. D.
 
 ( LIBRARY 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF 
 CALIFORNIA 
 
 SAN DIEGO
 
 4^4- 
 
 L^
 
 YOVK BOWER." 
 \VHT WEEP YE SAHCT!
 
 ILLVSTRATED BC 
 
 ROBINSON
 
 SECOND EDITION 
 
 Printed by BALLANTVNE, HANSON &= Co. 
 At the Ballantyne Press
 
 To PHYLLIS
 
 The Meeting . 
 
 The Magic Painter 
 
 The Lady and the Treasure. 
 
 Green Grapes 
 
 The Doll's Funeral . 
 
 When Doris was a Mermaid 
 
 Dreams about a Star . 
 
 A March of Heroes 
 
 A London Picnic 
 
 A Long Journey 
 
 Page 9 
 22 
 
 43 
 55 
 74 
 Qi 
 107 
 
 121 
 137 
 159
 
 ,,v0;/af m 08 
 
 tl 'tnofl9<C tcf ui oS taut fi aoj 
 
 'tuaoj jo aut[ pjiq; 
 
 KQ1VHH3
 
 The Meeting 
 
 HE Visitor was one of the 
 fortunate people who find 
 a potent spur to industry 
 in their own natural indo- 
 lence. Had he attempted 
 to apply himself he would have achieved no 
 more than others. But he loved his lei- 
 sure ; he had need to earn his bread ; and 
 he had even something of a conscience. 
 The three tendencies co-operated to give 
 him the name of one who worked indus- 
 triously, for he was habitually lazy until 
 conscience or depleted pockets drove him 
 to his desk. There he applied himself most
 
 i o Make-Believe 
 
 vigorously, until he had done more than 
 was required of him, and his conscience, 
 relenting, told him he might idle again. 
 
 A happy indisposition the spring-time 
 usually found him in need of a holiday 
 had taken him to a little western village, 
 and for days he had idled delightfully. 
 Then, one morning, he visited a studio 
 where a man was working, and, remem- 
 bering after a time how he himself hated 
 interruptions when he was at his desk, he 
 apologised for the intrusion and descended 
 into the garden. 
 
 Doris was picking the last of the daffo- 
 dils, and regarded him gravely as he 
 approached and introduced himself. 
 
 " I know you very well, it seems to me," 
 said the Visitor. " I've seen you so often 
 in pictures that " 
 
 " O ! " she answered ; "I'm sitting again 
 this year, worse luck ! Horrid ! " 
 
 " But surely " began the Visitor. 
 
 " It's only sixpence an hour," she con- 
 tinued.
 
 The Meeting 1 1 
 
 "And that is not enough? "he asked. 
 It occurred to him that sixpences must go 
 far in a region so remote from shops. 
 
 " Sixpence a half-hour would do," said 
 Doris ; " sixpence an hour is not enough." 
 
 After this the conversation drifted to 
 general subjects. 
 
 Doris wanted to know if her new ac- 
 quaintance could turn cartwheels, A 
 certain " Frank" had learned the art from 
 his grandmother's page-boy, when on a 
 visit to London in June. The child had 
 not been able to acquire it yet. "And 
 then there's spelling," she said. 
 
 " Beastly nuisance, isn't it ? " responded 
 he. 
 
 This timely interjection put the twain 
 into complete accord with each other. 
 " Would you like to see my garden and 
 my bower, my treasure cave, my white 
 rats, and my rooms ? " said the lady of the 
 garden. 
 
 " I would, indeed," was the reply, and it 
 gave pleasure.
 
 1 2 Make-Believe 
 
 " That's right. I like people who like 
 to see things ! " So the two started on a 
 tour of the garden. 
 
 The child's garden showed no particular 
 signs of her possession of it, beyond the 
 fact of being cleared of the docks that 
 flourish rankly under the elders of the 
 hedge. But the bower was delightful. 
 You got to the top of the broad earthen 
 hedge, and then, if you squeezed yourself 
 through the elder branches, you might at 
 last find a place to stand upright in. The 
 best bower was the child's ; but the visitor 
 flattered himself he had done the right 
 thing when he managed to get into that 
 which belonged to Frank. 
 
 " Will he mind ? " he asked. 
 
 " O," said the child, "it is mine really. 
 I only lend it to him. You can have it for 
 to-day, if you like." 
 
 " There's a way down to the studios, if 
 you would care to see them," she con- 
 tinued "Well, perhaps there isn't 
 
 much time. But I wish you could come.
 
 The Meeting 
 
 You see, these 
 painters never 
 properly empty 
 their paint - tubes. 
 You can't, if you 
 don't slit them 
 down the side and 
 squeeze them. 
 They don't think 
 of that ; and if you 
 go to the dustheap 
 you can find as 
 many as you like. 
 I've got lots of 
 paint that I found 
 in that way." 
 
 She evidently 
 had, even if the 
 Visitor was right 
 in supposing her 
 whole stock was 
 displayed upon 
 her face and her 
 pinafore. He had
 
 1 4 Make-Believe 
 
 interrupted her that morning in the midst 
 of her first painting. 
 
 As for the treasure cave, it was a hole 
 into which you might plunge your arm up 
 to the elbow, excavated at the bottom of a 
 heap of garden rubbish that in the course 
 of many years had decayed to earth. It 
 was empty ; but the mouth was none the 
 less religiously hidden from view by a mass 
 of withered grass. 
 
 "It's a grand treasure cave!" said the 
 Visitor. 
 
 "Then you'd like to see the treasure?" 
 said Doris. 
 
 " Have you a real treasure ? " asked the 
 Visitor. " I used to hunt for one when I 
 lived down in these parts ; but I never 
 found it, and in the end I grew tired and 
 went to London. I should like awfully to 
 see yours." 
 
 They climbed the steep garden path, 
 stopping to glance in at the glass studio, 
 just then empty, and at the three white 
 rats who were unwell, and refused to
 
 The Meeting 15 
 
 show more than the extreme tips of 
 their tails. At last they reached a little 
 wooden building, which was the child's 
 sanctum. 
 
 " Come in," she said, and for a while ex- 
 plained the decorations of the walls, and 
 displayed her small belongings. She pro- 
 duced some of the paint-tubes she had 
 found upon the dustheap among the 
 studios, and, slitting them down one side, 
 proceeded to demonstrate the wastefulness 
 of the artists who had thrown them away, 
 incidentally adding to the display of paint 
 upon her face and pinafore. 
 
 Then, " This is the treasure ! " she said, 
 displaying it suddenly. 
 
 Somehow or other, certainly not by the 
 most diligent searching of the dustheap, 
 she had secured a great store of gold paint. 
 Then she had taken stones, and a small 
 metal needle-case, a little key, and a few 
 odd scraps of iron. Copiously gilded, the 
 stones were now huge nuggets of solid 
 gold, the key looked as though it might
 
 i6 
 
 Make-Believe 
 
 have been made 
 to open Pandora's 
 box, and the other 
 trifles lay about 
 them with a de- 
 lightful appearance 
 of simple precious- 
 ness. 
 
 " Where did you 
 find them ? " asked 
 the Visitor, envi- 
 ously. 
 
 "I didn't find 
 them. I but I will tell you my secret." 
 
 "You can trust me so early?" asked 
 the Visitor. 
 
 She looked at him. " I can always tell 
 at once," she said, proudly. " Well, you 
 remember the picture you saw in the 
 Academy last year with all the gold in it ? 
 There was a lot of it left over, and when 
 father had finished the picture he was so 
 tired that he said he never wanted to paint 
 again, and that I might take the rest of the
 
 j> The Meeting 17 
 
 gold paint and even his favourite brushes. 
 Afterwards he said he thought he had 
 better keep the brushes, because he might 
 have to work again some day, but I took 
 the paint. 
 
 " Now, at first I did not know what to 
 do with it : you can't paint pictures all in 
 gold. And then Frank and the others 
 came one afternoon, and we played in the 
 garden. ' Let us hunt for treasure,' said 
 Frank. 
 
 " ' I should like that,' I said, but the 
 others wanted to play a real game, for 
 they knew the treasure would have to be 
 make-believe. They generally do what 
 Frank and I want them to do, but that day 
 they would not. So at last, not thinking 
 much, but only trying to persuade them, I 
 said, ' You say there is no treasure. You 
 don't know all that I know about the 
 garden.' 
 
 "Then they all asked me what I knew 
 about the garden, and they were quite 
 certain that there was a treasure I could
 
 1 8 Make-Believe 
 
 show them. I didn't know what to do, so 
 I pretended to be angry. 
 
 " ' No,' I said ; ' we'll just play hide-and- 
 seek as you wanted to. Frank and I will 
 look for the treasure to-morrow, perhaps.' 
 They begged me to tell them all about the 
 treasure, but I refused ; and when they 
 went home, I asked Frank to come alone 
 the next day. He waited for a minute 
 after they had gone, for he was as puzzled 
 as they were about the secret. ' I say : is 
 there anything really ? ' he asked. But I 
 would not tell him." 
 
 The Visitor interrupted. " Was there 
 anything ? " he asked. 
 
 " I expect there is," said Doris, " but I 
 did not know of a real treasure. I could 
 not think what to do, for I did not want to 
 disappoint Frank. So at last I thought of 
 a plan. Do you see this treasure ? This 
 is a key, and that is my needle-case : this 
 used to be for hanging hats and coats on, 
 and that is part of a lock. I gilded them 
 all, and when I had done that I took them
 
 The Meeting 19 
 
 out into the garden and buried them. It 
 was just down there where that tall yellow 
 flower is growing. It is an evening prim- 
 rose, and the flowers die when the sun 
 looks on them. 
 
 " Now the next day I went and saw the 
 Gardener, who always does what I ask. 
 ' Lor', Miss,' he said, ' I'll do anything you 
 mind to, but you won't find no treasure 
 here. Why, there isn't a square foot of 
 ground I haven't turned over every season 
 for twenty year past. But if you're goin' 
 to hunt for treasure, I'll dig for 'ee.' 
 
 " So I went out and found all the others. 
 ' You can come and watch me hunt for 
 that treasure, if you like,' I said, and they 
 all came. It was funny, but Frank was 
 the only one who did not believe in the 
 treasure. '1 say, Doris,' he said, 'come 
 over here ; ' and when I had stepped aside 
 he asked me if I did really know where 
 one was. I told him I did, and still he 
 was not quite sure. 
 
 " ' Honour bright ? ' he said.
 
 2O Make-Believe 
 
 "'Honour bright!' I answered; and 
 then he pretended to the others that he 
 had not doubted at all from the beginning. 
 
 "Well, of course I did not find the 
 treasure at once. I made the Gardener 
 hunt in about twenty places, and once he 
 nearly refused because he had to dig up a 
 cabbage. Then the children began to 
 get tired and grumbled a little. I did not 
 notice that, but Gardener began to think 
 he had dug pits enough : ' I believe you'll 
 do better to go and play one of your 
 games,' he said. ' It don't look as if there 
 was any treasure here.' 
 
 " I would not give up, but they grew 
 tired. 'Very well,' I said, 'we'll just try 
 once more, and then if we don't find any- 
 thing, I will hunt by myself after you are 
 gone.' 
 
 "So I led them to the place where I 
 had hidden the treasure. 
 
 " ' Dig there, please,' I said to Gardener; 
 and he dug, and the treasures were turned 
 up one after the other, like potatoes."
 
 "The Meeting 21 
 
 "Is that the end ? " asked the Visitor, 
 as the child paused. 
 
 "Of course not," said Doris. "They 
 are always asking me about the treasure, 
 and wanting to know how I knew it was 
 there. Once or twice Frank has almost 
 quarrelled with me, because he thought I 
 ought to tell him. But, of course, I 
 couldn't. You will keep my secret ? " 
 
 " Indeed, I will," said the Visitor; "as 
 many as you like to tell me."
 
 The Magic Painter 
 
 HIS is one of the secrets 
 Doris confided to the Visi- 
 tor during the time of his 
 sojourning down there. It 
 need not have been a 
 secret at all, but for the foolish incredulity 
 of Martha, who laughed at the story when 
 it first was told her, and was manifestly 
 insincere when, afterwards, she professed 
 to be convinced of its truth. Doris did 
 not really care, knowing that the evidence 
 she possessed made her position unassail- 
 able. But she is unaccustomed to ridi- 
 cule, and so a beautiful story became a 
 secret.
 
 The Magic Painter 23 
 
 You must know, to begin with, that 
 Doris's father is a painter, and that he 
 delights above all things in making por- 
 traits of his daughter. Moreover, as is 
 only natural, these pictures, giving him 
 such great pleasure in the painting, are 
 no whit less to the taste of those for 
 whom he works. So Doris can hardly 
 remember the time when she was not 
 accustomed to sit for him. 
 
 " What a jolly dog yours is, Doris," said 
 the Visitor one morning in the garden. 
 " What do you call him ? " 
 
 " I call him Christmas" said Doris. 
 
 " Did you get him given to you at 
 Christmas ? " 
 
 " Yes. At least " Doris paused and 
 
 looked at her companion rather critically. 
 "Would you like to hear another of my 
 secrets ? " 
 
 "Of course I should," said the Visitor, 
 and the story followed without further 
 delay. 
 
 One Christmas Eve, Doris was sent to
 
 24 Make-Believe 
 
 bed at an unreasonably early hour. As a 
 matter of fact, she always is ; but, knowing 
 her parents have the best intentions in the 
 world, she usually goes quietly, after 
 having made a merely formal protest. She 
 did so on the occasion in question, but, 
 having got into bed, found it more than 
 usually difficult to get to sleep, since she 
 was greatly troubled with many grave 
 cares. Of course, you do, generally 
 speaking, get pretty well what you want 
 (if you have duly announced your wants) 
 at Christmas-time. But it is not always 
 so, and the things that Doris desired 
 were so beautiful, and she desired them so 
 much, that she was more than a little 
 afraid she would never get them. Some, 
 at least, she thought, would surely be 
 missing : and her need of each was so 
 great that she felt certain the absence of 
 a single one would be a disappointment 
 making imperfect her pleasure in the rest. 
 There had been carol-singing in the 
 village ever since the dark evenings began,
 
 'The Magic Painter 25 
 
 and Doris had learned many of the 
 Christmas songs most loved among the 
 people. Being a-bed, she saw that to sleep 
 would be the best way of passing the long 
 hours that must elapse before the morn- 
 ing. And so, to quell distracting thoughts, 
 she sang these carols softly to herself. 
 Her cares still troubled her, however, and 
 at last she bowed to the inevitable, ceased 
 her singing and let herself think of them. 
 Curiously enough, it was then she fell 
 asleep. On that point she and Martha 
 are agreed : she certainly fell asleep. 
 
 But in the middle of the night she must 
 have arisen and wandered a long way, for 
 when she became conscious of what was 
 going on around her she was in a place she 
 never had visited before. Another child 
 might have been frightened, but the place 
 in which she found herself was a studio, 
 and in front of her was an artist engaged 
 upon a half-finished portrait of herself. It 
 was all so natural that she was hardly 
 surprised, and before she had time to
 
 26 Make-Believe 
 
 wonder how she had managed to forget 
 the way in which she got there the artist 
 turned on her the pleasantest face that she 
 had ever seen. 
 
 " Getting tired ? " he asked. " I sha'n't 
 keep you more than another ten minutes." 
 
 " I'm not at all tired," said Doris. " I 
 don't seem to have been here more than a 
 minute." 
 
 The artist laughed softly, and Doris 
 liked him better than ever. "Yes," he 
 said, " I do paint quickly, don't I ? But 
 then you are a capital sitter. Had much 
 practice ? " 
 
 "Lots!" said Doris, emphatically. "I 
 am always sitting. I 
 
 " You don't like sitting ? " 
 
 " Yes," she answered, but in a voice that 
 told him that her answer would have been 
 " No," but for her desire to spare the 
 feelings of a comparative stranger. " But 
 I don't think sixpence an hour is enough." 
 
 " Perhaps it isn't very much," said the 
 painter, "and you such an excellent sitter."
 
 'The Magic Painter 27 
 
 He began to work again, and once more 
 the child was amazed at his rapidity. 
 4 ' Fond of singing?" he asked, pleasantly, 
 without glancing in her direction. 
 
 "I'm going to have a really good 
 soprano one of these days," said Doris. 
 " At present I can't sing very loudly, but 
 that's rather lucky, for I sing to myself a 
 good deal when they make me go to bed. 
 I was singing to-night. ..." She paused, 
 for the daylight was streaming in through 
 the skylight, and she was not very certain 
 about the time. " I was singing last time 
 I went to bed," she continued, " to keep 
 myself from thinking." 
 
 "Ah," cried the painter, "you've found 
 it a good thing for that, have you ? I 
 find there's no plan like it. Now, if you 
 would sing me one of your carols I should 
 paint the quicker, and you would forget 
 that you were sitting." Doris began to 
 sing at once. A thing which puzzles her 
 to this day is that the song she sang was 
 not one of the carols that were being sung
 
 28 Make-Believe 
 
 in the village. The words and the music 
 both seemed quite new to her, although 
 she knew them perfectly, and to this day 
 she cannot remember where and how she 
 learned them : 
 
 Lady Mary, in your bower 
 
 Why weep ye sadly ? 
 Tall and white your lilies flower, 
 All birds sing gladly. 
 Mary, Lady Mary, 
 What sorrow bear ye ? 
 
 'Tts the child that shall be born 
 (Foolish thou, who questioneth), 
 
 'Tis the crown of cruel thorn, 
 And the sure appointed death. 
 
 Mary, Mother, left alone, 
 
 Why go ye gladly ? 
 Wherefore make ye not your moan, 
 Weeping most sadly ? 
 
 Mary, Mother Mary, 
 What comfort bear ye ? 
 
 The painter worked while she was sing- 
 ing and the child marvelled at the swift- 
 ness with which the picture progressed.
 
 The Magic Painter 29 
 
 When she found that she did not remem- 
 ber any more of that strange new song she 
 broke into speech. "It is almost like 
 stepping in front of a looking-glass," she 
 said. 
 
 " What is ? " asked the painter. 
 
 " Being painted by you," said Doris, 
 and the painter laughed again very plea- 
 santly. 
 
 "I do work rather quickly, don't I ? 
 You see, I have such a lot to get through." 
 
 "Do you paint many pictures ?" asked 
 Doris. 
 
 " Whole galleries full," said the stranger, 
 who by this time had become her friend. 
 " I am at it all the time, and I paint all 
 kinds of pictures : this sort of thing, and 
 landscapes and castles lovely, strong 
 castles that never fall into ruins and never 
 
 get deserted, and all sorts of things 
 
 I say, I wish you'd sing me another song." 
 
 Doris sang again, and still the artist 
 painted. Presently he had finished. He 
 looked almost idly at his picture while
 
 3 
 
 Make-Believe 
 
 Doris went through the last verse of her 
 song. When it was ended he spoke : 
 
 " You see, I've finished." 
 
 Doris darted across the room and stood 
 looking at the picture, almost as if she had 
 really been looking into a mirror. She was
 
 The Magic Painter 
 
 3 1 
 
 accustomed to be painted skilfully, but the 
 celerity of this stranger left her absolutely 
 amazed. 
 
 " You might almost be a photographer ! " 
 she said. 
 
 ''Well," said the artist, with a little air
 
 3 2 Make-Believe 
 
 of embarrassment, "I suppose I am almost 
 
 as quick By-the-bye, Doris, is there 
 
 anything you want very badly ? " 
 
 " Presents ? " asked Doris. 
 
 "Yes," said the artist. 
 
 " I can't tell you how many things I 
 want, and I want them all badly. It's 
 like a box of building bricks : if one 
 were away the others would be of little 
 good." 
 
 " Do you expect to get them ? " asked 
 the stranger. 
 
 "Well," said Doris, confidentially, "I 
 don't know. I generally get what I want 
 when Christmas comes if I have told them, 
 and of course I have done that. But, then, 
 I have never wanted such nice things 
 before, or so many." 
 
 The painter began to fumble among his 
 brushes. 
 
 "For example," he said, "what do you 
 want most of all ? " 
 
 Doris meditated. 
 
 "There's a red leather music-case," she
 
 T'he Magic Painter 33 
 
 said. " I should like to carry it when I go 
 to my music lessons." 
 
 "Ah," said the painter, "we will see 
 what we can do. I don't think the picture 
 is quite finished, after all. Suppose you sit 
 for a few minutes longer ? Do you mind ? " 
 
 He found his favourite brush and began 
 to paint into the picture such a music-case 
 as Doris had described. She watched it 
 growing on the canvas, and as it grew 
 more and more like the object of her desire 
 she began to envy her pictured self. Pre- 
 sently the artist finished and had turned to 
 speak. 
 
 " Is that the sort of thing you ? " 
 
 But he had no time to complete the sen- 
 tence. Doris uttered a little cry of joyful 
 surprise. 
 
 "Look!" she cried. 
 
 By some strange piece of magic she 
 was holding the red morocco case the 
 artist had imaged in his picture of her. It 
 was the very thing she had been wishing 
 for.
 
 34 
 
 Make-Believe 
 
 " Did you put it 
 into my hand?" 
 she asked. " You 
 must be a better 
 conjurer than the 
 one we saw last 
 Christmas." 
 
 The artist laugh- 
 ed his pleasant 
 laugh. 
 
 " But I thought 
 that one of the 
 things you wanted 
 
 would be of no use unless you had all the 
 others as well ? " 
 
 Doris remembered. What he had said 
 was true, but she had been so delighted 
 with the music-case for a moment that it 
 was a grief to be reminded of the fact. 
 
 " Yes," she said, "it is true. There was 
 a top I saw : a top that went on spinning 
 for ever so long, and made the loveliest 
 sort of music all the time." 
 
 " This kind of thing?" asked the painter,
 
 The Magic Painter 35 
 
 going back to his canvas. In a very few 
 moments she began to see that he under- 
 stood what she meant, for the top he 
 painted into the picture was the exact like- 
 ness of the one she wanted. 
 
 " Yes," she cried, '' that is what I mean." 
 Then, while he added the finishing touches 
 to the painting, she grew silent and 
 listened. It seemed to her that she 
 could hear, now that his painting of the 
 humming-top was almost complete, the 
 sound of its wonderful music. Of course 
 she understood now that this man was a 
 magic painter probably a fairy, though he 
 might have been an angel but still the 
 music puzzled her. And so she uttered a 
 cry of something that was almost fright 
 when a very beautiful top, which for some 
 few minutes past had been spinning music- 
 ally on the floor beside her, ran down, and 
 rolled under her chair noisily. 
 
 "It's you again!" she said. "I wish 
 you would come to my party." 
 
 " O," answered the painter. "I think
 
 3 6 Make-Believe 
 
 it's both of us together. But you may 
 as well tell me the other things, mayn't 
 you ? " 
 
 " If you don't mind," said Doris, and she 
 told him one after another what were the 
 presents she had been desiring. One by 
 one he added them to the portrait he had 
 painted of her, and each, as its likeness 
 was completed, appeared miraculously in 
 her hand, or on her chair, or even on the 
 floor at her side. There was quite a pile 
 of beautiful things at last. Doris had 
 begun to be very much delighted, and he 
 did not need, having finished one addition 
 to the picture, to ask her what he should 
 paint next. She told him. But at last 
 she had nothing to say, although it was 
 easy to see that there was something lack- 
 ing. 
 
 " Is that all, then?" asked the painter, 
 turning with brush in hand. " It doesn't 
 seem many." 
 
 " No," said Doris, " there is another. 
 But "
 
 The Magic Painter 37 
 
 "But what?" demanded the painter, 
 when she paused again. 
 
 "It's a dog, I want," she said. " I'm 
 sure you can't do that." 
 
 "You see," said the painter, and in a 
 few moments the loveliest long-haired 
 Skye-terrier in the world began to appear 
 on the canvas. 
 
 Doris was delighted. " How did you 
 know that the dog was to be one of that 
 kind ? " 
 
 "Was it ?" said the painter. "I sup- 
 pose I must have guessed. You know, 
 I'm rather good at guessing. It isn't a 
 bad dog, is it ? " 
 
 Doris did not answer. The picture of 
 the dog was almost finished, and she was 
 wondering how the real animal would 
 make its appearance. The stranger painted 
 on, making it lovelier and lovelier every 
 moment ; and suddenly there was a dog 
 on Doris's lap, jumping up to lick her face 
 and barking as a dog only can bark when 
 it has found its dear mistress at last after
 
 3 8 Make-Believe 
 
 being lost a long while. And as Doris 
 tried to quiet it, so that she might thank 
 the painter, she suddenly opened her eyes 
 and found herself in bed. 
 
 How she got there she could never tell, 
 for she had brought all her presents with 
 her, and the dog was on her bed, barking 
 and kissing her face as it had been doing 
 when the painter and his studio disappeared. 
 In a moment Doris was out of bed, and 
 going, the dog at her side, to her father's 
 and mother's room. Curiously enough, 
 her father was not asleep, although the 
 morning was full early. On the contrary he 
 was standing half-dressed at the bedside. 
 He turned as Doris entered. " Hullo, 
 Doris! "he said: "Are you awake so early?" 
 Then the dog dashed forward as if to make 
 his acquaintance. " Why, you've got a 
 dog ! " he said. " Where have you gone 
 wandering in the night ? " 
 
 Doris did not know, and although her 
 father described to her the personal appear-
 
 The Magic Painter 39 
 
 ance of every artist he knew of dwelling 
 within a radius of twenty miles, he still hit 
 on no one who bore the least resemblance 
 to the man to whom she had been sitting. 
 "Perhaps he's a new man," he said. " If 
 so he's pretty sure to call round one of these 
 days. By-the-way, did you remember to 
 thank him ? " 
 
 " Of course I did," said Doris ; " but the 
 dog was jumping up and licking my face, 
 and before I could quiet him I found my- 
 self in my bed. But all the things he 
 painted in the picture were there upon my 
 bed, and the dog was still barking and 
 licking my face. So it can't have been a 
 dream." 
 
 "Of course not," said her father. Then 
 his voice and his face changed together. 
 "Why, it is Christmas Day!" he said to 
 Doris's mother. " Where are our presents 
 for Doris ? " 
 
 The mother had been very quiet while 
 Doris was telling her story. Even now
 
 40 Make-Believe 
 
 she did not speak at once. Then, "We 
 must get her something nice when Christ- 
 mas is over and the shops are open again," 
 she said, not attempting to explain how it 
 was she had forgotten the day of which 
 she had been talking but a few minutes 
 before Doris went to bed. 
 
 Doris was almost grieved. "To think 
 you should forget ! Still, it came all right, 
 for the painter gave me everything I 
 wanted. I don't believe there'll be any- 
 thing left for you to give me but choco- 
 lates." Then she went back to her room, 
 and in a few minutes was telling the story 
 to Martha, who came to dress her. Martha, 
 as you are aware, behaved unworthily, but 
 it really didn't matter. Her foolish incre- 
 dulity only made Doris fonder of the gifts 
 of the Magic Painter, and every one who 
 has since been trusted with the secret of 
 how they came to Doris has agreed that to 
 say she dreamed the whole story would be 
 to talk absurdly.
 
 The Magic Painter 41 
 
 " You can't dream things and find them 
 on your bed when you wake," said Doris 
 to the Visitor. 
 
 " I'm afraid not, Doris," said the Visitor. 
 " And yet one goes on dreaming."
 
 The Lady and the Treasure 
 
 HE Visitor, being for the time 
 an idle man, had taken to 
 dropping in quite often of a 
 morning at Doris's garden. 
 Sometimes she laid on him 
 the task of beguiling the hours before lunch 
 with stories ; sometimes, more greatly con- 
 descending, she would tell him her own 
 pretty secrets, while he lounged at ease and 
 lazily looked down upon the harbour and 
 the quiet bay that lies beyond it. 
 
 On this particular morning Doris had 
 demanded a tale, and he had promised obe- 
 dience. But he did not desire to attempt
 
 The Lady and the Treasure 43 
 
 a story, having no imagination at all, and 
 memory only for certain private sorrows 
 of his own. His opening was therefore 
 an unworthy subterfuge. "Once upon a 
 time .... Say, Doris, wouldn't you like 
 to come out with me on a real hunt for 
 buried treasure ? 
 
 " Is there any?" asked Doris, doubtfully. 
 
 " Well, if it comes to that " he began. 
 " But I should think we stand a very 
 good chance. Don't you know that the 
 Spaniards landed here long ago and burnt 
 the place ? You may depend the village 
 folk hid their treasure when they fled ; 
 and three of them were killed. It is quite 
 likely that to this day their plate and 
 money lie hidden somewhere close at 
 hand." 
 
 " But it would be no good finding it," 
 said Doris. "We should have to give it 
 up to Gover'ment. Gardener told me. 
 What is Gover'ment ? " 
 
 " Government ? " said the Visitor. " It's 
 you, and me, and well, everybody else,"
 
 44 Make-Believe 
 
 " Then we should get some of the 
 treasure ? " 
 
 It was the Visitor's turn to be doubtful. 
 " Some of it, I suppose," he answered. 
 "At any rate, we should have the fun of 
 finding it." 
 
 Doris hesitated, deliberating. "That 
 would be nice," she admitted. " Should we 
 get so much as a pound ? " 
 
 " At least that," said the Visitor. 
 
 "Then I think I'll come. Ellen's 
 mother is very poor, and she wants 
 to buy a mangle. But she's a pound 
 short in her money, and in these hard 
 times you can't get trust not like you 
 used to when Ellen's mother was young. 
 There's so many rogues about that 
 even honest folk must pay cash. Ellen's 
 mother told me. I could give her the 
 pound." 
 
 The Visitor groaned within himself, 
 foreseeing that he would be altogether out 
 of favour if the expedition ended fruitlessly. 
 Yet there was nothing for it but to go
 
 The Lady and the Treasure 45 
 
 ahead. " Are you ready to start at once ? " 
 he asked. 
 
 "Quite ready," said Doris. "Now,
 
 46 Make-Believe 
 
 don't forget your pipe ! Where are we 
 going?" 
 
 That was more than the Visitor knew. 
 
 " We'll just look about until we find a 
 likely place," he said, holding the gate 
 open. " Or would you rather go into town 
 and get some chocolates ? " 
 
 " Chocolates ! " exclaimed Doris, scorn- 
 fully. Then, returning to the subject 
 which was of importance, " Did you ever 
 go on a treasure-hunt, really ? " 
 
 " Not exactly," answered her slave. 
 " That is : I once knew a man who did." 
 
 " You're not going to keep your promise 
 and tell me a story ? " 
 
 "It's not much of a story," he answered. 
 " A man I know got hold somehow of a 
 map of an island lying thousands and 
 thousands of miles away out there where 
 the sun sets with a mark on it showing 
 where a pirate had hidden boxes and boxes 
 of gold, silver and jewels long ago. So he 
 got a boat and sailed away to that island- 
 he and two or three friends. You would
 
 The Lady and the Treasure 47 
 
 have seen him pass if you had been watch- 
 ing in your garden. Perhaps you did ; 
 but, of course, you wouldn't know." 
 
 " I remember a boat," said Doris. "It 
 went right out towards the sunset. It was 
 a long time ago : before you came. Per- 
 haps that was his boat." 
 
 " Perhaps ! " answered the Visitor. " At 
 any rate, they sailed away into the West, 
 thousands and thousands of miles. Storms 
 came, and their boat (which was quite a 
 small one) was often on the verge of being 
 wrecked. But at last they came to the 
 island, and found a quiet harbour. There 
 was not a living soul on the island : only 
 goats and sea-gulls." 
 
 "I love sea-gulls!" cried Doris. "I should 
 like to be a treasure-hunter all the time." 
 
 " I don't know about that," said her 
 companion. " I don't know that it is quite 
 the best thing for a man. It is wiser just 
 to be content. Mere bread - and - butter 
 would not be interesting all the time ; but 
 one grows used to things, and one wouldn't
 
 48 Make-Believe 
 
 miss it much, I suppose, if some day it 
 were lacking. Whereas, after a week of 
 
 birthday-cake But I was forgetting 
 
 my friend's story. For a whole week after 
 reaching the island they hunted for the 
 place that was marked with a cross on the 
 map. Then they found it." 
 
 " And did they get the treasure ? " 
 
 " Just three golden coins and a few small 
 silver ones ! Some one else had heard of 
 the cave and got a boat and come and 
 plundered it. These few coins had dropped 
 out of the great boxes they carried down 
 to their boat. My friend was very much 
 disappointed." 
 
 "Well," said Doris, emphatically, "I 
 should think he was. I hope that won't 
 happen to us. Have you seen a likely 
 place yet ? " 
 
 The Visitor perceived that all the tem- 
 porising in the world would be of no avail. 
 Above the road they had been following 
 the land rises very steeply, and in one 
 place the hillside has been quarried. No
 
 The Lady and the Treasure 49 
 
 one works there now, nor has done for 
 many a long year. Bramble and bracken, 
 willow-herb and yellow rag- wort fill the 
 place, and in autumn it echoes from dawn 
 to dusk with the voices of the children 
 who come in companies to gather black- 
 berries. There are also butterflies, birds, 
 and other things, about which a man may 
 converse, if it be necessary to talk ; and 
 in fluent conversation lay the Visitor's one 
 hope of salvation. 
 
 " I think we might have a look at the 
 quarry," he said. " It's just the sort of 
 place that I should choose if I had treasure 
 to hide." 
 
 So they walked on rapidly. Doris was 
 so set on the quest that she did not want 
 to talk. Her companion had his own 
 troubles to consider and was glad of the 
 respite. They reached the quarry and 
 stood at the roadside looking into it curi- 
 ously. It was a new place altogether to 
 Doris, now she had realised that it might 
 possibly be the hold of hidden treasure. 
 
 P
 
 5 o Make- Believe 
 
 She did not for a moment observe the 
 sudden change which had come over her 
 companion. But presently she was aware 
 of the silence which had fallen upon him 
 and turned to look. 
 
 A beautiful lady was coming along the 
 road, with the sunlight in her hair, and 
 in her hands a great bunch of daisies 
 dancing and swaying upon long stems. 
 The Visitor was watching her. When 
 she had drawn quite near he raised his hat 
 and murmured some few words of saluta- 
 tion, but in such a manner that Doris had 
 to suppose (though very much against* her 
 will) that the beautiful lady was not so nice 
 as she appeared. 
 
 But the lady did not pass on. On the 
 contrary, she came closer and spoke, her 
 face all rosy. " Isn't the morning lovely? 
 And won't you introduce me ? " 
 
 The man paused for a moment, and 
 Doris saw that he was a little embar- 
 rassed. Then, "Doris," he said, " this is 
 Elsie. I should like you two to be friends."
 
 The Lady and the Treasure 5 I 
 
 The lady stooped and kissed the child. 
 "Is it a bargain, Doris ? " 
 
 Then, before Doris had had time to say 
 how glad she would be to have it so, the 
 Visitor spoke again. "The fact is," he 
 said, " Doris and I had not much to do 
 this morning, and so we thought we would 
 come out on a treasure-hunt. The villagers, 
 you know, must have hidden their valuables 
 when they fled before the Spaniards all 
 those years ago. We thought the quarry 
 was a likely spot. What do you think ? 
 Shall we find the treasure ? " 
 
 The lady hesitated. "At any rate, it's 
 worth your while to try," she said, at last. "It 
 is always well to try if you want a thing." 
 
 "And you will help?" said the man, 
 eagerly. 
 
 " If Doris doesn't mind," said the lady. 
 
 So they all went into the quarry and 
 sought vigorously for the treasure. It was 
 rather a big quarry, and much overgrown : 
 once or twice Doris lost them for a while, 
 but they were always close together, and
 
 5 2 Make-Believe 
 
 answered when she called. After a long 
 time, during which no trace of what they 
 sought had been discovered, Doris sug- 
 gested an adjournment. " It's a big quarry," 
 she said, " and we can't go all over it one 
 day. And I'm sure it must be lunch-time." 
 
 The Visitor looked at his watch. "It 
 is nearly," he answered. " But I think 
 we'd better search a little longer. It would 
 be a great pity if we fared like my friend, 
 and other people came before us and got 
 the treasure." 
 
 "We'll hunt for five minutes longer," 
 said Doris. " I am hungry, and they never 
 wait for me at lunch-time." 
 
 So the three plunged once more into the 
 innermost recesses of the quarry, seeking 
 with renewed vigour. Doris found nothing, 
 but presently, when the Visitor was a few 
 yards distant from her, he uttered a sharp 
 cry, and she came eagerly towards him 
 through the tall bracken. " Have you 
 found it ? " she cried. 
 
 He turned upon her with a serious face.
 
 The Lady and the Treasure 53 
 
 "Doris," he said, "we should have been 
 content with bread-and-butter. They've 
 been before us. Look ! " 
 
 The child came through the fern to his 
 side. At his feet a golden sovereign lay 
 on the ground. 
 
 "Why, it's like your friend's story," she 
 cried. 
 
 " So it is," said the Visitor. " Well, it's 
 
 no use searching any longer I say : 
 
 we won't say anything about this to Gover'- 
 ment. I think it will be all right if Ellen's 
 mother gets her mangle. You take the 
 money." 
 
 " May I?" she cried; and then she
 
 54 
 
 Make-Believe 
 
 danced gaily along the sunny road, the 
 Visitor on one side and the lady on the 
 other. They would not come in to see the 
 joy that this poor remnant of a treasure was 
 to bring to Ellen, and when they started 
 down the hill together Doris watched 
 them for a while from the gate of her 
 garden. Something about them seemed to 
 show that they were quite absurdly happy. 
 " They look," said Doris, as she entered 
 the garden, " they look as if they had really 
 found the treasure."
 
 Green Grapes 
 
 RE you two going out to 
 make a call ? " said Doris 
 to her parents one day. 
 " I am glad. There are 
 no end of things I have 
 forgotten to ask the Visitor this time." 
 
 The season was mid-autumn, and though 
 the sky was of the bluest, save for a few
 
 5 6 Make-Believe 
 
 big argosies of cloud, the blithe North- 
 Wester that made the sea so splendid set 
 difficulties in the way of those who desired 
 to be idle out of doors. " I think you 
 might play for me," said Doris when her 
 parents had gone, " I will dance." 
 
 "What shall I play ? " asked the Visitor, 
 conscious of a repertoire w r hose limits were 
 narrow. 
 
 " Why anything you like," said Doris, 
 simply, " I can dance to any music." 
 
 " Lucky child ! I believe you can." He 
 walked Across to the piano and presently 
 began to play a waltz. The child danced 
 around the room, serenely unconscious, 
 and the man watched her over his 
 shoulder, chancing on a wrong note at 
 intervals in consequence. When this had 
 happened Doris would glance at him 
 laughingly, but dancing still ; and some- 
 times she called her commands, " A little 
 faster, please!" or, "Can you play a little 
 slower ? " 
 
 A polka followed the waltz and then a
 
 Green Grapes 57 
 
 schottische. Later the child went seriously 
 through the steps of the pas de quatre, and 
 there was a second waltz. Finally the 
 Visitor had reached the end of his stock of 
 remembered music. He paused : 
 
 "Go on, please!" said Doris. "You 
 won't think that dancing tires me." 
 
 " The truth is, Doris . . . . " 
 
 " Can you play the tarantella? Here is 
 the music." 
 
 She produced the music, and the Visitor 
 studied it very carefully. He played a 
 few tentative bars on the piano. 
 
 " I think I might manage this," he said. 
 "Give me five minutes and we will see 
 what I can do." 
 
 " O ! you can do it all right. Be quick, 
 please Are you ready ? " 
 
 The Visitor began to play, and found 
 the music easier than he had expected, 
 though it held his eyes and compelled him 
 to abstain from watching the child. The 
 rustle of her frock of soft Indian silk was 
 all he heard whenever the tambourine was
 
 5 8 Make- Be/ieve 
 
 silent, for her feet fell very lightly. He 
 went through all the movements. Then, 
 " Faster, faster, faster, please ! " cried Doris, 
 and in a moment he turned to see her 
 standing, flushed and triumphant, in the 
 prettiest pose imaginable. 
 
 " You did it very well," she said. " It 
 is easy to dance your music." 
 
 " Yours," he corrected. " You chose the 
 measures. Now, if it had been my 
 music . . . . " 
 
 " What is that ? " asked Doris. 
 
 "O," said the Visitor, darkly. " It is a 
 little tune that I cannot play. But I don't 
 fancy even you could dance to it." 
 
 " I should like to try some day," said 
 Doris. "And that reminds me, can you 
 kick the tambourine ? " 
 
 " How do you mean ? " asked the 
 Visitor. 
 
 "It is another thing that Frank learned 
 from the page-boy in London. You hold 
 the tambourine above your head, so- 
 Frank used a straw-hat and then you try
 
 Green Grapes 59 
 
 to kick it Ah ! it is no use my 
 
 trying." The last words came most sadly, 
 for she had essayed the feat and failed 
 egregiously, being of those who cannot 
 with ease be ungraceful. 
 
 " I don't think I will try," said the 
 Visitor, reluctantly. "You see I have 
 reached the uninteresting stage, and it is 
 not well to try new things then." 
 
 " But indeed you have not ! " Doris pro- 
 tested. " You don't even take pickles at 
 lunch. I watched : and that is the sign. 
 . . . . Do you know, I am very much 
 troubled about the tambourine. I cannot 
 do it, and I want to, ever so badly. I 
 always do want to do things I cannot 
 do." 
 
 " But you ought to think yourself very 
 lucky," said the Visitor. " The best things 
 in the world are those we cannot do, 
 and keep on desiring to do, those that we 
 always want and can never get." 
 
 Doris was quite impolitely amazed and 
 incredulous. " Well ! " she said.
 
 60 Make-Believe 
 
 " It is the fact, I assure you," said the 
 Visitor. " There was a man once " 
 
 " O, if it is a story, ..."." cried Doris. 
 
 " Yes, there is a story, but I don't think 
 I will tell you about that man. He would 
 not interest you. He always took pickles. 
 But did you ever hear of the fox that loved 
 the grapes because they were green ? " 
 
 " They were ripe and black," said Doris, 
 " but he called them green when he found 
 they were not for him." 
 
 "That is one story," said the Visitor, 
 " but in mine the fox loved the grapes 
 because they were green. He, too, could 
 not get them." 
 
 " It is a new story, then," said Doris. 
 "Will you tell me?" 
 
 " Once upon a time there was a land 
 where all the fields were vineyards. The 
 people did nothing but grow grapes, and 
 make them into wine, and others came 
 from over sea, bringing corn and spices 
 and clothing and jewels, to exchange for 
 the wines made in that country.
 
 Green Grapes 6 1 
 
 " Now the grapes flourished on the 
 sunny sides of the valleys, and on the other 
 sides (where the sun shone only when he 
 was high in the sky, and the hoarfrost did 
 not melt until afternoon in the winter days) 
 there lived a great number of foxes. They 
 loved the grapes exceedingly, and at night, 
 when the moon shone on the empty vine- 
 yards, they had the rarest times and did 
 much damage there. Nobody minded much, 
 however, for the land was very fertile, and 
 grapes so abundant that there were plenty 
 to spare, since even the foxes must live 
 somehow. 
 
 " Among the others there were many 
 little foxes . . . ." 
 
 " I know," interjected Doris. " They 
 preach sermons to children about them." 
 
 " Precisely," said the Visitor. " Well, 
 the fox about which I want to tell you was 
 one of the little ones. It happened on a 
 day in spring that he was wandering alone 
 on the hillside, when he came suddenly 
 upon a very old fox, who was evidently
 
 62 Make-Believe 
 
 half, but not all, a stranger to the valley- 
 He saw that the old fox was not quite sure 
 of his way, and, having a great respect and 
 pity for the old, who cannot enjoy them- 
 selves, he spoke to him civilly, and asked 
 if he could be of service. 
 
 " ' I thank you kindly,' said the oldster. 
 ' 'Tis pleasant here in the sun, and if you 
 will let me talk for a while I shall be pro- 
 perly grateful. For you must know that I 
 am a native of this hillside, come back to 
 spend my declining days in the land where 
 I was young. I was looking about for 
 the old hole : it was under a great rock, by 
 the side of which an oak- sapling grew. It 
 should be somewhere hereabouts.' 
 
 " ' It is close at hand,' said the young 
 fox, ' and empty. But the sapling is no 
 sapling nowadays.' 
 
 " ' Indeed,' said the oldster. ' Well, I 
 will go back to it. Strange that I should 
 have to ask the way to the old home. Yet 
 I must ask the favour of your guidance.' 
 
 "The young fox trotted off with his
 
 Green Grapes 63 
 
 brush bravely Hying in the air, and the 
 oldster followed slowly. 'Ah,' he said, 
 presently. ' 'Tis the very place. I feel 
 young again at the sight.' Then he tried 
 to frolic as his companion was wont to do, 
 and groaned at the effect of the exertion 
 on his aged bones. 
 
 " ' Ah,' he said. ' I have said good-bye 
 to youth. But sit you down here in the 
 sun, and I will talk to you as my father 
 talked with me in the old days. It were a 
 pity that the wisdom of the old should be 
 wasted because there were no young to 
 hear their talk and make it action.' ' 
 
 Here Doris interrupted, " Say it again," 
 she said. " I did not understand." 
 
 " The old fox meant, I suppose, that the 
 lot of man and beast is not to know how 
 to do things until the power to do them is 
 gone. They have been so long in making 
 and collecting beautiful tools that they 
 haven't the strength to use them when 
 they begin to try. And there are few of 
 them that can be handed on to the young.
 
 64 Make-Believe 
 
 .... But I am forgetting that old fox. 
 He sat in the sun and talked, and the 
 young one listened on and off. 
 
 " When he was still very young the 
 oldster had grown tired of the valley in 
 which he had been born. For a little while 
 he was merely discontented : he hardly 
 knew why. Then there came a beautiful 
 spring day ('A day like this,' he said to 
 his companion, looking down the slope to 
 where a small stream ran in the bed of the 
 valley among the silver birches) and he 
 knew what was wrong. He tried himself 
 with a long run upon the hillside, and knew 
 that he was strong and swift. Then he 
 turned away from the old valley, and 
 travelled for many days towards the un- 
 known lands beyond. 
 
 " ' There was one thing that greatly 
 pleased me in the new land to which I 
 came,' he said. ' There were many vine- 
 yards there also, but the grapes were all 
 white. I was tired of the black grapes of 
 this valley, and the white were strangely
 
 Green Grapes 65 
 
 pleasant. Yet we are always desiring a 
 change. Perhaps it was as much the 
 thought of the black grapes I had eaten in 
 early days as of the comfort of this old 
 hole in which I was born, that led me in 
 the end to leave the country. I had lost 
 my mate, and the children she had borne 
 me had gone away from their home per- 
 haps you are the son of my son's son and 
 so I came back.' 
 
 ''Thus the old fox talked to the young, 
 telling him many strange things that hap- 
 pened commonly in the far land from which 
 he had returned. But the younger one, 
 when at last the sun sank and he went 
 about his own business, remembered chiefly 
 the tale of those grapes which were ripe 
 when they were green, and of their wonder- 
 ful sweetness. There were reasons why he 
 could not leave the valley, and, to tell the 
 truth, he was a little bit of a coward and 
 lacked the courage to do as the old 
 fox had done and go away to find the 
 sweet green grapes for himself. But he
 
 66 Make-Believe 
 
 began to grow discontented from that very 
 hour. 
 
 " Of course he grew hungry very soon, 
 and as the moon was shining and the air 
 soft and warm, he went with the others 
 over to the vineyards. The grapes were 
 particularly delicious that year, and all the 
 others were remarking on the fact. But 
 the fox who had heard tell of the far 
 country found them as tasteless as dry 
 bread, and only ate because his hunger 
 would be appeased. ' If only they were 
 green,' he kept saying to himself. 
 
 "He had to go on living in the valley, 
 but from that time forward he was never 
 quite happy. The thought of the green 
 grapes that were ripe was to him as the 
 tambourine is to you : only, he had not 
 even got the tambourine. Of course there 
 were green grapes in the early year, but 
 they were sour, and he knew it. He was 
 as unhappy as a fox could be." 
 
 Doris had been listening very intently. 
 " But you said," she cried, " that it is good
 
 Green Grapes
 
 68 Make-Believe 
 
 to want things and be unable to get 
 them." 
 
 "Wait a moment," rejoined the Visitor. 
 "You have your tambourine. In the course 
 of time the fox found his. There was a 
 certain vineyard with a high wall around 
 it, upon whose outer side the sun shone 
 but little. The fox (who was grown up by 
 this time), had become rather solitary in 
 his habits : a man does when he is con- 
 stantly thinking of something that is not of 
 any interest to other people. He used to 
 go alone to get his food, and one quiet 
 afternoon he happened to pass by the wall 
 of the vineyard. 
 
 " Suddenly his heart almost stood still. 
 It was at a season when unripe grapes 
 were rarer than diamonds in that country. 
 But one of the vines that grew inside 
 had sent a shoot up to climb over the top 
 of the wall and hang above the road. The 
 grapes it bore were green. 
 
 " From that time forth the lonely fox 
 was happier than he had thought it possible
 
 Green Grapes 69 
 
 to be. The wall was a high one, and 
 he could not get at the beautiful green 
 grapes. He could not even find a way 
 into the vineyard and eat the other fruit 
 of the same vine. But he did not mind 
 eating the black ones now, for when he 
 had taken food enough he would come 
 along the quiet road and look at the things 
 he had desired so long and found at last. 
 ' They are green ! ' he would whisper to 
 himself. ' Beautiful green grapes, how 
 sweet you will be when I have thought 
 of a plan by which to get you.' 
 
 "If the grapes had known why he came 
 and looked at them, and how much he 
 thought of them, I verily believe they 
 would have fallen of their own accord. 
 But their ignorance did not matter. The 
 fox desired them so much, he could not 
 doubt that they would some day be his. 
 In the meantime he found it good to desire 
 them. 
 
 " The good was of many kinds. The 
 other foxes seemed to think that the only
 
 jo Make-Believe 
 
 thing worth living for was food, and they 
 were always in the unwalled vineyards, 
 where they did much damage. It happened 
 that the owners began to be more careful 
 just about this time, and so a good many 
 foxes got killed by dogs or in traps. I 
 have heard say that some of them were 
 
 even shot. Well They do strange 
 
 things in foreign countries. But the fox 
 who loved the green grapes thought that 
 eating was the least important thing in life, 
 and so he was hardly ever in the vineyards, 
 and escaped being killed. There were 
 other things : I daresay you will know 
 when you are older, how much he escaped 
 because of those green grapes that hung 
 over the wall of the vineyard. This was 
 the happiest time in his life. 
 
 "The summer passed away, and the 
 black grapes were almost all gone. His 
 were still green, and he still visited them, 
 and tried to think of a plan for getting 
 them. Now, it was late in the year, and 
 the vineyard-owners were pruning their
 
 Green Grapes j i 
 
 vines. One day the green grapes fell as 
 he was watching them : the people inside 
 the wall had lopped off the branch which 
 climbed. So the fox sprang forward and 
 stood over them, thinking they must 
 have fallen because he desired them, or 
 that the gods to whom foxes pray had 
 sent them to him, knowing what was in 
 his heart. Yet, from what he said you 
 might have fancied that he had always 
 been certain he would some day find his 
 hopes fulfilled. 
 
 " ' Dear green grapes ! ' he said, ' I knew 
 you would be mine. I have tried to win 
 you in a hundred ways ; every day I have 
 thought of you a thousand times, and it 
 was so before I found you. Ah ! but you 
 will be sweet ! ' 
 
 <l Then he drew nearer still and took one 
 of the green grapes in his mouth. The 
 skin had hardly broken before he knew 
 that he had been fooled by his hope : the 
 grapes had kept their greenness all the 
 summer only because they had been born
 
 7 2 Make- Believe 
 
 where the sun did not shine. They would 
 have been common black grapes otherwise. 
 His heart was simply broken, and all his 
 happiness gone. He dashed down the 
 road, leaving the green grapes there to be 
 trodden underfoot, and to this day no one 
 
 knows what became of him Ah, 
 
 Doris, we ought to pray when we hope for 
 a thing very much that it will never be 
 granted us." 
 
 The Visitor paused, feeling that his story 
 had ended very lamely, and in a moment 
 Doris was upon him. There were tears 
 in her eyes, and he felt himself a criminal. 
 
 " It is a hateful story, "she said. "Why 
 did you tell it me ? The things we want 
 are good, and they are better when we 
 have them. I am sure it is not true. The 
 fox would have gone into foreign countries 
 if he wanted the white grapes so badly, 
 though I do not believe the sweet black 
 
 o 
 
 grapes would have tired him. You do not 
 think the story is true ? " 
 
 The Visitor paused, uncertain for a
 
 Green Grapes 73 
 
 moment. " Of course not, Doris," he said. 
 "It is just a silly tale some man made up, 
 and I told it because one grows tired of 
 true tales sometimes. As to the tambour- 
 ine, it only wants a little practice. You 
 hold it so, and then you balance yourself 
 upon one foot. Then . . . ." 
 
 He kicked the thing above his head and 
 handed it to the child. "You'll learn in 
 no time," he said.
 
 The Doll's Funeral 
 
 NCE again, on some excuse 
 or other, the Visitor was 
 idling in the West, and, 
 according to ancient habit, 
 was much in the company 
 of Doris. But for her, indeed, he must, 
 so long as daylight lasted, have gone with- 
 out companionship altogether, for the new 
 year had begun, and men who had been 
 idle through the autumn and the early 
 winter were now working with desperate 
 industry, lest the spring shows should be 
 thrown open to the public lacking pictures 
 from their easels. 
 
 On a certain morning when the Visitor 
 went over to see Doris, these others had
 
 The Doll's Funeral 75 
 
 awakened in their beds with something of 
 the emotions that are his who oversleeps 
 himself on a day when he has an appoint- 
 ment to keep, and knows at last, by the 
 sun that shines in at his window, or if he 
 dwell in London by the volume of the 
 sound of traffic in the street below, that 
 he has missed the opportunity. For a 
 moment, at the time of their awaking, it 
 appeared to them that they must somehow 
 have lain asleep for a month or two, and 
 that the spring, for which they had 
 hoped to be prepared, was already upon 
 them. 
 
 There had been weeks and weeks of frost 
 hard enough to make all ancient natives 
 of these temperate seaside regions search 
 their memories through to find recollec- 
 tions of a season equally rigorous, and so 
 keep the young from undue forwardness. 
 The green of sprouting bulbs had lacked 
 the power to pierce the hard crust of the 
 purplish-brown earth, and not a flower was 
 to be found in field or garden.
 
 j6 Make- Believe 
 
 During the night just overpast the wind 
 had gone into the West, and the wonder- 
 working breath of the great sea had 
 loosened the earth and set drops of 
 jewelled water instead of hoarfrost on 
 the bare branches of trees and shrubs. 
 The blue sky overhead was dappled with 
 light clouds, and underfoot the roads were 
 wet and shining. The sea was purple in 
 the distance, tinted like chrysoprase along 
 the shores ; and, because of the wind that 
 broke the waters, the bay looked big and 
 splendid. You might have fancied the 
 warm wind had brought a million little 
 birds from over the sea : so many were the 
 singers in a world which had been dumb 
 while the frost lay on it. 
 
 Now, the Visitor could not but feel in 
 some degree the magic of the morning. 
 He, too, awoke in his bed and wondered, 
 like the others, what was the delightful 
 arrangement for whose fulfilment he must 
 be up and abroad immediately. For a little 
 time the wonder lasted, and with it the
 
 The Doll's Funeral 77 
 
 natural unalloyed delight in being alive on 
 such a day. 
 
 Then he remembered divers matters 
 that concerned himself alone, and some- 
 thing of the beauty of the world was gone 
 for him. He dressed and breakfasted, and 
 found himself whistling at intervals the 
 tune of a sad little song whose words go 
 thus : 
 
 If green be for jealousy, 
 Green's the robe for me : 
 If envy go in for yellow, 
 Yellow let it be. 
 
 For the red robe of love 
 With my state doth not agree; 
 And, if I should go in nakedness, 
 Shameful it would be. 
 
 He was whistling the same heart-broken 
 little air as he walked along the road above 
 the sea, but gradually the things that lay 
 around him took hold upon his attention, 
 and when his goal had come in sight, he 
 had forgotten everything except that when
 
 7 8 Make-Believe 
 
 Spring comes though it be but for a flying, 
 mischievous invasion of Winter's kingdom 
 a man must needs be glad. Doris was 
 not at the gateway, though she had often 
 condescended to await him there on morn- 
 ings far less delightful. He had a long 
 search before he found her in the glass 
 studio, among the last fading relics of the 
 year's chrysanthemums. Something in 
 her attitude, and perhaps in her environ- 
 ment, spoke eloquently. 
 
 "Why, Doris," he said, " I believe you 
 are almost sad." 
 
 The child turned and faced him, and he 
 knew at once that his guess was not inac- 
 curate. " Why ?" she asked, plaintively. 
 
 " I can't tell you," he said. " Perhaps 
 it is all these dead chrysanthemums. 
 There is not one but is withered. Per- 
 haps I only fancied it." 
 
 Doris paused. " You will keep a secret, 
 if I tell you ? " she said at last. 
 
 " What is one among " began the 
 
 Visitor. Then he could not help remem-
 
 T'he DolTs Funeral 79 
 
 bering his sensations when, as a child, he 
 had whistled in church, instead of singing, 
 during a hymn, for his sensations at the 
 moment were identical with them. " I 
 think you can trust me," he concluded, 
 gravely. 
 
 " You remember the picture of the 
 funeral ? " asked Doris ; and her companion 
 recalled the fact that he had lately invaded 
 with her a studio where some one was 
 painting a picture that showed the funeral 
 of a child, the small white coffin borne 
 through the narrow streets of the village 
 by pretty children dressed in white. 
 
 " I remember the picture," he said. 
 
 "Well, then, "said Doris, "there's going 
 to be a funeral. It is all arranged. They 
 told me this morning. I am going away 
 to school." 
 
 The secret now revealed to Doris had 
 weighed upon her friend for many days, 
 since he chanced to be in the confidence 
 of her parents in this matter. He had 
 found it impossible to think of her as
 
 8o Make-Believe 
 
 dwelling anywhere but in that garden 
 looking on the sea ; and so the knowledge 
 of the thing ordained for her had weighed 
 upon him as a guilty secret. But he had 
 lived in the world, and so to be forewarned 
 was to be forearmed. He had prepared 
 himself, for the child's own sake, to greet 
 her with congratulations whenever she 
 should come to him for comfort. "Why a 
 funeral?" he asked. "Of course it is 
 hard to go away. But one's home is al- 
 ways down here in the West, and one can 
 come back. And it is great fun being at 
 school after the first few days." 
 
 He knew now that Doris was almost 
 broken-hearted, and all pretence of cheer- 
 fulness became impossible immediately. 
 "What is the trouble, Doris?" he asked, 
 and at once all difficulties were over. 
 
 " I don't want to go," she said. " They 
 say that I shall like it, but I don't want to 
 like it. Why can't I stop here ? " 
 
 " One can never stop in pleasant places," 
 said the Visitor. " But you need not
 
 The DoWs Funeral 81 
 
 trouble, Doris : on my honour you will 
 enjoy it after the first, and you will come 
 back to the garden very soon." 
 
 " But it will all be different," she pro- 
 tested. "It will not be my garden. And 
 then " 
 
 She ceased again, and it was plain that 
 she had not spoken of the situation's most 
 tragic possibility. "And then?" echoed 
 the Visitor. 
 
 " Sometimes you laugh at me," said 
 Doris, "but I never mind it. ... I cannot 
 take my doll to school." 
 
 The Visitor had sympathy enough to 
 understand. " That's the worst of growing 
 older," he said. " One has to give up 
 things. But you will always find some- 
 thing new to care for and to give up at 
 last. What do you mean by the funeral ?" 
 
 " You remember Christmas ? " said 
 Doris. 
 
 She had named a dog whose history 
 was a little out of the ordinary. The 
 Visitor remembered at once the story to
 
 8 2 Make-Believe 
 
 which she referred. For while the dog 
 was still but young he had contracted a 
 most grievous sickness. For the sake of 
 his mistress the little creature had received 
 more attention than many a dying child is 
 blessed with in that village of hard-living 
 fisher-folk. But all the care bestowed 
 upon him had been useless, and so at last 
 the Vet had come while Doris lay asleep 
 and taken Christmas away to cure him of 
 all pain. The child had said but little 
 when the news was broken to her in the 
 morning, but before the hour of lunch a 
 new grave had appeared in the little 
 cemetery under the elder-topped hedge 
 (where one canary and a pair of white rats 
 lay already), and from that day it had 
 never lacked flowers when flowers were 
 obtainable. The Visitor understood. 
 "Yes," he said, "I shall never forget 
 Christmas. And the doll ? " 
 
 Doris showed him a limp, white bundle 
 lying at her feet. " I spoke to the 
 Gardener," she said, "and he has made a
 
 The Doll's Funeral 83 
 
 grave next to Christmas. For the doll is 
 dead. I told her what they had said to me 
 and her heart is quite broken. Look ! " 
 
 If Doris had been less like the child she 
 was she would long since have ceased to 
 lavish her affection on the battered thing 
 of which she spoke. It lay supine, with 
 eyes closed, and a dear, dead child could 
 hardly have seemed more wonderful than 
 did the doll to the Visitor. 
 
 "You are going to bury her?" he 
 asked. 
 
 " I must," said Doris, plaintively. " Will 
 you come and walk with me ? " 
 
 Somehow or other the Visitor failed to 
 be completely sympathetic. 
 
 For the red robe of love 
 
 With my state doth not agree ; 
 
 And if . . . . 
 
 He began to whistle the tune which had 
 haunted him all the day, and then, remem- 
 bering the situation, ceased disconcertedly. 
 " Do you think I should be in the right
 
 8 4 Make- Believe 
 
 place ? I thought that only children 
 might come in the procession ? " 
 
 "They are all children in the picture," 
 said Doris, doubtfully. 
 
 " I thought so," answered her friend. 
 " Do you think I might be the crowd at 
 the grave ? I would like to come in some- 
 where." 
 
 Doris almost forgot her sorrow in her 
 joy at this solution of the difficulty. " That 
 will be just right," she said. "Will you 
 go down and wait ? " 
 
 She turned away and looked down upon 
 the doll. The Visitor paused at the door 
 of the studio, and saw her lift the veil 
 which covered the thing's face, and look 
 down tenderly. Then she took it in her 
 arms and held it to her breast, lifting 
 it very gently, lest the eyes, which were 
 now decorously closed, should open and 
 remind her of yesterday, when the grief of 
 to-day was unforeseen. He noted also a 
 box of yellowish cardboard that lay on 
 the floor hard by, and then disdaining to
 
 The Doll's Funeral 85
 
 86 Make-Believe 
 
 spy upon her sorrow, he went away to 
 that part of the garden in which he knew 
 the cemetery lay. 
 
 The garden was utterly void of flowers, 
 and^as yet no token of life had appeared 
 above the earth. He descended the steep, 
 grey-gravelled path, and stood beside the 
 little pit in the wet earth. Again the little 
 song came to him, and he whistled idly as 
 he waited for Doris. 
 
 The gardener was working in an obscure 
 corner. He stuck his spade into the earth 
 and came across to the grave which he had 
 dug at the child's request. " Have 'ee 
 heered tell of the funeral ? " he asked, in 
 the most subdued of voices. 
 
 " I am here to help," said the Visitor. 
 " Do you know that she is going? " 
 
 " Know it ? " cried the old man. " I've 
 known it for days, and felt worse than I can 
 'ee all the time, for she would come down 
 as usual, and she was all the time talking 
 about what she would do in the spring, 
 when the daffodils was here again, and
 
 The Doll's Funeral 87 
 
 primroses thinkin' to bloom in the hedge. 
 I'm glad that she do know, but I can't 
 fancy the garden with her gone out of it. 
 What is more, I haven' got the heart to 
 watch her funeral. I'll be gone out of 
 sight at once, I believe." 
 
 He turned away, and the Visitor was 
 left solitary beside the little grave. 
 
 The child came at last. She was bare- 
 headed, and the grief in her face though 
 it could last but an hour or two was not 
 less real from the fact that she wore the 
 pretty frock and the big useful pinafore of 
 every-day life. She held the yellow card- 
 board box tightly to her breast, and the 
 Visitor, understanding that the ceremony 
 was very real to her, removed his hat and 
 waited. 
 
 ''Shall I be sexton too?" he said, pre- 
 sently ; and when she did not answer he 
 took the box from her arms. It seemed to 
 him that she would fain have resisted, but 
 she yielded in the end. He knelt and was 
 about to place the box in the hole which
 
 Make-Believe 
 
 had been prepared 
 for it. But Doris 
 forgot her attitude 
 of mute compliance 
 with the harsh de- 
 crees of fate. 
 " Let me look at her once more," she 
 cried, entreatingly. 
 
 "What is the use?" asked her com- 
 panion ; but none the less he knelt beside 
 the little pit and lifted the lid of the box. 
 The waxen creature's eyes were still closed, 
 and he knelt regarding it until he heard a 
 sob from Doris. Then he let the cover fall 
 very gently and rose to his feet. "What 
 comes next?" he asked, touching the child's 
 hair lightly, and watching her sad face 
 closely. 
 
 "I must say good-bye" said Doris. "Good- 
 bye ! Good-bye ! " 
 
 "And now," he said, "shall I throw in 
 the earth ? " 
 
 " You must," said Doris ; and the Visitor 
 took a spade from the hedge-side.
 
 'T/ie DolTs Funeral 89 
 
 But as he did so it was evident that some 
 new thought had struck him. He hesitated. 
 " You have forgotten one thing," he said. 
 
 "What is it?" asked Doris. 
 
 "There are always flowers," he said. 
 
 " But the winter has been so cold," she 
 said; "there are no flowers in all the 
 garden, and all the chrysanthemums are 
 dead." 
 
 "There ought to be flowers, "said the man. 
 
 "They are all dead," said Doris. 
 
 "Ah, well," said the Visitor, "that is 
 the way of flowers. But I think I can 
 make it all right." 
 
 He plunged his hand into his breast 
 pocket, and produced a pocket-book, which 
 he opened carefully. There was a moment's 
 pause. Then he drew from the book a 
 brown pressed flower, that might once 
 have been a rose. He held it reverently 
 between his fingers, hesitated, and then 
 dropped it into the little pit. 
 
 "There," he said, "that is what was 
 wanted."
 
 9 
 
 Make-Believe 
 
 "Thank you," said Doris, as he began 
 to throw back the moist earth into the 
 pit and cover up the flower and the box. 
 
 " By-the-bye," he exclaimed a moment 
 later, as they mounted the steep, grey- 
 gravelled path, leaving a heap of brown 
 earth behind them; "what did you call 
 her, Doris?" 
 
 " I used to called her Hope," answered 
 the child.
 
 When Doris was a Mermaid 
 
 HEY were leaning over the 
 side of an old green-painted 
 boat, just off a rocky island 
 that lies not more than 
 half a mile away from the 
 land. It was late afternoon, and even the 
 waves seemed to be sleepy. The water 
 was very clear, and they could see the 
 shifting of the brown weeds that covered 
 the rocks at the bottom. Doris, on her 
 part, declared that she had caught glimpses 
 of more than one fish clown there, and the 
 Visitor was envying her good fortune and 
 leaning over the side in the hope that he. 
 might presently come to share it.
 
 9 2 Make-Believe 
 
 " I like you, do you know ? " said Doris, 
 by-and-by. 
 
 " Do you, indeed ? " asked her companion 
 in tones of absolute surprise, as he sat up 
 in the boat. " Whatever for ? " 
 
 " You believe so many things," answered 
 the child. Then, noting, perhaps, that he 
 was still a little puzzled : "I'm sure that 
 you would never say there are no such 
 things as fairies." 
 
 " I should think not," said the Visitor, 
 much relieved. " That is the sort of thing 
 you are simply bound to believe if you 
 want to go on living." 
 
 " But have you ever seen any?" asked 
 Doris, forgetting all about the world 
 beneath the waters, and facing him 
 eagerly. 
 
 " I am not quite sure, Doris," he said. 
 " I fancy I used to see them pretty often 
 once upon a time. But, anyway, I don't 
 count for anything. You may be certain 
 plenty of other people have seen them. 
 Have you forgotten the tale of a man who
 
 When Doris was a Mermaid 93 
 
 broke a fairy's leg" with a stone ? It is in a 
 book." 
 
 "You never told me," said Doris, re- 
 proachfully. 
 
 " Oh, it is not very much to tell. There 
 was once a farmer who had long wanted to 
 catch a fairy and make it tame. He thought 
 it would be a very nice pet, and lucky to 
 have about the house. Now, one night he 
 was coming home in the moonlight through 
 a very lonely lane, and he heard little voices 
 singing this song as they danced among 
 the daisies just inside the gate of one of his 
 own fields : 
 
 Join your hands till a ring ye make, 
 
 (Dance, O dance in the moonlight!) 
 Dawn will come if the ring ye break, 
 While ye dance in the moonlight. 
 
 Men will wake if the ring ye break, 
 (Fairies, dance in the moonlight!) 
 
 Haste ye, then, and your pleasure take, 
 Dancing here in the moonlight, 
 
 "He crept on quietly, and looked over the
 
 94 
 
 Make-Believe 
 
 hedge. There were full a hundred fairies, 
 none of them bigger than the daisies, and 
 all most beautifully dressed. They were 
 dancing gaily. Now, the farmer wanted 
 a fairy, and he was not a kind man, so 
 he picked up a stone and flung it at the 
 dancers. In a moment they had all gone, 
 except one poor little chap who lay on the 
 grass in a dead faint. The farmer had 
 broken his leg with the stone. 
 
 "It was late, and the farmer had to 
 be up early the next morning. He knew 
 that no one was likely to be passing in the 
 meantime, so he just went home to bed, 
 and almost before daylight he went down 
 to fetch the fairy." 
 
 " Did he find it ? " asked Doris. " And
 
 When Doris was a Mermaid 95 
 
 did the dawn come when he broke the 
 fairies' ring ? " 
 
 " I forget what the book said as to the 
 dawn. As to the fairy, it is supposed his 
 brothers rescued him," replied the Visitor. 
 " At any rate, he was gone. But the stone 
 that the farmer had flung at him was still 
 there. So you see, it is clear that fairies 
 do exist or did when that book was 
 written." 
 
 " I suppose it is," said Doris, accepting 
 the logic of her friend, after a moment's 
 reflection. " At any rate, I believe it, and 
 so do you." 
 
 "Quite right," answered her friend. 
 "And it need not concern us what other 
 people say." 
 
 Doris pondered. "And what about 
 mermaids ? " she asked, presently. 
 
 "How do you mean?" replied the 
 Visitor. 
 
 "Well, did you ever feel quite certain 
 that once upon a time hundreds and 
 hundreds of years ago, perhaps you
 
 96 Make-Believe 
 
 were something different from the thing 
 you are now ? " 
 
 "That's rather puzzling, Doris," was the 
 reply. " Yes, I have been something very 
 different from the thing I am now. Why, 
 not so long ago .... But tell me what 
 you mean." 
 
 Doris leaned over the side of the boat, 
 and looked down once again into the clear 
 water. " Look down," she said, and when 
 her comrade had obeyed, she was silent for 
 a space, and seemed to watch the shifting 
 of the brown weed as if it would remind 
 her of something she had almost forgotten. 
 The Visitor was quietly watching her, and 
 presently he spoke : 
 
 "What were you going to tell me, 
 Doris ? " 
 
 Doris still gazed into the water with a 
 very grave face. "Once upon a time," 
 she said "a long time ago, I think I 
 was a mermaid." 
 
 "Yes?" said the Visitor, without sur- 
 prise. " How is it that you manage to
 
 When Doris was a Mermaia 97 
 
 remember ? Most of us forget things of 
 that kind." 
 
 " I don't seem to remember," explained 
 the child. " But I know everything that 
 mermaids and mermen do, just as well as I 
 know the ways of men and women and 
 children. And I could not know if T had 
 not been one of them, could I ? " 
 
 " I should say it was quite impossible," 
 replied her companion, with a seriousness 
 at least equal to her own. " But won't 
 you tell me all these things that you know ? 
 I shall understand them better while I look 
 down into this clear water and watch the 
 brown weed." 
 
 "That is like my hair used to be," 
 said Doris. "It was very long then, and 
 it floated about my head, moving just as 
 restlessly as the weed does, because it is 
 never so still that there are not little 
 movements under the water. It never 
 troubled me, though, as it does nowadays, 
 when the wind blows hard, for it just 
 floated and floated like a living thing, and
 
 98 Make-Believe 
 
 never came before my eyes except when I 
 was playing with the others. Then we 
 would chase one another under the water, 
 and turn quickly, or suddenly dive deeper, 
 and of course it would blind us for a 
 moment. You got caught, sometimes, 
 before you had begun to see again, but 
 mostly it just floated round you and was 
 not in the way at all. It was like the 
 weeds down there." 
 
 She was still gazing into the clear water, 
 and now she grew silent, forgetful of her 
 story. 
 
 " Is there no more to tell?" asked the 
 Visitor. 
 
 " O, there is no end to tell. Some- 
 times when I am sleeping I seem to go 
 back to it all again in my dreams, and so I 
 shall never forget." 
 
 "You may be sure of that," muttered 
 the Visitor a shade bitterly. Then speak- 
 ing to the child, " Go on with the story, 
 won't you ? " 
 
 " Let me see," said Doris, " where shall
 
 When Doris was a Mermaid 99 
 
 I begin ? O, there was the dancing. I 
 suppose you would not think that you 
 could dance down under the water? Of 
 course we did not go right to the bottom : 
 it was in the green water with the light 
 coming from above, and the pale sand just 
 showing underneath. No one could ever 
 get tired with dancing, for the water let 
 you move through it as a gull moves in 
 air : you just floated and floated as I told 
 you my hair did. But I had almost for- 
 gotten to tell you about the gulls." 
 
 "What of them?" asked the Visitor. 
 " I suppose they would be good friends of 
 yours ? " 
 
 " Not at all," came the answer, promptly. 
 " They hated us. Sometimes, when the 
 surface of the water was like a ceiling of 
 bright glass because of the moonlight, they 
 would fall asleep on the little waves, and if 
 we rose suddenly to find how the wind was 
 blowing, and whether the sea would be 
 stormy presently, we should wake and 
 frighten them. And there were other
 
 i oo Make-Believe 
 
 things we did. I don't think they were 
 very kind," she added, reflectively, " but 
 they were not meant to be unkind. We did 
 not understand them. Still, the seagulls 
 hated us. 
 
 " I used to like the clean, sandy places 
 best of all : it was so beautiful to see the 
 mackerel go by between you and the light 
 as you lay there resting. The black rocks 
 were terrible sometimes ; great crabs, and 
 lobsters, and cray fish waited in hidden 
 holes, and some of them could kill a mer- 
 maid easily. There was a big, dark cave, 
 too, that none of us dared to go near. We 
 wanted to find out what was inside, and 
 scores of big terrible arms were always 
 beckoning us from the opening. But once 
 upon a time ages and ages before a
 
 When Doris was a Mermaid 101 
 
 merman had gone to find out what was in 
 the cave, because a mermaid had told him 
 he would not dare, and he had never come 
 back. So we never went near the cave, 
 though we all wanted to know what was in 
 it, and the big terrible arms were always 
 beckoning us to come. Of course I know 
 well enough now what must have been in 
 the cave : it was a big octopus. I should 
 think the cave must be over yonder, under- 
 neath St. Michael's Mount." 
 
 She paused, and looked across to the 
 Mount, dreamily. " But what did you do 
 for flowers, Doris ? " asked the Visitor, 
 knowing well that even in dreams the child 
 could not imagine a happy world that was 
 not full of flowers. 
 
 " Flowers ? " she cried. " Did you 
 think there were no flowers down there ? " 
 Why the weed grows in forests, waving 
 constantly, but never sighing as the trees 
 do, because it is the moving water, and not 
 the wind, that sets them swaying. And 
 there were all sorts of flowers of all the
 
 102 
 
 Make-Believe 
 
 colours you can 
 fancy. I never used 
 to pick them ; they 
 all seemed living 
 creatures, just as 
 much as the ane- 
 mones." 
 
 " And the storms 
 and wrecks ? " sug- 
 gested the Visitor. 
 
 " I don't think I 
 remember much of 
 the wrecks," said 
 Doris. "There 
 were terrible storms 
 sometimes, and then 
 it grew very noisy 
 after the quiet we 
 usually had, and so 
 we used to go out 
 into the deep water 
 and find a sandy 
 beach. There we 
 could forget all
 
 When Doris was a Mermaid 103 
 
 about the storm 
 that had frightened 
 us, though it was 
 dark in the deep 
 water. But there 
 must have been 
 wrecks, for we had 
 golden cups to 
 drink from and 
 rings upon our 
 fingers, and we used 
 to play with gold 
 and silver coins. 
 And onc a storm 
 passed over and we 
 found a little baby 
 floating in a sort of 
 box on the waves. 
 We wanted to keep 
 it, but it would have 
 died if we had 
 taken it down to 
 our own place, and 
 so we swam to the
 
 1 04 Make-Believe 
 
 shore, dragging the box with us, and there 
 we left it high up on the sands, giving the 
 baby a pretty coral to play with. I wonder 
 how we guessed that babies liked to play 
 with corals? We watched, and presently 
 a woman came down and walked along the 
 tide-mark searching for something. When 
 she found the baby she took it in her arms 
 and was glad, so that we knew she was its 
 mother. But presently she looked out to 
 sea and cried, and then we knew that the 
 baby's father was the captain of a ship 
 which had gone down in the storm. So 
 we went back to our own place, for we felt 
 ashamed." 
 
 "And how did you stop being a mer- 
 maid ? " asked the Visitor. 
 
 " I don't quite remember," Doris con- 
 fessed. " Sometimes I seem to recollect 
 that I went to sleep and got caught in the 
 nets of the fishermen, and that they took 
 me away and made me a prisoner. There 
 was a picture of it in London. But I am 
 not quite sure. I only know that some-
 
 When Doris was a Mermaid 105 
 
 thing happened and then it was all ended. 
 I was not a mermaid any more, and I 
 longed and longed to go back. So, I 
 suppose, my heart broke at last, and I 
 died. But sometimes even now when I 
 wake from dreaming I still long to go back 
 again." 
 
 " Do you ? " said the Visitor, softly. 
 
 " I go to my window and look out, and 
 the sea is shining in the moonlight. Once 
 I thought I heard the mermen and the 
 mermaids singing, and always I know they 
 are lying out there in the quiet water and 
 looking up at the stars, with the starlight 
 round them on the waves. And a bed is 
 uncomfortable when you remember that." 
 
 She paused, and looked wistfully out 
 across the waters, dotted so far as the 
 horizon line with the brown sails of the 
 fishing-boats which had gone creeping out 
 while she told her tale. " One of these 
 days," said she, softly, " I shall have 
 learned to swim well, and I shall be 
 stronger than I am now ; then I will come
 
 io6 
 
 Make-Believe 
 
 clown to the beach one warm night in the 
 summer, and swim out and try to find 
 them ; I think they would be glad to see 
 me again." 
 
 "Doris," said the Visitor, "I should 
 very much like to come with you if you'll 
 have my company. But I, too, must learn 
 to swim better, for we may have a long 
 way to go."
 
 Dreams about a Star 
 
 H E sun had fallen behind 
 the hills, and in the east, far 
 away across the quietness 
 of the sea, a big planet had 
 come into being. They 
 had explored the rocky island thoroughly, 
 and, as time advanced, the Visitor gradu- 
 ally guided his companion back to the 
 place where they had left the boat. 
 
 " But we won't go yet," protested Doris. 
 "There will be small rosy clouds to look 
 at for a long time yet, and they have only 
 just lighted the harbour light. Let us 
 stop here and talk for a little while." 
 
 "We are evicting the cormorants," said
 
 io8 Make-Believe 
 
 * 
 
 the Visitor. " They sit here every even- 
 ing, and they will be terribly disturbed in 
 their minds. We had better go." 
 
 " Do you see that star out there?" said 
 Doris, changing the subject suddenly. " I 
 thought of a story about it the other day." 
 
 As the child had shrewdly calculated, 
 her companion immediately arose out of 
 the stooping posture in which he had been 
 bending over the boat's painter. " One of 
 your own ? " he asked. 
 
 "A sort of thought that came to me ! " 
 she answered. " I will tell it you if you 
 don't mind vexing the cormorants." 
 
 " Well, then, the cormorants must put 
 up with a little vexation for once," said the 
 Visitor. " Put on this big coat of mine, 
 and I will sit and listen." 
 
 He stepped into the boat and fetched an 
 overcoat in which Doris obediently wrapped 
 herself. With her permission he filled a 
 pipe and the two sat down together, just a 
 yard or two above the gentle rise and fall 
 of the water.
 
 Dreams about a Star 109 
 
 " All the stars are other worlds," said 
 the child at last. " But that one is the 
 most wonderful of them all. Shall I tell 
 you about it ? " 
 
 " I thought you had promised," said the 
 Visitor, gravely. 
 
 " Well, of course you know that all the 
 worlds were not made at the same time. 
 God sat in His own place, and looked 
 down upon the earth, watching it. Some- 
 times, when He had been thinking a long 
 while, the people walking down here on 
 the dark nights, when the moon was not 
 up, would see a star appear in the sky quite 
 suddenly, and then they knew He had 
 made another world. Perhaps there are 
 still new stars that come, but the sky is 
 very full, and so I have never seen a new 
 star come, though I have often watched. 
 You only see when judgment day comes 
 for one of the worlds up there, and a star 
 falls like a wax match that you throw 
 away." 
 
 " By-the-bye, Doris," said the Visitor,
 
 1 1 o Make-Believe- 
 
 "there's a little song that goes more or 
 less after that fashion. It goes .... But 
 I will tell you about it some other time." 
 
 As a matter of fact, he did not give it 
 her until the morning, but you may as well 
 receive it now : 
 
 God made this ivorld, and long it stood, 
 
 Lone betwixt moon and sun : 
 Never might His first children watch 
 
 The stars come one by one. 
 
 For the great Maker sat enthroned 
 
 Above this mortal strife, 
 And daily pondered on the world 
 
 That He had called to life. 
 
 And so His later children saw 
 Wandering on moonless nights 
 
 The vault of Heaven grew wonderful, 
 With legions of clear lights : 
 
 Till now the sky is filled with stars, 
 
 The children of His thought : 
 The happy creatures of the Art, 
 
 Our human woes have taught. 
 
 " Now, the world that you see out there
 
 Dreams about a Star 1 1 1 
 
 across the sea," continued Doris, "is not 
 an old one. It is one of the last that God 
 made, and He had been thinking and 
 thinking about making worlds for more 
 years than there are sands on the shores 
 of all the seas." 
 
 " I want to know about this, Doris," 
 interrupted the Visitor. " Have you been 
 reading, or is this just a story ? " 
 
 "O," said Doris, airily, "I suppose it 
 is 'meddling with creation, 'as Father calls 
 it. But it sounds true. I thought of it 
 one day when I was sitting for the last 
 picture ? " 
 
 " Did you ? " said the Visitor. " I knew 
 as soon as I saw it that you must 
 have been thinking while it was being 
 painted." 
 
 For a moment there was silence, and 
 the child's face took again something of 
 the look it bears in The Traveller, a pic- 
 ture you will surely remember to have 
 seen. It shows a young child innocently 
 setting forth, alone and unprotected, upon
 
 1 1 2 Make-Believe 
 
 a journey towards the distant horizon of a 
 great lonely tract of country. You might 
 fear for her, because of the unknown 
 dangers of the journey, were it not for the 
 courage in the serene grey eyes. With 
 the same eyes Doris looked out towards 
 the star as she renewed her tale. 
 
 " Every one is altogether happy up 
 there : even the older people have plenty 
 of pleasant things to do. You see, there 
 must be people to do things for the 
 children, and the old ones know that. 
 They are all very nice, and the children 
 simply go and ask them whatever they 
 want to know ; and they grow wiser and 
 wiser by slow degrees, until, when it is 
 their turn to be old, they can tell the same 
 things to other children. So there is no 
 need of schools." 
 
 " Do you know, Doris," said the Visitor, 
 "there's another song, which is wonder- 
 fully like what you have been saying. We 
 ought to be going back very soon, but it is 
 not a very long song :
 
 Dreams about a Star 113 
 
 / love my mother more than words 
 
 Can tell, also my father ; 
 I love my uncle, and his friends, 
 
 But still I wonder rather 
 
 Why God compels us to be old 
 
 Before we're tired of playing : 
 To sit in chairs, and talk, and still 
 
 Say nothing worth the saying. 
 
 But I suppose He made the world, 
 
 And put young children in it, 
 To pick His flowers, climb trees, and play; 
 
 And then He saw, next minute, 
 
 There must be people tales to tell 
 
 To children, and to feed them, 
 To build them houses, and to find 
 
 Warm clothes, if they should need them. 
 
 So, children, come and play with me : 
 
 You soon will be grown older; 
 And every day is as a night 
 
 That hourly groweth colder. 
 
 And you, who once were children too, 
 
 Be careful what you're saying, 
 Lest ever you should chance to speak 
 
 A word to stop our playing"
 
 114 
 
 Make-Believe 
 
 Doris looked at him suspiciously. "Where 
 do all your songs come from ? " she de- 
 manded. " You must have read a lot of 
 books, and you would be very useful in my 
 star, for the children are always singing, 
 and you could teach them new songs when 
 they are tired of the old. 
 
 " For the only lessons they learn are 
 pleasant ones. They learn to sing and to
 
 Dreams about a Star 
 
 dance, and some of them learn to read, so 
 that they may know what is in the story- 
 books. But many of them do not trouble. 
 You see, those who have learned to read 
 are always glad to please the others, 
 and proud of what they have learned. 
 Out in the gardens all the roads run 
 through gardens in that star you will 
 see them sitting in little groups under
 
 1 1 6 Make-Believe 
 
 shady trees, one reading while the others 
 listen. 
 
 " Besides, the old people have not for- 
 gotten what it was like to be a child, and 
 so they are just children grown bigger and 
 wiser. They come out into the gardens 
 constantly, and offer to tell tales, and they 
 all believe in fairies. Indeed, they cannot 
 help it, for the fairies have not had to go 
 away from that world, and you see the 
 mermaids when you are down by the 
 sea." 
 
 "It must be a lovely world to live in," 
 said the Visitor. " But what happens when 
 the children are not good ? For I suppose 
 they sometimes do wrong ? " 
 
 " I don't know about that," said Doris, 
 after a moment's reflection. " You see, 
 they are never told not to do the things 
 that all children want to do, and you can- 
 not do wrong when there is nothing you 
 
 are told not to do There are some 
 
 things, of course, that must be punished. 
 But I am always sorriest when I am not
 
 Dreams about a Star 1 1 J 
 
 punished, and I expect it is that way with 
 them." 
 
 The twilight was deepening, and the 
 last traces of the rosy sunset had vanished 
 from beyond the pines at the -summit of 
 the western land. The Visitor began to 
 grow restless. 
 
 " Do you know," he said, " I wish we 
 could buy this island." 
 
 " What would you do with it?" asked 
 Doris. 
 
 " You should be Queen of the island, 
 and I would be at the head of your ser- 
 vants, and then we would see if we could 
 not start a new world that should be just 
 like that star of yours. We would ask all 
 the people we like, and a lot of brave 
 men and women we have heard of but 
 never seen ; and, of course, any children 
 who were unhappy would come to us. We 
 would live here all the rest of our days, 
 and grow flowers, and just be happy. 
 Can't you imagine how we should sit here 
 in the evenings (there would be a beautiful,
 
 u8 
 
 Make-Believe 
 
 rosy, beacon light shining after dark, and 
 steps cut in the rock), to watch for the 
 children who would come down to the 
 shore and take boats across ? I think your 
 gardener should have charge of the ferry. 
 He would like that kind of work." 
 
 " I believe you will have to be. the ferry- 
 man," said Doris. "You see, the gardener 
 will be busy all the time with his flowers." 
 
 " Ah, well ! " was the reply, " I shall be 
 glad of the post if you think I could fill 
 it properly. I shall know all your rules, at 
 any rate, and be able to tell them to the 
 newcomers as I take them over. But now
 
 Dreams about a Star 119 
 
 I must be your ferryman in quite another 
 way ; for we really must go back." 
 
 Doris looked across at the mainland, 
 seeking for a light high up on the hillside. 
 " I suppose we must," she said, wistfully. 
 " And perhaps I shall be grown old before 
 we can buy this island and begin to try 
 your plan. But there's a harbour over 
 there, and steps leading up from the water. 
 Shall we try to think that you are the 
 ferryman you will some day be, and that 
 this is the first day we have owned the 
 island and we both are going over ? " 
 
 She rose, and her companion held her 
 hand as she descended the rock and 
 stepped into the boat. He began to row 
 very quietly, the sounds of life about the 
 harbour growing every moment clearer 
 and nearer. At last they had reached the 
 steps that lead up to the quay. 
 
 " After all," he said, "this is an island, 
 too, and if only the people knew there 
 would be no need for us to buy one, they 
 would' set to work and make a whole world
 
 120 Make-Believe 
 
 like your star. It wouldn't be so very 
 difficult." 
 
 " I wonder if we could explain it all to 
 them," said Doris, as she dropped the 
 rudder lines and made ready to step out of 
 the boat.
 
 A March of Heroes 
 
 ORIS was blind. The folk 
 who loved her knew that the 
 grey eyes would some day 
 see as well as ever they had 
 done. But, for the present, 
 she must live in darkness, and, since learned 
 surgeons mostly dwell in London, she was 
 an exile from her garden by the sea, and 
 waited in a strange house in London until 
 her sight should be given back to her. 
 She and the Visitor had changed places, 
 for it was now his part to play the 
 guide, and this he did as one having a 
 task set him whose performance is a 
 joy. 
 
 The child had, fortunately, a passion for
 
 122 Make-Believe 
 
 music. The Visitor did not appear (as 
 Doris remarked to him one afternoon) to 
 have much work upon his hands. He 
 was for ever coming to see her, and the 
 tales he told were past numbering. " I 
 believe," said Doris, on the occasion men- 
 tioned, " I believe you do nothing but 
 walk about thinking and thinking what 
 story you can tell me next, and that when 
 you have found one you come straight 
 away to tell it." As a matter of fact, she 
 was not far from the truth. But still the 
 flow of stories was not altogether unfailing, 
 and there were times when the Visitor had 
 none to tell. It was on such occasions that 
 he remembered her fondness for music, and 
 was grateful for its existence, After all, 
 her affliction was but for a moment, and, 
 in any case, it was no particular affair of 
 his. But he had brought away with him 
 from that holiday in the West so vivid a 
 memory of the child among her flowers 
 that he could not now get away from the 
 thought of her sitting in darkness, lonely.
 
 A March of Heroes 123 
 
 He had therefore a great desire to tide her 
 over this period of evil fortune. 
 
 "I'm going to take you to a concert," 
 he said, one evening. " Are you ready ? " 
 
 Doris sprang to her feet as she might 
 have done in the old days. Then she 
 remembered and stood waiting until her 
 mother came and guided her from the 
 room. But when she returned, ready for 
 the expedition, her cheeks were flushed 
 and her voice full of excitement and delight. 
 A cab came and they drove towards the 
 concert hall. 
 
 " I wish you could see things, Doris," 
 said the Visitor, clumsily. " We'll have 
 good times together when you are well 
 again." 
 
 " Yes," said Doris, wistfully, " I should 
 like to see the houses, and the people, and 
 the streets. But they're not all golden, 
 are they ? I used to think they were, once 
 upon a time, when I was small." 
 
 " Not golden exactly," said the Visitor ; 
 " but they are very lovely. The horses
 
 1 24 Make-Believe 
 
 are so strong, and tall, and swift that you'd 
 think you must be under their feet every 
 moment. There's a soldier going by on 
 the pavement in a blaze of light ; you 
 should just see how he strides along, 
 stamping his feet so that his bright spurs 
 may jingle. And do you hear that music ? 
 Little children are dancing there by the 
 side of the street, and the people who go 
 by are giving them pennies. The man 
 who plays the organ has a very bronzed 
 face and white teeth, and he laughs when 
 the people give their pennies, and turns 
 the handle faster. And there are ladies 
 going by in lovely frocks. O, it is a 
 brave sight altogether ! " 
 
 Doris sighed. " Go on," she said, 
 "you, more than any one else, make me 
 wish I could see ; but I love you to talk, 
 because sometimes, when you are telling 
 me things, I almost do see. It is like 
 dreaming." 
 
 They had reached the hall, and the 
 Visitor helped her out of the cab and led
 
 A March of Heroes 125 
 
 her by many winding passages to the seats 
 he had engaged. In one of these passages 
 a young man stepped in her way clumsily, 
 and then started back and apologised very 
 abjectly. He had seen her face, and 
 understood why the Visitor was leading 
 her by the hand. His voice was so full 
 of regret that Doris (who thought her 
 friend was never angry with any one) won- 
 dered more than a little to hear the tones 
 in which he put aside the stranger's 
 apologies. But within a very few moments 
 they had taken their seats, and there was 
 no time to ask for explanations, for her 
 friend was telling her all about the great 
 hall and the people in it : the lovely dresses 
 of the ladies, the misty fountain in the 
 centre of the floor, round which people 
 gathered, and the huge stage, all decked 
 with flowers and palms. He had not 
 nearly exhausted the subject when the 
 people began to applaud, and the music, 
 which had ceased for a moment as they 
 entered, began again.
 
 126 Make-Believe 
 
 It was a beautiful song, if rather sad, and 
 the voice of the singer was clearer and 
 sweeter than anything Doris had ever 
 heard. She waited silently until the end 
 was reached, and then, before the applause 
 had died away, she turned to her friend. 
 " Tell me about it," she said. 
 
 " I told you about the flowers and the 
 palms," he said. "Well, you look away 
 over them and there's an old garden, with 
 a young moon shining beyond a dark 
 hedge, and a few stars, out. There's a 
 lonely tower in the garden, and at the 
 topmost window a beautiful lady." 
 
 " I know her," whispered Doris. 
 
 " The lady is looking down into the 
 garden and she would like to go down, but 
 I don't think the people in the tower will 
 ever let her. There's a man in the garden 
 looking up at her window, and he knows 
 that she will never come down, nor he get 
 up to her, and yet he cannot help hoping. 
 I think the hardest part of it for him is 
 that he is not at all certain that she would
 
 A March of Heroes 
 
 come down if she 
 could : whether 
 there is really any- 
 thing could keep 
 her in the tower 
 if she wished to 
 come down to the 
 garden. So he 
 stands down there 
 and sings to her, 
 and the lady 
 listens." 
 
 "Always ?" 
 asked Doris. 
 
 " Yes," said the 
 Visitor, " I sup- 
 pose it will be for 
 always." 
 
 Then the singer 
 came back and be- 
 gan another song. 
 
 "Tell me about 
 it," said Doris, 
 softly. 
 
 127
 
 ia8 Make-Believe 
 
 " They seem to be all sad songs to- 
 night," he answered. "The garden is 
 gone and it is a great lonely place where 
 very few people ever come. A little girl, 
 who has never in her life had a friend, or 
 heard a voice speak kindly, is wandering 
 there alone. She is tired and hungry 
 and very much afraid, and if it were not 
 that she feared the wild beasts which live 
 in the desert she would lie down on the 
 hard ground and go to sleep. And now 
 the man is singing to her, and she is 
 afraid." 
 
 " What man ? " said Doris. 
 
 " A tall man with a pale face that is 
 almost terrible, until you look closer and 
 see how kind the eyes are. He is telling 
 her not to be afraid of him." 
 
 " And the little tired girl ? " asked Doris. 
 
 " She is still afraid of him : he is so tall, 
 and his cloak is black, and his face seems 
 hard and stern because she cannot see his 
 kind eyes for the darkness. But he goes 
 on singing and I think she is beginning to
 
 A March of Heroes 129 
 
 know he is her friend. Yes, she has run 
 towards him now, and he has taken her in 
 his arms. He is still singing, but much 
 more softly. Listen." 
 
 "She is falling asleep," said Doris. 
 " What is there more ? " 
 
 A stir began among the orchestra and 
 the audience applauded once more. " That 
 is the end. I can see nothing now but a 
 concert platform, with many lights and 
 flowers and big palms. But here's the 
 music again. We must listen." 
 
 The programme called it a Cavalry 
 March and added a wealth of miscellaneous 
 information for the benefit of those who 
 cared to read. Many young men were 
 reading it to the ladies who sat with them. 
 But the Visitor simply waited until the 
 music had lasted for a few moments and 
 then bent down and talked to Doris. 
 
 " Can't you tell what it is ? " he asked. 
 
 "Tell me," she said, and he began his 
 tale. 
 
 " The Queen is there in a gold crown 
 
 i
 
 130 Make- Believe 
 
 and a dress all diamonds and rubies, sitting 
 on a throne that blazes with gold and 
 jewels like the sea at sunset. And all the 
 men who ever have fought for her go by 
 on horseback. Can't you hear the fall of 
 the hoofs, and the clash of swords and 
 harness ? . . . . These are the young men 
 who go by first. They have fought .and 
 won the victory and they are proud of it. 
 Some of them have wounds, perhaps, but 
 they quite forget them, and their sweet- 
 hearts stand looking on, and wave their 
 hands as they march on and on. And the 
 Queen sits and watches them go by, and is 
 proud, because they are all her soldiers 
 .... But listen ! Can't you hear the 
 cheering a long way off? The sweet- 
 hearts and the mothers of the soldiers are 
 not looking at the men who march by. 
 There is some one coming who is a very 
 great man, indeed, and they are all waiting 
 till he comes. The music gets louder and 
 louder : how those trumpets ring out !
 
 A March of Heroes 1 3 1 
 
 The people are cheering and waving their 
 hands. Ah ! there he is at last. Isn't the 
 music splendid ? " 
 
 The music had suddenly grown louder ; 
 the instruments of brass crashed inso- 
 lently. 
 
 "Who is he?" asked Doris, breath- 
 lessly. 
 
 " He's an old, old man in a curious hat 
 with feathers in it. His head is bent 
 forward a little and his lips are tightly 
 closed. He has grey hair and his nose is 
 rather big." 
 
 " It's the Duke of Wellington ! " cried 
 Doris. 
 
 "Of course! I knew I'd seen his pic- 
 ture somewhere. He looks very stern and 
 like a real captain, because men go out to 
 die quite gladly if he tells them to do so. 
 But now he looks up at the Queen and he 
 takes off his hat. His head is bent lower 
 than ever, and you can see that he would 
 do more for her than all these men would
 
 132 Make-Believe 
 
 do for him. The Queen is proud be- 
 cause he is her servant, and so he marches 
 on. 
 
 " Do you notice that the music is 
 changed ? The mothers and sweethearts 
 have gone, but the Queen still watches. 
 These are all old men. The first one 
 looks as though he would have hardly 
 strength enough to walk if you took him 
 off the horse, and the man beside him has 
 lost an arm, and the empty sleeve is pinned 
 across his chest. But when they come to 
 where the Queen sits watching, they do 
 not feel old any longer, and they are just 
 as proud as the young men were just 
 now." 
 
 The music changed. 
 
 " The Queen is proud of these men, too, 
 but they go by without looking up at her, 
 and I fancy they think she is ashamed of 
 them. Their swords are broken and some 
 have lost their helmets. Some are wound- 
 ed and have bandages round their heads,
 
 A March of Heroes 133 
 
 and they all look tired and broken-hearted. 
 You see, they went out to fight the Queen's 
 enemies and they were beaten there were 
 not many of them, and they had to march 
 through a country where they had little 
 food and where they fell sick of the fever. 
 So the Queen's enemies triumphed and 
 these men were beaten. A lot of other 
 men some of those who passed by just 
 now went out and fought with better luck, 
 and the Queen's enemies were driven into 
 the desert and never troubled her again. 
 These men have gone sadly with bent 
 heads ever since, because they let them- 
 selves be beaten ; but if only they would 
 look up they'd see that the Queen is as 
 proud of them as of the others, because 
 they did their best ; and that she loves them 
 a little better because it was their luck to 
 be beaten." 
 
 " Why don't they look up ? " asked 
 Doris. " But the music is changing. 
 Who is coming now ? "
 
 134 Make-Believe 
 
 " There's such a crowd that I can hardly 
 tell you. The streets are full ; at every 
 window there are people waving handker- 
 chiefs, and even the housetops are crowded. 
 The soldiers go by more quickly, and, 
 though the crowd hides a good deal, I can 
 see their plumes and feathers, and I know 
 that they are closer packed. And that 
 I don't think I need to tell you, for you 
 can hear the fife and drum. But a regi- 
 ment of boys is going by, quite lost in the 
 crowd. Yet the Queen can see them, and 
 they, too, make her proud. They've gone 
 by now, and the plumes and feathers pass 
 as they did before. They hurry past, for 
 they all want to get a look at the Queen, 
 
 and now . Why, they've all gone by, 
 
 and there's only a concert platform, decor- 
 ated with flowers and green palms." 
 
 The music ceased, and presently this 
 march of heroes was followed by other 
 music. Doris listened for a while, but it 
 was plain she was no longer interested.
 
 A March of Heroes 1 3 5 
 
 Presently the Visitor suggested that they 
 had better be going, and she was mani- 
 festly well pleased. He had never known 
 her to be impatient of her blindness until 
 to-night, but it was easy to see, as he led 
 her through the crowded corridors, that it 
 irked her greatly now. She was eager to 
 get to the cab, and having reached it, she 
 leaned back in her corner with a little sigh 
 of contentment. The man, conscious of 
 an evening successfully filled, followed her 
 example and lit a cigarette. 
 
 In the gentlest way imaginable Doris 
 expostulated. " Don't, please ! " she said. 
 " You'll make me cough, and I do so want 
 to think about your soldiers." 
 
 The man apologised and flung his 
 cigarette away. Presently, when they 
 stood upon the doorstep, Doris repeated 
 something she had often said before : 
 " There's no one makes me long to see as 
 you do. And yet " 
 
 " Don't you trouble, Doris," said the
 
 136 Make-Believe 
 
 Visitor. " You'll see clearly enough one of 
 these days." 
 
 And Doris wondered, for it seemed to 
 her he spoke almost sadly of the granting 
 of the gift for which she was praying day 
 and night.
 
 A London Picnic 
 
 HERE had been talk of a 
 journey up the river to cele- 
 brate the return of Doris 
 to the sunlight she loved so 
 well. But when the day of 
 her delivery arrived the Visitor was wakened 
 early by the noise of rain against his win- 
 dow, and a glance at the low grey sky told 
 him the expedition must inevitably be post- 
 poned. For the child's sake, to whom 
 sunlight and shadow had been the same 
 for many long days, he was exceeding 
 disappointed, and vainly racked his brain 
 for subtle consolations. 
 
 But Doris was well content. " Even 
 common things, like the rain, and the grey
 
 1 3 8 Make-Believe 
 
 houses, and the people who go by, are 
 pleasant to see again," she said, as she sat 
 at the window looking out into the desolate 
 London street. "And the flowers you 
 brought are wonderful. When I've grown 
 tired of the common things, it will be fine 
 again and we can go upon the river. Then 
 I shall have enjoyed both." 
 
 So the two sat together and looked "at 
 the rain, talking of many things. The 
 afternoon passed pleasantly enough, but 
 the Visitor, vaguely conscious that he ought 
 to find some substitute for the expedition 
 which had been postponed, was not alto- 
 gether happy. Suddenly he had an idea. 
 
 " You've never seen my rooms, have 
 you ? " he said. 
 
 "No," said Doris. "You promised to 
 ask me to tea." 
 
 " Come this afternoon," said the Visitor. 
 " Run along and get permission and then 
 put on your cloak and hat. Be quick : 
 we'll have to go marketing first." 
 
 In five minutes they were in a cab once
 
 A London Picnic 1 39 
 
 more, and another five brought them to 
 the most wonderful shop in London, its 
 window lovelier with many- coloured sweets 
 than any garden with flowers in the spring. 
 The cabman waited in the rain while they 
 entered. "You must do the ordering," 
 said the Visitor. " My part is to pay." 
 
 Doris brought sugared violets and rose- 
 leaves, and beautiful biscuits and cakes. 
 " I think that is enough," she said presently, 
 and they drove to a place where straw- 
 berries were to be had. At last they 
 reached the lofty building that was the 
 Visitor's abode, and mounted to the fifth 
 floor chambers whose windows looked 
 upon a desolate world of cloud and windy 
 chimneys. The Visitor sought his house- 
 keeper. When he returned Doris pointed 
 to the pictures that were so numerous as 
 almost to conceal his wall-paper. 
 
 " What are these ? " she asked. 
 
 "They are pictures of Japan," he an- 
 swered, speaking with a shade of reserve 
 in his voice, for his Japanese colour-prints
 
 140 Make-Believe 
 
 kept him chronically upon the verge of 
 bankruptcy, and excited the derision of 
 many excellent persons among his friends. 
 
 " Tell me about them," said the lady. 
 
 " There isn't much to tell," replied the 
 Visitor. " They are just pictures of Japan. 
 That man with the sword, who stands 
 among the sedges, is an actor ; that pink 
 one is just some girls going out for a holi- 
 day and taking turns to ride on a black 
 horse. Here is a lady, caught in the snow, 
 and this one has been out in the rain and 
 got wet : see, she is wringing the water out 
 of her dress." 
 
 " And this one ? " asked Doris. 
 
 She pointed to a lovely triptych whose 
 acquirement had been a piece of extrava- 
 gance only justified by the improvement 
 that was effected when it replaced a Tot- 
 tenham-Court-Road overmantel which had 
 been in the chambers when the Visitor first 
 entered into possession. 
 
 " Oh," he said, " that is a picnic in the 
 springtime. All those girls have gone into
 
 A London Picnic 141 
 
 the country for a time, and they are sitting 
 under the cherry blossom. See, one of 
 them is so happy that she has written a 
 little song- about the Spring, and hung the 
 paper on the branches so that the birds 
 may learn it. They have pretty names 
 in Japan ; this one may be Miss Blossom, 
 and that Miss Butterfly : they will all have 
 names like the names of fairies." He 
 paused, seeing the child's face. 
 
 "What a pity that we also could not 
 have a picnic ! " 
 
 "Yes ! " said Doris. 
 
 " I wish . . . ." began the Visitor. " Do 
 you know, the Artist has a place just over 
 the way. You'll like him. We will go 
 and have a picnic over there. It will be ' 
 quite Japanese, for he never has any room 
 left on his table and spreads his cloth on 
 the floor." 
 
 Doris did not answer. The Visitor spoke 
 a word with his housekeeper. They passed 
 down a long passage, and then the Visitor 
 knocked at a door and opened it. " This,"
 
 142 Make-Believe 
 
 he said, addressing a young man who came 
 forward, " is Doris." 
 
 " I'm delighted to see her," said the 
 Artist. 
 
 He took some books, drawings, pipes, 
 and things from an old high-backed chair, 
 beautifully carved. " Will you take this 
 chair ? " 
 
 Doris moved across to the chair, and for 
 a space surveyed the great untidy room in 
 silence. There were a few paintings, 
 mostly unfinished, but the majority of the 
 pictures on the walls were drawings in 
 black and white. She did not attempt to 
 investigate them closely, but even so she 
 perceived they had stories attaching to 
 them, and that these stories must needs be 
 fairy-tales. 
 
 "Where is the table-cloth?" asked the 
 Visitor. " All the other things are coming : 
 rose-leaves and sugared violets, straw- 
 berries and very thin bread-and-butter all 
 the necessities of life. The fact is, Doris 
 and I were to have picnicked up the river
 
 A London Picnic 143 
 
 to-day, and as the rain prevented that, we 
 came here, and invite you to join us." 
 
 The cloth was laid. The tea came, and 
 Doris was waited on with care. 
 
 " I see," said the Visitor, presently, " that 
 you are looking at the Artist's pictures. 
 Now, the Artist has more secrets than any 
 man you ever heard of. His experiences 
 would make a whole bookshelf full of 
 fairy-tales, if only he would tell them. But 
 he never will. Ask him about the City 
 Beautiful and the Wonderful Bird. He 
 won't tell you." 
 
 " Please do ! " pleaded the child, regard- 
 ing her new acquaintance. 
 
 "I'd be very pleased," said the Artist, 
 looking most unhappy, " but " 
 
 "You see, I was right," interrupted the 
 Visitor. Then, turning to the Artist, "At 
 least you'll show her the pictures." 
 
 The Artist produced some drawings, and 
 Doris looked at them with grave, interested 
 face. Most of them showed a city such as 
 you may see sometimes when the sun sets
 
 144 
 
 Make-Believe
 
 A London Picnic 145 
 
 in a sky full of broken cloud. But it was 
 evidently a real city, and you could tell the 
 Artist must have known it well who could 
 draw it in so many aspects and yet compel 
 you to recognise that it was always the 
 same city he was depicting. As to the 
 bird, it was a monstrous creature, terrifying 
 of aspect, albeit the pictures showed it for 
 ever engaged in the performance of some 
 useful task, whose object was usually the 
 pleasing of the children of the City Beauti- 
 ful. 
 
 "Do you know the story?" said Doris, 
 appealing to the Visitor as the last drawing 
 was inspected. 
 
 " I suppose I could tell it," was the 
 answer. "The Artist won't." 
 
 " I should be most happy " began the 
 
 Artist. 
 
 " I shall have to tell you myself," said 
 the Visitor, and as he settled to his task, 
 the Artist and the child were equally intent 
 upon the narrative, as if it were new to 
 both. 
 
 K
 
 1 46 Make-Believe 
 
 " Down in the worst part of London, 
 where no flowers could live, even if the 
 people knew there were such things and 
 cared to plant them, there lived a man 
 called Jim Smith. He was wicked, dirty, 
 and stupid, and I don't remember anything 
 about him that is good. But he was the 
 owner of the bird. 
 
 " The fact is, he hated honest work, and 
 used to get his living by all sorts of irregu- 
 lar methods. In the spring he sold water- 
 cresses, and of course he had to go into 
 the country to get them. Early one morn- 
 ing he was coming back to the railway 
 station with a full basket on his back. 
 There were birds singing and flowers 
 everywhere you remember how beautiful 
 it was last spring but he did not notice 
 any of these things. He merely wanted 
 to get back to London and sell his cresses, 
 and spend the money wickedly and 
 stupidly. 
 
 " But presently something caught his 
 eye. It was a big cobweb, and there were
 
 A London Picnic 147 
 
 great shining drops of dew on it. The 
 man saw that it was beautiful, and beauti- 
 ful things always vexed him. He raised 
 his stick and did away with the cobweb. 
 Then he went on his way feeling a little 
 happier. He caught his train to London, 
 sold his cresses, spent the money in drink, 
 and found himself at the police-station at 
 night. The next morning the magistrate or- 
 dered him to be kept there for seven days." 
 
 Doris interrupted. " But where are the 
 Bird and the City ? " she asked. 
 
 " I was wondering myself," said the 
 Artist, handing her the rose-leaves. "And 
 it's my own bird, too." 
 
 "We shall come to that in time," said 
 the Visitor. "In fact, we have come to 
 it now. Doris knows well enough that we do 
 not see the fairies nowadays because they 
 have grown smaller and smaller ever since 
 Christ came. Well, a very tiny fairy indeed, 
 and a prince in his own country, had 
 been caught in the spider's web that Jim 
 Smith destroyed because it was beautiful ;
 
 1 48 Make-Believe 
 
 and he would have been eaten by the 
 spider if the stick had not fallen at that 
 very moment. He was extremely grate- 
 ful, and filled with a desire to do something 
 for his benefactor. Not having a plan 
 ready, he followed Jim into London, saw 
 that he lived in a very terrible region, and, 
 late in the day, beheld him carried into a 
 place whither he strongly objected to be 
 taken, and lodged in a cell that had not 
 even a proper share of daylight. He went 
 back to the fairies and called a council, for 
 he was resolved to liberate the man to 
 whom he owed not only liberty, but life 
 itself. Curiously enough, the place in which 
 the man lived seemed to him not more 
 wretched than the prison cell. He was not 
 accustomed to London. 
 
 " Now, the wonderful bird was the ser- 
 vant of the fairies. You have seen the 
 pictures, and, but for them, I would not 
 attempt to describe him. But he was "- 
 turning to the Artist " how high ? " 
 
 "About twenty feet with neck coiled, I
 
 A London Picnic 149 
 
 think," said the bird's master. " I have 
 never measured him with neck erect : I 
 couldn't get up." 
 
 Once more the Visitor turned to Doris. 
 He began a sentence and then paused. 
 " You'll have to get through these sweets," 
 he said, passing them. "Well, the bird is 
 marvellously big and strong, but doves are 
 not more gentle. It flies almost as 
 swiftly as the daylight, and if ever you 
 should see it overhead you would take it 
 for a sparrow, it always keeps so high 
 above the earth. The fairies met and de- 
 cided to send the bird to fetch away to the 
 City Beautiful the man who had helped 
 their prince. The city is not theirs exactly 
 grown men and women, and any number 
 of human children live there but every 
 one who reaches it does so because they 
 have helped him thither. 
 
 " It is a very beautiful city, and nothing 
 that is bad can find a place in it. No rain 
 falls, no hail, and no snow, but a gentle 
 dew comes in the night, and the season is
 
 1 50 Make-Believe 
 
 always spring, because the things that fade 
 (if there be any) are hidden from sight by 
 new flowers opening, and new leaves that 
 unfold themselves. It was to this place 
 that Jim Smith was to be taken on the 
 back of the great bird. It was given a 
 message to him, for the fairies could not 
 think that the man who had so helped 
 their prince would be unable to understand 
 the bird's talk. To children it seems like 
 their own language, and most of the people 
 one likes find it easy enough if ever they 
 have the luck to get the bird sent to them. 
 It is perfectly plain to the Artist here, and 
 you would understand it better than you 
 understand me." 
 
 Doris had heard too many fairy tales to 
 take a new one very seriously. But she 
 was careful not to emphasise the fact that 
 she knew this was no plain chronicle that 
 she was hearing. If only her eyes had not 
 sparkled you might have fancied she took 
 the whole for Gospel. " Go on," she said 
 politely.
 
 A London Picnic 151 
 
 " Well, the man was released from 
 prison at the end of seven days, and on the 
 next morning went into the country to 
 gather cresses. I need not tell you that, 
 inasmuch as all his stock-in-trade had to be 
 stolen, he had gone into a very lortely 
 region. He was picking hurriedly when 
 suddenly he began to hear a very curious 
 noise. It grew louder and louder, and 
 presently something came between him 
 and the sun. The noise was the whistling 
 of gigantic wings, and as the man looked 
 up, he saw the wonderful bird alighting on 
 the ground hard by. It had come to take 
 him away to the City Beautiful where 
 great honour would be done him. But the 
 man did not understand. On the contrary, 
 as the bird began to move towards him he 
 retreated into the bed of cresses until the 
 water was right above his knees." 
 
 He turned to the Artist : " I believe the 
 bird is rather terrible to look at for the 
 first time ?" 
 
 Doris had listened with an occasional
 
 1 5 2 Make-Believe 
 
 " Yes ? " for interjection. She also turned 
 now to the Artist, and awaited his reply. 
 
 "Oh, if you go by appearances alone, 
 the bird may frighten you a bit. But 
 his manners are magnificent, and his 
 voice " 
 
 " Yes, his voice ! " interrupted the 
 Visitor. "His voice is charming, and if 
 you can understand his message it is ex- 
 ceedingly pleasant to hear, for he has many 
 tales to tell of the city out of which he 
 comes. But, unfortunately, Jim Smith 
 could not understand. However, he could 
 not stop in the water all day for the 
 owner of the cresses might come, and he 
 would be no more merciful than the bird 
 was likely to be so he sought dry land, 
 keeping his eyes upon the bird. 
 
 "This is what the bird said : Why did 
 you stop in the water ? The fairies, grate- 
 ful for the delivery of their brother from 
 death and shame^ have sent me to convey you 
 to the City Beautiful, where a palace is 
 made ready"
 
 A London Picnic 153 
 
 " And the man said : Seems as if 'e was 
 trying to talk. ' Es balmy on the crumpet, 
 selp me Bob" 
 
 " What is that ? " interrupted the child. 
 
 " Oh, he meant that the bird had not all 
 his senses : and was balmy on the crumpet." 
 
 "Ah!" said Doris, "I shall remember." 
 
 " I wouldn't if I were you," said the 
 Visitor. " However, the bird went on 
 trying to explain itself. Once he stooped 
 and showed the man the comfortable place 
 on his shoulders where passengers were 
 made at home on their way to the city. 
 And the final result was that Jim Smith 
 saw the bird was very fond of him, and 
 believed it was a sort of harmless idiot. 
 He tried running into the next field. The 
 bird followed him. " If I could get him 
 to London," he said, "there'd be a penny 
 show as 'ud draw all Wai worth." He 
 trudged on, and the bird still followed, 
 though it explained now and again (if only 
 Jim could have understood) that time was 
 getting on, and delay dangerous.
 
 1 54 Make-Believe 
 
 " To make a long story short, they 
 reached the southern outskirts of London 
 late in the afternoon. The man tethered 
 the magic bird to a big pine-tree in a wood, 
 and lay down to sleep. After dark he 
 woke and led the bird into the City. The 
 bird began not to like the look of things, 
 but he had been sent to get Jim Smith, 
 and a sense of duty made him follow the 
 cress-seller until he found himself locked 
 up in a small and dirty stable somewhere 
 near the Walworth Road, which is the 
 part of London where Jim Smith lived. 
 He was left there in solitude all the night, 
 and suffered much discomfort from the 
 narrowness of his quarters. 
 
 "He was glad when Jim came in the 
 morning, supposing that the business which 
 had prevented his taking advantage of the 
 fairies' invitation was now done. But Jim 
 merely pitched some Indian corn which 
 was not the bird's natural food into the 
 manger, and waited. The bird was 
 hungry and tried to eat the corn. While
 
 A London Picnic 155 
 
 his back was turned, Jim produced a big 
 pair of scissors and clipped his wing. ' 'E's 
 safe now,' he said. ' An income for life ! ' 
 
 " You can imagine how heartbroken the 
 bird was, now that he could not possibly 
 expect to fulfil the duty laid upon him. 
 He only blamed himself, who had failed 
 to make the mortal understand his mes- 
 sage, but his spirit seemed broken, and 
 when the people paid their pennies and 
 came to see him, they were amazed at the 
 gentleness of a creature so terror-striking 
 in aspect. This went on for a week, and 
 Jim Smith grew prosperous, while the bird 
 became thinner and more miserable every 
 day on his diet of Indian corn. Then at 
 
 last But this is not my part of the tale. 
 
 You must ask the Artist for the rest." 
 
 The Artist began promptly. 
 
 " I was wandering in the Wai worth 
 Road," he said, " when my attention was 
 attracted by a crowd that was leaving a 
 stable. A man in a red jersey was show- 
 ing the people out and asking questions.
 
 156 Make-Believe 
 
 " Some great, strong, bare-headed girls 
 came first, to each of whom he put the 
 question, ' Satisfied, my dear ? ' 
 
 " ' Yuss ! ' said they. 
 
 " Small boys were all ' Tommy ' to him, 
 and were questioned. 
 
 ''Then a stout woman in a big white 
 apron and faded bonnet struggled up the 
 stairs, and drew in a great breath of the 
 air, laden with the odour of fried fish and 
 boiling oil from a shop next door. ' Satis- 
 fied, mother ? ' said the showman. ' Yuss, 
 my dear, and more than satisfied.' 
 
 " 'Thank you, mother.' 
 
 " I paid my penny and entered, and 
 somehow the bird (which was very dejected 
 at first) perceived that I could understand 
 his language, and told me what the Visitor 
 has told you. Now I had lately sold a 
 drawing to a publisher and I was rich. I 
 bought the bird and took it home, waiting 
 until night had come and the streets were 
 empty. I keep it in the garden there, and 
 it has told me many things at different
 
 A London Pknlc 1 57 
 
 times. All those drawings, for instance, 
 are done from his descriptions of the 
 city." 
 
 " And his wings ? " asked Doris. 
 
 "The new feathers are coming at last, 
 but the bird is almost afraid to go back, 
 having been so long away. However, he 
 wants me to get to the city, and so he will 
 probably be braver when the time comes 
 to start. Would you care to come with us 
 with me and the Visitor ? There's room 
 for us all on the bird's back, for I shall 
 have no luggage beyond a sketch-book and 
 some pencils." 
 
 Doris hesitated. " I should like to see 
 the city," she said, at last. " But I don't 
 think I can come. There's my garden down 
 by the sea, and all the things in it that 
 belong to me : for a long time since my 
 eyes were bad I have not seen them. And 
 there's the quarry where the blackberries 
 grow, and the little island in the water. No, 
 I don't think I can come with you." 
 
 The Artist looked disappointed, but the
 
 158 Make-Believe 
 
 Visitor appeared to think that she had 
 decided rightly. 
 
 " You see," he explained to the Artist, 
 " Doris has a rather wonderful garden 
 down in the West, and a little island where 
 the mermaids sing in the moonlight, and a 
 quarry where there is a great treasure 
 hidden somewhere, so that, one way and 
 another, she is as happy down there as if 
 she had got to the city. And she is ac- 
 customed to the garden : which is always a 
 great thing." 
 
 "Still," said Doris, consolingly. "I'm 
 sorry I can't come with you."
 
 A Long Journey 
 
 HE Visitor was going a long 
 journey into foreign parts, 
 and there was only one 
 thing certain : that for seve- 
 ral years, at least, he must 
 remain in exile. He had fortunately a 
 brief holiday allowed him, and went into 
 the West country as soon as he was able, 
 taking up his abode in the old white-walled 
 cottage above the village by the sea. It 
 was close upon Easter-time and the spring 
 was at its height. The country quiet was 
 dearer than it ever had been, for the joy of 
 being back was deepened by the know- 
 ledge that very soon this privilege of return
 
 1 60 Make-Believe 
 
 would be denied him. He gave himself up 
 to enjoyment of the present, bidding those 
 hold their peace who knew of his imminent 
 departure. 
 
 Doris had returned to the house in the 
 garden after her first experience of school, 
 and he was rejoiced to find her altogether 
 unchanged. There were things she knew, 
 which had not yet been revealed to her 
 at the time when they two buried Hope 
 together. But the knowledge had not 
 changed her : she was still Doris. The 
 Visitor had feared that he might find her 
 vastly aged and altered, but her twelfth 
 birthday came while he was still in the vil- 
 lage, and the little gift he had found for her 
 occasioned such a demonstration of delight 
 as proved her still the child he had known, 
 and inspired a vague hope that Doris might 
 be the creature so often dreamed of the 
 child who never grows older. 
 
 Perhaps it was this foolish hope that led 
 him to take a little of the beauty from a day 
 which had opened perfectly for her. At
 
 A Long Journey 161 
 
 any rate, it was on her birthday he chose 
 to tell her. 
 
 They were in the garden again, and 
 Doris had been showing him her daffodils, 
 which had opened under the shadow of 
 the hedge, long after their brothers in the 
 sunlight had bloomed and withered. 
 
 " Do you know, Doris, I am going away 
 soon ? " said the Visitor. 
 
 " O," said Doris, "I was wondering 
 when you would tell me that." 
 
 " But- 
 
 " You always do go away soon. But, 
 then, you always come back." 
 
 "Yes," said the Visitor, "I suppose I 
 shall come back. But I am going a long 
 way, across the sea there, to a country so 
 far off, that if you were here of a morning 
 in your garden and wanted me, and if you 
 called me and I could hear, it would be 
 deep night by the time your voice reached 
 me. I am going to the other side of the 
 world." 
 
 Doris did not answer for a moment
 
 1 62 Make-Believe 
 
 Then she spoke very softly, not looking in 
 his direction : 
 
 " For a long time ? " 
 
 " I'm afraid so? " he answered, gravely. 
 
 "You won't come back to work when 
 the summer is over, as the others do ? " 
 asked Doris, thinking of the artists, her 
 friends. 
 
 "I'm afraid not," he said. " I shall have 
 to stop out there and work. More than 
 one summer will go by before I see you 
 again : I shall be quite an old man. But 
 I must send you a gold nugget one of 
 these days, and some precious stones for 
 rings and brooches, if I can find them, for 
 I want you to remember me." 
 
 " I shall remember," said Doris, re- 
 solutely. " But you must not stay too 
 long, or you will be changed. I shall want 
 to know you at once, even though all the 
 others think you are a stranger, and your 
 own dog barks at you when you get to 
 your home. Come back before you are 
 old."
 
 A Long "Journey 163 
 
 " I will come back as soon as I am able," 
 answered the Visitor. " And you will re- 
 member me, all right. There are so many 
 things that only we two know : I will shout 
 out some secret word at once, and you will 
 know it is I. But .... Do you think 
 you will be here then ? . . . . We all have 
 such long journeys to go, and journeys tell 
 on people." 
 
 " I don't understand," said Doris, re- 
 proachfully. 
 
 "If only I had time," said the Visitor, 
 " I could tell you all sorts of stories. It is 
 curious that I sometimes had none to tell. 
 .... You will promise to be here when 
 I come back ? " 
 
 "Of course," said Doris. 
 
 "Then I will tell you a little story: 
 Once upon a time there was a man who 
 wanted to be a king. He was only a 
 gardener really, and on Saturdays he used 
 to cut his biggest cabbages and his finest 
 flowers (except a few, that were so beauti- 
 ful he could not let any one else have them)
 
 1 64 Make- Believe 
 
 and take them to market. So he made a 
 little money. 
 
 "He loved to be a gardener but for 
 some strange reason he wanted to be a 
 king, too, and he was always trying to find 
 a kingdom. I think he would have done 
 rather well, even if they had put him on 
 the throne of England, for he seems to 
 have thought that a proper king is really a 
 sort of servant to his subjects. And he 
 was not particular either : he would have 
 been quite contented if he could have 
 found a kingdom with only one person 
 and himself in it. He only wanted to be 
 a king. 
 
 " Of course he went on searching vainly. 
 Sometimes he thought he had found his 
 kingdom, but he never did. He was just 
 a gardener really, and the people laughed 
 when they heard of what he desired. ' If 
 it comes to that,' said the blacksmith one 
 day, ' why should not every one be a 
 king, and make a kingdom for himself in 
 his own back yard ? '
 
 A Long "Journey 165 
 
 "It is like my treasure ! " exclaimed 
 Doris, as she listened. 
 
 " Isn't it ? " said the Visitor. " Well, 
 the blacksmith gave the gardener an idea. 
 ' I will make myself a kingdom,' he said to 
 himself, ' I will be a king of flowers and 
 plants ! ' 
 
 " So he just stopped his search and 
 went away to his garden. Now that he had 
 disappeared the people wondered what had 
 become of him, for he kept within the walls 
 of the garden (which were very high) and 
 set about the making of his kingdom. 
 But first of all he had a new lock put on 
 the big green gate, so that no one should 
 enter. 
 
 "After this he never troubled about 
 wandering outside the garden. The people 
 missed him a little, for he had gone about 
 doing many kind things, just to show them 
 what a fine king he would make. I fancy 
 he might have found a kingdom out there 
 now, if he had still cared to try. But he 
 had given up hoping, and the blacksmith's
 
 1 66 Make-Believe 
 
 speech seemed to him the only wise thing 
 he had ever heard.. So the people never 
 caught a sight of him, and when they 
 passed by the locked gate they did not 
 guess that he was within. 
 
 "If you had lived in Fairyland, or come 
 on the piskies' gardens that grow on the 
 cliffs, but may only be seen at night, you 
 would be able to guess something of what 
 that garden was like when the man had 
 been working for a year or two. I don't 
 know how it was, but somehow there was 
 always sunlight there (or so it seemed), 
 even when the world outside was cold, and 
 wet, and miserable, and had not a flower 
 in it. And, in the hot summer months, 
 when the fields were parched, and the way- 
 side blooms all slack and wilted, there were 
 dews in the morning and dews at night, so 
 that the flowers over which the gardener 
 was king never felt weary of the sunshine, 
 but were always fresh as the others only 
 are at dawn. 
 
 "They were the loveliest flowers that
 
 A Long Journey 167 
 
 grew on earth. You see, the gardener 
 gave his whole life to them, and thought 
 of nothing else. Early in the morning he 
 was among them, and when it was dark he 
 sat at the door, smelling their sweetness, 
 and thinking of what he should do for 
 them in the morning. I think I have 
 guessed one secret of why his garden was 
 so wonderful. He never gathered the 
 blooms. The buds came, and swelled, and 
 opened, and when their time was come 
 they dropped and mingled with the earth. 
 And so, in the course of time, there was 
 not an ounce of earth in all the garden 
 which had not once been lovely blossom. 
 
 " You can fancy that the seeds planted . 
 in such a soil brought forth flowers the 
 likes of which were never seen before. 
 The primrose was still a primrose or it 
 would have been spoiled but it had some- 
 thing of all the beautiful dead blooms out 
 of which it was made. And there were 
 scentless things asters, hollyhocks, and 
 things like that which seemed to have
 
 1 68 Make-Believe 
 
 the loveliest fragrance, because they had 
 grown where roses had fallen and died. 
 
 " The gardener never picked a flower, 
 but, of course, he would have no weeds in 
 his garden. The walls had been made 
 specially high to keep the flying seeds from 
 entering. Only, I must tell you, he had 
 very curious ideas, this gardener. Some 
 things that most people called weeds he 
 loved and cultivated because they were 
 beautiful ; and, never having been cared 
 for until now, the flowers that were called 
 weeds grew lovelier every day. Also, 
 there were some things the world calls 
 flowers and cultivates with care, that he 
 thought weeds because they were ugly." 
 
 Doris interrupted, " Did he grow dande- 
 lions ? " she asked. " Gardener calls them 
 weeds, but I love them." 
 
 "I'm sure he must have grown dande- 
 lions, Doris," said the Visitor. " I should 
 think you and he would have felt almost 
 the same about most things. It is a pity 
 that you never met him."
 
 A Long "Journey 
 
 169 
 
 " Is he dead ? " asked Doris. 
 
 " It is just a story," answered the Visitor. 
 
 " And not a true one ? I was hoping 
 you would take me to see the garden and 
 the man that was king in it." 
 
 " O, it is true enough," said the Visitor. 
 " But all the true stories happened a long, 
 long time ago ; and you will hear about 
 the garden." 
 
 He paused for a moment ; then, " After 
 a time the gardener had to go abroad." 
 
 "Ah!" sighed Doris, heavily. 
 
 "It was a great trouble to him at first,"
 
 1 70 Make-Believe 
 
 continued the Visitor. "He did not want 
 to leave the garden at all, for he had made 
 it just what he wished it to be, and he was 
 afraid that it would change. Things do 
 change, you know, by merely growing, 
 and he was more and more unwilling to go 
 as he looked on his wonderful flowers that 
 grew on either side of the grey gravelled 
 paths. By-the-bye, I should have told 
 you that his garden looked on the sea, just 
 as this one does, and so to live in it was 
 like watching the road by which he was 
 presently to go away. 
 
 "He did not want to go, but there was 
 no choice left him. So he looked at the 
 high walls he had built, and at the gate 
 which had so strong a lock. ' After all,' 
 he said, ' the walls are high, and the gate 
 is strong. Nothing much can happen to 
 my garden, and if there are changes I will 
 soon make everything as it is now when I 
 escape from abroad.' 
 
 " So one night he packed up his bag 
 and slung it over his shoulders. Then he
 
 A Long Journey 171 
 
 shut the windows of his house and locked 
 the door, and went and stood at the top of 
 the slope, looking down on his flowers that 
 were sleeping in the moonlight. Then he 
 moved away to the gate and opened it. 
 'Goodbye!' he said, 'Goodbye! I will 
 come back ! ' 
 
 " And he did come back ? " asked Doris 
 softly. 
 
 " Not for a long time," answered the 
 Visitor. " All sorts of things happen to 
 people who go abroad. Once a hungry 
 lion jumped upon him out of the forest, 
 and he would have died, had it not been 
 for a trusty friend who was hard by with a 
 rifle. As it was, he lay ill a long time, and 
 when he grew better his face was terribly 
 scarred, and he walked lame. More than 
 once he had fever, for the air was not like 
 the air of his garden, and then it used to 
 seem to him at moments that if only he 
 could sleep soundly he would never want 
 to go back. All sorts of things happen to 
 people who go abroad. Once he went
 
 172 Make-Believe 
 
 walking in a beautiful green meadow, such 
 as he had seen at home in the old days, 
 and there he trod on a snake that bit 
 him. He did not die, but for a long time 
 afterwards he had something wrong with 
 him and did not know weeds from flowers. 
 And then there was his work : he had to 
 do it, but often he felt he would never get 
 to the end of it. Indeed, there was only 
 one thing that kept hope alive in him : he 
 had the key of the garden, which he always 
 carried. 
 
 "At last he came to the end of his 
 labours, and went down to the coast and 
 took a ship for England. He - reached 
 London and took the train from Padding- 
 ton (did I tell you his garden was down 
 this way ?), and when he had come to the 
 end of his journeyings, he passed through 
 the villages and towns to his garden. 
 
 "It was very early in the morning, and 
 he sang for joy as he thought of his king- 
 dom of flowers and how lovely it would be 
 looking :
 
 A Long 'Journey 173 
 
 " O, have you seen my garden in the West, 
 
 And have you seen my roses red and white : 
 The garden I have made, therein to rest, 
 The roses blowing all for my delight ? 
 
 " O, come you to my garden, come away, 
 
 And gather all my roses, an you will. 
 Leave but the buds to flower another day, 
 And, O, my heartsease, prithee do not kill. 
 
 " Now, while he was still singing, he 
 came to a high wall, with a great green 
 gate in it. His voice failed him, and he 
 fumbled in his pocket for the key. Perhaps 
 the joy of being back again had made his 
 hand unsteady. At any rate, he could not 
 get the key into the lock. He tried a long 
 time, and he looked at the lock ; it was all 
 choked with dust and rustiness, and he 
 saw that he could not expect to open it. 
 
 " So he went to the other side of the 
 road, and looked at the wall, to see if he 
 could climb it. Alas ! he had built it so tall 
 and strong that now it was to keep him 
 out.
 
 Make-Believe 
 
 "He began to be 
 afraid. He flung 
 the key away and 
 then rushed at the 
 gate, butting it 
 with his shoulder. 
 The lock had been 
 very strong, but it 
 was now old and 
 rusty, and at last 
 it broke. The 
 gate opened, and 
 the man stepped 
 inside. He just 
 gave one look, and 
 then, forgetting to 
 close the gate 
 which had always 
 been kept locked, 
 he sat down on a 
 great block of 
 white spar, and 
 wept." 
 
 "Why? "asked
 
 A Long "Journey 175 
 
 Doris. "Had some one got into his 
 garden while he was away ? " 
 
 "The wall and the gate had kept every 
 one out," said the Visitor. " He wept 
 because the garden had changed so utterly, 
 simply by growing. He knew well enough 
 that he himself had been altered a little by 
 the events of his long journey. But his 
 flowers had just gone on growing, and the 
 garden was more changed than he. A 
 beautiful rose-tree was grown into a great 
 tangle of thorny branches, and the roses 
 were all draggled with hanging to the 
 earth. A shrub that once had been very 
 lovely had grown bigger and bigger until 
 it had overgrown and killed all the flowers 
 where there had been a wonderful bed of 
 heartsease in the days that he remembered. 
 The daffodils that used to grow all along 
 the front of the house were stifled under 
 the creeper, which had become so heavy 
 that it could no longer cling to the wall. It 
 was all very pretty, in its way, but his 
 garden was gone, and he had not the heart
 
 1 76 Make-Believe 
 
 to change it back to its old beauty by dint 
 of long labour. All the time that he had 
 been in foreign parts, you see, he had been 
 thinking of the garden that he left. Time 
 had utterly changed it, and he could not 
 care for it any longer. 
 
 "So at last, when the morning was still 
 young, he shouldered his knapsack once 
 more and went away from the garden 
 leaving the gate still open. I am told 
 that after he had gone the villagers came 
 and entered the garden. They trimmed 
 and pruned the shrubs, and in the end it 
 became a very nice garden. But it was 
 never what it had been in his time." 
 
 Doris had long had a dim suspicion of 
 allegory, to which she gave characteris- 
 tically naive expression : "Is there a 
 moral ? " 
 
 " I don't think so, Doris, said the Visi- 
 tor, " only ... I am going away in a 
 day or two." 
 
 " I suppose you must," answered the 
 child, sadly. " Well, if you think this
 
 A Long 'Journey 177 
 
 garden will be changed you are quite 
 wrong. But you must be careful to come 
 back just when my daffodils are flowering, 
 and then you will find me here." 
 
 " Ah ! " said the Visitor, " then it is not 
 so bad to go upon that journey." 
 
 M
 
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