in a 
 wood-paving company and so know all about it.' 
 
 They did not pause to dissect his logic — but just 
 tore about full speed with busy plans and question- 
 ings. He began to wonder how in the world he 
 would satisfy them — and satisfy himself as well ! — 
 when the time should come to introduce them to 
 Express and Cave and Passengers. For if he failed 
 in that, the reality of the entire business must fall to 
 the ground. Yet the direct question did not come. 
 He wondered more and more. Neither child luckily 
 insisted on immediate tangible acquaintance. They 
 did not even hint about it. So far the whole thing 
 had gone splendidly and easily, like floating a new
 
 xm A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 171 
 
 company with the rosiest prospectus in the world ; 
 but the moment must arrive when profits and 
 dividends would have to justify mere talk. Con- 
 crete results would be demanded. If not forth- 
 coming, where would his position be ? 
 
 Yet, still the flood of questions, answers, ex- 
 planations flowed on without the critical sentence 
 making its appearance. He had led them well — so 
 far. How in the world, though, was he to keep it 
 up, and provide definite result at the end ? 
 
 Then suddenly the truth dawned upon him. It 
 was not he who led after all ; it was they. He was 
 being led. They knew. They understood. The 
 reins of management lay in their small capable 
 hands, and he had never really held them at all. 
 Most cleverly, with utmost delicacy, they had con- 
 cealed from him his real position. They were 
 Directors, he the merest shareholder, useful only 
 for ' calls.' The awkward question that he feared 
 would never come, but instead he would receive 
 instructions. ' Keep close to the children ; they 
 will guide you.' The words flashed back. He was 
 a helpless prisoner ; but had only just discovered the 
 fact. He supplied the funds ; they did the con- 
 struction. Their plans and schemes netted his feet 
 in fairyland just as surely as the weight of their 
 little warm, soft bodies fastened him to the boulder 
 where he sat. He could not move. He could not 
 go further without their will and leadership. 
 
 But his captivity was utterly delightful to 
 him. . . . 
 
 The sound of a deep bell from the Colombier 
 towers floated in to them between the trees. The 
 children sprang from his knees. He rose slowly, 
 a little cramped and stiff.
 
 172 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND chap. 
 
 ' Half-past six,' said Jimbo. ' We must go back 
 for supper.' 
 
 He stood there a moment, stretching, while the 
 others waited, staring up at him as though he were 
 a tree. And he felt like a big tree ; they were two 
 wild-flowers his great roots sheltered down below. 
 
 And at that moment, in the little pause before 
 they linked up arms and started home again, the 
 Question of Importance came, though not in the way 
 he had expected it would come. 
 
 ' Cousinenry, do you sleep very tightly at night, 
 please ? ' Monkey asked it, but Jimbo stepped up 
 nearer to watch the reply. 
 
 1 Like a top,' he said, wondering. 
 
 Signals he tried vainly to intercept flashed between 
 the pair of them. 
 
 1 Why do you ask ? ' as nothing further seemed 
 forthcoming. 
 
 * Oh, just to know,' she explained. * It's all 
 right.' 
 
 * Yes, it's quite all right like that,' added Jimbo. 
 And without more ado they took his arms and 
 pulled him out of the forest. 
 
 And Henry Rogers heard something deep, deep 
 down within himself echo the verdict. 
 c I think it is all right.' 
 
 On the way home there were no puddles, but 
 there were three pairs of eyes — and the stars were 
 uncommonly thick overhead. The children asked 
 him almost as many questions as there were clusters 
 of them between the summits of Boudry and La 
 Tourne. All three went floundering in that giant 
 Net. It was so different, too, from anything they 
 had been accustomed to. Their father's stories.
 
 xiii A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 173 
 
 answers, explanations, and the like, were ineffective 
 because they always felt he did not quite believe 
 them himself even while he gave them. He did not 
 think he believed them, that is. But Cousin Henry 
 talked of stars and star-stuff as though he had some 
 in his pocket at the moment. And, of course, he 
 had. For otherwise they would not have listened. 
 He could not have held their attention. 
 
 They especially liked the huge, ridiculous words 
 he used, because such words concealed great mysteries 
 that pulsed with wonder and exquisitely wound them 
 up. Daddy made things too clear. The bones of 
 impossibility were visible. They saw thin nakedness 
 behind the explanations, till the sense of wonder 
 faded. They were not babies to be fed with a string 
 of one-syllable words ! 
 
 Jimbo kept silence mostly, his instinct ever being 
 to conceal his ignorance ; but Monkey talked fifteen 
 to the dozen, filling the pauses with long ' ohs ' and 
 bursts of laughter and impudent observations. Yet 
 her cheeky insolence never crossed the frontier where 
 it could be resented. Her audacity stopped short of 
 impertinence. 
 
 * There's a point beyond which ' her cousin 
 
 would say gravely, when she grew more daring than 
 usual ; and, while answering ' It'll stick into you, 
 then, not into me,' she yet withdrew from the borders 
 of impertinence at once. 
 
 ' What is star-stuff really then ? ' she asked. 
 
 'The primordial substance of the universe,' he 
 answered solemnly, no whit ashamed of his in- 
 accuracy. 
 
 ■ Ah yes ! ' piped Jimbo, quietly. Ecole 
 primaire he understood. This must be something 
 similar.
 
 i 7 4 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND chap. 
 
 ' But what does it do, I mean, and why is it good 
 for people to have it in them — on them — whatever 
 it is ? ' she inquired. 
 
 ' It gives sympathy and insight ; it's so awfully 
 subtle and delicate,' he answered. ' A little of it 
 travels down on every ray and soaks down into you. 
 It makes you feel inclined to stick to other people 
 and understand them. That's sympathy.' 
 
 1 Sympathies said Jimbo for his sister's benefit 
 apparently, but in reality because he himself was 
 barely treading water. 
 
 c But sympathy,' the other went on, ' is no good 
 without insight — which means seeing things as others 
 see them — from inside. That's insight ' 
 
 ' Inside sight,' she corrected him. 
 
 ' That's it. You see, the first stuff that existed 
 in the universe was this star-stuff — nebulae. Having 
 nothing else to stick to, it stuck to itself, and so got 
 thicker. It whirled in vortices. It grew together in 
 sympathy, for sympathy brings together. It whirled 
 and twirled round itself till it got at last into solid 
 round bodies — worlds — stars. It passed, that is, 
 from mere dreaming into action. And when the 
 rays soak into you, they change your dreaming into 
 action. You feel the desire to do things — for 
 others.' 
 
 * Ah ! yes,' repeated Jimbo, ' like that.' 
 
 ' You must be full of vorty seas, then, because 
 you're so long,' said Monkey, ' but you'll never grow 
 into a solid round body ' 
 
 He took a handful of her hair and smothered the 
 remainder of the sentence. 
 
 ' The instant a sweet thought is born in your 
 mind,' he continued, ' the heavenly stables send their 
 starry messengers to harness it for use. A ray,
 
 xiii A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 175 
 
 perhaps, from mighty Sirius picks it out of your 
 heart at birth.' 
 
 ' Serious ! ' exclaimed Jimbo, as though the sun 
 were listening. 
 
 ' Sirius — another sun, that is, far bigger than our 
 own — a perfect giant, yet so far away you hardly 
 notice him.' 
 
 The boy clasped his dirty fingers and stared hard. 
 The sun was listening. 
 
 * Then what I think is known — like that — all 
 over the place ? ' he asked. He held himself very 
 straight indeed. 
 
 ' Everywhere,' replied Cousinenry gravely. ' The 
 stars flash your thoughts over the whole universe. 
 None are ever lost. Sooner or later they appear in 
 visible shape. Some one, for instance, must have 
 thought this flower long ago ' — he stooped and 
 picked a blue hepatica at their feet — ' or it couldn't 
 be growing here now.' 
 
 Jimbo accepted the statement with his usual 
 gravity. 
 
 ' Then I shall always think enormous and 
 tremendous things — powerful locomotives, like that 
 and — and ' 
 
 'The best is to think kind little sweet things 
 about other people,' suggested the other. ' You see 
 the results quicker then.' 
 
 'Mais oui,' was the reply, 'je pourrai faire 9a 
 au m£me temps, n'est-ce pas ? ' 
 
 * Parfaitemong,' agreed his big cousin. 
 
 ' There's no room in her for inside sight,' ob- 
 served Monkey as a portly dame rolled by into the 
 darkness. ' You can't tell her front from her back.' 
 It was one of the governesses. 
 
 ' We'll get her into the cave and change all
 
 CH. XIII 
 
 176 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 
 
 that,' her cousin said reprovingly. ' You must never 
 judge by outside alone. Puddings should teach vou 
 that.' 7 
 
 But no one could reprove Monkey without running 
 a certain risk. 
 
 ' We don't have puddings here,' she said, ' we 
 have dessert — sour oranges and apples.' 
 
 She flew from his side and vanished down the 
 street and into the Citadelle courtyard before he 
 could think of anything to say. A shooting star 
 flashed at the same moment behind the church tower, 
 vanishing into the gulf of Boudry's shadow. They 
 seemed to go at the same pace together. 
 
 * Oh, I say ! ' said Jimbo sedately, ' you must 
 punish her for that, you know. Shall I come with 
 you to the carpenter's ? ' he added, as they stood a 
 moment by the fountain. * There's just ten minutes 
 to wash and brush your hair for supper.' 
 
 ' I think I can find my way alone,' he answered, 
 * thank you all the same.' 
 
 ' It's nothing,' he said, lifting his cap as the village 
 fashion was, and watching his cousin's lengthy figure 
 vanish down the street. 
 
 1 We'll meet at the Pension later,' the voice came 
 back, ' and in the morning I shall have a lot of 
 correspondence to attend to. Bring your shorthand 
 book and lots of pencils, mind.' 
 
 ' How many ? ' 
 
 'Oh, half a dozen will do.' 
 
 The boy turned in and hurried after his sister. 
 But he was so busy collecting all the pencils and 
 paper he could find that he forgot to brush his hair, 
 and consequently appeared at the supper table with 
 a head like a tangled blackberry bush. His eyes 
 were bright as stars.
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 
 O pure one, take thy seat in the barque of the Sun, 
 And 3ail thou over the sky. 
 
 Sail thou with the imperishable stars, 
 Sail thou with the unwearied stars. 
 
 Pyramid Texts, Dynasty VI. 
 
 But Henry Rogers ran the whole two hundred yards 
 to his lodgings in the carpenter's house. He ran as 
 though the entire field of brilliant stars were at his 
 heels. There was bewilderment, happiness, exhilara- 
 tion in his blood. He had never felt so light-hearted 
 in his life. He felt exactly fifteen years of age — and 
 a half. The half was added to ensure a good, safe 
 margin over the other two. 
 
 But he was late for supper too — later than the 
 children, for first he jotted down some notes upon 
 the back of an envelope. He wrote them at high 
 speed, meaning to correct them later, but the correc- 
 tions were never made. Later, when he came to 
 bed, the envelope had been tidied away by the careful 
 housewife into the dustbin. And he was ashamed to 
 ask for them. The carpenter's wife read English. 
 
 ' Pity,' he said to himself. ' I don't believe 
 Minks could have done it better ! ' 
 
 The energy that went to the making of those 
 ' notes ' would have run down different channels a 
 few years ago. It would have gone into some in- 
 genious patent. The patent, however, might equally 
 
 177 n
 
 178 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND chap. 
 
 have gone into the dustbin. There is an enormous 
 quantity of misdirected energy pouring loose about 
 the world ! 
 
 The notes had run something like this — 
 
 O children, open your arms to me, 
 
 Let your hair fall over my eyes ; 
 
 Let me sleep a moment — and then awake 
 
 In your Gardens of sweet Surprise ! 
 
 For the grown-up folk 
 
 Are a wearisome folk, 
 
 And they laugh my fancies to scorn, 
 
 My fun and my fancies to scorn. 
 
 O children, open your hearts to me, 
 
 And tell me your wonder-thoughts ; 
 
 Who lives in the palace inside your brain ? 
 
 Who plays in its outer courts ? 
 
 Who hides in the hours To-morrow holds ? 
 
 Who sleeps in your yesterdays ? 
 
 Who tiptoes along past the curtained folds 
 
 Of the shadow that twilight lays ? 
 
 O children, open your eyes to me, 
 
 And tell me your visions too ; 
 
 Who squeezes the sponge when the salt tears flow 
 
 To dim their magical blue? 
 
 Who draws up their blinds when the sun peeps in ? 
 
 Who fastens them down at night ? 
 
 Who brushes the fringe of their lace-veined lids ? 
 
 Who trims their innocent light ? 
 
 Then, children, I beg you, sing low to me, 
 And cover my eyes with your hands ; 
 O kiss me again till I sleep and dream 
 That I'm lost in your fairylands ; 
 For the grown-up folk 
 Are a troublesome folk, 
 And the book of their childhood is torn, 
 Is blotted, and crumpled, and torn ! 
 
 Supper at the Pension dissipated effectively the 
 odd sense of enchantment to which he had fallen a
 
 xiv A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 179 
 
 victim, but it revived again with a sudden rush when 
 Jimbo and his sister came up at half-past eight to say 
 good-night. It began when the little fellow climbed 
 up to plant a resounding kiss upon his lips, and it 
 caught him fullest when Monkey's arms were round 
 his neck, and he heard her whisper in his ear — 
 
 ' Sleep as tightly as you can, remember, and don't 
 resist. We'll come later to find you/ Her brown 
 eyes were straight in front of his own. Goodness, 
 how they shone ! Old Sirius and Aldebaran had 
 certainly left a ray in each. 
 
 4 Hope you don't get any longer when you're 
 asleep ! ' she added, giving him a sly dig in the ribs 
 — then was gone before he could return it, or ask her 
 what she meant by 'we'll find you later.' 
 
 4 And don't say a word to Mother,' was the last 
 thing he heard as she vanished down the stairs. 
 
 Slightly confused, he glanced down at the aged 
 pumps he happened to have on, and noticed that one 
 bow was all awry and loose. He stooped to fidget 
 with it, and Mother caught him in the act. 
 
 ' I'll stitch it on for you,' she said at once. ' It 
 won't take a minute. One of the children can fetch 
 it in the morning.' 
 
 But he was ashamed to add to her endless sewing. 
 Like some female Sisyphus, she seemed always push- 
 ing an enormous needle through a mountain of 
 clothes that grew higher each time she reached 
 the top. 
 
 ' I always wear it like that,' he assured her gravely, 
 his thoughts still busy with two other phrases — ' find 
 you ' and ' sleep tightly.' What in the world could 
 they mean ? Did the children really intend to visit 
 him at night ? They seemed so earnest about it. 
 Of course it was all nonsense. And yet !
 
 180 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND chap. 
 
 ' You mustn't let them bother you too much,' he 
 heard their mother saying, her voice sounding a long 
 way off. c They're so wildly happy to have some 
 one to play with.' 
 
 ' That's how I like them,' he answered vaguely, 
 referring half to the pumps and half to the children. 
 ' They're no trouble at all, believe me.' 
 
 * I'm afraid we've spoilt them rather ' 
 
 1 But — not at all,' he murmured, still confused. 
 'They're only a little loose — er — lively, I mean. 
 That's how they should be.' 
 
 And outside all heard their laughing voices dying 
 down the street as they raced along to the Citadelle 
 for bed. It was Monkey's duty to see her brother 
 safely in. Ten minutes later Mother would follow 
 to tell them tuck-up stories and hear their prayers. 
 
 ' Excuse me ! Have you got a hot-water bottle ? ' 
 asked a sudden jerky voice, and he turned with a 
 start to see Jane Anne towering beside him. 
 
 1 I'm sorry,' he answered, ' but I don't carry such 
 things about with me.' He imagined she was joking, 
 then saw that it was very serious. 
 
 She looked puzzled a moment. ' I meant — would 
 you like one ? Everybody uses them here.' She 
 thought all grown-ups used hot-water bottles. 
 
 He hesitated a second. The child looked as 
 though she would produce one from her blouse like 
 any conjurer. As yet, however, the article in ques- 
 tion had not entered his scheme of life. He declined 
 it with many thanks. 
 
 ' I can get you a big one,' she urged. But even 
 that did not tempt him. 
 
 ' Will you have a cold-water bandage then — for 
 your head — or anything ? ' 
 
 She seemed so afflicted with a desire to do some-
 
 xiv A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 181 
 
 thing for him that he almost said * Yes ' ; only the 
 fear that she might offer next a beehive or a gramo- 
 phone restrained him. 
 
 ' Thank you so much, but really I can manage 
 without it — to-night.' 
 
 Jane Anne made no attempt to conceal her dis- 
 appointment. What a man he was, to be sure ! 
 And what a funny place the world was ! 
 
 ' It's Jinny's panacea,' said Mother, helping herself 
 with reckless uncertainty to a long word. ' She's 
 never happy unless she's doing for somebody,' she 
 added ambiguously. ' It's her metier in life.' 
 
 ' Mother, what are you saying ? ' said the child's 
 expression. Then she made one last attempt. She 
 remembered, perhaps, the admiring way he had 
 watched her brother and sister's antics in the Den 
 before. She was not clever on her feet, but at least 
 she could try. 
 
 ' Shall I turn head over heels for you, then ? ' 
 
 He caught her mother's grave expression just 
 in time to keep his laughter back. The offer of 
 gymnastics clearly involved sacrifice somewhere. 
 
 ' To-morrow,' he answered quickly. 'Always put 
 off" till to-morrow what you're too old to do to-day.' 
 
 ' Of course ; I see — yes.' She was more perplexed 
 than ever, as he meant that she should be. His 
 words were meaningless, but they helped the poignant 
 situation neatly. She could not understand why all 
 her offers were refused like this. There must be 
 something wrong with her selection, perhaps. She 
 would think of better ones in future. But, oh, what 
 a funny place the world was ! 
 
 ' Good-night, then, Mr. — Cousin Rogers,' she 
 said jerkily with resignation. ' Perhaps to-morrow 
 —when I'm older '
 
 1 82 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND chap. 
 
 ' If it comes.' He gravely shook the hand she 
 held out primly, keeping a certain distance from him 
 lest he should attempt to kiss her. 
 
 ' It always comes ; it's a chronic monster,' she 
 laughed, saying the first thing that came into her 
 queer head. They all laughed. Jane Anne went 
 out, feeling happier. At least, she had amused him. 
 She marched off with the air of a grenadier going to 
 some stern and difficult duty. From the door she 
 flung back at him a look of speechless admiration, then 
 broke into a run, afraid she might have been immodest 
 or too forward. They heard her thumping overhead. 
 
 And presently he followed her example. The 
 Pension sitting-room emptied. Unless there was 
 something special on hand — a dance, a romp, a game, 
 or some neighbours who dropped in for talk and 
 music — it was rarely occupied after nine o'clock. 
 Daddy had already slipped home — he had this 
 mysterious way of disappearing when no one saw 
 him go. At this moment, doubtless, a wumbled 
 book absorbed him over at the carpenter's. Old 
 Miss Waghorn sat in a corner nodding over her 
 novel, and the Pension cat, Borelle, was curled up in 
 her sloping, inadequate lap. 
 
 The big, worn velvet sofa in the opposite corner 
 was also empty. On romping nights it was the 
 train de Moscou> where Jimbo sold tickets to crowded 
 passengers for any part of the world. To-night it 
 was a mere dead sofa, uninviting, dull. 
 
 He went across the darkened room, his head 
 scraping acquaintance with the ivy leaves that trailed 
 across the ceiling. He slipped through the little 
 hall. In the kitchen he heard the shrill voice of 
 Mme. Jequier talking very loudly about a dozen 
 things at once to the servant-girl, or to any one
 
 xiv A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 183 
 
 else who was near enough to listen. Luckily she 
 did not see him. Otherwise he would never have 
 escaped without another offer of a hot-water bottle, 
 a pot of home-made marmalade, or a rug and pillow 
 for his bed. 
 
 He made his way downstairs into the street un- 
 noticed ; but just as he reached the bottom his 
 thundering tread betrayed him. The door flew open 
 at the top. 
 
 ' Bon soir, bonne nuit,' screamed the voice ; ' wait 
 a moment and I'll get the lamp. You'll break your 
 neck. Is there anything you want — a hot-water 
 bottle, or a box of matches, or some of my marma- 
 lade for your breakfast ? Wait, and I'll get it in a 
 
 moment ' She would have given the blouse off 
 
 her back had he needed, or could have used it. 
 
 She flew back to the kitchen to search and shout. 
 It sounded like a quarrel ; but, pretending not to 
 hear, he made good his escape and passed out into 
 the street. The heavy door of the Post Office 
 banged behind him, cutting short a stream of excited 
 sentences. The peace and quiet of the night closed 
 instantly about his steps. 
 
 By the fountain opposite the Citadelle he paused 
 to drink from the pipe of gushing mountain water. 
 The open courtyard looked inviting, but he did not 
 go in, for, truth to tell, there was a curious excite- 
 ment in him — an urgent, keen desire to get to sleep 
 as soon as possible. Not that he felt sleepy — quite 
 the reverse in fact, but that he looked forward to his 
 bed and to * sleeping tightly.' 
 
 The village was already lost in slumber. No 
 lights showed in any houses. Yet it was barely half- 
 past nine. Everywhere was peace and stillness. Far 
 across the lake he saw the twinkling villages. Be-
 
 184 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND ch.xiv 
 
 hind him dreamed the forests. A deep calm brooded 
 over the mountains ; but within the calm, and just 
 below the surface in himself, hid the excitement as of 
 some lively anticipation. He expected something. 
 Something was going to happen. And it was con- 
 nected with the children. Jimbo and Monkey were 
 at the bottom of it. They had said they would 
 come for him — to ' find him later.' He wondered — 
 quite absurdly he wondered. 
 
 He passed his cousin's room on tiptoe, and noticed a 
 light beneath the door. But, before getting into bed, he 
 stood a moment at the open window and drew in deep 
 draughts of the fresh night air. The world of forest 
 swayed across his sight. The outline of the Citadelle 
 merged into it. A point of light showed the window 
 where the children already slept. But, far beyond, 
 the moon was loading stars upon the trees, and a 
 rising wind drove them in glittering flocks along the 
 heights. . . . 
 
 Blowing out the candle, he turned over on his 
 side to sleep, his mind charged to the brim with 
 wonder and curious under-thrills of this anticipation. 
 He half expected — what ? Reality lay somewhere 
 in the whole strange business ; it was not merely 
 imaginative nonsense. Fairyland was close. 
 
 And the moment he slept and began to dream, 
 the thing took a lively and dramatic shape. A 
 thousand tiny fingers, soft and invisible, drew him 
 away into the heart of fairyland. There was a terror 
 in him lest he should — stick. But he came out 
 beautifully and smoothly, like a thread of summer 
 grass from its covering sheath. 
 
 ' I am slippery after all, then — slippery enough,' 
 he remembered saying with surprised delight, and 
 then
 
 CHAPTER XV 
 
 Look how the floor of heaven 
 I? thick inlaid with patines of bright gold. 
 There's not the smallest orb which thou beholdest 
 But in his motion like an angel «ingi, 
 Still quiring to the young-eyed cherubims. 
 
 Merchant of Venice. 
 
 ■ there came to him a vivid impression of sudden 
 
 light in the room, and he knew that something very 
 familiar was happening to him, yet something that 
 had not happened consciously for thirty years and 
 more — since his early childhood in the night-nursery 
 with the bars across the windows. 
 
 He was both asleep and awake at the same time. 
 Some part of him, rather, that never slept was dis- 
 engaging itself — with difficulty. He was getting 
 free. Stimulated by his intercourse with the children, 
 this part of him that in boyhood used to be so easily 
 detached, light as air, was getting loose. The years 
 had fastened it in very tightly. Jimbo and Monkey 
 had got at it. And Jimbo and Monkey were 
 in the room at this moment. They were pulling 
 him out. 
 
 It was very wonderful ; a glory of youth and 
 careless joy rushed through him like a river. Some 
 sheath or vesture melted off. It seemed to tear him 
 loose. How in the world could he ever have for- 
 gotten it — let it go out of his life ? What on earth 
 
 185
 
 1 86 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND chap, 
 
 could have seemed good enough to take its place ? 
 He felt like an eagle some wizard spell had im- 
 prisoned in a stone, now released and shaking out its 
 crumpled wings. A mightier spell had set him free. 
 The children stood beside his bed ! 
 
 ' I can manage it alone,' he said firmly. * You 
 needn't try to help me.' 
 
 No sound was audible, but they instantly desisted. 
 This thought, that took a dozen words to express 
 ordinarily, shot from him into them the instant it 
 was born. A gentle pulsing, like the flicker of a 
 flame, ran over their shining little forms of radiance 
 as they received it. They shifted to one side silently 
 to give him room. Thus had he seen a searchlight 
 pass like lightning from point to point across the sea. 
 
 Yet, at first, there was difficulty ; here and there, 
 in places, he could not get quite loose and free. 
 
 ' He sticks like Daddy,' he heard them think. 
 ' In the head it seems, too.' 
 
 There was no pain in the sensation, but a certain 
 straining as of unaccustomed muscles being stretched. 
 He felt uncomfortable, then embarrassed, then — 
 exhilarated. But there were other exquisite sensations 
 too. Happiness, as of flooding summer sunshine, 
 poured through him. 
 
 ' He'll come with a rush. Look out ! ' felt Jimbo 
 — ' felt ' expressing c thought ' and ' said ' together, 
 for no single word can convey the double operation 
 thus combined in ordinary life. 
 
 The reality of it caught him by the throat. 
 
 ' This,' he exclaimed, ' is real and actual. It is 
 happening to me now ! ' 
 
 He looked from the pile of clothes taken off 
 two hours ago — goodness, what a mass ! — to the 
 children's figures in the middle of the room. And
 
 X v A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 187 
 
 one was as real as the other. The moods of 
 the day and evening, their play and nonsense, 
 had all passed away. He had crossed a gulf 
 that stood between this moment and those good- 
 nights in the Pension. This was as real as anything 
 in life ; more real than death. Reality — he caught 
 the obvious thought pass thickly through the body 
 on the bed — is what has been experienced. Death, 
 for that reason, is not real, not realised ; dinner is. 
 And this was real because he had been through it, 
 though long forgotten it. 
 
 Jimbo stood aside and * felt ' directions. 
 
 ' Don't push,' he said. 
 
 ' Just think and wish,' added Monkey with a laugh. 
 
 It was her laugh, and perhaps the beauty of her 
 big brown eyes as well, that got him finally loose. 
 For the laughter urged some queer, deep yearning 
 in him towards a rush of exquisite accomplishment. 
 He began to slip more easily and freely. The brain 
 upon the bed, oddly enough, remembered a tradition 
 of old Egypt — that Thoth created the world by 
 bursting into seven peals of laughter. It touched 
 forgotten springs of imagination and belief. In 
 some tenuous, racy vehicle his thought flashed forth. 
 With a gliding spring, like a swooping bird across a 
 valley, he was suddenly — out. 
 
 ' I'm out ! ' he cried. 
 
 ' All out ! ' echoed the answering voices. 
 
 And then he understood that first vivid im- 
 pression of light. It was everywhere, an evenly 
 distributed light. He saw the darkness of the night 
 as well, the deep old shadows that draped the village, 
 woods, and mountains. But in themselves was light, 
 a light that somehow enabled them to see everything 
 quite clearly. Solid things were all transparent.
 
 1 88 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND chap. 
 
 Light even radiated from objects in the room. Two 
 much-loved books upon the table shone beautifully 
 — his Bible and a volume of poems ; and, fairer still, 
 more delicate than either, there was a lustre on the 
 table that had so brilliant a halo it almost corrus- 
 cated. The sparkle in it was like the sparkle in the 
 children's eyes. It came from the bunch of violets, 
 gentians, and hepaticas, already faded, that Mother had 
 placed there days ago on his arrival. And overhead, 
 through plaster, tiles, and rafters he saw — the stars. 
 
 ' We've already been for Jinny,' Jimbo informed 
 him ; ' but she's gone as usual. She goes the 
 moment she falls asleep. We never can catch her 
 up or find her.' 
 
 ' Come on,' cried Monkey. * How slow you 
 both are ! We shan't get anywhere at this rate.' 
 And she made a wheel of coloured fire in the air. 
 
 ' I'm ready,' he answered, happier than either. 
 * Let's be off" at once.' 
 
 Through his mind flashed this explanation of 
 their elder sister's day-expression — that expression 
 of a moth she had, puzzled, distressed, only half 
 there, as the saying is. For if she went out so easily 
 at night in this way, some part of her probably stayed 
 out altogether. She never wholly came back. She 
 was always dreaming. The entire instinct of the 
 child, he remembered, was for others, and she 
 thought of herself as little as did the sun — old tire- 
 less star that shines for all. 
 
 ' She's soaked in starlight,' he cried, as they went 
 off" headlong. ' We shall find her in the Cave. 
 Come on, you pair of lazy meteors.' 
 
 He was already far beyond the village, and the 
 murmur of the woods rose up to them. They entered 
 the meshes of the Star Net that spun its golden
 
 xv A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 189 
 
 threads everywhere about them, linking up the Uni- 
 verse with their very hearts. 
 
 ' There are no eyes or puddles to-night. Every- 
 body sleeps. Hooray, hooray ! ' they cried together. 
 
 There were cross-currents, though. The main, 
 broad, shining stream poured downwards in front of 
 them towards the opening of the Cave, a mile or 
 two beyond, where the forests dipped down among 
 the precipices of the Areuse ; but from behind — 
 from some house in the slumbering village — came a 
 golden tributary too, that had a peculiar and astonish- 
 ing brightness of its own. It came, so far as they 
 could make out, from the humped outline of La 
 Citadelle, and from a particular room there, as 
 though some one in that building had a special source 
 of supply. Moreover, it scattered itself over the 
 village in separate swift rivulets that dived and 
 dipped towards particular houses here and there. 
 There seemed a constant coming and going, one 
 stream driving straight into the Cave, and another 
 pouring out again, yet neither mingling. One 
 stream brought supplies, while the other directed 
 their distribution. Some one, asleep or awake — 
 they could not tell — was thinking golden thoughts 
 of love and sympathy for the world. 
 
 ' It's Mile. Lemaire,' said Jimbo. ' She's been in 
 bed for thirty years ' His voice was very soft. 
 
 'The spine, you know,' exclaimed Monkey, a 
 little in the rear. 
 
 ' and even in the daytime she looks white 
 
 and shiny,' added the boy. ' I often go and talk 
 with her and tell her things.' He said it proudly. 
 * She understands everything — better even than 
 Mother.' Jimbo had told most. It was all right. 
 His leadership was maintained and justified.
 
 i 9 o A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND chap. 
 
 They entered the main stream and plunged down- 
 wards with it towards the earth — three flitting figures 
 dipped in this store of golden brilliance. 
 
 A delicious and wonderful thing then happened. 
 All three remembered. 
 
 ' This was where we met you first,' they told 
 him, settling down among the trees together side by 
 side. * We saw your teeth of gold. You came in 
 that train ' 
 
 'I was thinking about it — in England.' he ex- 
 claimed, ' and about coming out to find you here.' 
 
 'The Starlight Express,' put in Jimbo. 
 
 ' and you were just coming up to speak to us 
 
 when we woke, or you woke, or somebody woke — 
 and it all went,' said Monkey. 
 
 ' That was when I stopped thinking about it,' he 
 explained. 
 
 ' It all vanished anyhow. And the next time 
 was ' — she paused a moment — ' you — we saw your 
 two gold teeth again somewhere, and half recognised 
 you ' 
 
 It was the daylight world that seemed vague and 
 dreamlike now, hard to remember clearly. 
 
 'In another train — 'Jimbo helped her, 'the 
 
 Geneva omnibus that starts at — at ' But even 
 
 Jimbo could not recall further details. 
 
 ' You're wumbled,' said Rogers, helping him- 
 self and the others at the same time. ' You want 
 some starlight to put you in touch again. Come 
 on ; let's go in. We shall find all the others inside, 
 I suspect, hard at it.' 
 
 ' At what ? ' asked two breathless voices. 
 
 'Collecting, of course — for others. Did you 
 think they ate the stuff, just to amuse themselves ? ' 
 
 ' They glided towards the opening, cutting through
 
 xv A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 191 
 
 the little tributary stream that was pouring out on its 
 way down the sky to that room in La Citadelle. It 
 was brighter than the main river, they saw, and 
 shone with a peculiar brilliance of its own, whiter 
 and swifter than the rest. Designs, moreover, like 
 crystals floated on the crest of every wave. 
 
 * That's the best quality,' he told them, as their 
 faces shone a moment in its glory. ' The person 
 who deserves it must live entirely for others. That 
 he keeps only for the sad and lonely. The rest, the 
 common stuff, is good enough for Fraulein or for 
 
 baby, or for mother, or any other ' The words 
 
 rose in him like flowers that he knew. 
 
 ' Look out, mon vieux ! ' It was Monkey's 
 voice. They just had time to stand aside as a figure 
 shot past them and disappeared into the darkness 
 above the trees. A big bundle, dripping golden 
 dust, hung down his back. 
 
 ' The Dustman ! ' they cried with excitement, 
 easily recognising his energetic yet stooping figure ; 
 and Jimbo added, ' the dear old Dustman ! ' while 
 Monkey somersaulted after him, returning breath- 
 less a minute later with, ' He's gone ; I couldn't get 
 near him. He went straight to La Citadelle ' 
 
 And then collided violently with the Lamplighter, 
 whose pole of office caught her fairly in the middle 
 and sent her spinning like a conjurer's plate till they 
 feared she would never stop. She kept on laughing 
 the whole time she spun — like a Catherine wheel 
 that laughs instead of splutters. The place where 
 the pole caught her, however — it was its lighted end 
 — shines and glows to this day : the centre of her 
 little heart. 
 
 ' Do let's be careful,' pleaded Jimbo, hardly ap- 
 proving of these wild gyrations. He really did
 
 192 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND chap. 
 
 prefer his world a trifle more dignified. He was 
 ever the grave little gentleman. 
 
 They stooped to enter by the narrow opening, 
 but were stopped again — this time by some one 
 pushing rudely past them to get in. From the 
 three points of the compass to which the impact 
 scattered them, they saw a shape of darkness squeeze 
 itself, sack and all, to enter. An ordinary man 
 would have broken every bone in his body, judging 
 by the portion that projected into the air behind. 
 But he managed it somehow, though the discomfort 
 must have been intolerable, they all thought. The 
 darkness dropped off behind him in flakes like dis- 
 carded clothing ; he turned to gold as he went in ; 
 and the contents of his sack — he poured it out like 
 water — shone as though he squeezed a sponge just 
 dipped in the Milky Way. 
 
 ' What a lot he's collected,' cried Rogers from his 
 point of vantage where he could see inside. ' It all 
 gets purified and clean in there. Wait a moment. 
 He's coming out again — off to make another collec- 
 tion.' 
 
 And then they knew the man for what he was. 
 He shot past them into the night, carrying this time 
 a flat and emptied sack, and singing like a blackbird 
 as he went : — 
 
 Sweeping chimneys and cleaning flues, 
 That is the work I love ; 
 Brushing away the blacks and the blues, 
 And letting in light from above ! 
 I twirl my broom in your tired brain 
 When you're tight in sleep up-curled, 
 Then scatter the stuff in a soot-like rain 
 Over the edge of the world. 
 
 The voice grew fainter and fainter in the distance —
 
 xv A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 193 
 
 For I'm a tremendously busy Sweep, 
 Catching the folk when they're all asleep, 
 And tossing the blacks on the Rubbish Heap 
 Over the edge of the world . . . ! 
 
 The voice died away into the wind among the 
 high branches, and they heard it no more. 
 
 ' There's a Sweep worth knowing,' murmured 
 Rogers, strong yearning in him. 
 
 ' There are no blacks or blues in my brain,' ex- 
 claimed Monkey, ' but Jimbo's always got some on 
 his face.' 
 
 The impudence passed ignored. Jimbo took his 
 cousin's hand and led him to the opening. The 
 ' men ' went in first together ; the other sex might 
 follow as best it could. Yet somehow or other 
 Monkey slipped between their legs and got in before 
 them. They stood up side by side in the most 
 wonderful place they had ever dreamed of. 
 
 And the first thing they saw was — Jane Anne. 
 
 ' I'm collecting for Mother Her needles want 
 such a chronic lot, you see.' Her face seemed full 
 of stars ; there was no puzzled expression in the 
 eyes now. She looked beautiful. And the younger 
 children stared in sheer amazement and admiration. 
 
 ' I have no time to waste,' she said, moving past 
 them with a load in her spread apron that was like 
 molten gold ; ' I have to be up and awake at six to 
 make your porridge before you go to school. I'm a 
 busy monster, I can tell you ! ' She went by them 
 like a flash, and out into the night. 
 
 Monkey felt tears in her somewhere, but they 
 did not fall. Something in her turned ashamed — for 
 a moment. Jimbo stared in silence. ' What a girl ! ' 
 he thought. ' I'd like to be like that ! ' Already 
 the light was sticking to him. 
 
 o
 
 i 9 4 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND chap. 
 
 ' So this is where she always comes,' said Monkey, 
 soon recovering from the temporary attack of emotion. 
 ' She's better out than in ; she's safest when asleep ! 
 No wonder she's so funny in the daytime.' 
 
 Then they turned to look about them, breathing 
 low as wild-flowers that watch a rising moon. 
 
 The place was so big for one thing — far bigger 
 than they had expected. The storage of lost star- 
 light must be a serious affair indeed if it required all 
 this space to hold it. The entire mountain range 
 was surely hollow. Another thing that struck them 
 was the comparative dimness of this huge interior 
 compared with the brilliance of the river outside. 
 But, of course, lost things are ever dim, and those 
 worth looking for dare not be too easily found. 
 
 A million tiny lines of light, they saw, wove 
 living, moving patterns, very intricate and very ex- 
 quisite. These lines and patterns the three drew in 
 with their very breath. They swallowed light — the 
 tenderest light the world can know. A scent of 
 flowers — something between a violet and a wild rose 
 — floated over all. And they understood these 
 patterns while they breathed them in. They read 
 them. Patterns in Nature, of course, are fairy 
 script. Here lay all their secrets sweetly explained 
 in golden writing, all mysteries made clear. The 
 three understood beyond their years ; and inside- 
 sight, instead of glimmering, shone. For, somehow 
 or other, the needs of other people blazed every- 
 where, obliterating their own. It was most singular. 
 
 Monkey ceased from somersaulting and stared at 
 Jimbo. 
 
 ' You've got two stars in your face instead of eyes. 
 They'll never set ! ' she whispered. ' I love you 
 because I understand every bit of you.'
 
 xv A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 195 
 
 * And you,' he replied, as though he were a grande 
 personne, ' have got hair like a mist of fire. It will 
 never go out ! ' 
 
 ' Every one will love me now,' she cried, ' my 
 underneath is gold.' 
 
 But her brother reproved her neatly : — 
 
 * Let's get a lot — simply an awful lot' — he 
 made a grimace to signify quantity — ' and pour it 
 over Daddy's head till it runs from his eyes and 
 beard. He'll write real fairy stories then and make 
 a fortune.' 
 
 And Cousin Henry moved past them like a burn- 
 ing torch. They held their breath to see him. Jane 
 Anne, their busy sister, alone excelled him in bright- 
 ness. Her perfume, too, was sweeter. 
 
 ' He's an old hand at this game,' Monkey said in 
 French. 
 
 ' But Jinny's never done anything else since she 
 was born,' replied her brother proudly. 
 
 And they all three fell to collecting, for it seemed 
 the law of the place, a kind of gravity none could 
 disobey. They stooped — three semi-circles of tender 
 brilliance. Each lost the least desire to gather for 
 himself ; the needs of others drove them, filled them, 
 made them eager and energetic. 
 
 " Riquette would like a bit,' cried Jimbo, almost 
 balancing on his head in his efforts to get it all at 
 once, while Monkey's shining fingers stuffed her 
 blouse and skirts with sheaves of golden gossamer 
 that later she meant to spread in a sheet upon the 
 pillow of Mademoiselle Lemaire. 
 
 ' She sleeps so little that she needs the best,' she 
 sang, realising for once that her own amusement was 
 not the end of life. ' I'll make her nights all wonder.' 
 
 Cousinenry, meanwhile, worked steadily like a
 
 196 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND chap. 
 
 man who knows his time is short. He piled the 
 stuff in heaps and pyramids, and then compressed it 
 into what seemed solid blocks that made his pockets 
 bulge like small balloons. Already a load was on his 
 back that bent him double. 
 
 ' Such a tiny bit is useful,' he explained, ' if you 
 know exactly how and where to put it. This com- 
 pression is my own patent.' 
 
 ' Of course,' they echoed, trying in vain to pack 
 it up as cleverly as he did. 
 
 Nor were these three the only gatherers. The 
 place was full of movement. Jane Anne was always 
 coming back for more, deigning no explanations. 
 She never told where she had spent her former loads. 
 She gathered an apron full, sped off to spend and 
 scatter it in places she knew of, and then came 
 bustling in again for more. And they always knew 
 her whereabouts because of the whiter glory that she 
 radiated into the dim yellow world about them. 
 
 And other figures, hosts of them, were every- 
 where — stooping, picking, loading one another's 
 backs and shoulders. To and fro they shot and 
 glided, like Leonids in autumn round the Earth. 
 All were collecting, though the supply seemed never 
 to grow less. An inexhaustible stream poured in 
 through the narrow opening, and scattered itself at 
 once in all directions as though driven by a wind. 
 How could the world let so much escape it, when 
 it was what the world most needed every day. It 
 ran naturally into patterns, patterns that could be 
 folded and rolled up like silken tablecloths. In 
 silence, too. There was no sound of drops falling. 
 Sparks fly on noiseless feet. Sympathy makes no 
 bustle. 
 
 1 Even on the thickest nights it falls,' a voice
 
 xv A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 197 
 
 issued from a robust patch of light beside them that 
 stooped with huge brown hands all knotted into 
 muscles ; ' and it's a mistake to think different.' 
 His voice rolled on into a ridiculous bit of singing : — 
 
 It comes down with the rain drops, 
 It comes down with the dew, 
 There's always 'eaps for every one— 
 For 'im and me and you. 
 
 They recognised his big face, bronzed by the sun, 
 and his great neck where lines drove into the skin 
 like the rivers they drew with blunt pencils on their 
 tedious maps of Europe. It was several faces in one. 
 The Head Gardener was no stranger to their 
 imaginations, for they remembered him of old some- 
 where, though not quite sure exactly where. He 
 worked incessantly for others, though these ' others ' 
 were only flowers and cabbages and fruit-trees. He 
 did his share in the world, he and his army of queer 
 assistants, the under-gardeners. 
 
 Peals of laughter, too, sounded from time to time 
 in a far away corner of the cavern, and the laughter 
 sent all the stuff it reached into very delicate, em- 
 broidered patterns. For it was merry and infectious 
 laughter, joy somewhere in it like a lamp. It 
 bordered upon singing ; another touch would send 
 it rippling into song. And to that far corner, 
 attracted by the sound, ran numberless rivulets of 
 light, weaving a lustrous atmosphere about the 
 Laugher that, even while it glowed, concealed the 
 actual gatherer from sight. The children only saw 
 that the patterns were even more sweet and dainty 
 than their own. And they understood. Inside- 
 sight explained the funny little mystery. Laughter 
 is magical — brings light and help and courage. They
 
 198 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND chap, 
 
 laughed themselves then, and instantly saw their own 
 patterns wave and tremble into tiny outlines that they 
 could squeeze later even into the darkest, thickest head. 
 
 Cousinenry, meanwhile, they saw, stopped for 
 nothing. He was singing all the time as he bent 
 over his long, outstretched arms. And it was the 
 singing after all that made the best patterns — better 
 even than the laughing. He knew all the best 
 tricks of this Star Cave. He remained their leader. 
 
 And the stuff no hands picked up ran on and on, 
 seeking a way of escape for itself. Some sank into 
 the ground to sweeten the body of the old labouring 
 earth, colouring the roots of myriad flowers ; some 
 soaked into the rocky walls, tinting the raw materials 
 of hills and woods and mountain tops. Some escaped 
 into the air in tiny drops that, meeting in moonlight 
 or in sunshine, instantly formed wings. And people 
 saw a brimstone butterfly — all wings and hardly any 
 body. All went somewhere for some useful pur- 
 pose. It was not in the nature of star-stuff to 
 keep still. Like water that must go down-hill, the 
 law of its tender being forced it to find a place 
 where it could fasten on and shine. It never could 
 get wholly lost ; though, if the place it settled on 
 was poor, it might lose something of its radiance. 
 But human beings were obviously what most attracted 
 it. Sympathy must find an outlet ; thoughts are 
 bound to settle somewhere. 
 
 And the gatherers all sang softly — 'Collect for 
 others, never mind yourself! ' 
 
 Some of it, too, shot out by secret ways in the 
 enormous roof. The children recognised the exit of 
 the separate brilliant stream they had encountered in 
 thd sky — the one especially that went to the room 
 of pain and sickness in La Citadelle. Again they
 
 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 199 
 
 understood. That unselfish thinker of golden 
 thoughts knew special sources of supply. No wonder 
 that her atmosphere radiated sweetness and uplifting 
 influence. Her patience, smiles, and courage were 
 explained. Passing through the furnace of her pain, 
 the light was cleansed and purified. Hence the 
 delicate, invariable radiation from her presence, voice, 
 and eyes. From the bed of suffering she had not 
 left for thirty years she helped the world go round 
 more sweetly and more easily, though few divined 
 those sudden moments of beauty they caught flash- 
 ing from her halting words, nor guessed their source 
 of strength. 
 
 1 Of course,' thought Jimbo, laughing, ' I see now 
 why I like to go and tell her everything. She under- 
 stands all before I've said it. She's simply stuffed 
 with starlight — bursting with inside-sight.' 
 
 1 That's sympathy,' his cousin added, hearing the 
 vivid thought. And he worked away like an entire 
 ant-heap. But he was growing rather breathless now. 
 * There's too much for me,' he laughed as though 
 his mouth were full. ' I can't manage it all ! ' He 
 was wading to the waist, and his coat and trousers 
 streamed with runnels of orange-coloured light. 
 
 ' Swallow it then ! ' cried Monkey, her hair so 
 soaked that she kept squeezing it like a sponge, both 
 eyes dripping too. 
 
 It was their first real experience of the joy of 
 helping others, and they hardly knew where to begin 
 or end. They romped and played in the stuff like 
 children in sand or snow — diving, smothering them- 
 selves, plunging, choking, turning somersaults, up- 
 setting each other's carefully reared loads, and leaping 
 over little pyramids of gold. Then, in a flash, their 
 laughter turned the destroyed heaps into wonderful
 
 200 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND chap. 
 
 new patterns again ; and once more they turned 
 sober and began to work. 
 
 But their cousin was more practical. ' I've got all 
 I can carry comfortably,' he sang out at length. ' Let's 
 go out now and sow it among the sleepers. Come on ! ' 
 
 A field of stars seemed to follow him from the 
 roof as he moved with difficulty towards the opening 
 of the cave. 
 
 Some one shot out just in front of him. ' My 
 last trip ! ' The words reached them from outside. 
 His bulging figure squeezed somehow through the 
 hole, layers of light scraping off against the sides. 
 The children followed him. But no one stuck. All 
 were beautifully elastic ; the starlight oiled and 
 greased their daring, subtle star-bodies. Laden to 
 the eyes, they sped across the woods that still slept 
 heavily. The tips of the pines, however, were 
 already opening a million eyes. There was a faint 
 red glimmer in the east. Hours had passed while 
 they were collecting. 
 
 ' The Interfering Sun is on the way. Look out ! ' 
 cried some one, shooting past them like an unleashed 
 star. ' I must get just a little more — my seventeenth 
 journey to-night ! ' And Jane Anne, the puzzled 
 look already come back a little into her face, darted 
 down towards the opening. The waking of the body 
 was approaching. 
 
 ' What a girl ! ' thought Jimbo again, as they hur- 
 ried after their grown-up cousin towards the village. 
 
 And here, but for the leadership of Cousin Henry, 
 they must have gone astray and wasted half their 
 stores in ineffective fashion. Besides, the east was 
 growing brighter, and there was a touch of confusion 
 in their little star-bodies as sleep grew lighter and the 
 moment of the body's waking drew nearer.
 
 XV 
 
 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 201 
 
 Ah ! the exquisite adjustment that exists between 
 the night and day bodies of children ! It is little 
 wonder that with the process of growing-up there 
 comes a coarsening that congeals the fluid passages 
 of exit, and finally seals the memory centres too. 
 Only in a few can this delicate adjustment be pre- 
 served, and the sources of inspiration known to 
 children be kept available and sweet — in the poets, 
 dreamers, and artists of this practical, steel-girdled 
 
 age ' 
 
 ' This way,' called Cousinenry. ' Follow me.' 
 
 They settled down in a group among Madame 
 
 Jequier's lilacs. ' We'll begin with the Pension des 
 
 Glycines. Jinny is already busy with La Citadelle.' 
 
 They perched among the opening blossoms. Over- 
 head flashed by the Sweep, the Dustman, and the 
 Laugher, bound for distant ports, perhaps as far as 
 England. The Head Gardener lumbered heavily 
 after them to find his flowers and trees. Starlight, 
 they grasped, could be no separate thing. The rays 
 started, indeed, from separate points, but all met later 
 in the sky to weave this enormous fairy network in 
 which the currents and cross-currents and criss-cross- 
 currents were so utterly bewildering. Alone, the 
 children certainly must have got lost in the first five 
 minutes. 
 
 Their cousin gathered up the threads from 
 Monkey's hair and Jimbo's eyes, and held them in 
 one hand like reins. He sang to them a moment 
 while they recovered their breath and forces : — 
 
 The stars in their courses 
 
 Are runaway horses 
 
 That gallop with Thoughts from the Earth ; 
 
 They collect them, and race 
 
 Back through wireless space, 
 
 Bringing word of the tiniest birth ;
 
 202 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND C h. xv 
 
 Past old Saturn and Mars, 
 
 And the hosts of big stars, 
 
 Who strain at their leashes for joy. 
 
 Kind thoughts, like fine weather, 
 
 Bind sweetly together 
 
 God's suns — with the heart of a boy. 
 
 So, beware what you think ; 
 
 It is written in ink 
 
 That is golden, and read by His Stars ! 
 
 * Hadn't we better get on ? ' cried Monkey, pull- 
 ing impatiently at the reins he held. 
 
 1 Yes,' echoed Jimbo. ' Look at the sky. The 
 " rapide " from Paris comes past at six o'clock.'
 
 CHAPTER XVI 
 
 Aus den Himmelsaugen droben 
 Fallen zitternd goldne Funken 
 Durch die Nacht, und meine Seele 
 Dehnt sich liebeweit und weiter. 
 
 O ihr Himmelsaugen droben, 
 Weint euch aus in meine Seele, 
 Dasa von lichten Sternentranen 
 Uberfliesset meine Seele ! 
 
 HEIN2 
 
 They rose, fluttered a moment above the lilac bushes, 
 and then shot forward like the curve of a rainbow 
 into the sleeping house. The next second they stood 
 beside the bed of the Widow Jequier. 
 
 She lay there, so like a bundle of untidy sticks 
 that, but for the sadness upon the weary face, they 
 could have burst out laughing. The perfume of the 
 wistaria outside the open window came in sweetly, 
 yet could not lighten the air of heavy gloom that 
 clothed her like a garment. Her atmosphere was 
 dull, all streaked with greys and black, for her mind, 
 steeped in anxiety even while she slept, gave forth 
 cloudy vapours of depression and disquietude that 
 made impossible the approach of — light. Starlight, 
 certainly, could not force an entrance, and even sun- 
 light would spill half its radiance before it reached 
 her heart. The help she needed she thus deliberately 
 shut out. Before going to bed her mood had been 
 one of anxious care and searching worry. It con- 
 tinued, of course, in sleep. 
 
 203
 
 2o 4 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND chap. 
 
 ' Now,' thought their leader briskly, ' we must deal 
 with this at once ' ; and the children, understanding 
 his unspoken message, approached closer to the bed. 
 How brilliant their little figures were — Jimbo, a soft, 
 pure blue, and Monkey tinged faintly here and there 
 with delicate clear orange. Thus do the little clouds 
 of sunset gather round to see the sun get into bed. 
 And in utter silence ; all their intercourse was silent 
 — thought, felt, but never spoken. 
 
 For a moment there was hesitation. Cousinenry 
 was uncertain exactly how to begin. Tante Jeanne's 
 atmosphere was so very thick he hardly knew the 
 best way to penetrate it. Her mood had been so 
 utterly black and rayless. But his hesitation operated 
 like a call for help that flew instantly about the world 
 and was communicated to the golden threads that 
 patterned the outside sky. They quivered, flashed 
 the message automatically ; the enormous network 
 repeated it as far as England, and the answer came. 
 For thought is instantaneous, and desire is prayer. 
 Quick as lightning came the telegram. Beside them 
 stood a burly figure of gleaming gold. 
 
 ' I'll do it,' said the earthy voice. ' I'll show you 
 'ow. For she loves 'er garden. Her sympathy with 
 trees and flowers lets me in. Always send for me 
 when she's in a mess, or needs a bit of trimmin' and 
 cleanin' up.' 
 
 The Head Gardener pushed past them with his 
 odour of soil and burning leaves, his great sunburned 
 face and his browned, stained hands. These muscular, 
 big hands he spread above her troubled face ; he 
 touched her heart ; he blew his windy breath of 
 flowers upon her untidy hair ; he called the names of 
 lilac, wistaria, roses, and laburnum. . . . 
 
 The room filled with the little rushing music of
 
 xvi A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 205 
 
 wind in leaves ; and, as he said * laburnum,' there 
 came at last a sudden opening channel through the 
 fo<y that covered her so thickly. Starlight, that was 
 like a rivulet of laburnum blossoms melted into 
 running dew, flowed down it. The Widow Jequier 
 stirred in her sleep and smiled. Other channels 
 opened. Light trickled down these, too, drawn in 
 and absorbed from the store the Gardener carried. 
 Then, with a rush of scattering fire, he was gone 
 again. Out into the enormous sky he flew, trailing 
 golden flame behind him. They heard him singing 
 as he dived into the Network — singing of buttercups 
 and cowslips, of primroses and marigolds and dande- 
 lions, all yellow flowers that have stored up starlight. 
 And the atmosphere of Tante Jeanne first glowed, 
 then shone ; it changed slowly from gloom to glory. 
 Golden channels opened everywhere, making a minia- 
 ture network of their own. Light flashed and 
 corruscated through it, passing from the children 
 and their leader along the tiny pipes of sympathy the 
 Gardener had cleared of rubbish and decay. Along 
 the very lines of her face ran tiny shining rivers ; 
 flooding across her weary eyelids, gilding her untidy 
 hair, and pouring down into her heavy heart. She 
 ceased fidgeting ; she smiled in her sleep ; peace 
 settled on her face ; her fingers on the coverlet lost 
 their touch of strain. Finally she turned over, 
 stretched her old fighting body into a more comfort- 
 able position, sighed a moment, then settled down 
 into a deep and restful slumber. Her atmosphere 
 was everywhere ' soft-shiny ' when they left her to 
 shoot next into the attic chamber above, where Miss 
 Waghorn lay among her fragments of broken memory, 
 and the litter of disordered images that passed with 
 her for ' thinking.'
 
 206 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND chap. 
 
 And here, again, although their task was easier, 
 they needed help to show the right way to begin. 
 Before they reached the room Jimbo had wondered 
 how they would ' get at ' her. That wonder summoned 
 help. The tall, thin figure was already operating 
 beside the bed as they entered. His length seemed 
 everywhere at once, and his slender pole, a star 
 hanging from the end, was busy touching articles on 
 walls and floor and furniture. The disorder every- 
 where was the expression of her dishevelled mind, 
 and though he could not build the ruins up again, at 
 least he could trace the outlines of an ordered plan 
 that she might use when she left her body finally 
 and escaped from the rebellious instrument in death. 
 And now that escape was not so very far away. 
 Obviously she was already loose. She was breaking 
 up, as the world expresses it. 
 
 And the children, watching with happy delight, 
 soon understood his method. Each object that he 
 touched emitted a tiny light. In her mind he touched 
 the jumble of wandering images as well. On waking 
 she would find both one and the other better assorted. 
 Some of the lost things her memory ever groped for 
 she would find more readily. She would see the 
 starlight on them. 
 
 ' See,' said their leader softly, as the long thin 
 figure of the Lamplighter shot away into the night, 
 ' she sleeps so lightly because she is so old — fastened 
 so delicately to the brain and heart. The fastenings 
 are worn and loose now. Already she is partly out ! ' 
 
 ' That's why she's so muddled in the daytime,' 
 explained Jimbo, for his sister's benefit. 
 
 ' Exaccurately, I knew it already ! ' was the reply, 
 turning a somersault like a wheel of twirling meteors 
 close to the old lady's nose.
 
 xvi A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 207 
 
 ' Carefully, now ! ' said their leader. ' And hurry 
 up ! There's not much we can do here, and there's 
 heaps to do elsewhere. We must remember Mother 
 and Daddy — before the Interfering Sun is up, you 
 know.' 
 
 They flashed about the attic chamber, tipping 
 everything with light, from the bundle of clothes 
 that strewed the floor to the confused interior of the 
 black basket-trunk where she kept her money and 
 papers. There were no shelves in this attic chamber ; 
 no room for cupboards either ; it was the cheapest 
 room in the house. And the old woman in the bed 
 sometimes opened her eyes and peered curiously, 
 expectantly, about her. Even in her sleep she looked 
 for things. Almost, they felt, she seemed aware of 
 their presence near her, she knew that they were 
 there ; she smiled. 
 
 A moment later they were in mid-air on their way 
 to the Citadelle, singing as they went : — 
 
 He keeps that only 
 
 For the old and lonely, 
 
 Who sleep so little that they need the best. 
 
 The rest — 
 
 The common stuff — 
 
 Is good enough 
 For Fr'aulein, or for baby, or for mother, 
 
 Or any other 
 
 Who likes a bit of dust, 
 
 And yet can do without it — 
 If they must . . . 
 
 Already something of the Dawn's faint magic 
 painting lay upon the world. Roofs shone with dew. 
 The woods were singing, and the flowers were awake. 
 Birds piped and whistled shrilly from the orchards. 
 They heard the Mer Dasson murmuring along her
 
 2o8 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 
 
 CHAP. 
 
 rocky bed. The rampart of the Alps stood out more 
 clearly against the sky. 
 
 ' We must be very quick,' Cousin Henry flashed 
 across to them, ' quicker than an express train.' 
 
 ' That's impossible,' cried Jimbo, who already felt 
 the call of waking into his daily world. ' Hark ! 
 There's whistling already. . . .' 
 
 The next second, in a twinkling, he was gone. 
 He had left them. His body had been waked up by 
 the birds that sang and whistled so loudly in the 
 plane tree outside his window. Monkey and her 
 guide raced on alone into the very room where he 
 now sat up and rubbed his eyes in the Citadelle. He 
 was telling his mother that he had just been ' dream- 
 ing extraordinary.' But Mother, sleeping like a 
 fossil monster in the Tertiary strata, heard him not. 
 
 ' He often goes like that,' whispered Monkey in a 
 tone of proud superiority. * He's only a little boy 
 really, you see.' 
 
 But the sight they then witnessed was not what 
 they expected. 
 
 For Mademoiselle Lemaire herself was working 
 over Mother like an engine, and Mother was still 
 sleeping like the dead. The radiance that emanated 
 from the night-body of this suffering woman, compared 
 to their own, was as sunlight is to candle-light. Its 
 soft glory was indescribable, its purity quite unearthly, 
 and the patterns that it wove lovely beyond all telling. 
 Here they surprised her in the act, busy with her 
 ceaseless activities for others, working for the world 
 by thinking beauty. While her pain-racked body lay 
 asleep in the bed it had not left for thirty years, nor 
 would ever leave again this side of death, she found 
 her real life in loving sympathy for the pain of others 
 everywhere. For thought is prayer, and prayer is
 
 xvi A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 209 
 
 the only true effective action that leaves no detail 
 incomplete. She thought light and glory into others. 
 Was it any wonder that she drew a special, brilliant 
 supply from the Starlight Cavern, when she had so 
 much to give ? For giving-out involved drawing-in 
 to fill the emptied spaces. Her pure and endless 
 sources of supply were all explained. 
 
 ' I've been working on her for years,' she said 
 gently, looking round at their approach, ' for her life 
 is so thickly overlaid with care, and the care she never 
 quite knows how to interpret. We were friends, you 
 see, in childhood. . . . You'd better hurry on to the 
 carpenter's house. You'll find Jinny there doing 
 something for her father.' She did not cease her 
 working while she said it, this practical mind so 
 familiar with the methods of useful thinking, this 
 loving heart so versed in prayer while her broken 
 body, deemed useless by the world, lay in the bed 
 that was its earthly prison-house. ' He can give me 
 all the help I need,' she added. 
 
 She pointed, and they saw the figure of the Sweep 
 standing in the corner of the room among a pile of 
 brimming sacks. His dirty face was beaming. They 
 heard him singing quietly to himself under his breath, 
 while his feet and sooty hands marked time with a 
 gesture of quaintest dancing : — 
 
 Such a tremendously busy Sweep, 
 Catching the world when it's all asleep, 
 And tossing the blacks on the Rubbish Heap 
 Over the edge of the world ! 
 
 * Come,' whispered Cousin Henry, catching at 
 Monkey's hair, ' we can do something, but we can't 
 do that. She needs no help from us ! ' 
 
 They sped across to the carpenter's house among 
 the vineyards.
 
 210 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND chap. 
 
 ' What a splendour ! ' gasped the child as they 
 went. ' My starlight seems quite dim beside hers.' 
 
 ' She's an old hand at the game,' he replied, noticing 
 the tinge of disappointment in her thought. * With 
 practice, you know ' 
 
 * And Mummy must be pretty tough,' she inter- 
 rupted with a laugh, her elastic nature recovering 
 instantly. 
 
 ' with practice, I was going to say, your 
 
 atmosphere will get whiter too until it simply shines. 
 That's why the saints have halos.' 
 
 But Monkey did not hear this last remark, she 
 was already in her father's bedroom, helping Jinny. 
 
 Here there were no complications, no need for 
 assistance from a Sweep, or Gardener, or Lamplighter. 
 It was a case for pulling, pure and simple. Daddy 
 was wumbled, nothing more. Body, mind, and heart 
 were all up-jumbled. In making up the verse about 
 the starlight he had merely told the truth — about 
 himself. The poem was instinctive and inspirational 
 confession. His atmosphere, as he lay there, gently 
 snoring in his beauty sleep, was clear and sweet and 
 bright, no darkness in it of grey or ugliness ; but its 
 pattern was a muddle, or rather there were several 
 patterns that scrambled among each other for 
 supremacy. Lovely patterns hovered just outside 
 him, but none of them got really in. And the 
 result was chaos. Daddy was not clear - headed ; 
 there was no concentration. Something of the per- 
 plexed confusion that afflicted his elder daughter in 
 the daytime mixed up the patterns inextricably. 
 There was no main pathway through his inner world. 
 
 And the picture proved it. It explained why 
 Jinny pulled in vain. His night -body came out 
 easily as far as the head, then stuck hopelessly. He
 
 xvi A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 211 
 
 looked like a knotted skein of coloured wools. Upon 
 the paper where he had been making notes before 
 going to sleep — for personal atmosphere is communi- 
 cated to all its owner touches — lay the same confusion. 
 Scraps of muddle, odds and ends of different patterns, 
 hovered in thick blots of colour over the paragraphs 
 and sentences. His own uncertainty was thus im- 
 parted to what he wrote, and his stories brought no 
 conviction to his readers. He was too much the 
 Dreamer, or too much the Thinker, which of the 
 two was not quite clear. Harmony was lacking. 
 
 ' That's probably what Vm like, too,' thought his 
 friend, but so softly that the children did not hear 
 it. That Scheme of his passed vaguely through his 
 mind. 
 
 Then he cried louder — a definite thought : — 
 
 1 There's no good tugging like that, my dears. 
 Let him slip in again. You'll only make him rest- 
 less, and give him distorted dreams.' 
 
 ' I've tugged like this every night for months,' 
 said Jinny, ' but the moment I let go he flies back 
 like elastic' 
 
 ' Of course. We must first untie the knots and 
 weave the patterns into one. Let go ! ' 
 
 Daddy's night-body flashed back like a sword into 
 its sheath. They stood and watched him. He turned 
 a little in his sleep, while above him the lines twined 
 and wriggled like phosphorus on moving water, 
 yet never shaped themselves into anything complete. 
 They saw suggestions of pure beauty in them here 
 and there that yet never joined together into a single 
 outline ; it was like watching the foam against a 
 steamer's sides in moonlight — just failing of coherent 
 form. 
 
 * They want combing out,' declared Jane Anne
 
 2i2 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 
 
 CHAP. 
 
 with a brilliant touch of truth. « A rake would be 
 best.' 
 
 'Assorting, sifting, separating,' added Cousin- 
 enry, ' but it's not easy.' He thought deeply 
 for a moment. 'Suppose you two attend to the 
 other things,' he said presently, ' while I take charge 
 of the combing-out.' 
 
 They knew at once his meaning ; it was begun as 
 soon as thought, only they could never have thought 
 of it alone ; none but a leader with real sympathy in 
 his heart could have discovered the way. 
 
 Like Fairies, lit internally with shining lanterns, 
 they flew about their business. Monkey picked up 
 his pencils and dipped their points into her store of 
 starlight, while Jinny drew the cork out of his ink- 
 pot and blew in soft-shiny radiance of her own. 
 They soaked his books in it, and smoothed his paper 
 out with their fingers of clean gold. His note-books, 
 chair, and slippers, his smoking-coat and pipes and 
 tobacco-tins, his sponge, his tooth-brush and his soap 
 — everything from dressing-gown to dictionary, they 
 spread thickly with their starlight, and continued 
 until the various objects had drunk in enough to 
 make them shine alone. 
 
 Then they attacked the walls and floor and ceiling, 
 sheets and bed-clothes. They filled the tin-bath full 
 to the very brim, painted as well the windows, door- 
 handles, and the wicker chair in which they knew he 
 dozed after dijeuner. But with the pencils, pens, 
 and ink-pots they took most trouble, doing them very 
 thoroughly indeed. And his enormous mountain- 
 boots received generous treatment too, for in these 
 he went for his long lonely walks when he thought 
 out his stories among the woods and valleys, coming 
 home with joy upon his face — ' I got a splendid idea
 
 xvi A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 213 
 
 to-day — a magnificent story — if only I can get it on 
 to paper before it's gone. . . I ' They understood 
 his difficulty now : the ' idea ' was wumbled before 
 he could fashion it. He could not get the pattern 
 through complete. 
 
 And his older friend, working among the dis- 
 jointed patterns, saw his trouble clearly too. It was 
 not that he lacked this sympathy that starlight brings, 
 but that he applied it without discernment. The 
 receiving instrument was out of order, some parts 
 moving faster than others. Reason and imagination 
 were not exaccurately adjusted. He gathered plenty 
 in, but no clear stream issued forth again ; there was 
 confusion in delivery. The rays were twisted, the 
 golden lines caught into knots and tangles. Yet, 
 ever just outside him, waiting to be taken in, hovered 
 these patterns of loveliness that might bring joy to 
 thousands. They floated in beauty round the edges 
 of his atmosphere, but the moment they sank in to 
 reach his mind, there began the distortion that tore 
 their exquisite proportions and made designs mere 
 disarrangement. Inspiration, without steady thought 
 to fashion it, was of no value. 
 
 He worked with infinite pains to disentangle the 
 mass of complicated lines, and one knot after another 
 yielded and slipped off into rivulets of gold, all 
 pouring inwards to reach heart and brain. It was 
 exhilarating, yet disappointing labour. New knots 
 formed themselves so easily, yet in the end much 
 surely had been accomplished. Channels had been 
 cleared ; repetition would at length establish habit. 
 
 But the line of light along the eastern horizon 
 had been swiftly growing broader meanwhile. It 
 was brightening into delicate crimson. Already the 
 room was clearer, and the radiance of their bodies
 
 2i 4 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND chap. 
 
 fading into a paler glory. Jane Anne grew clumsier, 
 tumbling over things, and butting against her more 
 agile sister. Her thoughts became more muddled. 
 She said things from time to time that showed it — 
 hints that waking was not far away. 
 
 ' Daddy's a wumbled Laplander, you know, after 
 all. Hurry up ! ' The foolish daylight speech came 
 closer. 
 
 * Give his ink-pot one more blow,' cried Monkey. 
 Her body always slept at least an hour longer than 
 the others. She had more time for work. 
 
 Jane Anne bumped into the washhand-stand. She 
 no longer saw quite clearly. 
 
 * I'm a plenipotentiary, that's what I am. I'm 
 afraid of nothing. But the porridge has to be made. 
 I must get back. . . .' 
 
 She vanished like a flash, just as her brother had 
 vanished half an hour before. 
 
 ' We'll go on with it to-morrow night,' signalled 
 Cousin Henry to his last remaining helper. ' Meet 
 me here, remember, when . . . the moon ... is 
 high enough to . . . cast . . . a . . . shadow. . . .' 
 
 The opening and shutting of a door sounded 
 through his sleep. He turned over heavily. Surely 
 it was not time to get up yet. That could not be 
 hot water coming ! He had only just fallen asleep. 
 He plunged back again into slumber. 
 
 But Monkey had disappeared. 
 
 ' What a spanking dream I've had. . . ! ' Her 
 eyes opened, and she saw her school-books on the 
 chair beside the bed. Mother was gently shaking her 
 out of sleep. ' Six o'clock, darling. The bath is 
 ready, and Jinny's nearly got the porridge done. It's 
 a lovely morning ! ' 
 
 « Oh, Mummy, I '
 
 xvi A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 215 
 
 But Mummy lifted her bodily out of bed, kissed 
 her sleepy eyes awake, and half carried her over to 
 the bath. 'You can tell me all about that later,' 
 she said with practical decision ; ' when the cold 
 water's cleared your head. You're always fuzzy 
 when you wake.' 
 
 Another day had begun. The sun was blazing 
 high above the Blilmlisalp. The birds sang in chorus. 
 Dew shone still on the fields, but the men were already 
 busy in the vineyards. 
 
 And presently Cousin Henry woke too and stared 
 lazily about his room. He looked at his watch. 
 
 ' By Jove,' he murmured. ' How one does sleep 
 in this place ! And what a dream to be sure — I who 
 never dream ! ' 
 
 He remembered nothing more. From the moment 
 he closed his eyes, eight hours before, until this second, 
 all was a delicious blank. He felt refreshed and 
 wondrously light-hearted, at peace with all the world. 
 There was music in his head. He began to whistle 
 as he lay among the blankets for half an hour longer. 
 And later, while he breakfasted alone downstairs, he 
 remembered that he ought to write to Minks. He 
 owed Minks a letter. And before going out into 
 the woods he wrote it. ' I'm staying on a bit,' he 
 mentioned at the end. « I find so much to do here, 
 and it's such a rest. Meanwhile I can leave every- 
 thing safely in your hands. But as soon as I get a 
 leisure moment I'll send you the promised draft of 
 my Scheme for Disabled, etc., etc' 
 
 But the Scheme got no further somehow. New 
 objections, for one thing, kept cropping up in his 
 mind. It would take so long to build the place, 
 and find the site, satisfy County Councils, and all 
 the rest. The Disabled, moreover, were everywhere ;
 
 2i 6 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND ch.xvi 
 
 it was invidious to select one group and leave the 
 others out. Help the world, yes— but what was 
 ' the world ' ? There were so many worlds. He 
 touched a new one every day and every hour. 
 Which needed his help most ? Bourcelles was quite 
 as important, quite as big and hungry as any of the 
 others. ' That old Vicar knew a thing or two/ he 
 reflected later in the forest, while he gathered a bunch 
 of hepaticas and anemones to take to Mile. Lemaire. 
 ' There are " neighbours " everywhere, the world's 
 simply chock full of 'em. But what a pity that 
 we die just when we're getting fit and ready to 
 begin. Perhaps we go on afterwards, though. I 
 wonder. . . ! '
 
 CHAPTER XVII 
 
 The stars ran loose about the sky, 
 Wasting their beauty recklessly, 
 
 Singing and dancing, 
 
 Shooting and prancing, 
 Until the Pole Star took command, 
 Changing each wild, disordered band 
 Into a lamp to guide the land — 
 A constellation. 
 
 And so, about my mind and yours, 
 
 Thought dances, shoots, and wastes its powers, 
 
 Coming and going, 
 
 Aimlessly flowing, 
 Until the Pole Star of the Will 
 Captains them wisely, strong, and still, 
 Some dream for others to fulfil 
 With consecration. 
 
 Selected Poems, Montmorency Minics. 
 
 There was a certain air of unreality somewhere in 
 the life at Bourcelles that ministered to fantasy. 
 Rogers had felt it steal over him from the beginning. 
 It was like watching a children's play in which the 
 scenes were laid alternately in the Den, the Pension, 
 and the Forest. Side by side with the grim stern 
 facts of existence ran the coloured spell of fairy 
 make-believe. It was the way they mingled, perhaps, 
 that ministered to this spirit of fantasy. 
 
 There were several heroines for instance — Tante 
 Jeanne, Mademoiselle Lemaire, and Mother ; each 
 played her role quite admirably. There were the 
 worthy sterling men who did their duty dumbly, 
 regardless of consequences — Daddy, the Postmaster, 
 
 217
 
 218 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND chap. 
 
 and the picturesque old clergyman with failing powers. 
 There was the dark, uncertain male character, who 
 might be villain, yet who might prove extra hero — 
 the strutting postman of baronial ancestry ; there 
 was the r61e of quaint pathetic humour Miss Wag- 
 horn so excellently filled, and there were the honest 
 rough-and-tumble comedians — half mischievous, half 
 malicious — the retired governesses. Behind them 
 all, brought on chiefly in scenes of dusk and moon- 
 light, were the Forest Elves who, led by Puck, 
 were responsible for the temporary confusion that 
 threatened disaster, yet was bound to have a happy 
 ending — the children. It was all a children's play 
 set in the lovely scenery of mountain, forest, lake, 
 and old-world garden. 
 
 Numerous other characters also flitted in and out. 
 There was the cat, the bird, the donkey as in 
 pantomime ; goblin caves and haunted valleys and 
 talking flowers ; and the queer shadowy folk who 
 came to the Pension in the summer months, then 
 vanished into space again. Links with the outside 
 world were by no means lacking. As in the theatre, 
 one caught now and again the rumble of street 
 traffic and the roar or everyday concerns. But these 
 fell in by chance during quiet intervals, and served to 
 heighten contrast only. 
 
 And so many of the principal r61es were almost 
 obviously assumed, interchangeable almost ; any 
 day the players might drop their wigs, rub off the 
 paint, and appear otherwise, as they were in private 
 life. The Widow Jequier's husband, for instance, had 
 been a pasteur who had gone later into the business 
 of a wine-merchant. She herself was not really the 
 keeper of a Pension for Jeune Filles, but had drifted 
 into it owing to her husband's disastrous descent from
 
 xvii A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 219 
 
 pulpit into cellar — understudy for some one who 
 had forgotten to come on. The Postmaster, too, 
 had originally been a photographer, whose funereal 
 aspect had sealed his failure in that line. His 
 customers could never smile and look pleasant. The 
 postman, again, was a baron in disguise — in private 
 life he had a castle and retainers ; and even Gygi, the 
 gendarme, was a make-believe official who behind the 
 scenes was a vigneron and farmer in a very humble 
 way. Daddy, too, seemed sometimes but a tinsel 
 author dressed up for the occasion, and absurdly busy 
 over books that no one ever saw on railway book- 
 stalls. While Mademoiselle Lemaire was not in 
 fact and verity a suffering, patient, bed-ridden lady, 
 but a princess who escaped from her disguise at night 
 into glory and great beneficent splendour. 
 
 Mother alone was more real than the other 
 players. There was no make-believe about Mother. 
 She thundered across the stage and stood before the 
 footlights, interrupting many a performance with her 
 stubborn common-sense and her grip upon difficult 
 grave issues. ' This performance will finish at such 
 and such an hour,' was her cry. ' Get your wraps 
 ready. It will be cold when you go out. And see 
 that you have money handy for your 'bus fares 
 home ! ' Yes, Mother was real. She knew some 
 facts of life at least. She knitted the children's 
 stockings and did the family mending. 
 
 Yet Rogers felt, even with her, that she was 
 merely waiting. She knew the cast was not complete 
 as yet. She waited. They all waited — for some one. 
 These were rehearsals ; Rogers himself had dropped 
 in also merely as an understudy. Another r61e was 
 vacant, and it was the principal r61e. There was no 
 one in the company who could play it, none who
 
 CHAP. 
 
 220 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 
 
 could understudy it even. Neither Rogers nor 
 Daddy could learn the lines or do the 'business.' 
 The part was a very important one, calling for a 
 touch of genius to be filled adequately. And it was 
 a feminine role. For here was a Fairy Play with- 
 out a Fairy Queen. There was not even a Fairy 
 Princess ! 
 
 This idea of a representation, all prepared specially 
 for himself, induced a very happy state of mind ; he 
 felt restful, calm, at peace with all the world. He 
 had only to sit in his stall and enjoy. But it brought, 
 too, this sense of delicate bewilderment that was con- 
 tinually propounding questions to which he found 
 no immediate answer. With the rest of the village, 
 he stood still while Time flowed past him. Later, 
 with Minks, he would run after it and catch it up 
 again. Minks would pick out the lost clues. Minks 
 stood on the banks — in London — noting the ques- 
 tions floating by and landing them sometimes with a 
 rod and net. His master would deal with them by 
 and by ; but just now he could well afford to wait 
 and enjoy himself. It was a holiday ; there was no 
 hurry ; Minks held the fort meanwhile and sent in 
 reports at intervals. 
 
 And the sweet spring weather continued ; days 
 were bright and warm ; the nights were thick with 
 stars. Rogers postponed departure on the flimsiest 
 reasons. It was no easy thing to leave Bourcelles. 
 ' Next week the muguetv/Wl be over in the vallon vert. 
 We must pick it quickly together for Tante Anna.' 
 Jinny brought every spring flower to Mademoiselle 
 Lemaire in this way the moment they appeared. Her 
 room was a record of their sequence from week to 
 week. And Jimbo knew exactly where to find them 
 first ; his mind was a time-table of flowers as well as
 
 xvi, A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 221 
 
 of trains, dates of arrival, and stations where they 
 grew. He knew it all exaccurately. This kind of 
 fact with him was never wumbled. ' Soon the sabot 
 de Venus will be in flower at the Creux du Van, but 
 it takes time to find it. It's most awfully rare, you 
 see. You'll have to climb beyond the fontaine froide. 
 That's past the Ferme Robert, between Champ du 
 Moulin and Noiraigue. The snow ought to be gone 
 by now. We'll go and hunt for it. I'll take you 
 in — oh, in about deux semaines — comme ca.' Alone, 
 those dangerous cliffs were out of bounds for him, 
 but if he went with Cousinenry, permission could 
 not be refused. Jimbo knew what he was about. 
 And he took for granted that his employer would 
 never leave Bourcelles again. ' Thursday and Satur- 
 day would be the best days,' he added. They were 
 his half-holidays, but he did not say so. Secretaries, 
 he knew, did not have half-holidays comme ca. ' Je 
 suis son vrai secretaire,' he had told Mademoiselle 
 Lemaire, who had confirmed it with a grave rnais 
 oui. No one but Mother heard the puzzled ques- 
 tion one night when he was being tucked into bed ; 
 it was asked with just a hint of shame upon a very 
 puckered little face — ' But, Mummy, what really is 
 a sekrity ? ' 
 
 And so Rogers, from day to day, stayed on, 
 enjoying himself and resting. The City would have 
 called it loafing, but in the City the schedule of 
 values was a different one. Meanwhile the bewilder- 
 ment he felt at first gradually disappeared. He no 
 longer realised it, that is. While still outside, 
 attacked by it, he had realised the soft entanglement. 
 Now he was in it, caught utterly, a prisoner. He 
 was no longer mere observer. He was part and 
 parcel of it. ' What does a few weeks matter out of
 
 222 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 
 
 CRAP. 
 
 a whole strenuous life ? ' he argued. * It's all to the 
 good, this holiday. I'm storing up strength and 
 energy for future use. My Scheme can wait a little. 
 I'm thinking things out meanwhile.' 
 
 He often went into the forest alone to think his 
 things out, and ' things ' always meant his Scheme . . . 
 but the more he thought about it the more distant 
 and impracticable seemed that wondrous Scheme. 
 He had the means, the love, the yearning, all in good 
 condition, waiting to be put to practical account. In 
 his mind, littered more and more now with details 
 that Minks not infrequently sent in, this great Scheme 
 by which he had meant to help the world ran into 
 the confusion of new issues that were continually 
 cropping up. Most of these were caused by the 
 difficulty of knowing his money spent exactly as he 
 wished, not wasted, no pound of it used for adorn- 
 ment, whether salaries, uniforms, fancy stationery, 
 or unnecessary appearances, whatever they might 
 be. Whichever way he faced it, and no matter how 
 carefully thought out were the plans that Minks 
 devised, these leakages cropped up and mocked him. 
 Among a dozen propositions his original clear idea 
 went lost, and floundered. It came perilously near 
 to wumbling itself away altogether. 
 
 For one thing, there were rivals on the scene — 
 his cousin's family, the education of these growing 
 children, the difficulties of the Widow Jequier, some 
 kind of security he might ensure to old Miss 
 Waghorn, the best expert medical attendance for 
 Mademoiselle Lemaire . . . and his fortune was 
 after all a small one as fortunes go. Only his simple 
 scale of personal living could make these things 
 possible at all. Yet here, at least, he would know 
 that every penny went exaccurately where it was
 
 xvii A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 223 
 
 meant to go, and accomplished the precise purpose it 
 was intended to accomplish. 
 
 And the more he thought about it, the more 
 insistent grew the claims of little Bourcelles, and the 
 more that portentous Scheme for Disabled Thingu- 
 mabobs faded into dimness. The old Vicar's words 
 kept singing in his head : ' The world is full of 
 Neighbours. Bring them all back to Fairyland.' 
 He thought things out in his own way and at his 
 leisure. He loved to wander alone among the 
 mountains . . . thinking in this way. His thoughts 
 turned to his cousin's family, their expenses, their 
 difficulties, the curious want of harmony somewhere. 
 For the conditions in which the famille anglaise 
 existed, he had soon discovered, were those of muddle 
 pure and simple, yet of muddle on so large a scale 
 that it was fascinating and even exhilarating. It 
 must be lovely, he reflected, to live so carelessly. 
 They drifted. Chance forces blew them hither and 
 thither as gusts of wind blow autumn leaves. Five 
 years in a place and then — a gust that blew them 
 elsewhere. Thus they had lived five years in a 
 London suburb, thinking it permanent ; five years 
 in a lonely Essex farm, certain they would never 
 abandon country life ; and five years, finally, in the 
 Jura forests. 
 
 Neither parent, though each was estimable, worthy, 
 and entirely of good repute, had the smallest faculty 
 for seeing life whole ; each studied closely a small 
 fragment of it, the fragment limited by the Monday 
 and the Saturday of next week, or, in moments of 
 optimistic health, the fragment that lies between the 
 first and thirty-first of a single month. Of what lay 
 beyond, they talked ; oh, yes, they talked voluminously 
 and with detail that sounded impressive to a listener,
 
 224 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND chaf 
 
 but somehow in circles that carried them no further 
 than the starting-point, or in spirals that rose higher 
 with each sentence and finally lifted them bodily 
 above the solid ground. It was merely talk. — 
 ineffective — yet the kind that makes one feel it has 
 accomplished something and so brings the false 
 security of carelessness again. Neither one nor 
 other was head of the house. They took it in turns, 
 each slipping by chance into that onerous position, 
 supported but uncoveted by the other. Mother fed 
 the children, mended everything, sent them to the 
 dentist when their teeth ached badly, but never before 
 as a preventative, and — trusted to luck. 
 
 ' Daddy,' she would say in her slow gentle way, 
 1 1 do wish we could be more practical sometimes. 
 Life is such a business, isn't it ? ' And they would 
 examine in detail the grain of the stable door now 
 that the horse had escaped, then close it very 
 carefully. 
 
 ' I really must keep books,' he would answer, 
 ' so that we can see exactly how we stand,' having 
 discovered at the end of laborious calculation con- 
 cerning the cost of the proposed Geneva schooling 
 for Jinny that they had reckoned in shillings instead 
 of francs. And then, with heads together, they 
 selected for their eldest boy a profession utterly 
 unsuited to his capacities, with coaching expenses far 
 beyond their purses, and with the comforting 
 consideration that ' there's a pension attached to it, 
 you see, for when he's old.' 
 
 Similarly, having planned minutely, and with 
 personal sacrifice, to save five francs in one direction, 
 they would spend that amount unnecessarily in 
 another. They felt they had it to spend, as though 
 it had been just earned and already jingled in their
 
 xvii A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 225 
 
 pockets. Daddy would announce he was walking 
 into Neuchatel to buy tobacco. ' Better take the 
 tram,' suggested Mother, ' it's going to rain. You 
 save shoe leather, too,' she added laughingly. ' Will 
 you be back to tea ? ' He thought not ; he would 
 get a cup of tea in town. ' May I come, too ? ' from 
 Jimbo. ' Why not ? ' thought Mother. ' Take him 
 with you, he'll enjoy the trip.' Monkey and Jane 
 Ann, of course, went too. They all had tea in a 
 shop, and bought chocolate into the bargain. The 
 five francs melted into — nothing, for tea at home 
 was included in their Pension terms. Saving is in 
 the mind. There was no system in their life. 
 
 { It would be jolly, yes, if you could earn a little 
 something regular besides your work,' agreed Mother, 
 when he thought of learning a typewriter to copy his 
 own books, and taking in work to copy for others 
 too. 
 
 ' I'll do it,' he decided with enthusiasm that was 
 forgotten before he left the room ten minutes later. 
 
 It was the same with the suggestion of teaching 
 English. He had much spare time, and could easily 
 have earned a pound a week by giving lessons, and a 
 pound a week is fifty pounds a year — enough to 
 dress the younger children easily. The plan was 
 elaborated laboriously. ' Of course,' agreed Daddy, 
 with genuine interest. ' It's easily done. I wonder 
 we never thought of it before.' Every few months 
 they talked about it, but it never grew an inch nearer 
 to accomplishment. They drifted along, ever in 
 difficulty, each secretly blaming the other, yet never 
 putting their thoughts into speech. They did not 
 quite understand each other's point of view. 
 
 ' Mother really might have foreseen that ! ' when 
 Jimbo, growing like a fairy beanstalk, rendered his 
 
 Q
 
 226 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND chap. 
 
 recent clothes entirely useless. ' Boys must grow. 
 Why didn't she buy the things a size or two larger ? ' 
 
 ' It's rather thoughtless, almost selfish, of Daddy 
 to go on writing these books that bring in praise 
 without money. He could write anything if he 
 chose. At least, he might put his shoulder to the 
 wheel and teach, or something ! ' 
 
 And so, not outwardly in spoken words or 
 quarrels, but inwardly, owing to that deadliest of 
 cancers, want of sympathy, these two excellent 
 grown-up children had moved with the years further 
 and further apart. Love had not died, but want of 
 understanding, not attended to in time, had frayed 
 the edges so that they no longer fitted well together. 
 They have blown in here, thought Rogers as he 
 watched them, like seeds the wind has brought. 
 They have taken root and grown a bit. They think 
 they're here for ever, but presently a wind will rise 
 and blow them off again elsewhere. And thinking 
 it is their own act, they will look wisely at each other, 
 as children do, and say, ' Yes, it is time now to make 
 a move. The children are getting big. Our health, 
 too, needs a change.' He wondered, smiling a little, 
 in what vale or mountain top the wind would let 
 them down. And a big decision blazed up in his 
 heart. ' I'm not very strong in the domestic line,' 
 he exclaimed, ' but I think I can help them a bit. 
 They're neighbours at any rate. They're all children 
 too. Daddy's no older than Jimbo, or Mother than 
 Jane Anne ! ' 
 . 
 In the spaces of the forest there was moss and 
 sunshine. It was very still. The primroses and 
 anemones had followed the hepaticas and periwinkles. 
 Patches of lily of the valley filled the air with
 
 xvii A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 227 
 
 fragrance. Through openings of the trees he caught 
 glimpses of the lake, deep as the Italian blue of the 
 sky above his head. White Alps hung in the air 
 beyond its farther shore line. Below him, already 
 far away, the village followed slowly, bringing its 
 fields and vineyards with it, until the tired old church 
 called halt. And then it lay back, nestling down 
 to sleep, very small, very cosy, mere handful of 
 brown roofs among the orchards. Only the blue 
 smoke of occasional peat fires moved here and there, 
 betraying human occupation. 
 
 The peace and beauty sank into his heart, as he 
 wandered higher across Mont Racine's velvet shoulder. 
 And the contrast stirred memories of his recent 
 London life. He thought of the scurrying busy- 
 bodies in the ' City,' and he thought of the Widow 
 Jequier attacking life so restlessly in her garden at 
 that very minute. That other sentence of the old 
 Vicar floated though his mind : ' the grandeur of toil 
 and the insignificance of acquisition.' . . . Far 
 overhead two giant buzzards circled quietly, 
 ceaselessly watching from the blue. A brimstone 
 butterfly danced in random flight before his face. 
 Two cuckoos answered one another in the denser 
 forest somewhere above him. Bells from distant 
 village churches boomed softly through the air, voices 
 from a world forgotten. 
 
 And the contrast brought back London. He 
 thought of the long busy chapter of his life just 
 finished. The transition had been so abrupt. As a 
 rule periods fade into one another gradually in life, 
 easily, divisions blurred ; it is difficult on looking 
 back to say where the change began. One is well 
 into the new before the old is realised as left behind. 
 ' How did I come to this ? ' the mind asks itself. * I
 
 228 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND chap. 
 
 don't remember any definite decision. Where was 
 the boundary crossed ? ' It has been imperceptibly 
 accomplished. 
 
 But here the change had been sudden and complete, 
 no shading anywhere. He had leaped a wall. 
 Turmoil and confusion lay on that side ; on this lay 
 peace, rest and beauty. Strain and ugliness were 
 left behind, and with them so much that now seemed 
 false, unnecessary, vain. The grandeur of toil, and 
 the insignificance of acquisition — the phrase ran 
 through his mind with the sighing of the pine trees ; 
 it was like the first line of a song. The Vicar knew 
 the song complete. Even Minks, perhaps, could pipe 
 it too. Rogers was learning it. ' I must help them 
 somehow,' he thought again. ' It's not a question of 
 money merely. It's that they want welding together 
 more — more harmony — more sympathy. They're 
 separate bits of a puzzle now, whereas they might 
 be a rather big and lovely pattern. . . .' 
 
 He lay down upon the moss and flung his hat 
 away. He felt that Life stood still within him, 
 watching, waiting, asking beautiful, deep, searching 
 questions. It made him slightly uncomfortable. 
 Henry Rogers, late of Threadneedle Street, took 
 stock of himself, not of set intention, yet somehow 
 deliberately. He reviewed another Henry Rogers 
 who had been unable to leap that wall. The two 
 peered at one another gravely. 
 
 The review, however, took no definite form ; 
 precise language hardly came to help with definite 
 orders. A vague procession of feelings, half sad, 
 half pleasurable, floated past his closing eyes. . . . 
 Perhaps he slept a moment in the sunshine upon 
 that bed of moss and pine needles. . . . 
 
 Such curious thoughts flowed up and out and
 
 X vii A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 229 
 
 round about, dancing like the brimstone butterflies 
 out of reach before he could seize them, calling with 
 voices like the cuckoos, themselves all the time just 
 out of sight. Who ever saw a cuckoo when it's 
 talking ? Who ever foretold the instant when a 
 butterfly would shoot upwards and away ? Such 
 darting, fragile thoughts they were, like hints, sug- 
 gestions. Still, they were thoughts. 
 
 Minks, dragging behind him an enormous Scheme, 
 emerged from the dark vaults of a Bank where gold 
 lay piled in heaps. Minks was looking for him, yet 
 smiling a little, almost pityingly, as he strained be- 
 neath the load. It was like a comic opera. Minks 
 was going down the noisy, crowded Strand. Then, 
 suddenly, he paused, uncertain of the way. From 
 an upper window a shining face popped out and 
 issued clear directions — as from a pulpit. ' That 
 way — towards the river,' sang the voice — and far 
 down the narrow side street flashed a gleam of 
 flowing water with orchards on the farther bank. 
 Minks instantly turned and' went down it with his 
 load so fast that the scenery changed before the 
 heavy traffic could get out of the way. Everything 
 got muddled up with fields and fruit-trees ; the 
 Scheme changed into a mass of wild-flowers ; a lame 
 boy knocked it over with his crutch ; gold fell in a 
 brilliant, singing shower, and where each sovereign 
 fell there sprang up a buttercup or dandelion. Rogers 
 rubbed his eyes . . . and realised that the sun was 
 rather hot upon his face. A dragon fly was perched 
 upon his hat three feet away. . . . 
 
 The tea hour at the Den was close, and Jimbo, no 
 doubt, was already looking for him at the carpenter's 
 house. Rogers hurried home among the silent forest 
 ways that were sweet with running shadows and
 
 230 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND chap. 
 
 slanting sunshine. Oh, how fragrant was the evening 
 air ! And how the lily of the valley laughed up in 
 his face ! Normally, at this time, he would be sitting 
 in a taxi, hurrying noisily towards his Club, thoughts 
 full of figures, politics, philanthropy cut to line and 
 measure — a big Scheme standing in squares across 
 the avenue of the future. Now, moss and flowers 
 and little children took up all the available space. . . . 
 How curiously out of the world Bourcelles was, to 
 be sure. Newspapers had no meaning any longer. 
 Picture-papers and smart weekly Reviews, so necessary 
 and important in St. James's Street, here seemed 
 vulgar, almost impertinent — ridiculous even. Big 
 books, yes ; but not pert, topical comments issued 
 with an absurd omnipotence upon things merely 
 ephemeral. How the mind accumulated rubbish in a 
 city ! It seemed incredible. He surely had climbed 
 a wall and dropped down into a world far bigger, 
 though a world the ' city ' would deem insignificant 
 and trivial. Yet only because it had less detail 
 probably ! A loved verse flashed to him across the 
 years : — 
 
 ' O to dream, O to awake and wander 
 There, and with delight to take and render, 
 Through the trance of silence, 
 Ouiet breath ! 
 Lo ! for there among the flowers and grasses, 
 Only the mightier movement sounds and passes ; 
 Only winds and rivers, 
 Life and death.' 
 
 Bourcelles was important as London, yes, while 
 simple as the nursery. The same big questions of 
 life and death, of battle, duty, love, ruled the peaceful 
 inhabitants. Only the noisy shouting, the clatter 
 of superfluous chattering and feverish striving had
 
 xvii A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 231 
 
 dropped away. Hearts and minds wore fewer clothes 
 among these woods and vineyards. There was no 
 nakedness though . . . there were flowers and moss, 
 blue sky and peace and beauty. . . . Thought ran 
 into confused, vague pictures. He could not give 
 them coherence, shape, form. . . . 
 
 He crossed the meadows and entered the village 
 through the Pension garden. The Widow Jequier 
 gave him a spray of her Persian lilac on the way. 
 ' It's been growing twenty-five years for you,' she 
 said, ' only do not look at me. I'm in my garden 
 things — invisible.' He remembered with a smile 
 Jane Anne's description — that ' the front part of the 
 house was all at the back.' 
 
 Tumbling down the wooden stairs, he crossed the 
 street and made for the Citadelle, where the children 
 opened the door for him even before he rang. Jimbo 
 and Monkey, just home from school, pulled him by 
 both arms towards the tea-table. They had watched 
 for his coming. 
 
 ' The samovar's just boiling,' Mother welcomed 
 him. Daddy was on the sofa by the open window, 
 reading manuscript over to himself in a mumbling 
 voice ; and Jane Anne, apron on, sleeves tucked up, 
 face flushed, poked her head in from the kitchen : 
 
 1 Excuse me, Mother, the cupboard's all in distress. 
 I can't find the marmalade anywhere.' 
 
 ' But it's already on the table, child.' 
 
 She saw her Cousin and popped swiftly back 
 again from view. One heard fragments of her 
 sentences — ' wumbled . . . chronic . . . busy 
 monster. . . .' And two minutes later la famille 
 anglaise was seriously at tea.
 
 CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 What art thou, then ? I cannot guess ; 
 But tho' I seem in star and flower 
 To feel thee some diffusive power, 
 
 I do not therefore love thee less. 
 
 Love and Death, Tennyson. 
 
 In the act of waking up on the morning of the Star 
 Cave experience, Henry Rogers caught the face of a 
 vivid dream close against his own — but in rapid 
 motion, already passing. He tried to seize it. 
 There was a happy, delightful atmosphere about 
 it. Examination, however, was impossible ; the 
 effort to recover the haunting dream dispersed it. 
 He saw the tip, like an express train flying round 
 a corner ; it flashed and disappeared, fading into 
 dimness. Only the delightful atmosphere remained 
 and the sense that he had been somewhere far away 
 in very happy conditions. People he knew quite 
 well, had been there with him ; Jimbo and Monkey ; 
 Daddy too, as he had known him in his boyhood. 
 More than this was mere vague surmise ; he could 
 not recover details. Others had been also of the 
 merry company, familiar yet unrecognisable. Who 
 in the world were they ? It all seemed oddly real. 
 
 ' How I do dream in this place, to be sure,' he 
 thought ; * I, who normally dream so little ! It was 
 like a scene of my childhood — Crayfield or some- 
 where.' And he reflected how easily one might be 
 
 233
 
 ch. xviii A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 233 
 
 persuaded that the spirit escaped in sleep and knew 
 another order of experience. The sense of actuality 
 was so vivid. 
 
 He lay half dozing for a little longer, hoping to 
 recover the adventures. The flying train showed 
 itself once or twice again, but smaller, and much, 
 much farther away. It curved off into the distance. 
 A deep cutting quickly swallowed it. It emerged 
 for the last time, tiny as a snake upon a chess-board 
 of far-off fields. Then it dipped into mist ; the 
 snake shot into its hole. It was gone. He sighed. 
 It had been so lovely. Why must it vanish so 
 entirely ? Once or twice during the day it returned, 
 touched him swiftly on the heart and was gone 
 again. But the waking impression of a dream is 
 never the dream itself. Sunshine destroys the sense 
 of enormous wonder. 
 
 ' I believe I've been dreaming all night long, and 
 going through all kinds of wild adventures.' 
 
 He dressed leisurely, still hunting subconsciously 
 for fragments of that happy dreamland. Its aroma 
 still clung about him. The sunshine poured into the 
 room. He went out on to the balcony and looked 
 at the Alps through his Zeiss field-glasses. The 
 brilliant snow upon the Diablerets danced and sang 
 into his blood ; across the broken teeth of the Dent 
 du Midi trailed thin strips of early cloud. Behind 
 him rose great Boudry's massive shoulders, a pyramid 
 of incredible deep blue. And the limestone precipices 
 of La Tourne stood dazzlingly white, catching the 
 morning sunlight full in their face. 
 
 The air had the freshness of the sea. Men were 
 singing at their work among the vineyards. The 
 tinkle of cow-bells floated to him from the upper 
 pastures upon Mont Racine. Little sails like sea-
 
 234 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND chap. 
 
 gulls dipped across the lake. Goodness, how happy 
 the world was at Bourcelles ! Singing, radiant, 
 careless of pain and death. And, goodness, how he 
 longed to make it happier still ! 
 
 Every day now this morning mood had been the 
 same. Desire to do something for others ran races 
 with little practical schemes for carrying it out. Selfish 
 considerations seemed to have taken flight, all washed 
 away while he slept. Moreover, the thought of his 
 Scheme had begun to oppress him ; a touch of shame 
 came with it, almost as though an unworthy personal 
 motive were somewhere in it. Perhaps after all — 
 he wondered more and more now — there had been 
 an admixture of personal ambition in the plan. The 
 idea that it would bring him honour in the eyes of 
 the world had possibly lain there hidden all along. 
 If so, he had not realised it ; the depravity had been 
 unconscious. Before the Bourcelles standard of 
 simplicity, artificial elements dropped off automatic- 
 ally, ashamed. . . . And a profound truth, fished 
 somehow out of that vanished dreamland, spun its 
 trail of glory through his heart. Kindness that is 
 thanked-for surely brings degradation — a degradation 
 almost as mean as the subscription acknowledged in 
 a newspaper, or the anonymous contribution kept 
 secret temporarily in order that its later advertise- 
 ment may excite the more applause. Out flashed 
 this blazing truth : kind acts must be instinctive, 
 natural, thoughtless. One hand must be in absolute 
 ignorance of the other's high adventures. . . . And 
 when the carpenter's wife brought up his breakfast 
 tray, with the bunch of forest flowers standing in a 
 tumbler of water, she caught him pondering over 
 another boyhood's memory — that friend of his 
 father's who had given away a million anonymously.
 
 xviii A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 235 
 
 . . . In his heart plans shaped themselves with 
 soft, shy eyes and hidden faces. . . . He longed 
 to get la famille anglalse straight . . . for one 
 thing. . . . 
 
 It was an hour later, while he still sat dreaming 
 in the sunshine by the open window, that a gentle 
 tap came at the door, and Daddy entered. The 
 visit was a surprise. Usually, until time for dejeuner, 
 he kept his room, busily unwumbling stories. This 
 was unusual. And something had happened to him ; 
 he looked different. What was it that had changed ? 
 Some veil had cleared away ; his eyes were shining. 
 They greeted one another, and Rogers fell shyly 
 to commonplaces, while wondering what the change 
 exactly was. 
 
 But the other was not to be put off. He was 
 bursting with something. Rogers had never seen 
 him like this before. 
 
 'You've stopped work earlier than usual,' he 
 said, providing the opening. He understood his 
 diffidence, his shyness in speaking of himself. Long 
 disappointments lay so thinly screened behind his 
 unfulfilled enthusiasm. 
 
 But this time the enthusiasm swept diffidence to 
 the winds. It had been vitally stirred. 
 
 1 Early indeed,' he cried. ' I've been working 
 four hours without a break, man. Why, what do 
 you think ? — I woke at sunrise, a thing I never do, 
 with — with a brilliant idea in my head. Brilliant, I 
 tell you. By Jove, if only I can carry it out as I 
 see it ! ' 
 
 ' You've begun it already ? ' 
 
 ' Been at it since six o'clock, I tell you. It was in 
 me when I woke — idea, treatment, everything com- 
 plete, all in a perfect pattern of Beauty.'
 
 236 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND chap. 
 
 There was a glow upon his face, his hair was un- 
 tidy ; a white muffler with blue spots was round his 
 neck instead of collar. One end stuck up against 
 his chin. The safety pin was open. 
 
 ' By Jove ! I am delighted ! ' Rogers had seen 
 him excited before over a ' brilliant idea,' but the 
 telling of it always left him cold. It touched the 
 intellect, yet not the heart. It was merely clever. 
 This time, however, there was a new thing in his 
 manner. ' How did you get it ? ' he repeated. 
 Methods of literary production beyond his own 
 doggerels were a mystery to him. ' Sort of inspira- 
 tion, eh ? ' 
 
 ' Woke with it, I tell you,' continued his cousin, 
 twisting the muffler so that it tickled his ear now 
 instead of his chin. ' It must have come to me in 
 sleep ' 
 
 ' In sleep,' exclaimed the other ; ' you dreamt 
 it, then ? ' 
 
 ' Kind of inspiration business. I've heard of that 
 
 sort of thing, but never experienced it ' The 
 
 author paused for breath. 
 
 ' What is it ? Tell me.' He remembered how 
 ingenious details of his patents had sometimes found 
 themselves cleared up in the morning after refreshing 
 slumber. This might be something similar. * Let's 
 hear it,' he added ; ' I'm interested.' 
 
 His cousin's recitals usually ended in sad con- 
 fusion, so that all he could answer by way of praise 
 was — ' You ought to make something good out of 
 that. I shall like to read it when you've finished it.' 
 But this time, he felt, there was distinctly a difference. 
 There were new conditions. 
 
 The older man leaned closer, his face alight, his 
 manner shyly, eagerly confidential. The morning
 
 xviii A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 237 
 
 sunshine blazed upon his untidy hair. A bread 
 crumb from breakfast still balanced in his beard. 
 
 ' It's difficult to tell in a few words, you see,' he 
 began, the enthusiasm of a boy in his manner, ' but — 
 I woke with the odd idea that this little village 
 might be an epitome of the world. All the emotions 
 of London, you see, are here in essence — the courage 
 and cowardice, the fear and hope, the greed and 
 sacrifice, the love and hate and passion — everything. 
 It's the big world in miniature. Only— with one 
 difference.' 
 
 ' That's good,' said Rogers, trying to remember 
 when it was he had told his cousin this very thing. 
 Or had he only thought it ? ' And what is the 
 difference ? ' 
 
 * The difference,' continued the other, eyes spark- 
 ling, face alight, ' that here the woods, the mountains 
 and the stars are close. They pour themselves in 
 upon the village life from every side — above, below, 
 all round. Flowers surround it ; it dances to the 
 mountain winds ; at night it lies entangled in the 
 starlight. Along a thousand imperceptible channels 
 an ideal simplicity from Nature pours down into it, 
 modifying the human passions, chastening, purifying, 
 uplifting. Don't you see ? And these sweet, view- 
 less channels — who keeps them clean and open ? 
 
 Why, God bless you . The children! My 
 
 children ! ' 
 
 ' By Jingo, yes ; your children.' 
 
 Rogers said it with emphasis. But there was a 
 sudden catch at his heart ; he was conscious of a 
 queer sensation he could not name. This was 
 exactly what he had felt himself — with the difference 
 that his own thought had been, perhaps, emotion 
 rather than a reasoned-out idea. His cousin put it
 
 238 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND chap. 
 
 into words and gave it form. A picture — had he 
 seen it in a book perhaps ? — flashed across his mind. 
 A child, suspiciously like Monkey, held a pen and 
 dipped it into something bright and flowing. A 
 little boy with big blue eyes gathered this shining 
 stuff in both hands and poured it in a golden cataract 
 upon the eyelids of a sleeping figure. And the figure 
 had a beard. It was a man . . . familiar. ... A 
 touch of odd excitement trembled through his under- 
 mind . . . thrilled . . . vanished. . . . 
 
 All dived out of sight again with the swiftness of 
 a darting swallow. His cousin was talking at high 
 speed. Rogers had lost a great deal of what he had 
 been saying. 
 
 ' ... it may, of course, have come from some- 
 thing you said the other night as we walked up the 
 hill to supper — you remember? — something about 
 the brilliance of our stars here and how they formed 
 a shining network that hung from Boudry and La 
 Tourne. It's impossible to say. The germ of a 
 true inspiration is never discoverable. Only, I 
 remember, it struck me as an odd thing for you 
 to say. I was telling you about my idea of the 
 scientist who married — no, no, it wasn't that, it was 
 my story of the materialist doctor whom circum- 
 stances compelled to accept a position in the Com- 
 munity of Shakers, and how the contrast produced 
 an effect upon his mind of — of — you remember, 
 perhaps ? It was one or the other ; I forget 
 exactly,' — then suddenly — ' No, no, I've got it — 
 it was the analysis of the father's mind when he 
 found ' 
 
 'Yes, yes,' interrupted Rogers. * We were just 
 passing the Citadelle fountain. I saw the big star 
 upon the top of Boudry, and made a remark about
 
 xviii A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 239 
 
 it.' His cousin was getting sadly wumbled. He 
 tried to put severity and concentration into his voice. 
 
 ' That's it,' the other cried, head on one side and 
 holding up a finger, ' because I remember that my 
 own thought wandered for a moment — thought will, 
 you know, in spite of one's best effort sometimes — 
 and you said a thing that sent a little shiver of 
 pleasure through me for an instant — something 
 about a Starlight Train — and made me wonder where 
 you got the idea. That's it. I do believe you've 
 hit the nail on the head. Isn't it curious sometimes 
 how a practical mind may suggest valuable material 
 to the artist ? I remember, several years ago ' 
 
 ' Starlight Express, wasn't it ? ' said his friend 
 with decision in his voice. He thumped the table 
 vigorously with one fist. ' Keep to the point, old 
 man. Follow it out. Your idea is splendid.' 
 
 'Yes, I do believe it is.' Something in his voice 
 trembled. 
 
 One sentence in particular Rogers heard, for it 
 seemed plucked out of the talk he had with the 
 children in the forest that day two weeks ago. 
 
 ' You see, all light meets somewhere. It's all 
 one, I mean. And so with minds. They all have a 
 common meeting-place. Sympathy is the name for 
 that place — that state — they feel with each other, 
 see flash-like from the same point of view for a 
 moment. And children are the conduits. They do 
 not think things out. They feel them, eh ? ' He 
 paused an instant. 
 
 ' For you see, along these little channels that the 
 children — my children, as I think I mentioned — 
 keep sweet and open, there might troop back into 
 the village — Fairyland. Not merely a foolish fairy- 
 land of make-believe and dragons and princesses
 
 2 4 o A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND chap. 
 
 imprisoned in animals, but a fairyland the whole 
 world needs — the sympathy of sweet endeavour, 
 love, gentleness and sacrifice for others. The stars 
 would bring it — starlight don't you see ? One might 
 weave starlight in and out everywhere — use it as the 
 symbol of sympathy — and — er — so on ' 
 
 Rogers again lost the clue. Another strangely 
 familiar picture, and then another, flashed gorgeously 
 before his inner vision ; his mind raced after them, 
 yet never caught them up. They were most curiously 
 familiar. Then, suddenly, he came back and heard his 
 cousin still talking. It was like a subtle plagiarism. 
 Too subtle altogether, indeed, it was for him. He 
 could only stare and listen in amazement. 
 
 But the recital grew more and more involved. 
 Perhaps, alone in his work-room, Daddy could 
 unwumble it consistently. He certainly could not 
 tell it. The thread went lost among a dozen other 
 things. The interfering sun had melted it all down 
 in dew and spider gossamer and fairy cotton. . . . 
 
 ' I must go down and work,' he said at length, 
 rising and fumbling with the door handle. He 
 seemed disappointed a little. He had given out his 
 ideas so freely, perhaps too freely. Rogers divined 
 he had not sympathised enough. His manner had 
 been shamefully absent-minded. The absent-minded- 
 ness was really the highest possible praise, but the 
 author did not seem to realise it. 
 
 ' It's glorious, my dear fellow, glorious,' Rogers 
 added emphatically. ' You've got a big idea, and 
 you can write it too. You will.' He said it with 
 conviction. ' You touch my heart as you tell it. I 
 congratulate you. Really I do.' 
 
 There was no mistaking the sincerity of his words 
 and tone. The other came back a step into the
 
 xvin A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 241 
 
 room again. He stroked his beard and felt the crisp, 
 hard crumb. He picked it out, examining it without 
 surprise. It was no unfamiliar thing, perhaps ; at 
 any rate, it was an excuse to lower his eyes. Shy- 
 ness returned upon him. 
 
 ' Thank you,' he said gently ; ' I'm glad you 
 think so. You see, I sometimes feel — perhaps — my 
 work has rather suffered from — been a little deficient 
 in — the human touch. One must reach people's 
 hearts if one wants big sales. So few have brains. 
 Not that I care for money, or could ever write for 
 money, for that brings its own punishment in loss of 
 inspiration. But of course, with a family to support. 
 ... I have a family, you see.' He raised his eyes 
 and looked out into the sunshine. ' Well, anyhow, 
 I've begun this thing. I shall send it in short form 
 to the X. Review. It may attract attention there. 
 And later I can expand it into a volume.' He 
 hesitated, examined the crumb closely again, tossed it 
 away, and looked up at his cousin suddenly full in 
 the face. The high enthusiasm flamed back into his 
 eyes again. ' Bring the world back to Fairyland, you 
 see ! ' he concluded with vehemence, ' eh ? ' 
 
 ' Glorious ! ' Surely thought ran about the world 
 like coloured flame, if this was true. 
 
 The author turned towards the door. He opened 
 it, then stopped on the threshold and looked round 
 like a person who has lost his way. 
 
 ' I forgot,' he added, c I forgot another thing, one 
 of the chief almost. It's this : there must be a 
 Leader — who shall bring it back. Without the 
 Guide, Interpreter, Pioneer, how shall the world 
 listen or understand, even the little world of Bour- 
 celles ? ' 
 
 ' Of course, yes — some big figure — like a priest 
 
 R
 
 242 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND chap 
 
 or prophet, you mean ? A sort of Chairman, Presi- 
 dent, eh ? ' 
 
 ' Yes,' was the reply, while the eyes flashed 
 fires that almost recaptured forgotten dreams, 'but 
 hardly in the way you mean, perhaps. A very 
 simple figure, / mean, unconscious of its mighty 
 role. Some one with endless stores of love and 
 sympathy and compassion that have never found an 
 outlet yet, but gone on accumulating and accumu- 
 lating unexpressed.' 
 
 ' I see, yes.' Though he really did not ' see ' a bit. 
 ' But who is there like that here ? You'll have to 
 invent him.' He remembered his own thought that 
 some principal role was vacant in his Children's 
 Fairy Play. How queer it all was ! He stared. 
 ' Who is there ? ' he repeated. 
 
 ' No one — now. I shall bring her, though.' 
 
 ' Her ! ' exclaimed Rogers with surprise. ' You 
 mean a woman ? ' 
 
 ' A childless woman,' came the soft reply. ' A 
 woman with a million children — all unborn.' But 
 Rogers did not see the expression of the face. His 
 cousin was on the landing. The door closed softly 
 on the words. The steps went fumbling down the 
 stairs, and presently he heard the door below close 
 too. The key was turned in it. 
 
 1 A childless woman ! ' The phrase rang on long 
 after he had gone. What an extraordinary idea ! 
 ' Bring her here ' indeed ! Could his cousin mean 
 that some such woman might read his story and 
 come to claim the position, play the vacant role ? 
 No, nothing so literal surely. The idea was pre- 
 posterous. He had heard it said that imaginative 
 folk, writers, painters, musicians, all had a touch of 
 lunacy in them somewhere. He shrugged his
 
 xviii A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 243 
 
 shoulders. And what a job it must be, too, the 
 writing of a book ! He had never realised it before. 
 A real book, then, meant putting one's heart into 
 sentences, telling one's inmost secrets, confessing 
 one's own ideals with fire and lust and passion. That 
 was the difference perhaps between literature and 
 mere facile invention. His cousin had never dared 
 do this before ; shyness prevented ; his intellect 
 wove pretty patterns that had no heat of life in them. 
 But now he had discovered a big idea, true as the 
 sun, and able, like the sun, to warm thousands of 
 readers, all ready for it without knowing it. . . . 
 
 Rogers sat on thinking in the bright spring sun- 
 shine, smoking one cigarette after another. For the 
 idea his cousin had wumbled over so fubsily had 
 touched his heart, and for a long time he was puzzled 
 to find the reason. But at length he found it. In 
 that startling phrase ' a childless woman ' lay the 
 clue. A childless woman was like a vessel with a 
 cargo of exquisite flowers that could never make a 
 port. Sweetening every wind, she yet never comes 
 to land. No harbour welcomes her. She sails end- 
 less seas, charged with her freight of undelivered 
 beauty ; the waves devour her glory, her pain, her 
 lovely secret all unconfessed. To bring such a 
 woman into port, even imaginatively in a story, or 
 subconsciously in an inner life, was fulfilment of a 
 big, fine, wholesome yearning, sacred in a way, too. 
 
 ' By George ! ' he said aloud. He felt strange, 
 great life pour through him. He had made a 
 discovery ... in his heart . . . deep, deep down. 
 
 Something in himself, so long buried it was 
 scarcely recognisable, stirred out of sight and tried to 
 rise. Some flower of his youth that time had 
 hardened, dried, yet never killed, moved gently
 
 244 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND chap. 
 
 towards blossoming. It shone. It was still hard a 
 little, like a crystal, glistening down there among 
 shadows that had gathered with the years. And 
 then it suddenly melted, running in a tiny thread of 
 gold among his thoughts into that quiet sea which so 
 rarely in a man may dare the relief of tears. It was 
 a tiny yellow flower, like a daisy that had forgotten 
 to close at night, so that some stray starbeam changed 
 its whiteness into gold. 
 
 Forgotten passion, and yearning long denied, 
 stirred in him with that phrase. His cousin's chil- 
 dren doubtless had prepared the way. A faded 
 Dream peered softly into his eyes across the barriers 
 of the years. For every woman in the world was a 
 mother, and a childless woman was the grandest, 
 biggest mother of them all. And he had longed for 
 children of his own ; he, too, had remained a child- 
 less father. A vanished face gazed up into his own. 
 Two vessels, making the same fair harbour, had lost 
 their way, yet still sailed, perhaps, the empty seas. 
 Yet the face he did not quite recognise. The eyes, 
 instead of blue, were amber. . . . 
 
 And did this explain a little the spell that caught 
 him in this Jura village, perhaps ? Were these 
 children, weaving a network so cunningly about his 
 feet, merely scouts and pilots ? Was his love for the 
 world of suffering folk, after all, but his love for a 
 wife and children of his own transmuted into wider 
 channels ? Denied the little garden he once had 
 planned for it, did it seek to turn the whole big 
 world into a garden ? Suppression was impossible ; 
 like murder, it must out. A bit of it had even 
 flamed a passage into work and patents and ' City ' life. 
 For love is life, and life is ever and everywhere one. 
 He thought and thought and thought. A man
 
 xviii A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 245 
 
 begins by loving himself; then, losing himself, he 
 loves a woman ; next, that love spreads itself over a 
 still bigger field, and he loves his family, his wife and 
 children, and their families again in turn. But, that 
 expression denied, his love inevitably, irrepressibly 
 seeking an outlet, finds it in a Cause, a Race, a 
 Nation, perhaps in the entire world. The world 
 becomes his * neighbour.' It was a great Fairy 
 Story. . . . 
 
 Again his thoughts returned to that one singular 
 sentence . . . and he realised what his cousin 
 meant. Only a childless Mother, some woman 
 charged to the brim with this power of loving to 
 which ordinary expression had been denied, could fill 
 the vacant role in his great Children's Play. No 
 man could do it. He and his cousin were mere 
 c supers ' on this stage. His cousin would invent her 
 for his story. He would make her come. His 
 passion would create her. That was what he meant. 
 
 Rogers smiled to himself, moving away from the 
 window where the sunshine grew too fierce for 
 comfort. What a funny business it all was, to be 
 sure ! And how curiously every one's thinking had 
 intermingled ! The children had somehow divined 
 his own imaginings in that Crayfield garden ; their 
 father had stolen the lot for his story. It was most 
 extraordinary. And then he remembered Minks, 
 and all his lunatic theories about thought and 
 thought-pictures. The garden scene at Crayfield 
 came back vividly, the one at Charing Cross, in the 
 orchard, too, with the old Vicar, when they had 
 talked beneath the stars. Who among them all was 
 the original sponsor ? And which of them had set 
 the ball a-rolling ? It was stranger than the story 
 of creation. ... It was the story of creation.
 
 246 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND chap. 
 
 Yet he did not puzzle very long. Actors 
 in a play are never puzzled ; it is the bewildered 
 audience who ask questions. And Henry Rogers 
 was on the stage. The gauzy curtain hung 
 between him and the outside point of view. He 
 was already deeply involved in Fairyland. . . . 
 His feet were in the Net of Stars. . . . He was 
 a prisoner. 
 
 And that woman he had once dreamed might 
 mother his own children — where was she ? Until a 
 few years ago he had still expected, hoped to meet 
 her. One day they would come together. She 
 waited somewhere. It was only recently he had let 
 the dream slip finally from him, abandoned with 
 many another personal ambition. 
 
 Idly he picked up a pencil, and before he was 
 aware of it the words ran into lines. It seemed as 
 though his cousin's mood, thought, inspiration, worked 
 through him. 
 
 Upon what flowering shore, 
 'Neath what blue skies 
 She stands and waits, 
 It is not mine to know ; 
 Only I know that shore is fair, 
 Those skies are blue. 
 
 Her voice I may not hear, 
 
 Nor see her eyes, 
 
 Yet there are times 
 
 When in the wind she speaks 
 
 When stars and flowers 
 
 Tell me of her eyes. 
 
 When rivers chant her name. 
 
 If ever signs were sure, 
 
 I know she waits ; 
 
 If not, what means this sweetness in the wind, 
 
 The singing in the rain, the love in flowers ?
 
 sviii A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 247 
 
 What mean these whispers in the air, 
 This calling from the hills and from the sea ? 
 These tendernesses of the Day and Night? 
 Unless she waits ! 
 
 What in the world was this absurd sweetness 
 running in his veins ? 
 
 He laughed a little. A slight flush, too, came 
 and went its way. The tip of the pencil snapped as 
 he pressed too heavily on it. He had drawn it 
 through the doggerel with impatience, for he suddenly 
 realised that he had told a deep, deep secret to the 
 paper. It had stammered its way out before he was 
 aware of it. This was youth and boyhood strong 
 upon him, the moods of Crayfield that he had set 
 long ago on one side — deliberately. The mood that 
 wrote the Song of the Blue Eyes had returned, waking 
 after a sleep of a quarter of a century. 
 
 ' What rubbish ! ' he exclaimed ; ' I shall be an 
 author next ! ' He tore it up and, rolling the pieces 
 into a ball, played catch with it. ' What waste of 
 energy ! Six months ago that energy would have 
 gone into something useful, a patent — perhaps an 
 improvement in the mechanism of — of — ' he hesi- 
 tated, then finished the sentence with a sigh of 
 yearning and another passing flush — *a peram- 
 bulator ! ' 
 
 He tossed it out of the window and, laughing, 
 leaned out to watch it fall. It bounced upon a head 
 of tousled hair beneath, then flew off sideways in 
 the wind and rattled away faintly among the vines. 
 The head was his cousin's. 
 
 1 What are you up to ? ' cried the author, looking 
 up. * I'm not a waste-paper basket.' There was a 
 cigarette ash in his beard. 
 
 ' Sending you ideas, he answered. ' I'm coming
 
 248 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND CH . xvm 
 
 myself now. Look out ! ' He was in high spirits 
 again. He believed in that Fairy Princess. 
 
 ' All right ; I've put you in already. Everybody 
 will wonder who Cousinenry is. . . .' The untidy 
 head of hair popped in again. 
 
 ' Hark ! ' cried Rogers, trying to look round the 
 corner of the house. He edged himself out at a 
 dangerous angle. His ears had caught another sound. 
 There was music in the air.
 
 CHAPTER XIX 
 
 The sweet spring winds came laughing down the 
 street, bearing a voice that mingled with their music. 
 
 1 Daddy ! Daddy ! vite ; il y a un paquet ! ' 
 sounded in a child's excited cry. ' It arrives this 
 afternoon. It's got the Edinburgh postmark. Here 
 is the notice, Cest inorme ! ' 
 
 The figure of Jimbo shot round the corner, dancing 
 into view. He waved a bit of yellow paper in his 
 hand. A curious pang tore its way into the big 
 man's heart as he saw him — a curious, deep, searching 
 pain that yet left joy all along its trail. Positively 
 moisture dimmed his eyes a second. 
 
 But Jimbo belonged to some one else. 
 
 Daddy's wumbled head projected instantly again 
 from the window beneath. 
 
 ' A box ? ' he asked, equally excited. * A box 
 from Scotland? Why, we had one only last month. 
 Bless their hearts ! How little they know what help 
 and happiness. . . .' The rest of the sentence dis- 
 appeared with the head ; and a moment later Jimbo 
 was heard scampering up the stairs. Both men went 
 out to meet him. 
 
 The little boy was breathless with excitement, yet 
 the spirit of the man of affairs worked strongly in 
 him. He deliberately suppressed hysterics. He spoke 
 calmly as might be, both hands in his trouser-pockets 
 
 249
 
 250 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND chap. 
 
 beneath the blouse of blue cotton that stuck out like 
 a ballet skirt all round. The belt had slipped down. 
 His eyes were never still. He pulled one hand out, 
 holding the crumpled paper up for inspection. 
 
 ' It's a paquet] he said, ' comme fa.' He used 
 French and English mixed, putting the latter in for 
 his cousin's benefit. He had little considerate ways 
 like that. It's coming from Scotland, et puis fa pese 
 soixante-quinze kilos. Oh, it's big. It's enormous. 
 The last one weighed,' he hesitated, forgetful, ' much, 
 much less,' he finished. He paused, looking like a 
 man who has solved a problem by stating it. 
 
 ' One hundred and fifty pounds,' exclaimed his 
 father, just as eager as the boy. ' Let me look,' and 
 he held his hand out for the advice from the railway. 
 ' What can be in it ? ' 
 
 'Something for everybody,' said Jimbo decidedly. 
 ' All the village knows it. It will come by the two 
 o'clock train from Bale, you know.' He gave up 
 the paper unwillingly. It was his badge of office. 
 { That's the paper about it,' he added again. 
 
 Daddy read out slowly the advice of consignment, 
 with dates and weights and address of sender and 
 recipient, while Jimbo corrected the least mistake. 
 He knew it absolutely by heart. 
 
 ' There'll be dresses and boots for the girls this 
 time,' he announced, 'and something big enough for 
 Mother to wear, too. You can tell ' 
 
 ' How can you tell ? ' asked Daddy, laughing 
 slyly, immensely pleased about it all. 
 
 ' Oh, by the weight of the paquet, comme fa' 
 was the reply. It weighs 75 kilos. That means 
 there must be something for Mummy in it.' 
 
 The author turned towards his cousin, hiding his 
 smile. c It's a box of clothes,' he explained, ' from
 
 xix A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 251 
 
 my cousins in Scotland, Lady X you know, and 
 her family. Things they give away — usually to their 
 maids and what-not. Awfully good of them, isn't it ? 
 They pay the carriage too,' he added. It was an 
 immense relief to him. 
 
 'Things they can't wear,' put in Jimbo, ' but very 
 good things — suits, blouses, shirts, collars, boots, 
 gloves, and — oh, toute sorte de choses comme ca? 
 
 ' Isn't it nice of 'em,' repeated Daddy. It made 
 life easier for him — ever so much easier. ' A family 
 like that has such heaps of things. And they always 
 pay the freight. It saves me a pretty penny I can 
 tell you. Why, I haven't bought the girls a dress 
 for two years or more. And Edward's dressed like 
 a lord, I tell you,' referring to his eldest boy now 
 at an expensive tutor's. ' You can understand the 
 excitement when a box arrives. We call it the Magic 
 Box.' 
 
 Rogers understood. It had puzzled him before 
 why the children's clothes, Daddy's and Mummy's 
 as well for that matter, were such an incongruous 
 assortment of village or peasant wear, and smart, 
 well-cut garments that bore so obviously the London 
 mark. 
 
 ' They're very rich indeed,' said Jimbo. ' They 
 have a motor car. These are the only things that 
 don't fit them. There's not much for me usually ; 
 I'm too little yet. But there's lots for the girls and 
 the others.' And ' the others,' it appeared, included 
 the Widow Jequier, the Postmaster and his wife, the 
 carpenter's family, and more than one household in 
 the village who knew the use and value of every 
 centimetre of ribbon. Even the retired governesses 
 got their share. No shred or patch was ever thrown 
 away as useless. The assortment of cast-off clothing
 
 252 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND chap. 
 
 furnished Sunday Bests to half the village for weeks 
 to come. A consignment of bullion could not have 
 given half the pleasure and delight that the arrival of 
 a box produced. 
 
 But midi was ringing, and dejeuner had to be 
 eaten first. Like a meal upon the stage, no one 
 ate sincerely ; they made a brave pretence, but the 
 excitement was too great for hunger. Every one 
 was in the secret — the Postmaster (he might get 
 another hat out of it for himself) had let it out 
 with a characteristic phrase : ' II y a un paquet pour 
 la famille anglaise ! ' Yet all feigned ignorance. The 
 children exchanged mysterious glances, and after- 
 wards the governesses hung about the Post Office, 
 simulating the purchase of stamps at two o'clock. 
 But every one watched Daddy's movements, for he it 
 was who would say the significant words. 
 
 And at length he said them. ' Now, we had 
 better go down to the station,' he observed casually, 
 ' and see if there is anything for us.' His tone 
 conveyed the impression that things often arrived in 
 this way ; it was an everyday affair. If there was 
 nothing, it didn't matter much. His position 
 demanded calmness. 
 
 ' Very well,' said Jimbo. ' I'll come with you.' 
 He strutted off, leading the way. 
 
 ' And I, and I,' cried Monkey and Jane Anne, 
 for it was a half-holiday and all were free. Jimbo 
 would not have appeared to hurry for a kingdom. 
 
 ' I think I'll join you, too,' remarked Mother, 
 biting her lips, ' only please go slowly.' There were 
 hills to negotiate. 
 
 They went off together in a party, and the gover- 
 nesses watched them go. The Widow Jequier put 
 her head out of the window, pretending she was
 
 xix A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 253 
 
 feeding the birds. Her sister popped out oppor- 
 tunely to post a letter. The Postmaster opened his 
 guichet window and threw a bit of string into the 
 gutter ; and old Miss Waghorn, just then appearing 
 for her daily fifteen minutes' constitutional, saw the 
 procession and asked him, ' Who in the world all 
 those people were ? ' She had completely forgotten 
 them. ' Le barometre a monte,' he replied, knowing 
 no word of English, and thinking it was her usual 
 question about the weather. He reported daily the 
 state of the barometer. ' Vous n'aurez pas besoin 
 d'un parapluie.' ' Mercy,' she said, meaning merci. 
 
 The train arrived, and with it came the box. 
 They brought it up themselves upon the little hand- 
 cart — le char. It might have weighed a ton and 
 contained priceless jewels, the way they tugged and 
 pushed, and the care they lavished on it. Mother 
 puffed behind, hoping there would be something to 
 fit Jimbo this time. 
 
 ' Shall we rest a moment?' came at intervals on 
 the hill, till at last Monkey said, 'Sit on the top, 
 Mummy, and we'll pull you too.' And during the 
 rests they examined the exterior, smelt it, tapped 
 it, tried to see between the cracks, and ventured 
 endless and confused conjectures as to its probable 
 contents. 
 
 They dragged the hand-cart over the cobbles of 
 the courtyard, and heaved the box up the long stone 
 staircase. It was planted at length on the floor 
 beside the bed of Mile. Lemaire, that she might 
 witness the scene from her prison windows. Daddy 
 had the greatest difficulty in keeping order, for 
 tempers grow short when excitement is too long 
 protracted. The furniture was moved about to 
 make room. Orders flew about like grape-shot.
 
 254 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND chap. 
 
 Everybody got in everybody else's way. But finally 
 the unwieldy packing-case was in position, and a 
 silence fell upon the company. 
 
 ' My gum, we've put it upside down,' said Daddy, 
 red in the face with his exertions. It was the merest 
 chance that there was no wisp of straw yet in his 
 beard. 
 
 ' Then the clothes will all be inside out,' cried 
 Monkey, ' and we shall have to stand on our heads.' 
 
 ' You silly,' Jane Anne rebuked her, yet half 
 believing it was true, while Jimbo, holding hammer 
 and chisel ready, looked unutterable contempt. ' Can't 
 you be serious for a moment ?' said his staring blue 
 eyes. 
 
 The giant chest was laboriously turned over, the 
 two men straining every muscle in the attempt. 
 Then, after a moment's close inspection again to 
 make quite sure, Daddy spoke gravely. Goodness, 
 how calm he was ! 
 
 ' Jimbo, boy, pass me the hammer and the chisel, 
 will you ? ' 
 
 In breathless silence the lid was slowly forced open 
 and the splintered pieces gingerly removed. Sheets 
 of dirty brown paper and bundles of odorous sacking 
 came into view. 
 
 * Perhaps that's all there is,' suggested Jinny. 
 
 < Ugh ! What a whiff ! ' said Monkey. 
 
 ' Fold them up carefully and put them in a corner,' 
 ordered Mother. Jane Anne religiously obeyed. Oh 
 dear, how slow she was about it ! 
 
 Then everybody came up very close, heads bent 
 over, hands began to stretch and poke. You heard 
 breathing — nothing more. 
 
 ' Now, wait your turn,' commanded Mother in a 
 dreadful voice, 'and let your Father try on every-
 
 x,x A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 255 
 
 thing first.' And a roar of laughter made the room 
 echo while Daddy extracted wonder after wonder that 
 were packed in endless layers one upon another. 
 
 Perhaps what would have struck an observer most 
 of all would have been the strange seriousness against 
 which the comedy was set. The laughter was in- 
 cessant, but it was a weighty matter for all that. 
 The bed -ridden woman, who was sole audience, 
 understood that ; the parents understood it too. 
 Every article of clothing that could be worn meant 
 a saving, and the economy of a franc was of real 
 importance. The struggles of la famille anglais e to 
 clothe and feed and educate themselves were no light 
 affair. The eldest boy, now studying for the con- 
 sular service, absorbed a third of their entire income. 
 The sacrifices involved for his sake affected each one 
 in countless ways. And for two years now these 
 magic boxes had supplied all his suits and shirts and 
 boots. The Scotch cousins luckily included a boy of 
 his own size who had extravagant taste in clothes. 
 A box sometimes held as many as four excellent 
 suits. Daddy contented himself with one a year — 
 ordered ready - made from the place they called 
 * Chasbakerinhighholborn.' Mother's clothes were 
 1 wropp in mystery ' ever. No one ever discovered 
 where they came from or how she made them. She 
 did. It seemed always the same black dress and velvet 
 blouse. 
 
 Gravity and laughter, therefore, mingled in Daddy's 
 face as he drew out one paper parcel after another, 
 opened it, tried the article on himself, and handed it 
 next to be tried on similarly by every one in turn. 
 
 And the first extraction from the magic box was 
 a curious looking thing that no one recognised. 
 Daddy unfolded it and placed it solemnly on his
 
 256 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND chap. 
 
 head. He longed for things for himself, but rarely 
 found them. He tried on everything, hoping it 
 might 'just do,' but in the end yielded it with pleasure 
 to the others. He rarely got more than a pair of 
 gloves or a couple of neckties for himself. The 
 coveted suits just missed his size. 
 
 Grave as a judge he balanced the erection on his 
 head. It made a towering heap. Every one was 
 puzzled. * It's a motor cap,' ventured some one at 
 length in a moment of intuition. 
 
 ' It's several ! ' cried Monkey. She snatched the 
 bundle and handed it to Mother. There were four 
 motor caps, neatly packed together. Mother put on 
 each in turn. They were in shades of grey. They 
 became her well. 
 
 ' You look like a duchess,' said Daddy proudly. 
 ' You'd better keep them all.' 
 
 ' 1 think perhaps they'll do,' she said, moving to 
 the glass, ' if no one else can wear them.' She 
 flushed a little and looked self-conscious. 
 
 1 They want long pins,' suggested Jinny. ' They'll 
 keep the rain off too, like an umbrella.' She laughed 
 and clapped her hands. Mother pinned one on and 
 left it there for the remainder of the afternoon. The 
 unpacking of the case continued. 
 
 The next discovery was gloves. The lid of the 
 box looked like a counter in a glove shop. There 
 were gloves of leather and chamois, gauntlets, 
 driving-gloves, and gloves of suede, yellow, brown, 
 and grey. All had been used a little, but all were 
 good. 'They'll wash,' said Jane Anne. They 
 were set aside in a little heap apart. No one 
 coveted them. It was not worth while. In the 
 forests of Bourcelles gloves were at a discount, and 
 driving a pleasure yet unknown. Jinny, however
 
 xix A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 257 
 
 a little later put on a pair of ladies' suede that 
 caught her fancy, and wore them faithfully to the 
 end of the performance, just to keep her mother's 
 motor cap in countenance. 
 
 The main contents of the box were as yet un- 
 broached, however, and when next an overcoat 
 appeared, with velvet collar and smart, turned-up 
 cuffs, Daddy beamed like a boy and was into it 
 before any one could prevent. He went behind a 
 screen. The coat obviously did not fit him, but he 
 tugged and pulled and wriggled his shoulders with 
 an air of ' things that won't fit must be made to fit.' 
 
 1 You'll bust the seams ! You'll split the buttons ! 
 See what's in the pockets ! ' cried several voices, 
 while he shifted to and fro like a man about to 
 fight. 
 
 1 It may stretch,' he said hopefully. « I think 1 
 can use it. It's just what I want.' He glanced up 
 at his wife whose face, however, was relentless. 
 
 ' Maybe,' replied the practical mother, ' but it's 
 more Edward's build, perhaps.' He looked fearfully 
 disappointed, but kept it on. Edward got the best 
 of every box. He went on with the unpacking, 
 giving the coat sly twitches from time to time, as 
 he pulled out blouses, skirts, belts, queer female 
 garments, boots, soft felt hats — the green Horn burg 
 he put on at once, as who should dare to take it 
 from him — black and brown Trilbys, shooting-caps, 
 gaiters, flannel shirts, pyjamas, and heaven knows 
 what else besides. 
 
 The excitement was prodigious, and the floor 
 looked like a bargain sale. Everybody talked at 
 once ; there was no more pretence of keeping order 
 Mile. Lemaire lay propped against her pillows, 
 watching the scene with feelings between tears and 
 
 s
 
 258 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND chap 
 
 laughter. Each member of the family tried on 
 everything in turn, but yielded the treasures instantly 
 at a word from Mother — ' That will do for so and 
 so ; this will fit Monkey ; Jimbo, you take this,' 
 and so on. 
 
 The door into the adjoining bedroom was for ever 
 opening and shutting, as the children disappeared 
 with armfuls and reappeared five minutes later, 
 marvellously apparelled. There was no attempt at 
 sorting yet. Blouses and flannel trousers lay upon 
 the floor with boots and motor veils. Every one had 
 something, and the pile set aside for Edward grew 
 apace. Only Jimbo was disconsolate. He was too 
 small for everything ; even the ladies' boots were 
 too narrow and too pointed for his little feet. From 
 time to time he rummaged with the hammer and 
 chisel (still held very tightly) among the mass of 
 paper at the bottom. But, as usual, there was 
 nothing but gaudy neckties that he could use. And 
 these he did not care about. He said no word, but 
 stood there watching the others and trying to laugh, 
 only keeping the tears back with the greatest 
 difficulty. 
 
 From his position in the background Rogers 
 took it all in. He moved up and slipped a ten- 
 franc piece into the boy's hand. { Secretaries don't 
 wear clothes like this,' he whispered. ' We'll go 
 into town to-morrow and get the sort of thing you 
 want.' 
 
 Jimbo looked up and stared. He stood on tip- 
 toe to kiss him. ' Oh, thank you so much,' he said, 
 fearful lest the others should see ; and tucked the 
 coin away into a pocket underneath his cotton blouse. 
 A moment later he came back from the corner 
 where he had hid himself to examine it ' But,
 
 xix A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 259 
 
 Cousin Henry,' he whispered, utterly astonished, ' it's 
 gold.' He had thought the coin was a ten-centime 
 piece such as Daddy sometimes gave him. He could 
 not believe it. He had never seen gold before. He 
 ran up and told his parents. His sisters were too 
 excited to be told just then. After that he vanished 
 into the passage without being noticed, and when he 
 returned five minutes later his eyes were suspiciously 
 red. But no one heard him say a word about 
 getting nothing out of the box. He stood aside, 
 with a superior manner and looked quietly on. ' It's 
 very nice for the girls,' his expression said. His 
 interest in the box had grown decidedly less. He 
 could buy an entire shop for himself now. 
 
 * Mother, Daddy, everybody,' cried an excited 
 voice, ' will you look at me a minute, please ! It 
 all fits me perfectly,' and Jinny emerged from the 
 bedroom door. She had been trying on. A rough 
 brown dress of Harris tweed became her well ; she 
 wore a motor veil about her head, and another was 
 tied round her neck ; a white silk blouse, at least 
 one size too large for her, bulged voluminously 
 from beneath the neat tweed jacket. She wore her 
 suede gloves still. ' And there's an outside pocket 
 in the skirt, you see.' She pulled it up and showed 
 a very pointed pair of brown boots ; they were much 
 too long ; they looked ridiculous after her square 
 village boots. ' I can waggle my toes in them,' she 
 explained, strutting to and fro to be admired. ' I'm 
 a fashionable monster now ! ' 
 
 But she only held the centre of the stage a 
 minute, for Monkey entered at her heels, bursting 
 with delight in a long green macintosh thrown over 
 another tweed skirt that hid her feet and even 
 trailed behind. A pair of yellow spats were visible
 
 2 6o A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND chap. 
 
 sometimes that spread fan-shaped over her boots and 
 climbed half-way up the fat legs. 
 
 ' It all fits me exaccurately,' was her opinion. 
 The sisters went arm in arm about the room, dancing 
 and laughing. 
 
 ' We're busy blackmailers,' cried Jinny, using her 
 latest acquisition which she practised on all possible 
 occasions. ' We're in Piccadilly, going to see the 
 Queen for tea.' 
 
 They tripped over Monkey's train and one of 
 the spats came off in the struggle for recovery. 
 Daddy, in his Homburg hat, looked round and told 
 them sternly to make less noise. Behind a screen he 
 was getting surreptitiously into a suit that Mother 
 had put aside for Edward. He tried on several in 
 this way, hopeful to the last. 
 
 ' I think this will fit me all right,' he said 
 presently, emerging with a grave expression on his 
 puckered face. He seemed uncertain about it. He 
 was solemn as a judge. ' You could alter the 
 buttons here and there, you know,' and he looked 
 anxiously at his wife. The coat ran up behind, the 
 waistcoat creased badly owing to the strain, and the 
 trousers were as tight as those of a cavalry officer. 
 Anywhere, and any moment, he might burst out 
 into unexpected revelation. ' A little alteration,' 
 he suggested hopefully, ' and it would be all right — 
 don't you think ? ' And then he added ' perhaps.' 
 
 He turned and showed himself. Even the roar 
 of laughter that greeted his appearance did not quite 
 convince him. He looked like a fat, impoverished 
 bookmaker. 
 
 ' I think it will fit Edward better,' said Mother 
 again without pity, for she did not like to see her 
 husband look foolish before the children. He dis-
 
 xix A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 261 
 
 appeared hehind the screen, but repeated the 
 performance with two other suits. ' This striped 
 one seems a little looser,' he said ; or, ' If you'd let 
 out the trousers at the bottom, I think they would 
 do.' But in the end all he got from the box was 
 two pairs of pink silk pyjamas, the Homburg hat, 
 several pairs of gloves, spats, and gaiters, and half 
 a dozen neckties that no one else would wear. He 
 made his heap carefully in the corner of the room, 
 and later, when the mess was all cleared up and 
 everybody went off with their respective treasures, 
 he entirely forgot them in his pleasure and admira- 
 tion of the others. He left them lying in the 
 corner. Riquette slept on them that night, and 
 next morning Jimbo brought them over for him to 
 the carpenter's house. And Edward later magna- 
 nimously yielded up two flannel shirts because he 
 had so many left over from the previous box. Also 
 a pair of pumps. 
 
 ' I've not done so badly after all,' was his final 
 matured opinion. ' Poor mother ! She got nothing 
 but motor caps.' Jimbo, however, had made a final 
 discovery of value for himself — of some value, at 
 least. When the empty case was overturned as a 
 last hope, he rummaged among the paper with his 
 hammer and chisel, and found four pairs of golf 
 stockings ! The legs fitted him admirably, but the 
 feet were much too big. There was some discussion 
 as to whether they had belonged to a very thin- 
 legged boy with big feet or to a girl who had no 
 calves. Luckily, the former was decided upon, for 
 otherwise they would have given no pleasure to 
 Jimbo. Even as it was, he adopted them chiefly 
 because it pleased his parents. Mother cut off the 
 feet and knitted new ones a little smaller. But there
 
 262 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND ch. xix 
 
 was no mystery about those stockings. No special 
 joy went with them. He had watched Mother 
 knitting too often for that ; she could make stockings 
 half asleep. 
 
 Two hours later, while Jane Ann and Mother 
 prepared the tea in the Den, Daddy, Jimbo, and 
 Cousin Henry went in a procession to the carpenter's 
 house carrying the piles of clothing in their arms to 
 the astonishment of half the village. They were 
 to be re-sorted there in privacy by the ' men,' where 
 the ' children ' could not interfere. The things they 
 could not use were distributed later among the 
 governesses ; the Pension and the village also, got 
 their share. And the Postmaster got his hat — a 
 black Trilby. He loved its hue. 
 
 And for days afterwards the children hoarded 
 their treasures with unholy joy. What delighted 
 them as much as anything, perhaps, were the 
 coronets upon the pyjamas and the shirts. They 
 thought it was a London or Edinburgh laundry 
 mark. But Jimbo told them otherwise : ' It means 
 that Daddy's Cousin is a Lord-and-Waiting, and goes 
 to see the King.' This explanation was generally 
 accepted. 
 
 The relief to the parents, however, as they sat up 
 in the Den that night and discussed how much this 
 opportune Magic Box had saved them, may be better 
 imagined than described. The sum ran into many, 
 many francs. Edward had suits now for at least 
 two years. ' He's stopped growing,' said his 
 mother ; ' thank goodness,' said his father. 
 
 And to the long list he prayed for twice a day 
 Jimbo added of his accord, ' Ceux qui ont envoye la 
 grosse caisse.'
 
 CHAPTER XX 
 
 Break up the heavens, O Lord ! and far. 
 
 Thro' all yon starlight keen, 
 Draw me, thy bride, a glittering star, 
 
 In raiment white and clean. 
 
 He lifts me to the golden door3 ; 
 
 The flashes come and go ; 
 All heaven bursts her starry floors, 
 
 And strews her lights below. 
 
 St. Agnes' Eve, Tennyson. 
 
 Miss Waghorn, of late, had been unusually trying, 
 and especially full of complaints. Her poor old 
 memory seemed broken beyond repair. She offered 
 Madame Jequier her weekly payment twice within 
 ten minutes, and was quite snappy about it when 
 the widow declined the second tender. 
 
 { But you had the receipt in your hand wizin ten 
 minutes ago, Mees Wag'orn. You took it upstairs. 
 The ink can hardly be now already yet dry.' 
 
 But nothing would satisfy her that she had paid 
 until they went up to her room together and found 
 it after much searching between her Bible and her 
 eternal novel on the writing-table. 
 
 ' Forgive me, Madame, but you do forget some- 
 times, don't you ? ' she declared with amusing 
 audacity. { I like to make quite sure — especially 
 where money is concerned.' On entering the room 
 she had entirely forgotten why they came there. 
 She began complaining, instead, about the bed, which 
 
 263
 
 264 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND chap. 
 
 had not yet been made. A standing source of 
 grumbling, this ; for the old lady would come 
 down to breakfast many a morning, and then go 
 up again before she had it, thinking it was already 
 late in the day. She worried the pensionnalres to 
 death, too. It was their duty to keep the salon 
 tidy, and Miss Waghorn would flutter into the room 
 as early as eight o'clock, find the furniture still un- 
 arranged, and at once dart out again to scold the 
 girls. These interviews were amusing before they 
 became monotonous, for the old lady's French was 
 little more than ' nong pas ' attached to an infinitive 
 verb, and the girls' Swiss-German explanations of 
 the alleged neglect of duty only confused her. 
 ' Nong pas faire la chambre,' she would say, stamp- 
 ing her foot with vexation. ' You haven't done 
 the room, though it's nearly dejooner time ! ' Or 
 else — ' Ten minutes ago it was tidy. Look at it 
 now ! ' while she dragged them in and forced them 
 to put things straight, until some one in authority 
 came and explained gently her mistake. ' Oh, excuse 
 me, Madame,' she would say then, 'but they do forget 
 so often.' Every one was very patient with her as 
 a rule. 
 
 And of late she had been peculiarly meddlesome, 
 putting chairs straight, moving vases, altering the 
 lie of table-cloths and the angle of sofas, opening 
 windows because it was ' so stuffy,' and closing them 
 a minute later with complaints about the draught, 
 forcing occupants of arm-chairs to get up because 
 the carpet was caught, fiddling with pictures because 
 they were crooked either with floor or ceiling, and 
 never realising that in the old house these latter 
 were nowhere parallel. But her chief occupation 
 was to prevent the children crossing their legs when
 
 XX 
 
 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 26 c 
 
 they sat down, or pulling their dresses lower, with 
 a whispered, ' You must not cross your legs like that ; 
 it isn't ladylike, dear.' 
 
 She had been very exasperating and interfering. 
 Tempers had grown short. Twice running she 
 had complained about the dreadful noise the pen- 
 sionnaires made at seven o'clock in the morn- 
 ing. ' Nong pas creer comme 9a ! ' she called, 
 running down the passage in her dressing-gown and 
 bursting angrily into their rooms without knocking 
 — to find them empty. The girls had left the day 
 before. 
 
 But to-day (the morning after the Star Cave 
 adventure) the old lady was calmer, almost soothed, 
 and at supper she was composed and gentle. 
 Sleep, for some reason, had marvellously refreshed 
 her. Attacks that opened as usual about Cornish 
 Cream or a Man with a long Beard, she repelled 
 easily and quietly. ' I've told you that story 
 before, my dear ; I know I have.' It seemed her 
 mind and memory were more orderly somehow. 
 And the Widow Jequier explained how sweet and 
 good-natured she had been all day — better than for 
 years. ' When I took her drops upstairs at eleven 
 o'clock I found her tidying her room ; she was 
 sorting her bills and papers. She read me a letter 
 she had written to her nephew to come out and 
 take her home — well written and quite coherent. 
 I've not known her mind so clear for months. 
 Her memory, too. She said she had slept so well. 
 If only it would last, hilas ! ' 
 
 ' There are days like that,' she added presently, 
 ' days when everything goes right and easily. One 
 wakes up happy in the morning and sees only the 
 bright side of things. Hope is active, and one has
 
 266 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND chap. 
 
 new courage somehow.' She spoke with feeling, 
 her face was brighter, clearer, her mind less anxious. 
 She had planned a visit to the Bank Manager about 
 the mortgages. It had come as an inspiration. It 
 might be fruitless, but she was hopeful, and so 
 knew a little peace. ' I wonder why it is,' she 
 added, ' and what brings these changes into the heart 
 so suddenly.' 
 
 c Good sleep and sound digestion,' Mrs. Campden 
 thought. She expressed her views deliberately like 
 this in order to counteract any growth of fantasy in 
 the children. 
 
 * But it is strange,' her husband said, remembering 
 his new story ; ' it may be much deeper than that. 
 While the body sleeps the spirit may get into touch 
 
 with helpful forces ' His French failed him. 
 
 He wumbled painfully. 
 
 * Thought-forces possibly from braver minds,' put 
 in Rogers. * Who knows ? Sleep and dreaming 
 have never really been explained.' He recalled a 
 theory of Minks. 
 
 1 1 dream a great deal,' Miss Waghorn observed, 
 eager to take part. ' It's delightful, dreaming — if 
 only one could remember ! ' She looked round the 
 table with challenge in her eager old eyes. But 
 no one took her up. It involved such endless 
 repetition of well-known stories. The Postmaster 
 might have said a word — he looked prepared — 
 but, not understanding English, he went on with 
 his salad instead. 
 
 1 Life is a dream,' observed Monkey, while Jinny 
 seemed uncertain whether she should laugh or take 
 it seriously. 
 
 The Widow Jequier overheard her. There was 
 little she did not overhear
 
 xx A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 267 
 
 ' Coquine ! ' she said, then quoted with a senti- 
 mental sigh : — 
 
 La vie est breve, 
 Un peu d'amour. 
 Un peu de r£ve 
 Et puis — bonjour ! 
 
 She hung her head sideways a moment for effect. 
 There was a pause all down the long table. 
 
 * I'm sure dreams have significance,' she went on. 
 ' There's more in dreaming than one thinks. They 
 come as warnings or encouragement. All the saints 
 had dreams. I always pay attention to mine.' 
 
 • Madame, / dream a great deal,' repeated Miss 
 Waghorn, anxious not to be left out of a conversa- 
 tion in which she understood at least the key-word 
 reve ; ' a very great deal, I may say.' 
 
 Several looked up, ready to tell nightmares of 
 their own at the least sign of encouragement. The 
 Postmaster faced the table, laying down his knife 
 and fork. He took a deep breath. This time he 
 meant to have his say. But his deliberation always 
 lost him openings. 
 
 ' / don't,' exclaimed Jinny, bluntly, five minutes 
 behind the others. ' When I'm in bed, I sleep.' 
 The statement brought laughter that confused her 
 a little. She loved to define her position. She had 
 defined it. And the Postmaster had lost his chance. 
 Mile. Sandoz, a governess who was invited to supper 
 as payment for a music lesson given to his boy, seized 
 the opening. 
 
 ' Last night I dreamed that a bull chased me. 
 Now what did that mean, I wonder ? ' 
 
 ' That there was no danger since it was only a 
 dream ! ' said the Postmaster sharply, vexed that he 
 had not told his own.
 
 268 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND chap 
 
 But no one applauded, for it was the fashion 
 to ignore his observations, unless they had to do 
 with stamps and weights of letters, parcels, and 
 the like. A clatter of voices rose, as others, 
 taking courage, decided to tell experiences of 
 their own ; but it was the Postmaster's wife in 
 the hall who won. She had her meals outside with 
 the kitchenmaid and her niece, who helped in the 
 Post Office, and she always tried to take part in the 
 conversation from a distance thus. She plunged into 
 a wordy description of a lengthy dream that had to 
 do with clouds, three ravens, and a mysterious face. 
 All listened, most of them in mere politeness, for as 
 cook she was a very important personage who could 
 furnish special dishes on occasion — but her sister 
 listened as to an oracle. She nodded her head and 
 made approving gestures, and said, * Aha, you see,' 
 or ' Ah, voila ! ' as though that helped to prove the 
 importance of the dream, if not its actual truth. 
 And the sister came to the doorway so that no one 
 could escape. She stood there in her apron, her face 
 hot and flushed still from the kitchen. 
 
 At length it came to an end, and she looked round 
 her, hoping for a little sympathetic admiration, or at 
 least for expressions of wonder and interest. All 
 waited for some one else to speak. Into the pause 
 came her husband's voice, ' Je n'ai pas de sel.' 
 
 There was no resentment. It was an everyday 
 experience. The spell was broken instantly. The 
 cook retired to her table and told the dream all 
 over again with emphatic additions to her young 
 companions. The Postmaster got his salt and con- 
 tinued eating busily as though dreams were only fit 
 for women and children to talk about. And the 
 English group began whispering excitedly of their
 
 xx A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 269 
 
 Magic Box and all it had contained. They were 
 tired of dreams and dreaming. 
 
 Tante Jeanne made a brave effort to bring the 
 conversation back to the key of sentiment and 
 mystery she loved, but it was not a success. 
 
 ' At any rate I'm certain one's mood on going to 
 bed decides the kind of dream that comes,' she said 
 into the air. c The last thought before going to sleep 
 is very important. It influences the adventures of 
 the soul when it leaves the body every night.' 
 
 For this was a tenet of her faith, although she 
 always forgot to act upon it. Only Miss Waghorn 
 continued the train of ideas this started, with a 
 coherence that surprised even herself. Somehow 
 the jabber about dreams, though in a language that 
 only enabled her to catch its general drift, had 
 interested her uncommonly. She seemed on the 
 verge of remembering something. She had listened 
 with patience, a look of peace upon her anxious old 
 face that was noticed even by Jane Anne. ' It 
 smoothed her out,' was her verdict afterwards, given 
 only to herself though. ' Everything is a sort of long 
 unfinished dream to her, I suppose, at that age.' 
 
 While the famille anglaise renewed noisily their 
 excitement of the Magic Box, and while the talk in 
 the hall went on and on, re-hashing the details of the 
 cook's marvellous experience, and assuming entirely 
 new proportions, Miss Waghorn glanced about her 
 seeking whom she might devour — and her eye caught 
 Henry Rogers, listening as usual in silence. 
 
 ' Ah,' she said to him, ' but / look forward to 
 sleep. I might say I long for it.' She sighed very 
 audibly. It was both a sigh for release and a faint 
 remembrance that last night her sleep had been 
 somehow deep and happy, strangely comforting.
 
 270 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND chap, 
 
 ' It is welcome sometimes, isn't it ? ' he answered, 
 always polite and rather gentle with her. 
 
 ' Sleep unravels, yes,' she said, vaguely as to 
 context, yet with a querulous intensity. It was as if 
 she caught at the enthusiasm of a connected thought 
 somewhere. ' I might even say it unties,' she added, 
 encouraged by his nod, ' unties knots — if you follow 
 me.' 
 
 ' It does, Miss Waghorn. Indeed, it does.' Was 
 this a precursor of the Brother with the Beard, he 
 wondered ? * Untied knots ' would inevitably start 
 her off. He made up his mind to listen to the tale 
 with interest for the twentieth time if it came. But 
 it didn't come. 
 
 * I am very old and lonely, and / need the best,' 
 she went on happily, half saying it to herself. 
 
 Instantly he took her up — without surprise too. 
 It was like a dream. 
 
 ' Quite so. The rest, the common stuff ' 
 
 ' Is good enough ' she chimed in quickly — 
 
 * For Fraulein, or for baby, or for mother,' he 
 laughed. 
 
 'Or any other,' chuckled Miss Waghorn. 
 1 Who needs a bit of sleep ' 
 
 * But yet can do without it ' she carried it on. 
 
 Then both together, after a second's pause — 
 
 * If they must ' and burst out laughing. 
 
 Goodness, how did she know the rhyme ? Was 
 
 it everywhere ? Was thought running loose like 
 wireless messages to be picked up by all who were 
 in tune for acceptance ? 
 
 ' Well, I never ! ' he heard her exclaim, ' if that's 
 not a nursery rhyme of my childhood that I've not 
 heard for sixty years and more ! I declare,' she 
 added with innocent effrontery, ' I've not heard it
 
 xx A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 271 
 
 since I was ten years old. And I was born in '37 — 
 the year ' 
 
 1 Just fancy ! ' he tried to stop her. 
 
 ' Queen Victoria came to the throne.' 
 
 ' Strange,' he said more to himself than to any 
 one else. She did not contradict him. 
 
 ' You or me ? ' asked Monkey, who overheard. 
 
 1 All of us,' he answered. ' We all think the 
 same things. It's a dream, I believe ; the whole 
 thing is a dream.' 
 
 ' It's a fact though,' said Miss Waghorn with 
 decision, ' and now I must go and write my letters, 
 and then finish a bit of lace I'm doing. You will 
 excuse me ? ' She rose, made a little bow, and left 
 the table. 
 
 Mother watched her go. * What has come over 
 the old lady ? ' she thought. ' She seems to be 
 getting back her mind and memory too. How 
 very odd ! ' 
 
 In the afternoon Henry Rogers had been into 
 Neuchatel. It seemed he had some business there 
 of a rather private nature. He was very mysterious 
 about it, evading several offers to accompany him, and 
 after supper he retired early to his own room in the 
 carpenter's house. And, since he now was the prin- 
 cipal attraction, a sort of magnet that drew the train 
 of younger folk into his neighbourhood, the Pension 
 emptied, and the English family, deprived of their 
 leader, went over to the Den. 
 
 1 Partir a l'anglaise,' laughed the Widow Jequier, 
 as she saw them file away downstairs ; and then she 
 sighed. Some day, when the children were older 
 and needed a different education, they would all go 
 finally. Down these very stairs they would go into
 
 272 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND chap 
 
 the street. She loved them for themselves, but, also, 
 the English family was a permanent source of income 
 to her, and the chief. They stayed on in the winter, 
 when boarders were few and yet living expenses 
 doubled. She sighed, and fluttered into her tiny 
 room to take her finery off", finery that had once 
 been worn in Scotland and had reached her by way 
 of Cook and la petite Vitesse in the Magic Box. 
 
 And presently she fluttered out again and sum- 
 moned her sister. The Postmaster had gone to 
 bed ; the kitchen girl was washing up the last dishes ; 
 Miss Waghorn would hardly come down again. The 
 salon was deserted. 
 
 ' Come, Anita,' she cried, yet with a hush of 
 excitement in her voice, ' we will have an evening 
 of it. Bring the soucoupe with you, while I prepare 
 the little table.' In her greasy kitchen apron Anita 
 came. Zizi, her boy, came with her. Madame 
 Jequier, with her flowing garment that was tea-gown, 
 garden-dress, and dressing-gown all in one, looked 
 really like a witch, her dark hair all askew and her 
 eyes shining with mysterious anticipation. * We'll 
 ask the spirits for help and guidance,' she said to 
 herself, lest the boy should overhear. For Zizi often 
 helped them with their amateur planchette, only they 
 told him it was electricity : le magnetisme, le fluide, 
 was the term they generally made use of. Its vague- 
 ness covered all possible explanations with just the 
 needed touch of confusion and suggestion in it. 
 
 They settled down in a corner of the room, where 
 the ivy from the ceiling nearly touched their heads. 
 The small round table was produced ; the saucer, 
 with an arrow pencilled on its edge, was carefully 
 placed upon the big sheet of paper which bore the 
 letters of the alphabet and the words out and non in
 
 xx A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 273 
 
 the corners. The light behind them was half veiled 
 by ivy ; the rest of the old room lay in comparative 
 darkness ; through the half- opened door a lamp 
 shone upon the oil-cloth in the hall, showing the 
 stains and the worn, streaked patches where the boards 
 peeped through. The house was very still. 
 
 They began with a little prayer — to ceux qui 
 icoutent, — and then each of them placed a finger on 
 the rim of the upturned saucer, waiting in silence. 
 They were a study in darkness, those three pointing 
 fingers. 
 
 ' Zizi, tu as beaucoup de fluide ce soir, oui ? ' 
 whispered the widow after a considerable interval. 
 
 ' Oh, comme d'habitude,' he shrugged his shoul- 
 ders. He loved these mysterious experiments, but 
 he never claimed much fluide until the saucer moved, 
 jealous of losing his reputation as a storehouse of 
 this strange, human electricity. 
 
 Yet behind this solemn ritual, that opened with 
 prayer and invariably concluded with hope renewed 
 and courage strengthened, ran the tragic element that 
 no degree of comedy could kill. In the hearts of 
 the two old women, ever fighting their uphill battle 
 with adversity, burned the essence of big faith, the 
 faith that plays with mountains. Hidden behind the 
 curtain, an indulgent onlooker might have smiled, 
 but tears would have wet his eyes before the smile 
 could have broadened into laughter. Tante Jeanne, 
 indeed, had heard that the subconscious mind was 
 held to account for the apparent intelligence that 
 occasionally betrayed itself in the laboriously spelled 
 replies ; she even made use of the word from time 
 to time to baffle Zizi's too importunate inquiries. 
 But after le subconscient she always tacked on fluide, 
 magnetisme^ or electriciti, lest he should be frightened, 
 
 T
 
 274 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND chap. 
 
 or she should lose her way. And of course she held to 
 her belief that spirits produced the phenomena. A 
 subconscious mind was a cold and comfortless idea. 
 
 And, as usual, the saucer told them exactly what 
 they had desired to know, suggested ways and means 
 that hid already in the mind of one or other, yet in 
 stammered sentences that included just enough sur- 
 prise or turn of phrase to confirm their faith and 
 save their self-respect. It was their form of prayer, 
 and with whole hearts they prayed. Moreover, they 
 acted on what was told them. Had they discovered 
 that it was merely the content of their subconscious 
 mind revealing thus its little hopes and fears, they 
 would have lost their chief support in life. God and 
 religion would have suffered a damaging eclipse. 
 Big scaffolding in their lives would have collapsed. 
 
 Doubtless, Tante Jeanne did not knowingly push 
 the saucer, neither did the weighty index finger of 
 the concentrated cook deliberately exert muscular 
 pressure. Nor, similarly, was Zizi aware that the 
 weight of his entire hand helped to urge the dirty 
 saucer across the slippery surface of the paper in 
 whatever direction his elders thus indicated. But 
 one and all knew ' subconsciously ' the exact situa- 
 tion of consonants and vowels — that out lay in 
 the right-hand corner and non in the left. And 
 neither Zizi nor his mother dared hint to their leader 
 not to push, because she herself monopolised that 
 phrase, saying repeatedly to them both, ' mais il ne 
 faut -pas pousser ! Legerement avec les doigts, tou- 
 jours tres legerement ! Sans 9a il n'y a pas de 
 valeur, tu comprends ! ' Zizi inserted an occasional 
 electrical question. It was discreetly ignored always. 
 
 They asked about the Bank payments, the mort- 
 gages, the future of their much-loved old house,
 
 xx A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 275 
 
 and of themselves ; and the answers, so vague con- 
 cerning any detailed things to come, were very 
 positive indeed about the Bank. They were to go 
 and interview the Manager three days from now. 
 They had already meant to go, only the date was 
 undecided ; the corroboration of the spirits was 
 required to confirm it. This settled it. Three days 
 from to-night ! 
 
 c Tu vois ! ' whispered Tante Jeanne, glancing 
 mysteriously across the table at her sister. ' Three 
 days from now ! That explains your dream about 
 the three birds. Aha, tu vois ! ' She leaned back, 
 supremely satisfied. And the sister gravely bowed 
 her head, while Zizi looked up and listened intently, 
 without comprehension. He felt a little alarm, per- 
 haps, to-night. 
 
 For this night there was indeed something new 
 in the worn old ritual. There was a strange, un- 
 calculated element in it all, unexpected, and fearfully 
 thrilling to all three. Zizi for the first time had his 
 doubts about its being merely electricity. 
 
 ' C'est d'une puissance extraordinaire,' was the 
 widow's whispered, eager verdict. 
 
 * C'est que j'ai enormement de fluide ce soir,' 
 declared Zizi, with pride and confidence, yet mysti- 
 fied. The other two exchanged frequent glances of 
 surprise, of wonder, of keen expectancy and anticipa- 
 tion. There was certainly a new ' influence ' at work 
 to-night. They even felt a touch of faint dread. 
 The widow, her ruling passion strong even before 
 the altar, looked down anxiously once or twice at 
 her disreputable attire. It was vivid as that — this 
 acute sense of another presence that pervaded the 
 room, not merely hung about the little table. She 
 could be ' invisible ' to the Pension by the magic of
 
 276 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND chap. 
 
 old-established habit, but she could not be so to the 
 true Invisibles. And they saw her in this unbecom- 
 ing costume. She forgot, too, the need of keeping 
 Zizi in the dark. He must know some day. What 
 did it matter when ? 
 
 She tidied back her wandering hair with her free 
 hand, and drew the faded garment more closely 
 round her neck. 
 
 * Are you cold ? ' asked her sister with a hush in 
 her voice ; ' you feel the cold air — all of a sudden ? * 
 
 ' I do, mamanl Tazi answered. ' It's blowing 
 like a wind across my hand. What is it ? ' He 
 was shivering. He looked over his shoulder 
 nervously. 
 
 There was a heavy step in the hall, and a figure 
 darkened the doorway. All three gave a start. 
 
 ' J'ai sommeil,' announced the deep voice of the 
 Postmaster. This meant that the boy must come 
 to bed. It was the sepulchral tone that made them 
 jump perhaps. Zizi got up without a murmur ; he 
 was glad to go, really. He slept in the room with 
 his parents. His father, an overcoat thrown over 
 his night things, led him away without another 
 word. And the two women resumed their seance. 
 The saucer moved more easily and swiftly now that 
 Zizi had gone. ' C'est done toi qui as le fluide,' 
 each said to the other. 
 
 But in the excitement caused by this queer, new 
 element in the proceedings, the familiar old routine 
 was forgotten. Napoleon and Marie Antoinette 
 were brushed aside to make room for this important 
 personage who suddenly descended upon the saucer 
 from an unknown star with the statement — it took 
 half an hour to spell — 'Je viens d'une etoile tres 
 eloignee qui n'a pas encore de nom.'
 
 xx A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 277 
 
 'There is a starry light in the room. It was 
 above your head just now,' whispered the widow, 
 enormously excited. ' I saw it plainly.' She was 
 trembling. 
 
 * That explains the clouds in my dream,' was the 
 tense reply, as they both peered round them into the 
 shadows with a touch of awe. ' Now, give all your 
 attention. This has an importance, but, you know, 
 
 an importance ' She could not get the degree 
 
 of importance into any words. She looked it instead, 
 leaving the sentence eloquently incomplete. 
 
 For, certainly, into the quaint ritual of these two 
 honest, troubled old women there crept then a hint 
 of something that was uncommon and uplifting. 
 That it came through themselves is as sure as that it 
 spelt out detailed phrases of encouragement and 
 guidance with regard to their coming visit to the 
 Bank. That they both were carried away by it into 
 joy and the happiness of sincere relief of mind is 
 equally a fact. That their receptive mood attuned 
 them to overhear subconsciously messages of thought 
 that flashed across the night from another mind in 
 sympathy with their troubles — a mind hard at work 
 that very moment in the carpenter's house — was not 
 known to them ; nor would it have brought the 
 least explanatory comfort even if they had been 
 told of it. They picked up these starry telegrams 
 of unselfish thinking that flamed towards them 
 through the midnight sky from an eager mind else- 
 where busily making plans for their benefit. And, 
 reaching them subconsciously, their deep subcon- 
 sciousness urged the dirty saucer to the spelling of 
 them, word by word and letter by letter. The 
 flavour of their own interpretation, of course, crept 
 in to mar, and sometimes to obliterate. The instru-
 
 278 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND CH . xx 
 
 ments were gravely imperfect. But the messages 
 came through. And with them came the great 
 feeling that the Christian calls answered prayer. 
 They had such absolute faith. They had belief. 
 
 ' Go to the Bank. Help awaits you there. And 
 I shall go with you to direct and guide.' This was 
 the gist of that message from c une etoile tres eloignee.' 
 
 They copied it out in violet ink with a pen that 
 scratched like the point of a pin. And when they 
 stole upstairs to bed, long after midnight, there was 
 great joy and certainty in their fighting old hearts. 
 There was a perfume of flowers, of lilacs and wistaria 
 in the air, as if the whole garden had slipped in by 
 the back door and was unable to find its way out 
 again. They dreamed of stars and starlight.
 
 CHAPTER XXI 
 
 La vie est un combat qu'ils ont change en fete. 
 
 Les Elus, E. Verhaeren. 
 
 The excitement a few days later spread through 
 the village like a flame. People came out of their 
 way to steal a glance at the Pension that now, for 
 the first time in their memory, was free of debt. 
 Gygi, tolling the bell at midi> forgot to stop, as he 
 peered through the narrow window in the church 
 tower and watched the Widow Jequier planting and 
 digging recklessly in her garden. Several came run- 
 ning down the street, thinking it was a warning of fire. 
 But the secret was well kept ; no one discovered 
 who had worked the miracle. Pride sealed the lips 
 of the beneficiaries themselves, while the inhabitants 
 of the Citadelle, who alone shared the knowledge, 
 kept the facts secret, as in honour bound. Every one 
 wondered, however, for every one knew the sum ran 
 into several thousand francs ; and a thousand francs 
 was a fortune ; the rich man in the corner house, 
 who owned so many vineyards, and was reputed to 
 enjoy an income of ten thousand francs a year, was 
 always referred to as ' le millionnaire.' And so the 
 story spread that Madame Jequier had inherited a 
 fortune, none knew whence. The tradespeople 
 treated her thereafter with a degree of respect that 
 sweetened her days till the end of life. 
 
 279
 
 28o A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 
 
 CHAP. 
 
 She had come back from the Bank in a fainting 
 condition, the sudden joy too much for her alto- 
 gether. A remote and inaccessible air pervaded her, 
 for all the red of her inflamed eyes and tears. She 
 was aloof from the world, freed at last from the 
 ceaseless, gnawing anxiety that for years had eaten 
 her life out. The spirits had justified themselves, 
 and faith and worship had their just reward. But 
 this was only the first, immediate effect : it left her 
 greater than it found her, this unexpected, huge 
 relief — brimming with new sympathy for others. 
 She doubled her gifts. She planned a wonderful 
 nQW garden. That very night she ordered such a 
 quantity of bulbs and seedlings that to this day they 
 never have been planted. 
 
 Her interview with Henry Rogers, when she called 
 at the carpenter's house in all her finery, cannot pro- 
 perly be told, for it lay beyond his powers of descrip- 
 tion. Her sister accompanied her ; the Postmaster, 
 too, snatched fifteen minutes from his duties to attend. 
 The ancient tall hat, worn only at funerals as a rule, 
 was replaced by the black Trilby that had been his 
 portion from the Magic Box, as he followed the 
 excited ladies at a reasonable distance. ' You had 
 better show yourself,' his wife suggested ; * Monsieur 
 Rogairs would like to see you with us — to know 
 that you are there.' Which meant that he was 
 not to interfere with the actual thanksgiving, but 
 to countenance the occasion with his solemn presence. 
 And, indeed, he did not go upstairs. He paced 
 the road beneath the windows during the interview, 
 looking exactly like a professional mourner waiting 
 for the arrival of the hearse. 
 
 ' My dear old friend — friends, I mean,' said Rogers 
 in his fluent and very dreadful French, ' if you only
 
 xxi A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 281 
 
 knew what a pleasure it is to me — It is / who should 
 thank you for giving me the opportunity, not you 
 who should thank me.' The sentence broke loose 
 utterly, wandering among intricacies of grammar and 
 subjunctive moods that took his breath away as he 
 poured it out. ' I was only afraid you would think 
 it unwarrantable interference. I am delighted that 
 you let me do it. It's such a little thing to do.' 
 
 Both ladies instantly wept. The Widow came 
 closer with a little rush. Whether Rogers was 
 actually embraced, or no, it is not stated officially. 
 
 ' It is a loan, of course, it is a loan,' cried the Widow. 
 
 * It is a present,' he said firmly, loathing the scene. 
 ' It's a part repayment for all the kindness you showed 
 me here as a boy years and years ago.' Then, re- 
 membering that the sister was not known to him in 
 those far-away days, he added clumsily, ' and since — I 
 came back. . . . And now let's say no more, but just 
 keep the little secret to ourselves. It is nobody's 
 business but our own.' 
 
 ' A present ! ' gasped both ladies to one another, 
 utterly overcome ; and finding nothing else to em- 
 brace, they flung their arms about each other's necks 
 and praised the Lord and wept more copiously than 
 ever. . . . * Grand ciel ' was heard so frequently, and 
 so loudly, that Madame Michaud, the carpenter's 
 wife, listening on the stairs, made up her mind it 
 was a quarrel, and wondered if she ought to knock 
 at the door and interfere. 
 
 'I see your husband in the road,' said Rogers, 
 tapping at the window. ' I think he seems waiting 
 for you. Or perhaps he has a telegram for me, do 
 you think? ' He bowed and waved his hand, smiling 
 as the Postmaster looked up in answer to the tapping 
 and gravely raised his Trilby hat.
 
 282 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND chap. 
 
 ' There now, he's calling for you. Do not keep 
 
 him waiting — I'm sure ' he didn't know what to 
 
 say or how else to get them out. He opened the 
 door. The farewells took some time, though they 
 would meet an hour later at dejeuner as usual. 
 
 ' At least you shall pay us no more pension? was 
 the final sentence as they flounced downstairs, so 
 happy and excited that they nearly tumbled over 
 each other, and sharing one handkerchief to dry 
 their tears. 
 
 ' Then I shall buy my own food and cook it here,' 
 he laughed, and somehow managed to close his door 
 upon the retreating storm. Out of the window he 
 saw the procession go back, the sombre figure of the 
 Postmaster twenty yards behind the other two. 
 
 And then, with joy in his heart, though a sigh of 
 relief upon his lips — there may have been traces of a 
 lump somewhere in his throat as well, but if so, he 
 did not acknowledge it — he turned to his letters, and 
 found among them a communication from Herbert 
 Montmorency Minks, announcing that he had found 
 an ideal site, and that it cost so and so much per acre 
 — also that the County Council had made no diffi- 
 culties. There was a hint, moreover — a general 
 flavour of resentment and neglect at his master's 
 prolonged absence — that it would not be a bad thing 
 for the great Scheme if Mr. Rogers could see his way 
 to return to London ' before very long.' 
 
 ' Bother the fellow !' thought he ; * what a nuisance 
 he is, to be sure ! ' 
 
 And he answered him at once. ' Do not trouble 
 about a site just yet,' he wrote ; * there is no hurry 
 for the moment.' He made a rapid calculation in his 
 head. He had paid those mortgages out of capital, 
 and the sum represented just about the cost of the
 
 xxi A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 283 
 
 site Minks mentioned. But results were immediate. 
 There was no loss, no waste in fees and permits and 
 taxes. Each penny did its work. 
 
 ' There's the site gone, anyhow,' he laughed to 
 himself. ' The foundation will go next, then the walls. 
 But, at any rate, they needed it. The Commune 
 Charity would have had 'em at the end of the month. 
 They're my neighbours after all. And I must find 
 out from them who else in the village needs a leg up. 
 For these people are worth helping, and I can see 
 exactly where every penny goes.' 
 
 Bit by bit, as it would seem, the great Scheme for 
 Disabled Thingumagigs was being undermined.
 
 CHAPTER XXII 
 
 And those who were good shall be happy 
 
 They shall sit in a golden chair ; 
 They shall splash at a ten-league canvas 
 
 With brushes of comets' hair. 
 They shall have real saints to paint from — 
 
 Magdalene, Peter, and Paul ; 
 They shall work for an age at a sitting 
 
 And never get tired at all. 
 
 And only the Master shall praise them, 
 
 And only the Master shall blame ; 
 And no one shall work for money, 
 
 And no one shall work for fame j 
 But each for the joy of the working, 
 
 And each in his separate star, 
 Shall draw the thing as he sees it 
 
 For the God of things as they are. 
 
 R. Kipling- 
 
 And meanwhile, as May ran laughing to meet June, 
 an air of coloured wonder spread itself about the 
 entire village. Rogers had brought it with him from 
 that old Kentish garden somehow. His journey there 
 had opened doors into a region of imagination and 
 belief whence fairyland poured back upon his inner 
 world, transfiguring common things. And this 
 transfiguration he unwittingly put into others too. 
 Through this very ordinary man swept powers that 
 usually are left behind with childhood. The child- 
 hood aspect of the world invaded all who came 
 in contact with him, enormous, radiant, sparkling, 
 charged with questions of wonder and enchantment. 
 
 284
 
 cH.xxir A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 285 
 
 And every one felt it according to their ability of 
 reconstruction. Yet he himself had not the least 
 idea that he did it all. It was a reformation, very 
 tender, soft, and true. 
 
 For wonder, of course, is the basis of all inquiry. 
 Interpretation varies, facts remain the same ; and to 
 interpret is to recreate. Wonder leads to worship. 
 It insists upon recreation, prerogative of all young 
 life. The Starlight Express ran regularly every night, 
 Jimbo having constructed a perfect time-table that 
 answered all requirements, and was sufficiently elastic 
 to fit instantly any scale that time and space de- 
 manded. Rogers and the children talked of little else, 
 and their adventures in the daytime seemed curiously 
 fed by details of information gleaned elsewhere. 
 
 But where ? The details welled up in one and 
 all, though whence they came remained a mystery. 
 ' I believe we dream a lot of it,' said Jimbo. l It's a 
 lot of dreams we have at night, comme fa.' He had 
 made a complete map of railway lines, with stations 
 everywhere, in forests, sky, and mountains. He 
 carried stations in his pocket, and just dropped one 
 out of the carriage window whenever a passenger 
 shouted, 'Let's stop here.' But Monkey, more 
 intellectual, declared it was ' all Cousinenry's inven- 
 tion and make-up,' although she asked more questions 
 than all the others put together. Jinny, her sister, 
 stared and listened with her puzzled, moth -like 
 expression, while Mother watched and marvelled 
 cautiously from a distance. In one and all, however, 
 the famished sense of wonder interpreted life anew. 
 It named the world afresh — the world of common 
 things. It subdued the earth unto itself. What a 
 mind creates it understands. Through the familiar 
 these adventurers trace lines of discovery into the
 
 286 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND chap. 
 
 unfamiliar. They understood. They were up to 
 their waists in wonder. There was still disorder, of 
 course, in their great reconstruction, but that was 
 where the exciting fun came in ; for disorder involves 
 surprise. Any moment out might pop the unex- 
 pected — event or person. 
 
 Cousin Henry was easily leader now. While 
 Daddy remained absorbed with his marvellous new 
 story, enthusiastic and invisible, they ran about the 
 world at the heels of this ' busy engineer,' as Jane 
 Ann entitled him. He had long ago told them, 
 with infinite and exaccurate detail, of his journey to 
 the garden and his rediscovery of the sprites, for- 
 gotten during his twenty years of business life. And 
 these sprites were as familiar to them now as those of 
 their own childhood. They little knew that at night 
 they met and talked with them. Daddy had put 
 them all into the Wumble Book, achieving mediocre 
 success with the rhymes, but amply atoning with the 
 illustrations. The Woman of the Haystack was 
 evidently a monster pure and simple, till Jinny 
 announced that she merely had ' elephantitis,' and 
 thus explained her satisfactorily. The Lamplighter, 
 with shining feet, taking enormous strides from 
 Neuchatel to a London slum, putting fire into eyes 
 and hearts en route, thrilled them by his radiant 
 speed and ubiquitous activity, while his doggerel left 
 them coldly questioning. For the rhymes did not 
 commend themselves to their sense of what was 
 proper in the use of words. His natural history 
 left them unconvinced, though the anatomy of the 
 drawing fascinated them. 
 
 He walked upon his toes 
 As softly as a saying does, 
 For so the saying goes.
 
 xxii A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 287 
 
 That he ' walked upon his toes ' was all right, but 
 that he ' walked softly as a saying ' meant nothing, 
 even when explained that ' thus the saying goes.' 
 
 ' Poor old Daddy,' was Jinny's judgment ; ' he's 
 got to write something. You see, he is an author. 
 Some day he'll get his testimonial.' 
 
 It was Cousin Henry who led them with a surer, 
 truer touch. He always had an adventure up his 
 sleeve — something their imaginations could accept 
 and recreate. Each in their own way, they supplied 
 interpretations as they were able. 
 
 Every walk they took together furnished the 
 germ of an adventure. 
 
 'But I'm not exciting to-day,' he would object 
 thirsting for a convincing compliment that should 
 persuade him to take them out. Only the compli- 
 ment never came quite as he hoped. 
 
 ' Everybody's exciting somewhere,' said Monkey, 
 leading the way and knowing he would follow. 
 ' We'll go to the Wind Wood.' 
 
 Jimbo took his hand then, and they went. 
 Corners of the forest had names now, born of stories 
 and adventures he had placed there — the Wind 
 Wood, the Cuckoo Wood, where Daddy could not 
 sleep because ' the beastly cuckoo made such a 
 noise ' ; the Wood where Mother Fell, and so on. 
 No walk was wholly unproductive. 
 
 And so, one evening after supper, they escaped 
 by the garden, crossed the field where the standing 
 hay came to their waists, and climbed by forest paths 
 towards the Wind Wood. It was a spot where 
 giant pines stood thinly, allowing a view across the 
 lake towards the Alps. The moss was thick and 
 deep. Great boulders, covered with lichen, lay 
 about, and there were fallen trees to rest the back
 
 288 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 
 
 CHAP. 
 
 against. Here he had told them once his vision of 
 seeing the wind, and the name had stuck ; for the 
 story had been very vivid, and every time they felt 
 the wind or heard it stirring in the tree-tops, they 
 expected to see it too. There were blue winds, 
 black winds, and winds — violent these — of purple 
 and flaming scarlet. 
 
 They lay down, and Cousinenry made a fire. 
 The smoke went up in thin straight lines of blue, 
 melting into the sky. The sun had set half an hour 
 before, and the flush of gold and pink was fading 
 into twilight. The glamour of Bourcelles dropped 
 down upon all three. They ought to have been in 
 bed — hence the particular enjoyment. 
 
 * Are you getting excited now ? ' asked Monkey, 
 nestling in against him. 
 
 ' Hush ! ' he said, ' can't you hear it coming ? ' 
 
 1 The excitement ? ' she inquired under her breath. 
 
 ' No, the Night. Keep soft and silent — if you can.' 
 
 ' Tell us, please, at once,' both children begged 
 him instantly, for the beauty of the place and hour 
 demanded explanation, and explanation, of course, 
 must be in story or adventure form. The fire 
 crackled faintly ; the smell crept out like incense ; 
 the lines of smoke coiled upwards, and seemed to 
 draw the tree-stems with them. Indeed they formed 
 a pattern together, big thick trunks marking the 
 uprights at the corners, and wavy smoke lines weav- 
 ing a delicate structure in between them. It was a 
 kind of growing, moving scaffolding. Saying nothing, 
 Cousin Henry pointed to it with his finger. He 
 traced its general pattern for them in the air. 
 
 ' That's the Scaffolding of the Night beginning,' he 
 whispered presently, feeling adventure press upon him. 
 
 ' Oh, I say,' said Jimbo, sitting up, and pretend-
 
 xxn A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 289 
 
 ing as usual more comprehension than he actually 
 possessed. But his sister instantly asked, ' What is 
 it — the Scaffolding of the Night ? A sort of 
 cathedral, you mean ? ' 
 
 How she divined his thought, and snatched it 
 from his mind always, this nimble-witted child ! His 
 germ developed with a bound at once. 
 
 ' More a palace than a cathedral,' he whispered. 
 4 Night is a palace, and has to be built afresh each 
 time. Twilight rears the scaffolding first, then 
 hangs the Night upon it. Otherwise the darkness 
 would simply fall in lumps, and lie about in pools 
 and blocks, unfinished — a ruin instead of a buildinp - . 
 Everything must have a scaffolding first. Look 
 how beautifully it's coming now,' he added, pointing, 
 ' each shadow in its place, and all the lines of grey 
 and black fitting exaccurately together like a skeleton. 
 Have you never noticed it before ? ' 
 
 Jimbo, of course, had noticed it, his manner gave 
 them to understand, but had not thought it worth 
 while mentioning until his leader drew attention 
 to it. 
 
 ' Just as trains must have rails to run on,' he 
 explained across Cousinenry's intervening body to 
 Monkey, ' or else there'd be accidents and things all 
 the time.' 
 
 * And night would be a horrid darkness like a 
 plague in Egypt,' she supposed, adroitly defending 
 herself and helping her cousin at the same time. 
 ' Wouldn't it ? ' she added, as the shadows drew 
 magically nearer from the forest and made the fire 
 gradually grow brighter. The children snuggled 
 closer to their cousin's comforting bulk, shivering a 
 little. The woods went whispering together. Night 
 shook her velvet skirts out. 
 
 u
 
 290 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND chap. 
 
 ' Yes, everything has its pattern,' he answered, 
 ' from the skeleton of a child or a universe to the 
 outline of a thought. Even a dream must have its 
 scaffolding,' he added, feeling their shudder and 
 leading it towards fun and beauty. ' Insects, birds, 
 and animals all make little scaffoldings with their 
 wee emotions, especially kittens and butterflies. 
 Engine-drivers too,' for he felt Jimbo's hand steal 
 into his own and go to sleep there, ' but particularly 
 little beasties that live in holes under stones and in 
 fields. 
 
 When a little mouse in wonder 
 Flicks its whiskers at the thunder, 
 
 it makes a tiny scaffolding behind which it hides in 
 safety, shuddering. Same with Daddy's stories. 
 Thinking and feeling does the trick. Then imagina- 
 tion comes and builds it up solidly with bricks and 
 wall-papers. . . .' 
 
 He told them a great deal more, but it cannot be 
 certain that they heard it all, for there were other 
 Excitements about besides their cousin — the fire, the 
 time, the place, and above all, this marvellous coming 
 of the darkness. They caught words here and 
 there, but Thought went its own independent way 
 with each little eager mind. He had started the 
 machinery going, that was all. Interpretation varied ; 
 facts remained the same. And meanwhile twilight 
 brought the Scaffolding of Night before their eyes. 
 
 1 You can see the lines already,' he murmured 
 sleepily, ' like veins against the sunset. . . . Look ! ' 
 
 All saw the shadowy slim rafters slip across the 
 paling sky, mapping its emptiness with intricate 
 design. Like an enormous spider's web of fine dark 
 silk it bulged before the wind. The trellis-work, 
 slung from the sky, hung loose. It moved slowly,
 
 xxii A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 291 
 
 steadily, from east to west, trailing grey sheets of 
 dusk that hung from every filament. The maze of 
 lines bewildered sight. In all directions shot the 
 threads of coming darkness, spun from the huge 
 body of Night that still hid invisible below the 
 horizon. 
 
 * They're fastening on to everything . . . look ! ' 
 whispered Cousin Henry, kicking up a shower of 
 sparks with his foot. ' The Pattern's being made 
 before your eyes ! Don't you see the guy ropes ? ' 
 
 And they saw it actually happen. From the 
 summits of the distant Alps ran filmy lines of ebony 
 that knotted themselves on to the crests of the pines 
 beside them. There were so many no eye could 
 follow them. They flew and darted everywhere, 
 dropping like needles from the sky itself, sewing the 
 tent of darkness on to the main supports, and 
 threading the starlight as they came. Night slowly 
 brought her beauty and her mystery upon the world. 
 The filmy pattern opened. There was a tautness 
 in the lines that made one feel they would twang 
 with delicate music if the wind swept its hand more 
 rapidly across them. And now and again all 
 vibrated, each line making an ellipse between its 
 fastened ends, then gradually settling back to its 
 thin, almost invisible bed. Cables of thick, elastic 
 darkness steadied them. 
 
 How much of it all the children realised them- 
 selves, or how much flashed into them from their 
 cousin's mind, is of course a thing not even a bat 
 can tell. 
 
 ' Is that why bats fly in such a muddle ? Like a 
 puzzle ? ' 
 
 ' Of course,' he said. The bats were at last 
 explained.
 
 292 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND chap. 
 
 They built their little pictures for themselves. 
 No living being can lie on the edge of a big pine 
 forest when twilight brings the darkness without the 
 feeling that everything becomes too wonderful for 
 words. The children as ever fed his fantasy, while 
 he thought he did it all himself. Dusk wore a 
 shroud to entangle the too eager stars, and make 
 them stay. 
 
 * I never noticed it before,' murmured Monkey 
 against his coat sleeve. ' Does it happen every night 
 like this ? ' 
 
 ' You only see it if you look very closely,' was 
 the low reply. ' You must think hard, very hard. 
 The more you think, the more you'll see.' 
 
 ' But really,' asked Jimbo, ' it's only — crepuscule, 
 comme fa, isn't it ? ' And his fingers tightened on 
 his leader's hand. 
 
 ' Dusk, yes,' answered Cousin Henry softly, ' only 
 dusk. But people everywhere are watching it like 
 ourselves, and thinking feather thoughts. You can 
 see the froth of stars flung up over the crest of 
 Night. People are watching it from windows and 
 fields and country roads everywhere, wondering 
 what makes it so beautiful. It brings yearnings and 
 long, long desires. Only a few like ourselves can 
 see the lines of scaffolding, but everybody who 
 thinks about it, and loves it, makes it more real for 
 others to see, too. Daddy's probably watching it too 
 from his window.' 
 
 ' I wonder if Jinny ever sees it,' Monkey asked 
 herself. 
 
 But Jimbo knew. ' She's in it,' he decided. 
 ' She's always in places like that ; that's where she 
 lives.' 
 
 The children went on talking to each other under
 
 scxii A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 293 
 
 their breath, and while they did so Cousin Henry 
 entered their little wondering minds. Or, perhaps, 
 they entered his. It is difficult to say. Not even 
 an owl, who is awfully wise about everything to do 
 with night and darkness, could have told for certain. 
 But, anyhow, they all three saw more or less the 
 same thing. The way they talked about it after- 
 wards proves that. Their minds apparently merged, 
 or else there was one big mirror and two minor side- 
 reflections of it. It was their cousin's interpretation, 
 at any rate, that they remembered later. They 
 brought the material for his fashioning. 
 
 ' Look ! ' cried Monkey, sitting up, ' there are 
 millions and millions now — lines everywhere — pillars 
 and squares and towers. It's like a city. I can see 
 lamps in every street ' 
 
 ' That's stars,' interrupted Jimbo. The stars 
 indeed were peeping here and there already. ' I 
 feel up there,' he added, ' my inside, I mean — up 
 among the stars and lines and sky-things.' 
 
 ' That's the mind wandering,' explained the eldest 
 child of the three. ' Always follow a wandering 
 mind. It's quite safe. Mine's going presently too. 
 We'll all go off together.' 
 
 Several little winds, released by darkness, passed 
 them just then on their way out of the forest. 
 They gathered half a dozen sparks from the fire to 
 light them on their way, and brought cool odours 
 with them from the deepest recesses of the trees — 
 perfumes no sunlight ever finds. And just behind 
 them came a big white moth, booming and whirring 
 softly. It darted to and fro to find the trail, then 
 vanished, so swiftly that no one saw it go. 
 
 ' He's pushing it along,' said Jimbo. 
 
 ' Or fastening the lines,' his sister thought, ' you
 
 294 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND chap. 
 
 see he hovers in one place, then darts over to 
 another.' 
 
 ' That's fastening the knots,' added Jimbo. 
 
 * No ; he's either an Inspector or a Pathfinder,' 
 whispered Cousin Henry, ' I don't know exactly 
 which. They show the way the scaffolding goes. 
 Moths, bats, and owls divide the work between 
 them somehow.' He sat up suddenly to listen, and 
 the children sat up with him. ' Hark ! ' he added, 
 ' do you hear that ? ' 
 
 Sighings and flutterings rose everywhere about 
 them, and overhead the fluffy spires of the tree-tops 
 all bent one way as the winds went foraging across 
 the night. Majestically the scaffolding reared up 
 and towered through the air, while sheets of dark- 
 ness hung from every line, and trailed across the 
 earth like gigantic sails from some invisible vessel. 
 Loose and enormous they gradually unfolded, then 
 suddenly swung free and dropped with a silent dip 
 and rush. Night swooped down upon the leagues 
 of Jura forest. She spread her tent across the entire 
 range. 
 
 The threads were fastened everywhere now, and 
 the uprights all in place. Mofhs were busy in all 
 directions, showing the way, while bats by the dozen 
 darted like black lightning from corner to corner, 
 making sure that every spar and beam was fixed 
 and steady. So exquisitely woven was the structure 
 that it moved past them overhead without the faintest 
 sound, yet so frail and so elastic that the whirring 
 of the moths sent ripples of quivering movement 
 through the entire framework. 
 
 'Hush!' murmured Rogers, 'we're properly in- 
 side it now. Don't think of anything in particular. 
 Just follow your wandering minds and wait ' The
 
 xxii A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 295 
 
 children lay very close against him. He felt their 
 warmth and the breathing of their little bosoms. 
 All three moved sympathetically within the rhythm 
 of the dusk. The ' inside ' of each went floating up 
 into the darkening sky. 
 
 The general plan of the scaffolding they clearly 
 made out as they passed among its myriad, mile-long 
 rafters, but the completed temple, of course, they 
 never saw. Black darkness hides that ever. Night's 
 secret mystery lies veiled finally in its innermost 
 chamber, whence it steals forth to enchant the mind 
 of men with its strange bewilderment. But the Twi- 
 light Scaffolding they saw clearly enough to make a 
 map of it. For Daddy afterwards drew it from their 
 description, and gave it an entire page in the Wumble 
 Book, Monkey ladling on the colour with her camel's- 
 hair brush as well as she could remember. 
 
 It was a page to take the breath away, the big 
 conception blundering clumsily behind the crude re- 
 construction. Great winds formed the base, winds 
 of brown and blue and purple, piled mountainously 
 upon each other in motionless coils, and so soft that 
 the upright columns of the structure plunged easily 
 and deeply into them. Thus the framework could 
 bend and curve and sway, moving with steady glide 
 across the landscape, yet never collapsing nor losing 
 its exquisite proportions. The forests shored it up, 
 its stays and bastions were the Jura precipices ; it 
 rested on the shoulders of the hills. From vineyard, 
 field, and lake vast droves of thick grey shadows 
 trooped in to curtain the lower halls of the colossal 
 edifice, as chamber after chamber disappeared from 
 view and Night clothed the structure from the 
 ground-floors upwards. And far overhead a million 
 tiny scarves, half sunset and half dusk, wove into
 
 296 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND chap. 
 
 little ropes that lashed the topmost spars together, 
 dovetailing them neatly, and fastening them at last 
 with whole clusters of bright thin stars. 
 
 ' Ohhhhh ! ' breathed Jimbo with a delicious shud- 
 der of giddiness. ' Let's climb to the very tip and 
 see all the trains and railwav stations in the world ! ' 
 
 ' Wait till the moon comes up and puts the silver 
 rivets in,' the leader whispered. ' It'll be safer then. 
 My weight, you know ' 
 
 ' There she is ! ' interrupted Monkey with a start, 
 ' and there's no such thing as weight ' 
 
 For the moon that instant came up, it seemed 
 with a rush, and the line of distant Alps moved for- 
 ward, blocked vividly against the silvery curtain that 
 she brought. Her sight ran instantly about the 
 world. Between the trees shot balls of yellowish 
 white, unfolding like ribbon as they rolled. They 
 splashed the rocks and put shining pools in the 
 hollows among the moss. Spangles shone on 
 Monkey's hair and eyes ; skins and faces all turned 
 faintly radiant. The lake, like a huge reflector, 
 flashed its light up into the heavens. The moon 
 laid a coating of her ancient and transfiguring paint 
 upon the enormous structure, festooning the entire 
 sky. * She's put the silver rivets in,' said Jimbo. 
 
 4 Now we can go,' whispered Rogers, ' only, re- 
 member, it's a giddy business, rather.' 
 
 All three went fluttering after it, floating, rising, 
 falling, like fish that explore a sunken vessel in their 
 own transparent medium. The elastic structure bore 
 them easily as it swung along. Its enormous rhythm 
 lulled their senses with a deep and drowsy peace, and 
 as they climbed from storey to storey it is doubtful if 
 the children caught their leader's words at all. There 
 were no echoes — the spaces were too vast for that —
 
 xxii A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 297 
 
 and they swung away from spar to spar, and from 
 rafter to rafter, as easily as acrobats on huge trapezes. 
 Jimbo and Monkey shot upwards into space. 
 
 ' I shall explore the lower storeys first,' he called 
 after them, his words fluttering in feathers of sound 
 far up the vault. ' Keep the fire in sight to guide 
 you home again . . .' and he moved slowly to- 
 wards the vast ground-floor chambers of the Night. 
 Each went his independent way along the paths of 
 reverie and dream. He found himself alone. 
 
 For he could not soar and float as they did ; 
 he kept closer to the earth, wandering through the 
 under chambers of the travelling building that swung 
 its way over vineyards, woods, and village roofs. 
 He kept more in touch with earth than they did. 
 The upper sections where the children climbed went 
 faster than those lower halls and galleries, so that the 
 entire framework bent over, breaking ever into a 
 crest of foaming stars. But in these under halls 
 where he stood and watched there was far less move- 
 ment. From century to century these remained the 
 same. Between the bases of the mighty columns he 
 watched the wave of darkness drown the world, lead- 
 ing it with a rush of silence towards sleep. For the 
 children Night meant play and mischief ; for himself 
 it meant graver reverie. . . . 
 
 These were the chambers, clearly, of ancestral 
 sleep and dream : they seemed so familiar and well 
 known. Behind him blinked the little friendly fire 
 in the forest, link with the outer world he must not 
 lose. He would find the children there when he 
 went back, lively from their scamper among the 
 stars ; and, meanwhile, he was quite content to 
 wander down these corridors in the floor of Night 
 and taste their deep repose. For years he had not
 
 2 9 8 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND chap. 
 
 visited or known them. The children had led him 
 back, although he did not realise it. He believed, 
 on the contrary, that it was he who led and they 
 who followed. For true leadership is ever inspired, 
 making each follower feel that he goes first and of 
 his own free will. . . . 
 
 ' Jimbo, you flickery sprite, where are you now ? ' 
 he called, suddenly noticing how faint the little fire 
 had grown with distance. 
 
 A lonely wind flew down upon him with a tiny 
 shout : 
 
 ' Up here, at the very top, with Daddy. He's 
 making notes in a tower-room all by himself ! ' 
 
 Rogers could not believe his ears. Daddy indeed ! 
 
 * Is Monkey with you ? And is she safe ? ' 
 
 ' She's helping Daddy balance. The walls aren't 
 finished, and he's on a fearful ledge. He's after 
 something or other for his story, he says.' 
 
 It seemed impossible. Daddy skylarking on the 
 roof of Night, and making notes ! Yet with a 
 moment's reflection the impossibility vanished ; sur- 
 prise went after it ; it became natural, right, and 
 true. Daddy, of course, sitting by his window in 
 the carpenter's house, had seen the Twilight Scaffold- 
 ing sweep past and had climbed into it. Its beauty 
 had rapt him out and away. In the darkness his 
 mind wandered, too, gathering notes subconsciously 
 for his wonderful new story. 
 
 ' Come down here to me,' he cried, as a man cries 
 in his sleep, making no audible sound. ' There's less 
 risk among the foundations.' And down came 
 Daddy with an immediate rush. He arrived in a 
 bundle, then straightened up. The two men stood 
 side by side in these subterraneans of the night. 
 
 * You ! ' whispered Rogers, trying to seize his
 
 xxii A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 299 
 
 hand, while the other evaded him, hiding behind a 
 shadow. 
 
 ' Don't touch me,' he murmured breathlessly. 
 ' You'll scatter my train of thought. Think of 
 something else at once, please. . . .' He moved into 
 thicker shadows, half disappearing. ' I'm after some- 
 thing that suddenly occurred to me for my story.' 
 
 ' What is it ? I'll think it with you,' his cousin 
 called after him. * You'll see it better if I do. Tell 
 me.' 
 
 ' A train that carries Thought, as this darkness 
 carries stars — a starlight express,' was the quick 
 reply, ' and a cavern where lost starlight gathers till 
 it's wanted — sort of terminus of the railway. They 
 belong to the story somewhere if only I can find 
 them and fit them in. Starlight binds all together as 
 thought and sympathy bind minds. . . .' 
 
 Rogers thought hard about them. Instantly his 
 cousin vanished. 
 
 'Thank you,' ran a faint whisper among the 
 pillars ; ' I'm on their trail again now. I must go 
 up again. I can see better from the top,' and the 
 voice grew fainter and higher and further off with 
 each word till it died away completely into silence. 
 Daddy went chasing his inspiration through the 
 scaffolding of reverie and dream. 
 
 ' We did something for him the other night after 
 all, then,' thought Rogers with delight. 
 
 ' Of course,' dropped down a wee, faint answer 
 from above, as the author heard him thinking ; ' you 
 did a lot. I'm partly out at last. This is where all 
 the Patterns hide. Awake, I only get their dim 
 reflections, broken and distorted. This is reality, not 
 that. Ha, ha ! If only I can get it through, my 
 lovely, beautiful pattern '
 
 300 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND cha*. 
 
 1 You will, you will,' cried the other, as the voice 
 went fluttering through space. ' Ask the children, 
 jimbo and Monkey are up there somewhere. They're 
 the safest guides.' 
 
 Rogers gave a gulp and found that he was cough- 
 ing. His feet were cold. A shudder ran across the 
 feathery structure, making it tremble from the 
 foundations to the forest of spires overhead. Jimbo 
 came sliding down a pole of gleaming ebony. In a 
 hammock of beams and rafters, swinging like a net- 
 work of trapezes, Monkey swooped down after him, 
 head first as usual. For the moon that moment 
 passed behind a cloud, and the silver rivets started 
 from their shadowy sockets. Clusters of star nails 
 followed suit. The palace bent and tottered like a 
 falling wave. Its pillars turned into trunks of pine 
 trees ; its corridors were spaces through the clouds ; 
 its chambers were great dips between the mountain 
 summits. 
 
 ' It's going too fast for sight,' thought Rogers ; 
 1 1 can't keep up with it. Even the children have 
 toppled off.' But he still heard Daddy's laughter 
 echoing: down the lanes of darkness as he chased his 
 pattern with yearning and enthusiasm. 
 
 The huge structure with its towers and walls and 
 platforms slid softly out of sight. The moonlight 
 sponged its outlines from the sky. The scaffolding 
 melted into darkness, moving further westwards as 
 night advanced. Already it was over France and 
 Italy, sweeping grandly across the sea, bewildering 
 the vessels in its net of glamour, and filling with 
 wonder the eyes of the look-out men at the mast 
 heads. 
 
 ' The fire's going out,' a voice was saying. Rogers 
 heard it through a moment's wild confusion as he
 
 xxii A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 301 
 
 fell swiftly among a forest of rafters, beams, and 
 shifting uprights. 
 
 1 I'll get more wood.' 
 
 The words seemed underground. A mountain 
 wind rose up and brought the solid world about him. 
 He felt chilly, shivered, and opened his eyes. There 
 stood the solemn pine trees, thick and close ; moon- 
 light flooded the spaces between them and lit their 
 crests with silver. 
 
 ' This is the Wind Wood,' he remarked aloud to 
 reassure himself. 
 
 Jimbo was bending over the fire, heaping on 
 wood. Flame leaped up with a shower of sparks. 
 He saw Monkey rubbing her eyes beside him. 
 
 * I've had a dream of falling,' she was saying, as 
 she snuggled down closer into his side. 
 
 1 / didn't,' Jimbo said. * I dreamed of a railway 
 accident, and everybody was killed except one pas- 
 senger, who was Daddy. It fell off a high bridge. 
 We found Daddy in the fourgon with the baggages, 
 writing a story and laughing — making an awful 
 row.' 
 
 'What did you dream, Cousinenry ? ' asked 
 Monkey, peering into his eyes in the firelight. 
 
 ' That my feet were cold, because the fire had 
 gone out,' he answered, trying in vain to remember 
 whether he had dreamed anything at all. ' And 
 — that it's time to go home. I hear the curfew 
 ringing.' 
 
 Some one whistled softly. They ought to have 
 been in bed an hour ago. 
 
 It was ten o'clock, and Gygi was sounding the 
 couvre feu from the old church tower. They put the 
 fire out and walked home arm in arm, separating 
 with hushed good-nights in the courtyard of the
 
 302 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND ch. xxn 
 
 Citadelle. But Rogers did not hear the scolding 
 Mother gave them when they appeared at the Den 
 door, for he went on at once to his own room in the 
 carpenter's house, with the feeling that he had lived 
 always in Bourcelles, and would never leave it again. 
 His Scheme had moved bodily from London to the 
 forest. 
 
 And on the way upstairs he peeped a moment into 
 his cousin's room, seeing a light beneath the door. 
 The author was sitting beside the open window 
 with the lamp behind him and a note-book on his 
 knees. Moonlight fell upon his face. He was sound 
 asleep. 
 
 i I won't wake him,' thought his cousin, going out 
 softly again. ' He's dreaming — dreaming of his 
 wonderful new story probably,'
 
 CHAPTER XXIII 
 
 Even as a luminous haze links star to star, 
 I would supply all chasms with music, breathing 
 Mysterious motions of the soul, no way 
 To be defined save in strange melodies. 
 
 Paracelsus, R. Browning. 
 
 Daddy's story, meanwhile, continued to develop 
 itself with wonder and enthusiasm. It was unlike 
 anything he had ever written. His other studies 
 had the brilliance of dead precious stones, perhaps, 
 but this thing moved along with a rushing life of its 
 own. It grew, fed by sources he was not aware of. 
 It developed of itself — changed and lived and flashed. 
 Some creative fairy hand had touched him while he 
 slept perhaps. The starry sympathy poured through 
 him, and he thought with his feelings as well as with 
 his mind. 
 
 At first he was half ashamed of it ; the process 
 was so new and strange ; he even attempted to 
 conceal his method, because he could not explain or 
 understand it. ' This is emotional, not intellectual,' 
 he sighed to himself ; ' it must be second childhood. 
 I'm old. They'll call it decadent ! ' Presently, 
 however, he resigned himself to the delicious flow of 
 inspiration, and let it pour out till it flowed over 
 into his daily life as well. Through his heart it 
 welled up and bubbled forth, a thing of children, 
 starlight, woods, and fairies. 
 
 303
 
 30 4 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND chap. 
 
 Yet he was shy about it. He would talk about 
 the story, but would not read it out. ' It's a new 
 genre for me,' he explained shyly, ' an attempt 
 merely. We'll see what comes of it. My original 
 idea, you see, has grown out of hand rather. I wake 
 eyery morning with something fresh, as though ' — 
 he hesitated a moment, glancing towards his wife — ' as 
 if it came to me in sleep,' he concluded. He felt 
 her common sense might rather despise him for it. 
 
 ' Perhaps it does,' said Rogers. 
 
 ' Why not ? ' said Mother, knitting on the sofa 
 that was her bed at night. 
 
 She had put her needles down and was staring at 
 her husband ; he stared at Rogers ; all three stared 
 at each other. Something each wished to conceal 
 moved towards utterance and revelation. Yet no 
 one of them wished to be the first to mention it. A 
 great change had come of late upon Bourcelles. It 
 no longer seemed isolated from the big world outside 
 as before ; something had linked it up with the 
 whole surrounding universe, and bigger, deeper 
 currents of life flowed through it. And with the 
 individual life of each it was the same. All dreamed 
 the same enormous, splendid dream, yet dared not 
 tell it— yet. 
 
 Both parents realised vaguely that it was some- 
 thing their visitor had brought, but what could it be 
 exactly ? It was in his atmosphere, he himself least 
 of all aware of it ; it was in his thought, his attitude 
 to life, yet he himself so utterly unconscious of it. It 
 brought out all the best in everybody, made them 
 feel hopeful, brighter, more courageous. Yes, cer- 
 tainly, he brought it. He believed in them, in the 
 best of them — they lived up to it or tried to. W T as 
 that it ? Was it belief and vision that he brought
 
 xxiii A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 305 
 
 into their lives, though unconsciously, because these 
 qualities lay so strongly in himself ? Belief is con- 
 structive. It is what people are rather than what 
 they preach that affects others. Two strangers meet 
 and bow and separate without a word, yet each has 
 changed ; neither leaves the other quite as he was 
 before. In the society of children, moreover, one 
 believes everything in the world — for the moment. 
 Belief is constructive and creative ; it is doubt and 
 cynicism that destroy. In the presence of a child 
 these latter are impossible. Was this the explanation 
 of the effect he produced upon their little circle — 
 the belief and wonder and joy of Fairyland ? 
 
 For a moment something of this flashed through 
 Daddy's mind. Mother, in her way, was aware of 
 something similar. But neither of them spoke it. 
 The triangular staring was its only evidence. Mother 
 resumed her knitting. She was not given to impul- 
 sive utterance. Her husband once described her as 
 a solid piece of furniture. She was. 
 
 * You see,' said Daddy bravely, as the moment's 
 tension passed, ' my original idea was simply to treat 
 Bourcelles as an epitome, a miniature, so to speak, of 
 the big world, while showing how Nature sweetened 
 and kept it pure as by a kind of alchemy. But that 
 idea has grown. I have the feeling now that the 
 Bourcelles we know is a mere shadowy projection 
 cast by a more real Bourcelles behind. It is only the 
 dream village we know in our waking life. The 
 real one — er — we know only in sleep.' There ! — it 
 was partly out ! 
 
 Mother turned with a little start. ' You mean 
 when we sleep ? ' she asked. She knitted vigorously 
 again at once, as though ashamed of this sudden 
 betrayal into fantasy. ' Why not ? ' she added, 
 
 x
 
 306 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND chap. 
 
 falling back upon her customary non-committal 
 phrase. Yet this was not the superior attitude he had 
 dreaded ; she was interested. There was something 
 she wanted to confess, if she only dared. Mother, 
 too, had grown softer in some corner of her being. 
 Something shone through her with a tiny golden 
 radiance. 
 
 ' But this idea is not my own,' continued Daddy, 
 dangerously near to wumbling. ' It comes through 
 me only. It develops, apparently, when I'm asleep,' 
 he repeated. He sat up and leaned forward. ' And, 
 I believe,' he added, as on sudden reckless impulse, 
 ' it comes from you, Henry. Your mind, I feel, has 
 brought this cargo of new suggestion and discharged 
 it into me — into every one — into the whole blessed 
 village. Man, I think you've bewitched us all ! ' 
 
 Mother dropped a stitch, so keenly was she listen- 
 ing. A moment later she dropped a needle too, 
 and the two men picked it up, and handed it back 
 together as though it weighed several pounds. 
 
 ' Well,' said Rogers slowly, ' I suppose all minds 
 pour into one another somewhere — in and out of one 
 another, rather — and that there's a common stock 
 or pool all draw upon according to their needs and 
 power to assimilate. But I'm not conscious, old 
 man, of driving anything deliberately into you ' 
 
 ' Only you think and feel these things vividly 
 enough for me to get them too,' said Daddy. Luckily 
 ' thought transference ' was not actually mentioned, 
 or Mother might have left the room, or at least have 
 betrayed an uneasiness that must have chilled them. 
 
 ' As a boy I imagined pretty strongly,' in a tone 
 of apology, * but never since. I was in the City, 
 remember, twenty years ' 
 
 ' It's the childhood things, then,' Daddy inter-
 
 xxiii A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 307 
 
 rupted eagerly. 'You've brought the great childhood 
 imagination with you — the sort of gorgeous, huge, 
 and endless power that goes on fashioning of its own 
 accord just as dreams do ' 
 
 * I did indulge in that sort of thing as a boy, yes,' 
 was the half-guilty reply ; ' but that was years and 
 years ago, wasn't it ? ' 
 
 ' They have survived, then,' said Daddy with 
 decision. * The sweetness of this place has stimulated 
 them afresh. The children' — he glanced suspiciously 
 at his wife for a moment — ' have appropriated them 
 too. It's a powerful combination.' After a pause he 
 added, ' I might develop that idea in my story — that 
 you've brought back the sweet creations of childhood 
 with you and captured us all — a sort of starry army.' 
 
 ' Why not ?' interpolated Mother, as who should 
 say there was no harm in that. 'They certainly have 
 been full of mischief lately.' 
 
 ' Creation is mischievous,' murmured her husband. 
 ' But since you have come,' he continued aloud, — 
 ' how can I express it exactly ? — the days have seemed 
 larger, fuller, deeper, the forest richer and more 
 mysterious, the sky much closer, and the stars more 
 soft and intimate. I dream of them, and they all 
 bring me messages that help my story. Do you 
 know what I mean ? There were days formerly, 
 when life seemed empty, thin, peaked, impoverished, 
 its scale of values horribly reduced, whereas now — 
 since you've been up to your nonsense with the 
 children — some tide stands at the full, and things 
 are always happening.' 
 
 1 Well, really, Daddy ! ' said the expression on 
 Mother's face and hands and knitting-needles, ' you 
 are splendid to-day ' ; but aloud she only repeated 
 her little hold-all phrase, ' Why not ? '
 
 308 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND chap. 
 
 Yet somehow he recognised that she understood 
 him better than usual. Her language had not changed 
 — things in Mother worked slowly, from within 
 outwards as became her solid personality — but it 
 held new meaning. He felt for the first time that 
 he could make her understand, and more — that she 
 was ready to understand. That is, he felt new 
 sympathy with her. It was very delightful, stimulat- 
 ing ; he instantly loved her more, and felt himself 
 increased at the same time. 
 
 ' I believe a story like that might even sell,' he 
 observed, with a hint of reckless optimism. ' People 
 might recognise a touch of their own childhood in 
 it, eh ? ' 
 
 He longed for her to encourage him and pat him 
 on the back. 
 
 ' True,' said Mother, smiling at him, ' for every 
 one likes to keep in touch with their childhood — if 
 they can. It makes one feel young and hopeful — 
 jolly ; doesn't it ? Why not ? ' 
 
 Their eyes met. Something, long put aside and 
 buried under a burden of exaggerated care, flashed 
 deliciously between them. Rogers caught it flying 
 and felt happy. Bridges were being repaired, if not 
 newly built. 
 
 ' Nature, you see, is always young really,' he said ; 
 'it's full of children. The very meaning of the 
 word, eh, John ? ' turning to his cousin as who 
 should say, ' We knew our grammar once.' 
 
 ' Natura, yes — something about to produce.' 
 They laughed in their superior knowledge of a Latin 
 word, but Mother, stirred deeply though she hardly 
 knew why, was not to be left out. Would the bridge 
 bear her, was perhaps her thought. 
 
 ' And of the feminine gender,' she added slyly,
 
 xxhi A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 309 
 
 with a touch of pride. The bridge creaked, but did 
 not give way. She said it very quickly. She had 
 suddenly an air of bouncing on her sofa. 
 
 ' Bravo, Mother,' said her husband, looking at 
 her, and there was a fondness in his voice that 
 warmed and blessed and melted down into her. She 
 had missed it so long that it almost startled her. 
 ' There's the eternal old magic, Mother ; you're 
 right. And if I had more of you in me — more of 
 the creative feminine — I should do better work, I'm 
 sure. You must give it to me.' 
 
 She kept her eyes upon her needles. The others, 
 being unobservant ' mere men,' did not notice that 
 the stitches she made must have produced queer 
 kind of stockings if continued. ' We'll be collabor- 
 ators,' Daddy added, in the tone of a boy building 
 on the sands at Margate. 
 
 ' I will,' she said in a low voice, ' if only I know 
 how.' 
 
 ' Well,' he answered enthusiastically, looking from 
 one to the other, delighted to find an audience to 
 whom he could talk of his new dream, ' you see, this 
 is really a great jolly fairy-tale I'm trying to write. 
 I'm blessed if I know where the ideas come from, or 
 how they pour into me like this, but — anyhow it's a 
 new experience, and I want to make the most of it. 
 I've never done imaginative work before, and — 
 though it is a bit fantastical, I mean to keep in touch 
 with reality and show great truths that emerge from 
 the commonest facts of life. The critics, of course, 
 will blame me for not giving 'em the banal thing 
 they expect from me, but what of that ? ' He was 
 dreadfully reckless. 
 
 1 1 see,' said Mother, gazing open-mindedly into 
 his face ; ' but where does my help come in, please \ '
 
 310 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND chap. 
 
 She leaned back, half-sighing, half-smiling. ' Here's 
 my life ' — she held up her needles — * and that's the 
 soul of prosaic dulness, isn't it ? ' 
 
 ' On the contrary,' he answered eagerly, ' it's 
 reality. It's courage, patience, heroism. You're a 
 spring-board for my fairy-tale, though I'd never 
 realised it before. I shall put you in, just as you 
 are. You'll be one of the earlier chapters.' 
 
 ' Every one'll skip me, then, I'm afraid.' 
 
 ' Not a bit,' he laughed gaily ; ' they'll feel you 
 all through the book. Their minds will rest on you. 
 You'll be a foundation. " Mother's there," they'll 
 say, "so it's all right. This isn't nonsense. We'll 
 read on." And they will read on.' 
 
 ' I'm all through it, then ? ' 
 
 ' Like the binding that mothers the whole book, 
 you see,' put in Rogers, delighted to see them getting 
 on so well, yet amazed to hear his cousin talk so 
 openly with her of his idea. 
 
 Daddy continued, unabashed and radiant. Hitherto, 
 he knew, his wife's attitude, though never spoken, 
 had been very different. She almost resented his 
 intense preoccupation with stories that brought in so 
 little cash. It would have been better if he taught 
 English or gave lessons in literature for a small but 
 regular income. He gave too much attention to 
 these unremunerative studies of types she never met 
 in actual life. She was proud of the reviews, and 
 pasted them neatly in a big book, but his help 
 and advice on the practical details of the children's 
 clothing and education were so scanty. Hers seemed 
 ever the main burden. 
 
 Now, for the first time, though she distrusted 
 fantasy and deemed it destructive of action, she felt 
 something real. She listened with a kind of be-
 
 xxm A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 311 
 
 lieving sympathy. She noticed, moreover, with keen 
 pleasure, that her attitude fed him. He talked so 
 freely, happily about it all. Already her sympathy, 
 crudely enough expressed, brought fuel to his fires. 
 Some one had put starlight into her. 
 
 ' He's been hungry for this all along,' she reflected ; 
 1 1 never realised it. I've thought only of myself 
 without knowing it.' 
 
 * Yes, I'll put you in, old Mother,' he went on, 
 ' and Rogers and the children too. In fact, you're 
 in it already,' he chuckled, ' if you want to know. 
 Each of you plays his part all day long without 
 knowing it.' He changed his seat, going over to 
 the window-sill, and staring down upon them as he 
 talked on eagerly. ' Don't you feel,' he said, en- 
 thusiasm growing and streaming from him, 'how all 
 this village life is a kind of dream we act out against 
 the background of the sunshine, while our truer, 
 deeper life is hidden somewhere far below in half 
 unconsciousness ? Our daily doings are but the 
 little bits that emerge, tips of acts and speech that 
 poke up and out, masquerading as complete ? In 
 that vaster sea of life we lead below the surface lies 
 my big story, my fairy-tale — when we sleep.' He 
 paused and looked down questioningly upon them. 
 * When we sleep,' he repeated impressively, struggling 
 with his own thought. ' You, Mother, while you 
 knit and sew, slip down into that enormous under- 
 sea and get a glimpse ot the coloured pictures that 
 pass eternally behind the veil. I do the same when 
 I watch the twilight from my window in reverie. 
 Sunshine obliterates them, but they go just the same. 
 You call it day-dreaming. Our waking hours are 
 the clothes we dress the spirit in after its nightly 
 journeys and activities. Imagination does not create
 
 312 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND chap. 
 
 so much as remember. Then, by transforming, it 
 reveals.' 
 
 Mother sat staring blankly before her, utterly 
 lost, while her husband flung these lumps of the raw 
 material of his story at her — of its atmosphere, rather. 
 Even Rogers felt puzzled, and hardly followed what 
 he heard. The intricacies of an artistic mind were 
 indeed bewildering. How in the world would these 
 wild fragments weave together into any intelligible 
 pattern ? 
 
 ' You mean that we travel when we sleep,' he 
 ventured, remembering a phrase that Minks had 
 somewhere used, ' and that our real life is out of the 
 body ? ' His cousin was taking his thought — or was 
 it originally Minks's ? — wholesale. 
 
 Mother looked up gratefully. * I often dream 
 I'm flying,' she put in solemnly. ' Lately, in particular, 
 I've dreamed of stars and funny things like that a 
 lot/ 
 
 Daddy beamed his pleasure. * In my fairy-tale we 
 shall all see stars,' he laughed, ' and we shall all get 
 " out." For our thoughts will determine the kind of 
 experience and adventure we have when the spirit is 
 free and unhampered. And contrariwise, the kind 
 of things we do at night — in sleep, in dream — will 
 determine our behaviour during the day. There's 
 the importance of thinking rightly, you see. Out 
 of the body is eternal, and thinking is more than 
 doing — it's more complete. The waking days are 
 brief intervals of test that betray the character of 
 our hidden deeper life. We are judged in sleep. 
 We last for ever and ever. In the day, awake, 
 we stand before the easel on which our adventures 
 of the night have painted those patterns which are 
 the very structure of our outer life's behaviour.
 
 xxm A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 313 
 
 When we sleep again we re-enter the main stream of 
 our spirit's activity. In the day we forget, of course 
 — as a rule, and most of us — but we follow the 
 pattern just the same, unwittingly, because we can't 
 help it. It's the mould we've made.' 
 
 ' Then your story,' Rogers interrupted, ' will show 
 the effect in the daytime of what we do at night ? 
 Is that it ? ' It amazed him to hear his cousin 
 borrowing thus the entire content of his own mind, 
 sucking it out whole like a ripe plum from its skin. 
 
 ' Of course,' he answered ; ' and won't it be a lark ? 
 We'll all get out in sleep and go about the village 
 together in a bunch, helping, soothing, cleaning up, 
 and putting everybody straight, so that when they 
 wake up they'll wonder why in the world they f^l 
 so hopeful, strong, and happy all of a sudden. 
 We'll put thoughts of beauty into them — beauty, you 
 remember, which " is a promise of happiness." ' 
 
 ' Ah ! ' said Mother, seizing at his comprehensible 
 scrap with energy. * That is a story.' 
 
 ' If I don't get it wumbled in the writing down,' 
 her husband continued, fairly bubbling over. ' You 
 must keep me straight, remember, with your needles 
 — your practical aspirations, that is. I'll read it out 
 to you bit by bit, and you'll tell me where I've 
 dropped a stitch or used the wrong wool, eh ? ' 
 
 1 Mood ? ' she asked. 
 
 ' No, wool,' he said, louder. 
 
 There was a pause. 
 
 ' But you see my main idea, don't you — that the 
 sources of our life lie hid with beauty very very far 
 away, and that our real, big, continuous life is 
 spiritual — out of the body, as I shall call it. The 
 waking-day life uses what it can bring over from 
 this enormous under-running sea of universal con-
 
 3 1 4 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND chap. 
 
 sciousness where we're all together, splendid, free, 
 untamed, and where thinking is creation and we feel 
 and know each other face to face ? See ? Sympathy 
 the great solvent ? All linked together by thought 
 as stars are by their rays. Ah ! You get my idea — 
 the great Network ? ' 
 
 He looked straight into his wife's eyes. They 
 were opened very wide. Her mouth had opened a 
 little, too. She understood vaguely that he was using 
 a kind of shorthand really. These cryptic sentences 
 expressed in emotional stenography mere odds and 
 ends that later would drop into their prober places, 
 translated into the sequence of acts that are the 
 scaffolding of a definite story. This she firmly grasped 
 — but no more. 
 
 'It's grand — a wonderful job,' she answered, 
 sitting back upon the sofa with a sigh of relief, and 
 again bouncing a little in the process, so that Rogers 
 had a horrible temptation to giggle. The tension of 
 listening had been considerable. ' People, you mean, 
 will realise how important thinking is, and that sym- 
 pathy — er ' and she hesitated, floundering. 
 
 1 Is the great way to grow,' Rogers quickly helped 
 her, ' because by feeling with another person you add 
 his mind to yours and so get bigger. And ' — turning 
 to his cousin — ' you're taking starlight as the symbol 
 of sympathy ? You told me that the other day, I 
 remember.' But the author did not hear or did not 
 answer ; his thought was far away in his dream 
 again. 
 
 The situation was saved. All the bridges had 
 borne well. Daddy, having relieved his overcharged 
 mind, seemed to have come to a full stop. The Den 
 was full of sunlight. A delightful feeling of intimacy 
 wove the three humans together. Mother caught
 
 xxiii A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 315 
 
 herself thinking of the far-off" courtship days when 
 their love ran strong and clear. She felt at one with 
 her husband, and remembered him as lover. She 
 felt in touch with him all over. And Rogers was 
 such a comfortable sort of person. Tact was indeed 
 well named — sympathy so delicately adjusted that it 
 involved feeling-with to the point of actual touch. 
 
 Daddy came down from his perch upon the 
 window-sill, stretched his arms, and drew a great 
 happy sigh. 
 
 1 Mother,' he added, rising to go out, ' you shall 
 help me, dearie. We'll write this great fairy-tale of 
 mine together, eh ? ' He stooped and kissed her, 
 feeling love and tenderness and sympathy in his 
 heart. 
 
 ' You brave old Mother I ' he laughed ; ' we'll 
 send Eddie to Oxford yet, see if we don't. A book 
 like that might earn £100 or even ^200.' 
 
 Another time she would have answered, though 
 not bitterly, ' Meanwhile I'll go on knitting stock- 
 ings,' or ' Why not ? we shall see what we shall see ' 
 — something, at any rate, corrective and rather sober, 
 quenching. But this time she said nothing. She 
 returned the kiss instead, without looking up from 
 her needles, and a great big thing like an unborn 
 child moved near her heart. He had not called her 
 ' dearie ' for so long a time, it took her back to their 
 earliest days together at a single, disconcerting bound. 
 She merely stroked his shoulder as he straightened 
 up and left the room. Her eyes then followed him 
 out, and he turned at the door and waved his hand. 
 Rogers, to her relief, saw him to the end of the 
 passage, and her handkerchief was out of sight again 
 before he returned. As he came in she realised even 
 more clearly than before that he somehow was the
 
 3 i6 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND chap. 
 
 cause of the changing relationship. He it was who 
 brought this something that bridged the years — made 
 old bridges safe to use again. And her love went 
 out to him. He was a man she could open her heart 
 to even. 
 
 Patterns of starry beauty had found their way in 
 and were working out in all of them. But Mother, 
 of course, knew nothing of this. There was a 
 tenderness in him that won her confidence. That 
 was all she felt. ' Oh, dear,' she thought in her odd 
 way, * what a grand thing a man is to be sure, when 
 he's got that ! ' It was like one of Jane Anne's 
 remarks. 
 
 As he came in she had laid the stocking aside and 
 was threading a needle for darning and buttons, and 
 the like. 
 
 ' " Threading the eye of a yellow star," eh ? ' he 
 laughed, ' and always at it. You've stirred old 
 Daddy up this time. He's gone off to his story, 
 simply crammed full. What a help and stimulus you 
 must be to him ! ' 
 
 ' 1,' she said, quite flabbergasted ; * I only wish it 
 were true — again.' The last word slipped out by 
 accident ; she had not meant it. 
 
 But Rogers ignored it, even if he noticed it. 
 
 ' I never can help him in his work. I don't 
 understand it enough. I don't understand it at all.' 
 She was ashamed to hedge with this man. She looked 
 him straight in the eye. 
 
 ' But he feels your sympathy,' was his reply. ' It's 
 not always necessary to understand. That might 
 only muddle him. You help by wishing, feeling, 
 sympathising — believing.' 
 
 ' You really think so ? ' she asked simply. ' What 
 wonderful thoughts you have ! One has read, of
 
 xxin A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 317 
 
 course, of wives who inspired their husbands' work ; 
 but it seemed to belong to books rather than to 
 actual life.' 
 
 Rogers looked at her thoughtful, passionate face 
 a moment before he answered. He realised that his 
 words would count with her. They approached 
 delicate ground. She had an absurd idea of his im- 
 portance in their lives ; she exaggerated his influence ; 
 if he said a wrong thing its effect upon her would be 
 difficult to correct. 
 
 ' Well,' he said, feeling mischief in him, ' I don't 
 mind telling you that I should never have understood 
 that confused idea of his story but for one thing.' 
 
 * What was that ? ' she asked, relieved to feel more 
 solid ground at last. 
 
 ' That I saw the thing from his own point of view,' 
 he replied ; ' because I have had similar thoughts 
 all my life. I mean that he's bagged it all uncon- 
 sciously out of my own mind ; though, of course,' 
 he hastened to add, ' I could never, never have made 
 use of it as he will. I could never give it shape and 
 form.' 
 
 Mother began to laugh too. He caught the 
 twinkle in her eyes. She bounced again a little 
 on the springy sofa as she turned towards him, 
 confession on her lips at last. 
 
 ' And I do believe you've felt it too, haven't 
 you ? ' he asked quickly, before she could change her 
 mind. 
 
 ' I've felt something — yes,' she assented ; ' odd, 
 unsettled ; new things rushing everywhere about us ; 
 the children mysterious and up to all sorts of games 
 and wickedness ; and bright light over everything, 
 like — like a scene in a theatre, somehow. It's exhila- 
 rating, but I can't quite make it out. It can't be
 
 CHAP. 
 
 318 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 
 
 right to feel so frivolous and jumpy-about at my age, 
 can it ? ' 
 
 ' You feel lighter, eh ? 
 
 She burst out laughing. Mother was a prosaic 
 person ; that is, she had strong common-sense ; yet 
 through her sober personality there ran like a 
 streak of light some hint of fairy lightness, derived 
 probably from her Celtic origin. Now, as Rogers 
 watched her, he caught a flash of that raciness and 
 swift mobility, that fluid, protean elasticity of tem- 
 perament which belonged to the fairy kingdom. The 
 humour and pathos in her had been smothered 
 by too much care. She accepted old age before 
 her time. He saw her, under other conditions, 
 dancing, singing, full of Ariel tricks and mischief — 
 instead of eternally mending stockings and saving 
 centimes for peat and oil and washerwomen. He 
 even saw her feeding fantasy — poetry — to Daddy 
 like a baby with a spoon. The contrast made him 
 laugh out loud. 
 
 * You've lived here five years,' he went on, 
 ' but lived too heavily. Care has swamped imagina- 
 tion. I did the same — in the City — for twenty years. 
 It's all wrong. One has to learn to live carelessly as 
 well as carefully. When I came here I felt all astray 
 at first, but now I see more clearly. The peace and 
 beauty have soaked into me.' He hesitated an 
 instant, then continued. Even if she didn't grasp 
 his meaning now with her brains, it would sink down 
 into her and come through later. 
 
 1 The important things of life are very few really. 
 They stand out vividly here. You've both vegetated, 
 fossilised, atrophied a bit. I discovered it in my own 
 case when I went back to Crayfield and ' 
 
 He told her about his sentimental journey, and
 
 xxiii A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 
 
 3*9 
 
 how he found all the creations of his childhood's 
 imagination still so alive and kicking in a forgotten 
 backwater of his mind that they all hopped out and 
 took objective form — the sprites, the starlight express, 
 the boundless world of laughter, fun and beauty. 
 
 • And, without exactly knowing it, I suppose I've 
 brought them all out here,' he continued, seeing that 
 she drank it in thirstily, * and — somehow or other — 
 you all have felt it and responded. It's not my 
 doing, of course,' he added ; ' it's simply that I'm the 
 channel as it were, and Daddy, with his somewhat 
 starved artist's hunger of mind, was the first to fill 
 up. It's pouring through him now in a story, don't 
 you see ; but we're all in it ' 
 
 ' In a way, yes, that's what I've felt,' Mother 
 interrupted. ' It's all a kind of dream here, and I've 
 just waked up. The unchanging village, the forests, 
 the Pension with its queer people, the Magic Box ' 
 
 ' Like a play in a theatre,' he interrupted, ' isn't 
 it?' 
 
 1 Exactly,' she laughed, yet half-seriously. 
 
 1 While your husband is the dramatist that writes 
 it down in acts and scenes. You see, his idea is, 
 perhaps, that life as we know it is never a genuine 
 story, complete and leading to a climax. It's all in 
 disconnected fragments apparently. It goes back- 
 wards and forwards, up and down, in and out in a 
 wumbled muddle, just anyhow, as it were. The 
 fragments seem out of their proper place, the first 
 ones often last, and vice versa. It seems inconse- 
 quential, because we only see the scraps that break 
 through from below, from the true inner, deeper life 
 that flows on steadily and dramatically out of sight. 
 That's what he means by " out of the body " and 
 " sleep " and " dreaming." The great pattern is too
 
 320 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND chap. 
 
 big and hidden for us to see it whole, just as when 
 you knit I only see the stitches as you make them, 
 although the entire pattern is in your mind complete. 
 Our daily, external acts are the stitches we show to 
 others and that everybody sees. A spiritual person 
 sees the whole.' 
 
 ' Ah ! ' Mother interrupted, ' I understand now. 
 To know the whole pattern in my mind you'd have 
 to get in sympathy with my thought below. Is 
 that it ? ' 
 
 ' Sometimes we look over the fence of mystery, 
 yes, and see inside — see the entire stage as it were.' 
 
 ' It is like a great play, isn't it ? ' she repeated, 
 grasping again at the analogy with relief. ' We give 
 one another cues, and so on ' 
 
 ' While each must know the whole play complete 
 in order to act his part properly — be in sympathy, 
 that is, with all the others. The tiniest details so 
 important, too,' he added, glancing significantly at the 
 needles on her lap. ' To act your own part faithfully 
 you must carry all the others in your mind, or else — 
 er — get your own part out of proportion.' 
 
 ' It will be a wonderful story, won't it ? ' she said, 
 after a pause in which her eyes travelled across the 
 sunshine towards the carpenter's house where her 
 husband, seen now in a high new light, laboured 
 steadily. 
 
 There was a clatter in the corridor before he could 
 reply, and Jimbo and Monkey flew in with a rush of 
 wings and voices from school. They were upon him 
 in an instant, smelling of childhood, copy-books, ink, 
 and rampagious with hunger. Their skins and hair 
 were warm with sunlight. ' After tea we'll go out,' 
 they cried, ' and show you something in the forest — 
 oh, an enormous and wonderful thing that nobody
 
 xxiii A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 321 
 
 knows of but me and Jimbo, and comes over every 
 night from France and hides inside a cave, and goes 
 back just before sunrise with a sack full of think- 
 ings ■' 
 
 ' Thoughts,' corrected Jimbo. 
 
 ' that haven't reached the people they were 
 
 meant for, and then ' 
 
 'Go into the next room, wash yourselves and tidy 
 up,' said Mother sternly, ' and then lay the table for 
 tea. Jinny isn't in yet. Put the charcoal in the 
 samovar. I'll come and light it in a moment.' 
 
 They disappeared obediently, though once behind 
 the door there were sounds that resembled a pillow- 
 fight rather than tidying -up ; and when Mother 
 presently went after them to superintend, Rogers 
 sat by the window and stared across the vineyards 
 and blue expanse of lake at the distant Alps. It was 
 curious. This vague, disconnected, rambling talk 
 with Mother had helped to clear his own mind as 
 well. In trying to explain to her something he hardly 
 understood himself, his own thinking had clarified. 
 All these trivial scenes were little bits of rehearsal. 
 The Company was still waiting for the arrival of the 
 Star Player who should announce the beginning of 
 the real performance. It was a woman's role, yet 
 Mother certainly could not play it. To get the 
 family really straight was equally beyond his powers. 
 ' I really must have more common-sense,' he reflected 
 uneasily ; ' I am getting out of touch with reality 
 somewhere. I'll write to Minks again.' 
 
 Minks, at the moment, was the only definite, 
 positive object in the outer world he could recall. 
 
 'I'll write to him about ' His thought went 
 
 wumbling. He quite forgot what it was he had to 
 say to him — ' Oh, about lots of things,' he concluded, 
 
 Y
 
 322 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND chap. 
 
 ' his wife and children and — and his own future and 
 so on.' 
 
 The Scheme had melted into air, it seemed. 
 People lost in Fairyland, they say, always forget the 
 outer world of unimportant happenings. They live 
 too close to the source of things to recognise their 
 clownish reflections in the distorted mirrors of the 
 week-day level. 
 
 Yes, it was curious, very curious. Did Thought, 
 then, issue primarily from some single source and 
 pass thence along the channels of men's minds, each 
 receiving and interpreting according to his needs and 
 powers ? Was the Message — the Prophet's Vision — 
 merely the more receipt of it than most? Had, 
 perhaps, this whole wonderful story his cousin wrote 
 originated, not in his, Rogers's mind, nor in that of 
 Minks, but in another's altogether — the mind of her 
 who was destined for the principal r61e ? Thrills of 
 absurd, electric anticipation rushed through him — 
 very boyish, wildly impossible, yet utterly delicious. 
 
 Two doors opened suddenly — one from the 
 kitchen, admitting Monkey with a tray of cups and 
 saucers, steam from the hissing samovar wrapping 
 her in a cloud, the other from the corridor, letting in 
 Jane Anne, her arms full of packages. She had been 
 shopping for the family in Neuchatel, and was 
 arrayed in garments from the latest Magic Box. She 
 was eager and excited. 
 
 ' Cousinenry,' she cried, dropping half the parcels 
 in her fluster, * I've had a letter ! ' It was in her 
 hand, whereas the parcels had been merely under her 
 arms. ' The postman gave it me himself as I came 
 up the steps. I'm a great correspondencer, you 
 know.' And she darted through the steam to tell 
 her mother. Jimbo passed her, carrying the tea-pot,
 
 xxiii A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 323 
 
 the sugar-basin dangerously balanced upon spoons 
 and knives and butter-dish. He said nothing, but 
 glanced at his younger sister significantly. Rogers 
 saw the entire picture through the cloud of steam, 
 shot through with sunlight from the window. It was 
 like a picture in the clouds. But he intercepted that 
 glance and knew then the writer of the letter. 
 
 * But did you get the mauve ribbon, child ? ' asked 
 Mother. 
 
 Instead of answer, the letter was torn noisily open. 
 Jinny never had letters. It was far more important 
 than ribbons. 
 
 * And how much change have you left out of the 
 five francs ? Daddy will want to know.' 
 
 Jimbo and Monkey were listening carefully, while 
 pretending to lay the table. Mother's silence betrayed 
 that she was reading the letter with interest and 
 curiosity equal to those of its recipient. 
 
 ' Who wrote it ? Who's it from ? I must 
 answer it at once,' Jinny was saying with great im- 
 portance. ' What time does the post go, I wonder ? 
 I mustn't miss it.' 
 
 ' The post-mark,' announced Mother, * is Bour- 
 celles. It's very mysterious.' She tapped the letter 
 with one hand, like the villain in the theatre. Rogers 
 heard her and easily imagined the accompanying stage 
 gesture. ' The handwriting on the envelope is like 
 Tante Anna,' he heard, ' but the letter itself is differ- 
 ent. It's all capitals, and wrongly spelt.' Mile. 
 Lemaire was certainly not the writer. 
 
 Jimbo and Monkey were busy hanging the towel 
 out of the window, signal to Daddy that tea was 
 ready. But as Daddy was already coming down the 
 street at a great pace, apparently excited too, they 
 waved it instead. Rogers suddenly remembered that
 
 324 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND chap. 
 
 Jimbo that morning had asked him for a two-centime 
 stamp. He made no remark, however, merely 
 wondering what was in the letter itself. 
 
 ' It's a joke, of course,' Mother was heard to say 
 in an odd voice. 
 
 ' Oh no, Mother, for how could anybody know ? 
 It's what I've been dreaming about for nights and 
 nights. It's so aromantic, isn't it ? ' 
 
 The louder hissing of the samovar buried the next 
 words, and at that moment Daddy came into the 
 room. He was smiling and his eyes were bright. He 
 glanced at the table and sat down by his cousin on 
 the sofa. 
 
 1 I've done a lot of work since you saw me,' he 
 said happily, patting him on the knee, ' although in 
 so short a time. And I want my cup of tea. It 
 came so easily and fluently for a wonder ; I don't 
 believe I shall have to change a word — though usually 
 I distrust this sort of rapid composition.' 
 
 * Where are you at now ? ' asked Rogers. 
 
 ' We're all " out," ' was the reply, ' and the Star- 
 light Express is just about to start and — Mother, 
 let me carry that for you,' he exclaimed, turning 
 round as his wife appeared in the doorway with more 
 tea-things. He got up quickly, but before he could 
 reach her side Jinny flew into his arms and kissed 
 him. 
 
 * Did you get my tobacco, Jinny ? ' he asked. 
 She thrust the letter under his nose. What was 
 tobacco, indeed, compared to an important letter ! 
 'You can keep the change for yourself.' 
 
 He read it slowly with a puzzled expression, 
 while Mother and the children watched him. Riquette 
 jumped down from her chair and rubbed herself 
 against his leg while he scratched himself with his
 
 xxiii A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 325 
 
 boot, thinking it was the rough stocking that tickled 
 him. 
 
 ' Eh? This is very queer,' he muttered, slapping 
 the open sheet just as his wife had done, and reading 
 it again at arm's-length. ' Somebody ' — he looked 
 suspiciously round the room — ' has been reading my 
 notes or picking out my thoughts while I'm asleep, eh?' 
 
 'But it's a real letter,' objected Jinny; 'it's cor- 
 respondence, isn't it, Daddy ? ' 
 
 1 It is certainly a correspondence,' he comforted 
 her, and then, reading it aloud, he proceeded to pin 
 it on the wall above the mantelpiece : — 
 
 ' The Starlight Xpress starts to-night, Be reddy 
 and punctuel. Sleep titely and get out.' 
 
 That was all. But everybody exchanged glances. 
 
 ' Odd,' thought Mother, again remembering her 
 dreams. 
 
 Jimbo upset the milk-jug. Usually there would 
 have been a rumpus over this. To-day it seemed 
 like something happening far away — something that 
 had not really happened at all. 
 
 ' We must all be ready then,' said Rogers, noticing 
 vaguely that Mother's sleeve had smeared the butter 
 as she mopped up the mess. 
 
 Daddy was making a note on his shirt sleeve : — 
 
 The Sweep, the Laugher and the Tramp, 
 The running man who lights the lamp, 
 
 The Woman of the Haystack, too, 
 The Gardener and Man of Dust 
 Are passengers because they must 
 
 Follow the Guard with eyes of blue. 
 Over the forests and into the Cave 
 That is the way we must all behave 
 
 * Please, Daddy, will you move ? It's dripping on 
 to your boot.'
 
 326 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND ch. xxm 
 
 They all looked down ; the milk had splashed 
 from the cloth and fallen upon the toe of his big 
 mountain boots. It made a pretty, white star. 
 Riquette was daintily lapping it up with her long 
 pink tongue. Ray by ray the star set in her 
 mysterious interior. 
 
 'Riquette must come too,' said Rogers gravely. 
 'She's full of white starlight now.' 
 
 And Jimbo left his chair and went seriously over 
 to the book-shelf above Mother's sofa-bed to arrange 
 the signals. For between the tightly-wedged books 
 he had inserted all the available paper-knives and 
 book-markers he could find to represent railway- 
 signals. They stuck out at different angles. He 
 altered several, putting some up, some down, and 
 some at right angles. 
 
 * The line's all clear for to-night,' he announced 
 to Daddy with a covert significance he hardly grasped 
 himself, then coming back to home-made jam and 
 crusty village bread. 
 
 Jane Anne caught her father's answering glance 
 — mysterious, full of unguessed meanings. 'Oh, 
 excuse me, Mother,' she said, feeling the same thing 
 in herself and a little frightened ; ' but I do believe 
 they're conspiring, aren't they ? ' 
 
 And Mother gave a sudden start, whose cause she 
 equally failed to analyse. 'Hush, dear,' she said. 
 ' Don't criticise your elders, and when you do, don't 
 use long words you cannot possibly understand.' 
 
 And everybody understood something none of 
 them understood — while tea went on as usual to the 
 chatter of daily details of external life.
 
 CHAPTER XXIV 
 
 AH we have willed or hoped or dreamed of good shall exist ; 
 Not its semblance, but itself; no beauty, nor good, nor power 
 Whose voice has gone forth, but each survives for the melodist 
 When eternity affirms the conception of an hour. 
 The high that proved too high, the heroic for earth too hard, 
 The passion that left the ground to lose itself in the sky, 
 Are music sent up to God by the lover and the bard ; 
 Enough that he heard it once : we shall hear it by and by. 
 
 Abt Vogler, R. Browning. 
 
 Some hours later, as Rogers undressed for bed in 
 his room beneath the roof, he realised abruptly that 
 the time had come for him to leave. The weeks 
 had flown ; Minks and the Scheme required him ; 
 other matters needed attention too. What brought 
 him to the sudden decision was the fact that he had 
 done for the moment all he could find to do, begin- 
 ning with the Pension mortgages and ending with little 
 Edouard Tissot, the vigneron s boy who had curva- 
 ture of the spine and could not afford proper 
 treatment. It was a long list. He was far from 
 satisfied with results, yet he had done his best, in 
 spite of many clumsy mistakes. In the autumn he 
 might return and have a further try. Finances were 
 getting muddled, too, and he realised how small his 
 capital actually was when the needs of others made 
 claims upon it. Neighbours were as plentiful as 
 insects. 
 
 He had made all manner of schemes for his 
 
 327
 
 328 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND chap. 
 
 cousin's family as well, yet seemed to have accom- 
 plished little. Their muddled life defied disentangle- 
 ment, their difficulties were inextricable. With one 
 son at a costly tutor, another girl in a Geneva school, 
 the younger children just outgrowing the local educa- 
 tion, the family's mode of living so scattered, meals 
 in one place, rooms in several others, — it was all too 
 unmethodical and dispersed to be covered by their 
 small uncertain income. Concentration was badly 
 needed. The endless talks and confabulations, which 
 have not been reported here because their confusion 
 was interminable and unreportable, landed every one 
 in a mass of complicated jumbles. The solution lay 
 beyond his power, as equally beyond the powers ot 
 the obfuscated parents. He would return to England, 
 settle his own affairs, concoct some practical scheme 
 with the aid of Minks, and return later to discuss its 
 working out. The time had come for him to leave. 
 
 And, oddly enough, what made him see it were 
 things the children had said that very evening when 
 he kissed them all good-night. England had been 
 mentioned. 
 
 ' You're here for always now,' whispered Monkey, 
 ' because you love me and can't get away. I've tied 
 you with my hair, you know.' 
 
 ' You'll have no sekrity in London,' said Jimbo. 
 ' Who'll stick your stamps on ? ' 
 
 ' The place will seem quite empity if you go,' 
 Jane Anne contributed, not wishing to make her 
 contribution too personal, lest she should appear 
 immodest. * You've made a memorandum of agree- 
 ment.' This meant he had promised rashly once to 
 stay for ever. The phrase lent an official tone 
 besides. 
 
 He fell asleep, devising wonderful plans, as usual.
 
 xxiv A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 329 
 
 for the entire world, not merely a tiny section of it. 
 The saviour spirit was ever in his heart. It failed 
 to realise itself because the mind was unequal to the 
 strain of wise construction ; but it was there, as 
 the old vicar had divined. He had that indestruc- 
 tible pity to which no living thing is outcast. 
 
 But to-night he fell asleep so slowly, gradually, 
 that he almost watched the dissolving of conscious- 
 ness in himself. He hovered a long time about the 
 strange, soft frontiers. He saw the barriers lower 
 themselves into the great dim plains. Inch by inch 
 the outer world became remote, obscure, lit dubiously 
 by some forgotten sun, and inch by inch the profound 
 recesses of nightly adventure coaxed him down. He 
 realised that he swung in space between the two. 
 The room and house were a speck in the universe 
 above him, his brain the mere outlet of a tunnel up 
 which he climbed every morning to put his horns 
 out like a snail, and sniff the outer world. Here, in 
 the depths, was the workroom where his life was 
 fashioned. Here glowed the mighty, hidden furnaces 
 that shaped his tools. Drifting, glimmering figures 
 streamed up round him from the vast under-world 
 of sleep, called unconscious. 'I am a spirit/ he 
 heard, not said or thought, ' and no spirit can be 
 unconscious for eight hours out of every twenty- 
 four . . . ! ' 
 
 Slowly the sea of dreamless sleep, so-called, flowed 
 in upon him, down, round, and over ; it submerged 
 the senses one by one, beginning with hearing and 
 ending with sight. But, as each physical sense was 
 closed, its spiritual counterpart — the power that 
 exists apart from its limited organ — opened into 
 clear, divine activity, free as life itself. . . . 
 
 How ceaseless was this movement of Dreams, never
 
 33o A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND chap. 
 
 still, always changing and on the dance, incessantly- 
 renewing itself in kaleidoscopic patterns. There was 
 perpetual metamorphosis and rich transformation ; 
 many became one, one many ; the universe was a 
 single thing, charged with stimulating emotional 
 shocks as each scrap of interpretation passed in and 
 across the mind. . . . 
 
 He was falling into deeper and deeper sleep, into 
 that eternal region where he no longer thought, but 
 knew. . . Immense processions of shifting imagery 
 absorbed him into themselves, spontaneous, unfamiliar, 
 self-multiplying, and as exquisitely baffling as God 
 and all His angels. . . . 
 
 The subsidence of the external world seemed 
 suddenly complete. 
 
 So deeply was he sunk that he reached that 
 common pool of fluid essence upon which all minds 
 draw according to their needs and powers. Relations 
 were established, wires everywhere connected. The 
 central switchboard clicked all round him ; brains 
 linked with brains, asleep or not asleep. He was so 
 deep within himself that, as the children and the 
 Story phrased it, he was ' out.' The air grew light 
 and radiant. 
 
 ' Hooray ! I'm out ! ' and he instantly thought 
 of his cousin. 
 
 ' So am 1 ! ' That wumbled author shot im- 
 mediately into connection with him. 'And so is 
 Mother — for the first time. Come on : we'll all go 
 together.' 
 
 It was unnecessary to specify where, for that 
 same second they found themselves in the room 
 of Mile. Lemaire. At this hour of the night it was 
 usually dark, except for the glimmer of the low- 
 turned lamp the sufferer never quite extinguished.
 
 xxiv A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 331 
 
 From dusk till dawn her windows in La Citadelle 
 shone faintly for all to see who chanced to pass 
 along the village street. ' There she lies, poor 
 aching soul, as she has lain for twenty years, think- 
 ing good of some one, or maybe praying ! ' For 
 the glimmer was visible from very far, and familiar 
 as a lighthouse to wandering ships at sea. But, had 
 they known her inner happiness, they would not 
 have said ' poor soul ! ' They would have marvelled. 
 In a Catholic canton, perhaps, they would have 
 crossed themselves and prayed. Just now they 
 certainly would have known a singular, exalted joy. 
 Caught in fairyland, they would have wondered and 
 felt happy. 
 
 For the room was crowded to the doors. Walls, 
 windows, ceiling, had melted into transparency to let 
 in the light of stars ; and, caught like gold-fish in 
 the great network of the rays, shone familiar outlines 
 everywhere — Jimbo, Monkey, Jinny, the Sweep, the 
 Tramp, the Gypsy, the Laugher up against the cup- 
 board, the Gardener by the window where the 
 flower-pots stood, the Woman of the Haystack in 
 the corridor, too extensive to slip across the 
 threshold, and, in the middle of the room, motion- 
 less with pleasure — Mother ! 
 
 ' Like gorgeous southern butterflies in a net, I do 
 declare ! ' gasped Daddy, as he swept in silently with 
 his companion, their colours mingling harmoniously 
 at once with the rest. 
 
 And Mother turned. 
 
 ' You're out, old girl, at last ! ' he cried. 
 
 ' God bless my soul, I am ! ' she answered. Their 
 sentences came both together, and their blues and 
 yellows swam into each other and made a lovely 
 green. ' It's what I've been trying to do all these
 
 332 
 
 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND chap. 
 
 years without knowing it. What a glory ! I under- 
 stand now — understand myself and you. I see life 
 clearly as a whole. Hooray, hooray ! ' She glided 
 nearer to him, her face was beaming. 
 
 * Mother's going to explode,' said Monkey in a 
 whisper. But, of course, everybody * heard ' it ; for 
 the faintest whisper of thought sent a ripple through 
 that sea of delicate colour. The Laugher bent 
 behind the cupboard to hide her face, and the 
 Gardener by the window stooped to examine his 
 flower-pots. The Woman of the Haystack drew 
 back a little into the corridor again, preparatory to 
 another effort to squeeze through. But Mother, 
 regardless of them all, swam on towards her husband, 
 wrapped in joy and light as in a garment. Hitherto, 
 in her body, the nearest she had come to coruscating 
 was once when she had taken a course of sulphur 
 baths. This was a very different matter. She fairly 
 glittered. 
 
 ' We'll never go apart again,' Daddy was telling 
 her. ' This inner sympathy will last, you know. 
 He did it. It's him we have to thank,' and he 
 pointed at his cousin. ' It's starlight, of course, 
 he has brought down into us.' 
 
 But Rogers missed the compliment, being busy 
 in a corner with Monkey and Jimbo, playing at 
 mixing colours with startling results. Mother swam 
 across to her old friend, Mile. Lemaire. For a 
 quarter of a century these two had understood one 
 another, though never consciously been * out ' to- 
 gether. She moved like a frigate still, gliding and 
 stately, but a frigate that has snapped its hawsers 
 and meant to sail the skies. 
 
 1 Our poor, stupid, sleeping old bodies,' she 
 smiled.
 
 xxiv A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 333 
 
 But the radiant form of the other turned to her 
 motionless cage upon the bed behind her. ' Don't 
 despise them,' she replied, looking down upon the 
 worn-out prison-house, while a little dazzle of 
 brilliance flashed through her atmosphere. 'They 
 are our means of spreading this starlight about the 
 world and giving it to others. Our brains transmit 
 it cunningly ; it flashes from our eyes, and the touch 
 of our fingers passes it on. We gather it here, when 
 we are " out," but we can communicate it best to 
 others when we are " in." ' 
 
 There was sound of confusion and uproar in the 
 room behind as some one came tumbling in with a 
 rush, scattering the figures in all directions as when a 
 gust of wind descends upon a bed of flowers. 
 
 ' In at last ! ' cried a muffled voice that sounded 
 as though a tarpaulin smothered it, and the Woman 
 of the Haystack swept into the room with a kind of 
 clumsy majesty. The Tramp and Gypsy, whose 
 efforts had at length dislodged her awkward bulk, 
 came rolling after. They had been pushing steadily 
 from behind all this time, though no one had noticed 
 them slip out. 
 
 • We can do more than the smaller folk,' she said 
 proudly, sailing up to Mother. ' We can't be over- 
 looked, for one thing ' ; and arm-in-arm, like a pair of 
 frigates then, they sailed about the room, magnificent 
 as whales that swim in a phosphorescent sea. The 
 Laugher straightened up to watch them, the Gardener 
 turned his head, and Rogers and the children paused 
 a moment in their artificial mixing, to stare with 
 wonder. 
 
 ' I'm in ! ' said the Woman. 
 
 ' I'm out ! ' said Mother. 
 
 And the children felt a trifle envious. Instantly
 
 334 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND chap. 
 
 their brilliance dimmed a little. The entire room 
 was aware of it. 
 
 ' Think always of the world in gold and silver,' 
 shot from Mile. Lemaire. The dimness passed as 
 she said it. 
 
 ' It was my doing,' laughed Monkey, turning 
 round to acknowledge her wickedness lest some one 
 else should do it for her and thus increase her 
 shame. 
 
 ' Sweep ! Sweep ! ' cried Rogers. 
 
 But this thought-created sprite was there before 
 the message flashed. With his sack wide open, he 
 stood by Monkey, full of importance. A moment 
 he examined her. Then, his long black fingers 
 darting like a shuttle, he discovered the false 
 colouring that envy had caused, picked it neatly out 
 — a thread of dirty grey — and, winding it into a 
 tiny ball, tossed it with contempt into his sack. 
 
 * Over the edge of the world you go, 
 With the mud and the leaves and the dirty snow ! * 
 
 he sang, skipping off towards the door. The child's 
 star-body glowed and shone again, pulsing all over 
 with a shimmering, dancing light that was like 
 moonshine upon running water. 
 
 ' Isn't it time to start now ? ' inquired Jinny ; and 
 as she said it all turned instinctively towards the 
 corner of the room where they were assembled. 
 They gathered round Mile. Lemaire. It was quite 
 clear who was leader now. The crystal brilliance 
 of her whiteness shone like a little oval sun. So 
 sparkling was her atmosphere, that its purity scarcely 
 knew a hint of colour even. Her stream of thought 
 seemed undiluted, emitting rays in all directions till 
 it resembled a wheel of sheer white fire. The others
 
 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 335 
 
 fluttered round her as lustrous moths about an 
 electric light. 
 
 ' Start where ? ' asked Mother, new to this great 
 adventure. 
 
 Her old friend looked at her, so that she caught 
 a darting ray full in the face, and instantly under- 
 stood. 
 
 ' First to the Cave to load up,' flashed the answer ; 
 ' and then over the sleeping world to mix the light 
 with everybody's dreams. Then back again before 
 the morning spiders are abroad with the interfering 
 sun.' 
 
 She floated out into the corridor, and all the 
 others fell into line as she went. The draught of her 
 going drew Mother into place immediately behind 
 her. Daddy followed close, their respective colours 
 making it inevitable, and Jinny swept in after him, 
 bright and eager as a little angel. She tripped on 
 the edge of something he held tightly in one hand, 
 a woven maze of tiny glittering lines, exquisitely 
 inter-threaded — a skeleton of beauty, waiting to be 
 filled in and clothed, yet already alive with spontaneous 
 fire of its own. It was the Pattern of his story he 
 had been busy with in the corner. 
 
 ' I won't step on it, Daddy,' she said gravely. 
 
 * It doesn't matter if you do. You're in it,' he 
 answered, yet lifted it higher so that it flew behind 
 him like a banner in the night. 
 
 The procession was formed now. Rogers and 
 the younger children came after their sister at a little 
 distance, and then, flitting to and fro in darker 
 shades, like a fringe of rich embroidery that framed 
 the moving picture, came the figures of the sprites, 
 born by Imagination out of Love in an old Kentish 
 garden years and years ago. They rose from the
 
 336 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND chap. 
 
 tangle of the ancient building. Climbing the 
 shoulder of a big, blue wind, they were off and 
 away ! 
 
 It was a jolly night, a windy night, a night 
 without clouds, when all the lanes of the sky were 
 smooth and swept, and the interstellar spaces seemed 
 close down upon the earth. 
 
 ' Kind thoughts, like fine weather, 
 Link sweetly together God's stars 
 With the heart of a boy,' 
 
 sang Rogers, following swiftly with Jimbo and his 
 sister. For all moved along as easily as light across 
 the surfaces of polished glass. And the sound of 
 Rogers's voice seemed to bring singing from every 
 side, as the gay procession swept onwards. Every one 
 contributed lines of their own, it seemed, though 
 there was a tiny little distant voice, soft and silvery, 
 that intruded from time to time and made all wonder 
 where it came from. No one could see the singer. 
 At first very far away, it came nearer and nearer. 
 
 Daddy. * The Interfering Sun has set ! 
 
 Gardener. Now Sirius flings down the Net ! 
 
 Lamplighter. See, the meshes flash and quiver, 
 
 As the golden, silent river 
 Sweep. Clears the dark world's troubled dream. 
 
 Dustman. Takes it sleeping, 
 
 Gilds its weeping 
 With a star's mysterious beam. 
 
 Tiny, distant Voice. Oh, think Beauty ! 
 
 It's your duty ! 
 In the Cave you work for others, 
 All the stars are little brothers ; 
 Rogers. Think their splendour, 
 
 Strong and tender ; 
 Daddy. Think their glory 
 
 In the Story 
 Mother. Of each day your nights redeem ?
 
 xxiv A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 
 
 337 
 
 Voice (nearer). 
 
 Jane Anne. 
 Monkey. 
 "Jim bo. 
 Tante Anna. 
 Tramp and Gypsy. 
 
 Woman of the Hay- 
 stack. 
 
 Voice (still nearer). 
 
 •Rogers. 
 
 Voice (quite close). 
 
 Rogers. 
 
 Voice (in his ear). 
 
 Every loving, gentle thought 
 
 Of this fairy brilliance wrought, 
 
 Every wish that you surrender, 
 Every little impulse tender, 
 Every service that you render 
 
 Brings its tributary stream ! 
 In the fretwork 
 Of the network 
 
 Hearts lie patterned and a-gleam ! 
 
 Think with passion 
 
 That shall fashion 
 Life's entire design well-planned ; 
 
 While the busy Pleiades, 
 
 Sisters to the Hyades, 
 
 Seven by seven, 
 
 Across the heaven, 
 
 Light desire 
 
 With their fire ! 
 Working cunningly together in a soft and 
 tireless band, 
 
 Sweetly linking 
 
 All our thinking, 
 In the Net of Sympathy that brings back 
 Fairyland ! ' 
 
 Mother kept close to her husband ; she felt a 
 little bewildered, and uncertain in her movements ; 
 it was her first conscious experience of being out. 
 She wanted to go in every direction at once ; for she 
 knew everybody in the village, knew all their 
 troubles and perplexities, and felt the call from every 
 house. 
 
 1 Steady,' he told her ; ' one thing at a time, you 
 know.' Her thoughts, he saw, had turned across the 
 sea to Ireland where her strongest ties were. Ireland 
 seemed close, and quite as accessible as the village. 
 Her friend of the Haystack, on the other hand, 
 seemed a long way off by comparison. 
 
 ' That's because Henry never realised her 
 
 z
 
 338 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND chap 
 
 personality very clearly,' said Daddy, seeing by her 
 colour that she needed explanation. ' When creating 
 all these Garden Sprites, he didn't think her sharply, 
 vividly enough to make her effective. He just felt 
 that a haystack suggested the elderly spread of a 
 bulky and untidy old woman whose frame had settled 
 beneath too many clothes, till she had collapsed into 
 a field and stuck there. But he left her where he 
 found her. He assigned no duties to her. She's 
 only half alive. As a rule, she merely sits — just 
 " stays put " — until some one moves her.' 
 
 Mother turned and saw her far in the rear, settling 
 down comfortably upon a flat roof near the church. 
 She rather envied her amiable disposition. It seemed 
 so safe. Every one else was alive with such dangerous 
 activity. 
 
 c Are we going much further ? ' she began, 
 
 when Monkey rushed by, caught up the sentence, 
 and discharged herself with impudence into Daddy. 
 
 ' Which is right, " further " or " farther " ? ' she 
 asked with a flash of light. 
 
 ' Further, of course,' said unsuspecting Mother. 
 
 * But " further " sounds " farther," she cried, with 
 a burst of laughter that died away with her passage 
 of meteoric brilliance — into the body of the woods 
 beyond. 
 
 ' But the other Sprites, you see, are real and 
 active,' continued Daddy, ignoring the interruption 
 as though accustomed to it, because he thought out 
 clearly every detail. ' They're alive enough to haunt 
 a house or garden till sensitive people become aware 
 of them and declare they've seen a ghost.' 
 
 ' And we ? . ' she asked. ' Who thought us out so 
 wonderfully? ' 
 
 ' That's more than I can tell,' he answered after a
 
 xxiv A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 339 
 
 little pause. * God knows that, for He thought out 
 the entire universe to which we belong. I only 
 know that we're real, and all part of the same huge, 
 single thing.' He shone with increased brightness 
 as he said it. ' There's no question about our person- 
 alities and duties and the rest. Don't you feel it 
 too ? ' 
 
 He looked at her as he spoke. Her outline had 
 grown more definite. As she began to understand, 
 and her bewilderment lessened, he noted that her 
 flashing lines burned more steadily, falling into a 
 more regular, harmonious pattern. They combined, 
 moreover, with his own, and with the starlight too, 
 in some exquisite fashion he could not describe. She 
 put a hand out, catching at the flying banner of his 
 Story that he trailed behind him in the air. They 
 formed a single design, all three. His happiness 
 became enormous. 
 
 1 1 feel joined on to everything,' she replied, half 
 singing it in her joy. 'I feel tucked into the uni- 
 verse everywhere, and into you, dear. These rays of 
 starlight have sewn us together.' She began to 
 tremble, but it was the trembling of pure joy and 
 not of alarm. . . . 
 
 1 Yes,' he said, * I'm learning it too. The moment 
 thought gets away from self it lets in starlight and 
 makes room for happiness. To think with sym- 
 pathy of others is to grow : you take in their 
 experience and add it to your own — development ; 
 the heart gets soft and deep and wide till you feel 
 the entire universe buttoning its jacket round you. 
 To think of self means friction and hence reduction.' 
 
 4 And your Story,' she added, glancing up proudly 
 at the banner that they trailed. ' I have helped a 
 little, haven't I ? '
 
 340 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND chap. 
 
 * It's nearly finished,' he flashed back ; ' you've 
 been its inspiration and its climax. All these years, 
 when we thought ourselves apart, you've been helping 
 really underground — that's true collaboration.' 
 
 ' Our little separation was but a reculer pour mieux 
 sauter. See how we've rushed together again ! ' 
 
 A strange soft singing, like the wind in firs, 
 or like shallow water flowing over pebbles, inter- 
 rupted them. The sweetness of it turned the night 
 alive. 
 
 ( Come on, old Mother. Our Leader is calling 
 to us. We must work.' 
 
 They slid from the blue wind into a current of 
 paler air that happened to slip swiftly past them, and 
 went towards the forest where Mile. Lemaire waited 
 for them. Mother waved her hand to her friend, 
 settled comfortably upon the flat roof in the village 
 in their rear. ' We'll come back to lean upon you 
 when we're tired,' she signalled. But she felt no 
 envy now. In future she would certainly never 
 ' stay put.' Work beckoned to her — and such end- 
 less, glorious work : the whole Universe. 
 
 ' What life ! What a rush of splendour ! * she 
 exclaimed as they reached the great woods and heard 
 them shouting below in the winds. ' I see now why 
 the forest always comforted me. There's strength 
 here I can take back into my body with me when 
 
 1 g°"' . . . 
 
 ' The trees, yes, express visibly only a portion or 
 
 their life,' he told her. ' There is an overflow we can 
 appropriate.' 
 
 Yet their conversation was never audibly uttered. 
 It flashed instantaneously from one to the other. 
 All they had exchanged since leaving La Citadelle 
 had taken place at once, it seemed. They were
 
 xxiv A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 341 
 
 awake in the region of naked thought and feeling. 
 The dictum of the materialists that thought and 
 feeling cannot exist apart from matter did not 
 trouble them. Matter, they saw, was everywhere, 
 though too tenuous for any measuring instrument 
 man's brain had yet invented. 
 
 4 Come on ! ' he repeated ; ' the Starlight Express 
 is waiting. It will take you anywhere you please — 
 Ireland if you like ! ' 
 
 They found the others waiting on the smooth 
 layer of soft purple air that spread just below the 
 level of the tree-tops. The crests themselves tossed 
 wildly in the wind, but at a depth of a few feet 
 there was peace and stillness, and upon this platform 
 the band was grouped. * The stars are caught in the 
 branches to-night,' a sensitive walker on the ground 
 might have exclaimed. The spires rose about them 
 like little garden trees of a few years' growth, and 
 between them ran lanes and intricate, winding 
 thoroughfares Mother saw long, dark things like 
 thick bodies of snakes converging down these 
 passage-ways, filling them, all running towards the 
 centre where the group had established itself. There 
 were lines of dotted lights along them. They did 
 not move with the waving of the tree-tops. They 
 looked uncommonly familiar. 
 
 ' The trains,' Jimbo was crying. He darted to 
 and fro, superintending the embarking of the 
 passengers. 
 
 All the sidings of the sky were full of Starlight 
 Expresses. 
 
 The loading-up was so quickly accomplished that 
 Mother hardly realised what was happening. Every- 
 body carried sacks overflowing with dripping gold 
 and bursting at the seams. As each train filled, it
 
 342 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND chap. 
 
 shot away across the starry heavens ; for everyone 
 had been to the Cave and gathered their material 
 even before she reached the scene of action. And 
 with every train went a mecanicien and a con- 
 ducteur created by Jimbo's vivid and believing 
 thought ; a Sweep, a Lamplighter, and a Head 
 Gardener went, too, for the children's thinking multi- 
 plied these, too, according to their needs. They 
 realised the meaning of these Sprites so clearly now 
 — their duties, appearance, laws of behaviour, and 
 the rest — that their awakened imaginations thought 
 them instantly into existence, as many as were neces- 
 sary. Train after train, each with its full comple- 
 ment of passengers, flashed forth across that summer 
 sky, till the people in the Observatories must have 
 thought they had miscalculated strangely and the 
 Earth was passing amid the showering Leonids 
 before her appointed time. 
 
 ' Where would you like to go first ? ' Mother 
 heard her friend ask softly. ' It's not possible to 
 follow all the trains at once, you know.' 
 
 ' So I see,' she gasped. ' I'll just sit still a 
 moment, and think.' 
 
 The size and freedom of existence, as she now 
 saw it, suddenly overwhelmed her. Accustomed too 
 long to narrow channels, she found space without 
 railings and notice-boards bewildering. She had 
 never dreamed before that thinking can open the 
 gates of heaven and bring the Milky Way down 
 into the heart. She had merely knitted stockings. 
 She had been practical. At last the key to her 
 husband's being was in her hand. That key at the 
 same time opened a door through him, into her own. 
 Hitherto she had merely criticised. Oh dear ! 
 Criticism, when she might have created 1
 
 xxiv A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 343 
 
 She turned to seek him. But only her old friend 
 was there, floating beside her in a brilliant mist of 
 gold and white that turned the tree-tops into rows of 
 Burning Bushes. 
 
 ' Where is he ? ' she asked quickly. 
 
 1 Hush ! ' was the instant reply ; * don't disturb 
 him. Don't think, or you'll bring him back. He's 
 filling his sack in the Star Cave. Men have to 
 gather it, — the little store they possess is soon 
 crystallised into hardness by Reason, — but women 
 have enough in themselves usually to last a lifetime. 
 They are born with it.' 
 
 ' Mine crystallised long ago, I fear.' 
 
 ' Care and anxiety did that. You neglected it a 
 little. But your husband's cousin has cleaned the 
 channels out. He does it unconsciously, but he does 
 it. He has belief and vision like a child, and there- 
 fore turns instinctively to children because they keep 
 it alive in him, though he hardly knows why he seeks 
 them. The world, too, is a great big child that is 
 crying for its Fairyland. . . .' 
 
 c But the practical ' objected Mother, true to 
 
 her type of mind — an echo rather than an effort. 
 
 ' is important, yes, only it has been exagger- 
 ated out of all sane proportion in most people's lives. 
 So little is needed, though that little of fine quality, 
 and ever fed by starlight. Obeyed exclusively, it 
 destroys life. It bricks you up alive. But now tell 
 me,' she added, ' where would you like to go first ? 
 Whom will you help ? There is time enough to cover 
 the world if you want to, before the interfering sun 
 gets up.' 
 
 ' You ! ' cried Mother, impulsively, then realised 
 instantly that her friend was already developed far 
 beyond any help that she could give. It was the
 
 344 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND chap. 
 
 light streaming from the older, suffering woman that 
 was stimulating her own sympathies so vehemently. 
 For years the process had gone on. It was at last 
 effective. 
 
 ' There are others, perhaps, who need it more than 
 I, flashed forth a lovely ray. 
 
 ' But I would repay,' Mother cried eagerly, ' I 
 would repay.' Gratitude for life rushed through her, 
 and her friend must share it. 
 
 'Pass it on to others,' was the shining answer. 
 'That's the best repayment after all.' The stars 
 themselves turned brighter as the thought flashed 
 from her. 
 
 Then Ireland vanished utterly, for it had been 
 mixed, Mother now perceived, with personal longings 
 that were at bottom selfish. There were indeed 
 many there, in the scenes of her home and childhood, 
 whose lives she might ease and glorify by letting in 
 the starlight while they slept ; but her motive, she 
 discerned, was not wholly pure. There was a trace 
 in it, almost a little stain, of personal gratification- — 
 she could not analyse it quite — that dimmed the 
 picture in her thought. The brilliance of her com- 
 panion made it stand out clearly. Nearer home 
 was a less heroic object, a more difficult case, some 
 one less likely to reward her efforts with results. 
 And she turned instead to this. 
 
 'You're right,' smiled the other, following her 
 thought ; f and you couldn't begin with a better bit 
 of work than that. Your old mother has cut her- 
 self off so long from giving sympathy to her kind 
 that now she cannot accept it from others without 
 feeling suspicion and distrust. Ease and soften her 
 outlook if you can. Pour through her gloom the 
 sympathy of stars. And remember,' she added, as
 
 xxiv A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 345 
 
 Mother rose softly out of the trees and hovered a 
 moment overhead, ' that if you need the Sweep or 
 the Lamplighter, or the Gardener to burn away her 
 dead leaves, you have only to summon them. Think 
 hard, and they'll be instantly beside you.' 
 
 Upon an eddy of glowing wind Mother drifted 
 across the fields to the corner of the village where 
 her mother occupied a large single room in solitude 
 upon the top floor, a solitude self-imposed and rigor- 
 ously enforced. 
 
 • Use the finest quality,' she heard her friend 
 thinking far behind her, ' for you have plenty of it. 
 The Dustman gave it to you when you were not 
 looking, gathered from the entire Zodiac . . . and 
 from the careless meteor's track. . . .' 
 
 The words died off into the forest. 
 
 * That he keeps only 
 For the old and lonely, 
 (And is very strict about it) 
 Who sleep so little that they need the best ' 
 
 The words came floating behind her. She felt her- 
 self brimful — charged with loving sympathy of the 
 sweetest and most understanding quality. She looked 
 down a moment upon her mother's roof. Then she 
 descended.
 
 CHAPTER XXV 
 
 And also there's a little star — - 
 
 So white, a virgin's it must be ;— 
 Perhaps the lamp my love in heaven 
 
 Hangs out to light the way for me. 
 
 Song, Theophile Marzials. 
 
 In this corner of Bourcelles the houses lie huddled 
 together with an air of something shamefaced ; they 
 dare not look straight at the mountains or at the 
 lake ; they turn their eyes away even from the 
 orchards at the back. They wear a mysterious and 
 secret look, and their shoulders have a sly turn, as 
 though they hid their heads in the daytime and 
 stirred about their business only after dark. 
 
 They lie grouped about a cobbled courtyard that 
 has no fountain in it. The fair white road goes 
 quickly by outside, afraid to look in frankly ; and 
 the entrance to the yard is narrow. Nor does a 
 single tree grow in it. If Bourcelles could have a 
 slum, this would be it. 
 
 Why the old lady had left her cosy quarters in 
 Les Glycines and settled down in this unpleasant 
 corner of the village was a puzzle to everybody. 
 With a shrug of the shoulders the problem was gener- 
 allv left unsolved. Madame Jequier discussed it 
 volubly a year ago when the move took place, then 
 dismissed it as one of those mysteries of old people 
 no one can understand. To the son-in-law and the 
 
 346
 
 ch. xxv A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 347 
 
 daughter, who got nearer the truth, it was a source of 
 pain and sadness beyond their means of relief. Mrs. 
 ' Plume ' — it was a play in French upon her real name, 
 — had been four years in the Pension, induced to 
 come from a lonely existence in Ireland by her 
 daughter and throw in her lot with the family, and 
 at first had settled down comfortably enough. She 
 was over seventy, and possessed^ 80 a year — a dainty, 
 witty, amusing Irish lady, with twinkling eyes and a 
 pernicketty strong will, and a brogue she transferred 
 deliciously into her broken French. She loved the 
 children, yet did not win their love in return, because 
 they stood in awe of her sarcastic criticisms. Life 
 had gone hardly with her ; she had lost her fortune 
 and her children, all but this daughter, with whose 
 marriage she was keenly disappointed. An aristocrat 
 to the finger-tips, she could not accept the change of 
 circumstances ; distress had soured her ; the trans- 
 planting hastened her decline ; there was no sweet- 
 ness left in her. She turned her heart steadily against 
 the world. 
 
 The ostensible cause of this hiding herself away 
 with her sorrow and disappointment was the presence 
 of Miss Waghorn, with whom she disagreed, and 
 even quarrelled, from morning till night. They formed 
 a storm-centre that moved from salon to dining- 
 room, and they squabbled acutely about everything 
 — the weather, the heating, the opening or shutting 
 of windows, the details of the food, the arrangement 
 of the furniture, even the character of the cat Miss 
 Waghorn loved. The bickerings were incessant. They 
 only had to meet for hot disagreement to break out. 
 Mrs. Plume, already bent with age, would strike the 
 floor with the ebony stick she always carried, and 
 glare at the erect, defiant spinster — ' That horrud,
 
 348 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND chap. 
 
 dirrty cat ; its always in the room ! ' Then Miss 
 Waghorn : ' It's a very nice cat, Madame' — she always 
 called her Madame — ' and when I was a young girl 
 I was taught to be kind to animals.' — * The drawing- 
 room is not the place for animals,' came the pricking 
 answer. And then the scuffle began in earnest. 
 
 Miss Waghorn, owing to her want of memory, 
 forgot the squabble five minutes afterwards, and 
 even forgot that she knew her antagonist at all. She 
 would ask to be introduced, or even come up sweetly 
 and introduce herself within half an hour of the 
 battle. But Madame Plume forgot nothing ; her 
 memory was keen and accurate. She did not believe 
 in the other's failing. * That common old woman ! ' 
 she exclaimed with angry scorn to her daughter. 
 ' It's deliberate ofFensiveness, that's all it is at all ! ' 
 And she left the Pension. 
 
 But her attitude to the harmless old Quaker lady 
 was really in small her attitude to humanity at large. 
 She drew away in disgust from a world that had 
 treated her so badly. Into herself she drew, growing 
 smaller every day, more sour, more suspicious, and 
 more averse to her own kind. Within the restricted 
 orbit of her own bitter thoughts she revolved towards 
 the vanishing point of life which is the total loss of 
 sympathy. She felt with no one but herself. She 
 belonged to that, alas, numerous type which, with 
 large expectations unrealised, cannot accept disillu- 
 sionment with the gentle laughter it deserves. She 
 resented the universe. Sympathy was dead. 
 
 And she had chosen this unsavoury corner to 
 dwell in because ' the poor ' of the village lived there, 
 and she wished to count herself among them. It 
 emphasised the spite, the grudge, she felt against 
 humanity. At first she came into dejeuner and souper,
 
 xxv A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 349 
 
 but afterwards her meals were sent over twice a day 
 from the Pension. She discovered so many reasons 
 for not making the little journey of a hundred yards. 
 On Sunday the ' common people ' were in the streets ; 
 on Saturday it was cleaning-day and the Pension 
 smelt of turpentine ; Monday was for letter-writing, 
 and other days were too hot or too cold, too windy 
 or too wet- In the end she accomplished her heart's 
 desire. Madame Cornu, who kept the grocer's shop, 
 and lived on the floor below with her husband, pre- 
 pared the two principal meals and brought them up 
 to her on a tray. She ate them alone. Her break- 
 fast cup of tea she made herself, Mme. Cornu putting 
 the jug of milk outside the door. She nursed her 
 bitter grievance against life in utter solitude. Acidity 
 ate its ugly pattern into her heart. 
 
 The children, as in duty bound, made dolorous 
 pilgrimages to that upper floor from time to time, 
 returning frightened, and Mother went regularly 
 twice a week, coming home saddened and distressed. 
 Her husband rarely went at all now, since the time 
 when she told him to his face he came to taunt her. 
 She spent her time, heaven only knows how, for she 
 never left the building. According to Mother she 
 was exceedingly busy doing nothing. She packed, un- 
 packed, and then repacked all her few belongings. 
 In summer she chased bees in her room with a wet 
 towel ; but with venom, not with humour. The 
 Morning Post came daily from London. ' I read my 
 paper, write a letter, and the morning's gone,' she 
 told her daughter, by way of complaint that time was 
 so scanty. Mme. Cornu often heard her walking up 
 and down the floor, tapping her ebony stick and 
 talking softly to herself. Yet she was as sane as any 
 old body living in solitude with evil thinking well
 
 350 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND chap, 
 
 can be. She starved — because she neither gave nor 
 asked. 
 
 As Mother thought of her, thus finding the way 
 in instantly, the church clock, sounded midnight. 
 She entered a room that was black as coal and un- 
 sweetened as an airless cellar. The fair rays that had 
 been pouring out of her returned with a little shock 
 upon themselves — repulsed. She felt herself reduced, 
 and the sensation was so unpleasant at first that she 
 almost gasped. It was like suffocation. She felt 
 enclosed with Death. That her own radiance dimmed 
 a moment was undeniable, but it was for a moment 
 only, for, thinking instantly of her friend, she drew 
 upon that woman's inexhaustible abundance, and 
 found her own stores replenished. 
 
 Slowly, as a wintry sun pierces the mist in some 
 damp hollow of the woods, her supply of starlight 
 lit up little pathways all about her, and she saw the 
 familiar figure standing by the window. The figure 
 was also black ; it stood like an ebony statue in an 
 atmosphere that was thick with gloom, turgid, sinister, 
 and wholly ray less. It was like a lantern in a London 
 fog. A few dim lines of sombre grey issued heavily 
 from it, but got no farther than its outer surface, 
 then doubled back and plunged in again. They 
 coiled and twisted into ugly knots. Her mother's 
 atmosphere was opaque, and as dismal as a November 
 fog. There was a speck of light in the room, how- 
 ever, and it came, the visitor then perceived, from a 
 single candle that stood beside the bed. The old 
 lady had been reading ; she rarely slept before two 
 o'clock in the morning. 
 
 And at first, so disheartening, so hopeless seemed 
 the task, that Mother wavered in her mission ; a 
 choking, suffocating sensation blocked all her channels
 
 xxv A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 351 
 
 of delivery. The very flowers on the window-sill, 
 she noted, drooped in a languishing decline ; they 
 had a lifeless air as of flowers that struggle for exist- 
 ence in deep shadow and have never known the kiss 
 of sunshine. Through the inch of opened window 
 stole a soft breath of the night air, but it turned 
 black and sluggish the moment it came in. And 
 just then, as Mother hovered there in hesitating 
 doubt, the figure turned and moved across to the bed, 
 supporting herself with the ebony cane she always 
 used. Stiffly she sank upon her knees. The habit 
 was as strong as putting her shoes outside the door at 
 night to be cleaned, — those shoes that never knew the 
 stain of roadway dust — and equally devoid of spiritual 
 significance. Yet, for a moment, as the embittered 
 mind gabbled through the string of words that long 
 habit had crystallised into an empty formula, Mother 
 noticed that the lines of grey grew slightly clearer ; 
 the coil and tangle ceased ; they even made an effort 
 to emerge and leave the muddy cloud that obscured 
 their knotted, intricate disorder. 
 
 The formula Mother recognised ; it had hardly 
 changed, indeed, since she herself had learned it at 
 those very knees when days were brighter ; it began 
 with wholesale and audacious requests for self, then 
 towards the end passed into vague generalities for 
 the welfare of others. And just here it was that the 
 lines of grey turned brighter and tried to struggle out 
 of the murky atmosphere. The sight was pathetic, 
 yet deeply significant. Mother understood its mean- 
 ing. There was hope. Behind the prayer for others 
 still shone at least an echo of past meaning. 
 
 ' I believe in you, old, broken, disappointed heart,' 
 flashed through her own bright atmosphere, ' and, 
 believing, I can help you 1 '
 
 352 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND chap. 
 
 Her skill, however, was slight, owing to lack of 
 practice and experience. She moved over to the 
 bed, trying first to force her own darting rays into 
 the opaque, dull cloud surrounding the other ; then 
 seeking a better way — for this had no results — she 
 slipped somehow inside the mist, getting behind it, 
 down at the very source. From here she forced her 
 own light through, mixing her beams of coloured 
 radiance with the thick grey lines themselves. She 
 tried to feel and think as her mother felt and thought, 
 moving beside her mind's initial working, changing 
 the gloom into something brighter as she moved 
 along. This was the proper way, she felt — to clean 
 the source itself, rather than merely untie knots at 
 the outer surface. It was a stifling business, but she 
 persisted. Tiny channels cleared and opened. A little 
 light shone through. She felt-with her mother, 
 instead of arguing, as it were. . . . 
 
 The old lady presently blew the candle out and 
 composed herself to sleep. Mother laboured on. . . . 
 
 * Oh dear,' she sighed, * oh dear ! ' as she emerged 
 from the gloom a moment to survey her patient and 
 note results. To her amazement she saw that there 
 was a change indeed, though a very curious one. 
 The entire outer surface of the cloud seemed in 
 commotion, with here and there a glimmering lustre 
 as if a tiny lamp was at last alight within. She felt 
 herself swell with happiness. Instantly, then, the grey 
 lines shot out, fastening with wee loops and curves 
 among her own. Some links evidently had been 
 established. She had imparted something. 
 
 ' She's dreaming ! I do believe I've sown some 
 dream of beauty in her ! ' she beamed to herself. 
 
 Some golden, unaccustomed sleep had fallen over 
 the old lady. Stray shreds of darkness loosened from
 
 xxv A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 3 $3 
 
 the general mass and floated off, yet did not melt 
 entirely from sight. She was shedding some of her 
 evil thoughts. 
 
 ' The Sweep ! ' thought Mother, and turning, found 
 him beside her in the room. Her husband, to her 
 astonishment, was also there. 
 
 ' But I didn't think of you ! ' she exclaimed. 
 
 ' Not a definite thought,' he answered, • but you 
 needed me. I felt it. We're so close together now 
 that we're practically one, you see.' He trailed his 
 Pattern behind him, clothed now with all manner of 
 rich new colouring. ' I've collected such heaps of 
 new ideas,' he went on, ' and now I want her too. 
 She's in the Story. I'll transfigure her as well.' He 
 was bright as paint, and happy as a sand-boy. ' Well 
 done, old Mother,' he added, * you've done a lot 
 already. See, she's dreaming small, soft, tender 
 things of beauty that your efforts have let through.' 
 
 He glided across and poured from his own store of 
 sympathy into that dry, atrophied soul upon the bed. 
 ' It's a question how much she will be able to transmit, 
 though,' he said doubtfully. ' The spiritual machinery 
 is so stiff and out of gear from long disuse. In Miss 
 Waghorn's case it's only physical — I've just been 
 there — but this is spiritual blackness. We shall see 
 to-morrow. Something will get through at any rate, 
 and we must do this every night, you know.' 
 
 1 Rather ! ' echoed Mother. 
 
 ' Her actual self, you see, has dwindled so that 
 one can hardly find it. It's smaller than a flea, and 
 as hard and black.' They smiled a little sadiy. 
 
 The Sweep, rushing out of the window with his 
 heavy sack loaded to the brim, interrupted their low 
 laughter. He was no talker, but a man of action. 
 Busily all this time he had been gathering up the 
 
 2 A
 
 354 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND chap. 
 
 loose, stray fragments that floated off from the cloud, 
 and stuffing them into the sack. He now flew, sing- 
 ing, into the night, and they barely caught the last 
 words of his eternal song : — 
 
 *. . . a tremendously busy Sweep, 
 Tossing the blacks in the Rubbish Heap 
 Over the edge of the world.' 
 
 1 Come,' whispered Daddy. ' It's getting late. 
 The interfering sun is on the way, and you've been 
 hours here already. All the trains are back, and 
 every one is waiting for us.' Yet it had seemed so 
 short a time really. 
 
 Wrapped together in the beauty of his Pattern, 
 they left the old lady peacefully asleep, and sped 
 across the roofs towards the forest. 
 
 But neither of them noticed, it seemed, the lovely 
 little shining figure that hovered far in the air above 
 and watched them go. It followed them all the way, 
 catching even at the skirts of the flying Pattern as 
 they went. Was it the Spirit of some unknown Star 
 they had attracted from beyond the Milky Way ? 
 Or was it, perhaps, a Thought from some fair, ex- 
 quisite heart that had been wakened by the rushing 
 of the Expresses, and had flashed in to take a place 
 in the wonderful story Daddy wove ? 
 
 It had little twinkling feet, and its eyes were of 
 brown flame and amber. 
 
 * No, they did not notice the starry, fluttering 
 figure. It overtook them none the less, and with a 
 flying leap was into the Pattern of his story — in the 
 very centre, too ! — as quickly as lightning passes 
 through the foliage of the tree it strikes. Only 
 the lightning stayed. The figure remained caught.
 
 xxv A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 355 
 
 The entire Pattern shivered to its outer fringes, then 
 began to glow and shine all over. As the high 
 harmonic crowns the end of a long cadenza on a 
 violin, fulfilling bars of difficult effort, this point of 
 exquisite beauty flashed life into the Pattern of the 
 story, consummating the labour of construction with 
 the true, inevitable climax. There was something of 
 fairy insolence, both cheeky and delicious, in the pro- 
 prietary way it chose the principal place, yet the only 
 place still unoccupied, and sang * I'm here. I've 
 come ! ' It calmly fashioned itself a nest, as it were, 
 curled up and made itself at home. It was at home. 
 The audacity was justified. The Pattern seemed at 
 last complete. Beauty and Truth shone at its centre. 
 And the tiny voice continued singing, though 
 no one seemed to know exactly whence the sound 
 proceeded : — 
 
 'While the busy Pleiades, 
 Sisters to the Hyades, 
 Seven by seven, 
 Across the heaven, 
 Light desire 
 With their fire, 
 Flung from huge Orion's hand, 
 Sweetly linking 
 All our thinking 
 In the Net of Sympathy that brings back Fairyland ! ' 
 
 No — neither Mother nor Daddy were aware of 
 what had happened thus in the twinkling of an eye. 
 Certainly neither guessed that another heart, far 
 distant as the crow flies, had felt the stream of his 
 vital, creative thinking, and had thus delicately re- 
 sponded and sent out a sympathetic message of belief. 
 But neither did Adams and Leverrier, measuring 
 the heavens, and calculating through years of labour 
 the delicate interstellar forces, know that each had
 
 356 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND chap 
 
 simultaneously caught Neptune in their net of stars 
 — three thousand million miles away. Had they 
 been ' out,' these two big, patient astronomers, 
 they might have realised that they really worked 
 in concert every night. But history does not 
 relate that they slept well or ill ; their biographies 
 make no mention of what their ' Underneaths ' were 
 up to while their brains lay resting on the pillow ; 
 and private confession, if such exists, has never seen 
 the light of print as yet. In that region, however, 
 where Thinking runs and plays, thought dancing hand 
 in hand with thought that is akin to it, the fact must 
 surely have been known and recognised. They, too, 
 travelled in the Starlight Express. 
 
 Mother and Daddy realised it just then as little 
 as children are aware of the loving thoughts of 
 the parent that hovers protectingly about them all 
 day long. They merely acknowledged that a pro- 
 digious thrill of happiness pulsed through both of 
 them at once, feeling proud as the group in the 
 tree -tops praised their increased brightness and 
 admired the marvellous shining of the completed 
 Pattern they trailed above their heads. But more 
 than that they did not grasp. Nor have they 
 ever grasped it perhaps. That the result came 
 through later is proved, however, by the published 
 story, and by the strange, sweet beauty its readers 
 felt all over the world. But this belongs to the 
 private working of inspiration which can never be 
 explained, not even by the artist it has set on fire. 
 He, indeed, probably understands it least of all. 
 
 ' Where are the trains, the Starlight Expresses ? ' 
 asked Mother. 
 
 ' Gone ! ' answered Jimbo. * Gone to Australia 
 where they're wanted. It's evening now down there.'
 
 xxv A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 357 
 
 He pointed down, then up. ' Don't you see ? We 
 must hurry.' She looked across the lake where the 
 monstrous wall of Alps was dimly visible. The sky 
 was brightening behind them. Long strata of thin 
 cloud glimmered with faintest pink. The stars were 
 rapidly fading. ' What ages you've been ! ' he 
 added. 
 
 1 And where's Tante Anna ? ' she inquired quickly, 
 looking for her brilliant friend. 
 
 ' She's come and gone a dozen times while you've 
 been skylarking somewhere else,' explained Monkey 
 with her usual exaggeration. ' She's gone for good 
 now. She sleeps so badly. She's always waking 
 up, you know.' Mother understood. Only too 
 well she knew that her friend snatched sleep in 
 briefest intervals, incessantly disturbed by racking 
 pain. 
 
 A stream of light flashed past her, dashing like 
 a meteor towards the village and disappearing before 
 she could see the figure. 
 
 ' There goes Jinny,' cried some one, ' always 
 working to the very last. The interfering sun'll 
 catch her if she doesn't look out ! ' 
 
 There was movement and hurry everywhere. 
 Already the world ran loose and soft in colour. 
 Birds, just awake, were singing in the trees below. 
 Several passed swiftly overhead, raking the sky 
 with a whirring rush of wings. Everybody was 
 asking questions, urging return, yet lingering as 
 long as possible, each according to his courage. To 
 be caught ' out ' by the sun meant waking with a 
 sudden start that made getting out of bed very 
 difficult and might even cause a headache. 
 
 Rogers alone seemed unperturbed, unhurried, for 
 he was absorbed in a discovery that made him
 
 358 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND chap. 
 
 tremble. Noting the sudden perfection of his 
 cousin's Pattern, he had gone closer to examine it, 
 and had — seen the starry figure. Instantly he 
 forgot everything else in the world. It seemed 
 to him that he had suddenly found all he had 
 ever sought. He gazed into those gentle eyes of 
 amber and felt that he gazed into the eyes of the 
 Universe that had taken shape in front of him. 
 Floating up as near as he could, he spoke — 
 
 i Where do you come from — from what star ? ' 
 he asked softly in an ecstasy of wonder. 
 
 The tiny face looked straight at him and smiled. 
 
 ' From the Pleiades, of course, — that little group 
 of star-babies as yet unborn.' 
 
 ' I've been looking for you for ever,' he answered. 
 
 'You've found me,' sang the tiny voice. 'This 
 is our introduction. Now, don't forget. There was 
 a lost Pleiad, you know. Try to remember me when 
 you wake.' 
 
 ' Then why are you here ? ' He meant in the 
 Pattern. 
 
 The star-face rippled with laughter. 
 
 ' It's yours — your Scheme. He's given it perfect 
 shape for you, that's all. Don't you recognise it ? 
 But it's my Story as well. . . .' 
 
 A ray with crimson in it shot out just then across 
 the shoulder of the Blumlisalp, and, falling full upon 
 the tiny face, it faded out ; the Pattern faded 
 with it ; Daddy vanished too. On the little azure 
 winds of dawn they flashed away. Jimbo, Monkey, 
 and certain of the Sprites alone held on, but the tree- 
 tops to which they clung were growing more and 
 more slippery every minute. Mother, loth to return, 
 balanced bravely on the waving spires of a larch. 
 Her sleep that night had been so deep and splendid,
 
 xxv A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 359 
 
 she struggled to prolong it. She hated waking up 
 too early. 
 
 ' The Morning Spiders ! Look out ! ' cried a 
 Sprite, as a tiny spider on its thread of gossamer 
 floated by. It was the Dustman's voice. Catching 
 the Gypsy with one arm and the Tramp with the 
 other, all three instantly disappeared. 
 
 ' But where's my Haystack friend ? ' called Mother 
 faintly, almost losing her balance in the attempt to 
 turn round quickly. 
 
 • Oh, she's all right,' the Head Gardener answered 
 from a little distance where he was burning some- 
 thing. ' She just " stays put " and flirts with every 
 wind that comes near her. She loves the winds. 
 They know her little ways.' He went on busily 
 burning up dead leaves he had been collecting all 
 night long — dead, useless thoughts he had found 
 clogging a hundred hearts and stopping outlets. 
 
 ' Look sharp ! ' cried a voice that fell from the 
 sky above them. 
 
 ' Here come the Morning Spiders, 
 On their gossamer outriders ! ' 
 
 This time it was the Lamplighter flashing to and 
 fro as he put the stars out one by one. He was in 
 a frantic hurry ; he extinguished whole groups of 
 them at once. The Pleiades were the last to fade. 
 
 Rogers heard him and came back into himself. 
 For his ecstasy had carried him even beyond the 
 region of the freest ' thinking.' He could give no 
 account or explanation of it at all. Monkey, Jimbo, 
 Mother, and he raced in a line together for home and 
 safety. Above the fields they met the spiders every- 
 where, the spiders that bring the dawn and ride off 
 into the Star Cave on lost rays and stray thoughts
 
 360 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND chap. 
 
 that careless minds have left scattered about the 
 world. 
 
 And the children, as they raced and told their 
 mother to ' please move a little more easily and 
 slipperily,' sang together in chorus : — 
 
 ' We shall meet the Morning Spiders, 
 The fairy-cotton riders, 
 Each mounted on a star's rejected ray ; 
 With their tiny nets of feather 
 They collect our thoughts together, 
 And on strips of windy weather 
 Bring the Day. . . . 
 
 * That's stolen from you or Daddy,' Mother began 
 to say to Rogers — but was unable to complete the 
 flash. The thought lay loose behind her in the air. 
 A spider instantly mounted it and rode it off. 
 
 Something brushed her cheek. Riquette stood 
 over her, fingering her face with a soft extended 
 paw. 
 
 ' But it surely can't be time yet to get up ! ' she 
 murmured. ' I've only just fallen asleep, it seems.' 
 She glanced at her watch upon the chair beside the 
 bed, saw that it was only four o'clock, and then 
 turned over, making a space for the cat behind her 
 shoulder. A tremendous host of dreams caught at 
 her sliding mind. She tried to follow them. They 
 vanished. ' Oh dear ! ' she sighed, and promptly fell 
 asleep again. But this time she slept lightly. No 
 more adventures came. She did not dream. And 
 later, when Riquette woke her a second time because 
 it was half-past six, she remembered as little of having 
 been ' out ' as though such a thing had never taken 
 place at all. 
 
 She lit the fire and put the porridge saucepan on 
 the stove. It was a glorious July morning. She felt
 
 xxv A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 361 
 
 glad to be alive, and full of happy, singing thoughts. 
 1 1 wish I could always sleep like that ! ' she said. 
 ' But what a pity one has to wake up in the end ! ' 
 
 And then, as she turned her mind toward the 
 coming duties of the day, another thought came to 
 her. It was a very ordinary, almost a daily thought, 
 but there seemed more behind it than usual. Her 
 whole heart was in it this time — 
 
 • As soon as the children are off to school I'll pop 
 over to mother, and see if I can't cheer her up 
 a bit and make her feel more happy. Oh dear ! ' 
 she added, ' life is a bag of duties, whichever way 
 one looks at it ! ' But she felt a great power in her 
 that she could face them easily and turn each one 
 into joy. She could take life more bigly, carelessly, 
 more as a whole somehow. She was aware of some 
 huge directing power in her ' underneath.' More- 
 over, the ' underneath ' of a woman like Mother was 
 not a trifle that could be easily ignored. That great 
 Under Self, resting in the abysses of being, rose 
 and led. The pettier Upper Self withdrew ashamed, 
 passing over the reins of conduct into those mighty, 
 shadowy hands.
 
 CHAPTER XXVI 
 
 Canst thou bind the sweet influences of Pleiades, 
 Or loose the bands of Orion ? 
 
 Book of yob. 
 
 The feeling that something was going to happen — 
 that odd sense of anticipation — which all had ex- 
 perienced the evening before at tea-time had entirely 
 vanished, of course, next morning. It was a mood, 
 and it had passed away. Every one had slept it off. 
 They little realised how it had justified itself. Jane 
 Anne, tidying the Den soon after seven o'clock, 
 noticed the slip of paper above the mantelpiece, read 
 it over — ' The Starlight Express will start to-night. 
 Be reddy ! ' — and tore it down. ' How could that 
 have amused us ! ' she said aloud, as she tossed it 
 into the waste -paper basket. Yet, even while she 
 did so, some stray sensation of delight clutched at her 
 funny little heart, a touch of emotion she could not 
 understand that was wild and very sweet. She went 
 singing about her work. She felt important and 
 grown-up, extraordinarily light-hearted too. The 
 things she sang made up their own words — such odd 
 snatches that came she knew not whence. An insect 
 clung to her duster, and she shook it out of the 
 window with the crumbs and bits of cotton gathered 
 from the table-cloth. 
 
 *Get out, you Morning Spider, 
 You fairy-cotton rider! 
 
 362
 
 ch. xxv. A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 363 
 
 she sang, and at the same minute Mother opened the 
 bedroom door and peeped in, astonished at the 
 unaccustomed music. In her voluminous dressing- 
 gown, her hair caught untidily in a loose net, her face 
 flushed from stooping over the porridge saucepan, 
 she looked, thought Jinny, ' like a haystack somehow.' 
 Of course she did not say it. The draught, flapping 
 at her ample skirts, added the idea of a covering 
 tarpaulin to the child's mental picture. She went on 
 dusting with a half-offended air, as though Mother 
 had no right to interrupt her with a superintending 
 glance like this. 
 
 'You won't forget the sweeping too, Jinny?' 
 said Mother, retiring again majestically with that 
 gliding motion her abundant proportions achieved so 
 gracefully. 
 
 ' Of course I won't, Mother,' and the instant the 
 door was closed she fell into another snatch of song, 
 the words of which flowed unconsciously into her 
 mind, it seemed — 
 
 ' For I'm a tremendously busy Sweep, 
 Dusting the room while you're all asleep, 
 And shoving you all in the rubbish heap, 
 Over the edge of the tiles ' 
 
 — a little wumbled, it is true, but its source unmis- 
 takable. 
 
 And all day long, with every one, it was similar, 
 this curious intrusion of the night into the day, the 
 sub-conscious into the conscious — a kind of subtle 
 trespassing. The flower of forgotten dreams rose so 
 softly to the surface of consciousness that they had 
 an air of sneaking in, anxious to be regarded as an 
 integral part of normal waking life. Like bubbles 
 in water they rose, discharged their puff of fragrant 
 air, and disappeared again. Jane Anne, in particular,
 
 364 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND chap 
 
 was simply radiant all day long, and more than 
 usually clear-headed. Once or twice she wumbled, 
 but there was big sense in her even then. It was 
 only the expression that evaded her. Her little 
 brain was a poor transmitter somehow. 
 
 * I feel all endowed to-day,' she informed Rogers, 
 when he congratulated her later in the day on some 
 cunning act of attention she bestowed upon him. It 
 was in the courtyard where they all sat sunning 
 themselves after dejeuner, and before the younger 
 children returned to afternoon school. 
 
 ' I feel emaciated, you know,' she added, uncer- 
 tain whether emancipated was the word she really 
 sought. 
 
 ' You'll be quite grown-up,' he told her, c by the 
 time I come back to little Bourcelles in the autumn.' 
 Little Bourcelles ! It sounded, the caressing way he 
 said it, as if it lay in the palm of his big brown 
 hand. 
 
 ' But you'll never come back, because you'll never 
 go,' Monkey chimed in. ' My hair, remember ' 
 
 ' My trains won't take you,' said Jimbo gravely. 
 
 ' Oh, a train may take you,' continued Monkey, 
 ' but you can't leave. Going away by train isn't 
 leaving.' 
 
 ' It's only like going to sleep,' explained her 
 brother. You'll come back every night in a Star- 
 light Express ' 
 
 ' Because a Starlight Express takes passengers — 
 whether they like it or not. You take an ordinary 
 train, but a starlight train takes you ! ' added 
 Monkey. 
 
 Mother heard the words and looked up sharply 
 from her knitting. Something, it seemed, had 
 caught her attention vividly, though until now her
 
 xxvi A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 365 
 
 thoughts had been busy with practical things of quite 
 another order. She glanced keenly round at the 
 faces, where all sat grouped upon the stone steps of 
 La Citadelle. Then she smiled curiously, half to her- 
 self. What she said was clearly not what she had 
 first meant to say. 
 
 * Children, you're not sitting on the cold stone, 
 are you ? ' she inquired, but a little absent-mindedly. 
 
 ' We're quite warm ; we've got our thick under- 
 neathies on,' was the reply. They realised that only 
 part of her mind was in the question, and that any 
 ordinary answer would satisfy her. 
 
 Mother resumed her knitting, apparently satisfied. 
 
 But Jinny, meanwhile, had been following her 
 own train of thought, started by her cousin's descrip- 
 tion of her as ' grown-up.' The picture grew big 
 and gracious in her mind. 
 
 ' I wonder what I shall do when my hair goes 
 up ? ' she observed, apparently a propos de bottes. 
 It was the day, of course, eagerly, almost feverishly, 
 looked forward to. 
 
 ' Hide your head in a bag probably,' laughed her 
 sister. Jinny flushed ; her hair was not abundant. 
 Yet she seemed puzzled rather than offended. 
 
 ' Never mind,' Rogers soothed her. ' The day a 
 girl puts up her hair, a thousand young men are 
 aware of it, — and one among them trembles.' The 
 idea of romance seemed somehow in the air. 
 
 ' Oh, Cousinenry ! ' She was delighted, com- 
 forted, impressed ; but perplexity was uppermost. 
 Something in his tone of voice prevented impudent 
 comment from the others. 
 
 'And all the stars grow a little brighter,' he 
 added. ' The entire universe is glad.' 
 
 ' I shall be a regular company promoter ! ' she
 
 366 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND chap 
 
 exclaimed, nearer to wit than she knew, yet with 
 only the vaguest inkling of what he really meant. 
 
 * And draw up a Memorandum of Agreement 
 with the Milky Way,' he added, gravely smiling. 
 
 He had just been going to say ' with the Pleiades,' 
 when something checked him. A wave of strange 
 emotion swept him. It rose from the depths within, 
 then died away as mysteriously as it came. Like 
 exquisite music heard from very far away, it left its 
 thrill of beauty and of wonder, then hid behind the 
 breath of wind that brought it. ' The whole world, 
 you see, will know,' he added under his breath to 
 the delighted child. He looked into her queer, 
 flushed face. The blue eyes for a moment had, he 
 thought, an amber tinge. It was a mere effect of 
 light, of course ; the sun had passed behind a 
 cloud. Something that he ought to have known, 
 ought to have remembered, flashed mockingly 
 before him and was gone. ' One among them 
 trembles,' he repeated in his mind. He himself was 
 trembling. 
 
 * The Morning Spiders,' said some one quietly 
 and softly, * are standing at their stable doors, 
 making faces at the hidden sun.' 
 
 But he never knew who said it, or if it was not 
 his own voice speaking below his breath. He 
 glanced at Jimbo. The small grave face wore an 
 air of man-like preoccupation, as was always the case 
 when he felt a little out of his depth in general con- 
 versation. He assumed it in self-protection. He 
 never exposed himself by asking questions. The 
 music of that under-voice ran on : — 
 
 * Sweet thoughts, like fine weather, 
 Bind closely together 
 God's stars with the heart of a boy,'
 
 xxvi A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 367 
 
 But he said it aloud apparently this time, for the 
 others looked up with surprise. Monkey inquired 
 what in the world he was talking about, only, not 
 quite knowing himself, he could not answer her. 
 Jimbo then, silent and preoccupied, found his 
 thoughts still running on marriage. The talk about 
 his sister's hair going up no doubt had caused it. 
 He remembered the young schoolmistress who had 
 her meals at the Pension, and the Armenian student 
 who had fallen in love with, and eventually married, 
 her. It was the only courtship he had ever wit- 
 nessed. Marriage and courtship seemed everywhere 
 this morning. 
 
 ' I saw it all with Mile. Perette,' he informed the 
 party. ' It began already by his pouring out water 
 for her and passing the salt and things. It always 
 begins like that. He got shawls even when she 
 was hot.' 
 
 He looked so wise and grave that nobody laughed, 
 and his sisters even seemed impressed rather. Jinny 
 waited anxiously for more. If Mother did make 
 an odd grimace, it was not noticed, and anyhow was 
 cleverly converted into the swallowing of a yawn. 
 There was a moment's silence. Jimbo, proudly 
 conscious that more was expected of him, provided 
 it in his solemn little voice. 
 
 'But it must be horrid,' he announced, 'to be 
 married — always sticked to the same woman, like 
 that.' No sentence was complete without the inevit- 
 able ' already ' or ' like that,' translated from the 
 language he was more at home in. He thought in 
 French. 'I shall never marry myself (me marier), 
 he decided, seeing his older sister's eyes upon him 
 wonderinpdy. Then, uncertain whether he had said 
 an awfully wise or an awfully foolish thing, he added
 
 368 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND chap. 
 
 no more. Anyhow, it was the way a man should 
 talk — with decision. 
 
 ' It's bad enough to be a wife,' put in Monkey, 
 1 but it must be worse still to have one ! ' 
 
 But Jane Anne seemed shocked. A man, Jimbo 
 reflected, can never be sure how his wisdom may 
 affect the other sex ; women are not meant to know 
 everything. She rose with dignity and went upstairs 
 towards the door, and Monkey, rippling with laughter, 
 smacked her as she went. This only shocked her more. 
 
 ' That was a slight mistake behind,' she said re- 
 provingly, looking back ; ' you should have more 
 reserve, I think,' then firmly shut the door. 
 
 All of which meant — so far as Jane Anne was 
 concerned — that an important standard of conduct — 
 grown-up, dignified, stately in a spiritual sense — was 
 being transferred to her present behaviour, but trans- 
 ferred ineffectively. Elsewhere Jane Anne lived it, 
 was it. She knew it, but could not get at the part 
 of her that knew it. The transmitting machinery 
 was imperfect. Connecting links and switches were 
 somehow missing. Yearning was strong in her, that 
 yearning which is common to all the world, though 
 so variously translated. Once out of the others' 
 sight, she made a curious face. She went into her 
 room between the kitchen and the Den, flung herself 
 on the bed, and burst into tears. And the tears 
 brought relief. They oiled the machinery perhaps. 
 At any rate, she soon felt better. 
 
 ' I felt so enormous and unsettled,' she informed 
 Mother later, when the redness of her eyes was 
 noticed and she received breathlessly a great com- 
 forting hug. ' I never get anything right.' 
 
 ' But you are right, darling,' Mother soothed her, 
 little guessing that she told the perfect truth. ' You
 
 xxvi A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 369 
 
 are all right, only you don't know it. Everybody's 
 wumbled somewhere.' And she advised her — ah, 
 Mother was profoundly wise instinctively — not to 
 think so much, but just go ahead as usual and do her 
 work. 
 
 For Mother herself felt a little queer that day, as 
 though something very big and splendid lay hiding 
 just beyond her reach. It surged up, vanished, then 
 surged up again, and it came closest when she was 
 not thinking of it. The least effort of the mind to 
 capture it merely plunged her into an empty gulf 
 where she could not touch bottom. The glorious 
 thing ran instantly underground. She never ceased 
 to be aware of it, but any attempt to focus resulted 
 in confusion. Analysis was beyond her powers, yet 
 the matter was very simple really, for only when 
 thought is blank, and when the mind has forgotten 
 to think, can inspiration come through into the heart. 
 The intellect interprets afterwards, sets in order, 
 regulates, examines the wonder and beauty the heart 
 distils alchemically out of the eternal stream in which 
 life everywhere dips its feet. If Reason interferes 
 too soon, or during transmission, it only muddles 
 and destroys. And Mother, hitherto, had always 
 been so proud of being practical, prosaic, reasonable. 
 She had deliberately suppressed the other. She 
 could not change in a single day just because she 
 had been ' out ' and made discoveries last night. 
 Oh, how simple it all was really, and yet how 
 utterly most folk convert the wonder of it into 
 wumbling ! 
 
 Like Jane Anne, her miniature, she felt splendid 
 all day long, but puzzled too. It was almost like 
 those religious attacks she had experienced in early 
 youth. She had no definite creed by which she 
 
 2 B
 
 370 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND chap 
 
 could explain it. Though nominally Christian, like 
 her husband, she could not ascribe her joy to a 
 ' Holy Spirit,' or to a ' God ' working in her. But 
 she was reminded of her early ' religious attacks ' 
 because she now experienced that large sensation of 
 glorious peace and certainty which usually accompanies 
 the phenomenon in the heart called ' conversion.' 
 She saw life whole. She rested upon some unfailing 
 central Joy. Come what might, she felt secure and 
 ' saved.' Something everlasting lay within call, an 
 ever-ready help in trouble ; and all day she was 
 vaguely conscious that her life lay hid with — with 
 what ? She never found the word exactly, for ' Joy ' 
 was but one aspect of it. She fell back upon the 
 teachings of the big religions which are the police 
 regulations of the world. Yet all creeds shared these, 
 and her feeling was far deeper than mere moral 
 teachings. And then she gave up thinking about it. 
 Besides, she had much knitting to do. 
 
 ' It's come to stay anyhow ; I feel in sympathy 
 with everybody,' she said, and so dismissed vain 
 introspection, keeping the simple happiness and 
 peace. That was her strength, as it was also Jinny's. 
 A re-formation had begun. 
 
 Jimbo, too, felt something in his microcosmic 
 way, only he said little and asked no single question. 
 It betrayed itself, however, to his Mother's widened 
 vision. He was all stirred up. He came back 
 again from school at three o'clock — for it was 
 Thursday and he did not take the singing lesson 
 from three to four — put down his books with a very 
 business-like air, forgot to kiss his Mother — and 
 went out. 
 
 ' Where are you off to, Jimbo ? ' She scented 
 mischief. He was so affairi.
 
 <xvi A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 371 
 
 He turned obediently at once, the face grave and 
 puckered. 
 
 ' Going over to the carpenter's house, Mummy.' 
 
 ' What for, dear ? Why don't you stay and play 
 here ? ' She had the feeling that her husband was 
 absorbed in his work and would not like to be 
 disturbed. 
 
 The boy's reply was evasive too. ' I want to 
 have a long discuss with Daddy,' he said. 
 
 1 Can't you have your long discuss with me in- 
 stead ? ' she asked. 
 
 He shook his head. * You see,' he answered 
 solemnly, ' it's about things.' 
 
 * But Daddy's working just now ; he'll be over to 
 tea at four. Can't it wait till then ? ' 
 
 She understood too well to inquire what ' things ' 
 might be. The boy wished to speak with one of his 
 own sex — as one man to another man. 
 
 ' When a man's at work,' she added, ' he doesn't 
 like to be disturbed.' 
 
 ' All right,' was the reply. ' We can wait a little,' 
 and he settled down to other things in a corner by 
 himself. His mind, clearly, was occupied with grave 
 considerations he could not discuss with anybody, 
 least of all with women and children. But, of 
 course, busy men must not be interrupted. For a 
 whole hour in his corner he made no sound, and 
 hardly any movement. 
 
 But Daddy did not come at four o'clock. He 
 was evidently deep in work. And Mother did not 
 send for him. The carpenter's wife, she knew, would 
 provide a cup of tea. 
 
 He came late to supper, too, at the Pension, 
 nodded to Mother with an expression which plainly 
 said, ' I've finished the story at last ' ; winked to his
 
 372 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND chap 
 
 cousin, meaning, ' It came out all right, I'm satisfied,' 
 and took his seat between Jinny and Mile. Vuillemot, 
 the governess who had earned her meal by giving 
 a music lesson that afternoon to a pensionnaire. 
 Jinny looked sideways at him in a spirit of examina- 
 tion, and picked the inevitable crumb deftly from 
 his beard. 
 
 ' Reminiscences ! ' she observed slyly. ' You did 
 have some tea, then.' Her long word was well 
 chosen for once ; her mind unusually logical, too. 
 
 But Daddy made no reply ; he went on eating 
 whatever was set before him with an air of complete 
 detachment ; he devoured cold ham and salad auto- 
 matically ; and the children, accustomed to this 
 absorption, ignored his presence. He was still in 
 the atmosphere of his work, abstracted, lost to the 
 outer world. They knew they would only get 
 wumbled answers to their questions and remarks, 
 and they did not dare to tease him. From time to 
 time he lifted his eyes — very bright they were — and 
 glanced round the table, dimly aware that he was in 
 the midst of a stream of noisy chatter, but unable to 
 enter it successfully at any point. Mother, watching 
 him, thought, ' He's sitting on air, he's wrapped 
 in light, he's very happy ' ; and ate an enormous 
 supper, as though an insatiable hunger was in her. 
 
 The governess, Mile. Vuillemot, who stood in awe 
 of the ' author ' in him, seized her opportunity. She 
 loved to exchange a mot with a real writer, read- 
 ing all kinds of unintended subtlety into his brief 
 replies in dreadful French. To-night she asked him 
 the meaning of a word, title of a Tauchnitz novel she 
 had been reading — Juggernaut ; but, being on his deaf 
 side, he caught ' Huguenot ' instead, and gave her a 
 laboured explanation, strangled by appalling grammar.
 
 xxvx A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 373 
 
 The historical allusions dazed her ; the explana- 
 tion ended on a date. She was sorry she had 
 ventured, for it made her feel so ignorant. 
 
 ' Shuggairnort,' she repeated bravely. She had a 
 vague idea he had not properly heard before. 
 
 But this time he caught ' Argonaut,' and swamped 
 her then with classical exposition, during which she 
 never took her eyes off him, and decided that he 
 was far more wonderful than she had ever dreamed. 
 He was ; but not for the reasons she supposed. 
 
 ' Thank you,' she said with meek gratitude at the 
 end, * I thank you.' 
 
 1 II n'y a pas de quar,' replied Daddy, bowing ; 
 and the adventure came to an end. The others 
 luckily had not heard it in full swing ; they only 
 caught the final phrase with which he said adieu. 
 But it served its unwitting purpose admirably. It 
 brought him back to the world about him. The 
 spell was broken. All turned upon him instantly. 
 
 ' Snay pas un morsow de bong.' Monkey copied 
 his accent, using a sentence from a schoolboy's 
 letter in Punch. ' It's not a bit of good.' Mother 
 squelched her with a look, but Daddy, even if he 
 noticed it, was not offended. Nothing could offend 
 him to-night. Impertinence turned silvery owing 
 to the way he took it. There was a marvellous 
 light and sweetness about him. ' He is on air,' 
 decided Mother finally. ' He's written his great 
 Story — our story. It's finished ! ' 
 
 ' I don't know,' he said casually to the others, as 
 they stood talking a few minutes in the salon before 
 going over to the Den, ' if you'd like to hear it ; 
 but I've got a new creature for the Wumble Book. 
 It came to me while I was thinking of something 
 else— '
 
 374 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND chap. 
 
 ' Thinking of one thing while you were thinking 
 of another ! ' cried Monkey. It described exaccurately 
 his state of mind sometimes. 
 
 ' and I jotted down the lines on my cuff. So 
 
 it's not very perfect yet.' 
 
 Mother had him by the arm quickly. Mile. 
 Vuillemot was hovering in his neighbourhood, for 
 one thing. It seemed to her they floated over, 
 almost flew. 
 
 ' It's a Haystack Woman,' he explained, once they 
 were safely in the Den grouped about him. ' A 
 Woman of the Haystack who is loved by the Wind. 
 That is to say, the big Wind loves her, but she prefers 
 the younger, handsomer little Winds, and ' 
 
 He was not allowed to finish. The children laid 
 his cuff back in a twinkling, drawing up the coat 
 sleeve. 
 
 ' But surely I know that,' Mother was saying. 
 * I've heard of her before somewhere. I wonder 
 where ? ' Others were saying the same thing. ' It's 
 not new.* 
 
 ' Impossible,' said Daddy, ' for the idea only came 
 to me this morning while I was ' 
 
 ' Thinking of something else ' Monkey again 
 finished the sentence for him. 
 
 Mother felt that things were rushing about her 
 from another world. She was vaguely conscious — 
 deliciously, bewilderingly — of having heard this all 
 before. Imaginative folk have built the certainty 
 of a previous existence upon evidence as slight ; for 
 actual scenery came with it, and she saw dim forest 
 trees, and figures hovering in the background, and 
 bright atmosphere, and fields of brilliant stars. She 
 felt happy and shining, light as a feather, too. It 
 all was just beyond her reach, though ; she could not
 
 X xvi A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 375 
 
 recover it properly. ' It must have been a dream 
 she told me,' was her conclusion, referring to Mile. 
 Lemaire. Her old friend was in it somewhere or 
 other. She felt sure of that. 
 
 She hardly heard, indeed, the silly lines her husband 
 read aloud to the children. She liked the sound of 
 his voice, though ; it suggested music she had known 
 far away — in her childhood. 
 
 ' It's high spirits really,' whispered Rogers, sitting 
 beside her in the window. ' It's a sort of overflow 
 from his story. He can't do that kind of rhyme 
 a bit, but it's an indication ' 
 
 ' You think he's got a fine big story this time ? ' 
 she asked under her breath ; and Cousin Henry's eyes 
 twinkled keenly as he gave a significant nod and 
 answered : ' Rather ! Can't you feel the splendour 
 all about him, the strength, the harmony ! ' 
 
 She leaped at the word. Harmony exactly 
 described this huge new thing that had come into 
 the family, into the village, into the world. The 
 feeling that they all were separate items, struggling 
 for existence one against the other, had gone for 
 ever. Life seemed now a single whole, an enormous 
 pattern. Every one fitted in. There was effort — 
 wholesome jolly effort, but no longer the struggle or 
 fighting that were ugly. To ' live carelessly ' was 
 possible and right because the pattern was seen entire. 
 It was to live in the whole. 
 
 ' Harmony,' she repeated to herself, with a great 
 swelling happiness in her heart, * that's the nunculus 
 of the matter.' 
 
 ' The what ? ' he asked, overhearing her. 
 
 * The nunculus,' she repeated bravely, seeing the 
 word in her mind, vet unable to get it quite. Rogers 
 did not correct her.
 
 376 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND chap 
 
 ' Rather,' was all he said. ' Of course it is.' What 
 did the pronunciation of a word matter at such a 
 time ? Her version even sounded better than the 
 original. Mother saw things bigger ! Already she 
 was becoming creative ! 
 
 ' And you're the one who brought it,' she 
 continued, but this time so low that he did not 
 catch the words. ' It's you, your personality, your 
 thinking, your atmosphere somehow that have 
 brought this gigantic sense of peace and calm 
 security which are au fond nothing but the con- 
 sciousness of harmony and the power of seeing ugly 
 details in their proper place — in a single coup cT ceil 
 — and understanding them as parts of a perfect 
 whole.' 
 
 It was her thought really running on ; she never 
 could have found the words like that. She thought 
 in French, too, for one thing. And, in any case, 
 Rogers could not have heard her, for he was listening 
 now to the uproar of the children as they criticised 
 Daddy's ridiculous effusion. A haystack, courted in 
 vain by zephyrs, but finally taken captive by an equi- 
 noctial gale, strained nonsense too finely for their 
 sense of what was right and funny. It was the 
 pictures he now drew in the book that woke their 
 laughter. He gave the stack a physiognomy that 
 they recognised. 
 
 ' But, Mother, he's making it look like you ! ' 
 cried Monkey — only Mother was too far away in 
 her magnificent reverie to reply intelligently. 
 
 ' I know her ; she's my friend,' she answered 
 vaguely. ' So it's all right.' 
 
 1 Majestic Haystack ' — it was the voice of the 
 wind addressing her : —
 
 xxvi A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 377 
 
 •'Majestic Haystack, Empress of my life, 
 Your ample waist 
 Just fits the gown I fancy for my wife, 
 
 And suits my taste ; 
 Yet there you stand, flat-footed, square and deep, 
 An unresponsive, elephantine heap, 
 Coquetting with the stars while I'm asleep, 
 
 cruel Stack ! 
 
 Coy, silent Monster, Matron of the fields, 
 
 1 sing to you ; 
 
 And all the fondest love that summer yields 
 
 I bring to you ; 
 Yet there you squat, immense in your disdain. 
 Heedless of all the tears of streaming rain 
 My eyes drip over you — your breathless swain ; 
 
 O stony Stack ! 
 
 Stupendous Maiden, sweetest when oblong, 
 
 Does inner flame 
 Now smoulder in thy soul to hear my song 
 
 Repeat thy name ? 
 Or does thy huge and ponderous heart object 
 The advances of my passion, and reject 
 My love because it's airy and elect ? 
 
 O wily Stack ! 
 
 O crested goddess, thatched and top-knotted, 
 
 reckless Stack ! 
 
 Of wives that to the Wind have been allotted 
 
 There is no lack ; 
 You've spurned my love as though I were a worm ; 
 But next September when I see thy form, 
 I'll woo thee with an equinoctial storm ! 
 
 1 have that knack ! ' 
 
 * Far less wumbled than usual,' thought Rogers, 
 as the children danced about the room, making up new 
 ridiculous rhymes, of which ' I'll give you a whack ' 
 seemed the most popular. Only Jane Anne was 
 quiet. A courtship even so remote and improbable 
 as between the Wind and a Haystack sent her 
 thoughts inevitably in the dominant direction.
 
 378 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND chap 
 
 ' It must be nice when one is two,' she whispered 
 ambiguously to Mother with a very anxious face, 
 ' but I'm sure that if a woman can't cook, love 
 flies out of the window. It's a positive calamity, 
 you know.' 
 
 But it was Cousin Henry's last night in Bourcelles, 
 and the spirit of pandemonium was abroad. Neither 
 parent could say no to anything, and mere conversa- 
 tion in corners was out of the question. The door 
 was opened into the corridor, and while Mother 
 played her only waltz, Jimbo and Monkey danced 
 on the splintery boards as though it were a parquet 
 floor, and Rogers pirouetted somewhat solemnly with 
 Jane Anne. She enjoyed it immensely, yet rested her 
 hand very gingerly upon his shoulder. ' Please don't 
 hold me quite so tight,' she ventured. ' I've never 
 danced with a strange man before, you see ' ; and he 
 no more laughed at her than he had laughed at 
 Mother's ' nunculus.' Even Jane Anne, he knew, 
 would settle down comfortably before long into the 
 great big pattern where a particular nook awaited — 
 aye, needed — her bizarre, odd brilliance. The most 
 angular fragments would nest softly, neatly in. A 
 little filing, a little polishing, and all would fit 
 together. To force would only be to break. Hurry 
 was of the devil. And later, while Daddy played an 
 ancient tune that was written originally as a mazurka 
 yet did duty now for a two-step, he danced with 
 Mother too, and the children paused to watch out of 
 sheer admiration. 
 
 ' Fancy, Mother dancing ! ' they exclaimed with 
 glee — except Jinny, who was just a little offended 
 and went to stand by the piano till it was over. 
 For Mother danced as lightly as a child for all her
 
 xxvi A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 379 
 
 pride of measurement, and no frigate ever skimmed 
 the waves more gracefully than Mother glided over 
 those uneven boards. 
 
 ' The Wind and the Haystack,' of course, was 
 Monkey's description. 
 
 * You'll wind and haystack to bed now,' was the 
 reply, as Mother sat and fanned herself in the corner. 
 The ' bed-sentence,' as the children called it, was 
 always formed in this way. Whatever the child was 
 saying when the moment came, Mother adopted as 
 her verb. ' Shall I put some peat on, Mother ? ' 
 became ' Peat yourself off to bed — it's nine o'clock ' 
 — and the child was sorry it had spoken. 
 
 Good-byes had really been said at intervals all 
 day long, and so to-night were slight enough ; the 
 children, besides, were so ' excitey-tired,' as Monkey 
 put it, that they possessed no more emotion of any 
 kind. There were various disagreeable things in the 
 immediate future of To-morrow — getting up early, 
 school, and so forth ; and Cousin Henry's departure 
 they lumped in generally with the mass, accepted but 
 unrealised. Jimbo could hardly keep his eyes alight, 
 and Monkey's hair was like a baby haystack the 
 wind had treated to an equinoctial storm. Jinny, 
 stiff, perplexed, and solemn with exhaustion, yet 
 dared not betray it because she was older, in measur- 
 able distance of her hair going up. 
 
 ' Why don't you play with the others, child ? ' 
 asked Mother, finding her upright on a sofa while 
 the romp went on. 
 
 1 Oh, to-night,' Jinny explained, ' I sit indifferent 
 and look on. I don't always feel like skedivvying 
 about ! ' 
 
 To skedivvy was to chivvy and skedaddle — its 
 authority not difficult to guess.
 
 380 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND chap. 
 
 ' Good-bye, Cousinenry,' each gasped, as his big 
 arms went round them and squeezed out the exclama- 
 tion. ' Oh, thank you most awfully,' came next, with 
 another kiss, produced by his pressing something 
 hard and round and yellow into each dirty little 
 hand. ' It's only a bit of crystallised starlight,' he 
 explained, ' that escaped long ago from the Cave. 
 And starlight, remember, shines for everybody as 
 well as for yourselves. You can buy a stamp with 
 it occasionally, too,' he added, ' and write to me.' 
 
 ' We will. Of course ! ' 
 
 Jimbo straightened up a moment before the final 
 collapse of sleep. 
 
 ' Your train leaves at 6.23,' he said, with the 
 authority of exclusive information. ' You must be 
 at the station at six to get the bagages enregistrees. 
 It's a slow train to Pontarlier, but you'll find a 
 wagon direct for Paris in front, next to the engine. 
 I shall be at the station to see you off.' 
 
 ' / shan't,' said Monkey. 
 
 Rogers realised with delight the true meaning 
 of these brief and unemotional good-byes. ' They 
 know I'm coming back ; they feel that the important 
 part of me is not going away at all. My thinking 
 stays here with them.' 
 
 Jinny lingered another ten minutes for appearance's 
 sake. It was long past her bed-time, too, but dignity 
 forbade her retiring with the others. Standing by 
 the window she made conversation a moment, feeling 
 it was the proper, grown-up thing to do. It was 
 even expected of her. 
 
 ' Look ! It's full moon,' she observed gravely, 
 as though suggesting that she could, if she liked, go 
 out and enjoy the air. ' Isn't it lovely ? ' 
 
 ' No, yesterday was full moon,' Rogers corrected
 
 xxvi A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 381 
 
 her, joining her and looking out. ' Two nights ago, 
 to be exact, I think.' 
 
 ' Oh,' she replied, as solemnly as though politics 
 or finance were under discussion, ' then it's bigger 
 than full moon now. It goes on, does it, getting 
 fuller and fuller, till ' 
 
 1 Now, Jinny dear, it's very late, and you'd better 
 full-moon off to bed,' Mother interrupted gently. 
 
 'Yes, Mother; I'm just saying good-night.' 
 She held her hand out, as though she was afraid he 
 might kiss her, yet feared he would not. ' Good-bye, 
 Mr. Cousin Henry, and I hope you'll have an 
 exceedingly happy time in the train and soon come 
 back and visit us again.' 
 
 'Thank you,' he said, 'I'm sure I shall.' He 
 gave her a bit of solid starlight as he said it, then 
 suddenly leaned forward and kissed her on the cheek. 
 Making a violent movement like an experienced 
 boxer who dodges an upper cut, Jinny turned and fled 
 precipitately from the room, forgetting her parents 
 altogether. That kiss, she felt, consumed her child- 
 hood in a flash of fiery flame. In bed she decided 
 that she must lengthen her skirts the very next day, 
 and put her hair up too. She must do something 
 that should give her protection and yet freedom. 
 For a long time she did not sleep. She lay thinking 
 it over. She felt supremely happy — wild, excited, 
 naughty. ' A man has kissed me ; it was a man ; 
 it was Mr. Rogers, Daddy's cousin. . . . He's not 
 my cousin exactly, but just " a man." And she 
 fell asleep, wondering how she ought to begin her 
 letter to him when she wrote, but, more perplexing 
 still, how she ought to — end it ! That little back- 
 ward brain sought the solution of the problem all 
 night long in dreams. She felt a criminal, a dare-
 
 382 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND ch. xxvi 
 
 devil caught in the act, awaiting execution. Light 
 had been flashed cruelly upon her dark, careful 
 secret — the greatest and finest secret in the world. 
 The child lay under sentence indeed, only it was a 
 sentence of life, and not of death.
 
 CHAPTER XXVII 
 
 Asia. ... I feel, I see 
 
 Those eyes which burn through smiles that fade in tears, 
 Like stars half quenched in mists of silver dew. 
 
 Prometheus Unbound, Shelley. 
 
 It was only ten o'clock, really, and the curfew was 
 ringing from every village on the mountain-side. 
 The sound of the bells, half musical, half ominous, 
 was borne by the bise across the vineyards, for the 
 easterly wind that brings fine weather was blowing 
 over lake and forest, and seemed to drive before it 
 thin sheets of moonlight that turned the whole world 
 soft. The village lay cosily dreaming beneath the 
 sky. Once the curfew died away there was only 
 the rustling of the plane trees in the old courtyard. 
 The great Citadelle loomed above the smaller 
 houses, half in shadow half in silver, nodding 
 heavily to the spire of the Church, and well within 
 sight of the sentinelk poplar that guarded the village 
 from the forest and the mountains. Far away, these 
 mountains now lowered their enormous shoulders 
 to let night flow down upon the sleeping world. 
 The Scaffolding that brought it had long since sailed 
 over France towards the sea. . . . 
 
 Mother, still panting from the ritual of fastening 
 the younger children into bed, had gone a moment 
 down the passage to say good-night to Mile. Lemaire, 
 and when she returned, the three of them — herself, 
 
 383
 
 384 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND chap. 
 
 her husband, and Cousin Henry — dropped into 
 chairs beside the window and watched the silvery 
 world in silence for a time. None felt inclined to 
 speak. There was drama somehow in that interval 
 of silence — that drama which lurks everywhere and 
 always behind life's commonest, most ordinary 
 moments. Actions reveal it — sometimes — but it 
 mostly lies concealed, and especially in deep silences 
 like this, when the ticking of a cuckoo clock upon 
 the wall may be the sole hint of its presence. 
 
 It was not the good-byes that made all three 
 realise it so near, though good-byes are always 
 solemn and momentous things ; it was something 
 that stirred and rose upon them from a far deeper 
 strata of emotion than that caused by apparent 
 separation. For no pain lay in it, but a power much 
 more difficult to express in the sounds and syllables 
 of speech — Joy. A great joy, creative and of big 
 significance, had known accomplishment. Each felt 
 it, knew it, realised it. The moonlit night was aware 
 of it. The entire universe knew it, too. The drama 
 lay in that. There had been creation — of more 
 light. . . . The world was richer than it had been. 
 Some one had caught Beauty in a net, and to catch 
 Beauty is to transform and recreate all common 
 things. It is revelation. 
 
 Through the mind of each of these three flowed 
 the stream of casual thinking — images, reflections, 
 and the shadowy scaffoldings of many new emotions 
 — sweeping along between the banks of speech and 
 silence. And this stream, though in flood, did not 
 overflow into words for a long time. With eyes 
 turned inwards, each watched the current pass. 
 Clear and deep, it quietly reflected — stars. Each 
 watched the same stream, the same calm depths, the
 
 xxvii A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 385 
 
 same delicate reflections. They were in harmony 
 with themselves, and therefore with the universe. . . . 
 
 Then, suddenly, one of the reflections — it was the 
 Pleiades — rose to the surface to clasp its lovely 
 original. It was the woman who netted the 
 golden thought and drew it forth for all to see. 
 
 ' Couldn't you read it to us, Daddy ? ' she 
 whispered softly across the silence. 
 
 ' If it's not too long for you.' He was so eager, 
 so willing to comply. 
 
 ' We will listen till the Morning Spiders take us 
 home,' his cousin said. 
 
 ' It's only the shorter version,' Daddy agreed 
 shiningly, ' a sketch for the book which, of course, 
 will take a year to write. I might read that, 
 perhaps.' 
 
 ' Do,' urged Mother. ' We are all in it, aren't 
 we ? It's our story as well as yours.' 
 
 He rose to get the portfolio from the shelf 
 where he had laid it, and while Rogers lit the 
 lamp, Riquette stole in at the window, picking her 
 way daintily across the wet tiles. She stood a 
 moment, silhouetted against the sky ; then shaking 
 her feet rapidly each in turn like bits of quivering 
 wire, she stepped precisely into the room. ' I am 
 in it too,' she plainly said, curling herself up on 
 the chair Daddy had just vacated, but resigning 
 herself placidly enough to his scanty lap when he 
 came back again and began to read. Her deep 
 purring, while he stroked her absent-mindedly, 
 became an undercurrent in the sound of his voice, 
 then presently ceased altogether. . . . 
 
 On and on he read, while the moon sailed over 
 La Citadelle, bidding the stars hush to listen too. 
 She put her silvery soft hands across their eyes that 
 
 2 c
 
 386 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND chap. 
 
 they might hear the better. The blue wind of night 
 gathered up the meaning and spread it everywhere. 
 The forest caught the tale from the low laughter in 
 the crest of the poplar, and passed it on to the 
 leagues of forest that bore it in turn across the 
 frontiers into France. Thence snowy Altels and the 
 giant Blilmlisalp flashed it south along the crowding 
 peaks and down among the Italian chestnut woods, 
 who next sent it coursing over the rustling waves 
 of the Adriatic and mixed it everywhere with the 
 Mediterranean foam. In the morning the shadows 
 upon bare Grecian hills would whisper it among the 
 ancient islands, and the East catch echoes of it in 
 the winds of dawn. The forests of the North would 
 open their great gloomy eyes with wonder, as though 
 strange new wild-flowers had come among them in 
 the night. All across the world, indeed, wherever 
 there were gardened minds tender enough to grow 
 fairy seed, these flakes of thought would settle 
 down in sleep, and blossom in due season into a crop 
 of magic beauty. 
 
 He read on and on. . . . The village listened 
 too, the little shadowy street, the familiar pine woods, 
 the troubled Pension, each, as its image was evoked 
 in the story, knew its soul discovered, and stirred in 
 its sleep towards the little room to hear. And the 
 desolate ridges of La Tourne and Boudry, the clefts 
 where the wild lily of the valley grew unknown, 
 high nooks and corners where the buzzards nested, 
 these also knew and answered to the trumpet 
 summons of the Thought that made them live. A 
 fire of creation ran pulsing from this centre. All 
 were in the Pattern of the Story. 
 
 To the two human listeners it seemed as familiar 
 as a tale read in childhood long ago, and only half
 
 xxvii A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 387 
 
 forgotten. They always knew a little of what was 
 coming next. Yet it spread so much further than 
 mere childhood memories, for its golden atmosphere 
 included all countries and all times. It rose and 
 sang and sparkled, lighting up strange deep recesses 
 of their unconscious and half-realised life, and almost 
 revealing the tiny silver links that joined them on 
 to the universe at large. The golden ladders from 
 the Milky Way were all let down. They climbed 
 up silvery ropes into the Moon. . . . 
 
 ' It's not my own idea,' he said ; ' I'm convinced 
 of that. It's all flocked into me from some other 
 mind that thought it long ago, but could not write 
 it, perhaps. No thought is lost, you see — never can 
 be lost. Like this, somehow, I feel it : — 
 
 Now sinks to sleep the clamour of the day, 
 And, million-footed, from the Milky Way, 
 Falls shyly on my heart the world's lost Thought — 
 Shower of primrose dust the stars have taught 
 
 To haunt each sleeping mind, 
 
 Till it may find 
 A garden in some eager, passionate brain 
 That, rich in loving-kindness as in pain, 
 Shall harvest it, then scatter forth again 
 It's garnered loveliness from heaven caught. 
 
 Oh, every yearning thought that holds a tear, 
 
 Yet finds no mission, 
 
 And lies untold, 
 Waits, guarded in that labyrinth of gold, — 
 
 To reappear 
 
 Upon some perfect night, 
 
 Deathless — not old — 
 
 But sweet with time and distance, 
 
 And clothed as in a vision 
 
 Of starry brilliance 
 
 For the world's delight.' 
 
 In the pauses, from time to time, they heard the
 
 388 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND chap. 
 
 distant thunder of the Areuse as it churned and 
 tumbled over the Val de Travers boulders. The 
 Colombier bells, as the hours passed, strung the 
 sentences together ; moonlight wove in and out of 
 every adventure as they listened ; stars threaded 
 little chapters each to each with their eternal golden 
 fastenings. The words seemed written down in 
 dew, but the dew crystallised into fairy patterns that 
 instantly flew about the world upon their mission of 
 deliverance. In this ancient Network of the Stars 
 the universe lay fluttering ; and they lay with it, all 
 prisoners in Fairyland. 
 
 For the key of it all was sympathy, and the 
 delicate soul of it was tender human love. Bour- 
 celles, in this magic tale, was the starting - point 
 whence the Starlight Expresses flashed into all the 
 world, even unto unvisited, forgotten corners that 
 had known no service hitherto. It was so adapt- 
 able and searching, and knew such tiny, secret ways 
 of entrance. The thought was so penetrating, true, 
 and simple. Even old Mother Plume would wake 
 to the recovery of some hitherto forgotten fragrance 
 in her daily life . . . just as those Northern forests 
 would wake to find new wild-flowers. For all fairy- 
 tales issue first from the primeval forest, thence under- 
 going their protean transformation ; and in similar 
 fashion this story, so slight but so tremendous, 
 issued from the forest of one man's underthinking — 
 one deep, pure mind, wumbled badly as far as 
 external things were concerned, yet realising that 
 Bourcelles contained the Universe, and that he in 
 turn contained Bourcelles. Another, it is true, had 
 shown it to him, though all unwittingly, and had 
 cleaned in his atmosphere the channels for the 
 entrance of the glorious pattern. But the result was
 
 xxvii A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 389 
 
 the same. In his brain — perhaps by Chance, perhaps 
 by God — lay the machinery which enabled him to 
 give it out to others — the power and ability to 
 transmit. It was a fairy-tale of the world, only the 
 world had forgotten it. He brought back its fairy- 
 land again. 
 
 And this fairyland, what and where was it ? And 
 how could this tale of its recovery bring into his 
 listeners' hearts such a sense of peace and joy that 
 they felt suddenly secure in the world and safe mid 
 all the confusion of their muddled lives ? That there 
 were tears in Mother's eyes seems beyond question, 
 because the moonlight, reflected faintly from a wet 
 cobble in the yard below, glistened like a tiny silver 
 lantern there. They betrayed the fact that some- 
 thing in her had melted and flowed free. Yet there 
 was no sadness in the fairy-tale to cause it ; they 
 were tears of joy. 
 
 Surely it was that this tale of Starlight, Starlight 
 Expresses and Star Caves, told as simply as running 
 water, revealed the entire Universe — as One, and 
 that in this mighty, splendid thing each of them 
 nested safe and comfortable. The world was really 
 thinking, and all lay fluttering in the grand, magnifi- 
 cent old Net of Stars. What people think, they are. 
 All can think Beauty. And sympathy — to feel with 
 everything — was the clue ; for sympathy is love, 
 and to love a star was to love a neighbour. To be 
 without sympathy was to feel apart, and to think 
 apart was to cut oneself off from life, from the 
 Whole, from God and joy — it was Death. To work 
 at commonplace duties because they were duties to 
 the Universe at large, this was the way to find 
 courage, peace, and happiness, because this was 
 genuine and successful work, no effort lost, and the
 
 39Q A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND chap 
 
 most distant star aware of it. Thinking was living, 
 whether material results were visible or not ; yearn- 
 ing was action, even though no accomplishment was 
 apparent ; thought and sympathy, though felt but 
 for a passing moment, sweetened the Pleiades and 
 flashed along the Milky Way, and so-called tangible 
 results that could prove it to the senses provided no 
 adequate test of accomplishment or success. In the 
 knowledge of belonging to this vast underlying unity 
 was the liberation that brings courage, carelessness, and 
 joy, and to admit failure in anything, by thinking it, 
 was to weaken the entire structure which binds together 
 the planets and the heart of a boy. Thoughts were 
 the fairies that the world believed in when it was 
 younger, simpler, less involved in separation ; and 
 the golden Fairyland recovered in this story was the 
 Fairyland of lovely thinking. . . . 
 
 In this little lamp-lit room of the Citadelle, the 
 two listeners were conscious of this giant, delicate 
 network that captured every flying thought and 
 carried it streaming through the world. God became 
 a simple thing : He fashioned Rogers's Scheme, even 
 though it never materialised in bricks and mortar. 
 God was behind Mother, even when she knitted or 
 lit the fire in the Den. All were prisoners in His 
 eternal Fairyland. . . . 
 
 And the symbolism of the story, the so-called 
 fantasy, they also easily understood, because they 
 felt it true. To be ' out ' of the body was merely 
 to think and feel away from self. As they listened 
 they realised themselves in touch with every nation 
 and with every time, with all possible beliefs and 
 disbeliefs, with every conceivable kind of thinking, 
 that is, which ever has existed or ever shall exist. . . . 
 
 The heat and radiance given out by the clear
 
 xxvii A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 391 
 
 delivery of this ' inspirational ' fairy-tale must have 
 been very strong ; far-reaching it certainly was. . . . 
 
 ' Ah ! ' sighed Rogers to himself, £ if only I could 
 be like that ! ' not realising that he was so. 
 
 ' Oh dear ! ' felt the Woman, ' that's what I've 
 felt sometimes. I only wish it were true of me ! ' 
 unaware that it could be, and even by the fact of her 
 yearning, was so. 
 
 ' If only I could get up and help the world ! ' 
 passed like a flame across the heart of the sufferer 
 who lay on her sleepless bed next door, listening to 
 the sound of the droning voice that reached her 
 through the wall, yet curiously ignorant that this 
 very longing was already majestically effective in the 
 world of definite action. 
 
 And even Mother Plume, pacing her airless room 
 at the further end of the village and tapping her 
 ebony stick upon the floor, turned suspiciously, as at 
 a passing flash of light that warmed her for a sudden 
 instant as it went. 
 
 ' Perhaps, after all, they don't mean all these 
 unkind things they do to me ! ' she thought ; ' I live 
 so much alone. Possibly I see things less clearly 
 than I used to do ! ' 
 
 The spell was certainly very potent, though Daddy 
 himself, reading out the little shining chapters, guessed 
 as little as the rest of them how strong. So small a 
 part of what he meant to say, it seemed, had been 
 transferred to the paper. More than he realised, far, 
 far more, lay between the lines, of course. There 
 was conviction in it, because there was vision and 
 belief. 
 
 Not much was said when he put his roll of paper 
 down and leaned back in his chair. Riquette opened
 
 392 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND chap. 
 
 her eyes and blinked narrowly, then closed them 
 again and began to purr. The ticking of the cuckoo 
 clock seemed suddenly very loud and noticeable. 
 
 ' Thank you,' said Mother quietly in an un- 
 certain kind of voice. ' The world seems very 
 wonderful now — quite different.' 
 
 She moved in her chair — the first movement she 
 had made for over two hours. Daddy rubbed his 
 eyes, stroked his beard, and lit a cigarette ; it went 
 out almost immediately, but he puffed on at it just 
 the same, till his cousin struck a match and stood 
 over him to see it properly alight. 
 
 ' You have caught Beauty naked in your net of 
 stars,' he murmured ; ' but you have left her as you 
 found her — shining, silvery, unclothed. Others will 
 see her, too. You have taken us all back into Fairy- 
 land, and I, for one, shall never get out again.' 
 
 ' Nor I,' breathed some one in the shadows by the 
 window. . . . 
 
 The clock struck two. ' Odd,' said Mother, 
 softly, ' but I never heard it strike once while you 
 were reading ! ' 
 
 ' We've all been out,' Rogers laughed signifi- 
 cantly, 'just as you make them get out in the story ' ; 
 and then, while Riquette yawned and turned a 
 moment from the window-sill to say thank you for 
 her long, warm sleep, Mother lit the spirit-lamp and 
 brewed the cups of chocolate. She tiptoed in next 
 door, and as she entered the sick-room she saw 
 through the steam rising from the cup she carried a 
 curious thing — an impression of brilliance about the 
 bed, as though shafts of light issued from it. Rays 
 pulsed and trembled in the air. There was a perfume 
 of flowers. It seemed she stepped back into the 
 atmosphere of the story for an instant.
 
 xxvn A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 393 
 
 ' Ah, you're not asleep,' she whispered. ' We've 
 brewed some chocolate, and I thought you might 
 like a cup.' 
 
 ' No, I'm not asleep,' answered the other woman 
 from the bed she never would leave until she was 
 carried from it, ' but I have been dreaming. It 
 seemed the stars came down into my room and sang 
 to me ; this bed became a throne ; and some power 
 was in me by which I could send my thoughts out 
 to help the world. I sent them out as a king sends 
 messengers — to people everywhere — even to people 
 I've never heard of. Isn't it wonderful ? ' 
 
 ' You've had no pain ? ' For Mother knew that 
 these sleepless hours at night brought usually intense 
 suffering. She stared at her, noting how the eyes 
 shone and glistened with unshed moisture. 
 
 'None,' was the answer, 'but only the greatest 
 joy and peace I've ever known.' The little glass of 
 calmant was untouched ; it was not a drug that 
 had soothed the exhausted nerves. In this room at 
 any rate the spell was working still. ' I was carried 
 through the air by stars, as though my ceaseless yearn- 
 ing to get up and work in the world for once was 
 realised.' 
 
 'You can do everything from your bed,' her 
 friend murmured, sitting down beside her. ' You 
 do. Your thoughts go out so strongly. I've often 
 felt them myself. Perhaps that's why God put you 
 here in bed like this,' she added, surprised at the 
 power in herself that made her say such things — 
 'just to think and pray for the world.' 
 
 ' I do pray sometimes for others,' the tortured 
 woman answered modestly, ' but this time I was not 
 conscious of praying at all. It all swept out of me 
 of its own accord. The force in me seemed so free
 
 394 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND chap. 
 
 and inexhaustible that it overflowed. It was irresist- 
 ible. I felt able to save the world.' 
 
 ' You were out,' said Mother softly, ' out of your- 
 self, I mean,' she corrected it. ' And your lovely 
 thoughts go everywhere. You do save the world.' 
 
 There fell a long silence then between them. 
 
 ' You've been reading aloud,' Mile. Lemaire said 
 presently. ' I heard the drone of the voice through 
 the wall ' 
 
 ' Daddy was reading his new story to us,' the 
 other said. ' It didn't disturb you ? ' 
 
 ' On the contrary. I think it was the voice some- 
 how that brought the vision. I listened vaguely at 
 first, trying to sleep ; then, opening my eyes sud- 
 denly, the room, as I told you, was full of stars. 
 Their rays caught hold of me and drew these forces 
 out of my very heart. I yielded, giving and giving 
 and giving . . . such life flowed from me, and 
 they carried it away in streams. . . . Oh, it was 
 really like a divine sensation.' 
 
 ' It was divine,' said Mother, but whether she 
 meant the story or her friend's experience, she hardly 
 knew herself. 
 
 ' And the story — was it not about our little 
 Bourcelles ? ' asked the other. 
 
 Mother held her hands up as though words failed 
 her. She opened her arms wide. She was not quite 
 sure of her voice. 
 
 1 It was,' she said at length, ' but Bourcelles had 
 grown into the universe. It's a fairy-tale, but it's 
 like a great golden fire. It warmed my heart till 
 my whole body seemed all heart, and I didn't know 
 whether to laugh or cry. It makes you see that the 
 whole world is one, and that the sun and moon and 
 stars lie in so small and unimportant a thing as,
 
 xxvn A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 395 
 
 say, Jimbo's mischief, or Monkey's impudence, or 
 Jinny's backwardness and absurdity. All are in 
 sympathy together, as in a network, and to feel sym- 
 pathy with anything, even the most insignificant, 
 connects you instantly with the Whole. Thought 
 and sympathy are the Universe — they are life.' 
 
 While Mother paused for breath, her old friend 
 smiled a curious, meaning smile, as though she heard 
 a thing that she had always known. 
 
 ' And all of us are in the story, and all the things 
 we think are alive and active too, because we have 
 created them. Our thoughts populate the world, 
 flying everywhere to help or hinder others, you see.' 
 
 The sound of a door opening was heard. Mother 
 got up to go. Shafts of light again seemed to follow 
 her from the figure in the bed. 
 
 1 Good-night,' she whispered with a full heart, 
 while her thought ran suddenly — 'You possess the 
 secret of life and of creation, for suffering has taught 
 it to you, and you have really known it always. But 
 Daddy has put it into words for everybody.' She 
 felt proud as a queen. 
 
 There were whispered good-nights then in the 
 corridor, for Rogers and her husband were on their 
 way home to bed. 
 
 'Your chocolate is getting cold,' said Daddy 
 kindly. 
 
 ' We thought you would probably stay in there. 
 We're going over now. It's very late,' Rogers 
 added. They said good-night again. 
 
 She closed and locked the great door of the Cita- 
 delle behind them, hearing their steps upon the 
 cobbles in the yard, and for some time afterwards 
 upon the road. But their going away seemed the 
 same as coming nearer. She felt so close to every-
 
 396 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND ch. xxvm 
 
 thing that lived. Everything did live. Her heart 
 included all that existed, that ever had existed, that 
 ever could exist. Mother was alive all over. ' I 
 have just been created,' she laughed, and went back 
 into the Den to drink her cup of tepid chocolate.
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII 
 
 See, the busy Pleiades, 
 Sisters to the Hyades, 
 Seven by seven 
 Across the heaven, 
 Light desire 
 With their fire, 
 Working cunningly together in a soft and tireless band, 
 Sweetly linking 
 All our thinking 
 In the Net of Sympathy that brings back Fairyland. 
 
 A Voice, 
 
 The prophecy of the children that Bourcelles was a 
 difficult place to get away from found its justification 
 next morning, for Rogers slept so heavily that he 
 nearly missed his train. It was six o'clock when he 
 tumbled downstairs, too late for a real breakfast, 
 and only just in time to get his luggage upon the 
 little char that did duty for all transport in this un- 
 sophisticated village. The carpenter pulled it for 
 him to the station. 
 
 ' If I've forgotten anything, my cousin will send 
 it after me,' he told Mme. Michaud, as he gulped 
 down hot coffee on the steps. 
 
 ' Or we can keep it for you,' was the answer. 
 ' You'll be coming back soon.' She knew, like the 
 others, that one always came back to Bourcelles. She 
 shook hands with him as if he were going away for 
 a night or two. ' Your room will always be ready,' 
 
 397
 
 398 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND chap. 
 
 she added. ' Ayez la bonte seulement de m'envoyer 
 une petite ligne d'avance.' 
 
 ' There's only fifteen minutes,' interrupted her 
 husband, ' and it's uphill all the way.' 
 
 They trundled off" along the dusty road, already 
 hot in the early July sun. There was no breath of 
 wind ; swallows darted in the blue air ; the perfume of 
 the forests was everywhere ; the mountains rose soft 
 and clear into the cloudless sky. They passed the 
 Citadeile, where the awning was already being lowered 
 over the balcony for Mile. Lemaire's bed to be 
 wheeled out a little later. Rogers waved his hand- 
 kerchief, and saw the answering flutter inside the 
 window. Riquette, on her way in, watched him from 
 the tiles. The orchards then hid the lower floors ; 
 he passed the tinkling fountain ; to the left he saw 
 the church and the old Pension, the wistaria blossoms 
 falling down its walls in a cascade of beauty. 
 
 The Postmaster put his head out and waved his 
 Trilby hat with a solemn smile. ' Le barometre est 
 tres haut . . .' floated down the village street, instead 
 of the sentence of good-bye. Even the Postmaster 
 took it for granted that he was not leaving. Gygi, 
 standing in the door of his barn, raised his peaked hat 
 and smiled. ' Fait beau, ce matin,' he said, ' plus tard 
 il fera rudement chaud.' He spoke as if Rogers 
 were off for a walk or climb. It was the same every- 
 where. The entire village saw him go, yet behaved 
 as if he was not really leaving. How fresh and sweet 
 the morning air was, keen mountain fragrance in it, 
 and all the delicious, delicate sharpness of wet moss 
 and dewy fields. 
 
 As he passed the courtyard near the Guillaume 
 Tell, and glanced up at the closed windows of Mother 
 Plume's apartment, a pattering step startled him
 
 xxvm A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 399 
 
 behind, and Jimbo came scurrying up. Rogers kissed 
 him and lifted him bodily upon the top of his 
 portmanteau, then helped the carpenter to drag it 
 up the hill. ' The barriers at the level crossing are 
 down, the warning gongs are ringing. It's signalled 
 from Auvernier.' They were only just in time. The 
 luggage was registered and the train panting up the 
 steep incline, when Monkey, sleep still thick in her 
 eyes, appeared rolling along the white road. She 
 was too breathless to speak ; she stood and stared 
 like a stuffed creature in a Museum. Jimbo was 
 beside the engine, having a word with the mecanicien. 
 
 ' Send a telegram, you know — like that,' he 
 shouted, as the carriage slid past him, ' and we'll 
 bring the char.' He knew his leader would come 
 back. He took his cap off politely, as a man does 
 to a lady — the Bourcelles custom. He did not wave 
 his handkerchief or make undignified signs. He 
 stood there, watching his cousin to the last, and trying 
 to see the working of the engine at the same time. 
 He had already told him the times and stopping 
 places, and where he had to change ; there was nothing 
 more for a man to say. 
 
 Monkey, her breath recovered now, shouted 
 something impudent from the road. ' The train will 
 break down with you in it before it gets to Pontarlier, 
 and you'll be back for tea — worse luck ! ' He heard 
 it faintly, above the grinding of the wheels. She blew 
 him a kiss ; her hair flew out in a cloud of brown 
 the sunshine turned half golden. He almost saw 
 the shining of her eyes. And then the belt of the 
 forest hid her from view, hid Jimbo and the village 
 too. The last thing he saw of Bourcelles was the 
 top of the church spire and the red roof of the tower- 
 ing Citadelle. The crest of the sentinel poplar topped
 
 4 oo A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND chap. 
 
 them both for a minute longer, waved a slight and 
 stately farewell, then lowered itself into the forest 
 and vanished in its turn. 
 
 And Rogers came back with a start and a bump 
 to what is called real life. 
 
 He closed his eyes and leaned back in his corner, 
 feeling he had suddenly left his childhood behind him 
 for the second time, not gradually as it ought to 
 happen, but all in one dreadful moment. A great 
 ache lay in his heart. The perfect book of fairy-tales 
 he had been reading was closed and finished. Weeks 
 had passed in the delicious reading, but now the last 
 page was turned ; he came back to duty — duty in 
 London — great, noisy, overwhelming London, with its 
 disturbing bustle, its feverish activities, its complex, 
 artificial, unsatisfying amusements, and its hosts of 
 frantic people. He grew older in a moment ; he 
 was forty again now ; an instant ago, just on the 
 further side of those blue woods, he had been fifteen. 
 Life shrank and dwindled in him to a little, ugly, 
 unattractive thing. He was returning to a flat in the 
 dolorous edifice of civilisation. A great practical 
 Scheme, rising in sombre bricks and mortar through 
 a disfiguring fog, blocked all the avenues of the 
 future. 
 
 The picture seemed sordid somewhere, the contrast 
 was so striking. In a great city was no softness ; 
 hard, sharp angles everywhere, or at best an artificial 
 smoothness that veiled ugliness and squalor very 
 thinly. Human relationship worked like parts of a 
 machine, cramped into definite orbits, each wheel, 
 each pulley, the smallest deviation deemed erratic. 
 In Bourcelles, the mountain village, there was more 
 latitude, room for expansion, space. The heart
 
 jcxvm A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 4 ot 
 
 leaped up spontaneously like a spring released. In 
 the city this spring was held down rigidly in place, 
 pressed under as by a weight ; and the weight, surely, 
 was that one for ever felt compelled to think of self — 
 self in a rather petty, shameful way — personal safety. 
 In the streets, in the houses, in public buildings, shops, 
 and railway stations, even where people met to eat 
 and drink in order to keep alive, were Notice Boards 
 of caution and warning against their fellow kind. 
 Instead of the kindly and unnecessary, even ridiculous 
 little Gygi, there were big, grave policemen by the 
 score, a whole army of them ; and everywhere grinned 
 the Notice Boards, like automatic, dummy policemen, 
 mocking joy with their insulting warnings. The 
 heart was oppressed with this constant reminder that 
 safety could only be secured by great care and trouble 
 — safety for the little personal self ; protection from 
 all kinds of robbery, depredation, and attack ; beware 
 of pickpockets, the proprietor is not responsible for 
 overcoats and umbrellas even ! And burglar alarms 
 and doors of steel and iron everywhere — an organised 
 defence from morning till night — against one's own 
 kind. 
 
 He had lived among these terrible conditions all 
 his life, proud of the personal security that civilisation 
 provided, but he had never before viewed it from 
 outside, as now he suddenly did. A spiritual being, 
 a man, lives in a city as in a state of siege among his 
 own kind. It was deplorable, it was incredible. In 
 little Bourcelles, a mountain village most would 
 describe pityingly as half civilised and out of the 
 world, there was safety and joy and freedom as of 
 the universe. . . . His heart contracted as he thus 
 abruptly realised the distressing contrast. Although 
 a city is a unit, all classes neatly linked together by 
 
 2 D
 
 4 o2 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND chap, 
 
 laws and by-laws, by County Councils, Parliaments, 
 and the like, the spirit of brotherhood was a mockery 
 and a sham. There is organised charity, but there is 
 not — Charity. In a London Square he could not 
 ring the bell and ask for a glass of milk. ... In 
 Bourcelles he would walk into any house, since there 
 were no bells, and sit down to an entire meal ! 
 
 He laughed as the absurd comparison darted across 
 his mind, for he recognised the foolish exaggeration 
 in it ; but behind the laughter flamed the astonishing 
 truth. In Bourcelles, in a few weeks, he had found 
 a bigger, richer life than all London had supplied 
 to him in twenty years ; he had found wings, 
 inspiration, love, and happiness ; he had found the 
 universe. The truth of his cousin's story blazed upon 
 him like an inner sun. In this new perspective he 
 saw that it was a grander fairy-tale than he had 
 guessed even when close to it. What was a Scheme 
 for Disabled Thingumabobs compared to the endless, 
 far-reaching schemes that life in Bourcelles suggested 
 to him ! There was the true centre of life ; cities 
 were accretions of disease upon the surface merely ! 
 He was leaving Fairyland behind him. 
 
 In sudden moments like this, with their synthetic 
 bird's-eye view, the mind sometimes sees more clearly 
 than in hours of careful reflection and analysis. And 
 the first thing he saw now was Minks, his friendly, 
 ridiculous little confidential secretary. From all the 
 crowds of men and women he knew, respected, and 
 enjoyed in London, as from the vast deluge of human 
 mediocrity which for him was London, he picked out 
 suddenly — little Minks — Herbert Montmorency 
 Minks. His mind, that is, darting forward in swift, 
 comprehensive survey, and searching automatically for 
 some means whereby it might continue the happiness
 
 xxvni A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 403 
 
 and sweetness recently enjoyed, selected Minks. 
 Minks was a clue. Minks possessed — no matter how 
 absurd the proportions of their mixing — three 
 things just left behind : Vision, Belief, Simplicity, all 
 products of a spiritual imagination. 
 
 And at first this was the single thought sent 
 forward into the future. Rogers saw the fact, flash- 
 like and true — then let it go, yielding to the greater 
 pull that drew reflection back into the past. 
 
 And he found it rather dislocating, this abrupt 
 stepping out of his delightful forest Fairyland. . . . 
 Equilibrium was not recovered for a long time, as the 
 train went thundering over the Jura Mountains into 
 France. Only on the other side of Pontarlier,when the 
 country grew unfamiliar and different, did harmony 
 return. Among the deep blue forests he was still in 
 Fairyland, but at Mouchard the scenery was already 
 changing, and by the time D61e was reached it had 
 completely changed. The train ran on among the 
 plains and vineyards of the Burgundy country 
 towards Laroche and Dijon. The abrupt alteration, 
 however, was pain. His thoughts streamed all 
 backwards now to counteract it. He roamed again 
 among the starfields above the Bourcelles woods. 
 It was true — he had not really left Bourcelles. His 
 body was bumping into Dijon, but the important 
 part of him — thought, emotion, love — lingered with 
 the children, hovered above the Citadelle, floated 
 through the dusky, scented forests. 
 
 And the haunting picture was ever set in its 
 framework of old burning stars. He could not get 
 the Pleiades in particular out of his mind. The 
 pictures swarmed past him as upon a boy returning 
 to school after the holidays, and each one had a 
 background of sky with stars behind it ; the faces
 
 4o 4 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND chap 
 
 that he knew so well had starry eyes ; Jimbo flung 
 handfuls of stars loose across the air, and Monkey 
 caught them, fastening them like golden pins into 
 her hair. Glancing down, he saw a long brown hair 
 upon his sleeve. He picked it off and held his 
 finger and thumb outside the window till the wind 
 took it away. Some Morning Spider would ride it 
 home — perhaps past his cousin's window while he 
 copied out that wonderful, great tale. But, instead — 
 how in the world could it happen in clear daylight ? 
 — a little hand shot down from above and gathered 
 it in towards the Pleiades. 
 
 The Pleiades — the Seven Sisters — that most 
 exquisite cluster of the eastern sky, soft, tender, 
 lovely, clinging close together always like a group 
 of timid children, who hide a little dimly for fear of 
 being surprised by bolder stars upon their enormous 
 journey — they now shone down upon all he thought 
 and remembered. They seemed always above the 
 horizon of his mind. They never set. In them lay 
 souls of unborn children, children waiting to be 
 born. He could not imagine why this particular 
 constellation clung with such a haunting touch of 
 beauty about his mind, or why some passion of 
 yearning unconfessed and throbbing hid behind the 
 musical name. Stars and unborn children had got 
 strangely mixed ! 
 
 He tried to recall the origin of the name — he had 
 learned it once in the old Vicar's study. The 
 Pleiades were attendants upon Artemis, the huntress 
 moon, he recalled vaguely, and, being pursued by 
 Orion, were set for safety among the stars. He even 
 remembered the names of some of them ; there was 
 Maia, Tagete, Alcyone, but the other four lay in his 
 mental lumber room, whence they could not be
 
 xxvin A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 405 
 
 evoked, although Merope, he felt sure, was one of 
 them. Of Maia, however, he felt positive. . . . 
 How beautiful the names were ! 
 
 Then, midway, in thinking about them, he found 
 himself, as Monkey said, thinking of something else : 
 of his weeks at Bourcelles again and what a long 
 holiday it had been, and whether it was wasted time 
 or well-used time — a kind of general stock-taking, 
 as it were, but chiefly of how little he had accom- 
 plished after all, set down in black and white. He 
 had enjoyed himself and let himself go, rather 
 foolishly perhaps, but how much after all had he 
 actually accomplished ? He remembered pleasant 
 conversations with Mother that possibly cheered 
 and helped her — or possibly were forgotten as soon 
 as ended. He remembered his cousin's passing 
 words of gratitude — that he had helped him some- 
 how with his great new story : and he remembered 
 — this least ol all — that his money had done some- 
 thing to relieve a case or two of suffering. And 
 this was all ! The net result so insignificant ! He 
 felt dissatisfied, eager already to make new plans, 
 something definite and thorough that should retrieve 
 the wasted opportunities. With a little thought and 
 trouble, how easily he might have straightened out 
 the tangle of his cousin's family, helped with the 
 education of the growing children, set them all upon 
 a more substantial footing generally. It was possible 
 still, of course, but such things are done best on the 
 spot, the personal touch and presence of value ; 
 arranged by correspondence it becomes another thing 
 at once and loses spontaneity. The accent lies on 
 the wrong details. Sympathy is watered by the 
 post. . . . Importance lodges in angles not intended 
 for it. Master of his time, with certain means at
 
 4 o6 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND chap. 
 
 his disposal, a modicum of ability as well, he was 
 free to work hard on the side of the angels wherever 
 opportunity might offer ; yet he had wasted all 
 these weeks upon an unnecessary holiday, frittering 
 the time away in enjoyment with the children. He 
 felt ashamed and mortified as the meagre record 
 stared him in the face. 
 
 Yet, curiously enough, when Reason had set 
 down the figures accurately, as he fancied, and 
 totted up the trifling totals, there flitted before him 
 something more that refused to be set down upon 
 the paper. The Ledger had no lines for it. What 
 was it ? Why was it pleasant, even flattering ? 
 Why did it mitigate his discontent and lessen the 
 dissatisfied feeling ? It passed hovering in and 
 about his thoughts, though uncaught by actual 
 words ; and as his mind played with it, he felt 
 more hopeful. He searched in vain for a definition, 
 but, though fruitless, the search brought comfort 
 somehow. Something had been accomplished and 
 it was due to himself, because without his presence 
 it would never have been done. This hint slipped 
 into desire, yearning, hope — that, after all, a result 
 had perhaps been achieved, a result he himself was 
 not properly aware of — a result of that incalculable 
 spiritual kind that escapes the chains of definite 
 description. For he recalled — yet mortified a little 
 the memory should flatter — that his cousin had 
 netted Beauty in his story, and that Mother had 
 spoken of living with greater carelessness and peace, 
 and that each had thanked him as though he were 
 the cause. 
 
 And these memories, half thought, half feeling, 
 were comforting and delicious, so that he revelled in 
 them lingeringly, and wished that they were really
 
 xxvm A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 407 
 
 true. For, if true, they were immensely significant. 
 Any one with a purse could build a hospital or pay 
 an education fee, but to be helpful because of being 
 oneself was a vast, incalculable power, something 
 direct from God . . . and his thoughts, wandering 
 on thus between fact and fantasy, led him back with 
 a deep inexplicable thrill again to — the Pleiades, 
 whose beauty, without their being aware of it, shines 
 nightly for all who can accept it. Here was the old, 
 old truth once more — that the left hand must not 
 know what the right is doing, and that to be is of 
 greater importance than to do. Here was Fairyland 
 once more, the Fairyland he had just left. To think 
 beauty and love is to become them, to shed them 
 forth without realising it. A Fairy blesses because 
 she is a Fairy, not because she turns a pumpkin into 
 a coach and four. . . . The Pleiades do not realise 
 how their loveliness may. . . . 
 
 Rogers started. For the thought had borrowed 
 a tune from the rhythm of the wheels and sleepers, 
 and he had uttered the words aloud in his corner. 
 Luckily he had the carriage to himself. He flushed. 
 Again a tender and very exquisite thing had touched 
 him somewhere. ... It was in that involuntary 
 connection his dreaming had found between a Fairy 
 and the Pleiades. Wings of gauzy gold shone 
 fluttering a moment before his inner sight, then 
 vanished. He was aware of some one very dear 
 and wild and tender, with amber eyes and little 
 twinkling feet — some one whom the Great Tale 
 brought almost within his reach. . . . He literally 
 had seen stars for an instant — a star ! Its beauty 
 brimmed him up. He laughed in his corner. This 
 thing, whatever it was, had been coming nearer for 
 some time. These hints of sudden joy that breathe
 
 4 o8 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND chap. 
 
 upon a sensitive nature, how mysterious, how wildly 
 beautiful, how stimulating they are ! But whence, 
 in the name of all the stars, do they come ? A 
 great happiness passed flaming through his heart, an 
 extraordinary sense of anticipation in it — as though 
 he were going to meet some one who — who — well, 
 what ? — who was a necessity and a delight to him, 
 the complement needed to make his life effective — 
 some one he loved abundantly — who would love him 
 abundantly in return. He recalled those foolish 
 lines he had written on sudden impulse once, then 
 thrown away. . . . 
 
 Thought fluttered and went out. He could not 
 seize the elusive cause of this delicious joy. It was 
 connected with the Pleiades, but how, where, why ? 
 Above the horizon of his life a new star was 
 swimming into glory. It was rising. The inex- 
 plicable emotion thrilled tumultuously, then dived 
 back again whence it came. . . It had to do with 
 children and with a woman, it seemed, for the next 
 thing he knew was that he was thinking of children, 
 children of his own, and of the deep yearning Bourcelles 
 had stirred again in him to find their Mother . . . 
 and, next, of his cousin's story and that wonderful 
 detail in it that the principal role was filled at last, 
 the role in the great Children's Play he himself had 
 felt was vacant. It was to be filled by that childless 
 Mother the writer's imagination had discovered or 
 created. And again the Pleiades lit up his inner 
 world and beckoned to him with their little fingers 
 of spun gold ; their eyes of clouded amber smiled 
 into his own. It was most extraordinary and de- 
 lightful. There was something — come much closer 
 this time, almost within reach of discovery — some- 
 thing he ought to remember about them, something
 
 xxvm A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 409 
 
 he had promised to remember, then stupidly for- 
 gotten. The lost, hidden joy was a torture. Yet, 
 try as he would, no revelation came to clear the 
 matter up. Had he read it somewhere perhaps ? 
 Or was it part of the Story his cousin had wumbled 
 into his ear when he only partly listened ? 
 
 ' I believe I dreamed it,' he smiled to himself at 
 last in despair. ' I do believe it was a dream — a 
 fragment of some jolly dream I had in my Fairyland 
 of little Bourcelles ! ' 
 
 Children, stars, Fairyland, dreams — these brought 
 it somehow. His cousin's story also had to do with 
 it, chiefly perhaps after all — this great story. 
 
 1 1 shall have to go back there to get hold of it 
 completely,' he added with conviction. He almost 
 felt as if some one were thinking hard about him — 
 one of the characters in the story, it seemed. The 
 mind of some one far away, as yet unknown, was 
 searching for him in thought, sending forth strong 
 definite yearnings which came to rest of their own 
 accord in his own being, a garden naturally suited 
 to their growth. The creations of his boyhood's 
 imagination had survived, the Sweep, the Dustman, 
 and the Lamplighter, then why not the far more 
 powerful creations in the story . . . ? Thought was 
 never lost ! 
 
 ' But no man in his senses can believe such a 
 thing ! ' he exclaimed, as the train ran booming 
 through the tunnel. 
 
 ' That's the point,' whispered a voice beside him. 
 1 You are out of your senses. Otherwise you could 
 not feel it ! ' 
 
 He turned sharply. The carriage was empty ; 
 there was no one there. It was, of course, another 
 part of himself that supplied the answer ; yet it
 
 4 io A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND chap 
 
 startled him. The blurred reflection of the lamp, 
 he noticed, cast a picture against the black tunnel 
 wall that was like a constellation. The Pleiades 
 again 1 It almost seemed as if the voice had issued 
 from that false reflection in the shaking window- 
 pane. . . . 
 
 The train emerged from the tunnel. He rushed 
 out into the blaze of the Interfering Sun. The 
 lovely cluster vanished like a dream, and with it the 
 hint of explanation melted down in dew. Fields 
 sped past with a group of haystacks whose tarpaulin 
 skirts spread and lifted in the gust of wind the train 
 made. He thought abruptly of Mother. . . . Per- 
 haps, after all, he had taught her something, shown 
 her Existence as a big, streaming, endless thing in 
 which months and years, possibly even life itself, 
 were merely little sections, each unintelligible unless 
 viewed as portions of the Whole, and not as separate, 
 difficult, puzzling items set apart. Possibly he had 
 drawn her map to bigger scale, increased her faith, 
 given her more sense of repose and peace, more 
 courage therefore. She thought formerly of a day, 
 but not of its relation to all days before and behind. 
 She stuck her husband's ' reviews ' in the big book, 
 afflicted by the poor financial results they represented, 
 but was unable to think of his work as a stage in 
 a long series of development and progress, no effort 
 lost, no single hope mislaid. And that was some- 
 thing — if he had accomplished it. Only, he feared 
 he had not. There was the trouble. There lay the 
 secret of a certain ineffectiveness in his character. 
 For he did not realise that fear is simply suppressed 
 desire, vivid signs of life, and that desire is the 
 ultimate causative agent everywhere and always. 
 ' Behind Will stands Desire,' and Desire is Action.
 
 xxviii A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 41 1 
 
 And if he ^^accomplished this, how was it done ? 
 Not by preaching, certainly. Was it, then, simply 
 by being, thinking, feeling it ? A glorious thought, 
 if true ! For assuredly he had this faculty of seeing 
 life whole, and even in boyhood he had looked ahead 
 over its entire map. He had, indeed, this way of 
 relating all its people, and all its parts together, 
 instead of seeing them separate, unintelligible because 
 the context was left out. He lived intensely in the 
 present, yet looked backwards and forwards too at 
 the same time. This large sympathy, this big com- 
 forting vision was his gift. Consequently he believed 
 in Life. Had he also, then, the gift of making 
 others feel and believe it too . . . ? 
 
 There he was again, thinking in a circle, as Laroche 
 flew past with its empty platforms, and warned him 
 that Paris was getting close. He bumped out of 
 Fairyland, yet tumbled back once more for a final 
 reverie before the long ugly arms of the city snatched 
 him finally out. 
 
 1 To see life whole,' he reflected, ' is to see it glorious 
 To think one's self part of humanity at large is to bring 
 the universe down into the heart. But to see life 
 whole, a whole heart is necessary. . . . He's done it 
 in that splendid story, and he bagged the raw idea 
 somehow from me. That's something at any rate. 
 ... So few think Beauty. . . . But will others see 
 it? That's the point !' 
 
 ' No, it isn't,' answered the voice beside him. 
 ' The point is that he has thought it, and the uni- 
 verse is richer. Even if others do not read or under- 
 stand, what he has thought is there now, for ever and 
 ever.' 
 
 ' True,' he reflected, ' for that Beauty may float 
 down and settle in other minds when they least are
 
 4 i2 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND chap. 
 
 looking for it, and ignoring utterly whence comes the 
 fairy touch. Divine ! Delicious ! Heavenly ! ' 
 
 ' The Beauty he has written came through you, 
 yet was not yours,' the voice continued very faintly. 
 1 A far more beautiful mind first projected it into 
 that network which binds all minds together. 'Twas 
 thence you caught it flying, and, knowing not how 
 to give it shape, transferred it to another who could 
 use it — for others. . . . Thought is Life, and 
 Sympathy is living. . . .' 
 
 The voice died away ; he could not hear the 
 remainder clearly ; the passing scenery caught his 
 attention again ; during his reverie it had been un- 
 noticed utterly. ' Thought is Life, but Sympathy 
 
 is living ' it rolled and poured through him as 
 
 he repeated it. Snatches of another sentence then 
 came rising into him from an immense distance, fall- 
 ing upon him from immeasurable heights — barely 
 audible : — 
 
 < . . . from a mind that so loved the Pleiades 
 she made their loveliness and joy her own . . . 
 Alcyone, Merope, Maia . . .' It dipped away into 
 silence like a flower closing for the night, and the 
 train, he realised, was slackening speed as it drew into 
 the hideous Gare de Lyon. 
 
 ' I'll talk to Minks about it, perhaps,' he thought, 
 as he stood telling the Customs official that he had 
 no brandy, cigarettes, or lace. ' He knows about 
 things like that. At any rate, he'll sympathise.' 
 
 He went across Paris to the Gare du Nord, and 
 caught the afternoon boat train to London. The 
 sunshine glared up from the baking streets, but he 
 never forgot that overhead, though invisible, the 
 stars were shining all the time — Starlight, the most 
 tender and least suspected light in all the world,
 
 xxvm A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 413 
 
 shining bravely even when obscured by the Interfer- 
 ing Sun, and the Pleiades, softest, sweetest little 
 group among them all. 
 
 And when at eleven o'clock he entered his St. 
 James's flat, he took a store of it shining in his heart, 
 and therefore in his eyes. Only that was no difficult 
 matter, for all the lamps far up the heights were lit 
 and gleaming, and caught old mighty London in their 
 gorgeous net,
 
 CHAPTER XXIX 
 
 Think with passion 
 That shall fashion 
 Life's entire design, well planned. 
 
 Woman of the Haystack. 
 
 'You are looking so wonderfully well, Mr. Rogers/ 
 Minks observed at Charing Cross Station, ' the 
 passage across the Channel, I trust, was calm.' 
 
 ' And yourself and Mrs. Minks ? ' asked Rogers, 
 looking into the equally sunburned face of his 
 secretary, remembering suddenly that he had been to 
 the sea with his family ; ' Frank, too, and the other 
 children ? All well, I hope ? ' 
 
 ' All in excellent health, Mr. Rogers, thanks to 
 your generous thought. My wife ' 
 
 ' These are the small bags,' the other interrupted, 
 ' and here are the keys for my portmanteaux. There's 
 nothing dutiable. You might bring them on to the 
 flat while I run over to the Club for a bit of supper, 
 Minks.' 
 
 ' Certainly, with pleasure, Mr. Rogers,' was the 
 beaming reply. ' And Mrs. Minks begged me to 
 tell you ' 
 
 Only Rogers was already in his taxi-cab and out 
 of ear-shot. 
 
 ' How well he looks ! ' reflected Minks, dangling 
 the keys, accustomed to these abrupt interruptions, 
 and knowing that his' message had been under- 
 
 4*4
 
 ch.xxix A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 415 
 
 stood and therefore duly delivered. These cut-off 
 sentences were like a secret code between them. 
 1 And ten years younger ! Almost like a boy again. 
 
 I wonder if ' He did not permit himself to 
 
 finish the thought. He tried to remember if he 
 himself had looked like that perhaps in the days of 
 long ago when he courted Albinia Lucy — an air of 
 joy and secrecy and an absent-minded manner that 
 might any moment flame into vehement, concen- 
 trated action. For this was the impression his 
 employer had made upon him. Only he could not 
 quite remember those far-off, happy days. There 
 was ecstasy in them ; that he knew. And there 
 was ecstasy in Henry Rogers now ; that he divined. 
 
 ' He oughtn't to,' he reflected, as he hurried in 
 another taxi with the luggage. ' All his yearnings 
 would be satisfied if he did, his life flow into a single 
 channel instead of into many.' 
 
 He did not think about his own position and his 
 salary. 
 
 ' He won't,' he decided as the cab stopped at the 
 door ; ' he's not that kind of man.' Minks had 
 insight ; he knew men. ' No artist ever ought to. 
 We are so few, and the world has need of us.' His 
 own case was an exception that had justified itself, 
 for he was but a man of talent, and talent did not 
 need an exclusive asceticism ; whereas his employer 
 was a man of genius, and no one woman had the 
 right to monopolise what was intended to sweeten 
 the entire universe. 
 
 By the time the luggage had been taken up, he 
 had missed the last tram home, and his sleep that 
 night must in any case be short. Yet he took no 
 note of that. One must live largely. A small 
 sacrifice for such a master was nothing at all. He
 
 4 i6 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND chap. 
 
 lingered, glancing now and again at the heap of corre- 
 spondence that would occupy them next morning, 
 and sorting once more the little pile that would 
 need immediate personal attention. He was picking 
 a bit of disfiguring fluff from his coat sleeve 
 when the door opened and Henry Rogers came 
 upon him. 
 
 ' Ah ! I waited a moment, Mr. Rogers. I 
 thought you might have something to say before I 
 went, perhaps.' 
 
 1 1 hoped you would, Minks. I have a great deal 
 to say. It can wait till to-morrow, really — only I 
 wanted — but, there now, I forgot ; you have to get 
 down to Sydenham, haven't you ? And it's late 
 already ' 
 
 ' That's nothing, Mr. Rogers. I can easily sleep 
 
 in town. I came prepared, indeed, to do so ' 
 
 as though he, too, had his Club and would take a 
 bedroom in it. 
 
 ' Clever and thoughtful of you, Minks ! ' 
 
 ' Only you must be tired after your journey,* 
 suggested the secretary. 
 
 ' Tired ! " exclaimed the other vigorously, * not a 
 bit ! I'm as fresh as a st — a daisy, I mean. Come, 
 draw your chair up ; we'll have a smoke and a little 
 chat. I'm delighted to see you again. How are 
 you ? And how's everything ? ' 
 
 Goodness ! How bright his eyes were, how alert 
 his manner ! He looked so young, almost springy, 
 thought Minks, as he obeyed decorously, feeling 
 flattered and pleased, yet at the same time uneasy a 
 little. Such spirits could only proceed, he feared, 
 from one cause. He was a close observer, as all 
 poets had need to be. He would discover some clue 
 before he went to bed, something that should betray
 
 xx.x A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 417 
 
 the true state of affairs. In any case sleep would be 
 impossible unless he did. 
 
 ' You stayed away somewhat longer than you 
 originally intended,' he ventured at length, having 
 briefly satisfied his employer's question. ' You found 
 genuine recreation. You needed it, I'm sure.' He 
 glanced with one eye at the letters. 
 
 ' Re-creation, yes ; the very word. It was difficult 
 to leave. The place was so delightful,' said Rogers 
 simply, filling his pipe and lighting it. ' A wonderful 
 mountain village, Minks,' he added, between puffs 
 of smoke, while the secretary, who had been waiting 
 for the sign, then lit his own Virginian and smoked 
 it diffidently, and with just the degree of respect he 
 felt was becoming. He never presumed upon his 
 master's genial way of treating him. He made little 
 puffs and was very careful with the ashes. 
 
 ' Ah, yes,' he said ; ' I am sure it must have been 
 — both delightful and — er — difficult to leave.' He 
 recalled the Margate sands, bathing with Albinia and 
 digging trenches with the children. He had written 
 many lyrics during those happy weeks of holiday. 
 
 1 Gave one, in fact, quite a new view of life — and 
 work. There was such space and beauty everywhere. 
 And my cousin's children simply would not let me go.' 
 
 There was a hint of apology and excuse in the 
 tone and words — the merest hint, but Minks noticed 
 it and liked the enthusiasm. ' He's been up to some 
 mischief ; he feels a little ashamed ; his work — his 
 Scheme — has been so long neglected ; conscience 
 pricks him. Ha, ha ! ' The secretary felt his first 
 suspicion confirmed. ' Cousin's children,' perhaps ! 
 But who else ? 
 
 ' He made a tactful reference — oh, very slight 
 and tentative — to the data he had collected for the 
 
 2 E
 
 4 i 8 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND chap. 
 
 Scheme, but the other either did not hear it, or did 
 not wish to hear it. He brushed it aside, speaking 
 through clouds of tobacco smoke. Minks enjoyed a 
 bigger, braver puff at his own. Excitement grew in 
 him. 
 
 'Just the kind of place you would have loved, 
 Minks,' Rogers went on with zeal. ' I think you really 
 must go there some day ; cart your family over, teach 
 the children French, you know, and cultivate a bit 
 of vineyard. Such fine big forests, too, full of wild 
 flowers and things — O such lovely hand-made things 
 — why, you could almost see the hand that made 
 'em.' The phrase had slipped suddenly into his mind. 
 
 ' Really, really, Mr. Rogers, but how very jo — 
 delightful it sounds.' He thought of the stubble 
 fields and treeless sea-coast where he had been. The 
 language, however, astonished him. Enthusiasm 
 like this could only spring from a big emotion. His 
 heart sank a little. 
 
 ' And the people all so friendly and hospitable 
 and simple that you could go climbing with your 
 bootmaker or ask your baker in to dine and sleep. 
 No snobbery ! Sympathy everywhere and a big free 
 life flowing in your veins.' 
 
 This settled it. Only a lover finds the whole 
 world lovable. 
 
 ' One must know the language, though,' said 
 Minks, 'in order to enjoy the people and understand 
 them, I suppose ? ' 
 
 ' Not a bit, not a bit ! One feels it all, you see ; 
 somehow one feels it and understands. A few words 
 useful here and there, but one gets along without 
 even these. I never knew such a place. Every one 
 seemed to be in sympathy together. They think it, 
 as it were. It was regular fairyland, I tell you.'
 
 xxix A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 419 
 
 ' Which means that you felt and thought it,' said 
 Minks to himself. Aloud he merely remarked, 
 though with conviction, for he was getting interested, 
 1 Thinking is important, I know.' 
 
 Rogers laid his pipe aside and suddenly turned 
 upon him — so abruptly that Minks started. Was 
 this the confession coming ? Would he hear now 
 that his chief was going to be married ? His 
 wandering eyes almost drew level in the excitement 
 that he felt. He knocked a tiny ash from his 
 cigarette and waited. But the expected bomb did not 
 explode. He heard instead this curious question : — 
 
 ' And that's something — it reminds me now — 
 something I particularly wanted to ask you about, 
 my dear fellow. You are familiar, I know, with 
 such things and theories — er — speculations, as it 
 were. You read that sort of stuff. You are in 
 touch with the latest ideas, I mean, and up-to-date. 
 You can tell me, if any one can.' 
 
 He paused, hesitating a moment, as Minks, 
 listening in some bewilderment, gazed into his eager 
 face. He said nothing. He only committed himself 
 to a deprecating gesture with his hands, letting his 
 cigarette slip from his fingers on to the carpet. 
 
 ' About thought] continued Rogers, keeping his 
 eyes fixed upon him while he rose with flushed face 
 from the search to find the stump. ' What do you 
 know about thought ? Tell me what you hear about 
 that — what theories are held — what people believe 
 about it. I mean thought-transference, telepathy, or 
 whatever it is called. Is it proved ? Is it a fact ? ' 
 
 His voice had lowered. There was mystery in 
 his manner. He sat back in his chair, picked up his 
 pipe, replaced it in his mouth unlighted, and waited. 
 
 Minks pulled himself together. His admirable
 
 4 2o A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND chap. 
 
 qualities as a private secretary now came in. Putting 
 excitement and private speculations of his own aside, 
 he concentrated his orderly mind upon replies that 
 should be models of succinct statement. He had 
 practised thought-control, and prided himself upon 
 the fact. He could switch attention instantly from 
 one subject to another without confusion. The 
 replies, however, were, of course, drawn from his own 
 reading. He neither argued nor explained. He 
 merely stated. 
 
 ' Those who have taken the trouble to study the 
 evidence believe,' he began, ' that it is established, 
 though its laws are as yet unknown. Personally, if 
 I may quote myself, I do believe it.' 
 
 1 Quite so, quite so. Do quote yourself — that's 
 what I want — facts. But you refer to deliberate 
 experiments, don't you ? ' 
 
 ' In my own case, yes, Mr. Rogers, although 
 the most successful thought-transference is probably 
 unconscious and not deliberate ' 
 
 ' Such as, for instance ' 
 
 ' Public opinion,' replied Minks, after a moment's 
 search, ' which is the result of waves of thought sent 
 out by everybody — by a community ; or by the 
 joint thinking of a nation, again, which modifies 
 every mind born into that nation, the result of 
 centuries of common thinking along definite familiar 
 channels. Thought-currents rush everywhere about 
 the world, affecting every one more or less, and — er — 
 particularly lodging in minds receptive to them.' 
 
 ' Thought is dynamic, then, they hold ? ' 
 
 ' An actual force, yes ; as actual as electricity, and 
 as little understood,' returned the secretary, proud 
 that he had read these theories and remembered them. 
 * With every real thought a definite force goes forth
 
 xxix A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 421 
 
 from you that modifies every single person, and 
 probably every single object as well, in the entire 
 world. Thought is creative according to its intensity. 
 It links everybody in the world with everybody 
 else ' 
 
 • Objects too, you say ? ' Rogers questioned. 
 
 Minks glanced up to make sure there was no 
 levity in the question, but only desire for knowledge. 
 
 1 Objects too,' he replied, apparently satisfied, 
 ' for science tells us that the movement of a body 
 here affects the farthest star. A continuous medium 
 — ether — transmits the vibrations without friction 
 — and thought -force is doubtless similarly trans- 
 mitted — er ' 
 
 1 So that if I think of a flower or a star, my 
 thought leaps into them and affects them ? ' the 
 other interrupted again. 
 
 ' More, Mr. Rogers,' was the reply, * for your 
 thought, being creative, enriches the world with 
 images of beauty which may float into another mind 
 across the sea, distance no obstacle at all. You 
 make a mental image when you think. There's 
 imagination in all real thinking — if I make myself 
 clear. " Our most elaborate thoughts," to quote 
 for a moment, " are often, as I think, not really 
 ours, but have on a sudden come up, as it were, out 
 of hell or down out of heaven." So what one thinks 
 affects everybody in the world. The noble thinkers 
 lift humanity, though they may never tell their 
 thoughts in speech or writing.' 
 
 His employer stared at him in silence through 
 the cloud of smoke. The clock on the mantelpiece 
 struck half-past twelve. 
 
 ' That is where the inspiration of the artist comes 
 in,' continued the secretary after a moment's hesita-
 
 422 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND chap. 
 
 tion whether he should say it or not, ' for his sensitive 
 soul collects them and gives them form. They lodge 
 in him and grow, and every passionate longing for 
 spiritual growth sets the whole world growing too. 
 Your Scheme for Disabled ' 
 
 ' Even if it never materialises ' Rogers 
 
 brusquely interposed. 
 
 'Sweetens the world — yes — according to this 
 theory,' continued Minks, wondering what in the 
 world had come over his chief, yet so pleased to 
 state his own views that he forgot to analyse. ' A 
 man in a dungeon earnestly praying would accom- 
 plish more than an active man outside who merely 
 lived thoughtlessly, even though beneficently — if I 
 make myself clear.' 
 
 ' Yes, yes ; you make yourself admirably clear, 
 Minks, as I knew you would.' Rogers lit his pipe 
 again and puffed hard through a minute's silence. 
 The secretary held his peace, realising from the tone 
 of the last sentence that he had said enough. Mr. 
 Rogers was leading up to other questions. Hitherto 
 he had been clearing the ground. 
 
 It came then, through the clouds of smoke, though 
 Minks failed to realise exactly why it was so im- 
 portant : 
 
 ' So that if I thought vividly of anything, I should 
 actually create a mental picture which in turn might 
 slip into another's mind, while that other would natur- 
 ally suppose it was his own ? ' 
 
 ' Exactly, Mr. Rogers ; exactly so.' Minks con- 
 trived to make the impatience in his voice sound like 
 appreciation of his master's quickness. ' Distance no 
 obstacle either,' he repeated, as though fond of the 
 phrase. 
 
 4 And, similarly, the thought I deemed my own
 
 xxix A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 423 
 
 might have come in its turn from the mind of some 
 one else ? ' 
 
 * Precisely ; for thought binds us all together like 
 a network, and to think of others is to spread one- 
 self about the universe. When we think thus we 
 get out — as it were — into that medium common to 
 all of us where spirit meets spirit ' 
 
 ' Out ! ' exclaimed Rogers, putting down his pipe 
 and staring keenly, first into one eye, then into the 
 other. ' Out ? ' 
 
 ' Out — yes,' Minks echoed faintly, wondering why 
 that particular word was chosen. He felt a little 
 startled. This earnest talk, moreover, stirred the 
 subconsciousness in him, so that he remembered that 
 unfinished sonnet he had begun weeks ago at Charing 
 Cross. If he were alone now he could complete it. 
 Lines rose and offered themselves by the dozen. His 
 master's emotion had communicated itself to him. 
 A breath of that ecstasy he had already divined 
 passed through the air between them. 
 
 1 It's what the Contemplative Orders attempt ' 
 
 he continued, yet half to himself, as though a little 
 bemused. 
 
 ' Out, by George ! Out ! ' Rogers said again. 
 
 So emphatic was the tone that Minks half rose 
 from his chair to go. 
 
 1 No, no,' laughed his chief ; ' I don't mean that 
 you're to get out. Forgive my abruptness. The 
 fact is I was thinking aloud a moment. I meant — 
 I mean that you've explained a lot to me I didn't 
 understand before — had never thought about, rather. 
 And it's rather wonderful, you see. In fact, it's very 
 wonderful. Minks,' he added, with the grave en- 
 thusiasm of one who has made a big discovery, ' this 
 world is a very wonderful place.'
 
 4 2 4 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND chap. 
 
 ' It is simply astonishing, Mr. Rogers,' Minks 
 answered with conviction, ' astonishingly beautiful.' 
 
 ' That's what I mean,' he went on. ' If I think 
 beauty, that beauty may materialise ' 
 
 ' Must, will, does materialise, Mr. Rogers, just as 
 your improvements in machinery did. You first 
 thought them out ! ' 
 
 ' Then put them into words ; yes, and afterwards 
 into metal. Strong thought is bound to realise 
 itself sooner or later, eh ? Isn't it all grand and 
 splendid ? ' 
 
 They stared at one another across the smoky 
 atmosphere of the London flat at the hour of one 
 in the morning in the twentieth century. 
 
 ' And when I think of a Scaffolding of Dusk 
 that builds the Night,' Rogers went on in a 
 lower tone to himself, yet not so low that 
 Minks, listening in amazement, did not catch 
 every syllable, 'or of a Dustman, Sweep, and 
 Lamplighter, of a Starlight Express, or a vast Star 
 Net that binds the world in sympathy together, 
 and when I weave all these into a story, whose 
 centre somehow is the Pleiades — all this is real and 
 actual, and — and ' 
 
 ' May have been projected by another mind before 
 it floated into your own,' Minks suddenly interposed 
 almost in a whisper, charmed wholly into the poet's 
 region by these suggestive phrases, yet wondering a 
 little why he said it, and particularly how he dared 
 to say it. 
 
 His chief turned sharply upon him. 
 
 1 My own thought exactly ! ' he exclaimed ; * but 
 how the devil did you guess it ? ' 
 
 Minks returned the stare with triumph. 
 
 ' Unconscious transference ! ' he said.
 
 xxix A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 425 
 
 1 You really think that ? ' his master asked, yet 
 not mockingly. 
 
 Minks turned a shade pinker. 
 
 ' I do, indeed, sir,' he replied warmly. ' I think 
 it probable that the thoughts of people you have 
 never seen or heard of drop into your mind and 
 colour it. They lodge there, or are rejected, accord- 
 ing to your mood and the texture of your longings — 
 what you want to be, that is. What you want, if I 
 may say so, is emptiness, and that emptiness invites. 
 The flying thought flits in and makes itself at home. 
 Some people overflow with thoughts of kindness and 
 beauty that radiate from them, of love and tenderness 
 and desire to help. These thoughts, it may be, find 
 no immediate object ; but they are not lost. They 
 pour loose about the world of men and women, and 
 sooner or later find the empty heart that needs them. 
 I believe, sir, that to sit in a chair and think such 
 things strongly brings comfort to thousands who 
 have little idea whence comes the sudden peace and 
 happiness. And any one who happens to be praying 
 for these things at the moment attracts them instantly. 
 The comfort, the joy, the relief come ' 
 
 ' What a good idea, Minks,' said Rogers gently, 
 ' and how helpful if we all believed it. No one's life 
 need be a failure then. Those who want love, for 
 instance, need it, crave it, just think what an army 
 they are ! ' 
 
 He stared thoughtfully a moment at his little 
 secretary. 
 
 ' You might write a book about it, you know — 
 try and make people believe it — convince them. 
 Eh ? Only, you'd have to give your proofs, you 
 know. People want proofs.' 
 
 Minks, pinker than before, hesitated a moment.
 
 426 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND chap 
 
 He was not sure how far he ought to indulge his 
 private theories in words. The expression in his 
 chief's blue eyes apparently encouraged him. 
 
 * But, indeed, Mr. Rogers, the proofs are there. 
 Those moments of sudden strength and joy that 
 visit a man, catching him unawares and unexplained 
 — every solitary man and woman knows them, for 
 every solitary man and woman in the world craves 
 first of all — to be loved. To love another, others, 
 an impersonal Cause, is not enough. It is only half 
 of life ; to be loved is the other half. If every 
 single person — I trust, sir, I do not tire you ? — was 
 loved by some one, the happiness of life would be 
 enormously greater than it is, for each one loved 
 would automatically then give out from his own 
 store, and to receive love makes one overflow with 
 love for every one else. It is so, is it not, sir ? ' 
 
 Rogers, an odd thrill catching him unawares, 
 nodded. ' It is, Minks, it is,' he agreed. ' To love 
 one person makes one half prepared to love all, and 
 to be loved in turn may have a similar effect. It is 
 nice to think so anyhow.' 
 
 ' It is true, sir ' and Minks sat up, ready with 
 
 another deluge. 
 
 • But you were saying something just now,' inter- 
 rupted the other, ' about these sudden glimpses of 
 joy and beauty that — er — come to one — er — inex- 
 plicably. What d'ye mean by that precisely ? ' 
 
 Minks glowed. He was being listened to, and 
 understood by his honoured chief, too ! 
 
 ' Simply that some one, perhaps far away — some 
 sweet woman probably — has been thinking love,' he 
 replied with enthusiasm, yet in a low and measured 
 voice, ' and that the burning thoughts have rushed 
 into the emptiness of a heart that needs them. Like
 
 xxix A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 427 
 
 water, thought finds its level. The sudden gush — 
 all feel it more or less at times, surely ! — may rise 
 first from her mind as she walks lonely upon the 
 shore, pacing the decks at sea, or in her hillside 
 rambles, thinking, dreaming, hoping, yearning — to 
 pour out and find the heart that needs these very 
 things, perhaps far across the world. Who knows ? 
 Heart thrills in response to heart secretly in every 
 corner of the globe, and when these tides flood 
 unexplained into your soul ' 
 
 ' Into my soul ! ' exclaimed his chief. 
 
 ' I beg your pardon, sir,' Minks hurried to explain; 
 1 1 mean to any lonely soul that happens to crave 
 such comfort with real longing — it implies, to my 
 mind at least, that these two are destined to give and 
 take from one another, and that, should they happen 
 to meet in actual life, they will rush together instantly 
 like a pair of flames ' 
 
 ' And if they never — meet ? ' asked Rogers slowly, 
 turning to the mantel-piece for the matches. 
 
 * They will continue to feed each other in this 
 delicious spiritual way from a distance, sir. Only — 
 the chances are — that they will meet, for their 
 thought already connects them vitally, though as yet 
 unrealised.' 
 
 There was a considerable pause. Rogers lit his 
 pipe. Minks, feeling he ought to stand while his 
 master did so, also rose from his chair. The older 
 man turned ; they faced each other for a moment, 
 Rogers putting smoke violently into the air between 
 them. 
 
 ' Minks, my dear fellow,' he observed, ' you are, 
 as I have always thought, a poet. You have ideas, 
 and, whether true or not, they are rather lovely. 
 Write them out for others to read. Use your spare
 
 428 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND chap. 
 
 time writing them out. I'll see to it that you have 
 more leisure.' 
 
 With a laugh the big man moved abruptly past 
 his chair and knocked his pipe on the edge of 
 the ash-bowl. His eye, as he did so, fell upon the 
 pile of letters and papers arranged so neatly on the 
 table. He remembered the lateness of the hour — 
 and other things besides. 
 
 ' Well, well,' he said vaguely with a sigh ; ' so 
 here we are again back at work in London.' 
 
 Minks had turned, too, realising that the surprising 
 conversation was over. A great excitement was in 
 him. He did not feel in the least tired. An unusual 
 sense of anticipation was in the air. He could not 
 make it out at all. Reviewing a dozen possibilities 
 at once, he finally rejected the romantic one he had 
 first suspected, and decided that the right moment 
 had at last come to say something of the Scheme. 
 He had worked so hard to collect data. All was in 
 perfect order. His chief could not feel otherwise 
 than pleased. 
 
 ' Then I'll be saying good-night, Mr. Rogers,' he 
 began, ' for you must be very tired, and I trust you 
 will enjoy a long night's rest. Perhaps you would like 
 me to come a little later in the morning than usual.' 
 
 He stood looking affectionately at the formidable 
 pile of correspondence, and, as his chief made no 
 immediate reply, he went on, with more decision in 
 his voice : 
 
 ' Here,' he said, touching the papers he had care- 
 fully set on one side, ' are all the facts you wanted 
 referring to your great Scheme ' 
 
 He jumped. His master's fist had come down 
 with a bang upon the table. He stepped back a 
 pace. They stared at one another.
 
 xxix A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 429 
 
 ' Damn the Scheme ! ' cried Rogers. * I have 
 done and finished with it. Tear up the papers. 
 Cancel any arrangements already made. And never 
 mention the thing again in my hearing. It's all 
 unreal and wrong and unnecessary ! ' 
 
 Minks gasped. The man was so in earnest. 
 What could it mean ? 
 
 1 Wrong — unnecessary — done with ! ' he faltered. 
 Then, noticing the flashing eyes that yet betrayed a 
 hint of merriment in their fire, he added quickly, 
 ' Quite so, Mr. Rogers ; I understand. You've got 
 an improvement, you mean ? ' 
 
 It was not his place to ask questions, but he could 
 not contain himself. Curiosity and disappointment 
 rushed over him. 
 
 'A bigger and a better one altogether, Minks,' 
 was the vehement reply. He pushed the heap of 
 papers towards the secretary. Minks took them 
 gingerly, reluctantly. 
 
 ' Burn 'em up,' Rogers went on, ' and never speak 
 to me again about the blessed thing. I've got a far 
 bigger Scheme than that.' 
 
 Minks slowly gathered the papers together and 
 put them in his biggest pocket. He knew not what 
 to think. The suddenness of the affair dazed him. 
 Thought-transference failed this time ; he was too 
 perturbed, indeed, to be in a receptive state at all. 
 It seemed a catastrophe, a most undesirable and 
 unexpected climax. The romantic solution revived 
 in him — but only for a passing moment. He re- 
 jected it. Some big discovery was in the air. He 
 felt that extraordinary sense of anticipation once again. 
 
 4 Look here, my dear fellow, Minks,' said Rogers, 
 who had been watching his discomfiture with amuse- 
 ment, ' you may be surprised, but you need not be
 
 430 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND chap. 
 
 alarmed. The fact is, this has been coming for a long 
 time ; it's not an impulsive decision. You must have 
 felt it — from my letters. That Scheme was all right 
 enough, only I am not the right man for it. See ? 
 And our work,' he added laughingly, ' won't go for 
 nothing either, because our thought will drop into 
 another mind somewhere that will accomplish the 
 thing far better than I could have accomplished it.' 
 
 Minks made an odd gesture, as who should say 
 this might not be true. He did not venture upon 
 speech, however. This new plan must be very 
 wonderful, was all he thought just then. His faith 
 in his employer's genius was complete. 
 
 ' And in due time you shall hear all about it. 
 Have a little patience. Perhaps you'll get it out of 
 my thoughts before I tell it to you,' he smiled, ' but 
 perhaps you won't. I can only tell you just now that 
 it has beauty in it — a beauty of the stars.' 
 
 Yet what his bigger Scheme was he really had no 
 clear idea. He felt it coming — that was all ! 
 
 And with that Minks had to be content. This 
 was dismissal. Good -nights were said, and the 
 secretary went out into the street. 
 
 ' Go to a comfortable hotel,' was the last thing he 
 heard, c and put it down to me, of course. Sleep well, 
 sleep well. To-morrow at two o'clock will do.' 
 
 Minks strolled home, walking upon air. The 
 sky was brilliant with its gorgeous constellations — 
 the beauty of the stars. Poems blazed upon him. 
 But he was too excited to compose. Even first lines 
 evaded capture. ' Stars,' besides, was a dreadful word 
 to rhyme with, for all its charm and loveliness. He 
 knew of old that the only word was ' wars,' most 
 difficult to bring in naturally and spontaneously, and 
 with the wrong sound in any case.
 
 xxix A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 431 
 
 ' He must have been writing poetry out there,' he 
 reflected finally, ' or else living it. Living it, prob- 
 ably. He's a grand fellow anyhow, grand as a 
 king.' Stars, wars, kings, thrones — the words flew 
 in and out among a maze of unaccomplished lines. 
 
 But the last thing in his mind as he curled up to 
 sleep in the strange bed was that he had delivered 
 his wife's message, but that he could not tell her 
 about this sudden collapse of the great, long-talked-of 
 Scheme. Albinia would hardly understand. She 
 might think less of his chief. He would wait until 
 the new one dawned upon the horizon with its beauty 
 of the stars. Then he would simply overwhelm her 
 with it, as his temperament loved to do.
 
 CHAPTER XXX 
 
 Lo, every yearning thought that holds a tear, 
 
 Yet finds no mission 
 
 And lies untold, 
 Waits, guarded in that labyrinth of gold,— 
 
 To reappear 
 
 Upon some perfect night, 
 
 Deathless — not old — 
 But sweet with time and distance, 
 And clothed as in a vision 
 
 Of starry brilliance 
 
 For the world's delight. 
 
 John Henry Campden. 
 
 Then, as the days passed, practical life again caught 
 Henry Rogers in its wholesome grip. Fairyland did 
 not fade exactly, but it dipped a little below the 
 horizon. Like hell and heaven, it was a state of 
 mind, open potentially to all, but not to be enjoyed 
 merely for the asking. Like other desirable things, 
 it was to be ' attained.' Its remoteness and difficulty 
 of access lent to it a haunting charm ; for though 
 its glory dimmed a little, there was a soft afterglow 
 that shed its radiance even down Piccadilly and St. 
 James's Street. He was always conscious of this land 
 beyond the sunset ; the stars shone brightly, though 
 clouds or sunlight interfered to blur their message. 
 
 London life, however, by the sheer weight of its 
 grinding daily machinery, worked its slow effect upon 
 him. He became less sensitive to impressions. These 
 duller periods were interrupted sometimes by states 
 of brilliant receptiveness, as at Bourcelles ; but there 
 
 432
 
 ch.xxx A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 433 
 
 was a fence between the two — a rather prickly frontier, 
 and the secret of combining them lay just beyond his 
 reach. For his London mind, guided by reason, 
 acted in a logical plane of two dimensions, while 
 imagination, captained by childhood's fairy longings, 
 cantered loose in all directions at once — impossibly. 
 The first was the world ; the second was the universe. 
 As yet, he was unable to co-ordinate them. Minks, 
 he was certain, could — and did, sailing therefore upon 
 an even keel. There was this big harmony in little 
 Minks that he envied. Minks had an outlet. 
 Sydenham, and even the City, for him were fairy- 
 land ; a motor-bus fed his inspiration as surely as a 
 starlit sky ; moon always rhymed with June, and 
 forget with regret. But the inner world of Henry 
 Rogers was not yet properly connected with the 
 outer. Passage from one to the other was due to 
 chance, it seemed, not to be effected at will. Moods 
 determined the sudden journey. He rocked. But 
 for his talks with little Minks, he might have 
 wrecked. 
 
 And the talks with Minks were about — well, he 
 hardly knew what, but they all played round this 
 map of fairyland he sought to reduce to the scale of 
 everyday life. They discussed thought, dreams, the 
 possibility of leaving the body in sleep, the artist 
 temperament, the source of inspiration as well as the 
 process of the imaginative faculty that created. They 
 talked even of astronomy. Minks held that the life 
 of practical, daily work was the bed-rock of all sane 
 production, yet while preaching this he bubbled over 
 with all the wild, entrancing theories that were in the 
 air to-day. They were comical, but never dangerous 
 — did not upset him. They were almost a form of 
 play. 
 
 2 F
 
 434 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND chap. 
 
 And his master, listening, found these conversa- 
 tions an outlet somehow for emotions in himself he 
 could not manage — a scaffolding that provided out- 
 lines for his awakening dreams to build upon. He 
 found relief. For Minks, with his delightful tact, 
 asked no awkward questions. He referred neither 
 to the defunct Scheme, nor mentioned the new one 
 that held ' a beauty of the stars.' He waited. Rogers 
 also waited. 
 
 And, while he waited, he grew conscious more 
 and more of an enormous thing that passed, driving 
 behind, below, his daily external life. He could never 
 quite get at it. In there, down out of sight some- 
 where, he knew everything. His waking existence 
 was fed invisibly from below. In the daytime he 
 now frequently caught himself attempting to recover 
 the memory of things that went on elsewhere, things 
 he was personally involved in, vital things. This 
 daylight effort to recover them was as irksome as 
 the attempt to draw a loose hair that has wound 
 about the tongue. He spoke at length to Minks 
 about it. 
 
 ' Some part of you,' replied the imperturbable 
 secretary, after listening carefully to his master's 
 vague description of the symptoms, ' is being engaged 
 elsewhere — very actively engaged ' 
 
 ' Eh ? ' asked Rogers, puzzled. 
 
 1 Probably at night, sir, while your brain and body 
 sleep,' Minks elaborated, ' your energetic spirit is 
 out — on the plane of causes ' 
 
 The other gasped slightly, ' While my body lies 
 unconscious ? ' 
 
 * Your spirit may be busy at all kinds of things. 
 That can never be unconscious,' was the respectful 
 answer. ' They say '
 
 xxx A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 435 
 
 ' Yes, what do they say ? ' He recognised a fairy 
 theory, and jumped at it. 
 
 1 That in sleep,' continued the other, encouraged, 
 ' the spirit knows a far more concentrated life — dips 
 down into the deep sea of being — our waking life 
 merely the froth upon the shore.' 
 
 Rogers stared at him. ' Yes, yes,' he answered 
 slowly, ' that's very pretty, very charming ; it's quite 
 delightful. What ideas you have, my dear Minks ! 
 What jolly, helpful ideas ! ' 
 
 Minks beamed with pleasure. 
 
 'Not my own, Mr. Rogers, not my own,' he 
 said, with as much pride as if they were his own, 
 ' but some of the oldest in the world, just coming 
 into fashion again with the turn of the tide, it seems. 
 Our daily life — even the most ordinary — is immensely 
 haunted, girdled about with a wonder of incredible 
 things. There are hints everywhere to-day, though 
 few can read the enormous script complete. Here 
 and there one reads a letter or a word, that's all. 
 Yet the best minds refuse to know the language, 
 not even the ABC of it ; they read another language 
 altogether ' 
 
 ' The best minds ! ' repeated Rogers. ' What 
 d'you mean by that ! ' It sounded, as Minks said it, 
 so absurdly like best families. 
 
 ' The scientific and philosophical minds, sir. They 
 think it's not worth learning, this language. That's 
 the pity of it — ah, the great pity of it ! ' And he 
 looked both eager and resentful — his expression 
 almost pathetic. He turned half beseechingly to 
 his employer, as though he might alter the sad 
 state of things. ' As with an iceberg, Mr. Rogers,' 
 he added, 'the greater part of everything — of 
 ourselves especially — is invisible ; we merely know
 
 436 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND chap. 
 
 the detail banked against an important grand Un- 
 seen.' 
 
 The Ions: sentence had been suffered to its close 
 because the audience was busy with thoughts or his 
 own instead of listening carefully. Behind the wild 
 language stirred some hint of meaning that, he felt, 
 held truth. For a moment, it seemed, his daylight 
 searching was explained — almost. 
 
 ' Well and good, my dear fellow, and very pic- 
 turesque,' he said presently, gazing with admiration 
 at his secretary's neat blue tie and immaculate linen ; 
 ' but thinking, you know, is not possible without 
 matter.' This in a tone of * Do talk a little sense.' 
 ' Even if the spirit does go out, it couldn't think 
 apart from the brain, could it now, eh ? ' 
 
 Minks took a deep breath and relieved himself of 
 the following : 
 
 ' Ah, Mr. Rogers ' — as much as to say ' Fancy 
 you believing that ! ' — ' but it can experience and 
 know direct, since it passes into the region whence 
 the material that feeds thought issues in the first 
 instance — causes, Mr. Rogers, causes.' 
 
 ' Oho ! ' said his master, ' oho ! ' 
 
 ' There is no true memory afterwards,' continued 
 the little dreamer, ' because memory depends upon 
 how much the spirit can bring back into the brain, 
 you see. We have vague feelings, rather than actual 
 recollection — feelings such as you were kind enough 
 to confess to me you had been haunted by your- 
 self ' 
 
 ' All-overish feelings,' Rogers helped him, seeing 
 that he was losing confidence a little, * vague sensa- 
 tions of joy and wonder and — well — in a word, 
 strength.' 
 
 ' Faith,' said Minks, with a decision of renewed
 
 xxx A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 437 
 
 conviction, ' which is really nothing but unconscious 
 knowledge — knowledge unremembered. And it's 
 the half-memory of what you do at night that causes 
 this sense of anticipation you now experience ; for 
 what is anticipation, after all, but memory thrown 
 forward ? ' 
 
 There was a pause then, during which Rogers lit 
 a cigarette, while Minks straightened his tie several 
 times in succession. 
 
 ' You are a greater reader than I, of course,' 
 resumed his employer presently ; ' still, I have come 
 across one or two stories which deal with this kind 
 of thing. Only, in the books, the people always 
 remember what they've done at night, out of the 
 body, in the spirit, or whatever you like to call it. 
 Now, / remember nothing whatever. How d'you 
 account for that, pray ? ' 
 
 Minks smiled a little sadly. * The books,' he 
 answered very softly, ' are wrong there — mere in- 
 ventions — not written from personal experience. 
 There can be no detailed memory unless the brain 
 has been ' out ' too — which it hasn't. That's where 
 inaccuracy and looseness of thought come in. If 
 only the best minds would take the matter up, you 
 see, we might ' 
 
 Rogers interrupted him. 
 
 ' We shall miss the post, Minks, if we go on 
 dreaming and talking like this,' he exclaimed, looking 
 at his watch and then at the pile of letters waiting to 
 be finished. ' It is very delightful indeed, very — but 
 we mustn't forget to be practical, too.' 
 
 And the secretary, not sorry perhaps to be rescued 
 in time from the depths he had floundered in, switched 
 his mind in concentration upon the work in hand 
 again. The conversation had arisen from a chance
 
 438 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND chap 
 
 coincidence in this very correspondence — two letters 
 that had crossed after weeks of silence. 
 
 Work was instantly resumed. It went on as 
 though it had never been interrupted. Pride and 
 admiration stirred the heart of Minks as he noticed 
 how keenly and accurately his master's brain took up 
 the lost threads again. * A grand fellow ! ' he thought 
 to himself, ' a splendid man ! He lives in both 
 worlds at once, yet never gets confused, nor lets 
 one usurp his powers to the detriment of the other. 
 If only I were equally balanced and effective. Oh 
 dear ! ' And he sighed. 
 
 And there were many similar conversations of 
 this kind. London seemed different, almost trans- 
 figured sometimes. Was this the beginning of 
 that glory which should prove it a suburb of Bour- 
 celles ? 
 
 Rogers found his thoughts were much in that cosy 
 mountain village : the children capered by his side all 
 day ; he smelt the woods and flowers ; he heard the 
 leaves rustle on the poplar's crest ; and had merely to 
 think of a certain room in the tumble-down old 
 Citadelle for a wave of courage and high anticipation 
 to sweep over him like a sea. A new feeling of 
 harmony was taking him in hand. It was very 
 delightful ; and though he felt explanation beyond 
 his reach still, his talks with Minks provided peep- 
 holes through which he peered at the enormous thing 
 that brushed him day and night. 
 
 A great settling was taking place inside him. 
 Thoughts certainly began to settle. He realised, for 
 one thing, that he had left the theatre where the 
 marvellous Play had been enacted. He stood outside 
 now, able to review and form a judgment. His 
 mind loved order. Undue introspection he disliked,
 
 xxx A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 439 
 
 as a form of undesirable familiarity ; a balanced man 
 must not be too familiar with himself ; it endangered 
 self-respect. 
 
 He had been floundering rather. After years of 
 methodical labour the freedom of too long a holiday 
 was disorganising. He tried to steady himself. 
 And the Plan of Life, answering to control, grew 
 smaller instantly, reduced to proportions he could 
 examine reasonably. This was the beginning of 
 success. The bewildering light of fairyland still 
 glimmered, but no longer so diffused. It focused 
 into little definite kernels he could hold steady while 
 he scrutinised them. 
 
 And these kernels he examined carefully as might 
 be : in the quiet, starry evenings usually, while 
 walking alone in St. James's Park after his day of 
 board meetings, practical work with Minks, and the 
 like. 
 
 Gradually then, out of the close survey, emerged 
 certain things that seemed linked together in an 
 intelligible sequence of cause and effect. There was 
 still mystery, for subconscious investigation ever 
 involves this background of shadow. Question and 
 Wonder watched him. But the facts emerged. 
 
 He jotted them down on paper as best he could. 
 The result looked like a Report drawn up by Minks, 
 only less concise and — he was bound to admit it — 
 less intelligible. He smiled as he read them 
 over. . . . 
 
 ' My thoughts and longings, awakened that night 
 in the little Crayfield garden,' he summed it up to 
 himself, having read the Report so far, ' went forth 
 upon their journey of realisation. I projected them 
 — according to Minks — vividly enough for that ! I 
 thought Beauty — and this glorious result materialised !
 
 44 o A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND chap 
 
 More — my deepest, oldest craving of all has come to 
 life again — the cry of loneliness that yearns to — that 
 
 seeks — er ' 
 
 At this point, however, his analysis grew wumbled; 
 the transference of thought and emotion seemed 
 comprehensible enough ; though magical, it was not 
 more so than wireless telegraphy, or that a jet of 
 steam should drive an express for a hundred miles. 
 It was conceivable that Daddy had drawn thence the 
 inspiration for his wonderful story. What baffled 
 him was the curious feeling that another was mixed 
 up in the whole, delightful business, and that neither 
 he nor his cousin were the true sponsors of the fairy 
 fabric. He never forgot the description his cousin 
 read aloud that night in the Den — how the Pattern of 
 his Story reached its climax and completeness when a 
 little starry figure with twinkling feet and amber eyes 
 had leaped into the centre and made itself at home 
 there. From the Pleiades it came. The lost 
 Pleiad was found. The network of thought and 
 sympathy that contained the universe had trembled 
 to its uttermost fastenings. The principal r61e was 
 filled at last. 
 
 It was here came in the perplexing thing that 
 baffled him. His mind sat down and stared at an 
 enormous, shadowy possibility that he was unable to 
 grasp. It brushed past him overhead, beneath, on all 
 sides. He peered up at it and marvelled, un- 
 convinced, yet knowing himself a prisoner. Some- 
 thing he could not understand was coming, was 
 already close, was watching him, waiting the moment 
 to pounce out, like an invisible cat upon a bewildered 
 mouse. The question he flung out brought no 
 response, and he recalled with a smile the verse that 
 described his absurd position : —
 
 xxx A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 441 
 
 Like a mouse who, lost in wonder, 
 Flicks its whiskers at the thunder ! 
 
 For, while sprites and yearning were decidedly 
 his own, the interpretation of them, if not their 
 actual origin, seemed another's. This other, like 
 some dear ideal on the way to realisation, had 
 taken him prisoner. The queer sense of antici- 
 pation Bourcelles had fostered was now actual ex- 
 pectation, as though some Morning Spider had 
 borne his master- longing, exquisitely fashioned by 
 the Story, across the Universe, and the summons 
 had been answered — from the Pleiades. The in- 
 destructible threads of thought and feeling tightened. 
 The more he thought about his cousin's interpreta- 
 tion the more he found in it a loveliness and purity, 
 a crystal spiritual quality, that he could credit neither 
 to the author's mind nor to his own. This soft and 
 starry brilliance was another's. Up to a point the 
 interpretation came through Daddy's brain, just as 
 the raw material came through his own ; but there- 
 after this other had appropriated both, as their original 
 creator and proprietor. Some shining, delicate hand 
 reached down from its starry home and gathered in 
 this exquisite form built up from the medley of fairy 
 thought and beauty that were first its own. The 
 owner of that little hand would presently appear to 
 claim it. 
 
 ' We were but channels after all then — both of us,' 
 was the idea that lay so insistently in him. ' The 
 sea of thought sends waves in all directions. They 
 roll into different harbours. I caught the feeling, 
 he supplied the form, but this other lit the original 
 fire!' 
 
 And further than this wumbled conclusion he 
 could not get. He went about his daily work.
 
 442 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND CH . xxx 
 
 however, with a secret happiness tugging at his mind 
 all day, and a sense of expectant wonder glancing 
 brightly over everything he thought or did. He was 
 a prisoner in fairyland, and what he called his outer 
 and his inner world were, after all, but different ways 
 of looking at one and the same thing. Life every- 
 where was one.
 
 CHAPTER XXXI 
 
 Es stehen unbeweglich 
 
 Die Sterne in der H(3h' 
 
 Viel tausend Jahr', und schauen 
 
 Sich an mit Liebesweh. 
 
 Sie sprechen eine Sprache, 
 Die ist so reich, so sch5n ; 
 Doch keiner der Philologen 
 Kann diese Sprache verstehen. 
 
 Ich aber hab' sie gelernet, 
 Und ich vergesse sie nicht ; 
 Mir diente als Grammatik 
 Der Herzallerliebsten Gesicht. 
 
 Heine. 
 
 One evening in particular the sense of expectation in 
 him felt very close upon delivery. All day he had 
 been aware of it, and a letter received that morning 
 from his cousin seemed the cause. The story, in its 
 shorter version, had been accepted. Its reality, there- 
 fore, had already spread ; one other mind, at least, 
 had judged it with understanding. Two months 
 from now, when it appeared in print, hundreds more 
 would read it. Its beauty would run loose in many 
 hearts. And Rogers went about his work that day 
 as though the pleasure was his own. The world felt 
 very sweet. He saw the good in every one with 
 whom he came in contact. And the inner excitement 
 due to something going to happen was continuous and 
 cumulative. 
 
 Yet London just then — it was August — was dull 
 
 443
 
 444 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND chap. 
 
 and empty, dusty, and badly frayed at the edges. 
 It needed a great cleaning ; he would have liked 
 to pour sea water over all its streets and houses, 
 bathed its panting parks in the crystal fountains 
 of Bourcelles. All day long his thoughts, indeed, 
 left London for holidays in little Bourcelles. He 
 was profoundly conscious that the Anticipation he 
 first recognised in that forest village was close upon 
 accomplishment now. On the journey back to England 
 he recalled how urgent it had been. In London, ever 
 since, it had never really left him. But to-day it 
 now suddenly became more than expectation — he felt 
 it in him as a certainty that approached fulfilment. 
 It was strange, it was bewildering ; it seemed to him 
 as though something from that under-self he could 
 never properly reach within him, pushed upwards 
 with a kind of aggressive violence towards the surface. 
 It was both sweet and vital. Behind the ' something ' 
 was the ' some one ' who led it into action. 
 
 At half-past six he strolled down a deserted St. 
 James's Street, passed the door of his club with no 
 temptation to go in, and climbed the stairs slowly to 
 his rooms. His body was languid though his mind 
 alert. He sank into an arm-chair beside the open 
 window. * I must do something to-night,' he thought 
 eagerly ; ' mere reading at the club is out of the 
 question. I'll go to a theatre or — or — .' He con- 
 sidered various alternatives, deciding finally upon 
 Richmond Park. He loved long walks at night 
 when his mind was restless thus ; the air in Richmond 
 Park was peculiarly fresh and scented after dark. 
 He knew the little gate that was never closed. He 
 would dine lightly, and go for a ten-mile stretch 
 among the oaks, surprise the deer asleep, listen to 
 the hum of distant London, and watch the fairy
 
 xxxi A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 445 
 
 battle between the lurid reflection of its million lights 
 and the little stars. . . . There were places in the 
 bracken where. . . . 
 
 The rumbling clatter of a railway van disturbed 
 the picture. His mind followed the noise instead. 
 Thought flashed along the street to a station. He 
 saw trains. . . . 
 
 * Come at once ! You're wanted here — some one 
 calls you ! ' sounded a breathless merry voice beside 
 him. * Come quickly ; aussi schnell que mSglich ! ' 
 
 There was a great gulp of happiness in him ; his 
 spirit plunged in joy. He turned and looked about 
 him swiftly. That singing voice, with its impudent 
 mingling of languages was unmistakable. 
 
 * From the Pleiades. Look sharp ! You've been 
 further off than ever lately, and further is further than 
 farther — much ! Over the forests and into the cave, 
 that is the way we must all behave ! ' 
 
 He opened an eye. 
 
 Between him and a great gold sunset ran the 
 wind. It was a slender violet wind. The sunset, 
 however, was in the act of disappearing for the 
 Scaffolding of Dusk was passing through the air — 
 he saw the slung trellis-work about him, the tracery 
 of a million lines, the guy-ropes, uprights, and the 
 feathery threads of ebony that trailed the Night 
 behind them like a mighty cloth. There was a 
 fluttering as of innumerable wings. 
 
 ' You needn't tug like that,' he gasped. ' I'm 
 coming all right. I'm out ! ' 
 
 1 But you're so slaw and sticky,' she insisted. 
 ' You've been sticky like this for weeks now ! ' 
 
 He saw the bright brown eyes and felt the hair all 
 over his face like a bath of perfume. They rushed 
 together. His heart beat faster. . . .
 
 446 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND chap. 
 
 ' Who wants me in such a hurry ? ' he cried, the 
 moment he was disentangled. Laughter ran past 
 him on every side from the world of trees. 
 
 ' As if you didn't know ! What is the good of 
 pretending any longer ! You're both together in the 
 Network, and you know it just as well as she does ! ' 
 
 Pretending ! Just as well as she does ! 
 
 As though he had eyes all over his body he saw the 
 Net of Stars above him. Below were forests, vine- 
 yards, meadows, and the tiny lights of houses. In 
 the distance shimmered the waters of a familiar lake. 
 Great purple mountains rolled against the sky line. 
 But immediately over his head, close yet also distant, 
 filling the entire heavens, there hung a glittering 
 Pattern that he knew, grown now so vast that at first 
 he scarcely recognised its dazzling loveliness. From 
 the painted western horizon it stretched to other 
 fastenings that dipped below the world, where the 
 East laid its gulfs of darkness to surprise the sun. 
 It swung proudly down, as though hung from the 
 Pole Star towards the north, and while the Great Bear 
 * pointers ' tossed its embroidery across Cassiopeia, the 
 Pleiades, just rising, flung its further fringes down to 
 Orion, waiting in wonder to receive them far below 
 the horizon. Old Sirius wore one breadth of it 
 across his stupendous shoulder, and Aldebaran, with 
 fingers of bronze and fire, drew it delicately as with 
 golden leashes over the sleeping world. 
 
 When first he saw it, there was this gentle flutter- 
 ing as of wings through all its intricate parts, but the 
 same moment four shooting stars pierced its outlying 
 edges with flying nails of gold. It steadied and grew 
 taut. 
 
 ' There she is ! ' cried Monkey, flashing away like 
 a comet towards the Cave. ' You'll catch it now —
 
 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 447 
 
 and you deserve to ! ' She turned a brilliant somer- 
 sault and vanished. 
 
 Then, somehow, the vast Pattern settled into a 
 smaller scale, so that he saw it closer, clearer, and 
 without confusion. Beauty and wonder focused for 
 his sight. The perfected design of Daddy's fairy 
 story floated down into his heart without a hint of 
 wumbling. Never had he seen it so luminous and 
 simple. For others, of course, meanwhile had known 
 and understood it. Others believed. Its reality was 
 more intense, thus, than before. 
 
 He rose from the maze of tree-tops where he 
 floated, and stretched his arms out, no fear or hesita- 
 tion in him anywhere. Perched in the very centre 
 of the Pattern, seated like a new-born star upon its 
 throne, he saw that tiny figure who had thrilled him 
 months ago when he caught it in a passing instant, 
 fluttering in the web of Daddy's story, — both its 
 climax and its inspiration. The twinkling feet were 
 folded now. He saw the soft little eyes that shone 
 like starlight through clear amber. The hands, 
 palms upwards, were stretched to meet his own. 
 
 'You, of course, must come up — to me,' he 
 heard. 
 
 And climbing the lace-like tracery of the golden 
 web, he knelt before her. But, almost before both 
 knees were bent, her hands had caught him — the 
 touch ran like a sheath of fire through every nerve — 
 and he was seated beside her in that shining centre. 
 
 ' But why did it suddenly grow small ? ' he asked 
 at once. He felt absolutely at home. It was like 
 speaking to a child who loved him utterly, and whom 
 he, in his turn, knew intimately inside out. 
 
 1 Because you suddenly understood,' was the silvery, 
 tiny answer. ' When you understand, you bring
 
 448 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND chap. 
 
 everything into yourself, small as a toy. It is size 
 that bewilders. Men make size. Fairy things, like 
 stars and tenderness, are always small.' 
 
 ' Of course,' he said ; ' as if I didn't know it 
 already ! ' 
 
 ' Besides,' she laughed, half closing her brilliant 
 eyes and peering at him mischievously, ' I like every- 
 thing so tiny that you can find it inside a shell. That 
 makes it possible to do big things.' 
 
 ' Am / too big ? ' he exclaimed, aware of 
 
 clumsiness before this exquisite daintiness. 
 
 ' A little confused, that's all,' her laughter rippled. 
 ' You want smoothing down. I'll see to that.' 
 
 He had the feeling, as she said it, that his being 
 included the entire Pattern, even to its most distant 
 edges where it fastened on to the rim of the universe. 
 From this huge sensation, he came back swiftly to its 
 tiny correspondence again. His eyes turned to study 
 her. But she seemed transparent somehow, so that 
 he saw the sky behind her, and in it, strangely 
 enough — just behind her face — the distant Pleiades, 
 shining faintly with their tender lustre. They reached 
 down into her little being, it seemed, as though she 
 emanated from them. Big Aldebaran guided strongly 
 from behind. For an instant he lost sight of the 
 actual figure, seeing in its place a radiant efflorescence, 
 purified as by some spiritual fire — the Spirit of a Star. 
 
 ' I'm here, quite close beside you,' whispered the 
 tiny voice. * Don't let your sight get troublesome like 
 your size. Inside-sight, remember, is the thing ! ' 
 
 He turned, or rather he focused sight again to 
 find her. He was startled a little. For a moment 
 it seemed like his own voice speaking deep down 
 within himself. 
 
 4 Make yourself at home,' it continued, * you belong
 
 xxxi A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 449 
 
 here — almost as much as I do.' And at the sound of 
 her voice all the perplexities of his life lay down. It 
 brushed him smooth, like a wind that sets rough 
 feathers all one way. 
 
 He remembered again where he was, and what 
 was going on. 
 
 ' I do,' he answered, happy as a boy. ' I am at 
 home. It is perfect.' 
 
 ' Do you, indeed ! You speak as though this 
 story were your own ! ' 
 
 And her laugh was like the tinkle of hare-bells in 
 the wind. 
 
 ' It is,' he said ; l at least I had — I have, rather, a 
 considerable hand in the making of it.' 
 
 ' Possibly,' she answered, ' but the story belongs 
 to the person who first started it. And that person 
 is myself. The story is mine really ! ' 
 
 ' Yours ! ' he gasped. 
 
 ' Because — I am the story ! ' 
 
 He stared hard to find the face that said this 
 thing. Thought stopped dead a moment, blocked 
 by a marvel that was impossible, yet true. 
 
 1 You mean ? ' he stammered. 
 
 * You heard perfectly what I said ; you understood 
 it, too. There's no good pretending,' impatience as 
 well as laughter in the little voice. ' I am the story, — 
 the story that you love.' 
 
 A sudden joy burst over him in a flood. Struggle 
 and search folded their wings and slept. An immense 
 happiness wrapped him into the very woof of the 
 pattern wherein they sat. A thousand loose and 
 ineffective moods of his life found coherence, as 
 a thousand rambling strands were gathered home 
 and fastened into place. 
 
 And the Pattern quivered and grew brighter. 
 
 2 c
 
 450 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND chap 
 
 ' I am the story because I thought of it first. You, 
 as a version of its beauty — a channel for its delivery — 
 belong utterly to me. You can no more resist me 
 than a puddle can resist the stars' reflection. You 
 increase me. We increase each other.' 
 
 ' You say you thought it first,' he cried, feeling 
 the light he radiated flow in and mingle with her 
 own. ' But who are you ? Where do you come 
 from ? ' 
 
 ' Over there somewhere, I think,' she laughed, 
 while a ray like fire flashed out in the direction of 
 the Pleiades that climbed the sky towards the East. 
 ' You ought to know. You've been hunting for me 
 long enough ! ' 
 
 ' But who are you ? ' he insisted again, ' for I feel 
 it's you that have been looking for me — I've so 
 often heard you calling ! ' 
 
 She laughed again till the whole web quivered. 
 Through her eyes the softness of all the seven 
 Pleiades poured deliciously into him. 
 
 * It's absurd that such a big thing as you could 
 hide so easily,' she said. ' But you'll never hide 
 again. I've got you fast now. And you've got me ! 
 It's like being reflected together in the same puddle, 
 you see ! ' 
 
 The dazzling radiance passed as she said it into a 
 clearer glow, and across the fire of it he caught her 
 eyes steadily a moment, though he could not see the 
 face complete. Two brilliant points of amber shone 
 up at him, as stars that peep from the mirror of a 
 forest pool. That mental daylight-searching seemed 
 all explained, only he could not remember now that 
 there was any such thing at all as either searching or 
 daylight. When ' out ' like this, waking was the 
 dream — the sunlight world forgotten.
 
 xxxi A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 451 
 
 ' This Pattern has always been my own,' she con- 
 tinued with infinite softness, yet so clearly that his 
 whole body seemed a single ear against her lips, ' for 
 I've thought it ever since I can remember. I've lived 
 it. This Network of Stars I made ages ago in a garden 
 among far bigger mountains than these hills, a garden 
 I knew vividly, yet could not always find — almost 
 as though I dreamed it. The Net included the — oh, 
 included everything there is, and I fastened it to four 
 big pines that grew on the further side of the torrent 
 in that mountain garden of my dream — fastened it 
 with nails of falling stars. And I made the Pleiades 
 its centre because I loved them best of all. Oh ! 
 Orion, Orion, how big and comforting your arms 
 are ! Please hold me tight for ever and ever ! ' 
 
 ' But I know it, too, that lovely dream,' he cried. 
 ' It all comes back to me. I, too, have dreamed it 
 
 with you then somewhere — somewhere ! ' His 
 
 voice choked. He had never known that life could 
 hold such sweetness, wonder, joy. The universe lay 
 within his arms. 
 
 ' All the people I wanted to help I used to catch 
 in my Net of Stars,' she went on. ' There was a 
 train that brought them up to its edges, and once I 
 got the passengers into the web, and hung them 
 loose in it till they were soaked with starlight, I could 
 send them back happier and braver than they came. 
 It's been my story ever since I can remember anything 
 — my adventure, my dream, my life. And when the 
 great Net faded a little and wanted brightening, we 
 knew an enormous cavern in the mountains where 
 lost starlight collected, and we used to gather this in 
 thousands of sacks, and wash and paint the entire 
 web afresh. That made it sticky, so that the passen- 
 gers hung in it longer. Don't you remember ?
 
 452 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND chap. 
 
 They came back with starlight in their hair and eyes 
 and voices — and in their hearts.' 
 
 c And the way you — we got them into the Net,' 
 he interrupted excitedly, ' was by understanding them 
 — by feeling with them ' 
 
 ' Sympathy,' she laughed, * of course ! Only there 
 were so many I could not reach and could not under- 
 stand, and so could never get in. In particular there 
 was some one who ought to have been there to help 
 me. If I could find that some one I could do twice 
 as much. I searched and searched. I hunted through 
 every corner of the garden, through forest, cavern, sky, 
 but never with success. Orion never overtook me ! 
 My longing cried everywhere, but in vain. Oh, Orion, 
 my lost Orion, I have found you now at last ! . . . 
 The Net flashed messages in all directions, but with- 
 out response. This some one who could make my 
 work complete existed — that I knew — only he was 
 hidden somewhere out of sight — concealed in some 
 corner or other, veiled by a darkness that he wove 
 about himself — as though by some funny kind of 
 wrong thinking that obscured the light I searched 
 for and made it too dim to reach me properly. His 
 life or mind — his thought and feeling, that is — were 
 wumbled ' 
 
 ' Wumbled ! ' he cried, as the certainty burst upon 
 him with the password. He stood close to her, 
 opening his arms. 
 
 Instantly she placed her golden palm upon his 
 mouth, with fingers that were like soft star- rays. 
 Her words, as she continued, were sweeter than the 
 footfalls of the Pleiades when they rise above the sea. 
 
 ' Yet there were times when we were so close that 
 we could feel each other, and each wondered why the 
 other did not actually appear. I have been trying,'
 
 xxxi A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 453 
 
 she whispered, oh so dearly, ' to find you always. And 
 you knew it, too, for I've felt you searching too. . . .' 
 
 The outlying skirts of the Pattern closed in a 
 little, till the edges gathered over them like a tent of 
 stars. Alone in the heart of the universe they told 
 their secret very softly. . . . 
 
 ' There are twin-stars, you know,' she whispered, 
 when he released her, ' that circle so close about each 
 other that they look like one. I wonder, oh, I 
 wonder, do they ever touch ! ' 
 
 ' They are apart in order to see one another better,' 
 he murmured. ' They watch one another more 
 sweetly so. They play at separation for the joy of 
 coming together again.' 
 
 And once more the golden Pattern hid them for 
 a moment from the other stars. . . . The shafts of 
 night-fire played round and above their secret tent 
 in space. . . . Most marvellously their beings found 
 each other in the great whispering galleries of the 
 world where Thought and Yearning know that first 
 fulfilment which is the source of action later. . . . 
 
 ' So, now that I have found you,' her voice pre- 
 sently went on, ' our Network shall catch everybody 
 everywhere. For the Pattern of my story, woven so 
 long ago, has passed through you as through a channel 
 — to another who can give it forth. It will spread 
 across every sky. All, all will see it and climb up.' 
 
 ' My scheme ' he cried, with eager delight, yet 
 
 not quite certain what he meant, nor whence the 
 phrase proceeded. 
 
 ' Was my thought first,' she laughed, ' when you 
 were a little boy and I was a little girl — somewhere 
 in a garden very long ago. A ray from its pattern 
 touched you into beauty. Though I could do nothing 
 with it myself, one little ray shot into the mirror of
 
 454 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND chap. 
 
 your mind and instantly increased itself. But then, 
 you hid yourself; the channel closed ' 
 
 ' It never died, though,' he interrupted ; ' the ray, 
 I mean.' 
 
 ' It waited,' she went on, 'until you found chil- 
 dren somewhere, and the channel cleared instantly. 
 Through you, opened up and cleaned by them, my 
 pattern rushed headlong into another who can use it. 
 It could never die, of course. And the long repres- 
 sion — I never ceased to live it — made its power irre- 
 sistible.' 
 
 ' Your story ! ' he cried. ' It is indeed your story.' 
 
 The eyes were so close against his own that he 
 made a movement that was like diving into a deep 
 and shining sea to reach them. . . . The Pleiades 
 rushed instantly past his face. . . . Soft filaments of 
 golden texture stroked his very cheeks. That slender 
 violet wind rose into his hair. He saw other larger 
 winds behind it, deeply coloured. . . . Something 
 made him tremble all over like a leaf in a storm. 
 He saw, then, the crest of the sentinel poplar tossing 
 between him and the earth far, far below. A mist 
 of confusion caught him, so that he knew not where 
 he was. . . . He made an effort to remember . . . 
 a violent effort. . . . Some strange sense of heaviness 
 oppressed him. . . . He was leaving her. 
 
 ' Quick ! ' he tried to cry ; ' be quick ! I am 
 changing. I am drowsy with your voice and beauty. 
 Your eyes have touched me, and I am — falling 
 asleep ! ' His voice grew weaker as he said it. 
 
 Her answer sounded faint, and far above him : 
 
 ' Give me . . . your . . . hand. Touch me. 
 Come away with me . . . to . . . my . . . garden 
 . . . in the mountains. . . . We may wake together 
 . . . You are waking now . . . ! '
 
 X xxi A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 455 
 
 He made an effort to find her little palm. But 
 the wind swept coldly between his opened fingers. 
 
 * Waking ! — what is it ? ' he cried thinly. He 
 thought swiftly of something vague and muddy — 
 something dull, disordered, incomplete. Here it was 
 all glass-clear. ' Where are you ? I can't find you. 
 I can't see ! ' 
 
 A dreadful, searching pain shot through him. He 
 was losing her, just when he had found her. He 
 struggled, clung, fought frantically to hold her. But 
 his fingers seized the air. 
 
 ' Oh, I shall find you — even when you wake,' 
 he heard far away among the stars. ' Try and re- 
 member me — when I come. Try and remember. . . .' 
 
 It dipped into the distance. He had lost her. 
 He caught a glimpse of the Pleiades as he fell at a 
 fearful speed. Some one behind them picked up 
 stars and tossed them after him. They dimmed as 
 they shot by — from gold to white, from white to 
 something very pale. Behind them rose a wave of 
 light that hurt his eyes. 
 
 ' Look out ! The Interfering Sun ! ' came a dis- 
 appearing voice that was followed by a peal of 
 laughter. ' I hope you found her, and I hope you 
 caught it well. You deserved to. . . .' 
 
 There was a scent of hair that he loved, a vision 
 of mischievous brown eyes, an idea that somebody 
 was turning a somersault beside him — and then he 
 landed upon the solid earth with a noise like thunder. 
 
 The room was dark. At first he did not recog- 
 nise it. Through the open window came the clatter 
 of lumbering traffic that passed heavily down St. 
 James's Street. He rose stiffly from his chair, vexed 
 with himself for having dozed. It was more than a 
 doze, though ; he had slept some thirty minutes by
 
 456 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND chap. 
 
 his watch. No memory of any dreams was in him 
 — nothing but a feeling of great refreshing lightness 
 and peace. . . . 
 
 It was wonderful, he reflected, as he changed 
 into country clothes for his walk in Richmond 
 Park, how even the shortest nap revives the brain 
 and body. There was a sense that an immense 
 interval had elapsed, and that something very big 
 had happened or was going to happen to him very 
 soon. . . .' 
 
 And an hour later he passed through the Rich- 
 mond Gate and found the open spaces of the Park 
 deserted, as they always were. The oaks and bracken 
 rustled in a gentle breeze. The swishing of his boots 
 through the wet grass was the only sound he heard, 
 for the boom and purr of distant London reached 
 him more as touch than as something audible. Seated 
 on a fallen tree, he watched the stars and listened to 
 the wind. That hum and boom of the city seemed 
 underground, the flare it tossed into the sky rose 
 from vast furnaces below the world. The stars danced 
 lightly far beyond its reach, secure and unafraid. 
 He thought of children dancing with twinkling feet 
 upon the mountains. . . , 
 
 And in himself there was hum and light as well. 
 Too deep, too far below the horizon for full dis- 
 covery, he caught the echo, the faint, dim flashings 
 of reflection that are called by men a Mood. These, 
 rising to the surface, swept over him with the queer 
 joy of intoxicating wonder that only children know. 
 Some great Secret he had to tell himself, only he had 
 kept it so long and so well that he could not find 
 it quite. He felt the thrill, yet had forgotten what 
 it was. 
 
 Something was going to happen. A new footfall
 
 xxxi A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 457 
 
 was coming across the world towards him. He 
 could almost hear its delicate, swift tread. Life was 
 about to offer him this delicious, thrilling secret — 
 very soon. Looking up he saw the Pleiades, and the 
 single footfall became many. He remembered that 
 former curious obsession of the Pleiades . . . and 
 as Thought and Yearning went roaming into space, 
 they met Anticipation, who took them by the hand. 
 It seemed, then, that children came flocking down 
 upon him from the sky, led by a little figure with 
 starry eyes of clearest amber, a pair of tiny twinkling 
 feet, and a voice quite absurdly soft and tender. 
 
 ' Your time is coming,' he heard behind the 
 rustling of the oak leaves overhead, ' for the children 
 are calling to you — children of your own. And this 
 is the bravest Scheme in all the world. There is no 
 bigger. How can there be ? For all the world is a 
 child that goes past your windows crying for its lost 
 Fairyland . . . ! ' 
 
 It was after midnight when at length he slipped 
 through the Robin Hood Gate, passed up Priory 
 Lane, and walked rapidly by the shuttered nouses of 
 Roehampton. And, looking a moment over Putney 
 Bridge, he saw the reflections of the stars in the 
 muddy, dawdling Thames. Nothing anywhere was 
 thick enough to hide them. The Net of Stars, being 
 in his heart, was everywhere. No prisoner could be 
 more securely caught than he was.
 
 CHAPTER XXXII 
 
 Asia. The point of one white star is quivering still 
 Deep in the orange light of widening morn 
 Beyond the purple mountains : through a chasm 
 Of wind-divided mist the darker lake 
 Reflects it : now it wanes : it gleams again 
 As the waves fade, and as the burning threads 
 Of woven cloud unravel in the pale air : 
 'Tis lost ! and through yon peaks of cloud-like snow 
 The roseate sunlight quivers : hear I not 
 The ^olian music of her sea-green plumes 
 Winnowing the crimson dawn ? 
 
 Prometheus Unbound, Shelley. 
 
 August had blazed its path into September, and 
 September had already trimmed her successor's gown 
 with gold and russet before Henry Rogers found 
 himself free again to think of holidays. London 
 had kept its grip upon him all these weeks while the 
 rest of the world was gay and irresponsible. He 
 was so absurdly conscientious. One of his Com- 
 panies had got into difficulties, and he was the only 
 man who could save the shareholders' money. The 
 Patent Coal Dust Fuel Company, Ltd., had bought 
 his invention for blowing fine coal dust into a furnace 
 whereby an intense heat was obtainable in a few 
 minutes. The saving in material, time, and labour 
 was revolutionary. Rogers had received a large sum 
 in cash, though merely a nominal number of the 
 common shares. It meant little to him if the Com- 
 pany collapsed, and an ordinary Director would have 
 
 458
 
 ch.xxxi. A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 459 
 
 been content with sending counsel through the post 
 in the intervals of fishing and shooting. But Henry 
 Rogers was of a different calibre. The invention 
 was his child, born by hard labour out of loving 
 thought. The several thousand shareholders be- 
 lieved in him : they were his neighbours. Incom- 
 petence and extravagance threatened failure. He 
 took a room in the village near the Essex factories, 
 and gave his personal energy and attention to restor- 
 ing economical working of every detail. He wore 
 overalls. He put intelligence into hired men and 
 foremen ; he spent his summer holiday turning a 
 system of waste into the basis of a lucrative industry. 
 The shareholders would never know whose faithful- 
 ness had saved them loss, and at the most his thanks 
 would be a formal paragraph in the Report at the 
 end of the year. Yet he was satisfied, and worked 
 as though his own income depended on success. For 
 he knew — of late this certainty had established itself 
 in him, influencing all he did — that faithful labour, 
 backed by steady thinking, must reach ten thousand 
 wavering characters, merge with awakening tendencies 
 in them, and slip thence into definite daily action. 
 Action was thought materialised. He helped the 
 world. A copybook maxim thus became a weapon 
 of tempered steel. His Scheme was bigger than any 
 hospital for disabled bodies. It would still be cumu- 
 lative when bodies and bricks were dust upon the 
 wind. It must increase by geometrical progression 
 through all time. 
 
 It was largely to little Minks that he owed this 
 positive conviction and belief, to that ridiculous, high- 
 souled Montmorency Minks, who, while his master 
 worked in overalls, took the air himself on Clapham 
 Common, or pored with a wet towel round his brow
 
 4 6o A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND chap. 
 
 beneath the oleograph of Napoleon in the attempt to 
 squeeze his exuberant emotion into tripping verse. 
 For Minks admired intensely from a distance. He 
 attended to the correspondence in the flat, and made 
 occasional visits down to Essex, but otherwise en- 
 joyed a kind of extra holiday of his own. For 
 Minks was not learned in coal dust. The com- 
 bustion was in his eager brain. He produced an 
 amazing series of lyrics and sonnets, though too high- 
 flown, alas, to win a place in print. Love and un- 
 selfishness, as usual, were his theme, with a steady 
 sprinkling of ' the ministry of Thought,' ' true suc- 
 cess, unrecognised by men, yet noted by the Angels,' 
 and so forth. His master's labour seemed to him a 
 ' brilliant form of purity,' and ' the soul's security ' 
 came in admirably to close the crowded, tortuous 
 line. 'Beauty' and ' Duty' were also thickly present, 
 both with capitals, but the verse that pleased him 
 most, and even thrilled Albinia to a word of praise, 
 was one that ended — ' Those active powers which are 
 the Doves of Thought.' It followed ' neither can be 
 sold or bought,' and Mrs. Minks approved, because, 
 as she put it, ' there, now, is something you can sell ; 
 it's striking and original ; no editor could fail to 
 think so.' The necessities of Frank and Ronald 
 were ever her standard of praise or blame. 
 
 Thus, it was the first week in October before 
 Rogers found himself free to leave London behind 
 him and think of a change of scene. No planning 
 was necessary. . . . Bourcelles was too constantly 
 in his mind all these weary weeks to admit of alter- 
 natives. Only a few days ago a letter had come from 
 Jinny, saying she was going to a Pension in Geneva 
 after Christmas, and that unless he appeared soon he 
 would not see her again as she ' was,' a qualification
 
 xxxii A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 461 
 
 explained by the postscript, ' My hair will be up by 
 that time. Mother says I can put it up on Xmas 
 Day. So please hurry up, Mr. Henry Rogers, if 
 you want to see me as I am.' 
 
 But another thing that decided him was that the 
 great story was at last in print. It was published in 
 the October number of the Review, and the press 
 had already paid considerable attention to it. In- 
 deed, there was a notice at the railway bookstall on 
 the day he left, to the effect that the first edition was 
 exhausted, and that a large second edition would be 
 available almost immediately. 'Place your orders 
 at once ' was added in bold red letters. Rogers 
 bought one of these placards for his cousin. 
 
 ' It just shows,' observed Minks, whom he was 
 taking out with him. 
 
 1 Shows what ? ' inquired his master. 
 
 ' How many more thoughtful people there are 
 about, sir, than one had any idea of,' was the reply. 
 1 The public mind is looking for something of that 
 kind, expecting it even, though it hardly knows 
 what it really wants. That's a story, Mr. Rogers, 
 that must change the point of view of all who read 
 it — with understanding. It makes the commonest 
 man feel he is a hero.' 
 
 'You've put our things into a non-smoker, 
 Minks,' the other interrupted him. ' What in the 
 world are you thinking about ? ' 
 
 c I beg your pardon, I'm sure, sir ; so I have,' 
 said Minks, blushing, and bundling the bags along 
 the platform to another empty carriage, ' but that 
 story has got into my head. I sat up reading it 
 aloud to Mrs. Minks all night. For it says the very 
 things I have always longed to say. Sympathy and 
 the transference of thought — to say nothing of the
 
 462 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND chap. 
 
 soul's activity when the body is asleep — have always 
 seemed to me ' 
 
 He wandered on while his companion made him- 
 self comfortable in a corner with his pipe and news- 
 paper. But the first thing Rogers read, as the train 
 went scurrying through Kent, was a summary of the 
 contents of this very Review. Two -thirds of the 
 article was devoted to the ' Star Story ' of John 
 Henry Campden, whose name ' entitled his work to 
 a high standard of criticism.' The notice was well 
 written by some one evidently of intelligence and 
 knowledge ; sound judgment was expressed on style 
 and form and general execution, but when it came 
 to the matter itself the criticism was deplorably mis- 
 understanding. The writer had entirely missed the 
 meaning. While praising the ' cleverness ' he asked 
 plainly between the lines of his notice 'What does 
 it mean ? ' This unconscious exposure of his own 
 ignorance amused his reader while it also piqued him. 
 The critic, expert in dealing with a political article, 
 was lamentably at sea over an imaginative story. 
 
 'Inadequate receiving instrument,' thought Rogers, 
 smiling audibly. 
 
 Minks, deep in a mysterious looking tome in the 
 opposite corner, looked up over his cigarette and 
 wondered why his employer laughed. He read the 
 article the other handed to him, thinking how much 
 better he could have done it himself. Encouraged 
 by the expression in Mr. Rogers's eyes, he then im- 
 parted what the papers call ' a genuine contribution 
 to the thought upon the subject.' 
 
 * The writer quarrels with him,' he observed, ' for 
 not giving what is expected of him. What he has 
 thought he must go on thinking, or be condemned. 
 He must repeat himself or be uncomprehended.
 
 xxxii A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 463 
 
 Hitherto' — Minks prided himself upon the know- 
 ledge — « he has written studies of uncommon tem- 
 peraments. Therefore to indulge in fantasy now is 
 wrong.' 
 
 ' Ah, you take it that way, do you ? ' 
 
 'Experience justifies me, Mr. Rogers,' the secret- 
 ary continued. ' A friend of mine, or rather of Mrs. 
 Minks's, once wrote a volume of ghost stories that, 
 of course, were meant to thrill. His subsequent 
 book, with no such intention, was judged by the 
 object of the first — as a failure. It must make the 
 flesh creep. Everything he wrote must make the 
 flesh creep. One of the papers, the best — a real 
 thunderer, in fact — said " Once or twice the desired 
 thrill comes close, but never, alas, quite comes ofF." 
 
 ' How wumbled,' exclaimed his listener. 
 
 * It is indeed,' said Minks, ' in fact, one of the 
 thorns in the path of literature. The ordinary clever 
 mind is indeed a desolate phenomenon. And how 
 often behind the " Oxford manner " lurks the cul- 
 tured prig, if I may put it so.' 
 
 1 Indeed you may,' was the other's rejoinder, ' for 
 you put it admirably.' 
 
 They laughed a little and went on with their 
 reading in their respective corners. The journey 
 to Paris was enlivened by many similar discussions, 
 Minks dividing his attentions between his master, his 
 volume of philosophy, and the needs of various old 
 ladies, to whom such men attach themselves as by a 
 kind of generous, manly instinct. Minks was always 
 popular and inoffensive. He had such tact. 
 
 1 Ah ! and that reminds me, Minks,' said Rogers, 
 as they paced the banks of the Seine that evening, 
 looking at the starry sky over Paris. ' What do you 
 know about the Pleiades ? Anything — eh ? '
 
 464 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND chap 
 
 Minks drew with pride upon his classical reading. 
 
 ' The seven daughters of Atlas, Mr. Rogers, if I 
 remember correctly, called therefore the Atlantides. 
 They were the virgin companions of Artemis. Orion, 
 the great hunter, pursued them in Boeotia, and they 
 called upon the gods for help.' 
 
 ' And the gods turned 'em into stars, wasn't it ? ' 
 
 ' First into doves, sir — Peleiades means doves — and 
 then set them among the Constellations, where big 
 Orion still pursues, yet never overtakes them.' 
 
 ' Beautiful, isn't it? What a memory you've got, 
 Minks. And isn't one of 'em lost or something ? ' 
 
 ' Merope, yes,' the delighted Minks went on. He 
 knew it because he had looked it up recently for his 
 lyric about ' the Doves of Thought.' ' She married 
 a mortal, Sisyphus, the son of Aeolus, and so shines 
 more dimly than the rest. For her sisters married 
 gods. But there is one who is more luminous than 
 the others ' 
 
 ' Ah ! and which was that ? ' interrupted Rogers. 
 
 ' Maia,' Minks told him pat. ' She is the most 
 beautiful of the seven. She was the Mother, too, of 
 Mercury, the Messenger of the gods. She gave birth 
 to him in a cave on Mount Cyllene in Arcadia. Zeus 
 was the father ' 
 
 ' Take care ; you'll get run over,' and Rogers 
 pulled him from the path of an advancing taxi-cab, 
 whose driver swore furiously at the pair of them. 
 ' Charming, all that, isn't it ? ' 
 
 ' It is lovely, sir. It haunts the mind. I 
 suppose,' he added, ' that's why your cousin, Mr. 
 Campden, made the Pleiades the centre of his Star 
 Net in the story — a cluster of beautiful thoughts as 
 it were.' 
 
 1 No doubt, no doubt,' his tone so brusque
 
 xxxii A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 465 
 
 suddenly that Minks decided after all not to mention 
 his poem where the Pleiades made their appearance 
 as the ' doves of thought.' 
 
 ' What a strange coincidence,' Rogers said as they 
 turned towards the hotel again. 
 
 ' Subconscious knowledge, probably, sir,' suggested 
 the secretary, scarcely following his meaning, if mean- 
 ing indeed there was. 
 
 ' Possibly ! One never knows, does one ? ' 
 'Never, Mr. Rogers. It's all very wonderful.' 
 And so, towards six o'clock in the evening of the 
 following day, having passed the time pleasantly in 
 Paris, the train bore them swiftly beyond Pontarlier 
 and down the steep gradient of the Gorges de l'Areuse 
 towards Neuchatel. The Val de Travers, through 
 which the railway slips across the wooded Jura into 
 Switzerland, is like a winding corridor cleft deep 
 between savage and precipitous walls. There are 
 dizzy glimpses into the gulf below. With steam 
 shut off and brakes partly on, the train curves 
 sharply, hiding its eyes in many tunnels lest the 
 passengers turn giddy. Strips of bright green 
 meadow-land, where the Areuse flows calmly, alter- 
 nate with places where the ravine plunges into 
 bottomless depths that have been chiselled out as 
 by a giant ploughshare. Rogers pointed out the 
 chosen views, while his secretary ran from window 
 to window, excited as a happy child. Such scenery 
 he had never known. It changed the entire content 
 of his mind. Poetry he renounced finally before 
 the first ten minutes were past. The descriptions 
 that flooded his brain could be rendered only 
 by the most dignified and stately prose, and he 
 floundered among a welter of sonorous openings 
 that later Albinia would read in Sydenham and 
 
 2 H
 
 466 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND chap. 
 
 retail judiciously to the elder children from ' Father's 
 foreign letters.' 
 
 ' We shall pass Bourcelles in a moment now ! 
 Look out ! Be ready with your handkerchief ! ' 
 Rogers warned him, as the train emerged from the 
 final tunnel and scampered between thick pine 
 woods, emblazoned here and there with golden 
 beeches. The air was crystal, sparkling. They 
 could smell the forests. 
 
 They took their places side by side at the 
 windows. The heights of Boudry and La Tourne, 
 that stand like guardian sentries on either side of 
 the mountain gateway, were already cantering 
 by. The precipices flew past. Beyond lay the 
 smiling slopes of vineyard, field, and orchard, 
 sprinkled with farms and villages, of which Bour- 
 celles came first. The Areuse flowed peacefully 
 towards the lake. The panorama of the snowy 
 Alps rolled into view along the farther horizon, 
 and the slanting autumn sunshine bathed the entire 
 scene with a soft and ruddy light. They entered 
 the Fairyland of Daddy's story. 
 
 ' Voila la sentinelle deja ! ' exclaimed Rogers, put- 
 ting his head out to see the village poplar. ' We 
 run through the field that borders the garden of the 
 Pension. They'll come out to wave to us. Be ready.' 
 
 1 Ah, oui,' said Minks, who had been studying 
 phrase books, 'je vwa.' But in reality he saw with 
 difficulty, for a spark had got into his eye, and its 
 companion optic, wandering as usual, was suffused 
 with water too. 
 
 The news of their arrival had, of course, preceded 
 them, and the row of waving figures in the field gave 
 them a welcome that went straight to Minks's heart. 
 He felt proud for his grand employer. Here was a
 
 xxxii A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 467 
 
 human touch that would modify the majesty of the 
 impersonal mountain scenery in his description. He 
 waved his handkerchief frantically as the train shot 
 past, and he hardly knew which attracted him most — 
 the expression of happiness on Mr. Rogers's face, or 
 the line of nondescript humanity that gesticulated in 
 the field as though they wished to stop the Paris 
 ' Rapide.' 
 
 For it was a very human touch ; and either 
 Barnum's Circus or the byeways and hedges of 
 Fairyland had sent their picked representatives with 
 a dance seen usually only in shy moonlit glades. 
 His master named them as the carriage rattled by. 
 The Paris Express, of course, did not stop at little 
 Bourcelles. Minks recognised each one easily from 
 the descriptions in the story. 
 
 The Widow Jequier, with garden skirts tucked 
 high, and wearing big gauntlet gloves, waved above 
 her head a Union Jack that knocked her bonnet 
 sideways at every stroke, and even enveloped the 
 black triangle of a Trilby hat that her brother-in- 
 law held motionless aloft as though to test the 
 wind for his daily report upon the condition of 
 le baromhre. The Postmaster never waved. He 
 looked steadily before him at the passing train, his 
 small, black figure more than usually dwarfed by a 
 stately outline that rose above the landscape by his 
 side, and was undoubtedly the Woman of the Hay- 
 stack. Telling lines from the story's rhymes flashed 
 through Minks's memory as, chuckling with pleasure, 
 he watched the magnificent, ample gestures of 
 Mother's waving arms. She seemed to brush aside the 
 winds who came a-courting, although wide strokes 
 of swimming really described her movements best. 
 A little farther back, in the middle distance, he
 
 468 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND chap 
 
 recognised by his peaked cap the gendarme, Gygi, 
 as he paused in his digging and looked up to watch 
 the fun ; and beyond him again, solid in figure as 
 she was unchanging in her affections, he saw Mrs. 
 Postmaster, struggling with a bed sheet the -pension- 
 naires des Glycines helped her shake in the evening 
 breeze. It was too close upon the hour of souper for 
 her to travel farther from the kitchen. And beside 
 her stood Miss Waghorn, waving an umbrella. She 
 was hatless. Her tall, thin figure, dressed in black, 
 against the washing hung out to dry, looked like a 
 note of exclamation, or, when she held the umbrella 
 up at right angles, like a capital L the fairies had 
 set in the ground upon its head. 
 
 And the fairies themselves, the sprites, the 
 children ! They were everywhere and anywhere. 
 Jimbo flickered, went out, reappeared, then flickered 
 again ; he held a towel in one hand and a table 
 napkin in the other. Monkey seemed more in 
 the air than on the solid earth, for one minute she 
 was obviously a ball, and the next, with a motion 
 like a somersault, her hair shot loose across the sun- 
 light as though she flew. Both had their mouths 
 wide open, shouting, though the wind carried their 
 words all away unheard. And Jane Anne stood 
 apart. Her welcome, if the gesture is capable of 
 being described at all, was a bow. She moved at 
 the same time sedately across the field, as though 
 she intended to be seen separately from the rest. 
 She wore hat and gloves. She was evidently in 
 earnest with her welcome. But Mr. John Henry 
 Campden, the author and discoverer of them all, 
 Minks did not see. 
 
 4 But I don't see the writer himself 1 ' he cried. 
 1 1 don't see Mr. Campden.'
 
 xxxii A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 469 
 
 • You can't,' explained Rogers, ' he's standing 
 behind his wife.' 
 
 And the little detail pleased the secretary hugely. 
 The true artist, he reflected, is never seen in his 
 work. 
 
 It all was past and over — in thirty seconds. The 
 spire of the church, rising against a crimson sky, with 
 fruit trees in the foreground and a line of distant 
 summits across the shining lake, replaced the row of 
 wonderful dancing figures. Rogers sank back in his 
 corner, laughing, and Minks, saying nothing, went 
 across to his own at the other end of the compartment. 
 It all had been so swift and momentary that it seemed 
 like the flash of a remembered dream, a strip of 
 memory's pictures, a vivid picture of some dazzling 
 cinematograph. Minks felt as if he had just read 
 the entire story again from one end to the other — in 
 thirty seconds. He felt different, though wherein 
 exactly the difference lay was beyond him to discover. 
 ' It must be the spell of Bourcelles,' he murmured to 
 himself. ' Mr. Rogers warned me about it. It is a 
 Fairyland that thought has created out of common 
 things. It is quite wonderful ! ' He felt a glow all 
 over him. His mind ran on for a moment to 
 another picture his master had painted for him, and 
 he imagined Albinia and the family out here, living 
 in a little house on the borders of the forest, a strip 
 of vineyards, sunlight, mountains, happy scented 
 winds, and himself with a writing-table before a 
 window overlooking the lake . . . writing down 
 Beauty.
 
 CHAPTER XXXIII 
 
 We never meet ; yet we meet day by day 
 Upon those hills of life, dim and immense : 
 The good we love, and sleep — our innocence. 
 
 O hills of life, high hills ! And higher than they, 
 
 Our guardian spirits meet at prayer and play. 
 Beyond pain, joy, and hope, and long suspense, 
 Above the summits of our souls, far hence, 
 
 An angel meets an angel on the way. 
 
 Beyond all good I ever believed of thee 
 
 Or thou of me, these always love and live. 
 And though I fail of thy ideal of me, 
 
 My angel falls not short. They greet each other. 
 
 Who knows, they may exchange the kiss we give, 
 Thou to thy crucifix, I to my mother. 
 
 Alice Meynell. 
 
 The arrival at the station interrupted the reverie in 
 which the secretary and his chief both were plunged. 
 
 ' How odd,' exclaimed Minks, ever observant, as 
 he leaped from the carriage, ' there are no platforms. 
 Everything in Switzerland seems on one level, even 
 the people — everything, that is, except the mountains.' 
 
 * Switzerland is the mountains,' laughed his chief. 
 
 Minks laughed too. ' What delicious air ! ' he 
 added, filling his lungs audibly. He felt half 
 intoxicated with it. 
 
 After some delay they discovered a taxi-cab, piled 
 the luggage on to it, and were whirled away towards 
 a little cluster of lights that twinkled beneath the 
 
 470
 
 ch. xxxm A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 471 
 
 shadows of La Tourne and Boudry. Bourcelles lay 
 five miles out. 
 
 ' Remember, you're not my secretary here,' said 
 Rogers presently, as the forests sped by them. 
 ' You're just a travelling companion.' 
 
 1 1 understand,' he replied after a moment's 
 perplexity. ' You have a secretary here already.' 
 
 1 His name is Jimbo.' 
 
 The motor grunted its way up the steep hill 
 above Colombier. Below them spread the vines 
 towards the lake, sprinkled with lights of farms and 
 villages. As the keen evening air stole down from 
 forest and mountain to greet them, the vehicle 
 turned into the quiet village street. Minks saw the 
 big humped shoulders of La Citadelle, the tapering 
 church spire, the trees in the orchard of the Pension. 
 Cudrefin, smoking a cigar at the door of his grocery 
 shop, recognised them and waved his hand. A 
 moment later Gygi lifted his peaked hat and called 
 ' bon soir, bonne nuit,' just as though Rogers had 
 never gone away at all. Michaud, the carpenter, 
 shouted his welcome as he strolled towards the Post 
 Office farther down to post a letter, and then the 
 motor stopped with a jerk outside the courtyard 
 where the fountain sang and gurgled in its big stone 
 basin. Minks saw the plane tree. He glanced up 
 at the ridged backbone of the building. What a 
 portentous looking erection it was. It seemed to 
 have no windows. He wondered where the famous 
 Den was. The roof overlapped like a giant hood, 
 casting a deep shadow upon the cobbled yard. 
 Overhead the stars shone faintly. 
 
 Instantly a troop of figures shot from the shadow 
 and surrounded them. There was a babel of laughter, 
 exclamations, questions. Minks thought the stars
 
 472 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND chap. 
 
 had fallen. Children and constellations were mingled 
 all together, it seemed. Both were too numerous to 
 count. All were rushing with the sun towards 
 Hercules at a dizzy speed. 
 
 ' And this is my friend, Mr. Minks,' he heard 
 repeated from time to time, feeling his hand seized 
 and shaken before he knew what he was about. 
 Mother loomed up and gave him a stately welcome 
 too. 
 
 ' He wears gloves in Bourcelles ! ' some one 
 observed audibly to some one else. 
 
 ' Excuse me ! This is Riquette ! ' announced a 
 big girl, hatless like the rest, with shining eyes. * It's 
 a she.' 
 
 ' And this is my secretary, Mr. Jimbo,' said 
 Rogers, breathlessly, emerging from a struggling 
 mass. Minks and Jimbo shook hands with dignity. 
 
 * Your room is over at the Michauds, as before.' 
 
 1 And Mr. Mix is at the Pension — there was no 
 other room to be had ' 
 
 ' Supper's at seven ' 
 
 ' Tante Jeanne's been grand-deling all day with 
 excitement. She'll burst when she sees you ! ' 
 
 ' She's read the story, too. Elle dit que c'est le 
 bouquet ! ' 
 
 ' There's new furniture in the salon, and they've 
 cleaned the sink while you've been away ! . . .' 
 
 The author moved forward out of the crowd. At 
 the same moment another figure, slight and shadowy, 
 revealed itself, outlined against the white of the 
 gleaming street. It had been hidden in the tangle 
 of the stars. It kept so quiet. 
 
 ' Countess, may I introduce him to you,' he said, 
 seizing the momentary pause. There was little 
 ceremony in Bourcelles. * This is my cousin I told
 
 xxxin A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 473 
 
 you about — Mr. Henry Rogers. You must know 
 one another at once. He's Orion in the story.' 
 
 He dragged up his big friend, who seemed 
 suddenly awkward, difficult to move. The children 
 ran in and out between them like playing puppies, 
 tumbling against each in turn. 
 
 ' They don't know which is which,' observed 
 Jinny, watching the introduction. Her voice ran 
 past him like the whir of a shooting star through 
 space — far, far away. ' Excuse me ! ' she cried, as 
 she cannoned off Monkey against Cousinenry. ' I'm 
 not a terminus ! This is a regular shipwreck ! ' 
 
 The three elder ones drew aside a little from the 
 confusion. 
 
 ' The Countess,' resumed Daddy, as soon as they 
 were safe from immediate destruction, ' has come all 
 the way from Austria to see us. She is staying with 
 us for a few days. Isn't it delightful ? We call her 
 the little Grafin.' His voice wumbled a trifle thickly 
 in his beard. ' She was good enough to like the story 
 — our story, you know — and wrote to me ' 
 
 ' My story,' said a silvery, laughing voice. 
 
 And Rogers bowed politely, and with a moment's 
 dizziness, at two bright smiling eyes that watched him 
 out of the little shadow standing between him and 
 the children. He was aware of grandeur. 
 
 He stood there, first startled, then dazed. She 
 was so small. But something about her was so 
 enormous. His inner universe turned over and 
 showed its under side. The hidden thing that so 
 long had brushed his daily life came up utterly 
 close and took him in its gigantic arms. He stared 
 like an unmannered child. 
 
 Something had lit the world. . . . 
 
 i This is delicious air,' he heard Minks saying to
 
 474 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND chap. 
 
 his cousin in the distance, — to his deaf side judging 
 by the answer : 
 
 ' Delicious here — yes, isn't it ? ' 
 
 Something had lit the stars. . . . 
 
 Minks and his cousin continued idly talking. Their 
 voices twittered like birds in empty space. The 
 children had scattered like marbles from a spinning- 
 top. Their voices and footsteps sounded in the 
 cobbled yard of La Citadelle, as they scampered up to 
 prepare for supper. Mother sailed solemnly after 
 them, more like a frigate than ever. The world, on 
 fire, turned like a monstrous Catherine wheel within 
 his brain. 
 
 Something had lit the universe. . . . 
 
 He stood there in the dusk beneath the peeping 
 stars, facing the slender little shadow. It was all he 
 saw at first — this tiny figure. Demure and soft, it 
 remained motionless before him, a hint of childhood's 
 wonder in its graceful attitude. He was aware of 
 something mischievous as well — that laughed at 
 him. . . . He realised then that she waited for 
 him to speak. Yet, for the life of him, he could 
 find no words, because the eyes, beneath the big- 
 brimmed hat with its fluttering veil, looked out at 
 him as though some formidable wild creature 
 watched him from the opening of its cave. There 
 was a glint of amber in them. The heart in 
 him went thumping. He caught his breath. Out 
 jerked, then, certain words that he tried hard to make 
 ordinary 
 
 ' But surely — we have met before — I think I know 
 
 you ' 
 
 He just said it, swallowing his breath with a gulp 
 upon the unfinished sentence. But he said it — 
 somewhere else, and not here in the twilight street
 
 xxxm A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 475 
 
 of little Bourcelles. For his sight swam somehow 
 far away, and he was giddy with the height. The 
 roofs of the houses lay in a sea of shadow below him, 
 and the street wound through them like a ribbon of 
 thin lace. The tree-tops waved very softly in a 
 wind that purred and sighed beneath his feet, and 
 this wind was a violet little wind, that bent them all 
 one way and set the lines and threads of gold 
 a-quiver to their fastenings. For the fastenings were 
 not secure ; any minute he might fall. And the 
 threads, he saw, all issued like rays from two central 
 shining points of delicate, transparent amber, radiating 
 forth into an exquisite design that caught the stars. 
 Yet the stars were not reflected in them. It was 
 they who lit the stars. . . . 
 
 He was dizzy. He tried speech again. 
 
 1 1 told you I should ' But it was not said 
 
 aloud apparently. 
 
 Two little twinkling feet were folded. Two 
 hands, he saw, stretched down to draw him close. 
 These very stars ran loose about him in a cloud of 
 fiery sand. Their pattern danced in flame. He 
 picked out Sirius, Aldebaran — the Pleiades ! There 
 was tumult in his blood, a wild and exquisite con- 
 fusion. What in the world had happened to him 
 that he should behave in this ridiculous fashion ? 
 Yet he was doing nothing. It was only that, for a 
 passing instant, the enormous thing his life had been 
 dimly conscious of so long, rose at last from its 
 subterranean hiding-place and overwhelmed him. 
 This picture that came with it was like some 
 far-off dream he suddenly recovered. A glorious 
 excitement caught him. He felt utterly bewildered. 
 
 ' Have we ? ' he heard close in front of him. ' I 
 do not think I have had the pleasure ' — it was with
 
 476 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND chap. 
 
 a slightly foreign accent — ' but it is so dim here, and 
 one cannot see very well, perhaps.' 
 
 And a ripple of laughter passed round some 
 gigantic whispering gallery in the sky. It set the 
 trellis- work of golden threads all trembling. He 
 felt himself perched dizzily in this shaking web that 
 swung through space. And with him was some one 
 whom he knew. . . . He heard the words of a song: 
 
 ' Light desire 
 With their fire.' 
 
 Something had lit his heart. . . . 
 
 He lost himself again, disgracefully. A mist 
 obscured his sight, though with the eyes of his mind 
 he still saw crystal -clear. Across this mist fled 
 droves and droves of stars. They carried him out 
 of himself — out, out, out ! . . . His upper mind then 
 made a vehement effort to recover equilibrium. An 
 idea was in him that some one would presently turn 
 a somersault and disappear. The effort had a result, 
 it seemed, for the enormous thing passed slowly away 
 again into the caverns of his under-self, . . . and he 
 realised that he was conducting himself in a foolish 
 and irresponsible manner, which Minks, in particular, 
 would disapprove. He was staring rudely — at a 
 shadow, or rather, at two eyes in a shadow. With 
 another effort — oh, how it hurt ! — he focused sight 
 again upon surface things. It seemed his turn to 
 say something. 
 
 ' I beg your pardon,' he stammered, ' but T 
 thought — it seemed to me for a moment — that I — 
 remembered.' 
 
 The face came close as he said it. He saw it 
 clear a moment. The figure grew defined against 
 the big stone fountain — the little hands in summer
 
 xxxm A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 477 
 
 cotton gloves, the eyes beneath the big brimmed hat, 
 the streaming veil. Then he went lost again — more 
 gloriously than before. Instead of the human outline 
 in the dusky street of Bourcelles, he stared at the host 
 of stars, at the shimmering design of gold, at the 
 Pleiades, whose fingers of spun lustre swung the Net 
 loose across the world. . . . 
 
 'Flung from huge Orion's hand . . .' 
 
 he caught in a golden whisper, 
 
 ' Sweetly linking 
 All our thinking. . . .' 
 
 His cousin and Minks, he was aware vaguely, had 
 left him. He was alone with her. A little way 
 down the hill they turned and called to him. He 
 made a frantic effort — there seemed just time — to 
 plunge away into space and seize the cluster of 
 lovely stars with both his hands. Headlong, he 
 dived off recklessly . . . driving at a fearful speed, 
 . . . when — the whole thing vanished into a gulf of 
 empty blue, and he found himself running, not 
 through the sky to clutch the Pleiades, but heavily 
 downhill towards his cousin and Minks. 
 
 It was a most abrupt departure. There was a 
 curious choking in his throat. His heart ran all 
 over his body. Something white and sparkling 
 danced madly through his brain. What must she 
 think of him ? 
 
 ' We've just time to wash ourselves and hurry 
 over to supper,' his cousin said, as he overtook them, 
 flustered and very breathless. Minks looked at him 
 — regarded him, rather — astonishment, almost dis- 
 approval, in one eye, and in the other, apparently 
 observing the vineyards, a mild rebuke.
 
 473 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND chap. 
 
 He walked beside them in a dream. The sound 
 of Colombier's bells across Planeyse, men's voices 
 singing fragments of a Dalcroze song floated to 
 him, and with them all the dear familiar smells : — 
 
 Le coeur de ma mie 
 
 Est petit, tout petit petit, 
 
 J 'en ai Tame ravie. . . . 
 
 It was Minks, drawing the keen air noisily into 
 his lungs in great draughts, who recalled him to 
 himself. 
 
 ' I could find my way here without a guide, Mr. 
 Campden,' he was saying diffidently, burning to tell 
 how the Story had moved him. ' It's all so vivid, I 
 can almost see the Net. I feel in it,' and he waved 
 one hand towards the sky. 
 
 The other thanked him modestly. ' That's your 
 power of visualising then,' he added. * My idea was, 
 of course, that every mind in the world is related 
 with every other mind, and that there's no escape — 
 we are all prisoners. The responsibility is vast.' 
 
 ' Perfectly. I've always believed it. Ah ! if only 
 one could live it ! ' 
 
 Rogers heard this clearly. But it seemed that an- 
 other heard it with him. Some one very close beside 
 him shared the hearing. He had recovered from his 
 temporary shock. Only the wonder remained. Life 
 was sheer dazzling glory. The talk continued as 
 they hurried along the road together. Rogers became 
 aware then that his cousin was giving information — 
 meant for himself. 
 
 ' . . . A most charming little lady, indeed. She 
 comes from over there,' and he pointed to where 
 the Pleiades were climbing the sky towards the East, 
 ' in Austria somewhere. She owns a big estate
 
 xxxm A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 479 
 
 among the mountains. She wrote to me — I've had 
 such encouraging letters, you know, from all sorts of 
 folk — and when I replied, she telegraphed to ask if 
 she might come and see me. She seems fond of 
 telegraphing, rather.' And he laughed as though he 
 were speaking of an ordinary acquaintance. 
 
 ' Charming little lady ! ' The phrase was like the 
 flick of a lash. Rogers had known it applied to such 
 commonplace women. 
 
 ' A most intelligent face,' he heard Minks saying, 
 ' quite beautiful, / thought — the beauty of mind and 
 soul.' 
 
 ' . . . Mother and the children took to her at 
 once,' his cousin's voice went on. ' She and her maid 
 have got rooms over at the Beguins. And, do you 
 know, a most singular coincidence,' he added with 
 some excitement, ' she tells me that ever since child- 
 hood she's had an idea like this — like the story, I 
 mean — an idea of her own she always wanted to 
 write but couldn't ' 
 
 ' Of course, of course,' interrupted Rogers im- 
 patiently ; and then he added quickly, ' but how very 
 extraordinary ! ' 
 
 ' The idea that Thought makes a network every- 
 where about the world in which we all are caught, 
 and that it's a positive duty, therefore, to think 
 beauty — as much a duty as washing one's face and 
 hands, because what you think touches others all day 
 long, and all night long too — in sleep.' 
 
 ' Only she couldn't write it ? ' asked Rogers. His 
 tongue was like a thick wedge of unmanageable wood 
 in his mouth. He felt like a man who hears another 
 spoil an old, old beautiful story that he knows him- 
 self with intimate accuracy. 
 
 1 She can telegraph, she says, but she can't write ! '
 
 480 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND chap. 
 
 ' An expensive talent,' thought the practical 
 Minks. 
 
 ' Oh, she's very rich, apparently. But isn't it 
 odd ? You see, she thought it vividly, played it, 
 lived it. Why, she tells me she even had a Cave in 
 her mountains where lost thoughts and lost star- 
 light collected, and that she made a kind of Pattern 
 with them to represent the Net. She showed me a 
 drawing of it, for though she can't write, she paints 
 quite well. But the odd thing is that she claims to 
 have thought out the main idea of my own story 
 years and years ago with the feeling that some day 
 her idea was bound to reach some one who would 
 write it ' 
 
 'Almost a case of transference,' put in Minks. 
 
 * A fairy tale, yes, isn't it ! ' 
 
 * Married ? ' asked Rogers, with a gulp, as they 
 reached the door. But apparently he had not said it 
 out loud, for there was no reply. 
 
 He tried again less abruptly. It required almost 
 a physical effort to drive his tongue and frame the 
 tremendous question. 
 
 ' What a fairy story for her children ! How they 
 must love it ! ' This time he spoke so loud that 
 Minks started and looked up at him. 
 
 ' Ah, but she has no children,' his cousin said. 
 
 They went upstairs, and the introductions to 
 Monsieur and Madame Michaud began, with talk 
 about rooms and luggage. The mist was over him 
 once more. He heard Minks saying : — 
 
 4 Oui, je comprongs un poo,' and the clatter of 
 heavy boots up and down the stairs, . . . and then 
 found himself washing his hands in stinging hot 
 water in his cousin's room. 
 
 ' The children simply adore her already,' he heard,
 
 xxxm A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 481 
 
 1 and she won Mother's confidence at the very start. 
 They can't manage her long name. They just call 
 her the Little Countess — die kleine Grdfin. She's 
 doing a most astonishing work in Austria, it seems, 
 with children . . . the Montessori method, and all 
 that. . . .' 
 
 ' By George, now ; is it possible ? Bourcelles 
 accepted her at once then ? ' 
 
 ■ She accepted Bourcelles rather — took it bodily 
 into herself — our poverty, our magic boxes, our 
 democratic intimacy, and all the rest ; it was just as 
 though she had lived here with us always. And she 
 kept asking who Orion was — that's you, of course — 
 and why you weren't here ' 
 
 1 And the Den too ? ' asked Rogers, with a sudden 
 trembling in his heart, yet knowing well the answer. 
 
 * Simply appropriated it — came in naturally without 
 being asked ; Jimbo opened the door and Monkey 
 pushed her in. She said it was her Star Cave. Oh, 
 she's a remarkable being, you know, rather,' he 
 went on more gravely, 'with unusual powers of 
 sympathy. She seems to feel at once what you 
 are feeling. Takes everything for granted as though 
 she knew. I think she does know, if you ask 
 me ' 
 
 ' Lives the story in fact,' the other interrupted, 
 hiding his face rather in the towel, ' lives her belief 
 instead of dreaming it, eh ? ' 
 
 1 And, fancy this ! ' His voice had a glow and 
 softness in it as he said it, coming closer, and almost 
 whispering, ' she wants to take Jinny and Monkey 
 for a bit and educate them. ' He stood away to watch 
 the effect of the announcement. ' She even talks of 
 sending Edward to Oxford, too ! ' He cut a kind of 
 wumbled caper in his pleasure and excitement. 
 
 2 1
 
 482 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND chap. 
 
 • She loves children then, evidently ? ' asked the 
 other, with a coolness that was calculated to hide other 
 feelings. He rubbed his face in the rough towel as 
 though the skin must come off. Then, suddenly 
 dropping the towel, he looked into his cousin's eyes 
 a moment to ensure a proper answer. 
 
 * Longs for children of her own, I think,' replied 
 the author ; ' one sees it, feels it in all she says and 
 does. Rather sad, you know, that ! An unmarried 
 mother ' 
 
 ' In fact,' put in Rogers lightly, ' the very character 
 you needed to play the principal role in your story. 
 When you write the longer version in book form 
 you'll have to put her in.' 
 
 ' And find her a husband too — which is a bore. 
 I never write love stories, you see. She's finer as she 
 is at present — mothering the world.' 
 
 Rogers's face, as he brushed his hair carefully 
 before the twisted mirror, was not visible. 
 
 There came a timid knock at the door. 
 
 ' I'm ready, gentlemen, when you are,' answered 
 the voice of Minks outside. 
 
 They went downstairs together, and walked quickly 
 over to the Pension for supper. Rogers moved 
 sedately enough so far as the others saw, yet inwardly 
 he pranced like a fiery colt in harness. There were 
 golden reins about his neck. Two tiny hands 
 directed him from the Pleiades. In this leash of 
 sidereal fire he felt as though he flew. Swift thought, 
 flashing like a fairy whip, cut through the air from 
 an immense distance, and urged him forwards. Some 
 one expected him and he was late — years and years 
 late. Goodness, how his companions crawled and 
 dawdled ! 
 
 * . . . she doesn't come over for her meals,' he
 
 xxxn. A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 483 
 
 heard, ' but she'll join us afterwards at the Den. 
 You'll come too, won't you, Mr. Minks ? ' 
 
 ' Thank you, I shall be most happy — if I'm not 
 intruding,' was the reply as they passed the fountain 
 near the courtyard of the Citadelle. The musical 
 gurgle of its splashing water sounded to Rogers like 
 a voice that sang over and over again, ' Come up, 
 come up, come up ! You must come up to me 1 ' 
 
 c How brilliant vour stars are out here, Mr. 
 Campden,' Minks was saying when they reached the 
 door of La Poste. He stood aside to let the others 
 pass before him. He held the door open politely. 
 * No wonder you chose them as the symbol for 
 thought and sympathy in your story.' And they 
 climbed the narrow, creaking stairs and entered the 
 little hall where the entire population of the Pension 
 des Glycines awaited them with impatience. 
 
 The meal dragged out interminably. Everybody 
 had so much to say. Minks, placed between Mother 
 and Miss Waghorn, talked volubly to the latter and 
 listened sweetly to all her stories. The excitement 
 of the Big Story, however, was in the air, and when 
 she mentioned that she looked forward to reading it, 
 he had no idea, of course, that she had already done 
 so at least three times. The Review had replaced 
 her customary Novel. She went about with it 
 beneath her arm. Minks, feeling friendly and con- 
 fidential, informed her that he, too, sometimes wrote, 
 and when she noted the fact with a deferential phrase 
 about ' you men of letters,' he rose abruptly to the 
 seventh heaven of contentment. Mother mean- 
 while, on the other side, took him bodily into her 
 great wumbled heart. ' Poor little chap,' her attitude 
 said plainly, ' I don't believe his wife half looks after 
 him.' Before the end of supper she knew all about
 
 484 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND chap 
 
 Frank and Ronald, the laburnum tree in the front 
 garden, what tea they bought, and Albinia's plan for 
 making coal last longer by mixing it with coke. 
 
 Tante Jeanne talked furiously and incessantly, 
 her sister-in-law told her latest dream, and the Post- 
 master occasionally cracked a solemn joke, laughing 
 uproariously long before the point appeared. It was 
 a merry, noisy meal, and Henry Rogers sat through 
 it upon a throne that was slung with golden ropes 
 from the stars. He was in Fairyland again. Outside, 
 the Pleiades were rising in the sky, and somewhere 
 in Bourcelles — in the rooms above Beguin's shop, to 
 be exact — some one was waiting, ready to come over 
 to the Den. His thoughts flew wildly. Passionate 
 longing drove behind them. ' You must come up 
 to me,' he heard. They all were Kings and Queens. 
 
 He played his part, however ; no one seemed to 
 notice his preoccupation. The voices sounded now 
 far, now near, as though some wind made sport with 
 them ; the faces round him vanished and reappeared ; 
 but he contrived cleverly, so that none remarked 
 upon his absent-mindedness. Constellations do not 
 stare at one another much. 
 
 1 Does your Mother know you're " out " ? ' asked 
 Monkey once beside him — it was the great joke now, 
 since the Story had been read — and as soon as she 
 was temporarily disposed of, Jimbo had serious in- 
 formation to impart from the other side. ' She's a 
 real Countess,' he said, speaking as man to man. 
 ' I suppose if she went to London she'd know the 
 King — visit him, like that ? ' 
 
 Bless his little heart ! Jimbo always knew the 
 important things to talk about. 
 
 There were bursts of laughter sometimes, due 
 usually to statements made abruptly by Jane Anne —
 
 xxxm A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 485 
 
 as when Mother, discussing the garden with Minks, 
 reviled the mischievous birds : — 
 
 ' They want thinning badly,' she said. 
 
 ' Why don't they take more exercise, then ? ' 
 inquired Jinny gravely. 
 
 And in these gusts of laughter Rogers joined 
 heartily, as though he knew exactly what the fun 
 was all about. In this way he deceived everybody 
 and protected himself from discovery. And yet it 
 seemed to him that he shouted his secret aloud, not 
 with his lips indeed, but with his entire person. 
 Surely everybody knew it ... ! He was self- 
 conscious as a schoolgirl. 
 
 ' You must come up — to me,' rang continuously 
 through his head like bells. ' You must come up to 
 me.'
 
 CHAPTER XXXIV 
 
 How many times do I love thee, dear? 
 Tell me how many thoughts there be 
 In the atmosphere 
 Of a new fall'n year, 
 Whose white and sable hours appear 
 
 The latest flake of Eternity : — 
 So many times do I love thee, dear. 
 
 How many times do I love again? 
 Tell me how many beads there are 
 In a silver chain 
 Of evening rain, 
 Unravelled from the tumbling main, 
 
 And threading the eye of a yellow star : — 
 So many time3 do I love again. 
 
 Thomas Lovell Beddoes. 
 
 A curious deep shyness settled upon Henry Rogers 
 as they all trooped over to the Den. The others 
 gabbled noisily, but to him words came with diffi- 
 culty. He felt like a boy going up for some great 
 test, examination, almost for judgment. There was 
 an idea in him that he must run and hide somewhere. 
 He saw the huge outline of Orion tilting up above 
 the Alps, slanting with the speed of his eternal hunt 
 to seize the Pleiades who sailed ever calmly just 
 beyond his giant arms. Yet what that old Hunter 
 sought was at last within his reach. He knew it, 
 and felt the awe of capture rise upon him. 
 
 ' You've eaten so much supper you can't speak,' 
 said Monkey, whose hand was in his coat-pocket for 
 loose chicken-feed, as she called centimes. 4 The 
 
 486
 
 ch. xxxiv A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 487 
 
 Little Countess will regler ton affaire all right. Just 
 wait till she gets at you.' 
 
 'You love her?' he asked gently, feeling little 
 disposed to play. 
 
 The child's reply was cryptic, yet uncommonly 
 revealing : — 
 
 'She's just like a relation. It's so funny she 
 didn't know us long, long ago — find us out, I 
 mean.' 
 
 ' Mother likes her awfully,' added Jimbo, as 
 though that established the matter of her charm for 
 ever. ' It's a pity she's not a man ' — just to show 
 that Cousinenry's position was not endangered. 
 
 They chattered on. Rogers hardly remembers 
 how he climbed the long stone steps. He found 
 himself in the Den. It came about with a sudden 
 jump as in dreams. She was among them before 
 the courtyard was crossed ; she had gone up the 
 steps immediately in front of him. . . . Jinny was 
 bringing in the lamp, while Daddy struggled with a 
 load of peat for the fire, getting in everybody's way. 
 Riquette stood silhouetted against the sky upon the 
 window sill. Jimbo used the bellows. A glow 
 spread softly through the room. He caught sight 
 of Minks standing rather helplessly beside the sofa 
 talking to Jane Anne, and picking at his ear as he 
 always did when nervous or slightly ill at ease. He 
 wondered vaguely what she was saying to him. 
 He looked everywhere but at the one person for 
 whose comfort the others were so energetic. 
 
 His eyes did not once turn in her direction, yet 
 he knew exactly how she was dressed, what move- 
 ments she made, where she stood, the very words, 
 indeed, she used, and in particular the expression of 
 her face to each in turn. For he was guilty of a
 
 4 88 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND chap 
 
 searching inner scrutiny he could not control. And, 
 above all, he was aware, with a divine, tumultuous 
 thrill, that she, for her part, also neither looked at 
 him nor uttered one sentence that he could take as 
 intended for himself. 
 
 Because, of course, all she said and did and 
 looked were meant for him, and her scrutiny was 
 even closer and more searching than his own. 
 
 In the Den that evening there was one world 
 within another, though only these two, and probably 
 the intuitive and diabolically observant Minks, per- 
 ceived it. The deep furnaces of this man's inner 
 being, banked now so long that mere little flames 
 had forgotten their way out, lay open at last to that 
 mighty draught before whose fusing power the 
 molten, fluid state becomes inevitable. 
 
 1 You must come up to me ' rang on in his head 
 like a chime of bells. ' O think Beauty : it's your 
 duty. . . .' 
 
 The chairs were already round the open fire- 
 place, when Monkey pushed him into the big one 
 with the broken springs he always used, and estab- 
 lished herself upon his knee. Jimbo was on the 
 other in a twinkling. Jane Anne plumped down 
 upon the floor against him. Her hair was up, and 
 grown-ups might sit as they pleased. Minks in a 
 hard, straight-backed chair, firmly assured every- 
 body that he was exceedingly comfortable and really 
 preferred stiff chairs. He found safety next to 
 Mother who, pleased and contented, filled one 
 corner of the sofa and looked as though she 
 occupied a pedestal. Beyond her perched Daddy, 
 on the music stool, leaning his back against the un- 
 Wghtcd fourneau. The Wumble Book was balanced 
 on his knees, and beside him sat the little figure of the
 
 xxxiv A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 489 
 
 visitor who, though at the end, was yet somehow 
 the true centre of the circle. Rogers saw her slip 
 into her unimportant place. She took her seat, he 
 thought, as softly as a mouse. For no one seemed 
 to notice her. She was so perfectly at home among 
 them. In her little folded hands the Den and all 
 its occupants seemed cared for beyond the need of 
 words or definite action. And, although her place 
 was the furthest possible remove from his own, he 
 felt her closer to him than the very children who 
 nestled upon his knees. 
 
 Riquette then finally, when all were settled, stole 
 in to complete the circle. She planted herself in the 
 middle of the hearth before them all, looked up into 
 their faces, decided that all was well, and began 
 placidly to wash her face and back. A leg shot up, 
 from the middle of her back apparently, as a signal 
 that they might talk. A moment later she composed 
 herself into that attitude of dignified security possible 
 only to the feline species. She made the fourth that 
 inhabited this world within a world. Rogers, 
 glancing up suddenly from observing her, caught — 
 for the merest fraction of an instant — a flash of star- 
 fire in the air. It darted across to him from the 
 opposite end of the horse-shoe. Behind it flickered 
 the tiniest smile a human countenance could possibly 
 produce. 
 
 'Little mouse who, lost in wonder, 
 Flicks its whiskers at the thunder.' 
 
 It was Jane Anne repeating the rhyme for Minks's 
 benefit. How appropriately it came in, he thought. 
 And voices were set instantly in motion ; it seemed 
 that every one began to speak at once. 
 
 Who finally led the conversation, or what was 
 actually said at first, he has no more recollection than
 
 490 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND chap. 
 
 the man in the moon, for he only heard the silvery 
 music of a single voice. And that came rarely. 
 He felt washed in glory from head to foot. In 
 a dream of happy starlight he swam and floated. 
 He hid his face behind the chair of Monkey, and his 
 eyes were screened below the welcome shelter of 
 Jimbo's shoulder. 
 
 The talk meanwhile flowed round the horse-shoe 
 like a river that curves downhill. Life ran past him, 
 while he stood on the banks and watched. He re- 
 constructed all that happened, all that was said and 
 done, each little movement, every little glance of the 
 eye. These common things he recreated. For, 
 while his body sat in the Den before a fire of peat, 
 with children, a cat, a private secretary, three very 
 ordinary people and a little foreign visitor, his 
 spirit floated high above the world among the im- 
 mensities of suns and starfields. He was in the Den, 
 but the Den was in the universe, and to the scale 
 of the universe he set the little homely, common- 
 place picture. Life, he realised, is thought and 
 feeling ; and just then he thought and felt like a 
 god. He was Orion, and Orion had at last over- 
 taken the Pleiades. The fairest of the cluster lay 
 caught within his giant arms. The Enormous Thing 
 that so long had haunted him with hints of its 
 approach, rose up from his under-self, and possessed 
 him utterly. And, oh, the glory of it, the splendour, 
 the intoxication ! 
 
 In the dim corner where she sat, the firelight 
 scarcely showed her face, yet every shade of expres- 
 sion that flitted across her features he saw unobscured. 
 The sparkling, silvery sentences she spoke from time 
 to time were volumes that interpreted life anew. 
 For years he had pored over these thick tomes, but
 
 xxxiv A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 491 
 
 heavily and without understanding. The little things 
 she said now supplied the key. Mind and brain 
 played no part in this. It was simply that he heard 
 — and knew. He re - discovered her from their 
 fragments, piece by piece. . . . 
 
 The general talk flowed past him in a stream 
 of sound, cut up into lengths by interrupting con- 
 sonants, and half ruined by this arbitrary division ; 
 but what she said always seemed the living idea that 
 lay behind the sound. He could not explain it 
 otherwise. With herself, and with Riquette, and 
 possibly with little, dreaming Minks, he sat firmly at 
 the centre of this inner world. The others, even the 
 children, hovered about its edges, trying to get in. 
 That tiny smile had flashed its secret, ineffable ex- 
 planation into him. Starlight was in his blood. . . . 
 
 Mother, for instance, he vaguely knew, was 
 speaking of the years they all had lived in 
 Bourcelles, of the exquisite springs, of the fairy, 
 gorgeous summers. It was the most ordinary talk 
 imaginable, though it came sincerely from her heart. 
 
 ' If only you had come here earlier,' she said, 
 ' when the forest was so thick with flowers.' She 
 enumerated them one by one. ' Now, in the 
 autumn, there are so few ! ' 
 
 The little sparkling answer lit the forest glades 
 afresh with colour, perfume, wonder : — 
 
 * But the autumn flowers, I think, are the 
 sweetest ; for they have the beauty of all the 
 summer in them.' 
 
 A slight pause followed, and then all fell to 
 explaining the shining little sentence until its lustre 
 dimmed and disappeared beneath the smother of 
 their words. In himself, however, who heard them 
 not, a new constellation swam above the horizon of
 
 492 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND chap. 
 
 his inner world. Riquette looked slyly up and 
 blinked. She purred more deeply, but she made 
 no stupid sign. . . . 
 
 And Daddy mentioned then the forest spell that 
 captured the entire village with its peace and softness 
 — ' all so rough and big and tumbled, and yet 
 every detail so exquisitely finished and thought out, 
 you know.' 
 
 Out slipped the softest little fairy phrase imagin- 
 able from her dim corner then : — 
 
 ' Yes, like hand-made things — you can almost see 
 the hand that made them.' 
 
 And Rogers started so perceptibly that Jimbo 
 shifted his weight a little, thinking he must be 
 uncomfortable. He had surely used that very 
 phrase himself! It was familiar. Even when 
 using it he remembered wondering whence its 
 sweetness had dropped into his clumsier mind. 
 Minks uncrossed his legs, glanced up at him a 
 moment, then crossed them again. He made this 
 sign, but, like Riquette, he said nothing. . . . 
 
 The stream flowed on and on. Some one told a 
 story. There was hushed attentive listening, followed 
 suddenly by bursts of laughter and delight. Who 
 told it, or what it was about, Rogers had no notion. 
 Monkey dug him in the ribs once because apparently 
 he grunted at the wrong moment, and Jimbo chided 
 her beneath his breath — ' Let him have a nap if he 
 wants to ; a man's always tired after a long journey 
 like that . . . ! ' Some one followed with another 
 story— Minks, was it, this time ? — for Rogers caught 
 his face, as through a mist, turning constantly to 
 Mother for approval. It had to do with a vision of 
 great things that had come to a little insignificant 
 woman on a bed of sickness. He recognised the
 
 xxxiv A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 493 
 
 teller because he knew the tale of old. The woman, 
 he remembered, was Albinia's grandmother, and 
 Minks was very proud of it. 
 
 * That's a very nice story,' rippled from the 
 dim corner when it was over. ' For I like every- 
 thing so tiny that you can find it inside a shell. 
 That's the way to understand big things and to do 
 them.' 
 
 And again the phrase was as familiar to him as 
 though he had said it himself — heard it, read it, 
 dreamed it, even. Whatever its fairy source, he 
 knew it. His bewilderment increased absurdly. The 
 things she said were so ordinary, yet so illuminating, 
 though never quite betraying their secret source. 
 Where had he heard them ? Where had he met 
 this little foreign visitor ? Whence came the singular 
 certainty that she shared this knowledge with him, 
 and might presently explain it, all clear as daylight 
 and as simple ? He had the odd impression that she 
 played with him, delayed purposely the moment of 
 revelation, even expected that he would be the first 
 to make it known. The disclosure was to come 
 from himself! She provided him with opportunities 
 — these little sparkling sentences ! But he hid in 
 his corner, silent and magically excited, afraid to take 
 the lead. These sentences were addressed to him. 
 There was conversation thus between the two of 
 them ; but his replies remained inaudible. Thought 
 makes no sound ; its complete delivery is ever 
 wordless. ... He felt very big, and absurdly shy. 
 
 It was gesture, however, that infallible shorthand 
 of the mind, which seemed the surest medium of this 
 mute delightful intercourse. For each little gesture 
 that she made — unconsciously, of course — expressed 
 more than the swiftest language could have compassed
 
 494 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND chap. 
 
 in an hour. And he noted every one : the occasional 
 flourish of the little hands, the bending of the grace- 
 ful neck, the shadowy head turned sideways, the lift 
 of one shoulder, almost imperceptible, and sometimes 
 the attitude of the entire body. To him they were, 
 one and all, eloquently revealing. Behind each little 
 gesture loomed a yet larger one, the scale increasing 
 strangely, till his thoughts climbed up them as up a 
 ladder into the region where her ideas lay naked 
 before casual interpretation clothed them. Those, 
 he reflected, who are rich in ideas, but find words 
 difficult, may reveal themselves prodigally in gesture. 
 Expression of one kind or another there must be ; 
 yet lavish action, the language of big souls, seems a 
 man's expression rather than a woman's. . . . He 
 built up swiftly, surely, solidly his interpretation of 
 this little foreign visitor who came to him thus 
 suddenly from the stars, whispering to his inmost 
 thought, ' You must come up to me.' The whole 
 experience dazed him. He sat in utter dumbness, 
 shyer than a boy, but happier than a singing 
 star ! . . . The Joy in his heart was marvellous. 
 
 Yet how could he know all this ? 
 
 In the intervals that came to him like breathing 
 spaces he asked himself this childish question. How 
 could he tell that this little soft being with the quiet 
 unobtrusive manners had noble and great beauty of 
 action in her anywhere ? A few pretty phrases, a 
 few significant gestures, these were surely a slight 
 foundation to build so much upon ! Was there, then, 
 some absolute communion of thought between the 
 two of them such as his cousin's story tried to 
 show ? And had their intercourse been running on 
 for years, neither of them aware of it in the daytime ? 
 Was this intimate knowledge due to long acquaint-
 
 xxxiv A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 495 
 
 ance ? Had her thought been feeding him perhaps 
 since childhood even ? 
 
 In the pause of his temporary lunacy he asked 
 himself a dozen similar questions, but before the sign 
 of any answer came he was off again, sweeping on 
 outstretched wings among the stars. He drank her 
 in. He knew. What was the good of questions ? 
 A thirsty man does not stop midway in his draught 
 to ask when his thirst began, its cause, or why the 
 rush of liquid down his throat is satisfying. He 
 knows, and drinks. It seemed to Henry Rogers, 
 ordinary man of business and practical affairs, that 
 some deep river which so long had flowed deep out 
 of sight, hidden below his daily existence, rose now 
 grandly at the flood. He had heard its subterranean 
 murmurs often. Here, in the Den, it had reached 
 his lips at last. And he quenched his thirst. . . . 
 His thought played round her without ceasing, like 
 flowing water. . . . 
 
 This idea of flux grew everywhere about him. 
 There was fluid movement in this world within a 
 world. All life was a flowing past of ceaseless 
 beauty, wonder, splendour ; it was doubt and 
 question that dammed the rush, causing that stop- 
 page which is ugly, petty, rigid. His being flowed 
 out to mingle with her own. It was all inevitable, and 
 he never really doubted once. Only before long he 
 would be compelled to act — to speak — to tell her what 
 he felt, and hear her dear, dear answer. . . . The 
 excitement in him became more and more difficult to 
 control. Already there was strain and tension below 
 his apparent outer calmness. Life in him burst 
 forward to a yet greater life than he had ever 
 known. . . . 
 
 The others — it was his cousin's voice this time —
 
 496 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND chap. 
 
 were speaking of the Story, and of his proposed 
 treatment of it in its larger version as a book. Daddy 
 was saying, apparently, that it must fail because he 
 saw no climax for it. The public demanded a cumu- 
 lative interest that worked up to some kind of thrill- 
 ing denouement that they called a climax, whereas his 
 tale was but a stretch of life, and of very ordinary 
 life. And Life, for the majority, knew no such 
 climax. How could he manage one without invent- 
 ing something artificial ? 
 
 ' But the climax of life comes every day and every 
 minute,' he heard her answer — and how her little 
 voice rang - out above the others like a bell ! — ' when 
 you deny yourself for another, and that other does 
 not even know it. A day is lost that does not pin 
 at least one sweet thought against each passing hour.' 
 
 And his inner construction took a further prodigi- 
 ous leap, as the sentence showed him the grand and 
 simple motive of her being. It had been his own as 
 well, though he had stupidly bungled it in his search 
 to find something big enough to seem worth doing. 
 She, he divined, found neighbours everywhere, losing 
 no time. He had known a few rare, exquisite souls 
 who lived for others, but here, close beside him at 
 last, was one of those still rarer souls who seem born 
 to — die for others. . . . They give so unsparingly 
 of their best. . . . To his imaginative interpretation 
 of her he gave full rein. . . . And it was instan- 
 taneous as creation. . . . 
 
 The voices of Minks and Mother renewed the 
 stream of sound that swept by him then, though he 
 caught no words that were comparable in value to 
 these little singing phrases that she used from time 
 to time. Jimbo, bored by the grown-up talk that 
 took the place of expected stories, had fallen asleep
 
 xxxiv A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 497 
 
 upon his shoulder ; Monkey's hair, as usual, was in 
 his eyes ; he sat there listening and waiting with a 
 heart that beat so loudly he thought the children 
 must feel it and ask him what was the matter. 
 Jinny stirred the peat from time to time. The 
 room was full of shadows. But, for him, the air 
 grew brighter every minute, and in this steady 
 brilliance he saw the little figure rise and grow in 
 grandeur till she filled all space. 
 
 ' You called it " getting out " while the body is 
 asleep,' came floating through the air through the 
 sound of Jimbo's breathing, ' whereas / called it 
 getting away from self while personal desire is asleep. 
 But the idea is the same. . . .' 
 
 His cousin's words that called forth this criticism 
 he had not heard. It was only her sentence that 
 seemed to reach him, 
 
 From the river of words and actions men call life 
 she detained, it seemed to him, certain that were 
 vital and important in some symbolical sense ; she 
 italicised them, made them her own — then let them 
 go to join the main stream again. This selection 
 was a kind of genius. The river did not overwhelm 
 her as it overwhelms most, because the part of it 
 she did not need for present action she ignored, 
 while yet she swam in the whole of it, shirking 
 nothing. 
 
 This was the way he saw her — im-mediately. And, 
 whether it was his own invention, or whether it was the 
 divination of a man in the ecstasy of sudden love, it 
 was vital because he felt it, and it was real because he 
 believed it. Then why seek to explain the amazing 
 sense of intimacy, the certainty that he had known 
 her always ? The thing was there ; explanation could 
 bring it no nearer. He let the explanations go their 
 
 2 K
 
 498 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND chap. 
 
 way ; they floated everywhere within reach ; he had 
 only to pocket them and take them home for study 
 at his leisure afterwards — with her. 
 
 ' But, we shall come to it in time,' he caught 
 another flying sentence that reached him through the 
 brown tangle of Monkey's hair. It was spoken 
 with eager emphasis. * Does not every letter you 
 write begin with dear} . . .' 
 
 All that she said added something to life, it 
 seemed, like poetry which, he remembered, c enriches 
 the blood of the world.' The selections were not 
 idle, due to chance, but belonged to some great 
 Scheme, some fairy edifice she built out of the very 
 stuff of her own life. Oh, how utterly he under- 
 stood and knew her. The poison of intellectuality, 
 thank heaven, was not in her, yet she created some- 
 how ; for all she touched, with word or thought or 
 gesture, turned suddenly alive in a way he had never 
 known before. The world turned beautiful and 
 simple at her touch. . . . 
 
 Even the commonest things ! It was miraculous, 
 at least in its effect upon himself. Her simplicity 
 escaped all signs of wumbling. She had no favourite 
 and particular Scheme for doing good, but did merely 
 what was next her at the moment to be done. She 
 was good. In her little person glowed a great 
 enthusiasm for life. She created neighbours. And, 
 as the grandeur of her insignificance rose before him, 
 his own great Scheme for Disabled Thingumabobs 
 that once had filled the heavens, shrank down into 
 the size of a mere mouse-trap that would go into his 
 pocket. In its place loomed up another that held the 
 beauty of the Stars. How little, when announcing 
 it to Minks weeks and weeks ago, had he dreamed 
 the form it was to take !
 
 xxxiv A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 499 
 
 And so, wrapped in this glory of the stars, he 
 dreamed on in his corner, fashioning this marvellous 
 interpretation of a woman he had never seen before, 
 and never spoken with. It was all so different to 
 ordinary falling in love at sight, that the phrase 
 never once occurred to him. It was consummated 
 in a moment — out there, beside the fountain when he 
 saw her first, shadowy, with brilliant, peering eyes. 
 It seemed perfect instantly, a recovery of something 
 he had always known. And who shall challenge the 
 accuracy of his vision, or call its sudden maturity 
 impossible ? For where one sees the surface only, 
 another sees the potentialities below. To believe in 
 these is to summon them into activity, just as to 
 think the best of a person ever brings out that best. 
 Are we not all potential splendours ? 
 
 Swiftly, in a second, he reviewed the shining 
 sentences that revealed her to him : The l autumn 
 flowers' — she lived, then, in the Present, without 
 that waste of energy which is regret ! In ' a little 
 shell ' lay the pattern of all life, — she saw the uni- 
 verse in herself and lived, thus, in the Whole ! To 
 be * out ' meant forgetting self ; and life's climax is 
 at every minute of the day — she understood, that is, 
 the growth of the soul, due to acceptance of what 
 every minute brings, however practical, dull, un- 
 interesting. By recreating the commonest things, 
 she found a star in each. And her world was made 
 up of neighbours — for ' every letter that one writes 
 begins with dear ! ' 
 
 The Pattern matured marvellously before his 
 eyes ; and its delicate embroideries, far out of sight, 
 seemed the arabesques that yearnings, hitherto un- 
 fulfilled, had traced long long ago with the brush 
 of tender thinking. Together, though at opposite 
 
 2 k 2
 
 500 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND chap. 
 
 ends of the world, these two had woven the great 
 Net of sympathy, thought, and longing in which at 
 last they both were prisoners . . . and with them 
 all the earth. 
 
 The figure of Jane Anne loomed before him like 
 an ogress suddenly. 
 
 ' Cousinenry, will you answer or will you not ? 
 Daddy's already asked you twenty times at least ! ' 
 Then, below her breath, as she bent over him, ' The 
 Little Countess will think you awf'ly rude if you go 
 to sleep and snore like this.' 
 
 He looked up. He felt a trifle dazed. For a 
 moment he had forgotten where he was. How dark 
 the room had grown ! Only — he was sure he had 
 not snored. 
 
 ' I beg your pardon,' he stammered, ' but I was 
 only thinking — how wonderful you — how wonderful 
 it all is, isn't it ? I was listening. I heard perfectly.' 
 
 ' You were dozing,' whispered Monkey. ' Daddy 
 wants the Countess to tell you how she knew the story 
 long ago, or something. Ecoute un peu, mon vieux ! ' 
 
 ' I should love to hear it,' he said, louder, sitting 
 up so abruptly in his chair that Jimbo tilted at a 
 dangerous angle, though still without waking. 
 ' Please, please go on.' 
 
 And he listened then to the quiet, silvery language 
 in which the little visitor described the scenery of 
 her childhood, when, without brothers or sisters, she 
 was forced to play alone, and had amused herself by 
 imagining a Net of Constellations which she nailed 
 by shooting stars to four enormous pine trees that 
 grew across the torrent. She described the great 
 mountains that enclosed her father's estate, her lone- 
 liness in this giant garden, due to his morose severity
 
 xxxiv A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 501 
 
 of character, her yearnings to escape and see the big 
 world beyond the ridges. All her thought and long- 
 ing went to the fashioning of this Net, and every 
 night she flung it far across the peaks and valleys to 
 catch companions with whom she might play. The 
 characters in her fairy books came out of the pages 
 to help her, and sometimes when they drew it in, it 
 was so heavy with the people entangled in its meshes 
 that they could scarcely move it. But the moment 
 all were out, the giant Net, relieved of their weight, 
 flew back into the sky. The Pleiades were its centre, 
 because she loved the Pleiades best of all, and Orion 
 pursued its bright shape with passion, yet could never 
 quite come up with it. 
 
 * And these people whom you caught,' whispered 
 Rogers from his corner, listening to a tale he knew 
 as well as she did, c you kept them prisoners ? ' 
 
 ' I first put into them all the things I longed to do 
 myself in the big world, and then flung them back 
 again into their homes and towns and villages ' 
 
 * Excepting one,' he murmured. 
 
 1 Who was so big and clumsy that he broke the 
 meshes and so never got away.' She laughed, while 
 the children stared at their cousin, wondering how 
 he knew as much as she did. ' He stayed with me, 
 and showed me how to make our prisoners useful 
 afterwards by painting them all over with starlight 
 which we collected in a cave. Then they went back 
 and dazzled others everywhere by their strange, 
 alluring brilliance. We made the whole world over 
 in this way ' 
 
 ' Until you lost him.' 
 
 ' One cloudy night he disappeared, yes, and I 
 never found him again. There was a big gap 
 between the Pleiades and Orion where he had
 
 5 o2 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND chap. 
 
 tumbled through. I named him Orion after that ; 
 and I would stand at night beneath the four great 
 pine trees and call and call, but in vain. " You must 
 come up to me ! You must come up to me I ' I 
 
 called, but got no answer ' 
 
 ' Though you knew quite well where he had 
 fallen to, and that he was only hiding ' 
 
 * Excuse me, but how did she know ? ' inquired 
 Jinny abruptly. 
 
 The Little Countess laughed. * I suppose — 
 because the threads of the Net were so sensitive that 
 they went on quivering long after he tumbled out, 
 and so betrayed the direction ' 
 
 ' And afterwards, when you got older, Grafin,* 
 interrupted Daddy, who wished his cousin to hear 
 the details of the extraordinary coincidence, ' you 
 elaborated your idea ' 
 
 * Yes, that thought and yearning always fulfil 
 themselves somewhere, somehow, sooner or later,' 
 she continued. ' But I kept the imagery of my Star 
 Net in which all the world lies caught, and I used 
 starlight as the symbol of that sympathy which binds 
 every heart to every other heart. At my father's 
 death, you see, I inherited his property. I escaped 
 from the garden which had been so long my prison, 
 and I tried to carry out in practical life what I had 
 dreamed there as a child. I got people together, 
 where I could, and formed Thinkers' Guilds — people, 
 that is, who agreed to think beauty, love, and toler- 
 ance at given hours in the day, until the habit, once 
 formed, would run through all their lives, and they 
 should go about as centres of light, sweetening the 
 world. Few have riches, fewer still have talent, but 
 all can think. At least, one would think so, wouldn't 
 one ? ' — with a smile and a fling of her little hands.
 
 xxxiv A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 
 
 S°3 
 
 She paused a moment, and then went on to describe 
 her failure. She told it to them with laughter between 
 her sentences, but among her listeners was one at least 
 who caught the undertone of sadness in the voice. 
 
 ' For, you see, that was where I made my mistake. 
 People would do anything in the world rather than 
 think. They would work, give money, build schools 
 and hospitals, make all manner of sacrifices — only — 
 they would not think ; because, they said, there was 
 no visible result.' She burst out laughing, and the 
 children all laughed too. 
 
 ' I should think not indeed,' ventured Monkey, 
 but so low that no one heard her. 
 
 * And so you went on thinking it all alone,' said 
 Rogers in a low voice. 
 
 ' I tried to write it first as a story,' she answered 
 softly, ' but found that was beyond me ; so I went on 
 thinking it all alone, as you say ' 
 
 4 Until the Pattern of your thought floated across 
 the world to me,' said Daddy proudly. ' I imagined 
 I was inspired ; instead I was a common, unoriginal 
 plagiarist ! ' 
 
 * Like all the rest of us,' she laughed. 
 
 ' Mummie, what is a plagiarist ? ' asked Jinny 
 instantly ; and as Rogers, her husband, and even 
 Minks came hurriedly to her aid, the spell of the 
 strange recital was broken, and out of the turmoil of 
 voices the only thing distinctly heard was Mother 
 exclaiming with shocked surprise : — 
 
 * Why, it's ten o'clock ! Jimbo, Monkey, please 
 plagiarise off to bed at once ! ' — in a tone that 
 admitted of no rejoinder or excuses. 
 
 1 A most singular thing, isn't it, Henry ?' remarked 
 the author, coming across to his side when the lamp 
 was lit and the children had said their good-nights.
 
 504 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND chap. 
 
 * I really think we ought to report it to the Psychical 
 Society as a genuine case of thought-transference. 
 You see, what people never properly realise is ' 
 
 But Henry Rogers lost the remainder of the 
 sentence even if he heard the beginning, for his 
 world was in a state of indescribable turmoil, one 
 emotion tumbling wildly upon the heels of another. 
 He was elated to intoxication. The room spun round 
 him. The next second his heart sank down into his 
 boots. He only caught the end of the words she 
 was saying to Mother across the room : — 
 
 ' . . . but I must positively go to-morrow, I've 
 already stayed too long. So many things are waiting 
 at home for me to do. I must send a telegram 
 and . . . .' 
 
 His cousin's wumbling drowned the rest. He 
 was quite aware that Rogers was not listening to him. 
 
 ' . . . your great kindness in writing to him, and 
 then coming yourself,' Mother was saying. ' It's 
 such an encouragement. I can't tell you how much 
 he — we ' 
 
 ' And you'll let me write to you about the 
 children,' she interrupted, ' the plans we discussed, 
 you know. . . .' 
 
 Rogers broke away from his cousin with a leap. 
 It felt at least like a leap. But he knew not where 
 to go or what to say. He saw Minks standing with 
 Jane Anne again by the fourneau, picking at his ear. 
 By the open window with Mother stood the little 
 visitor. She was leaving to-morrow. A torturing 
 pain like twisting knives went through him. The 
 universe was going out ! . . . He saw the starry sky 
 behind her. Daddy went up and joined them, and 
 he was aware that the three of them talked all at 
 once for what seemed an interminable time, though
 
 xxxiv A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND 505 
 
 all he heard was his cousin's voice repeating at 
 intervals, ' But you cant send a telegram before 
 eight o'clock to-morrow morning in any case ; the 
 post is closed. . . .' 
 
 And then, suddenly, the puzzle reeled and danced 
 before his eyes. It dissolved into a new and startling 
 shape that brought him to his senses with a shock. 
 There had been a swift shuffling of the figures. 
 
 Minks and his cousin were helping her into her 
 cloak. She was going. 
 
 One of them — he knew not which — was offering 
 politely to escort her through the village. 
 
 It sounded like his own sentence of exile, almost 
 of death. Was he forty years of age, or only fifteen ? 
 He felt awkward, tongue-tied, terrified. 
 
 They were already in the passage. Mother had 
 opened the door into the yard. 
 
 ' But your way home lies down the hill,' he heard 
 the silver voice, ' and to go with me you must come 
 up. I can easily ' 
 
 Above the leaves of the plane tree he saw the 
 stars. He saw Orion and the Pleiades. The Fairy 
 Net flung in and caught him. He found his voice. 
 
 In a single stride he was beside her. Minks 
 started at his sudden vehemence and stepped aside. 
 
 ' / will take you home, Countess, if I may,' and 
 his tone was so unnecessarily loud and commanding 
 that Mother turned and stared. ' Our direction lies 
 together. I will come up — with you.' 
 
 She did not even look at him. He saw that tiny 
 smile that was like the flicker of a star — no more. 
 But he heard her answer. It seemed to fill the sky. 
 
 * Thank you. I might lose my way alone.' 
 
 And, before he realised how she managed it, they 
 had crossed the cobbled yard, Daddy was swinging
 
 506 A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND ch. xxx.v 
 
 away downhill towards the carpenter's, and Minks 
 behind them, at the top of the stone steps, was saying 
 his last good-night to Mother. With the little visitor 
 beside him, he passed the singing fountain and led her 
 down the deserted village street beneath the autumn 
 stars. 
 
 Three minutes later they were out of sight . . . 
 when Minks came down the steps and picked his way 
 among the shadows after Daddy, who had the latch- 
 key of the carpenter's house. He ran to overtake 
 him. 
 
 And he ran upon his toes 
 As softly as a saying does, 
 For so the saying goes ! 
 
 His thoughts were very active, but as clear as 
 day. He was thinking whether German was a difficult 
 language to acquire, and wondering whether a best 
 man at a wedding ought to wear white gloves or not. 
 He decided to ask Albinia. He wrote the letter that 
 very night before he went to sleep. 
 
 And, while he slept, Orion pursued the Pleiades 
 across the sky, and numerous shooting stars fastened 
 the great Net of thought and sympathy close over 
 little Bourcelles. 
 
 THE END 
 
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