The morning call. [volume] (San Francisco [Calif.]) 1878-1895, 1892-12-27
THE SMALL PEOPLE

IL -
To lady who had asked for fairy tale:
| You thought it natural, my dear lady, to
| lay this command on NE at the dance last
night. We had parted two months ago in
London, and we met unexpectedly and to
music, in this corner of the land where 0hey
| say the piskies still keep. And certainly
when | led you cut upon the balcony Chat
| you might not see the new moon through
| glass and lose a lucky month";, it was not
| hard to picture the Small People at their
| play on the turf and among the dim flower
beds below US. But, as matter of fact.
they are dead-these Small People. They
were the long-lived but not immortal spirits
| of the folk who inhabited Cornwall many
thousands of years back-far beyond
Christ's birth. They were poor innocents,"
| not good enough for heaven yet too good for
the eternal fires; and when they first came,
| were OF ordinary stature. But after ChristS
| birth they began TO grow smaller and
| smaller. aud at length turned into emmets
| and vanished from the earth.
| The last heard Of them was sad and
| serious little history. very different from the
| old legends Part of 1t was told by
| hospital surgeon, of all people in the world.
| Part CT it learned By looking at your beau
| tiful gown last night, as you leaned on the
|
the dew was. and that l fetched shawl for
your shoulders. You did not wrap 1t so
| tightly round but that four marguerites in
| gold embroidery showed on the front of
| your bodice; and these come into the tale,
/ the remainder OF which l was taught this
morning before breakfast, down among the
| cairns by the sea where the Small Peoples
! Gardens still remain-sheltered spots of
| green. with here and there some ferns and
| cliff-pinks left. For me they are libraries
| W ( w n1 I'm
| mer's day; and with the help of the hos
| pital surgeon bring you from them a story
about your ball-gown which is perfectly
| true.
Twenty years ago--before the fairies had
dwindied into ants, and when wayfarers
| were still used TO turn their coats inside out
after nightfall for fear of being ''pisky-led"
/ there lived down at the village girl who
| knew all the secrets Of the Small Peoples
| Gardens. Where you and l discover sea
pinks only and hear only the wash Of the
| waves she would 90 on midsummer nights
and find flowers OF every color spread, aud
hundreds OF little lights moving among
them, and fountains and waterfalls and
| swaTms of small ladies and gentlemen,
dressed in green and gold, walking and
sporting among them, or repoSing on the
turf and telling stories to the most ravlshing
| soft music. This was as much as she would
| relate; but ii Is certain that the pskies
were friends OF hers. For. in spite OF her
| nightly wanderings, her Homework was
always well and cleanly done before other
girls were dressed, the morning milk fresh
in the dairy, the step sanded, the fire lit and
the scalding-pans warming over it. As for
| her needlew oTk, ii was wonder.
Some said she was changeling; others
that she had found the four-leaved clover
or the fairy ointment. and rubbed her eyea
with IT, But 1t was her own secret, for
whenever the people tried TO follow her TO
the Gardens" whir! whirl whir! buzZed
in their ears. as il a flight of beesIwere
passing. and every limb would feel as if
stuck full of pins and pinched with
tweeZers. and they were rolled over and
over. their tongues tied as if with cords.
and at last as soon as they could manage
they would pick themselves up and hobbls
| home for their lives.
Well, the history-whieh, l must remind
you, is true one-goes on to say that in
Tune the girl grew ambitious. or fell in love
q cannot remember which,. and went to
London. In any case it must have been a
strong call took her-for there are no fairies
in London. regret that my researches do
not allow me to tell you how the Small Peo-
pie at home took her departure; but we will
suppose that it grieyed them deeply. Nor
can l say precisely how the girl Jared for
| many years. / think her fortune contained
both joy and sorrow for a while, and
| | suspect that many passages in her life
would be sadly out of place in this story,
even il they could be hunted out. Indeed,
| fairy tales have to omit so much NOWADAYS
and therefore seem so Anticipated. that one
maryels how they could have ever been in
| fashion.
But you may take 1t as sure that in the
end this girl met with more sorrow than
! joy; for when next she comes into sight it
is in rags and she is in London streets More
over, though she wears flush on her cheeks
| above the wrinkles 1t does not come of
health or high spirits. but perhaps from the
fact that in the twenty years interval she
has seen millions of men and women, but
not one single fairy.
In those latter days met her many times
| She passed under your windows shortly be-
fore dawn on the night that you gave your
dance. early in the season. You saw her,
think? A woman who staggered a little
and bad some words with the policeman
at the corner; but, after all, staggering
woman in London Is no such memorable
sight All day long she was seeking
sought forgetfulness. She found the one. in
small quantities, and out of it she managed
TO buy the other, now and then. over the
counter. But she had long given up looking
for the fairies. The lights along the en-
bankment had ceased to remind her of those
in the Small Peoples gardens; nor did the
noise bursting from music-hall duors as she
! passed recall the old sounds; and as for the
scents, there were plenty in London, but
pone resembling that of the garden which
you might smell mile out at sea.
told you that her needlework had been
marvel when she lived down at the vii
! lage. CAUTIOUSLY enough, this was the one
gilt of the fairies that stayed by her, and it
| remained as wonderful as ever. Her most
| frequent employer was a fiat-fOoted jew
with large teshy face; and because she
| had name for honesty she was not seldom
entrusted with costly pieces of stuff,
| and allowed to carry them home to
| turn into ball dresses under the
roof through the gaps of which, as
she stitched she could see the night
pass from purple to black, and from
black to the lilac of daybreak. There, lwth
9lG0 worth OF silk and lace on her knee, she
| would sit and work dozen hours for as
many pence. With fingers weary and-but
you know Hoods song. and no doubt have
| taken 1t to heart dozen times.
| 1t came to this, however, that one even
ing, when she had not eaten for forty hours
her employer gave her piece of embroid-
| cry TO work against time. The fact is, my
dear lady, that You are very particular
| about having your comm issiobs executed to
the hour, aud your dressmakers are anxious
to oblige, knowing that you never sQuabble
over the price. To be sure, you have never
heard Of the fiat-footed jew man-how
should you? Aud we may believe that
your dressmakers knew just as little OF the
poor woman who had used so be the friend
of the Small People. But the truth remains
that in the press of your masy pleasures
you were pardonably twenty-four hours
late in ordering the gown in which you
were 10 appear an angel.
All, madam! will il comfort you to hear
that you were the one to reconcile the
Small People with that poor sister Of yours
/ go l.