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Page 7
It was a very hot afternoon,--too hot to go for a walk or do
anything,--or else it wouldn't have happened, I believe.
In the first place, I want to know why fairies should always be
teaching _us_ to do our duty, and lecturing _us_ when we go wrong, and
we should never teach _them_ anything? You can't mean to say that
fairies are never greedy, or selfish, or cross, or deceitful, because
that would be nonsense, you know. Well, then, don't you agree with me
that they might be all the better for a little scolding and punishing
now and then?
I really don't see why it shouldn't be tried, and I'm almost sure (only
_please_ don't repeat this loud in the woods) that if you could only
catch a fairy, and put it in the corner, and give it nothing but bread
and water for a day or two, you'd find it quite an improved character;
it would take down its conceit a little, at all events.
The next question is, what is the best time for seeing fairies? I
believe I can tell you all about that.
The first rule is, that it must be a _very_ hot day--that we may
consider as settled; and you must be just a _little_ sleepy--but not
too sleepy to keep your eyes open, mind. Well, and you ought to feel a
little--what one may call "fairyish"--the Scotch call it "eerie," and
perhaps that's a prettier word; if you don't know what it means, I'm
afraid I can hardly explain it; you must wait till you meet a fairy,
and then you'll know.
And the last rule is, that the crickets shouldn't be chirping. I can't
stop to explain that rule just now--you must take it on trust for the
present.
So, if all these things happen together, you've a good chance of seeing
a fairy--or at least a much better chance than if they didn't.
The one I'm going to tell you about was a real, naughty little fairy.
Properly speaking, there were two of them, and one was naughty and one
was good, but perhaps you would have found that out for yourself.
Now we really _are_ going to begin the story.
It was Tuesday afternoon, about half-past three,--it's always best to
be particular as to dates,--and I had wandered down into the wood by
the lake, partly because I had nothing to do, and that seemed to be a
good place to do it in, and partly (as I said at first) because it was
too hot to be comfortable anywhere, except under trees.
The first thing I noticed, as I went lazily along through an open place
in the wood, was a large beetle lying struggling on its back, and I
went down directly on one knee to help the poor thing on its feet
again. In some things, you know, you can't be quite sure what an insect
would like; for instance, I never could quite settle, supposing I were
a moth, whether I would rather be kept out of the candle, or be allowed
to fly straight in and get burnt; or, again, supposing I were a spider,
I'm not sure if I should be _quite_ pleased to have my web torn down,
and the fly let loose; but I feel quite certain that, if I were a
beetle and had rolled over on my back, I should always be glad to be
helped up again.
So, as I was saying, I had gone down on one knee, and was just reaching
out a little stick to turn the beetle over, when I saw a sight that
made me draw back hastily and hold my breath, for fear of making any
noise and frightening the little creature away.
Not that she looked as if she would be easily frightened; she seemed so
good and gentle that I'm sure she would never expect that any one could
wish to hurt her. She was only a few inches high, and was dressed in
green, so that you really would hardly have noticed her among the long
grass; and she was so delicate and graceful that she quite seemed to
belong to the place, almost as if she were one of the flowers. I may
tell you, besides, that she had no wings (I don't believe in fairies
with wings), and that she had quantities of long brown hair and large,
earnest brown eyes, and then I shall have done all I can to give you an
idea of what she was like.
Sylvie (I found out her name afterward) had knelt down, just as I was
doing, to help the beetle; but it needed more than a little stick for
_her_ to get it on its legs again; it was as much as she could do, with
both arms, to roll the heavy thing over; and all the while she was
talking to it, half-scolding and half-comforting, as a nurse might do
with a child that had fallen down.
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