“Sister Snowdrop died Before we were born.” “She came like a bride In a snowy morn.” “What’s a bride?” “What is snow? “Never tried.” “Do not know.” “Who told you about her?” “Little Primrose there Cannot do without her.” “Oh, so sweetly fair!” “Never fear, She will come, Primrose dear.” “Is she dumb?”
“She’ll come by-and-by.” “You will never see her.” “She went home to dies, “Till the new year.” “Snowdrop!” “‘Tis no good To invite her.” “Primrose is very rude, “I will bite her.”
“Oh, you naughty Pocket! “Look, she drops her head.” “She deserved it, Rocket, “And she was nearly dead.” “To your hammock--off with you!” “And swing alone.” “No one will laugh with you.” “No, not one.”
“Now let us moan.” “And cover her o’er.” “Primrose is gone.” “All but the flower.” “Here is a leaf.” “Lay her upon it.” “Follow in grief.” “Pocket has done it.”
“Deeper, poor creature! Winter may come.” “He cannot reach her-- That is a hum.” “She is buried, the beauty!” “Now she is done.” “That was the duty.” “Now for the fun.”
And with a wild laugh they sprang away, most of them towards thecottage. During the latter part of the song-talk, they had formedthemselves into a funeral procession, two of them bearing poor Primrose,whose death Pocket had hastened by biting her stalk, upon one of herown great leaves. They bore her solemnly along some distance, andthen buried her under a tree. Although I say HER I saw nothing butthe withered primrose-flower on its long stalk. Pocket, who had beenexpelled from the company by common consent, went sulkily away towardsher hammock, for she was the fairy of the calceolaria, and looked ratherwicked. When she reached its stem, she stopped and looked round. I couldnot help speaking to her, for I stood near her. I said, “Pocket, howcould you be so naughty?”
“I am never naughty,” she said, half-crossly, half-defiantly; “only ifyou come near my hammock, I will bite you, and then you will go away.”
“Why did you bite poor Primrose?”
“Because she said we should never see Snowdrop; as if we were not goodenough to look at her, and she was, the proud thing!--served her right!”
“Oh, Pocket, Pocket,” said I; but by this time the party which hadgone towards the house, rushed out again, shouting and screaming withlaughter. Half of them were on the cat’s back, and half held on by herfur and tail, or ran beside her; till, more coming to their help, thefurious cat was held fast; and they proceeded to pick the sparks outof her with thorns and pins, which they handled like harpoons. Indeed,there were more instruments at work about her than there could havebeen sparks in her. One little fellow who held on hard by the tip ofthe tail, with his feet planted on the ground at an angle of forty-fivedegrees, helping to keep her fast, administered a continuous flow ofadmonitions to Pussy.
“Now, Pussy, be patient. You know quite well it is all for your good.You cannot be comfortable with all those sparks in you; and, indeed, Iam charitably disposed to believe” (here he became very pompous) “thatthey are the cause of all your bad temper; so we must have them all out,every one; else we shall be reduced to the painful necessity of cuttingyour claws, and pulling out your eye-teeth. Quiet! Pussy, quiet!”
But with a perfect hurricane of feline curses, the poor animal brokeloose, and dashed across the garden and through the hedge, faster thaneven the fairies could follow. “Never mind, never mind, we shall findher again; and by that time she will have laid in a fresh stock ofsparks. Hooray!” And off they set, after some new mischief.
But I will not linger to enlarge on the amusing display of thesefrolicsome creatures. Their manners and habits are now so well known tothe world, having been so often described by eyewitnesses, that it wouldbe only indulging self-conceit, to add my account in full to the rest.I cannot help wishing, however, that my readers could see them forthemselves. Especially do I desire that they should see the fairy of thedaisy; a little, chubby, round-eyed child, with such innocent trust inhis look! Even the most mischievous of the fairies would not tease him,although he did not belong to their set at all, but was quite a littlecountry bumpkin. He wandered about alone, and looked at everything, withhis hands in his little pockets, and a white night-cap on, the darling!He was not so beautiful as many other wild flowers I saw afterwards, butso dear and loving in his looks and little confident ways.
Phantastes: A Faerie Romance for Men and Women Page 5