The San Francisco call. [volume] (San Francisco [Calif.]) 1895-1913, 1895-07-14
A True Fairy Tale.

Have you children been foolish enough
to believe all these years that the dear old
fairy tales were too good to be true?
Well. then it is high time for you to
learn that none of them were even half SO
beautiful nor half so wonderful as plenty
of things that are happening all around
you all the time without your ever motto
ing.
It is something like the game of 'hunt
the thimble" that is always so much fun,
because if you put the thimble in some
very mysterious and improbable spot
everybody finds it right away. and if you
put it right in plain sight" IN the most
conspicuous place in the room nobody
ever finds it, even if you call hot! hot"
to them while they are looking right
straight at it.
That is the way with the fairy stories,
too, and to prove TO you that there are
good fairies still and that you can be one
yourself Just as well as not you want to,
am going to tell you story that IS every
bit true and that happened right here IN
San Francisco, and all since the beginning
of the very same moon that is growing old
now.
In the straw Of little stable not many
blocks from the heart of our City two
wretched little children slept when they
had worn themselves out with sobbing and
moaning.
Their mother lay besides them some
times, cramped into space too short and
small for her, wringing her hands silently,
moving her head from side to side, but
never sleeping for a single moment.
| will not tell you the long tale Of mis-
fortune that had brought these people to
such pass. for I am afraid you already
know well enough that want always
threatens the poor, and that, unless there
are strong hands and stout hearts to drive
him away, he is a cruel enemy.
Jennie and Fred, the sleepers in the
straw, could have told you, had they been
awake, that papa was dead, killed, long
ago, in the mill where he was working;
that mamma had worked so hard that she
was sick, oh, so sick! and then had worked
on, weak and suffering, earning less each
dav as she grew worse, and needing medl-
cines and food, and, most Of all, the rest
that never came.
Perhaps she was not very wise business
woman, this poor mamma, who was still
Young and who used to be such pretty
mamma before she was SO sick. But even
If she was not very wise, this mother, she
loved her babes and hoped for them, al
ways until tonight, when there was only
the stable and great hunger for all
three.
Almost crazed with suffering and de-
SPAR, the woman crept out from her hiding
place after time-softly, not TO wake the
little ones to knowledge OF their pain
again. Cropping out into the dingy alley
her eyes were attracted by the light above,
and she looked up to where the stars were
shining serenelv in the sky.
Did the pretty stars beam down some
message of hope and love to the lonely and
sorrowing mother?
At least she was ealmed and comforted
as she looked, and IL seemed to her that
the stars were good companions up there,
smiling down upon a world of men who
were good companions to each other, too,
and no one need be alone in pain and
want.
81 will go to find somebody" she said to
herself, "and l will tell about my children
here alone, and somebody will help US,
and we shall be happy again"
A great clock was striking 2 when she
began her walk, and the woman walked
long way before she found anybody at sll.
Then all at once she turned a corner
and came face to face with Prince Mistle-
toe, who was walking quickly toward her.
Prince Mistletoe is little brown man
from over seas, and we are going to call
him that because it doesn't mean anything
at all, but sounds pleasant and isn't the
least little bit like his real name.
Prince Mistletoe was hurrying along at
q lively pace, as if he did not much like
finding himself in the street at such an
hour, which was quite true. He was hur-
rying to his hotel, this magician from
PARKWAY land, after entertaining a gay
party of people with an exhibition of what
he could do with that clever little right
hand of his.
I am not going to tell you quite what
gift Prince Mistletoe has which brings
plenty of great big gold pieces flying to his
pockets just as if they had wings and knew
where they wanted to go. Perhaps he
only wields the bow of a violin skillfully,
and people give money for the pleasure of
listening to his music. Perhaps it is a
paint brush that he holds in his strong lit
tie brown hand, witt harmonies in color
instead of sound flowing from the end of
1t. Perhaps it is even pen that is the
tool of Prince Mistletoe's trade. | am GO
ing to let you wonder about that, and only
ask you to remember that there is a power
in being able to do any of those things, or
any other useful thing, well, that is
greater than any magic that anybody ever
dreamed about.
must tell you, though, that easy as it is
for our Prince to win the gold pieces he
never has any of them about him for long
at a time. He does not believe in clipping
their wings and Keeping them prisoners,
as your big brother does his pigeons, He
enjoys seeing them fly away again Just as
much a he enjoys seeing them fly toward
him. Perhaps it is because Prince MistIe-
toe is foreigner and not very learned in
our ways; but somehow he seems to think
that gold pieces are made TO be kept flying
from one person TO another, bringing
blessing when they come and burdened
With another when they dy away.
But in very much less time than it has