# The House Without Windows/The Mountain

III THE MOUNTAINS
Entwined about the peaks A golden trail of music... Far off, the snow-topped mountains Were sea-waves
would be so easy to take Fleuriss away. She might consent to play, like Toby; but to run away, like Eepersip?—it was a great problem. Eepersip et use some other means than simply appearing and asking her sister to go with her. Perhaps she would entice her on with the assurance that there was something wonderful waiting. Or maybe she id show Fleuriss wonder after wonder—point e beautiful sea from far away, then lead her the little cottage which she had prepared. And if Fleuriss was cold, or hungry, what should do then? Perhaps she would not like roots to eat. Then, suddenly, an idea: she would dress herself up in wonderful flowers interwoven with the ferns, she would lure butterflies about her wreaths, she would bear armfuls of roses and apple-blossoms and lilacs and scatter them over Fleuriss, she would make her a fern dress, and, thus fascinating her, draw her away.
Eepersip wondered where she could sleep, near the house, and yet concealed. She thought of returning to the meadow, but that would be too far for convenient communication with Fleuriss. And ​then she saw a lilac-bush on the eastern side of the cottage—a great tall lilac-bush, thick and with great branches. It looked as though she could go into it. And when she tried, she found, to her great delight, that she could squeeze in, curl up in comfort, and be absolutely invisible from the outside.
Then she began to make her fairy array, weaving more ferns into her skirt, and more and more, until it was thick and flouncy—maiden-hair ferns and Christmas ferns, evergreen ferns and hay-scented ferns. She tucked flowers all over her dress—late daffodils, cosmos, wild geraniums, primroses. She made a girdle of yellow daisies, a crown of golden buttercups; she plucked a bunch of roses, lilacs, and ferns, binding them with daisies woven together. A great bouquet of violets decorated her dress—violets and little white Pyrolas. With a huge hollyhock for her wand and her arms full of lilacs and roses, she danced in the woods, thinking how her little sister would wonder—and follow.
That evening early she climbed an oak which was beside the window of her former room, and peeped in. The moonlight shone on the face of a child lying in a little wooden crib. She had fluffy black curls and bright, snapping black eyes, and she was watching delightedly the shadows of the branches on her wall and softly humming.
​"Oh," breathed Eepersip, "the little sister. I want her, I want her!" Entranced, Eepersip watched, sitting in a crotch just outside the window—watched her as she lay there, tracing with her finger the curving patterns on her wall-paper; as she played her hands in the moonlight and the waving shadows on her wall. And after a while the humming died away, the finger ceased to stroke the wall, her eyes closed, and in a moment she was gently sleeping. Before Eepersip went down she left a fair sprig of apple-blossoms on Fleuriss's bed—apple-blossoms that, with difficulty, she had brought up the tree. When she went back to her lilac-bush she imagined Fleuriss's surprise, when she should wake, to see them on her bed; imagined Fleuriss following her, all fascinated by butterflies and sweet flowers; imagined her little sister climbing mountains with her, eating berries and roots, swimming and diving and dancing; and—Her thoughts began to grow more and more fantastic —the smell of lilacs intoxicated her—and she went to sleep.
In the morning she climbed the tree again. Fleuriss was just waking. Her eyes were turned ​toward the lovely oak-tree, watching the sunlight playing on the emerald leaves. She caught a glimpse of Eepersip as she vanished around the trunk.
"Oh, Mother," she called softly. "I saw a nymph! She smiled at me, and went away."
"Hush, child," said Mrs. Eigleen, coming upstairs and stroking gently the silky black hair. "You were only dreaming."
"No, Mother," returned the child, "I was awake. I saw a nymph, really."
Mrs. Eigleen only smiled.
And then Fleuriss saw the flowers. "O Mother," she cried, " did you bring those to me?" Mrs. Eigleen was wonderstruck.
"Why, no!" she answered.
"Maybe that nymph left them here."
Mrs. Eigleen was astounded enough not to contradict her. "Perhaps," she said.
Eepersip descended again and ran off to her safe hiding-place in the lilac-bush. "She is so, so lovely!" she thought. "I want her more and more."
In a short time little Fleuriss appeared with Mrs. Eigleen. "Fleuriss," said her mother, "you may play here in the garden, but don't go outside it, and don't climb the trees."
​"All right, Mother."
"And don't run off and worry me as you did once before." She had not forgotten Eepersip. Perhaps she scented something in the air. Those flowers troubled her.
"No, I won't."
Mrs. Eigleen went in, and Fleuriss began to run about and play. Then Eepersip stepped out from under the bush, and the lovely butterflies, lured by her flowers, fluttered and hovered around her.
"Oh," said Fleuriss," goodness, how you frightened me. Sit down on the grass, and talk with me. And how do you get those butterflies? They always fly away from me."
"Listen, Fleuriss," said Eepersip. "I am Eepersip, who ran away. The butterflies and birds all love me and come to me in great Hocks when I call them. And I want you. I want to take you with me to live wild, and eat leaves and berries with the birds—sweet red berries. And if you come the butterflies will gather around you, too. They will not any other way. And look at all my flowers! Butterflies love my flowers."
"Oh, did you bring me those bee-yoo-ti-ful flowers?"
"Yes, I did. Come !"
"Oh," answered Fleuriss, "and wouldn't it be ​funny if Mother came out and found me not here!"
"And think—the birds, the butterflies, the flowers! Look, I'd dress you like this, with ferns and flowers and butterflies. And what fun we could have! We would dance and sing and chase each other amongst the fluttering leaves."
"Oo, I could never catch you."
"No, but I could catch you, and that would be as much fun."
"But Mother doesn't like me to eat leaves, and berries all the time make one sick."
"But we would not have berries all the time. We would dig up sweet white roots and wash them clean; and m-m! they are good, little sister Fleuriss. We would have honey. The bees gather honey from the flowers, which they would share with us."
"Bees sting," said Fleuriss, shrinking away; "they sting, and they hurt, Eepersip."
"Oh, but the bees love us all so they don't sting us," answered Eepersip. "It's only the people that try to hurt them that they sting. We wouldn't hurt them."
"Oh, Eepersip! the leaves and butterflies, and—and honey—m-m! But I oughtn't, really," she said, backing off toward the house.
"Oh, come," said Eepersip, "come, don't go ​away. Your Mother wouldn't care; she would love to see how happy you were. Please come." And Eepersip's hands went out in supplication, scattering over Fleuriss wreaths of flowers, sprays of berries, crimson, gold, frosty white.
"Oh how beautiful!" exclaimed the little girl. But when she looked up, Eepersip had vanished.
Suddenly the door opened and Mrs. Eigleen stepped out. Eepersip had darted under the welcome branches of an apple-tree, whose thick blossoms kept her from sight.
"How sweet it smells!" said Mrs. Eigleen— "just as if a fairy had been here. Where did those flowers come from, Fleuriss?"
"Oh," answered Fleuriss, "I saw the most beautiful girl. She brought me flowers and called me 'little sister' and wanted me to go away with her!"
Pale and weak from fright, Mrs. Eigleen took Fleuriss by the hand and dragged her roughly into the house.
Eepersip sat down under the apple-tree in ecstasy. "I saw her," she said softly, "I saw her and talked to her, and—oh, how dear she is ! But I ​do wish she hadn't told about me." She waited there, and in a short time Fleuriss appeared again, running.
"Eepersip, Eepersip," she cried, "where are you?"
In a moment Eepersip had her arms around her waist, kissing her and hugging her.
"Are you coming?" she asked; "have you decided to come, Fleuriss?"
"Y-y-es," said Fleuriss, "I really have, Eepersip. I thought all dinner time, and couldn't eat, I was so 'xcited! But we must go quickly now, or they will run after us."
So they ran quickly into the woods—ran amid the trees and flowers until they were far from the house. Eepersip showed her little sister how to dance, and they danced together. She also showed her how to leap and run fast, and Fleuriss was delighted. When they grew tired, they sat down together and made fern dresses and flower wreaths. Fleuriss followed Eepersip's example, casting aside her dress, shoes, and stockings.
"Oh, how 'licious the grass feels on my bare toes!" she said, "and the soft moss. Eepersip, I feel just like a nymph." (A slight pause.) "When I saw the flowers I said: 'Mother, I think a nymph left them there,' and she said: 'Oh, no, there ​aren't any nymphs. You're only dreaming!' Are there nymphs, Eepersip?"
"Oh, yes, Fleuriss, and if we dance and run and dress just like them, we'll pretend we're nymphs, too."
"But why can't we see them, Eepersip?"
"Oh, we can, if we took very hard. They're all around in the trees, the flowers, and the woods. Sometimes we can't see them, and they turn into butterflies so we can. I can see them."
"Well, sometimes," said Fleuriss thoughtfully, "it seems as if they were everywhere—when it's windy, you know, and sunny, and there are shadows. In my garden it's so beautiful I think there must be nymphs. I can feel them, not exactly see."
There was a pause.
Then—"Where we going now, Eepersip?" for Eepersip was gradually working off to a hill which was a peak of Mount Varcrobis, north of Eiki-ennern Peak.
"Fleuriss," said Eepersip, with a strange emotion in her voice," have you ever seen the sea?"
"No, but I heard Mother talking about it once. She said maybe you had gone down there; and she told me it was lots of blue water, and there were boats there. Did you really go there?"
"Yes; it's so beautiful, Fleuriss. The sun makes ​the waves sparkle like gold, and the great white gulls with their long, narrow wings go gliding, circling over the water, sometimes plunging down and catching fish underneath. And there is white sand there, soft sand, and shells and pretty pebbles, and little fishes swimming. And when its windy the waves come dashing up on the rocks, flinging spray high in the air. And there is sea-weed, too, Fleuriss, green sea-weed that goes floating up and down as the waves stir it. And corals, too. Oh, my little sister, it's so, so beautiful. I would show you how to leap into it from the rocks, and how to swim—to be a mermaid and play with the gulls and the fishes, dressed all in sea-weeds!"
"Oh, Eepersip I let's go now!"
"And I have a little cottage down there for you to live in—a pretty little cottage just like your home."
"Oh, how nice!"
"And we shall go riding up and down on the great waves, Fleuriss, while the sea-gulls scream over our heads. We shall go 'way out of sight of land and find islands and rocks out there. And the waves are tremendous when it's windy—very windy."
"Oo—"
"Fleuriss!" And Eepersip caught her little ​sister in her arms—glad that she had succeeded in entrancing her with the sea.
"But, Eepersip," said Fleuriss, doubtfully, "where are we going now?"
"I thought, Fleuriss, that we'd go to that great hill over there—do you see?"
"Yes."
"Go over there so that you can see from 'way of how beautiful it is."
"Oh yes; I'm crazy to see it!"
Eepersip saw that this hill was wooded on one side, but on the far side it was like a pasture—side, she could see sunlight glinting on it. On they went, often stopping to pick flowers, to dig up roots, or to refresh themselves at some little tinkling brook or mossy spring. Once as they were pushing through a fence of low beech-branches they came to a spring all surrounded with green moss—oh! so soft. There were ferns nodding beside it, and one or two strange pink orchids gazed at themselves admiringly in its surface. At the bottom were white stones. A cool, green frog plopped into it as they arrived. And Fleuriss was fascinated. She sat there for a long time, watching him reappear for air, then bob down again when he saw that they were still watching him.
Again they came into a great meadow dotted ​with flowers. Butterflies with soft wings stroked Eepersip's cheeks caressingly. Fleuriss danced through the flowers, looking, as Eepersip thought, like a little butterfly herself. The sky was a heavenly deep blue—a rich deep blue, yet filled and sparkling with all the gold of the sun and all the coolth of snow. She could see for miles into it, as if it had suddenly come nearer than usual. She reached up and could almost see her fingers touching it. What a strange sensation!
But Fleuriss had a stranger one. As Eepersip danced along, it seemed as though her feet barely touched the ground. The flowers and grasses swayed gently beneath her, but they were not crushed. And Fleuriss felt a bit of dread coming into her mind—dread of living and staying with this strange sister. What if she should grow tired of Fleuriss and run off? Suppose she should change into a tree—a leaf—a sprite? But Fleuriss fought with this feeling—because she wanted to live by the ocean, and to do the things that Eepersip had promised.
After a while they came to the foot of the great hill. They slept down there, near a tiny lakelet, in ​the soft grass and among the flowers, with the tinkle, tinkle of a little brook in their ears all night. The next morning they climbed the hill together, and it was very steep and rocky. Fleuriss had to be helped often, and grew tired before she reached the top. But Eepersip lured her on by the promise of seeing the ocean, and they struggled painfully up.
The sea stretched away to the horizon, blue and sparkling as it met the sky. Fleuriss was spellbound.
"Eepersip, is that the sea?" she asked.
"Yes, Fleuriss—the sea, the sea!"
Off to the north was a range of high blue-green hills, and off beyond them higher ones, and higher—billowing mountains—and beyond them was a range of snowy peaks, rising, sharply outlined, into the blue. The lakelet where they had slept was like an opal set with dark green pines. But those mountains—! never before had Eepersip seen anything like them. The sea was not nearly so beautiful. And again she felt that longing which she had felt when she saw the sea—but a more passionate longing.
And Fleuriss? How could she climb those great peaks—she, who had had great difficulty even with the little hill? Well, Fleuriss could grow more ​used to such things, and then they would go together. But Fleuriss—Fleuriss barefoot, dressed in ferns—on those snowy summits! No, it would be impossible for years and years. She would have to wait—or else go alone.
But the hill had other things than just the view. For there were the loveliest little winding lanes, and bright open places, and close spots where they could hardly push through the bushes; great patches of delicious soft grass, then again enormous smooth-topped rocks from where they had first found the long-sought vision of the sea. Such feasts as Nature laid before them! There were great beds of the most delicious wild strawberries, and nobody to sham them with but the birds. And they and the birds gobbled them; and it seemed as if the more they ate the more there were to eat; they ripened all the time. And in this marvellous place there were such contrasts! They could have anything they wanted there. There were places where the sun always struck brilliantly, and cool, shady ones for the hot days—places where not much sun ever came. There was the loveliest of soft grass, and then again nothing but brambles and heaps of pointed rocks. There were lanes leading through the woods occasionally, and there were places where no one would ever suspect that ​there was any such thing as a lane. There were little fairy glades where they could dance together—glades bordered with ferns and carpeted with moss.
Fleuriss and Eepersip lived there enchanted day Fleuriss and after day, and although they often saw the sea, they did not wish to leave the hill. Fleuriss spoke about several times, but Eepersip would hurriedly change the subject. That range of blue hills seemed to be calling her—she would forget the sea for a while, until the next year. After they had stayed where they were for some time, they would go on and on to the blue hills, and perhaps explore the great snowy mountains beyond. She could manage with Fleuriss somehow.
One day they went exploring farther than ever toward the east. They followed a narrow path, winding, winding through the bushes. And then it curved around toward the north-east and led through low laurel-trees, and here Eepersip stopped to make for Fleuriss a crown of the blossoms. And again the path turned and came on to a broader gravel road all bordered with gorgeous roses of red and white, and Fleuriss was very much surprised at their magnificent beauty. But Eepersip was distressed. So they had come to a place where there were roads, houses, and people! But ​there was any such thing as a lane. There were little fairy glades where they could dance together—glades bordered with ferns and carpeted with moss.
Fleuriss and Eepersip lived there enchanted day after day, and although they often saw the sea, they did not wish to leave the hill. Fleuriss spoke about it several times, but Eepersip would hurriedly change the subject. That range of blued hills seemed to be calling her—she would forget the sea for a while, until the next year. After they had stayed where they were for some time, they would go on and on to the blue hills, and perhaps explore the great snowy mountains beyond. She could manage with Fleuriss somehow.
One day they went exploring farther than ever toward the east. They followed a narrow path, winding, winding through the bushes. And then it curved around toward the north-east and led through low laurel-trees, and here Eepersip stopped to make for Fleuriss a crown of the blossoms. And again the path turned and came on to a broader gravel road all bordered with gorgeous roses of red and white, and Fleuriss was very much surprised at their magnificent beauty. But Eepersip was distressed. So they had come to a place where there were roads, houses, and people! But ​as yet they had seen no house. Eepersip hoped that there would be none, for she was as entranced as Fleuriss with the beauty of it all. And then they switched off on another little path, leading southeast on to a wide lawn all bordered with marvellous roses. Here they danced together a long time. Next they turned into another gravelled path which led eastward, through clumps of roses and laurel, downhill and uphill, for a long way; and then they saw a garden brilliant with colour. Fleuriss was dazed, there were so many flowering bushes—rhododendron, laurel, honeysuckle, azalea, quince, and fire-blossom. Hummingbirds, bright emerald and ruby with moonlight wings, were darting and sparkling about, sipping honey, resting and quivering on the air.
But soon after they had discovered the garden, Eepersip said that she was going on a short journey, coming back in two or three days. "Will you be all right here alone, little sister?" she said anxiously.
"Oh yes, Eepersip, and I'm going to find lots of things to show you when you come back. But where are you going?"
"I'm going—going—to a beautiful place—and take you there sometime."
"Oh—I see. Can't I go now?"
​ "No—because—it would be too hard now. Wait till I go and find the easiest way for you."
"All right—good-bye!"
And, with a rustle of ferns, Eepersip vanished around a great rhododendron-bush.
Fleuriss continued her explorations alone. She saw a gorgeous butterfly come sailing toward her, of yellow streaked with black. Others followed, and they covered her with soft wing-caresses, crowning her head with their wings. Fleuriss thought (as Eepersip had told her) that they were the fairies turning themselves into butterflies so that she could see them.
Not a mouse stirred when she wormed her way through the bushes, taking care not to step on leaves or dry twigs so as to make a noise. And then the sun started to set and turned the whole sky golden and rose. Fleuriss crept in among a vine with golden flowers (there was no rich purple fruit yet, only the lovely flowers) and watched. And, lo! each leaf was quivering, and on their smooth surfaces was represented another miniature sunset. How marvellous the rose and gold looked through the mass of trembling green leaves
​ Then Fleuriss squeezed her way out of the bush and began to explore again. Pushing northward in the dim, rosy light, she came to a smooth lawn of pale green moss. On the other side was a stretch of woods, then another lawn, of grass this time and smaller; and then there was a great row of massive pines and beyond them an opaline lake. And still the sun went down, and the mass of colour became smaller and brighter, and Fleuriss, who had never seen so much beauty in her little life, gazed and gazed. The colour faded slowly, slowly, as she watched, until only a deep flush was left, and it was then that Fleuriss thought she was in the heart of a giant rose. And—inconceivable—she looked, and she was. She was sure of it. She could even see the great curling petals around her. Right at the sun was a burning spot. That was the pollen of the great flower. And this tiny fire burned and burned until only one bright red spark was left. Then it too went out, and after it all the rose colour faded away.
Then Fleuriss turned to the lake, which also had held in its bright blue surface an image of the sunset. The sky was deep blue now. The pines looked even darker against it, and in the lake Fleuriss could see the reflection of the crescent moon setting. And then she ran down by the side of the lake, ​and very dark and strange it looked in the evening. Dipping her little hands into the clear, crystal water, she drank, for she was thirsty. But she was too tired to appreciate any more beauty just then, and so she crept back to her little nest of flowers to go to sleep. Then she heard a gurgle of sweet silvery music, and she listened spellbound, entranced. But it was no wicked witch, seeking to entice her by spells: it was the solitary wood-thrush, that superb singer of the dusk. And then Fleuriss dropped off to sleep.
The next morning dawned fair, and she rose bewitched with what she had been through. The sunset and the silvery notes of the thrush all came back to her. She went down by the lake. It was very different now. Its blue was sparkling with the rays of the sun, whereas before it had looked very solitary—an icy cold blue. There was no beach—just a grassy bank—and in the shallow water she saw some little silvery fishes swimming and playing in shoals. And she watched them in their happy play for a long time, fascinated by the way they raced after each other around the shining stones and pebbles. Because they were no bright and gleaming, poor little Fleuriss thought that they were some rare and unheard-of fish, little dreaming that they were just common minnows.
​ Eepersip came back that day in a strange way. Fleuriss was looking down on the meadowy side of the hill, where the long green grass waved in the wind and butterflies were fluttering. And us she looked, suddenly—there was Eepersip standing in front of her. She had come from nowhere—she was just there without coming at all. Fleuriss was appalled. She remembered that strange dancing—was her sister about to melt into the air? Fleuriss stood stock-still.
Finally she raised her head and said, at first faintly, but with growing enthusiasm: "Oh, Eepersip, last night there was a great rose, and I was inside it—and I found a beautiful lake with fishes in it—oh, wonderful fishes of silver—and the beautiful birdie sang me to sleep in the flowers." And then, her voice sounding strangely timid: "O Eepersip—I want—Mother—to see it—so beautiful. I love—it here, but——I know Mother would like to see it, too. And I guess I can't get along without her. I guess I can't, Eepersip."
Eepersip was broken-hearted. "But, Fleuriss," she said—and Fleuriss shuddered a very little as Eepersip took her hand—"Fleuriss if your mother came, she would take you back home, and you would not be here any more. If she would ​come to see it, all right, but she would not—and so you would not see it either. Come on, show me the lake you found."
Fleuriss was happy in a flash. Laughing and dancing, she took her sister down to the lake and showed her the wondrous fishes. They went in bathing together, and Eepersip showed Fleuriss how to swim, as she had shown Toby. Fleuriss was wild with joy. Then they splashed each other and played tag in the water. Eepersip puzzled Fleuriss by swimming under water, and Fleuriss would scream with delight when she came up in a totally unexpected place. This new pastime kept them happy for several days.
But again Fleuriss began to grow miserable—and homesick.
And again Eepersip resisted this feeling for a long time—two or three weeks of misery. But at the end of that time she began to think.
To begin with, she thought about where she had been on that little expedition of hers. She had been up toward those blue hills to see from nearer the snowy mountains. She had loved them more and wanted more than ever to go to them. She asked ​Fleuriss if she would not like to climb the high peaks with her. But Fleuriss replied, almost snappishly: "You know what I want, Eepersip."
Of course this misery weighed down Eepersip's mind frightfully; she was very uncomfortable. And then she began to think that after all she would want to be alone when she went amongst the mountains; Fleuriss would be all right if she were happy, perhaps, but a miserable companion would be unendurable. Perhaps she had made a mistake in taking Fleuriss away. Maybe it was true that they had to go in different directions—that she herself could not live at home, and that her little sister could not live elsewhere. And even in Eepersip's untamed heart there was a bit of pity. And she found that that pity kept growing. How badly the Eigleens must feel, after all! Once she smothered it with the thought, "No, she will be happy if she stays long enough, and they will forget her." But it only began to grow again.
Up to this unhappy time in Fleuriss's flowers had not withered or drooped: in this they were like those of Eepersip. But now Eepersip noticed that for some peculiar reason hers only stayed fresh and sweet. And then she thought again about the mountains and about those poor wasted flowers, and the pity grew and grew.
​And one happy, happy day for Fleuriss, Eepersip led her safely home again.
"Good-bye, Fleuriss," she said. "I'm sorry you wouldn't stay with me."
"Yes, I know, Eepersip, but I just couldn't. Why don't you come home—you've been away so long?—and Mother cries for you still. Please come."
"Oh, Fleuriss, I couldn't. If I were to go back home now, I should just die—even with you."
"Good-bye, then. Sometime I'm going to take Mother to see that beautiful hill."
"But not for a long time?"
"As soon as I can."
"Don't."
"Why?"
"You know. Please don't."
"Well, I'm not sure. I'm going to—pretty soon. Good-bye, Eepersip—Aren't you ever coming home?"
"Oh, Fleuriss, no!"
"I wish you would."
"But I can't."
"Won't you let me take Mother and Daddy to live over there?"
"Well, after a while—if you want to. I shan't be there."
​"Why, where are you going?"
"I'm going to the beautiful, beautiful white mountains. And then maybe the sea again, Fleuriss—the sea."
"Oo!"
"Coming?"
"NO! I'll ask Mother to take me to the sea. She will."
"Then—good-bye!"
And she decked Fleuriss's fern dress with beautiful flowers—a crown of them and a girdle. A sweet wind arose, carrying the scent of Eepersip's flowers to Fleuriss. A few butterflies were blown over to her. Eepersip stood on her tiptoes an instant: then, quick as a flash, she whirled about and bounded off, free—relieved of a gigantic burden.
She went up to the lovely hill and stayed there a few days, amid the dancing butterflies and the gorgeous roses. At the lake she would dream hour after hour and watch the little jewelled minnows playing about the white stones and shining pebbles. In the evening she crept into a great bed of thick vines with flowers of white and gold, and listened to the lapping of the waves and watched ​the twinkling fireflies. They were her favourites, those poor ignorant little insects. She loved them as well as the delicate, gauzy butterflies, the sweeping swallows with their slim white wings, or the great gold-and-black bees. She adored them all, but the tiny blue-black fireflies, with thin gauze wings and the spot of phosphorescence showing now and then, were perhaps the loveliest of all. How she liked to see them playing about at dusk, sparkling and gleaming—little stars of the trees, in golden waves across the sky.
Sometimes, when they began to come out, she would go forth and dance and skip with myriads of them clustered in her hair. Around each invisible fern and blossom in her dress would gather a row of the little insects, until finally one could have seen her entire form bordered with fireflies. And besides these which alighted on her dress, thousands gathered swarming about her, so that her head was entirely hidden in a maze of gold.
Sometimes she would sleep at night and in the daytime play with the butterflies, birds, and bees. But now she began to sleep more and more in the day and play about at night.
One cool morning Eepersip went down the lovely hill that she and Fleuriss had found. She walked down and then out toward the pastured ​side of the hill. Here she stayed for a long time. She lived in the golden smell of steeple-bush, and instead of the wild strawberries that she had had on the hill she found great crops of blueberries. And in this pasture she had a sample of a new food—checkerberries. To be sure, she had eaten the leaves often enough, but to see the waxen white berries was quite new. These also she tasted and found greatly to her liking. She would lie and eat hundreds of those white berries which tasted of the woods. They were almost as good as the blueberries.
Now this pasture formed a steep hill, and one delicious morning when a soft, warm wind was blowing rather strongly, Eepersip climbed to the top of it. And oh, what a sight met her dark brown eyes! Far and near, far and near rose mountains, mountains, mountains I Stretching away, fold after fold, layer after layer, rose marvellous blue peaks, with the dazzling light of the sun brightening the white granite at some of their tops. Peak after peak rose up around her, lake after lake stretched out in the dim blue distance, with the sun striking them until they were a mass of gold, like great precious stones in that setting of purple mountains. She could make out three or four farmhouses, but no villages. She stood there entranced, watching.
​ Then down she dashed, through the tall grass sprinkled with buttercups and daisies. It seemed miles. but it also seemed no more than seconds. At last she found herself by the shore of a cobalt lake. It was almost perfectly round, with a group of tiny green islets sprinkled in it like a handful of emerald beads. No house could Eepersip see, for the lake was entirely surrounded with low green-blue hills. The shore was for the most part soft white sand, fine as pepper. With a cry of joy at the discovery of this beautiful little lake Eepersip dashed into it and swam in the cool of those waters from the mountains. And then she saw, playing up and down in the shallow water just off one of those many beaches, a shoal of slim fishes. They were all silver except one or two that were gold, and they had rather bulging red eyes.
For a long time Eepersip watched them. Then something caused her to look up. This something was the strange, shrill cry of a bird above her. She looked up suddenly and saw the bird. But she did not watch it, for the glint of something white—a strange whiteness which she had never seen before—caught her eye. She gazed long upon it, until, when her eyes became accustomed, she was able to make out the outline of a peak, going up sharp as a tooth, with bumps of smoother outline ​stretching away, away into the blue immensity of space on either side.
"Oh," said Eepersip, " a dream! Oh, what a beautiful dream! But—I feel so wide awake."
She gazed and gazed, silent.
"Oh," she said again, after a while, "it cannot be a dream, it mustn't be a dream!"
She gazed and gazed again.
"Oh," she repeated, "I must go there at once! The snowy mountains!"
She plunged into the beautiful, icy lake and swam across it with never a thought of the beauty in the green depths around her. Her eyes were fixed upon that one thing only. Soon she reached the opposite shore, consisting only of thick woods. Her heart—that heart beautiful, yet with a certain sense of childlikeness in it which had never left her—was mad for a glimpse of those mountains. It was then that she felt as if there were a great bird in her, pulling her, hauling her forward, regardless of the thorns and nettles which tore her delicate dress of ferns and blossoms. At last she got through the forest and found herself in an open meadow, with the wondrous mountain before her and warm rain falling gently. She saw a farmhouse, and as she went along the simple peasant farmer saw her and muttered to his wife: "Look ​there. Mary." Mary looked, and then she said: "Ay, God hath taken this child into his care—ignorance demands mercy."
A moment of intense thought. She gazed and gazed, bewitched. Then she gave, or tried to give, a little laugh. It did not sound. "Oh," she tried to say, "how queer I feel! I believe I never felt so queer." And indeed she did feel queer. For she felt the feeling of speaking to her heart. She was talking, it seemed to her, loudly, but when, even in the midst of her talk, she listened, nothing sounded.
After a few seconds, it seemed, she ran on, leaping through the wet. Raindrops gathered on the ferns and the flowers of her dress, outlining them with the pearly water. She looked like a rain-fairy. Hour after hour passed, and she went like the wind itself; yet she did not tire. At last she found herself near the foot of that wondrous mountain, shimmering with snow-fields, cold white against a deepening night sky.
That night a bird of modest wood-colour, with speckled breast, sang of moonlight; and, rippling faintly, softly, came echoes from his silver-tongued mate. They sang, and they answered, and the moon-frost-tipped pines were quiet, and clouds floated near, snowy palaces of silence. Spellbound, Eepersip was borne away to fairy kingdoms where ​she danced • and where birds sang the only melody in the world.
The next morning the sun came out and shone through every raindrop in splendid crimsons and purple-greens. Eepersip looked about her and discovered a little plant with a peculiar flower of white and crimson. She found that its leaves were quite delicious, unlike anything that she had had in the meadow or by the shore of the sea. They were green—a strange pale green, delicately outlined and veined in marble white and pale gold. Eepersip loved their pleasant flavour, but could not bear to touch them, they were so beautiful.
Then she looked up and beheld the strange rough outline of the mountain, and far in the distance, almost on the top, was a great snow-field, on which the sun shone directly, covering it incredibly with brilliant tints and shades of gold. And, oh, the bright green foliage, shining in the dear golden light!
"Fairyland!" whispered Eepersip. "I loved the meadow, I loved the sea more, but even before I am really in the mountains, I love them the best of all." Then, after a pause, she added: "That ​snow-field of gold, these heavenly little flowers—oh, such beauty!"
After a few more moments of breathless gazing, gazing upon everything, she started up the mountain. The first few hundred yards she followed a faintly marked trail which led through dense woods, over great boulders covered with dark green moss. Occasionally a little rushing brook trickled across her path. For quite a way Eepersip kept climbing over the huge boulders, and the path was very mossy. After a while it began to grow fainter and harder to follow, and at last it was shut off entirely by the thick bushes and trees which surrounded it. Here she sat down to rest and to think a while.
She looked about and came upon a bubbling spring, at which she drank. No water she had ever found was like this. It tasted of the strong, delicious mountain air. She drank deeply, and, when she had quenched her thirst, continued her way. Here flowers which made her think of foam at sea—white, star-like, with silver-tipped petals—twined themselves among the trees mingled with wild roses—dawn-flowers of deep pink or sun-bright yellow. Strange orchids grew about, many of them pure white and fringed like fluffy clouds. One had green blossoms with long whitish spurs— ​mystic flowers on tall spikes with two smooth leaves. Yellow lady-slippers made her think of butterflies with folded wings, or of the sun peeping out from dark clouds. But the loveliest of all were pink orchids—hosts of them with more deeply tinted lips fringed like fairies' fingers: hosts of them on slender stems, each stem a dawn-sprite's wand.
"Like the dawn I saw once," she thought, "when snow-pink fringey flowers wreathed the sky. The sun was pleased and smiled. I danced for him, and the bobolinks and skylarks greeted him with song." There were tall flowers, too, pink silk beneath white tissue, with very dark and curious leaves up the stalks among the blossoms. Butterflies were playing like sun rays, winging softly from flower to flower. And as she went on she passed through forests of thick bushes and poisonous thorns, open pine-groves, and great pastures smelling of hay-scented ferns and budding steeple-bush. All the time the path, or rather the easiest way through the thick bushes, had been fairly level, but now it began to shoot up steeply, and it was all Eepersip could do to keep herself from sliding back in an avalanche of pebbles and stones. A bit of tough scrambling followed, and at last she broke out on a comparatively level piece of ground. ​on one side of which was a deep ravine in which she heard a brook rushing and rippling. On the other side of the ravine was a peak of the mountain, crowned with snow and with the sun flashing upon it.
Eepersip longed to see the brook, which, by the sound, she judged to be quite large. She was not actually afraid to go down over those steep walls of dirt and sand, but she was rather afraid that, once being down, she would not be able to get up again. So on she went, and it grew so steep that, even by digging her feet into every crevice and clutching the roots of the trees, which were getting much scarcer and more stunted, she could just manage to cling on.
But at last a change came. She stood on that high peak, on which there were only bare rocks and a little snow, no roots or plants. On either side it went down, down, and it was getting late in the afternoon. She could see nothing to do. Still the highest peak was many miles ahead, and she knew that she could not make it in the remaining daylight. So she climbed warily down into a little crevice, where a few ferns and luscious mountain blueberries managed to grow. She ate a supper of these and of another hardy little berry which she found; then slept in peace till daybreak, her tired ​mind dreaming of strange things—of deep palaces at the bottom of the sea and snow palaces at the tops of the mountains; of fairies, nymphs, and elves.
In the morning she breakfasted on the mountain blueberries again, and found, much to her delight, that they quenched her thirst almost as well as water. After her juicy breakfast she went on down for about a mile; then up, up again on sheer walls of rock, where there was not a sign of a plant of any kind. After a stretch of difficult climbing snow again began to appear, as the slope became more level. Eepersip went down through a snug hollow in the rocks, where it was thick with small, scrubby trees and where very little snow had managed to penetrate the thick branches.
Oh, but it was cold up here on these tremendous heights; the wind was keen and shrilly whistling. But, however cold, it was a mountain wind, an exhilarating mountain wind which made Eepersip leap into the air—leap and dance as on the meadow. Then, after she had rested a while under the welcome branches of the stunted firs and eaten tart mountain blueberries again, she went on, up ​out of the hollow and on to the solid rock covered a deep snow, into which she sank at every step. Mother mile she trudged. along, pulling herself through it. And still the mighty peak retreated before her, so that she could make no progress—or, at least, it seemed so. It seemed as far away and as faint in the snowy distance as from where she had been when the night had come on—a dreaming peak caressed with fingers of mist.
At last the ground went up abruptly again. However steep, Eepersip found it much easier, being there wasn't so much snow. It rose and rose, becoming more gradual, until she stood on another high peak, looking off over a tremendous range of mountains. Large flakes of snow were falling gently, so that she could not see much of these. She thought that she was now on the highest peak, and she sat down to wait for the snow to cease and give her a clear view. After a time it did; and then, and not until then, she saw another peak, the true summit of the mountain, going up, up, and up on the other side of a deep valley into which she would have to descend. After sucking a few handfuls of the pure mountain snow, she set off with a light heart and a happy spirit, her feet falling fast through the light drifts. After a while she got down into the valley; and here she came upon a ​brooklet full of icicles, winding through the long ravine and dashing over the green slimy rocks in great cascades of rattling icicles and foam. Eepersip drank deeply, and was refreshed.
Then, after resting a few moments, she went on, up that steep wall of snow and rock which would take her to the longed-for summit. Eepersip counted sixteen brooklets rushing down over it, tarrying hundreds of icicles with their currents, foaming and dashing with spray and myriads of shiny iridescent bubbles.
Across brook after brook she went, watching the colours change in the dazzling snowflakes. The sun was shining brilliantly now, making everything unimaginably beautiful in magnificent shades of ruby, copper, silver-gold, emerald, and sapphire. Each snowflake seemed covered with an almost invisible layer of they sparkling gems. And once, when Eepersip sat down in a deep snow-bank to watch and to rest, the sun happened to strike directly on one of the many brooklets that went dashing down the mountain-side, making it a blinding ribbon of silver and gold. Occasionally Eepersip saw the blossoms of the beautiful talatuna, with ruby-red leaves and blossoms of pale green and changing white. She thought that the leaves were all red, but when the wind flipped one over she saw ​that their backs were moon-white, pale but glistening.
On she went, through the incredible beauty of the fairyland about her. "Oh," she murmured to herself, "how marvellous it is! Oh, fairies, fairies." She whirled happily around. She had felt a few delicate touches on her shoulders, and at once the air was a-flock with glistening snowflakes. Each fern in her dress was bordered with a row of the fairy things, and her autumn hair was crowned white.
After a while a slight breeze sprang up and the big flakes whirled faster. The breeze rose and rose until it was a strong, cold wind, and she could not see a foot before her. The only thing to do was to wait for clear weather. But in that she was disappointed, for it was growing darker and darker, and at last she realized that night was coming on. So she lay down and ate a supper of snow, as it fell and fell.
All night the snow whirled and whirled, and in the morning Eepersip was completely buried. It was a long, hard task to find her way out, or rather to push her way out, for almost as fast as the snow ​fell it froze into ice, so that there was on top of Eepersip a thick layer of ice. But just before she decided to give up and wait for warmer weather, she broke through. Out into the bright sunlight she came; and lo and behold! all the ferns on her dress, and the dainty blossoms, together with her hair, were covered with a layer of ice which shimmered and sparkled in the sun like jewels set in something brighter than the brightest gold.
But as soon as she came out into the sun the ice began to melt and run off in all directions, and as she skipped and jumped about she was almost hidden in the shower of water-drops which flew from her as she ran.
And how beautiful, how fairy-like, she was! Each fern was covered with a thin layer of the melting it c, and the crown of pink blossoms around her curly hair was frozen likewise, their fair colour persisting through the ice. Once in a while, when the sun touched her, she was a blaze of colour—of silver and gold, with here and there a splotch of brilliant red as the sun struck a red flower.
After she had found that there was nothing to be eaten except snow, she sucked a few handfuls, flavoured with the petals of the flowers which she wore. Then she went on, through paradises of silver, gold, and red, through deep hollows of ​shining green. Everything was something besides white, and the world that was in Eepersip's range of vision was fairyland.
But, as she went on, clouds began to float in—little white clouds. They grew thicker and thicker, until, before she had come near the highest peak, there was nothing but pearly mist—scudding grey mist, curling into fantastic shapes as it rose. She could sec nothing, and she sat down in the snow to wait. That night a gale came up, whistling and howling around the peaks, reminding Eepersip of that storm at sea. What an awesome sound it made! It sleeted, too, and when she awoke the next morning the snow was covered with a crust. The mist had partly cleared, and she pushed on again. She went through icy hollows and up on shimmering peaks, until, finally, she saw near her that long-sought summit, and, with a shout of joy, she dashed up. Fast she went, but when she really reached it at last, the mist had closed in again, the wind was up, and it was sleeting furiously. It was only through a break in the mist that she had made the summit at all.
The next morning it was still misty, but not nearly so thick. There was even a faint purple glow ​over on the eastern horizon where the sun was rising. Occasionally the mist would break open above, and she would see glimpses of blue sky—the deep, deep blue of that day in the meadow with Fleuriss. And lying all around on the boulders were frost-feathers. When Eepersip first saw them she thought that she was dreaming. But no, they were really there, delicate ferns and feathers with scalloped edges—ferns and feathers of frost.
"Oh, mountain-fairies—fairies have left them here," she said quietly. Some were as long as her forearm, and others tiny—oh, so tiny; some were almost round like the inner feathers of a bird, and others long and narrow like the outer plumes. Down in a hollow were some stunted firs, laden with snow and covered with those fronds of ivory chiselled by wind-sprites, lovelier than anything Eepersip had ever seen, lovelier than anything ever made by Nature. No, Nature could never have carved them, Eepersip thought. The fairies—fairies!
Once she found a hollowed rock entirely lined with them, like a fairy's crystal palace with strange shadowy recesses. They crowded everywhere they could find room, and sometimes, when there was no other place, rippled on the snow. They overlapped on the rocks, and hung from windward ​crags, pointing into the w ind. And behold! Eepersip's dress and her head were covered with small ones, like a diadem—a fairy crown and fairy ornaments. Moving gently, so as not to disturb them from where they rested, she wandered from one cluster to another, looking carefully at each one, noting each special pattern, each magic tracery. All day she followed the winding rabbit-trails amid the feathery firs.
The sun, too, had been pushing out. Now the mist opened in one direction, and Eepersip caught a fleeting glimpse of snowy peaks; but it closed again. It opened a trifle longer in another direction, and Eepersip saw, 'way down below, first low blue-green foothills and lakes golden with the sun, then higher purple hills, melting into range after range of billowing mountains, and valley after valley filled with white clouds rapidly lifting. The mist shut in. Another direction opened in the same way, with hills fading into mountains; and far off on the horizon was another range of snow mountains, lying just under great white clouds. There were clouds hanging over the valleys too, and they cast strange shadows on the sunlit trees far below. When the mist shut in, the golden lakes seemed to stay the longest. and after the mountains had entirely disappeared they could he seen as if hanging ​in mid-air, limpid pools of gold. And more sides opened, and more, the waits growing shorter in between, until, on a gust of mountain wind, the last of the mist went scudding away, banished, and the sun broke out into the blue sky. The snow sparkled, the mountains sparkled, the lakes and rivers sparkled, the frost-feathers sparkled, the air itself sparkled. And the mountains of the range that Eepersip was in, crowned with snow, gleamed like gold. Down on one side of the snowy peak dashed a great river, green and swirling, covered with clots of foam. Sometimes it would cascade over the rocks throwing up a fountain of spray, and sometimes it would slip over a smooth slide, then, whirling round and round in a rock basin, thunder down another great cliff in a shower of bubbles, rattling icicles, and foam. It not its way through a green hollow in the snow, and where it tunnelled under the snow-hanks it was overhung with long, gleaming icicles.
Eepersip danced in the snow, among the frost-feathers, all that day—danced like a mountain sprite, leaping high, then running gracefully in a shower of water-drops which flew from her as the frost-feathers melted in the warmth of the sunlight. She danced down to the river and played there a while—played with the white foam.
​At sunset she was again at the peak of her mountain The sky flushed with magic; a great cloud in the west becamea brilliantly fringed with gold and red-gold, the east was all submerged in a lilac sea, and a delicate laciness of pink trailed across the zenith. Sunset fairies alighted on the snow-peaks they were fiery for a moment, and all the great snow-fields were flaming. Then the colour faded to pink on the summits. But in the sky Nature still flung about her colours wildly—fire was in the zenith, the long bank of clouds was vividly fringed with red-gold, and there to the south it changed to caverns of shadowed pink and strange violet. Seas and bays and cloud islands formed out of it—seas of a strange greenish rose. Then one thrill and flame of gold spread about the whole earth; the snow at her feet was shadowy gold, and a pathway of it danced upon the air 'way to the horizon. It played upon each frost-feather; the eastern mountains were flushed with this soft gold.
And then, dizzy with the colour and the beauty, Eepersip fell asleep, her fingers clutching the rosy snow.
The next morning the frost-feathers had almost disappeared underneath a new snowfall. The air ​was full of its fresh scent, as it came down gently in tremendous flakes. Here and there Eepersip saw one of the lovely blossoms of the talatuna, with those same ruby-red leaves. How beautiful they were, growing in great clusters, just peeping through the snow! Once in a while a pale cream-coloured mountain moth would flit before her. Occasional gusts brought swarms of tiny bottle-green, white-winged snow-beetles, and the air was a-buzz with them. Sometimes a blue or white insect like a firefly would hover past, a strange red light gleaming about its transparent body.
On and on Eepersip explored, seeing nothing but the wonderland about her—the fairy palaces of snow, the fluttering, hovering insects, and the beautiful mountain flowers. Following the icy river down, she came sometimes to a great cascade of the green water—a cascade coming over one of those great cliffs, washing down the snow, throwing up fountains and clouds of spray in its furious descent. Sometimes it cut under the banks, making a green cave hung with icicles gleaming strangely. One of these had been made when the river was in flood; now it was large enough for Eepersip to stand in, and, wading in water about up to her knees, she went back into its innermost recesses, where the roar of the stream was muffled. There ​were fish there—trout playing in the whirlpools and riding swiftly with the current. She found some odd bright stones and gleaming pebbles in this mysterious place, silent save for the deadened rush of water.
Sometimes, again, the rushing brook took such steep course that Eepersip was forced to make a detour into the woods for a little way, through clumps of the firs, now growing less stunted, but hung with icicles which clicked together in the wind, sounding to Eepersip like fairy castanets. Even at this high altitude, she saw occasionally a white pine, each cluster of pale green needles laden with snow—tufts of snow which seemed to make little faces peering out from the tree. Bursts of happiness would overwhelm her now and then, and she would leap high and dart like some frightened deer or mountain nymph.
Once she found beautiful little violet-shaped pink flowers with bowed heads and feathery leaves—snow-pinks blooming there, thrusting their buds from the snow itself. She tucked a spray of them into her dress of fluttering ferns.
And then she would return to the river and follow it again. When the moon came, dappling the foamy water with silver, she watched it as it dipped down its forehead in the stream and ​touched the treetops with magic. Then she would go on again through the moonlit night. Once she came to a place where the brook separated, and she had a difficulty choosing which branch to follow.
And when the russet dawn reappeared, tipping tie mountains with apple-blossom and fire, she had followed it to its goal in the very meadow from where she had started—a pool hitherto unseen by her. About a hundred feet across it was, beached with clean white pebbles. In it bloomed water-lilies, fragrant and white, with centres of gold; strange red flowers, too, she saw on the bottom, growing between the pebbles. Dragonflies with crackling wings swept over it in circles. She saw, too, a shoal of tiny fishes of a brownish colour, striped with yellow. They would suddenly dart forward as if something had frightened them, and then poise themselves stock-still, mimicking so many sticks in the shadows of the abundant lily-pads.
She was wading about in the pool when suddenly—where there had been ground for her foot to rest on, nothing was there. The bottom of the pool under her foot had slid forward and collapsed! Suddenly "Clug-glug, clug-glug, chugarum, glug!" reached her, as a big bull-frog's nose appeared by ​the side of a lily-pad. A second later the frog diked up on the lily-pad and stared at Eepersip with his goggly eves. She burst out laughing, he looked so ridiculous staring at her like that.
She stayed in the meadow, playing gaily among tie leaves and flowers. Butterflies of all the colours of the rainbow swept over it in great flocks. Flowers bloomed so thickly that there was hardly any grass—white ones with waxen petals. striped and bordered with heavy golden bands; red ones with centres of dark green-gold; great blossoms of pink and purple, whose petals fluttered about in the breeze like butterflies.
One morning she was awakened early by "Peep, peep, twitter-itter-ee-e-e-e-e-e, twit chirup, twitter-ee-e-e, twit!" She looked up and saw a great flock of snow-white birds with long narrow wings. They were flying northward. The flock was much more gigantic than Eepersip had supposed, for it kept on until she began to think that it was going round and round. But no: after ten or fifteen minutes the sky cleared, and she heard faintly in the distance: "Twitter-itter-ee-e-e-e-e, ee-e-per-s-sip! e-e-p, e-ep, chirup."
Day after day she danced here, playing, as on the first meadow, the butterflies, flowers, and swallows. And now, as she danced, she seemed to ​float through the air, her feet almost motionless. Sometimes she would leap high and come down—float down—quite slowly. She seemed to have no weight at all, and a breeze would almost lift her off the ground and hold her up in the air. Indeed, when she ran with the wind behind her she would be blown along—blown like a leaf just above the flowers.
One day she was dancing there—dancing and leaping in the long grass, amid the blossoms. Butterflies drifted over the sunny field—butterflies of red and yellow, blue and green, black and white, orange and purple. How gracefully they flew; how delicately they alighted on the flowers; how fairy-like they were, hovering for an instant over some blossom, then dipping their wings and starting off again! Eepersip felt as though—as though she were going to be one of them; as though she were so happy that she must fly about with them, sip the honey from the flowers with them.
As she was thinking happily she heard a few faint peeps, which became louder as she danced toward a certain part of the field. Then there was a desperate twitter right at her feet, and, looking ​down she saw a yellow fledgling hopping towards her. She picked him up carefully and saw that he had broken his left wing. She worked a moment with her hands and pulled the bone into place. Then she made him a comfortable nest of grass and net out to see where he had come from. Looking up, she saw a nest from which a bird was peering about anxiously. Straightway she took the little one from the nest she had made, and climbed the tree with it to its own nest; upon which the mother-bird gave a twitter of joy.
After doing this Eepersip descended the tree and continued her happy dance with the butterflies until evening. Then they all found shelters under the leaves, and the stars came out, one by one. Presently Eepersip spied a flicker in the meadow—then another and still another, until the fireflies were out in full play. They gathered around Eepersip in one flaming mass, kissing her with their feathery wings. Making her way over to the pool, she saw her reflection, a shimmer of gold.
A light darted out toward her from the woods; then another and yet another, until there were hundreds of lights flickering and blinking at her from all corners of the great field—the lights of elves and gnomes, little fairies of the field. And she danced happily among them—danced until ​the dawn appeared on the horizon, sending away the darkness and making the stars fade into space. It flushed the whole sky with rose, sent arms of it even as far as the west; arms and streamers of colour which paled toward their tips. Little white clouds grew pink, too, and the colour was reflected on the distant mountain-tops. Again the snow-field seemed to become fire—fire which was soon quenched by the coolness of the snow. As the sun sent its first golden beams above the horizon, the colour faded, turned to yellow, and soon entirely disappeared. Then the sky was blue—deep, quivering blue, with the fluffy clouds like pearls in an azure setting.
Suddenly Eepersip saw that she was dressed in a flouncy array of spring crocuses and maidenhair ferns. Lovely flowers of pink and yellow were entwined in her hair, and butterflies fluttered around her. She danced happily and leaped high in the air. How free and light she felt in the lovely dress that had been given her!
That day Eepersip was even happier than usual. She floated about, visiting each flower, each bush and tree. She played games with the butterflies, the games she had played on the old meadow, that first summer of her life in the House without Windows. When she rested, she sat on top of a laurel-bush, ​and not a twig bent beneath her. The slightest breeze blew her about, changed the direction of her dance. Butterfly after butterfly flew to her, flock after flock, as if they had some message to tell her; and after each visit she was happier than before. Yes, they were messengers, these happy creatures; messengers who came to whisper her a secret—a secret from Nature, a secret of the beautiful meadow, a secret from the fairies.
And, when the sun again tinged the sky with colour, a flock of these butterflies, of purple and gold and green, came swooping and alighted on her head in a circle, the largest in front. Others came in myriads and covered her dress with delicate wing-touches. Eepersip held out her arms a moment. A gold-and-black one alighted on each wrist. And then—she rose into the air, and, hovering an instant over a great laurel-bush, vanished.
She was a fairy—a wood-nymph. She would be invisible for ever to all mortals, save those few who have minds to believe, eyes to see. To these she is ever present, the spirit of Nature—a sprite of the meadow, a naiad of lakes, a nymph of the
HISTORICAL NOTE
(By Another Hand)
IN the opening week of January, 1923, there appeared on the outside of a certain door within a dingy, sunless, and cramped apartment a slip of paper bearing the following typewritten notice:
Nobody may come into this room if the door is shut tight (if it is shut not quite latched it is all right) without knocking. The person in the room if he agrees that one shall come in will say "come in," or something like that and if he does not agree to it he will say "Not yet, please," or something like that. The door may be shut if nobody is in the room but if a person wants to come in, knocks and hears no answer that means that there is no one in the room and he must not go in.
Reason. If the door is shut tight and a person is in the room the shut door means that the person in the room wishes to be left alone. ​The author of this odd manifesto (here reproduced with strict textual exactitude from the frayed original) was the author of the foregoing story, then just three months short of nine years old. The door on which it appeared was that of the room in which, on a small typewriter, she wrote down the adventures of Eepersip; and the week in which it appeared was that in which these adventures had their beginning.
She finished them, in the same room, three months later, early in the March of her ninth completed year and a few days after her birthday. One of her curious, slightly un-American inventions, I must here explain, was the concept of her own birthday as an annual occasion for handing out things to the other members of her family. She planned this story from the beginning as a gift for her mother on March 4. Would her mother "like" it, though? On that point there would have to be a disinterested opinion—as it happened, mine. With intense secrecy, behind the latched door of that room guarded by the constrained preparatory notice, she read me the instalments as they were produced.
My candid guess was that her mother would indeed "like" it. I liked it myself, if only as unconscious expression of a radiant physical vitality—