CHAPTER I
THE WIND HARP
"Oh, Lisa, how many stars there are to-night! and how long it takes tocount just a few!" said a weak voice from a little bed in a garret room.
"You will tire yourself, dear, if you try to do that; just shut youreyes up tight, and try to sleep."
"Will you put my harp in the window? there may be a breeze after awhile, and I want to know very much if there is any music in thosestrings."
"Where did you get them, my darling,"
"From Joe."
"Joe, the fiddler?"
"Yes; he brought me a handful of old catgut; he says he does not playany more at dances; he is so old and lame that they like a youngerdarkey who knows more fancy figures, and can be livelier. He _is_ veryblack, Lisa, and I am almost afraid of him; but he is so kind, and hetells me stories about his young days, and all the gay people he used tosee. Hark! that is my harp; oh, Lisa, is it not heavenly?"
"I don't know," said poor, tired Lisa, half asleep, after her long day'swork of standing in a shop.
Phil's harp was a shallow box, across which he had fastened some violinstrings rather loosely; and Phil himself was an invalid boy who hadnever known what it was to be strong and hardy, able to romp and run, orleap and shout. He had neither father nor mother, but no one could haveloved him more or have been any gentler or more considerate than wasLisa--poor, plain Lisa--who worked early and late to pay for Phil'slodging in the top of the old house where they lived, and whose wholeearthly happiness consisted in making Phil happy and comfortable. It wasnot always easy to do this, for Phil was a strange child; aside from thepain that he suffered, he had odd fancies and strange likings, theresult of his illness and being so much alone. And Lisa could not alwaysunderstand him, for she lived among other people--rough, plain, carelesspeople, for whom she toiled, and who had no such thoughts as Phil had.
From the large closet that served as her bedroom Lisa often heard Philtalking, talking, talking, now to this thing, now to that, as if it werereal and had a personality; sometimes his words were addressed to arose-bush she had brought him, or the pictures of an old volume she hadfound on a stall of cheap books at a street corner, or the littleplaster cast that an image-seller had coaxed her to purchase. Then,again, he would converse, with his knife and fork or plate, ask themwhere they came from, how they were made, and of what material. Noanswer coming, he would invent all sorts of answers, making them replyin his own words.
Lisa was so used to these imaginary conversations that they did not seemstrange to her.
Phil had, too, a passion for music, and would listen intently to thecommonest strains of a hand-organ, and Lisa had given him a little toyharmonica, from which he would draw long, sweet tones and chords withmuch satisfaction.
Old Joe, who blackened boots for some of the lodgers, had heard thechild's attempts at music, and had brought his violin and played forhim. One day, happening to leave it for a while on the window-ledge,Phil's quick ear had detected a low vibration from the instrument. Thiscircumstance, and something he had read about a wind harp, had given himthe wish to make one--with what success he was anxious to find out, whenLisa laid it in the open window for him.
A soft south wind was blowing, and, as Phil spoke, it had stirred theloose strings of the rude Aeolian harp, and a slight melodious sound hadarisen, which Phil had thought so beautiful. He drew his breath evenmore softly, lest he should lose the least tone, and finding that Lisawas really asleep, propped himself up higher on his pillows, and gazedout at the starlit heavens.
He often talked to the stars, but very softly and wonderingly, andsomehow he could never find any answers that suited him; but to-night,as the breeze made a low soft music come from his wind harp, filling himwith delight, it seemed to him that a voice was accompanying the melody,and that the stars had something to do with it; for, as he gazed, he sawa troop of little beings with gauzy wings fluttering over thewindow-ledge, and upon the brow of each twinkled a tiny star, and theleading one of all this bevy of wee people sang:
"Come from afar, Here we are! here we are! From you Silver Star, Fays of the Wind, To children kind."
"How lovely they are!" thought Phil. "And so these really are fairies. Inever saw any before. They have wings like little white butterflies, andhow tiny their hands and feet, and what graceful motions they have asthey dance over my harp! They seem to be examining it to find out wherethe music comes from; but no, of course they know all about it. I wonderif they would talk to me?"
"Of course we will be very glad to," said a soft little voice in replyto his thoughts.
"I was afraid I would frighten you away if I spoke," said Phil, gently.
"Oh no," replied the fairy who had addressed him; "we are in the habitof talking to children, though they do not always know it."
"And what do you tell them?" asked Phil, eagerly.
"All sorts of nice things."
"Do you tell them all they want to know?"
"Oh no," laughed the fairy, with a silvery little voice like acanary-bird's. "We cannot do that, for we do not know enough to be ableto: some children are much wiser than we. I dare say you are."
"Indeed I am not," said Phil, a little sadly; "there are so many thingsthat puzzle me. I thought that perhaps, as you came from the stars, youknew something of astronomy."
"What a long, long word that is!" laughed the fairy again. "But we arewind fairies; and yet the Father of the Winds is called Astraeus: thatsounds something like your long word, does it not?"
"It sounds more like Astrea, and that means a star."
"Why, where did you learn so much?"
"I saw it in a big book called a dictionary."
"Another long word. Doesn't your head ache?"
"Sometimes, not now. I have not any books now, except picture-books."
"Did you ever have?"
"Oh yes; when papa was living we had books and pictures and manybeautiful things; but there was a great fire, and all sorts of trouble,and now I have only Lisa. But Lisa does not understand as papa did; itwas he showed me that word in the dictionary."
"Oh, don't say that great ugly word again! Shall I tell my friends tomake some more music?"
"Yes, please."
The wind fairy struck her little hands together, and waved her wings. Ina moment the little white troop danced over the strings of the harp, andbrought out sweet, wild strains, that made Phil nearly cry for joy. Theyseemed to be dancing as they did it, for they would join hands and swayto and fro; then, parting, they wound in and out in graceful,wreath-like motions, and the tiny stars on their foreheads flashed likediamonds. Up and down they went, the length of the strings, then across,then back again; and all the time the sweet wild music kept vibrating."How lovely! how lovely!" said Phil, when there was a pause.
"I am so glad you like it! we often make music for people, and theyhardly hear it," said the fairy.
"I do not see how they can help hearing," said Phil.
"Why, I'll tell you how: we frequently are in the tree-tops, or whirlingabout low bushes; every soft breeze that blows has some of our music init, for there are many of us; and yet very few people pay attention tothese sounds."
"When the wind screams and roars in winter, is it you, then, who doesthat too?" asked Phil.
"Oh no," said the fairy, rustling her wings in some displeasure. "We areof the South Wind only, and have no such rude doings; I hope I may neverhave any work to do for the North Wind, he is so blustery. Now it istime you went to sleep, and we cannot stay longer, for if the moon riseswe cannot see our star-beams, and might lose our way. We will just fanyou a little, and you will soon be in Dream-land."
As she spoke, Phil saw her beckon to her troupe, and they all flockedabout him, dazzling him so with their starry coronets that he was forcedto shut his eyes, and as he closed them he felt a gentle wafting as of ahundred little wings about his forehead, and in another moment he wasasleep.
Adventures of Prince Lazybones, and Other Stories Page 12