The Little Lady with the Voice
A FAIRY TALE
Marjory Drummond was sitting on the bank of the river, and, if the wholetruth must be owned, she was crying. She was not crying loudly orpassionately, but as she rested her cheek on her hand, the sad salttears slowly gathered in her eyes, and brimmed over one by one, fallingeach with a separate splash upon the blue cotton gown which she wore.
The sad salt tears slowly gathered in her eyes.]
The sun was shining high in the blue heavens, the river danced and sangmerrily as it went rippling by, and all the hedgerows were alive withflowers, and the air was full of the scent of the new-cut hay. YetMarjory was very miserable, and for her the skies looked dark and dull,the river only gave her even sadder thoughts than she already had, andthe new-cut hay seemed quite scentless and dead. And all because a manhad failed her--a man had proved to be clay instead of gold. And so shesat there in the gay summer sunshine and wished that she had never beenborn, or that she were dead, or some such folly, and the butterfliesfluttered about, and the bees hummed, and all nature, excepting herself,seemed to be radiant and joyous. An old water-vole came out of hishiding-place by the river and watched her with a wise air, and adragon-fly whizzed past and hovered over the surface of the sunlitwater, but Marjory's eyes were blind to each and all of these things,and still the tears welled up and overflowed their bounds, and she wepton.
"What is the matter?" said a voice just at her ear.
Marjory gave a jump, and dashed her tears away; it was one thing toindulge herself in her grief, but it was quite another to let any oneelse, and that a stranger, see her. "What is wrong with you, Marjory?"said the voice once more.
"Nothing!" answered Marjory shortly.
"I may, perhaps, be able to help you," the gentle little voicepersisted.
"Nobody can help me," said Marjory, with a great sigh, "nobody can helpme--nobody."
"Don't be so sure of that," said the voice. "Why do you keep this curlof hair? Why do you turn so persistently away from me? Why don't youlook at me?"
Marjory turned her head, but she could see no one near. "Who are you?Why do you hide?" she asked in turn.
"You look too high," said the voice. "Look lower; yes--ah, how d'youdo?"
Marjory almost jumped into the river in her fright, for there, standingunder the shade of a big dandelion, was the smallest being she had everseen in her life. Yet, as she sat staring at her, this tiny womanseemed to increase in size, and to assume a shape which was somehowfamiliar to her. "You know me now?" asked the little woman, smiling ather again.
"N--o," replied Marjory, stammering a little.
"Oh, yes, you do. You remember the old woman whose part you took a fewweeks ago--down by the old church, when some boys were teasing her?Well, that was me--me--and now I'm going to do something for you. I amgoing to make you happy."
"Are you a witch?" asked Marjory, in a very awed voice.
"Hu--sh--sh! We never use such an uncomplimentary word in _our_ world.But you poor mortals are often very rude, even without knowing it. I amnot what is called a witch, young lady. I am a familiar."
Marjory's eyes opened wider than ever; she bent forward and asked anearnest question: "Are you my familiar?" she said.
"Perhaps, perhaps," answered the little woman, nodding her head wisely."That all depends on yourself. If you are good, yes; if you are bad,no--most emphatically, no. I am much too important a person to befamiliar to worthless people."
"I'm sure you are very kind," said Marjory meekly. "But what will youdo to make me happy? You cannot give me back my Jack, because he hasmarried some one else--the wretch!" she added under her breath, but theejaculation was for the woman whom Jack had married, not for Jackhimself.
"You will learn to live without your Jack, as you call him," said thelittle woman with the soft voice, sagely, "and to feel thankful that hechose elsewhere. You once did me a service, and that is a thing that afamiliar never, never forgets. I have been watching you ever since thattime, and now I will reward you. Marjory Drummond, from this timehenceforth everything shall prosper with you; everything you touch shallturn to gold, everything you wish shall come to pass; what you striveafter you shall have; your greatest desires shall be realised; and youshall have power to draw tears from all eyes whenever you choose. Thislast I give you in compensation for the tears that you have shed thisday. Farewell!"
"Stay!" cried Marjory. "Won't you even tell me your name? May I notthank you?"
"No. The thanks are mine," said the little lady. "When we meet again Iwill tell you my name--not before."
In a moment she was gone, and so quickly and mysteriously did she gothat Marjory did not see her disappear. She rubbed her eyes and lookedround. "I must have been asleep!" she exclaimed. "I must have dreamtit."
* * * * *
Several years had gone by. With Marjory Drummond everything hadprospered, and she was on the high road to success, and fame, andfortune. Whenever her name was spoken, people nodded their heads wisely,and said: "A wonderful girl, nothing she cannot do"; and they mostlysaid it as if each one of them had had a hand in making her the clevergirl that she was.
As an artist she was extremely gifted, being well hung in the Academy ofthe year; as an actress, though only playing with that form of art, shewas hard to beat; and she had written stories and tales which were soinfinitely above the average that editors were one and all delighted atany time to have the chance of a story signed with the initials "M.D.,"initials which the world thought and declared were those of one of themost fashionable doctors of the day.
And at last the world of letters woke up and rubbed its eyes very muchas Marjory had rubbed her eyes that day on the river's bank, and theworld said, "We have a great and gifted man among us." "'M.D.' is _the_writer of the time." And slowly, little by little, the secret creptout, and Marjory was feted and flattered, and made the star of theseason. Her name was in every one's mouth, and her work was soughtafter eagerly and read by all. And among those who worshipped at hershrine was the "Jack" who had flouted her in the old days, yet not quitethe same, but a "Jack" very much altered and world-worn, so that Marjorycould no longer regret or wish that the lines of her life had fallenotherwise than they had done.
And often and often, as the years rolled by, and she was still thedarling star of the people who love to live in the realms of fiction,did Marjory ponder over that vivid dream by the riverside, and try tosatisfy herself that it really was no more than a dream, and that theold lady with the sweet clear voice had had no being except in herexcited brain. "I wish," she said aloud one day, when she was sitting bythe fire after finishing the most important work that had ever yet comefrom her pen, "I wish that she would come back and satisfy me about it.It seemed so real, so vivid, so distinct, and yet it is soimpossible----"
"Not impossible at all," said a familiar voice at her elbow.
Marjory looked round with a start. "Oh! is it you?" she cried. "Thenit was all true! I have never been able to make up my mind whether itwas true or only a dream. Now I know that it was quite real, andeverything that you promised me has come about. I am the happiest womanin all the world to-day, and, dear friend, if ever I did a service toyou, you have amply repaid me."
"We never stint thanks in our world," said the little old lady, smiling."Then there is nothing more that you want?"
"Yes, kind friend, just one thing," said Marjory. "You promised me thatwhen we met again you would tell me your name."
The little woman melted away instantly, but somewhere out of the shadowscame a small sweet sighing voice, which said softly, "My nameis--Genius!"