Part 14 (2/2)
”He was not a bothersome elf, as idle folk are so apt to be. He was too lazy to tease-except to give an occasional pa.s.sing tickle to the long nose of some serious old gnome bent over his work, when Thistledown's merry laugh at the goblin's sneeze and start of surprise was so jolly that the gnome had to laugh too, and so no cross words were spoken.
”The breezes were Thistledown's best friends. They were as lazy and careless as himself, and the kindred spirits got on splendidly together.
The breezes would carry him on long, swift rides astride their backs, or float with him lazily along over sweet-smelling fields of flowers.
Sometimes they would dip him in the brook, but Thistledown did not mind that, for he shed water like a duck and the little plunge served finely to cool him off on hot summer days.
”But lazy folk are bound to be punished sooner or later, for it is not right to be lazy, and everything that is not right in the world is sure to be punished some time or other. And so it happened-but I am going to let Thistledown tell his story in his own way. (Yes, Kit, that is just the way it was in the magazine.)
”One day as Thistledown was floating over a field of daisies, he spied a spot of yellow among the flowers that was very much larger than any of the daisy centres, and much s.h.i.+nier and softer. Too lazy to wonder what the new kind of blossom could be, but thinking that it looked like a snug, silky place for a nap, he dropped down upon it. Immediately his downy wings became mixed up in a soft tangle of long golden threads that curled and twined about in a distressfully confusing way, all around him.
”Thistledown became frightened, but the more he struggled to free himself the more tangled he became in the golden mesh. At last he saw approaching him what he knew to be a person's hand and his little heart sank within him as he felt this new prison closing about him. The touch of the small hand was very gentle so that not one of Thistledown's feathers was crushed. But he was very much frightened nevertheless, poor little fellow, and closed his eyes tight for a minute.
”When he dared to open them again he found himself being surveyed very seriously by a pair of big blue eyes.
”'Now, sir,' said the little girl (I am sure you have guessed before now that Thistledown's golden prison was a little girl's curls), 'Now, sir,'
she said, 'before I let you go, you must tell me a story, please.'
”She was a very polite little girl and although she knew that she held Thistledown in her power and that he simply had to do whatever she told him to, whether he wanted to or not, still she said 'sir' and 'please'
when she asked for her story, for she was a very polite little girl.
”The politeness pleased Thistledown-as nice manners always do please every one-but his little wits could not think of anything like a story.
”'I'm afraid I don't know any story,' he replied, trying to be as polite as the little girl.
”'Oh, yes, you do. You're sure to,' she declared, with a grave little nod of her head. 'Tell me about your ad-ven-tures!'
”This was a very big word for such a little girl, but she got it out quite correctly. Besides, she knew very well what the word meant, because she had seen it so often on the back of a book on her sister's book-shelf. 'Alice's Adventures in Wonderland.'
”Thistledown squirmed and wriggled and began to grow warm and cross.
”'I don't know any stories. And I never had any adventures-except once,'
he added, remembering something all at once.
”'Oh, please do tell me about it,' coaxed the little girl.
”She looked so pretty, and besides, she held him so firmly, that Thistledown saw that the sooner he told his story the sooner he would be free, so he began at once:
”'It happened so long ago that I may forget parts, but I'll tell it the best I know how. I was flying home from a party one afternoon and as it was almost dark I was in a good deal of a hurry. Pretty soon, down at the edge of a field of tall gra.s.ses, I saw an old firefly poking about as if he were looking for something. I stopped to see what was the matter, for it was too dark to hope to find anything, and the old firefly's lantern gave out hardly any light at all.
”'I supposed his light was dim because the old fellow was too lazy to make it s.h.i.+ne brighter. I had seen the gnomes blowing up their forge fires with a pair of bellows to make them burn brighter and I supposed the firefly's lantern worked the same way. So I got behind the old fellow as he stooped to look under a clump of violet leaves, and I gave a quick, sharp little blow-pouf-like that, at his lantern. But what do you suppose happened? It went out!
”'I was terribly surprised and a bit frightened, for that horrid old firefly thought that I had done it on purpose. He whirled around before I could spread my wings, and caught hold of me.
”'”You wicked, wicked little sprite!” he exclaimed, almost squeezing the breath out of me. ”How dared you, oh, how dared you!”
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