CHAPTER XI
MOONSHINE AND FAIRIES
"Good-evening, yellow Buttercups Good-evening, daisies white, Tell me, have you met the Moon-Queen On this pretty night?"
The little singer made a sweeping courtesy.
"How d'you do, Miss Buttercup? Do come here now and meet Mrs. Moon!"With a gesture of exaggerated elegance she led an imaginary Buttercupout to a pool of silver where the bright moonlight slanted through thebranches of an apple tree.
"Now, everybody, bow to Mrs. Moon," and the fairy-hostess bent to theground. Then she snapped her fingers. "On with the music," she cried.Like a spirit she danced off over the grass, now scarcely more than ashadow among the shadows, now full in the moonlight, bending, swaying,leaping, arms outstretched, face lifted.
But the frolic of the fairies in the moonlight came to a sad end, for ahuman hand reached out from behind a tree-trunk and caught themake-believe hostess of Mrs. Moon by one thin arm.
"Lemme go!" cried the child, shrilly.
Nancy, awakened by the moonlight streaming across the rose-cabbages ofher carpeting, had been lured out into the night. Halting at theraspberry patch she had heard the little singer. Cautiously, lestindeed she disturb fairies at their revels she had crept into theorchard. From a hiding place she had watched the child's mad dance.
"Sh-h! I am the Moon-Queen! Let me dance with you!" Releasing thelittle wriggling body Nancy threw off her slippers. "Come!" Wavingher hand she danced down through the apple trees, singing:
In their dress of yellow gold, In their petals white, I can see the fairy folk Gathered here to-night!
From the shadow the child watched her, sullenly, suspiciously. Butwith her loosened hair falling down over her pink dressing gown, Nancyherself looked an eerie little sprite; in a moment the child's alarmvanished. Of course she _knew_ that this must be Miss SabrinyLeavitt's niece, but it was fun, anyway, to pretend that she _was_ theMoon-Queen! And she must be very, very nice not to have "chased" herat once! And she might stop dancing, too, any moment! So out she ranto join Nancy, with hands outstretched, and together they capered anddanced around among the old trees until, quite out of breath, Nancyfell upon the soft grass.
"Oh, goodness me, what _fun_! Now come here, Miss Fairy, and tell mewho you are? _Are_ you a fairy come from the Village of Tall Grass inyonder field?"
The child, completely won, dropped at Nancy's feet.
"I'm Nonie Hopworth."
"Oh-h!" Nancy was genuinely surprised. "Are you Davy's sister?"
The child nodded. "Yep." She regarded Nancy closely. "You're_different_, aren't you?"
Nancy caught her meaning. "Yes, I'm different--at least, I'm notexactly like----"
"Miss Sabriny or--or B'lindy. _She'd_ have chased me! That's why Icome here to play at night. Anyway, it's easier to pretend at night.Do you ever pretend, Miss?"
"Call me Nancy, do! Of course, I pretend, often! I love to."
"Ain't it fun--I mean isn't! I forgot. I play it 'most all the time."
Nancy looked curiously at the strange little figure, almost wraithlikein the dim light. It was hard to believe that the winsome creaturecould belong in Freedom--and to the "no-good" Hopworths.
There was grace in every movement of the thin little body not in theleast concealed by the worn, soiled, out-grown dress. Two dark,burning, eager, questioning eyes told of a spirit that lived above andbeyond the sordid, colorless monotony of a life with old Dan'l Hopworthand Liz, who "didn't believe a feller oughta have any fun!"
"What do you pretend, Miss Nancy?"
Nancy laughed and rubbed the soles of her bare feet.
"Well, once I pretended I was the Moon-Queen and I scratched my poorfeet dreadfully. What do you pretend?"
Nonie rocked back on her heels.
"Oh, lots and lots of different things. My every-day game is Rosemary.She's my make-believe chum. She lives down in the haunted house on theNorth Hero road, only when I pretend, of course, the house isn'thaunted. And it's got lovely glass things from the ceiling for candlesand they sparkle like rainbows and diamonds. Rosemary and I play gamesand we--we read and tell each other stories and sometimes she helps mewith the work, when Liz ain't around. Only Rosemary don't believe infairies. She says that's baby, so when she's away I pretend fairy."
"When the moon shines----"
"Oh, yes, it's nicer then. And you can't play-fairy round our housebecause there ain't--there are _not_--any flowers. So I comehere--there are such lots of pretty shadows--and nice smells. Ipretend all the flowers come out from the garden and have a party.It's fun having the flowers, 'cause you can just _tell_ how they'llact. You know a tulip's going to be awful tall and proud and bow--likethis! And a rose'll act shy, and a buttercup's pert. And a daisy's'shamed 'cause her dress ain't better--I mean isn't. And a dandelion'sawful bold. And a daffy-down-dilly--oh, _they're_ jolly!"
"How perfectly delightful! Tell me more, Nonie. I believe you have awitch for a fairy grandmother!"
Nonie giggled. "That's 'nother of my games. I've had that for a longtime. She's coming some day and touch me with a wand and make me intoa beautiful lady. And I'll go out and step into my carriage and afootman all shiny and white will say: 'To her Majesty's!' And I'll sitin the best parlor and drink chocolate and real whipped cream from cupswith pink roses on 'em, and a page will say: '_Do_ have another pieceof cake, your ladyship,' and--and I'll say, 'I couldn't hold anothermouthful, thanks, I've had five!'"
Nancy and Nonie laughed together. Then Nonie sighed.
"Do any dreams ever come true? I mean the kind of things you sit andthink about and want?"
"Maybe, if you dream hard enough, Nonie," Nancy answered, soberly.
"'Course I know _some_ of the things I pretend can't come true butmaybe some will. Miss Denny told me they might. Only she said I'dhave to make 'em. She's my teacher. I love her. I guess you're mostas nice as she is. She gives me books and tells me when I say badgrammar. She says we must just think beautiful things and then putthem into the right words--but it's hard! I forget awful easy. Shedon't--I mean, she does _not_--think I'm queer. Liz calls me 'loony!'"
"Oh, _no_--Nonie," protested Nancy, "Liz just can't understand."
"But _you_ do, don't you? Miss Denny did, too." Nonie was silent fora moment. "After I've learned a lot more I want to go out in the worldwith Davy and make a fortune. I don't know just how--but I want to dogrand things. There's some places, ain't there--aren't there--that'sso big folks wouldn't know we were Hopworths? Davy says he wants to goto sea and Liz says he'll come to no good end like Pa, but mebbe I cantake him with me." She sighed. "It's awful long off 'til I grow up,though, I'm only twelve."
Then Nonie added slowly, as though she was sharing a secret: "There'sone more thing I pretend. After I go to bed I shut my eyes tight andpretend that a beautiful lady with hair all gold and eyes that twinklelike stars and smile at you, comes and sits by my bed and takes hold ofmy hand and pats it and then kisses me, sort of on my forehead, andsays: 'Good night, sweetness,' like that, in a voice that's soft likemusic and not a bit of the holler-kind!" Nonie gave a little sigh ofrapture. "It's nice, you see, to have a make-believe mother like that!I s'pose a real one wouldn't have time. Anyways, Liz says she'd liketo _see_ a real mother do more for young 'uns than she does!"
Nancy blinked a sudden rush of tears from her eyes. She felt that shehad seen bared the very soul of a child--a soul hungry for kindness andfor love. She reached out and took one of the small hands in her own.
"Nonie--let's you and I play lots together. I can give you books, too.We'll read them together. You can come to Happy House often in thedaytime."
Nonie shook her head doubtfully.
"Liz won't let me. She says there ain't--there isn't--no use my goingoff and leaving my work. She says school's bad enough!"
"Does Liz--punish--you much?"
"She chases Davy and me with the broom sometimes. And s
he scolds, too,but we don't mind, 'cause she's scolding all the time. I wish shewould whip us--or lock us up--or--or send us to bed! It'd be likeother kids, then."
The strangeness of a child longing for punishments that would make herlife seem like other childrens' shocked Nancy! She looked at the thinbody--was poverty starving the physical being while neglect starved thespirit?
"I'll talk to Liz myself. We'll see what I can coax her to do," Nancydeclared resolutely. "We'll be chums, Nonie."
"Oh, then I won't have to play 'bout Rosemary! So, you _are_ as niceas Miss Denny. You don't know her, do you? But she'll come back inthe fall and sometime, I guess, she'll be Mr. Peter's dearest."
"What _do_ you mean, Nonie," demanded Nancy.
"Well, Mr. Peter's the _nicest_ man I know 'cause he's awful--nice toDavy and me, and Miss Denny's the nicest _lady_ and so she'll be hisdearest! He don't--he doesn't--know her yet but he will in the falland so will you."
"I may not," Nancy answered, rather coldly, "so your Miss Denny mayhave your Mr. Peter all to herself. And now something tells me it'stime for fairies to be in bed! If you'll hand me my slippers I'lldance with you to the gate--only we must be very, very still or we'llwaken B'lindy!"
From the gate of Happy House Nancy watched the child's figure disappearin the shadows of the road. In a very little while she would becrawling into her deserted bed, pulling the clothes up over her headand pretending that a mother's hand was caressing her to sleep and avoice that never "hollered" was whispering "goodnight."
"Blessed child," thought Nancy, "her fairy godmother has given her onegift that even Liz can't take away from her--imagination!"