Old Farm Fairies.

A Summer Campaign in Brownieland

AGAINST

King Cobweaver's Pixies.

A Story for Young People,

BY

Henry Christopher McCook,

AUTHOR OF

"Tenants of an Old Farm," "American Spiders and Their Spinningwork," etc., etc.

ONE HUNDRED AND FIFTY ILLUSTRATIONS.

PHILADELPHIA:
George W. Jacobs & Co.,
103 South 15th Street.
A. D. 1895.

Copyright, 1895,
by
Henry Christopher McCook.

PRESS OF
AVIL PRINTING COMPANY,
PHILADELPHIA.

In Tender Recollection of
Boyhood's Home, Loves, Joys, and Trials Among the Hills of
ever dear Ohio,
I dedicate this Book
to the
Memory of my Brother
Roderick Sheldon McCook
Late Commander United States Navy.
An able, honorable and patriotic officer, he waxed valiant in fight
both on sea and land
for his Country's honor and defence.
On this page
The Author would keep green his Name
as the
Roommate, Playmate and Companion of Early Days.

CONTENTS

PREFACE.

This preface shall be a personal explanation. The following book was written during the winter of 1876-77, more than eighteen years ago. Its origin was in this wise: Some of my readers will know that for more than twenty years I have studied the habits of our spider fauna. During the first years of these studies, the thought came to me to write a book for youth wherein my observations should be personified in the imaginary creatures of fairy lore, and thus float into the young mind some of my natural history findings in such pleasant form that they would be received quite unconsciously, and at least an impression thereof retained with sufficient accuracy to open the way to more serious lessons in the future.

It further seemed to me that the fairies of Scotland, with whom I had been familiar from childhood, might afford vivid personalities for my plan. Accordingly, the spiders were assigned the part of Pixies or goblins, the ill-natured fairies of Scotland and Northern England. The Brownies, or friendly folk, the "gude neebours," or household fairies, were made to personify those insect forms, especially those useful to man, against which spiders wage continual war. Moreover, to express the relations of the lower creatures to human life, and their actual as well as imaginary interdependence, human characters were introduced, and conflicts between Pixies and Brownies were interwoven with their behaviour.

This purely personal statement has been intruded upon the reader to explain that the Brownies, as represented in this book, are not imitations. They antedated, by a number of years, the popular creations of Mr. Palmer Cox. The writer well understands as a naturalist that priority depends not upon originality of intention or invention, or even of preparation, but upon precedence in publication. It will be found, however, that my conception and treatment of these wee folk differ from those of Mr. Cox. As they appear to me from the recollections of childhood, they have a more serious aspect, a more human-like nature, which ought not to be wholly sacrificed to their jovial characteristics. I have therefore presented the Brownies as beings with humanized affections, passions and methods reflected in miniature.

I confess some qualms, on the scientific side of my conscience, at compelling my friends, the spiders, to play the part of Pixies. But there seemed no other course out of regard both to common belief and the necessity imposed by the facts. As I went on with the work, I wondered at the ductility with which the current habits of the aranead tribes yielded to personification. The water spiders permitted the introduction of smugglers, pirates and sailors; the burrowing and trapdoor spiders opened up tales of caves and subterranean abodes; the ballooning spiders permitted an adaptation of modern military methods of reconnoissance; and so on through a long list of aranead habits.

In order to make this more apparent, and to give adult readers, parents and teachers, and the older class of youthful readers, a scientific key to the various situations, brief notes have been added in an Appendix, to which foot-note references have been made in most of the chapters. Moreover, the natural habits personified are interpreted by figures set into the text with no explanation but the legend written thereunder.

The crudely drawn cuts which figure in the pages as "The Boy's Illustrations" are exact reproductions of sketches made by a lad in my own family, between eight and nine years old, to whom, with others, the manuscript was read as a sort of test of its quality. Encouraged by the advice of one of the keenest and most sympathetic students of child life in America, I have ventured to give a few of these drawings to the public, as a curious study in the operations of child-mind.

I had agreed with myself not to print the Brownie Book until my scientific work upon the spiders was finished, and the manuscript remained untouched until the winter of 1885-6. At that time I seemed to see the nearing end of my studies, and portions of the Brownie-Pixie story were distributed to various artists, among them Mr. Dan. C. Beard and Mr. Harry L. Poore. Some of the illustrations at that time made, appear in the following pages, bearing date 1886. "Tenants of an Old Farm" had now appeared, and was so well received that it was thought advisable to connect this book with that by an "Introductory Chapter" intended for older readers, and which gives the key to the motive of the story. Early in 1886 I recalled all contracts and arrangements for publication, as a prolonged sickness compelled me to drop scientific work and defer the issue of the "American Spiders." On the very day that the binders placed the first finished copy of the third and last volume of that work in my hands, the "copy" of "Old Farm Fairies" went to the printer.

H. C. McC.

The Manse, Philadelphia, May 21, A. D. 1895.

THE INTRODUCTION.

AN INTRODUCTION.

This Chapter is for Grownups only. Children will please skip it.

THE SCHOOLMISTRESS AND THE FAIRIES.

In the south yard of the Old Farm at Highwood there stands a noble Elm tree. Its massive proportions, the stately pose of its furrowed trunk and the graceful outlines of its drooping branches have often drawn my pleased eyes and awakened admiration. There is nothing in Nature that better serves to stir up human enthusiasm than a fine tree; and as our vicinage for miles around abounds in worthy examples of American forest growths, there is ample opportunity for such sentiment to be kept aglow in the hearts of the Tenants at the Old Farm. Yet it must be confessed that there is also occasion at times for a kindling of quite another sort, when the stupidity, perversity, and penuriousness of men wage a vandal war against the noble monarchs of the woods.

The fall of a huge tree is a touching sight. See! the trunk trembles upon the last few fibres that stand in the gap which the axman has made. A shiver runs through the foliage to the summit and circumference of the branches. The tree-top bows with slightest trace of a lurch to one side. Then it sinks—slowly, faster, fast! With no undignified rush, but with a stately sweep it descends to the earth. Crash! The ground trembles at the fall. The nethermost branches in their breakage explode sharply like a farewell volley of soldiers over a comrade's grave. Boughs, twigs and leaves vibrate, as with a passionate earnestness of grief, for a few moments, and then are still. There, prone upon the forest mould the glorious monarch lies, majestic even in its fallen estate. A few bunches of human muscle, a keen steel edge and a scant fraction of time have destroyed two centuries of Nature's cunning work.

Well, one is inclined to so vary the version of a certain Scripture Text that it shall read "a man was infamous" rather than "a man was famous according as he had lifted up axes upon the thick trees."[A]

Of course Mr. Gladstone, and the multitude of undistinguished axmen who delight to fall a tree, have an honorable and lawful vocation. Trees ripen, like other animate things, and when they are full ripe they may be felled; when their time has come they ought to fall; when the exigencies of higher intelligences truly require, they also must fall before their time. But, this brings no justification of that murderous idiocy which sets so many citizen sovereigns of America to slaughtering the grand sovereigns of the plant world.

Fig. 1.—The Forest Monarch's Fall. The Brownie's Grief and Anger Thereat.

However, all this perhaps has little to do with our great Elm, except, that one must be grateful that it has been spared to cause the eyes to rejoice in its beauty and to refresh us with its shade. We built a rustic seat, against its trunk, and there in the warm summer days and evenings which succeeded the winter of our coming to the Old Farm, I was wont to sit and meditate, and sometimes doze. It was a favorite spot with me, but others of the family often shared it with me, or enjoyed it by themselves. This will well enough introduce a matter which I have now to lay before the reader. It came to me from the Schoolmistress, who, I venture to hope, is not forgotten by the readers of "The Tenants of An Old Farm."

My dear Mr. Mayfield:

The package that I herewith send you has a strange history which I beg to recite ere you break the wrappings and examine the contents of the parcel.

It happened during one of the warm days of last June that I sat on the rustic bench under the Great Elm and read Mr. Lowell's "Vision of Sir Launfal." I closed the book and thought, with an exquisite sense of its beauty and fitness, upon the poet's opening verses which contain a description of June, and in which are these lines:

"'Tis Heaven alone that is given away,
'Tis only God may be had for the asking;
There is no price set on the lavish Summer,
And June may be had by the poorest comer."

As I conned the words my eyes slowly wandered along the landscape, and my heart rejoiced in the royal bounty of beauty which the poet sings. Then my vision returned to the objects just around me, and gradually became fixed upon some of the living things about which you have kindly told us so much new and interesting. Indeed, they seemed already like old friends, and I watched with keen zest their various movements.

How bright everything was, and how peaceful the tone of Nature! Butterflies flitted by, beating the air in their leisurely way, then rested on leaf or flower while they opened and closed their wings with graceful, fanlike movements. The winged Hymenoptera dashed by with the sharp, quick wingstroke of their kind, or hung humming above the flowers. Honey-bees, Carpenter-bees, Digger-wasps, the blue Mud-dauber, the brown Paper-wasp, Hornets and Yellow-jackets were busy at their various occupations. One dusted pollen into its "basket;" another dumped aromatic pellets of sawdust from a cedar rail; another scooped up mandible hodfulls of mortar at the edge of the brook; others plucked chiplets of old wood from a weathered fence post; all seemed happy, and devoted to peaceful industry.

The great green Grasshopper was in hearing, if not in sight, the veritable "hopper" whose long threadlike antennæ and wedge shaped head you have taught us to recognize as marking the true from the so called grasshopper or locust. He sat upon the tall grass on the bank of the Run close by the spring house, and shrilled his piping love call to his mate. The annual Cicada, too ("Pruinosa" you called it), was sounding his amorous drum from the trees with a volume and sharpness of sound that far exceed those of his cousin german the Seventeen Year Cicada. His silent ladylove might occasionally be seen flitting from bough to bough. An Orbweaving spider's web was spun upon an adjacent bush, and three courtiers were established at different parts of the margin of the snare awaiting the complaisance of Madam Aranea the housekeeper. Near my feet a bevy of Fuscous Ants[B] were tugging with great to-do at a crumb of sweet cake, while their fellow formicarians were equally concerned in covering and screening the gate of their nest that lay to the right under the verge of the Elm's shadow. Birds of several species were near by; Robins whistled in the meadow, a Vireo sang in the tree tops, Sparrows twittered around the birdcote; Hens cackled in the barnyard, and wakened the hearty, answering "Tuk-aw, tuk-aw!" of the big red Rooster. Out in the lane Sarah's conch shell was sending a melodious call to Hugh whom the Mistress had bidden her to summon from the wood pasture. The whole aspect of Nature, indeed, was so charming that I was soothed into a delicious repose of body and mind.

I am conscious, dear Sir, that I shall lay a heavy tax upon your credulity by what I am now to relate. Or, perhaps, you will smile and say that your friend Abby has fallen to dreams and visions, and like some of her young pupils has imagination so little disciplined as to be quite unable to distinguish between a vivid waking fancy or dream of sleep, and a real occurrence. Very well, I must bear your unbelief as best I may, and at all events you will listen to my story.

Will you believe that among the Tenants of our Old Farm is a nation of Fairies? You have not suspected their existence heretofore; but then, neither did I suspect that legions of curious beings are all around us until the wand of your knowledge had touched my eyes, and opened them to the wonderful life histories that are being wrought out among our fellow tenants of the insect world.

The Boy's Illustration.
Fig. 2.—Queen Fancy and the Schoolmistress. [C]

Such, at least, was my own thought as I saw several wee dainty bodies spring from the backs of some Honey-bees hovering over the white clover, after the fashion of a rider dismounting from his horse, and another group alight from a bevy of yellow Butterflies that fluttered low down and just above the walk. They were joined by many others of like appearance, who suddenly emerged from the grass, from the flower border, from the drooping leaves of the Elm, and approached me. They clambered up the English Ivy that clings to the south side of the tree; they climbed upon the rustic bench, and a few even ventured upon the gnarled arm against which my elbow rested. This seemed a novel occurrence, certainly; but I assure you that I was rather pleased than surprised thereby, for it at once linked itself with your strange histories of insects, and seemed a natural and matter-of-course affair. Really, I have come to think that Nature has so many rare and beautiful facts hidden away in her secret places that one must never be surprised to see or hear of the most marvelous happenings. One of the brightest and most prettily robed of these tiny people, who seemed to be a sort of queen among them, drew quite near and addressed me.

"You are not alarmed at our appearance. Good! Fairies do not visit those who doubt or fear them. We are pleased to see you smile upon us. Thanks! We give you greeting! Would you like to know who we are? Yes? Well, we are called Brownies. Our folk came from Scotland. You know where that is?"

"Oh, yes," I replied, speaking, I suppose, quite mechanically, "Scotland is the northern part of the island of Great Britain; it is bounded on the south by England, on the east by the Ger——"

"Never mind the boundary," interrupted the Brownie with a dainty, tinkling laugh, "we are not a Schoolmistress and her Committee, and you needn't say your lesson now. It's enough for us that you know where Scotland is,—the dear auld land o' cakes! We're Scotch fairies—Brownies."

"But how came you here?" I asked.

"Oh! there's nothing odd about that; we follow our wandering Sawnies wherever they go. We have all been interested with you in Mr. Mayfield's accounts of insect life, and have been present at many of your walks and talks when you little suspected such company. Ah! we could give the Tenant some hints well worth following up! Although, he does very well, very well indeed! But we wish you to know that there are other tenants on the old farm than those Mr. Mayfield knows. We are here, you see! And, alack-a-day! there are other folk here not so agreeable as we!"

"Many thanks," I said, "for the pleasure of your acquaintance. I am delighted and honored by your action, Madam—Madam? what shall I call you?"

"Fancy; Queen Fancy, if you please; so I am called, although, to be sure, there is not much royal state among our folk."

"I beg your pardon, Madam Fancy! And now I—fancy that I can explain the beautiful repose that lies over the face of Nature in this royal month of June. I have just been meditating upon it with delight. How peaceful, how lovely in their peacefulness are all things around us! Yes, I see how it is! The good Brownies are abroad upon the landscape, and they have thrown the light and sweetness of their own natures upon these scenes. What a happy people you are, free from all conflict and care, and how happy those who feel the spell of your influence!"

"Oh! O-o-oh!" A chorus of exclamations uttered in a deprecating tone broke from the whole Brownie company.

I started, and looked around surprised beyond measure at this outburst of protesting voices. Then followed a moment of silence.

Queen Fancy spoke at last. "Yes, it is just as I supposed," she said. "You are yet a novice in Nature lore. You have much to learn, all you mortals have, ere you can know the true life of the inferior creatures. There is another side to Nature, I assure you, a very sad side, too. Come, I must teach you to read between the lines!"

She touched me with a tiny staff or wand. My mind at once was wide awake and all its faculties more alert than usual. But, curiously, the Brownies had disappeared! I wondered at this, but presently a series of incidents caught my attention which for the time quite banished all thought of my new acquaintances.

A long line of Sanguine Ants,[D] the Red Slavemakers, filed by me in irregular columns and crossed the walk to their nest which, as you know, is placed close by the fence nearly opposite the barn. The warriors carried in their jaws the plunder of a nest of Fuscous Ants which I have already said lies to the right under the verge of the Elm's shadow. Some warriors had yellowish cocoons, some white larvæ, a few carried the bodies (living or dead I could not determine) of their victims, and several bore upon their legs the severed heads of the poor blacks who had been slain in defence of their home, and whose decapitated heads still clung to their foes fixed in the rigor of death. I rose and followed up the column of Sanguines to the nest which they were plundering. Some of the kidnappers were plunging into the opened gates, others issuing therefrom laden with their stolen booty, others were engaged in fierce battle with groups of the invaded Fuscas. Only a few of the latter were inclined to fight. They seemed, for the most part, dazed by their misfortune. Numbers hung to the topmost leaves and stalks of the surrounding grass and weeds, holding in their jaws baby larvæ and cocoon cradles rescued from the invaders, with which they had hurriedly fled to the nearest elevated objects. It was truly a pitiful sight, and I began to wax indignant at the Sanguine wretches who could work such domestic misery and ruin.

Fig. 3.—A Red Slavemaker Ant with its Plunder.

"Ah!" said a faint voice close by my ear, "yet this is Nature!"

I could see no one, but recognized the tone of Queen Fancy. "True, most true!" I thought, and looked further. A little way from the Fuscas' nest, just outside the circle of confusion, I saw a solitary ant of an amber hue, the Schaufuss ant,[E] which you have told us is also sometimes enslaved. She was moving back and forth with cautious mien, and I easily perceived was putting finishing touches to the closure of a little hole that marked the gate of her formicary hut. A tiny pebble was placed, then a few pellets of soil were added. Then the worker walked away, took a few turns as though surveying the surroundings, and cautiously came back. The coast was clear! Now she deftly crawled into the small open space, and I could see from the movements inside, and an occasional glimpse of a tip of her antennæ, that she was completing the work of concealment from the inside. At last her task was done, and all was quiet. Just then a single Sanguine warrior, perhaps a straggler from the invaders' army, or some independent scout, it may be, approached the spot. It walked about the nest, which certainly looked much like the surrounding surface; sounded or felt here and there with its antennæ; passed over the very door into which the Schaufuss ant had disappeared, and although it evidently had its suspicion awakened, at last moved away.

Fig. 4.—"It was Swathed Like a Mummy at Last" (p. xxiii).

"Good!" I exclaimed heartily. "Baffled, Sir Sanguine, baffled! I am glad that the instinct of home protection has proved too much for your wretched kidnapping cunning!"

"Aye, aye!" again spoke the voice of my unseen fairy, "baffled this time, perhaps. But can you be sure that the slaveholder scout will not be back again, with a host of its fellows, and do its work more surely?"

Fig. 5.—The Orbweaver Captured by a Wasp.

I had not thought of that, and indeed, I was pained to think it when suggested. Now I left the two nests, the plundered one and its preserved neighbor, and followed the column of Sanguines which stretched a nearly straight line of red and black for several rods, to their home. The kidnappers were bearing their prey into the open gates. Look at this! Crowds of blacks in a high state of agitation came forth to meet and greet the plunderers of their own fellows! Yes, these were the domesticated slaves of the Sanguines, themselves Fuscous ants, the same species and perhaps from the very nest that was now being desolated. And there they were rejoicing in the booty, welcoming home the robbers, and if naturalists tell us truly, had even urged them forth upon the Expedition.

Fig. 6.—"The Clay Sarcophagus on Yonder Barn."

"That's the worst of all!" I exclaimed aloud, unable to suppress my indignation. "One might find excuse for the Sanguines, but for this unnatural behavior—"

"Unnatural!" echoed the unseen Brownie Queen, "unnatural? No, this, too, is Nature. You are only reading between the poet's lines of peaceful beauty. You will learn your lesson by and by."

Fig. 7.—"For a Ravenous Wasp Larva to Devour."

I went back to the rustic seat beneath the Elm, and thought. A butterfly flew by. I followed its flight. "Oh! that is too bad!" I cried involuntarily. It had struck the snare of the Orbweaving spider. It struggled helplessly in the toils. Swiftly the aranead sped from its pretty leafy tent along its trap line, and in a moment seized and began swathing its victim. A thick ribbon of pure white silk streamed from the spinnerets, and enwrapped the butterfly round and round as it was revolved by the spider's feet. It was swathed like a mummy at last, and left lashed and hanging to the cross lines, while its captor mounted to her nest and began leisurely to haul up the captive preparatory to a sumptuous meal.

Fig. 8.—The Cicada Wasp, Sphecius speciosus.

My pity had hardly time to express itself ere another insect form swept by. It was a blue wasp, a Mud-dauber. It flew to the Orbweaver's web. Another victim? It is within the toils! The spider leaves her prey and darts along the trap line. What? will she not venture? No! she recoils. But too late! The Wasp has seized her, plunged its sharp sting into her body, and shaking the bits of web from its feet flies away. I know what that means. The clay sarcophagus on yonder barn wall shall receive another morsel of preserved meat for a ravenous wasp larva to devour.

What had I to say about this incident? This; I found myself unconsciously asking, "What will destroy the Wasp, in its turn?" But I had no leisure to meditate an answer. A beautiful creature flitted past me, whose colors of orange and black were distinct even in flight. It was the fine, large Digger-wasp,[F] the largest of that family among our indigenous insects. Just then from the branch of a small oak a Cicada sounded his rolling love call. A note not very melodious to human ear, it is true, but it throbs with the passion of affection, and must have been sweet music to his mate on the branch near by. Unlucky lover! your love sonnet has sounded your doom. It shall be your death song. See! my beautiful Wasp has pounced upon the amorous Cicada, and pierced and paralyzed like the spider before him, he is being borne to a grave in that grassy bank. There, in the Wasp's burrow, buried alive though with a semblance of death, he shall feed the maw of a hungry worm.

"It is mother love!" exclaimed the unseen Brownie Queen, sadly I thought and tenderly. "But mother love seems cruel sometimes; and it alone has not taught the Wasp to spare the mating love of its fellow insects."

This is not all that I saw, but this is such as I saw on that memorable occasion. My experience started a train of meditation that was the reverse of agreeable. But what could I say? I had been observing the facts of Nature, nothing more nor less. I looked away over the landscape again and my feelings were not what they were before. Underneath the surface of all this beauty and summer repose I seemed to feel the beating of a fevered pulse. Yes, the Doctor of the Gentiles spake truly: "The whole creation groaneth and travaileth in pain."[G] Yes, I was beginning to read between the lines! Verily, I perceived that the insect world in the matter of anxiety, struggles and sufferings, in passions of love, hate and covetousness, is after all in some sort a miniature of our own world of human beings.

I do not know how long I sat pondering these things, but I was presently conscious that my Brownie friends had returned.

"You have changed your opinion about some of the inferior creatures, have you not?" began Queen Fancy. "I know that it must be so. And now it remains for you to change your opinion about us. You think we are perfectly happy, never touched by such conflicts and cares as mortals and insects have. No! it is with us as it is with you and all the rest. One idea runs through all Nature and all her creatures high and low. All alike, from gnats and fairies to mastodons and men, have friends and foes, perils and pleasures, pains and joys, loves and hates, bitter disappointments and proud attainments; watchings, cares, strifes, battles, defeats, heart desolations, sickness, oppressions, despoilment, death—all these and the reverse of all these happen to us all."

"It is true!" I answered, "I see now that it is quite true. The fact that creatures are small and unknown to us, and outside our ordinary region of feeling and thought, does not hinder them from having joys and sorrows, trials and triumphs even as we have. I will never think of Nature again, and of the insect world in particular, without remembering this double side of its life history."

"That is very good," said Queen Fancy, "and now we wish you to remember also that Brownies are a part of Nature and share the general rule. Our lives are so interwoven with all natural surroundings, and with yourselves as well, that we feel keenly everything that goes on around us. But enough for this time. I promised you something further about our history. Now I make the promise good. I am to deliver to you the records of some of our kin which have lately fallen into our hands. You will read them; write them out carefully, and give them to Mr. Mayfield to edit and print. Nobody can do that so well as he. Indeed, his name and his stories about our Old Farm Tenants have gone among our people on the far Ohio border; and that is the reason why these records of the Brownies and their wars have been sent hither to be given into his care. There, I have done."

Queen Fancy clapped her hands and a herald at her side blew upon a tiny shell, a wee miniature, for all the world, of the conch shell which Sarah the cook blows for dinner. Suddenly, a vast host of little folk issued from the grass plat along the slope toward the springhouse. They were arranged rank upon rank, whole companies in column, and they all were drawing at ropes no bigger than a lady's hair. Presently, I saw the round top of a rolled parcel emerge above the summit of the slope. It moved slowly, and I was puzzled to know by what force it was impelled, until I saw that it was mounted upon a toy cart which was being drawn by the Brownie host. On the night before I had been reading (it was a curious coincidence!) Wilkinson's account of the Ancient Egyptians, and had been especially interested in the manner in which their bulky architecture had been reared, and particularly in a picture that showed a colossal stone statue of some sovereign being drawn upon a sled by an army of laborers. The Brownie exploit reminded me of these old Egyptians. Here were the little folk of our Old Farm showing mimic reproduction of life on the Nile in the days of Abraham! Strange!

The Brownie host never stopped until the parcel reached my feet. Then the Queen called a halt, and, turning to me, said: "Abby, Schoolmistress, we commit this precious roll to you. Receive it as a sacred trust; do our will concerning it, and be forevermore the Brownies' good friend." She clapped her hands, the herald blew his shell bugle, and in a moment the entire host had melted away into the foliage and were lost to sight.

The Boy's Illustration.
Fig. 9.—Brownies Bringing the Roll of Records.

I have not seen them since, but I have tried to fulfill my part of the trust which came to me so curiously in the drowsy hours of that June day, and now I deliver my work to you that you in turn may fulfill your portion of the apportioned duty. That you will not fail is the confident hope of

Your obedient servant,

Abby Bradford.

"What do you think of that?" I asked, as I finished Abby's letter, for I had read it aloud to the Mistress.

"Perhaps," said the Mistress, looking up from her embroidery, "we had better open the parcel."

A familiar twinkle colored her smile, that raised a momentary suspicion that she perhaps knew something more of the contents than she chose to tell. The advice was good, albeit deftly dodging my question, so I cut the wrappings and exposed a roll of fair manuscript. "It is a story," I remarked, after glancing over the pages, "a sort of historical fairy tale, I fancy. But, hold! what is this?" My eye had fallen upon some sentences that arrested attention, and I read several continuous pages.

The Mistress interrupted the reading: "Well, what has interested you? And what have you to say about the whole affair?"

"I have been reading here a curious adaptation of the habits of my spider pets, and it is neatly put. And here is another of the same sort." I turned to a chapter further on, and read with great satisfaction a few pages more. "Really," I exclaimed, "the natural history is good, and is fairly inwoven with the tale. I have changed my opinion of the work; it is evidently an attempt to bring out some of the most interesting habits of our American spider fauna by personifying them with the imaginary creatures of fairy lore. You want to know my opinion of the matter? As to the manuscript I shall not, of course, venture an opinion until I have read it with some care. As to the author—well, perhaps you can tell better than I. When did Abby write it?"

The Mistress waited a moment or two and then in her quiet way replied, "Pray, how should I know? Abby is of age, ask her; she can speak for herself."

Thus the affair of the Brownie records rested until I had gone over the manuscript more carefully. Then the Mistress was again consulted.

"Will you print the papers?" she asked.

"I am in doubt what to do. I think that it might find a kindly welcome, but—I fear the verdict of the public, especially the clientage upon whose favor its fate most depends—the young people. Though, to be sure, it is evidently not written wholly for them."

"I have a suggestion," the Mistress remarked. "Let us take two evenings in the week and read it to our farm people. They form a typical audience, I am sure, and their judgment will be a fair test of the possible verdict of the public at large."

"The very idea!" I cried. "You have come to my help, my dear, with your usual practical wisdom. Let us have the readings."

Behold us, then, the entire Old Farm family, with the exception of Abby, who was absent on a visit to New England friends, seated around the great Elm during the long June evenings, trying the merits of the Fairies' history. When the early tea was over, we took our seats (or rather positions, for some of the party preferred to recline upon the grass), around the tree, and the reading began, and continued until twilight. Sometimes I read, sometimes the Mistress, and in three weeks the story was finished.

"Now for the verdict," I said. "The children first. What say you? Shall we print the Brownie book?"

"To be sure," said Joe, "why not, Sir? I think those wars and adventures with the Pixies are just the thing for boys like me."

"I would print it," said Jennie modestly. "I think the Brownies' love stories are pretty indeed; though I don't like so much fighting, and the Pixies are just horrid."

"Print it, Sir!" cried Harry enthusiastically. "I'm sure boys like me will want to hear all about the Moth, Wasp, Bee and Butterfly ponies, and the curious, wise tricks of the Spider-pixies."

"As for me," said Hugh, "I'm young enough yit to relish a fairy story uv mos' any sort. So I wote with the youngsters to prent the book."

"My 'pinion hain't much good, I reckon," said Sarah, who stood half concealed behind the Elm with her hands upon her hips in her favorite posture. "An' I hain't no sort uv notion uv witches an' sich, no way. Tho' laws-a-massy! I b'lieve in 'em; 'v course I do! But somehow, I don't feel over comfo'ble to hev sech things a-prentin' about our Ole Farm. W'at's people goin' to say about sech goins-on, any way? I don't mind about the Brownies; like es not ther be sech folk. An' w'y not here as well as other places? I don't know w'ere they'd find a nicer home than jes' aroun' here; an' I'm pos'tive my kitchen's trig enough fer any kind o' fairies as ever was. Folks as hev sense enough to use a conch shell, now, as them Brownie heralds do, would be jes' likely to settle at the Ole Farm. But es for them Pixies—w'at's the use uv sech critters, anyhow? 'Tain't no ways comfo'ble to think thet they mought be squattin' on our premises. Howsomever, I'd prent the book, I reckon. Leastways, ye kin do it, fer all me, 'f ye're a mine ter. My notion is it's a sight more interestener nor the Say-an-says. Though, they was worth prentin' too, that's a fac'!"

"Now, Dan, it's your turn," I said; "what say you?"

The old colored man sat on a low stool at the outer margin of the family circle, with his face leaning upon his hands. He raised his head, laid his palms upon his knees, rolled his eyes expressively and gave his verdict with all the solemnity of a judge passing sentence on a capital offender.

"'Pears to me, Mars Mayfiel' an' Misses," he began, "dat dat's a powerful good story, an' a true one, too! W'y, I've seed dem wery Brownies myse'f. Uv coorse I hev!" he exclaimed emphatically, turning an indignant glance upon Sarah, who had uttered a significant guttural expression of unbelief. "W'at do you know aboout Brownies, Sary Ann, I'd jes' like to know? Pixies is more in your line, a heap sight! Down in ole Marylan', now, dar's a power ob Brownies and Fairies an' all sech folkses. 'Tain't ebry one as gits to see 'em, dough. Dey's mighty 'tickler 'boout w'at company dey keeps, I kin tell you!

"I doan say es I eber seed any on 'em roun' dis Ole Farm,—an' I doan say es I didn't. But dat's needer hyar nur dar. Dey's hyar, I knows. I've done seed de signs ob 'em, many's de time. W'y, lookee hyar! How d'ye tink dem insecks an' bugs and tings w'at Mars Mayfiel' tole us aboout, done foun' out how to do dar peert tricks? Hit stans to reason dat sech critters ain't got de larnin' fer sech cunnin' doins. W'at wid dar nes's, an' burrows, an' cobwebs, an' cute little housens, an' all dat, dey show heap moah sense dan some w'ite folks es I could name. Now, whar dey gwine to fin' out all dat, I ax agin, an' how is dey gwine to do it, unless de Fairies helps 'em? Dey jes' kine ob obersee de job; dat's how it 'pears to me.

"Den dar's dat gubner Wille—shoo! He ain't no sucumstance ter w'at I knows 'boout how de insecks, an' fairies, an' goblins an' dem kine ob beins hes to do wid we uns. No, no!"—and he shook his head with serious gravity—"no, Sah! hit won't do ter go back on dat. We cullud folks knows heaps ob larnin' aboout dem critters; an' dey's jes' wove in, an' in, an' in, an' out ob dese yere mohtal libes ob ourn! Dar's de Deaf's-head moff, an' de catumpillars, an' de antemires, an' de death watch, an' de cricket, an' de money-spinners, an' de measurin' worm—sakes-alive! Dar's signs an' warnins fer we uns in dem critters agin all de Pixies, worl' widout en'. Amen. Yes, Sah, hit's all right; dat's a true story, an' no mistake."

"But, Dan," I said, "you haven't told us yet what you think about printing the story."

Fig. 10.—Our Farm Family in Literary Council.

"Needer I have, Sah!" the old man replied, rolling up the whites of his eyes and shaking his shaggy, gray poll. "Needer I have! an' wat's moah, I ain't gwine ter. I doan see much good in dem kine ob books no how—specially de picters. Dar's like to be bad work aboout dem tings. Hit doan do ter be too fumwiliar wid such tings. W'at's de good? Dar's no tellin' w'at dey mought do ter we'ns, ef dey gits sot agin us. You bes' keep clar ob dat business, Mars Mayfiel'. De ole Bible's good 'nough fer me, Sah; an' hit says dat much larnin' makes a man mad, an' books is a-wearisome to de flesh. An' dat's a fac', Sah,—leastways, readin' an' a-studyin' on 'em is. You kin do w'at you's a mine ter, an' I 'low you'll prent de Brownie book, any way. Hit's mighty good hearin', I'll say dat fer it, but—" he shook his head once more, and was silent.

The next day I wrote to the Schoolmistress as follows:

The Old Farm.

My dear Miss Abby:

I have gone over the manuscript that you sent, and on the whole I approve of it, and agree to print it with such editorial notes as Queen Fancy has suggested. We have also—the Mistress and I—read it to the Farm family, having revived our last winter's "Say-an-says" for that purpose. I have even translated bits of the story into simpler form and speech for the youngest member of our household, four-year-old Dorothy. Our young people are enthusiastic in their admiration, and vote to print the book. So do the others, with the exception of Dan, who is noncommittal. But the old fellow enjoyed the reading as much as the rest. He thinks the story a true one, and declares that he has seen the Brownies! You know his boundless superstition, and his odd habits of personifying all living things and talking aloud to them as he goes about his work. I have no doubt that he has peopled his little world with many queer imaginary creatures who may well stand to his undisciplined fancy for Fairies and Goblins, Brownies and Pixies. He has unwavering faith, also, in the occult influence of such beings and of insects generally upon the destinies of human kind.

By the way, this unexpected deliverance of Dan's has eased my mind as to one feature of the story, viz: the manner in which the life and behavior of the Willes are interwoven with, and interdependent upon, the movements of the Brownies and Pixies. Since I have thought more about it, I have greatly abated the fear that the verisimilitude of such relations might not sufficiently appear to readers.

In point of fact, the creatures of the Insect World, as personified in the story, have had and shall have much to do with determining the lot of man. The plagues of Egypt as written in the Book of Exodus, furnish an example; as also the incursions of cankerworm, locust, caterpillar and palmerworm recorded elsewhere in Scripture. African travelers tell us that the tetze fly has so circumscribed the geographical bounds within which certain domestic animals can live, as to greatly limit or modify civilization. We all know examples of the effects of mosquito supremacy at certain points of our country in determining the fortunes of men or places. The familiar stories of Bruce and the Spider, and Mahomet and the Spider, are also in point as showing how great interests may hinge upon the behavior of an humble animal. Here are facts enough, surely, to justify us in facing the public with Governor Wille and his relations to the imaginary folk of the story.

In conclusion, I must say that I have been greatly interested to note how admirably the habits of my spider friends admit of personification. The so-called engineering, ballooning, cavemaking, sailing, and other operations, are so accurately described by those words, that the manlike qualities, motives and passions attributed to the actors seem almost natural. At one moment I find myself accepting the representations as a matter of course, and anticipating the conduct described on the very ground of known natural habits. At another time I am startled at the strong tone of human behavior that the descriptions so easily admit. Certainly, this is something more than what the naturalists have called "anthropomorphism." What is the mysterious ligature that binds in this sympathy of movements the sovereign will of immortal man and the automatic brain cell of a spider?

Pardon me! it was not in my purpose to start so profound a question of philosophy and physiology. I only meant to say that the wishes of yourself and your Brownie acquaintances shall be cheerfully granted, and the manuscript be given to the public.

I am, very truly,

Your Friend,

Fielding Mayfield.

FOOTNOTES:

[A] Psalm lxxiv, 5.

[B] Formica fusca.

[C] In the little company referred to further on, to whom the manuscript of this book was read, was a friend's lad, eight years old, a visitor at the Old Farm. The Mistress noticed him during the intervals of the readings busy with pencil and paper, amusing himself with such drawings as children are wont to make. A number of these had been made and thrown away ere it occurred to the good woman to call my attention thereto. I was much surprised and delighted to find that the boy had been engaged in illustrating the Brownie Book (as we then familiarly called it). It was a good sign of the value of the work that it could produce such an impression upon a child of his tender years. Moreover, the rude figures were so apt and interesting to my own mind, that I fancied others might be equally interested therein. "Why not print them?" suggested the Mistress. And upon mature deliberation that is just what I resolved to do. No one but a child could make such pictures. Let the adult, however good an artist, try as much as he may, he could not reproduce such drawings. Indeed the better the artist, the further would he come from achievement. That children will take at once to these reflections of a child's mind, appears quite probable. Moreover, to the thinking adult they must have a special value as a psychological study. With all our knowledge of children, it is still marvellous how little we know of a child's mind. These little tokens of its workings perhaps may help us to a better knowledge. At all events, a few of these "Boy's Illustrations" have been selected for engraving, and the editor will be disappointed if they do not give to both his adult and youthful readers as much pleasure as they gave to himself.—The Editor.

[D] Formica sanguinea.

[E] Formica Schaufussii.

[F] Sphecius speciosus.

[G] Romans viii. 22.

THE BOOK.

Old Farm Fairies.

A Summer Campaign in Brownieland

AGAINST

King Cobweaver's Pixies.

CHAPTER I.

HOW THE BROWNIES CAME TO HILLSIDE.

Not many years ago a company of Brownies lived on the lawn at Hillside, the home of Governor Wille. Since the Brownies are Scotch fairies, one must ask how they came to be dwelling so far away from their native heather upon the green hummocks of the Ohio.

The question takes us back to the early part of the Nineteenth Century, and to a Manse and glebe on the banks of Loch Achray, the beautiful little lake that lies at the entrance to Trosachs Glen, quite near the foot of Loch Katrine in Scotland. Here dwelt Governor Wille's grandfather, a godly minister of the Gospel; and here he lived until there grew up around him a large family of sturdy lads and lasses. Often had the good minister looked over his household as they sat around the table eating with keen relish their cakes and oatmeal porridge, and wondered: "How shall I provide for them all? How shall I find fitting duty and engagement for these eager hearts, restless hands, and busy brains?"

At last he answered: "I will go with them to America, and join my brother there on the banks of the Ohio River."

Now the Manse and glebe were the seat of a nation of the wee fairyfolk whom Scotchmen call Brownies. The Manse site is on the skirt of Ben An's lowest slope; and across the Trosachs road, upon a point that pushes into the Loch, stands the kirk amid its kirkyard. The Brownies were fond of this home, but they loved the Manse folk much more dearly; and so when they heard the plan to emigrate to the New World, they resolved not to allow their friends to go to America without an escort of their fairy companions and caretakers.

A General Assembly of all the Manse Brownies was therefore called, to meet under the "hats" of a clump of broad toadstools growing on the mountain slope, close by the barn. The place was crowded from the stem of the central toadstool to the rim of the outer hat. Outside this clump the spears of grass, the drooping bluebells, and purple blossoms of heather were covered with boy Brownies, who climbed up delicate stems, smooth blades and gnarled stalks, much as city lads mount lampposts, trees and awnings to gaze upon a procession. From these points they looked upon their elders, quite as anxious and earnest, if not as well informed as they.

When the Assembly had been called to order, the King of the Brownies asked, "Who will volunteer to go to America with our dear friends, the Willes?"

There was a mighty shout; not one present failed to answer: "I!!"

The explosion fairly shook the roof of their toadstool tabernacle. Thereat the old monarch sprang to his feet, removed his plumed hat, and stood uncovered, bowing his white hairs and venerable beard before the Assembly, in honor of their noble response. The elders waved their tiny blue Scotch bonnets, wept, laughed and hallooed in turn. The youngsters danced upon the heather bells and swung from the grass blades until the tops swayed to and fro, and cheered again and again for the Willes, for the King, for the Brownies, for everybody!

By and by the King brought the Assembly to order, and proposed that a colony be drafted from the whole company to go to the New World. "I shall claim the privilege of naming the leader of the Expedition," said he, "and I name Murray Bruce. The rest may go by lot."

Whereat the Brownies cheered again, for they were always pleased to respect their good sovereign's wishes, and Bruce was one of the wisest, steadiest, and bravest of their number. He was tall, strong, comely, and in the prime of his years. Then the lot was cast. The names of all the active Brownies were placed in the tiny corol of a blue bell, which served as a voting urn. The King drew out fifty names, and these were the elect members of the colony. The interest was intense as the drawing went on. Again and again the King's hand sank into the urn, and came out holding the wee billet that decided some Brownie's destiny. As the name was announced, there was silence; but thereupon a flutter of excitement ran through the company; a whirl of noisy demonstration marked the spot where the fortunate nominee was receiving the congratulations of his friends; sometimes a cheer was given when a favorite or familiar name was announced.

"How many names have been drawn?" asked the King.

"Forty-nine," answered the Lord Keeper. Amid profound silence the last name was drawn and announced:

"Rodney Bruce!"

It was the Captain's brother, a young and promising sailor, who had won much praise for daring adventures with water pixies on "the stream that joins Loch Katrine and Achray." His name was welcomed with cheers, and then a buzz of disappointment arose from the crowd who heartily envied the "Fortunate Fifty." However, the disappointment soon passed away, for Brownies are a cheerful and contented folk. The hum of voices ceased, and the people waited to know what might be needed to forward the comfort and success of the emigrant escort.

"How shall we get off?" said Captain Bruce. "Has your Majesty any orders or counsel? Has the Assembly any advice?"

That was a puzzling question. The Lord Keeper, Lord Herald, and all the other lords and nobles shook their heads wisely and said nothing. Some one called out the name of "Rodney, the sailor," whereat the old Lord Admiral turned up his little red nose, looked contemptuously at the speaker, and muttered something about "land lubbers." As no one had any advice to venture, all waited for their sovereign's opinion.

"Hoot!" said the King at last, "Ye shall juist gae your ain gait. Howiver, ye maun steal awa' unbeknowns, I'se warrant ye; for Parson Wille, good heart! will never allow ye to risk anything for him. But how? Well, I dinna ken; ye maun e'en settle that, amang yoursels."

The difficulty was no nearer solution than before. There was another long pause. It was broken by a voice that called from the outer edge of the Assembly.

"I can tell you how!" It was Walter MacWhirlie who spoke, one of the chosen escort.

"Come to the front, then," said the King, "and say your say."

Every eye was at once fixed on the bold speaker. But MacWhirlie, nothing abashed, leaped from the heather stalk on which he stood, and making a double somersault above the whole company, landed erect upon the edge of a leaf whereon sat the King and lords.

Fig. 11.—Brownie MacWhirlie Comes to the Front by a Double Somersault.

"Ugh!" said the monarch, starting back; for MacWhirlie had well nigh alighted on his toes.

"Queak!" cried the Queen; and "queak, queak!" screamed the Princesses, tumbling over one another in their fright.

"You rude beast!" growled the Lord Keeper, laying his hand upon his broadsword.

But the youth and boys cheered, the young Princesses began to giggle, the old folks laughed outright, the Queen smoothed down her ruffles, the good King composed his countenance and smiled, and the Lord Keeper smothered his indignation and put up his sword.

"Speak up, laddie," said the King. MacWhirlie bowed low first to the royal party, and then to the lords. (My Lord Keeper's brow cleared up somewhat at that.)

"I was passin' thro' the barn the morn," he began, "and saw the gardener packin' the auld kist that lies on the barn floor, with tools, seeds, roots and herbs. It's a gude place for hidin', is yon kist."

"That it is," exclaimed the Queen laughing, "I've had mony a game o' bo-peep in 't mysel'."

"Aye, aye, so it is!" was the hearty assent from all parts of the hall, while the lads on the outside signified their approval by cheers for the old chest.

"A gude place for hidin' is yon auld kist," continued MacWhirlie. "I ken naethin' like it for Brownies. An' if your Majesty please, we can a' ride to America safe eneugh in that."

"It is gude counsel," cried the King, clapping his hands. "Forbye, I would na thoct it frae sic a giddy pate as yoursel', MacWhirlie. Many thanks, however, and mak' ready quarters in the auld kist for your journey to the New World. Herald, dismiss the Assembly."

Lord Herald skipped to the front and sounded a bugle, which in sooth was nothing more than a tiny shell fitted with a dainty mouthpiece.

"Hi-e-iero! ee-roo!"

Fig. 12.—The Old Chest on its Journey Across the Allegheny Mountains.

Then he struck his staff thrice, and cried, or rather intoned in a loud voice these words:

O-eez; O-eez; O-eez!
Bide by the King's decrees!
Brownies-O-bonnie, and Brownies-O-braw,
Hither gae, hame gae, Brownies awa'!

At the last word the Assembly arose, and speaking all together, responded,

Brownies aye, Brownies a
Leal and true, awa', awa'!

Then they separated, the elders moving soberly, the youth scampering off hither and thither, leaping, chattering, cheering, making the grass blades twinkle with their good natured frolic. In a moment the toadstools were deserted, and a great spider-pixie crept under the vacant central hat, and began to shake his head and talk to himself while uttering a low, harsh, chuckling laugh.

Bruce, Rodney, MacWhirlie and all the elect escort, together with their families, made the voyage across the Atlantic safely though somewhat uncomfortably. But their trials were not over when they landed in Philadelphia. The chest was hoisted into a big road wagon covered with canvas, known as a "Conestoga wagon," and wheeled on for many days over the Allegheny mountains. Down by old Fort Pitt it trundled, along the banks of the beautiful river Ohio, to the frontier village of Steubenville. There the wagon stopped. Parson Wille built his cabin on Hillside. The Brownies, happy as the beasts and birds that were turned out of Noah's Ark after the flood, were released from their prison in the old chest, and took up once more old duties and pleasures in the clearings, cornfields and garden of the new home.

That was many years ago. The good parson has long since been received to a fairer Home than either Scotland or America ever gave; but his grandson, Governor Wille, lives at Hillside. It is not the same Hillside that the brave and godly minister first built his log cabin upon, you may be sure. Great changes have occurred. But the same Brownies are there; as good natured, as frolicsome, as fond of their friends and as true to them as ever, yet, we are sorry to say, not so fortunate and happy. What has troubled them?

CHAPTER II.

SPITE THE SPY.

When the Assembly of Brownies, which had been held at the old Scotch Manse, was quite dispersed, a spider-pixie entered the vacant tent and began to spin a web. He belonged to a race of sprites as vicious and cruel as the Brownies are kind and good. They are called spider-pixies because they do much of their mischief by means of silken webs or snares which they spin, and in which they catch their enemies. The fact, however, should work no prejudice against those remarkable creatures, the spiders, which are doubtless worthy of all the loving attention that naturalists give them.

The chief enemies of these Pixies (next to themselves, to be sure) were the Brownies. Not that the good little fairies wished to harm any creature; but then, as the Pixies wished harm to every one, and were always showing their ill will by naughty tricks, the Brownies, out of very goodness, tried to thwart their evil plans and save intended victims from harm. Thus it came that the Brownies and Pixies lived in continuous warfare. Many a battle had they fought on and around the Manse glebe and kirkyard, for the Pixies hated Parson Wille most cordially, and dearly loved to annoy him.

The Brownies were just as hearty in their love, and by close watching, hard working and brave battling they had well nigh driven their enemies from the place. Only once in a while a few, more daring and cunning than the rest, would break through the boundaries and make a foray upon the forbidden grounds.

Among the most successful of these leaders of mischief was Spite the Spy. He was a great sneak, shrewd and sly, and well deserved his name. He was a coward in the main, and loved best to do his mischief in an underhand way. But for all that, he was so full of malice that he could be quite venturesome rather than miss a chance to work harm to those whom he hated. Thus it came that in spite of his natural cowardice he had a fair reputation for boldness. It was this miserable fellow who crawled into the tabernacle as the voices of the Brownies died away among the grasses.

How came he therein? Having chanced to hear of the proposed Assembly to consider the interest of the Manse folk, he set himself to spy out the proceedings. How should he do that without being discovered? "Let me think!" he said. He climbed up a tall weed that grew on the border of the Manse farm, swung himself by a thread of silk from a leaf, and hung there awhile, head downward, while he meditated.

"Ha! I have it!" he cried. He pulled himself up again hand over hand, scampered down the weed and plunged into the thick forest of grasses. He went swiftly, though cautiously, for a while. Then he ascended a tall spear of timothy, perched himself atop of the bearded head and reconnoitered.

"Yes, there it is," he said to himself. "I see the brown hat of the toadstool tent; and—let me see—yes, sure enough, there is the Black Pebble under which cousin Atypus used to have her nest. Any Brownies about? No, the coast's quite clear. But, caution, old fellow! you are pretty sly, but you may be caught after all. And they'd make short work of Spite if they got hold of him once, I warrant." At this he chuckled, puffed out his eyes, and swelled up his round pouch as though it were a fine thing to be quite deserving of the Brownies' anger.

Fig. 13.—"Silken Snares in Which They Catch Their Enemies."

Spite was not long in making his way to the Black Pebble which was at the outer edge of the Brownies' meeting place, and was imbedded in a little bank of sandy earth at the base of which the toadstools grew. He began to scratch in the surrounding soil. His claws soon struck something that gave him pleasure. It was a bit of silken tissue.

"Ha! I am in luck! Here is the door of the burrow. Now we shall see, brother Brownies, and hear too; and if there's any mischief agoing Spite the Spy will have his spinner in it."

Spite had come upon the door of a cave or tunnel. When a few more grains of sand had been thrown aside he lifted the tissue door and entered. It was dark at first, and there was a musty smell in the air. Spite did not care for that, and in a moment ran to the far end of the cave and back again. This strange place had once been the home of a Burrow Pixie. It was a tunnel scooped out of the sandy earth.[H] It ran horizontally for a short way, and then sloped downward. It was lined around the sides, top and bottom with a tight silken tube, and was about half an inch in diameter. It was, therefore, a tunnel within a tunnel, a silk within a sand one. The silk supported the sides so completely that not a particle of soil could pass through. The upper part of the tube projected from the earth, falling forward so as to form a flap which protected the mouth of the burrow or cave. At first the tube had been much longer and was bent and carried over the surface among the moss. This was the door which Spite had been looking for, and whose discovery so much pleased him.

"Well, well," said Spite, talking all the while to himself, "this is lucky indeed. It must now be several moons since cousin Atypus was cut off by the Brownies, and here is her old place just as good as ever. It looks right into the meeting house. How fortunate! But I must fix up this door a little, or I shall have those suspicious fellows smelling around here; although I doubt whether they know anything about the place. They caught Atypus when she had ventured out of doors."

Fig. 14.—English Atypus in Her Burrow.

Meanwhile Spite was busy with the door. He laid a dry leaf and a few bits of dry moss around the edge of the pebble, then gently lifted the silken flap and crept within. He made a wee hole in the flap, and through this saw and heard the proceedings of the Brownies. Little did the good folk suspect that one of their enemies was so near, almost in their midst. As for Spite, he was in high glee, although he was not without fears. The boy Brownies had climbed atop the Black Pebble, and crowded and capered upon it until they were like to shake it from the bank, and send it arolling into the Assembly.

"Serve 'em right, the little plagues," snarled Spite, "if the old rock did get loose, and break all their necks in the avalanche. Only, that would make a gap in my burrow, and—well, it isn't pleasant to think of the consequences."

Moreover, MacWhirlie and the restless youngsters who were mounted on the herbage that grew above and around the Pixie's cave, were continually tramping over the moss around the door, rocking to and fro on the overhanging heather sprays till the roots fairly shook, and scrambling up and down the little slope and over the flap itself. No wonder that Spite's heart seemed to jump into his throat occasionally.

However, the door of the cave was so cunningly disguised and fitted into the bank, that Spite was not discovered. He was well satisfied, for all that, when the meeting was dismissed and the last of the Brownies disappeared. He pushed open the flap, peeped out, then crawled slowly into the light, crept down the slope and entered the vacant meeting place. He was hungry; the labors and excitement through which he had passed had quite exhausted him. He therefore crouched behind a toadstool stem, and, after waiting patiently a while, sprang upon and devoured a hapless fly and beetle that chanced to straggle that way. Then he wiped his jaws with his hairy claw, rubbed his cheeks and head quite in the fashion of pussy washing her face,[I] stretched a few silken threads from the stem to the ground, and turned away.

"There," he said, "I leave those few lines to show that I have been here, and that Spite the Spy is sharper than all the Brownies. Now for home! King Cobweb will be interested in what I have to tell. As for Parson Wille and his Brownies, perhaps they shall not escape us quite so readily."

Spite gained great applause by this adventure, and when it was resolved to send out to the New World some one to watch the motions of Parson Wille, and do all the harm possible to his kind Brownie guardians, who but Spite the Spy should be chosen? "You need take but few companions," said King Cobweb; "there are plenty of our folk in that country. I shall send a letter with you to my cousin, King Cobweaver, and you can muster a goodly company in America."

Fig. 15.—"Having Overspun Themselves."

Now what should Spite do, but make his way straight to the old chest. He discovered that in one corner the joints of the planks had sprung open a little. "That will do bravely, I think!" He crept into the crack to try if it fitted his size.

"Very good indeed," he exclaimed, and then ran to report.

King Cobweb was quite satisfied. Spite thereupon hid himself in the open seam with two other Pixies named Hide and Heady, and, having overspun themselves with a silken covering, made the voyage to America in the old chest with the Brownies.[J]

When safely landed at Hillside, he reported to the nearest tribe of Pixies. He was received with great favor as a distinguished foreigner; was feasted, petted, and his wonderful skill in strategy heralded everywhere. In short, he was quite a lion, and his fame was even greater in America than on the other side of the Atlantic. Spite took his honors gracefully, enjoyed them hugely, acknowledged them publicly, hobnobbed with his friends, and took occasion when talking in private with his two countrymen, to ridicule the customs and manners of American Pixies. That was very mean, to be sure; but what better could you expect from Spite the Spy?

In the midst of all his junketings and sight-seeing Spite never once forgot the great object of his journey. He was spinning out his plots against the Brownies, counseling with his American friends how he might worry, injure and destroy them, and forming leagues for that purpose.

That was the beginning of troubles for the Brownies at Hillside.

FOOTNOTES:

[H] Appendix, [Note A.]

[I] Appendix, [Note B.]

[J] Appendix, [Note C.]

CHAPTER III.

ADVENTURES OF THE BROWNIE SCOUTS.

The war upon the Brownie colony thus begun by Spite the Spy had been waged from year to year until the third generation of the Willes, Governor Wille himself, occupied Hillside. Sometimes the Pixies got the advantage, sometimes the Brownies; but on the whole the Pixies gained ground. Slowly the Brownies were being driven in towards the Mansion house, followed closely by their foes. At last the malicious persecutors, led by Spite, pitched their tents and reared a strong fortification at the upper end of the Lawn. Their scouts bivouacked beneath the very windows of my Lady Governor's chamber. This would never have been had not Governor Wille lately grown heedless of his good fairy friends, and left them to struggle without his sympathy and aid. For Home Brownies lose heart and cease to prosper when their Home patrons and allies forget and neglect them. The Brownies were sore distressed. What should they do?

Early one morning the Captain and Lieutenant were in close consultation. The Brownies watched them anxiously as the two slowly walked back and forth underneath a rose bush in a border near the west window of the parlor. The point under discussion was this: "Shall we make another appeal to Governor Wille, or shall we first try an assault upon the new Pixie fort?"

The decision was soon announced by the bugle call to "fall in." From every quarter the Brownies crowded eagerly, and the column moved toward the northwestern corner of the Lawn. There lay a pool formed by a stream that bubbled from beneath the springhouse at the foot of the hill. The Brownies called the pool "Loch Katrine," in honor of the lovely and historic water in their old Scotch home from whose neighborhood they had come. Just beyond the "outlet," the point at which the Spring Run issues from the pool and goes singing down the hillside, the new Pixie fort had been erected. It was called Fort Spinder, and was a sign and token that Spite and his tribes had gained and meant to keep a foothold upon the Lawn, the Brownies' special domain.

Fig. 16.—The Demilune, or Crescent Barricade.

In a brief space the Brownie army had surrounded three sides of the fort; the fourth side faced the Lake, and was safe from approach of land troops. Then Captain Bruce sent out a number of scouts to view the Pixie works and report upon their strength and the best points for attack. Let us join the Captain and his staff, and listen to these scouts as one after another they return with their reports. We shall thus learn something of the Pixies' deft handicraft and cunning ways.

Fig. 17.—The Bell Shaped Turret of Pixie Globosa, of the Wheel Legion.

"The first obstacle that I met," said Sightwell, who was the first scout to report, "was a line of barricades occupied by the Wheel Legion. This is formed of round webs woven upon grass and weeds, closely joined to one another and strung in a semicircular form along the whole front of the fort. Armed pickets are stationed at the open centrals of the snares. At either end of this crescent or demilune is a large orbweb, surmounted by a tower. One tower is wrought out of leaves lashed together by silken threads; the other is the bell shaped turret of Pixie Globosa.[K]

Fig. 18.—Fort Spinder.

"The centre of the demilune is occupied by a company of the Tubeweaver Legion. They have built a broad, irregular pavilion above and around the surface foliage, whose margin is lashed by strong cords to grass stalks and other herbage. Near the middle is a long tubular entrance which opens out upon the top."[L]

"Did you venture into it?" asked the Captain.

The Boy's Illustration.
Fig. 19.—Fort Spinder as the Boy saw it.

"No! I climbed a tall weed to reconnoitre, and from the summit noticed that Pixies, whom I had seen to pass underneath the canvas, appeared again through a round hole in the roof and thence passed down into the camp. Then I descended, cautiously made my way through the grass, and came near enough to see the opening into the tube, which is really the southern or front gate to the encampment. It is set close to the ground and is well concealed. It is guarded on each side by a sentinel. From my weed-top observatory I could see that beyond the demilune, and between it and the fort, the main camp of the Pixies is pitched. The space is well covered with tents, and everything inside seems to be settled into homelike and comfortable condition."

"Yes, yes!" exclaimed Bruce with an impatient gesture. "The wretches evidently intend to stay—if they can. But what else did you observe?"

"Nothing important. I thought best to return with this news, while Glideaway, who went with me on the scout, went around the demilune to observe the front of Fort Spinder. He ought to be back ere long."

True to his friend's prediction, Glideaway soon appeared, slipped quietly into the circle of officers, touched his Scotch bonnet and awaited leave to report.

"Well," said Bruce, "what have you to tell?"

"When I left Sightwell," the scout replied, "I hurried around the west side of the demilune, which bends in pretty close to the fort, and ends in a tall, silk-lined leaf-tower. This is used by sentinels as a sort of guard house, but I managed to slip by unobserved. I got into the Pixie camp and moved about unnoticed, passed along the whole front of the fort and came out on the east side. The walls of the fort are under charge of the Lineweaving Legion, who built them. They consist of single silken cables, crossed, knotted and interlaced into a mass several inches thick. The cables are interwoven with and lashed to the blades of grass and sprigs and foliage of meadow weeds, forming a strong wall."

"Could our troops break through or climb over it?"[M]

Glideaway shook his head doubtingly. "It would be a difficult task. Engineer Theridion directed the construction and his work is thorough. However, it might be done, and I for one am ready to try, Sir."

"And I, and I!" cried in chorus the officers and men who stood around.

"Thanks, my brave fellows," said Bruce, his eyes kindling with pride. "We shall doubtless have a chance to try your mettle before long. What are the defences of the front walls?"

"In the centre of the wall is a gate built by Engineer Linyphia of the Lineweavers. It is a high dome hung amidst a maze of crossed lines and protected beneath by a curtain floor, which is swung from the dome. The dome is pierced for defence and observation, and a strong guard mans the curtain. The main entrance to the fort is here, and all who go in must pass underneath it, and through the guard.

"At each corner or angle of the fort is a gate like the central one, except that the dome is reversed and becomes a bowl. On the flanks or sides the fort is built and manned by Lineweavers and is precisely like the front."

"Very good," said Captain Bruce dismissing the scout. "Who will report as to the river front and interior?"

"We detailed our most skillful men for that service," Adjutant Blythe answered. "Sergeants Clearview and True have charge of the scout. It is a nice and dangerous service, and we can't expect an early return."

"Let us away, then, to put our command in the best condition possible; and when the report comes in I will summon you."

The morning had quite worn away when the news came that the scouts had returned. The officers speedily gathered at headquarters, where Sergeant True and three of his men were waiting. Where could the others be? Were they lost?

"We skirted the eastern face of the fort," began Sergeant True, "and reached Lake Katrine. Then we saw that the fort is built some distance from the water on the crown of the hill that forms the shore, which there slopes down to the lake. The defences on the water front are like those on the other side, but not so heavy. The tower at the angle is different, however. It has been built by the Wolf Legion, and Captain Arenicola is in command. It is a pentagon or five-sided turret of dry twigs, like a log chimney, and is silk-lined within.[N] The Pixies' skull-and-bones flag floats from the top.

"Here we held a consultation and agreed to divide our party. Sergeant Clearview with Corporal Dare and three men undertook to survey the river front. It fell to myself to explore the interior of the fort, aided by Corporal Swiftsure and two men, Lookclose and Treadlight. Having bidden good-bye to our companions, I explained to my men the delicate and dangerous work in which we were engaged. Then we divided our squad into two parties. I took Treadlight and pushed forward, having bidden Swiftsure and Lookclose to follow at a distance that would leave us just in view. In case of discovery or accident to either party, the first duty of the other was to escape and tell at headquarters the facts already learned.

"The fort is so newly built that the surface is not yet thickly covered with snares, traps and crosslines. This greatly favored us. We found the chief part of the fort to be an immense Tubeweaver's tent built by Engineer Agalena. The central tube runs downward toward the Lake, and opens out near a tower that guards the water front. The tent is built around tall weeds which stick out like the poles of a circus pavilion, and from their tips strong guy lines stretch to various points on the roof, thus bracing it up.[O]

"We skirted the vast edifice as far as the central front gate, just opposite to which we found another of Arenicola's turrets. From this point, sweeping around toward the Lake, and fronting the tower on the southwest angle, is erected a strong tent of the Tegenaria type. It is composed of a thick sheet like that of Agalena, but this is drawn up at the margin, making a sort of breastwork. Along the pouch-like depression within are many sentinels for whom openings are pierced in the breastwork. The system ends in a tall round tower, in which Captain Tegenaria has his observatory.[P]

"We wished to cross the path between the front Linyphia gate and the opposite tower, but it was so thronged by passing Pixies that we dare not venture. We therefore turned back, thinking we had discovered enough, and ought not to further risk losing what we had learned."

"A wise and patriotic decision," said Captain Bruce, "but how did you get out of the Pixie quarters?"

Fig. 20.—Arenicolas' Tower and Stridulans' Drum.

"It was not so easy to get out of their den as to get into it," said Sergeant True, "as is usual when dealing with Pixies. We had scarcely taken the back track when a terrible racket sounded from the tower behind us. Now we saw that a big drum hung from the top of the turret, upon which a gigantic Pixie was beating furiously. We knew that this must be Drummer Stridulans whose beating sounds the various signals of the Pixies. He was now sounding an alarm, which stirred the fort with great excitement. Sentinels sprang to their posts: warriors poured out of their quarters and ran to the ramparts. Soon companies were seen hurrying toward the lake front, and amid all the rush and clatter Stridulans' drum kept up its dolorous booming from the turret.

"A score of times we barely escaped detection by the Pixies who were running to and fro; and we lay in our ambush almost breathless, nearly hopeless of keeping concealed, and ready to sell our lives at the greatest cost to our foes. Then we saw an officer run up and signal the tower. The drum ceased, and squads of Pixies began to return from the lake front in a quieter mood.

"We were anxious to know the cause of the alarm, and of its conclusion too, for we feared it might concern Clearview and his party. Words dropped by passing warriors confirmed our suspicions; but of the result, whether good or ill to our companions, we could gather nothing. When the fort had settled into quiet we continued our retreat; and here we are, Sir. But, it was trying work and a close shave. We crawled through the grass like snakes the whole way, until we had gone around the outer wall and were fairly out of sight of pickets and lookouts."

Sergeant True's report caused great uneasiness in the Brownie camp as to the fate of the river scouting party. At last an unusual stir around headquarters showed that something important was afoot. An anxious crowd gathered before the tent door, peering inside, where Sergeant Clearview could be seen in the midst of a circle of officers. He looked sadly draggled and worn; his face was bruised, his clothes limp and stained, and alas, he was alone! Let us hear his story.

"When we parted from Sergeant True we slowly moved along the edge of the Lake keeping under shelter of the sloping bank, and screening ourselves behind the tall grass at the water's brink. We passed nearly one-half the lake front of the fort, which we found protected in the same manner as the other sides, except that the works are not so heavy. The Pixies clearly intend the navy to defend that quarter from assault. However, no ships are anchored in the stream. Indeed we did not even meet a boat of any sort until we came to the remains of the Old Bridge that stood, as you remember, nearly opposite the centre of the fort, where the water gate is placed. There we came upon a skiff moored among the rushes.

The Boy's Illustration.
Fig. 21.—The Pixie Waterman's Skiff.

"'Here now is our chance,' whispered Corporal Dare. 'Let us seize this boat, and we can safely pull along the whole lake front.'

"I agreed to this, as there were no Pixies in sight on shore. 'However, we must take no risks,' I said; 'there may be a waterman hidden or asleep in the bottom of the boat. We must approach quietly, and from all points so as to cut off escape to the shore.'

"We crept through the reeds, and at a signal rushed together upon the skiff. Three Pixies, huge fierce fellows, sprang from the bottom of the boat and began a vigorous defence. One of our men was cut down instantly, but the rest of us clambered over the gunwale and made a hand to hand fight with our foes. The conflict was severe; we were nearly evenly divided as to numbers, although the Pixies had much the advantage as to size. However, we killed two of our enemies, but could not prevent the third from escaping. He leaped into the lake and ran fleetly over the water. We lost sight of him behind a clump of weeds, but knew that he would at once give the alarm.

"'Come, my men, be quick!' I cried. 'Take the oars; there is only one chance for us; we must push into the stream and pull for life.'

"The order was obeyed; we were soon beyond the rushes in clear water, and having pushed the boat into the current, put her bow down stream, and bent to the oars with all our might. For a few moments we thought we should pass the fort unobserved. Then we saw several Pixies running out of the gates toward the shore; others joined them; the boom of an alarm drum somewhere within the fort floated over the water, and in a brief space the shore was lined with angry troops. We could see Spite the Spy directing affairs; and soon a large boat shot out from the banks full of armed Pixies.

"'Out to sea,' I cried, 'Out!—and pull as you never did before. Our lives depend on it.' It was vain. The boat gained rapidly upon us, and soon nearly touched our gunwale.

"'Cease rowing, lads,' I cried. 'There's nothing left but to sell our lives as dearly as possible.' Corporal Dare seized a boat hook and plunged it into a Pixie officer who was about to board us. But another took his place, and another, when he too had fallen.

"Taught caution by these losses, our assailants drew back from us, and while Dare stood on guard, Dart and Dodge, the two other surviving Brownies, and myself again took the oars. We reached the swiftest part of the stream where the current sets in heavily toward the shore, and I saw that we must drift in upon the beach. This also the Pixies saw, and seemed content to keep near us, without taking further risk. The crowd on shore followed along our course waiting for the final act. We were very near, but tugged away, hoping against hope that we might be carried past the jutting point and escape. Perhaps some such thought struck the Pixie boat commander, or it may be his crew could not restrain their fury. Several of them leaped out of the boat and ran toward us upon the water. Some water-pixies joined them from the shore. Our boat was seized. We dropped oars, and a death struggle began. Dart, after a gallant fight, fell dead in the boat. Dodge was overpowered, captured and bound. Corporal Dare was at last dragged into the water by two sailors with whom he was in a hand to hand conflict and the three sank together.

"I was alone. Wounded, nearly exhausted, overpowered by numbers, what could I do? It was folly to fight the whole Pixie force. Plunging my sword into the face of the boat captain, I threw myself backward into the Lake as though wounded unto death. Amid the horrible clangor and applause of the Pixies' victory cry I sank. I struck out beneath the water, swam as far as I could, and cautiously came up to the surface. As good fortune would have it, I arose almost within reach of a floating leaf. This I grasped, edged myself around to the open water side, and drifted. I saw that the two boats were being pulled ashore by the excited captors, who were holding aloft on the points of their spears the body of poor Dart. There was great rejoicing, of course, and then the crowd slowly dispersed, bearing with them their prisoner, Dodge, and doubtless thinking that the rest of the Brownie party had been slain.

"Meanwhile, I drifted on, and in spite of every effort to the contrary, drew nearer the bank. The Pixie guard had now been doubled, and I feared that I had escaped death only to fall upon it in another form. The leaf lodged, and unluckily upon a bare, sandy point. There was not a blade of grass behind which to find shelter. I therefore clung to my rude raft, which swayed up and down, and turned round and round so that I had hard work to keep my hold. Still, treading water, I followed with the leaf until it reached a spot where some driftwood had lodged.

"'This is my chance!' I thought.

"I crawled up on the sand and lay down behind and beneath the flotsam. The warmth of the sun was pleasant, for I was chilled by the water, and was so exhausted that, would you believe it? I fell asleep! But my nap was a brief one. It was broken by the sound of voices, and starting up in a daze, I attracted the attention of the Pixie guard boat crew engaged in patrolling the Lake. They turned the boat to the shore, with a hurrah, and several leaped overboard and dashed toward me upon the water.

Fig. 22.—Sergeant Clearview Takes Refuge in Argiope's Nest.

"There was nothing for it but to run, and that I did; over the level, sandy bank, on, on—toward the tall grass beyond. The boat's crew were soon on my track; the shore sentinels joined them, and away we all sped pell-mell. Affairs seemed blue enough, it is true; but I had already escaped so wonderfully that I had high hope that I should yet reach camp and tell my story. At last—it seemed an age!—the grass was reached. I plunged into the thicket, but the Pixies were close at my heels, too close to admit of escape, for they were all fresh and I quite worn out. As I passed a tall clump of grasses, I caught sight of a great pear shaped egg-nest of the huge Argiope Pixie. I knew it well, for it was an abandoned nest of the past autumn, built there during one of the successful raids of our enemy. A happy thought came to me. I rushed into the grasses beyond the nest, then turned, and doubled sharply upon my track, ran back, sprang into the clump of grass and weeds upon which the nest hangs, and swung myself toward it. There is an opening in the side, a sort of door or window for the escape of the young. Into this I dropped, and lodged safely upon the flossy paddock inside. I had barely got in when my pursuers dashed by at full speed into the jungle which they had seen me enter. The whir and clatter of their rush I could hear, as many of the crew passed just beneath me. On they sped; the noise grew faint, fainter, and died away. Then I knew that once more I was saved. The bed upon which I lay was a soft one; it was made, in fact, of purple and yellow silk; but I was not much inclined to sleep, you may be sure. I lay close, however, until I heard the sound of returning footsteps. Back the Pixies came in singles, pairs, triplets, squads; and by their manner and utterance I learned their disappointment and rage.

"At last the place was quiet, and I ventured to look out of my little window. No enemy was in sight. I crept forth, descended, and crawling on hands and knees, after many adventures which I need not mention, passed the front of the fort, entered the space beyond, and easily found our camp. This is my report, Sir. It is a sad enough one, but such are the risks of scouts; and I can truly say for my brave comrades and myself that we did all that we could."[Q]

"No one will doubt that," said Captain Bruce. "We deeply mourn the loss of so many brave and good comrades. May their memory be green forever!" He withdrew his hat, and bowed his head. All present did the same, and stood in silence for a moment.

"We all must bear the chances of life and war," resumed the Captain, "and now let us take up the next duty. What shall be our policy? We have heard the reports of the scouts; shall we make an attack?"

The council of war thus invoked, long and earnestly considered the question. Had not their hearts and hands been burdened and stayed by Governor Wille's neglect, the Brownies would have joyfully ventured an assault even upon such a stronghold. As matters stood, however, they judged that an attempt would only lead to useless loss and further discouragement. They recommended that the siege of the fort be continued as closely as possible, and that meanwhile Captain Bruce and Lieutenant MacWhirlie make another appeal to Governor Wille. Thus the council closed.

FOOTNOTES:

[K] Appendix,[ Note A.]

[L] [Note B.]

[M] Appendix, [Note C.]

[N] Appendix, [Note D.]

[O] [Note E.]

[P] Appendix, [Note F.]

[Q] Appendix, [Note G.]

CHAPTER IV.

THE BROWNIES VISIT GOVERNOR WILLE.

All that their unaided powers could do the Brownies had now done. But the higher Decrees of Nature had linked their destiny with the will and conduct of the Household whose welfare they guarded. Mysterious relation! you exclaim. True; and the creatures of the Universe are bound to one another and to the Great Whole in relations whose mystery none has fathomed, and which perplex the wisest. So what could the Brownies do, or what could men do in like estate, but continue steadfast in watching and duty, and do their best to change the wills upon whose action turned weal or woe, success or failure?

The truth is, Governor Wille had fallen into bad ways. It was a proud day to the Brownies, and joyously had they celebrated it, when their friend had been elected Governor of the Great State of Ohio. But joy had been turned into mourning. New faces began to be seen around Hillside, and they carried little spiritual force and beauty upon them. Rude voices, coarse laughter, profane words, angry tones were no longer strange sounds in the Wille Mansion.

The lads who read this will soon be voters. Let them mark this: the man who goes into political life must take heed or he will be swept away from safe moorings by a class of so-called "party friends," who are poor companions and worse counsellors, and who elbow and crowd away the best elements of community. Now, Governor Wille did not take heed. He gave himself up to those who surrounded him for low, selfish ends, and drifted under their convoy into perilous channels. As the Governor fell off from the good old ways, the Pixies triumphed at Hillside, and the Brownies lost control. That was the state of things when these Records began. Indeed, it had well nigh come to such a pass with the Brownies that they ceased to ask: How shall we beat back the Pixies? and were beginning to wonder, How shall we escape with our lives?

There could not have been a better leader than Bruce. He was bold but prudent, having courage without rashness. He was cool, hopeful and persevering. All the fairies loved and trusted him. He had risked his life a hundred times for them and theirs. He was covered with scars. Amidst all troubles and losses he had not lost heart. But now he was cast down and doubtful.

Never did captain have a better helper than Lieutenant MacWhirlie. Active, tireless, with spirits that never drooped, and zeal that never flagged; prompt, obedient, brave and intelligent, MacWhirlie was a model officer. His one fault was that he sometimes failed in caution; careless of his own life, he was apt to risk unduly the lives of his men. But in the wild, guerilla warfare that the Brownies waged, such a fault seemed very like a virtue. Therefore the Lieutenant was loved by his troopers and honored by all. Affairs were truly serious when MacWhirlie became discouraged; and he was discouraged now, beyond a doubt.

The fact that the Pixies were fortified upon the lawn, and encamped therein, bag and baggage, was bad enough. Yet this difficulty, courage, patience and skill might overcome. But the destiny which linked their success with the behavior of Governor Wille, bore heavily upon the good Brownies since the Governor had taken to evil ways. Therefore the Captain and Lieutenant set out with heavy hearts for the Mansion. A crowd of Brownies followed a little way behind their officers. They saw them cross the Lawn, spring into the great Sugar maple tree, run along the lowest limbs and swing themselves upon the sill of the chamber window. The window was open. Governor Wille sat beside it in an easy chair, reading a newspaper, and enjoying the fresh morning air.

The Brownies saluted him. He dropped his paper and answered the greeting heartily.

"Welcome, good brothers, a thousand welcomes!" His tone grew less cheery as he spoke the last words, for his eye caught the grave bearing and sad faces of his visitors. He knew at once that they must have come on serious business. Indeed, he might have guessed that at first, for except at Christmas times, and on birthday and wedding anniversaries, the Brownies rarely entered the Mansion unless some urgent need required. They were always near at hand, the Governor well knew, and hovered about house and grounds doing kindly deeds in secret. But the family did not often hear or see them. In fact, Governor Wille had been so busy, and was away from home so often, that he had lost much of the old family interest in the gentle little people who loved and guarded him and his so tenderly. Yet, he had not wholly forgotten them. They had visited him several times of late with complaints about their own dangers, and warnings about his. He had thought lightly of the matter, and of that, indeed, he was a little ashamed. But, then, he was so busy!

He rose from his chair. "Brothers," he said, "Your sober faces bode a gloomy message. I know you are never pleased to waste words. Speak your errand freely. What troubles you?"

Fig. 23.—The Pixies Spinning Gossamer over the Eyes of Governor Wille and Dido.

"Brother Wille," answered Bruce, "we bring nothing new. It is the old trouble about the Pixies the same complaint and warning that we have urged upon you of late more than once. Our enemies—and well you know they are yours too!—are pressing closely upon us. They have driven us to the lawn at last, and even upon that they have built their fort and camp. A little space further and we must flee into the house. And what most troubles us is that they will follow us. Ah, brother Wille, our hearts are sad at the thought of Pixies filling your home! We have done our best and we come to you for aid. You must help us drive back these wicked spirits. That is our petition, and our request."

The two Brownies stood quietly with their bonnets or Scotch caps under their arms. Governor Wille impatiently crumpled the paper in his hand, came to the window and replied. "Tut, tut, Bruce, it certainly can't be as bad as that. You are a little blue this morning, I fear. Why, when did Brownies ever give up to Pixies? It was never heard of!"

"Softly, brother Wille," said the Captain. "That has often happened, right here at Hillside, too! And it will happen again you may depend on't, if Wille and Dido do not soon bestir themselves to help their old home fairies."

Governor Wille hesitated, ahemmed, and at last said: "I am loath to meddle in this affair, and really, I don't see that there is such pressing danger. I have little fear for my good, brave Brownie friends. But,—I shall talk to Madam Dido about it, and if she is agreed, look out for aid, and get your troopers ready for a good chase after the Pixies."

The two Brownies withdrew, leaving the house by the way they had entered. They looked sad, although they tried to hide their feelings from the friends who awaited their coming.

"What is the news?" cried the Brownies.

"Nothing as yet," answered Bruce. "But we hope for good news soon."

"What will come of all this, Captain?" asked MacWhirlie privately.

"Very little, I fear," was the answer. "I can't think what has come over the Governor of late. The Pixies seem to have spun their webs over his heart."

"Over his eyes rather!" said MacWhirlie, "or his hands and feet. His heart is still true to the Brownies, I am sure. But he can't or don't understand our troubles and his own perils."

"Well, well, we shall soon know." With that poor consolation they sat down on the edge of the lawn by the gravel walk and waited.

Presently Governor Wille and his wife Dido came out of the house, and walked slowly up the path. Wille was relating his interview with the Brownies.

"What do you think, wife? I fancy their stories about the Pixies are a good deal exaggerated—by fear of course I mean, for Brownies are clear truth always. Bruce said that the lawn was full of their tents and nets. Do you see them? I cannot see one, and I've been looking all along the walk."[R]

"I quite agree with you, my dear," said the affectionate Dido. "As for the Pixie snares, I can see no more of them than you. Perhaps we had better wait a few days before we interfere."

"A few days!" sighed Bruce, who heard all the conversation. "It will be too late by that time, I fear!"

FOOTNOTES:

[R] On a dewy summer morning one sees the fields and shrubbery covered with innumerable spider webs of various sorts. By midday these webs are invisible. What has become of them? In truth, the sun has simply dried the dew which clung to the delicate filaments of the webs and thus made them visible; and from careless eyes the webs are hidden, as was the case with Governor Wille.—The Editor.

CHAPTER V.

MADAM BREEZE COMES TO THE RESCUE.

"Come!" cried the Captain at last. "Moping is no part of duty. If Governor Wille won't help us, we must seek allies in other quarters; and for the rest trust to our good swords."

He raised his bugle to his lips, and sounded a note or two, whereat his Adjutant appeared.

"Blythe," said the Captain, "order out my pony, and get ready to attend me to Hilltop. And you, MacWhirlie, see that every Brownie is armed and ready for work of any kind at a moment's warning. No fuss, please; keep everything quiet as possible. I don't want Spite the Spy to suspect any unusual movement. He'll give you credit for a little lack of caution when he finds you in command;" and the Captain laughed pleasantly as he said this. "But mind! it mustn't be the genuine article, now. Try for once to beat Spite at his own favorite tactics. Draw off the cavalry pickets, but see that your troopers are ready for the saddle. Look to the pioneer corps, and see that the axes are in good order. Saunter around carelessly as you like, but keep your eyes open. Come, Blythe!"

The last words were spoken to his Adjutant who already stood holding the Captain's butterfly pony Swallowtail, as well as his own. The Brownies sprang upon the creatures' backs and rode away.

MacWhirlie watched the forms of the horsemen until they were lost to view behind the gable of the house. "Heigh-ho!" he sighed, "the time was when the journey to Hilltop was a safe and pleasant ride. But it's a bold feat nowadays, with Pixies waiting at every corner, and their webs flapping on every bush. But I must e'en leave the Captain with Providence and go about my own business."

Fig. 24.—Bruce and Blythe on Their Way to Hilltop. Pixie Attus Tries to Lasso Them.

The afternoon was well advanced when Bruce and Blythe halted their jaded ponies under the shade of a laurel bush, a little way from the Lone Aspen on Hilltop. "Poor fellow!" said the Captain as he stroked Swallowtail's drooping wings. "It was too bad to bring you on such a service, with plenty of stouter nags in the stable! But we had to run the gauntlet of the Pixies, you know, and those big fellows would never have got through unnoticed. Think they can carry us back?" he asked anxiously.

"I doubt it, Cap'n," was the answer. "But rest and a hearty meal may bring 'em around all right."

"Very well; then do you care for them while I go to the Lone Aspen."

The Boy's Illustration.
Fig. 25.—Bruce Whistling for Madam Breeze.

The Lone Aspen stood on the summit of the hill. It was an old tree, with wide spreading branches, and great girth of trunk. The trunk was hollow, and covered with warts. One of these was quite near the roots, and was pierced in the centre with a hole which exposed the hollow within. Bruce stopped at the foot of the tree beneath this opening, and blew a peculiar note upon a whistle which hung by a chain about his neck. There was no answer. He whistled again. Still no response. Along the rough scales and ridges of bark running up and down the trunk, a stairway had been made like the rounds of a ladder. Upon this the Captain climbed towards the opening. He stepped out upon a bulging wart and peeped within the tree. It was empty. Again he blew his whistle. The echoes rolled up and down the hollow trunk and died away far above toward the branches, where a faint streak of light shone through an opening like the one in which the Brownie stood.

"This is strange!" exclaimed the Captain. He turned, and looked up at the Sun through branches of the tree. "Surely, Madam Breeze should be at the Lone Aspen at this time of day! However, I must climb to the window and wait." He sat down on the window ledge, and as he was tired out by long journeys, hard labors and sleepless nights, in spite of himself he fell into a doze.

"Ooo—oo—oo!"

A sound like the tones of a distant bell awoke him.

"Ha, she has come!" he cried, and jumped to his feet. Madam Breeze was passing with her attendants through the door. Her voice sounded through the hollow trunk as she swept into it. In a moment the Captain felt her breath upon his cheek, and presently stood face to face with her at the window.

She kissed him heartily, brushed the hair back caressingly from his forehead, and addressed him in a sprightly, kindly way. Madam Breeze was an Elf of pleasing appearance; plump to the verge of stoutness, but singularly graceful and airy in all her movements. She was troubled with an asthma which interrupted her speech with frequent attacks of coughing and wheezing, much to her discomfort and the disturbance of her temper. She had an odd fashion of expanding and contracting in size either suddenly or gradually. This occurred oftenest during her attacks of asthma, and to those who first saw this, the sight was a startling one.

"So my brave little Captain," said the Elf, "you've been whistling for the Breeze at last, have you? Ah! I thought you would come to it some day. But you always were such an independent little body—hoogh! And you have come to the little fat lady at last, hey? Well, I'm heartily glad to see you—hoogh!—and you'd have been welcome long ago—wheeze! Sit down and tell me your errand." She bustled about all the while and kept everything and everybody around her in a whirl of excitement.

"There, now, I've composed myself to listen—wheeze! But I suspect that I know without being told—hoogh! However, say on, while I sit here and rock myself." The merry lady twisted together a couple of boughs into the shape of a rude swing, and seating herself among the leaves, swayed back and forth, wheezing, coughing, oh-ing and ah-ing, while Bruce told the story of his troubles.

"And now," he concluded, "I appeal to you for help." He took the whistle from his neck and laid it in the Elf's hand. "This talisman has always opened a way for Brownies to the heart and help of you and yours."

"Tut, tut!" said Madam, throwing the chain around the Captain's neck again, "Put up your whistle—hoogh! No need to remind Madam Breeze by that of the claim of the fairies upon her and hers. And so these horrid Pixies have worried the life out of you? And you tarried all this time before coming to me?—Wheeze, wheeze! Confound this cough! And you didn't go to my gentle Lady Zephyr this time, hey? Her balmy breath wouldn't quite suit your present purpose? Ho, ho, ho! Good stout Madam Breeze for you, hey?—Hoogh! Aha, I see that Brownies, like other folk, when they get into trouble prefer the useful to the ornamental. Well, well, you're right enough."

Whereupon the jolly, kind hearted Elf swung and rolled herself about and made the leaves of the Lone Aspen fairly dance with the voice of her laughter.

Fig. 26.—Captain Bruce Appeals to Madame Breeze.

"Now to business!" Madam Breeze sobered down just one moment as she spoke. "How did you come here? On the ponies, hey? Call Blythe."

Bruce blew his bugle. Presently Blythe clambered up the ladder and saluted the Elf.

"How are the ponies, Blythe? Pretty well done out, hey? Not fit for the journey back? In a pinch are you? So I thought. Well, you Brownies do miss it sometimes, you must confess." Madam ran on asking and answering her own questions without giving Blythe a chance to speak a word. However, she seemed, through, some mysterious news agency of her own, to know everything without information from the Brownies.

"Need fresh horses? Just as I supposed. Here, here—Whirlit,—wheeze,—hoogh! (Confound that cough!) Blythe, call Whirlit for me. The rascal!—he's always out of the way when I want him."

Notwithstanding the bad character given him by his mistress, Whirlit was at the window in a moment.

"There, keep still now, and listen!" Madam herself was quite as restless as the frisky Whirlit while she gave her orders, bouncing back and forth all the time among the leaves. "Still, I say! Put Swallowtail and Blythe's pony in the stable, and get out my Goldtailed matches. Order all hands to be ready to leave immediately. Quick! Off with you!"

Whirlit sprang from the window, turning a score of somersaults or more on his way to the ground. He returned presently, leading a pair of Goldtailed moths. They were beautiful insects with soft downy plumage, snowy white color, and a tuft of yellow hair at the end of the tail.

"Aren't they beauties," cried Madam, casting an admiring glance at her splendid matches. "And fast, too. And thoroughly trained. And what's the strangest thing about them, they're not worth an old straw in the day time. They hang around on the bark here as spiritless as a toadstool. But the moment evening comes they spruce up, and hie—away! they're brisk enough then. Queer, isn't it? But I keep 'em just for night work. Now we're all ready for a bout with the Pixies. Pooh! the nasty beasts! I hate to soil my breath with them and their clammy snares. But Brownies can't be left to suffer. Ready, Captain? Yes? very well, then, mount and away!"

The afternoon was nearly gone. Below Hilltop the woods, orchard, house, lawn and garden all lay in shadow. The Goldtailed matches were in fine spirits. Their energetic mistress kept close behind them buoying them up, and urging them on, and in a short time they reached the spring at the foot of the orchard back of the mansion.

"Halt!" cried Madam Breeze. "I shall wait here in the tops of the trees, while you move forward and get your Brownies ready. Be quick, now, and when you want me, remember the whistle."

CHAPTER VI.

ATTACK ON THE OLD LODGE.

Bruce put spurs to Goldtail and flew across the garden followed closely by Blythe. They reached the Lawn and crossed the Brownie camp. They stopped at the Captain's headquarters under the Rose Bush. Everything was in confusion. MacWhirlie was pacing back and forth in high excitement; a group of Brownies surrounded him, talking and gesticulating violently.

"Silence!" cried MacWhirlie, stopping suddenly, facing the excited group. "I tell you that I will not stir a hand in this thing until Captain Bruce returns, or until it is settled that he will not return this night. I love Rodney as fondly as you; he is my dearest friend, the Captain's own brother, my comrade in a thousand fights and forays. But it would bring on a battle were I to consent to follow my own heart and your wishes. That would ruin us all. I cannot; dare not, will not! I must obey my orders. Silence, I say!"

Bruce leaped from Goldtail's back and walked hastily into the midst of the group. The Brownies did not notice him until he stood by MacWhirlie's side.

A clamor of surprise, satisfaction, and grief greeted him. The Lieutenant's face brightened; then clouded again, as with sympathy and pain.

"Speak, MacWhirlie," said the Captain. "What has happened? What is wrong with Rodney? Quick, and tell the worst at once."

"He is shut up by the Pixies along with his boy Johnny."

Fig. 27.—The Old Lodge Overspun by Pixies.

"What, Rodney captured! I never would have thought it. How did it come about?"

"It was not exactly his own fault, Sir. He had been busy about the boats all day—you know we were to have everything in order,—and I had asked him to look after his sailors. He took Johnny with him—not an hour ago, Sir,—to have a last look at matters. He did not want to take the little fellow, but the lad was bent on going; and besides he is a brisk young Brownie, and quite able to look after himself. Rodney was busy at the rivulet about some naval affairs and left the boy for a few moments on shore. Just then one of the butterfly ponies flew by and strolled off toward the Pixie picket line. Johnny saw its danger and ran to bring it back. He had gone but a little way when he was seized by one of the Pixie scouts, who are always hovering around now, and clapped into one of our old lodges which they have covered with spinningwork and are using as a guard house."[S]

"But Rodney? How came he into their hands?" the Captain cried.

"I am coming to that. The Commodore heard Johnny's cries, sprang on shore, and rushed upon the old wretch who had captured the lad, and who was spinning a rope across the door. He cut him down with one blow of his cutlass and ran into the lodge to get Johnny."

"Ha! that was well done!" exclaimed Bruce.

"Yes, Sir, but he wasn't quick enough. A squad of pickets heard the fuss, and before Rodney could repass the door they had blocked it up with their snares, double lashed and sealed it, and,—there they are!"

"How did you find out all this?"

"Why, of course, some of the sailors also heard the boy's cries and followed the Commodore; but only in time to see how things had gone. They ran back to the camp, and here they are, clamoring, threatening, pleading to get me to order all hands to the rescue of Rodney and his boy."

"Have you done anything?"

"I have set guards to watch the lodge and report continually how things go. For the rest I have tried to keep the camp in perfect quiet."

"How goes it with the prisoners; are they well?"

"Yes," answered Pipe the Boatswain, "the Commodore has his boy in the very furthest end of the lodge, and he stays there walking back and forth before the lad, cutlass in hand. They haven't dared to molest him yet. He sounded his bugle once or twice, and I know he wonders why his friends, especially his old tars, have deserted him. It's well nigh broke our hearts, Cap'n."

"It was hard to resist the pressure, Captain," said MacWhirlie, "and harder still to control my own heart. But I did what I thought my duty. I stand ready to suffer for it if I erred. And now that you are back all I ask is to lead the rescue. I will save Rodney and his boy, or leave my carcass with the Pixies."

"My dear fellow," said Bruce, "you did quite right. God bless you for your love of me and mine but especially bless you for your firmness on this occasion. It would have been a sad day for us all if the life of our nation had been risked for the sake of one however dear to me and to us all. Now, get ready for action! Is all in order for the assault?"

"Everything."

"Then rally the men. We will advance with all our force. We must first save Rodney and his boy. Then we shall clean out the whole Pixie nest. The battle word is 'Rescue.' Madam Breeze waits yonder in the orchard to join us."

How the order flew through the Brownie camp! Love for Rodney, and the news of the near presence of their powerful ally put hope and courage into all hearts. Every man was in his place. Even the older boys had taken arms, hoping for permission to join in the battle or at least the chase.

Fig. 28.—A Tubeweaver's Den.

The Captain led his men swiftly and cautiously by a roundabout route to the site of the old lodge, which was at the extreme eastern flank of the Pixie camp. He skirted the Lawn, passed the spring, and struck the bank of the rivulet at the foot of the orchard. There he waited until the full moon had risen above the hills, and slanted her rays along the river and into the bosom of little Lake Katrine.

"Hark!" said the Captain at last.

"Hark," the word passed in a whisper along the line.

Up in the tree tops Madam Breeze and her train were waiting for the signal. Not waiting patiently, indeed, for they rocked and rolled among the round topped apple trees, and swung to and fro among the tall pears, rustling the leaves, shaking down the fruit, and whistling among the branches. But there they were, all ready, eager to rush upon their foes.

The Brownies had now reached a point well to the east of the Pixie camp and fort. Just beyond them was the lodge, now changed into a tubeweaver's den, in which the Commodore and his boy were confined. Captain Bruce halted the column and distributed the men throughout the tall grass. He formed a half circle looking toward the old lodge, the pioneers or axmen being in the centre.

"Steady, now, a moment," he exclaimed in a low tone to MacWhirlie. He fell upon hands and knees and glided through the grass. He was back in a few moments.

"It is all right. Not more than a dozen Pixies are on guard, the rest are beyond the demilune in the camp at supper, carousing, singing and making merry over Rodney's capture. Poor fellow! He is seated in the far end of the lodge holding Johnny on his lap. The boy has cried himself asleep. The Commodore has one hand on his sword and rests his face upon the other. Neither friend nor foe seems to be expecting us."

"Attention!" The order ran in low whispers around the line.

"Ready!"

"Ready." This word passed from officer to officer in the same way.

Then the Captain stepped to the head of the axmen, put his whistle to his lips and blew a long blast. The shrill notes cut through the air. Rodney heard it, lifted up his boy, leaped to his feet and cried:

"Come, Johnny, up! Wake! It is a rescue!"

The Pixie guards heard it. They grasped their weapons, and crowded together before the door of the lodge. Spite the Spy and his horde heard it as they feasted and made merry. They hastily seized their arms.

Fig. 29.—Spite and His Pixie Friends make Merry Over Rodney's Capture.

"What's in the wind, now?" muttered Spite. "That beast of a Bruce is at the bottom of it, I warrant." But none of them seemed seriously to expect an attack. The Brownie camp had been quiet all day. Their Captain was known to be absent; their Commodore was a prisoner; there had been no sign of any unusual stir.

Up in the orchard where she swung impatiently among the tree tops, good Madam Breeze heard the same call.

"Ah! there it goes at last. Thank our star for that. What! Whirlit, Whisk, Keener and all the rest of you, do you hear? Up and away—away! Oo—oo—Ooh!"

The Brownies were crouched in the grass, every nerve strained to the utmost, every eye fixed eagerly upon their leader, awaiting the word of command. It came at last. Bruce dropped his whistle, drew his broadsword, and shouted the welcome word, "Charge!"

With a wild hurrah the column closed in upon the lodge, MacWhirlie leading one wing, Pipe the other, and Bruce at the head of the axmen leading the centre.

It was a complete surprise. The guard of Pixies broke, parting to right and left. One squad fell into the hands of the sailors and were all slain. The others fared little better with MacWhirlie and his troopers. The door gave way before the strokes that the Captain and his pioneers rained upon it, and Rodney with his boy in his arms sprang out. Three times three hearty cheers rang in the evening air as the brave hearted sailor came forth a free man.

"Brother Rodney," said Captain Bruce, "there is not even time for greeting. Send your boy to the rear. Take command of your men. We are to charge the whole Pixie camp and fort. Madam Breeze is behind us. You know the rest. Forward!"

FOOTNOTES:

[S] Appendix, [Note A.]

CHAPTER VII.

HOW THE FORT WAS SAVED.

By this time the Pixies in the main camp had recovered from their surprise. The Brownies' battle-cry "Rescue" showed plainly the object of the assault. The Pixies were used to war's alarms; and, as for their leader, Spite, lack of promptness and skill was not among his faults. Therefore Rodney had scarcely been set free ere Spite had his followers in line. However, he did not expect an attack upon himself, for he fancied that the Brownies had been too much cowed lately to venture upon the offensive. He thought they would be satisfied with rescuing Rodney, and would then retreat, and that he determined to prevent.

"Come, my lads," he shouted, "we must not let these creatures escape us this time. Teach them what it is to break into a Pixie camp. Fall on them! Give no quarter; spare no one, let your battle-cry be 'Death!'" He ran to the front as he spoke, shaking in one hand a poisoned dart and holding in the other his war club.

Fig. 30.—Elf Whirlit Comes to the Rescue of Captain Bruce.—(Illustration by Dan. C. Beard.)

The Pixies followed keenly enough, shouting their terrible watchword. But their confidence was dashed as they saw the Brownies, so far from retreating, actually forming their line of battle in front of the demilune. The Pixies paused at this sight. Even Spite hesitated a moment. In that moment a shower of arrows rained upon them from the Brownie bows. Then with a ringing cheer the brave fairies charged. The two columns closed. Above the clash of weapons and clamor of battle were heard ever and anon the voices of the Pixies sounding the war cry "Death," and the cheery tenor of the Brownies answering with the sweet word "Rescue."

The leaders of the two parties were in the thickest of the fight. Spite was well seconded by his two lieutenants, Heady and Hide, and the rank and file of the Pixies behaved valiantly. The Brownies had gained much by their first onset upon the picket line and outposts, but, on the other hand were far the weaker party. It were hard to say which army might have won the fight had they been left to themselves; but this was not to be. Madam Breeze swept down upon the struggling lines. For a moment she hovered over the battle confused and angry at the prospect.

"Why, what can I do?" she cried. "Here, Whirlit, Keener, Bluster—you rogues, stop I say! Don't you see?—hoogh! You can do nothing against the Pixies without injuring the Brownies. They're so mixed together that I can scarce tell one from the other."

Whirlit had already thrown himself into the midst of the fight. He espied Captain Bruce and bounded to his side. Two great Pixies were rushing upon the Captain with uplifted spears, and wide open mouths from which terrible fangs were thrust. With one puff of his keen breath Whirlit sent both these warriors spinning and tumbling in the dust.

"Thanks!" cried the Captain, "That was a kindly service right bravely done." Whirlit threw himself over and over again as a token of his satisfaction, and then said:

"Madam awaits your orders. She fears to mix in the fight lest she may do more harm than good. What shall we do? Make haste, please, the old lady is very much excited and won't wait long. She'll be in mischief if—"

"Silence, Sir!" said the Captain sternly. "Don't speak in such terms of your mistress. Tell Madam Breeze with my compliments, to knock over the Pixie camp, houses and fort, and leave the enemy themselves to us."

"Whew!" whistled Whirlit as he leaped into the air. "A peppery Brownie, that! Served me right, however."

He found Madam Breeze almost bursting with anger, confusion, anxiety, excitement and the exertion of self-restraint.

"You imp of ingratitude!" she began, "how could you dare—"

"Madam," cried Whirlit, interrupting her, "the Captain says, with his compliments, you will please knock over the Pixie camp, tents, houses, fort and all!"

Madam's brow cleared in a moment. "That I will," she answered in her usual jovial tones. "Hie—away, my hearties! come, come now! 'Blow, ye winds, and crack your cheeks!'"

Thereupon Madam Breeze and her company fell upon the Pixie camp. The breastwork or demilune that had been woven around the outer bounds was leveled in an instant. Then the clamorous crew fell upon the circle of huts and tents that stood next within. It was not so easy work here.

"Whoop!" shouted Whirlit, as he threw himself, with full force, back foremost, against one of the broad canvas sides. "Ugh!" was the next exclamation heard from him as he bounded back like an india-rubber ball and fell sprawling among tent pins and ropes.

"Ho, ho, ho!" The merry laugh of Madam Breeze rolled out through the hurly-burly at this discomfiture of her page. "Try it again, Whirlie, it's easily done, you know! You'd make a fine base ball, now, wouldn't you? Ha, ha!"

Whirlit did try again; then Whisk and Bluster and Keener; and last of all Madam Breeze threw her round body against the tent. The ropes snapped, the walls tumbled together, and in a trice the noisy Breezes had sent ropes, canvas, and poles streaming away into the air, broken into a hundred pieces.[T]

One after another the Pixies' dens, nests, tents, huts, barns and storehouses shared the same fate at the hands of the busy wreckers. In a few moments the ruins of the camp were scattered in confused heaps upon the earth, or were floating off upon the wings of the storm. The females, or Pixinees, who with their broods of young had been left in possession of the camp, at first showed fight. But they soon saw that resistance was vain, and fled into the fort, where they hid themselves in the sheltered corners and angles, or cowered against the lee side of pebbles, leaves, clumps of grass, and the various rubbish that littered the ground.[U]

All this time, the conflict was raging between the Brownies and Pixies outside the barricade. Great as was the clamor raised at the overthrow of the camp, the noise of battle was so loud and the feelings of the combatants so intense, that none knew what havoc Madam Breeze was making. A lad ran into the rear line of the Pixie troops calling for the chief.

"Back to your mother, boy," was the gruff response, "and leave the battle to warriors."

"But mother has fled into the fort. The house is broken down. The camp is attacked. The barricades are leveled. Everything is ruined. I must see the Captain."

The evil tidings rapidly spread, and even before it reached the chief the line began to waver, and fall back toward the camp. Spite fell into a towering rage when the message was brought to him. He cursed Madam Breeze. He cursed the Pixie who stopped the messenger, and thus caused the bad news to spread. He cursed Bruce and the Brownies. He cursed his own eyes, also, although he might have saved himself that trouble, for they had never been a blessing to anybody.

"But cursing won't mend matters, Chief," said Lieutenant Hide. "The fort still stands; we can fall back to that, and save what we may."

"Drummer, sound the retreat," cried Spite; "and Hide, do you fall back with the right wing to the fort. Orderly, bid Lieutenant Heady take command and cover the retreat. Tell him to fight every inch of ground."

Then Spite turned upon his heels and hurried to the rear. In truth, he was not sorry for an excuse to withdraw from the fight. He stumbled over the ruins of the camp at every step. It was a complete wreck. Not a tent, not a building of any kind remained, except the fort, to which he bent his course. It was a huge structure, as we have seen, braced and strengthened by every art and effort at the Pixies' command. But Spite's heart failed him as he looked around, and saw how everything else in camp had vanished away before the mighty breath of his adversaries.

"See!" he exclaimed, "Madam Breeze and her train have just attacked the fort. Will it hold out, I wonder?" With this thought in mind he hurried forward.

Keener saw him coming, and recognized him at once. "There comes Spite the Spy!" he shouted. "At him, boys! let us toss him in one of his own sticky blankets!"

"Aye, aye," answered Whisk, "suppose we fling him over the horns of the moon, and let him—"

"Let him stick there," cried Whirlit, finishing the sentence. Whereat the trio pounced pell-mell upon the Pixie chief.

"Very well, my lads," exclaimed Madam Breeze, "you're quite welcome to a monopoly of the old beast. Phooh! How he smells of poison! He well nigh takes my breath. Fort smashing suits me better." With these words she threw herself against the Agalena wing of Fort Spinder. Every cord and canvas in it shook with the violence of the onset. But it was unbroken. Again and again the stout Elf cast herself against the walls; the cords creaked and seemed about to part, but so elastic were they that they swayed inward with a heavy surge and then back again. The weeds, blades of grass and twigs to which the ropes and beams were fastened bent under the weight of the blast, but were unbroken.

All this time Spite was struggling with the three Elves. They pinched his skin, they plucked at his cheek, mouth and nostrils. They almost blinded him with blasts which they cast full into his eyes. They pulled his clothes, and held him by the limbs. But he kept on his path. Stoutly, stubbornly he fought his way step by step until he stood at last before the gate of the fort. He was seen at once, and a dozen of the inmates ran forward to admit him.

"Not for your lives!" he shouted. "Don't leave a crack open, if you can help it, for these blusterers to enter. It would be ruin to open the gate."

He looked around him. Hide and his party were still a goodly distance away. He could hear above the voices of the storm the rousing cheers of the Brownies as they pressed more and more closely upon Heady, who was doggedly giving way, disputing every inch of ground. Whirlit, Whisk and Keener had left him, at the beck of Madam Breeze, and now joined that lusty Elf in their assaults upon Fort Spinder.

"What is done, must be done quickly," thought Spite. "May all the furies seize the old monster! She has broken a breach in the roof. See! the garrison, aided by the women and children, are doing bravely. There; that villain Keener has cut his way to the inside of Fort Agalena. And there go Whisk and Whirlit after him. How the walls sway back and forth! The roof bulges upward. The reprobates! They are trying to break through the roof. If they do that and Madam Breeze gets in, all is lost; away will go the whole building with a crash. What shall I do? If we could only anchor the roof! But there's no ballast about. Hide and his men are far away yet. Confusion seize them! Why aren't they here now?"

It was a trying moment for the interests of the Pixies. All seemed to turn upon the fate of the fort; and that to depend upon one person. But that person was Spite the Spy, and he had never yet been wholly without resources. Hopeless as the case appeared, he was equal to the emergency. He would save the fort if it could be saved! He jumped from the weed-top which he had mounted for better observation, and plunged into the midst of the ruins of the camp. He stopped before a pebble almost the size of his own body.

"That will do, I think," he muttered. He seized the stone, twisted a cable around it, and dragged it away toward the fort. It was but a moment's work to climb upon an overhanging weed, fasten the cable to a branch and swing the stone over upon the roof. The canvas sheet sank downward under the pebble's weight. Spite watched it with keen interest. The elastic stuff swayed upward and downward several times, and seemed about to settle firmly, when Whirlit leaped upward against it with his strong shoulders. The pebble flew off the roof, spinning through the air close to the head of the Pixie chief, who looked on from his perch among the leaves.

"Failure!" muttered Spite.

"Try again, old fellow!" shouted Whirlit from the inside, where he was capering in high good humor above the heads of the enraged inmates.

Fig. 31.—"He Jumped from the Weed Top."

"Good advice," Spite responded with feigned cheerfulness; "I will try again. And succeed next time, too!"

A mocking laugh followed him as he swung himself down the weed by his rope ladder, and hurried off again into the ruined camp. On—on—on! He stopped at last.

"This is it—the very thing. But, can I manage it?" He stood before a broken twig as thick as his own body and five or six times as long as himself. Think of a man carrying a log as thick as himself and twenty-five or thirty feet long! That was something like the feat that Spite undertook.

"But I can do it," he said; "I must do it!" The energy and strength of despair were upon him. He seized the beam with his long arms, bowed himself to the burden and lifted it. Tottering with the weight, and stumbling over the debris of the desolate village, he laid down the beam at last at the foot of the tall weed.

The Boy's Illustration.
Fig. 32.—Spite the Spy Climbs a Weed to Reconnoitre.

The task was not ended. He twisted a cable around the log and mounted into the foliage. He stood a hundred times his own height above the weight he wished to lift. Would he ever get it up? We shall see! He hauled upon his rope until it was stretched to its utmost. Then one end of the stick slowly rose above the earth; up—up—until the other end was in the air. See! it swings quite free. It is rising higher and higher. Hand over hand, the strong and patient workman is drawing the beam slowly and surely toward the top of the plant.[V]

Madam Breeze began to be concerned about this new effort of Spite's. A few more stout assaults and the roof must give way dragging with it walls and all.

But what if Spite should manage to get his great log anchor on it? It would hold the roof so steady that no power at her command could move it. Moreover, it would bear the roof down toward the ground, and so prevent Whirlit, Keener, and Whisk from breaking through by stretching the elastic cords upward until they snapped. They could make no headway by pressing downward since the earth stayed the cords in that direction. And how could they heave the roof upward with a great log lying on it?

"I don't want to begin this affair all over again," quoth Madam Breeze, "for in sooth, I'm pretty well out of breath now—wheeze! A few more turns will use me up. Therefore, my good Mr. Spite, I fear that I must interfere with this logging business of yours."

So saying, she flung herself upon the beam, as it hung far up in the air, slowly mounting to its place. It swayed up and down a moment, as an object fastened to an elastic thread will do, and then—crash! the rope snapped, and the log fell to the ground.

Not a whit discouraged by this disaster, Spite looped the end of the cable over the weed, and before Madam had fairly got her breath again, he had made fast the log, reascended the bush, and was pulling might and main upon the rope.

He had his reward. There was no second breaking of the cable, although Madam Breeze threw her weight upon the log. It reached its position. It hung nearly over the roof. Spite tied the rope, crept out upon the branch, reached down to the log, and with one push of his long arm swung it inward and over the roof. At the same time he cut the cable. The log dropped to its place. The roof that had been bulging out, just ready to burst, sank into its true position. The walls were anchored now. The fort was saved![W]

Madam Breeze gathered all her strength for a last onset. Whirlit, Whisk, and Keener on the inside vigorously seconded her attempt. But it failed.

Fig. 33.—A Spider Drawing up a Swathed Grasshopper to its Leafy Den, "Hand Over Hand."

"Well, well," said Madam, "I give it up! I'm out of breath—clear blowed—hoogh! I've scarce wind enough to get home with—wheeze! Come out of that, lads. Our work is done for to-day."

The three Elves crept, rather crestfallen, out of the opening in the roof made by the pebble, and the whole party without more ado, or another word, puffed back to Lone Aspen. Spite sat upon the branch and watched their departure. He rubbed his hands, and said, "Aha!" He knew that he had done a deed that would gain him glory among the Pixies. That was pleasant; but after all, that which pleased him best was the thought that he had saved a Pixie fort from which to plot and war against the good Brownies.

Yes, my dears, one may be clever, wise and accomplished, but very, very bad withal. As poet Burns truly sang:

"The heart aye's the part aye
That maks us right or wrang."

Fig. 34.—An Orbweb with a Pebble Counterpoise.

Hide and his company of Pixies came up to the fort soon after Madam Breeze and her retainers had gone. The south gate was thrown open, and the inmates ran out and mingled with their friends, loudly praising the deed by which Spite had saved the fort. The hero of all this praise sat quietly on his perch resting, surveying the field, and thinking. He had need of his wisest thoughts; for the victorious Brownies were already beyond the outer line of the demilune, steadily driving Heady and his division before them.

Spite dropped to the ground by the cable that still swung upon the bush. "Go back into the fort," he said to the fugitives. "Your own homes are gone, and that will be the safest place for you now. As for us," addressing the soldiers, "we must make a last stand here and keep it. The sun is nearly down. If we can hold the position for a little longer, night will bring relief, and give time for some plan that shall change the fortune of battle. Advance!"

The line moved forward to support Heady. The site of the fort was well chosen for defence. It stood upon a swelling height of the lake shore, with a space of smooth grass in front. On this little plain, a short distance beyond the height, at Spite's command the Pixies began putting up a breastwork. They wrought rapidly, weaving together grass blades, leaves and twigs, and spinning between them ropes and webs. Spite, himself, with a few of the ablest warriors went to assist Heady in holding back the Brownies. The plan succeeded; by the time the fighting force was ready to fall back, the workers had thrown up a rampart behind which the entire army retreated in good order. A series of skirmishes began along the line of breastworks, but the evening shadows soon fell and separated the combatants.

Fig. 35.—How a Spider Drops to the Ground.

The Brownies were in fine spirits. They were confident of complete victory on the morrow. A line of cavalry pickets, under Lieutenant MacWhirlie, was posted throughout the plain, which skirted nearly three-fourths of the knoll on which the fort stood. These pickets were ordered to keep moving the whole night, thus keeping strict guard upon the Pixies at the points whence they were most likely to make a sally or seek to escape. Sentinels were also placed on the lake side or rear of the fort. In that quarter the bank sloped toward the lake, and was dotted with bushes that straggled singly and in clumps to the water's edge. Soon the camp fires and lanterns of the Brownie army were glimmering along the outer border of the plain and through the copse by the lake side. They looked like fire-flies dancing among the boughs, and indeed they were encaged fire-flies, or bits of fox-fire from decayed stumps. As the whole country was now open to Captain Bruce, he had no trouble in securing supplies for his troops, so that the Brownies went to the night's rest or duty with refreshed bodies as well as hopeful spirits.

Fig. 36.—"Weaving Together Grass, Leaves and Twigs."

Matters were not so pleasant with the Pixies. The provisions laid up within Fort Spinder were not abundant, and Spite had to order all to be put upon short rations. Moreover, their hunting ground was quite limited, of course, and the game on which they were used to prey had been frightened off by the late commotions. However, the lights from the watch fires of their enemies drew some unwary and over curious night wanderers within the confines of the fort, and the hungry Pixies were able to catch a few of them. As for Spite, their chief, he was silent and moody. After mounting the guards, and giving necessary orders, he threw himself upon the ground, wrapped his blanket around him and began to think. We shall learn the fruits of his plotting, by and by.[X]

FOOTNOTES:

[T] Appendix, [Note A.]

[U] [Note B.]

[V] Appendix, [Note C.]

[W] Appendix, [Note D.]

[X] Appendix, [Note E.]

CHAPTER VIII.

THE SANITARY CORPS.

In the centre of the Brownie camp were three large tents, the officers' headquarters, the hospital tent, and the marquée of the Sanitary Corps. These were wrought out of large leaves, deftly stretched upon frames, with edges overlapping like a tiled roof, and anchored to the ground by small pebbles, heaps of sand, and by tent pins of thorns or splinters.

Fig. 37.—The Hospital Tent and Marquée of the Sanitary Corps.

The Headquarters' tent was occupied by the chief officers, Bruce, Rodney, MacWhirlie and Pipe. The Hospital tent was devoted to the sick and wounded. But one would not easily imagine who were the occupants of the Sanitary tent; we shall therefore lift the door of the marquée, and peep within.

It is a snug place. In the centre, well up toward the roof, a large fox-fire lantern hangs from the ridge pole which sheds a soft light throughout the interior. A strong odor of herbs and ointments fills the place, the reason for which soon appears. Four wee Brownie women are busy with retorts, jars, boxes, lint, bandages, and various other articles of the healing art.

The oldest of the party, judged by our human standard, has reached that uncertain boundary of womanhood which divides maiden from matron. One might venture to call her an "old maid" Brownie, and perhaps she would not deny it, for that is a class—God bless them!—whom the Brownies dearly love. But no one could aver that the fairy woman had suffered loss of charms by advance in life. One glance into her face shows how pure, gentle and good must be the disposition that has wrought the tracery of such sweet expression around her features. Her name is Agatha; she is the only child of Captain Bruce, and one does not wonder, having once seen her, that even the Brownies call her Agatha the Good. She is spreading upon tiny bandages out of a tiny jar some kind of ointment, the recipe for which you may be sure is in none of our dispensaries, but which the Brownies call Lily Balm.

The young Brownie who attends her, not as handmaid but companion, is called Grace. Her face is such a goodly one, her manners are so gentle, easy and winning, her every movement so graceful, delicate and yet so full of life, that we shall not be surprised to hear you say: "Surely, she must be the Fairy Queen herself!"

At the other end of the tent, kneeling over a brazier filled with coals, is the third member of the Sanitary Corps. She holds above the coals a retort, in which she is distilling Lily Balm. Her back is toward us and her face is hidden. There! you have caught a glimpse of it as she turned her head to speak to her companion. The cheeks are flushed, the eyes are bright with the glow of the coals, there is an earnest, pitiful look in their deep blue that speaks of thought intent upon present duty. But there is also a strange light therein, a light as from some far away world, that throws an air of mystery around this person and bids your thoughts pause reverently as they run on in judgment concerning her. This is Faith, the daughter of Rodney the Commodore. She is young as the Brownies count years, and was born "at sea," that is, upon the Lake Katrine of Brownieland, through which flows the Rivulet at the foot of the Orchard.

Fig. 38.—A Peep Inside the Sanitary Tent. Faith Distilling Lily-Balm.

At Faith's side is her companion and friend, Sophia, the daughter of Pipe, the Boatswain. There is a mixture of boldness and shyness in her manner that strikes one at once. Her movements have the snap and positiveness of a practical woman. Her eyes sparkle with intelligence; there is in them a keen, questioning look which tells that she loves not only to know, but to know the reason why. If she were not a Brownie you would probably say she was a pushing sort of person; that you scarcely could decide whether she was more curious or sincere, more dreamy or practical, more skeptical or credulous. But that she is beautiful you would not hesitate to say. She is busy among the herbs, sorting them, making ready material for Faith's retort.

Now that you have seen this Sanitary Corps, and learned their names, you may drop the door of the tent and we shall go on with the story.

"Come, Grace, we have done quite enough for the present," said Agatha. "Bring the bandages and let us go to the Hospital. Have you lint and balm in your satchel? Very well. That is all we need now. Faith, hadn't you better leave off distilling, and help us for a while with the dressing?"

"Yes; if you wish it," answered Faith, "and we can stop now as well as not."

The pots and herbs were set aside, and Faith and Sophia followed Agatha and Grace through the rear door of the marquée. They crossed into the Hospital under a covered way that united the two tents. The Hospital was a spacious tent, or rather several large tents or marquées, joined in one. Along each side on the rude cots hastily made from dried grass and leaves, lay a number of wounded Brownies. The sufferers turned their eyes upon the Nurses as they entered, and at once their faces lit up with pleasure. Agatha and her friends went from couch to couch carrying the blessings of their healing art. Some of the men had hurts that had not yet been dressed. These were first carefully washed. The lint, which the Nurses carried in their satchels, was laid upon the wound to absorb the poison, and the balm applied.

Fig. 39.—The Jaws and Fangs.

A Pixie uses his fangs, when fighting at close quarters, with terrible effect. His mouth is a tremendous piece of machinery. The jaws are each armed with a sharp, movable fang, pierced near its end. When the Pixie bites, a poisonous fluid flows through this hole into the wound.[Y] In battle with Brownies the Pixies try to come to close quarters. Being much larger and more powerful, they seize them in their hairy arms, strike their fangs into them, and spring back quickly out of reach of the Brownie's sharp sword or axe. All this is done so rapidly, that often ere the victim has time to strike a blow he has been wounded and cast down, and his assailant is out of reach. The poison leaves a painful wound in the Brownie's flesh, frequently disabling, but never killing him unless the heart be reached. Indeed, no Brownie ever perished by any form of violence except drowning, suffocation or a heart stroke.

For the hurt made by Pixie fangs the Lily Balm made by the Sanitary Corps is a sure remedy. If applied at once upon soft lint, which absorbs the poison, the relief is immediate. But in any case it will ease the pain, and in the end cure the wound.

The uses of this balm, and all the services which the sick require, were well known by Agatha and her aids. They always followed the army; no risk or toil was shunned by them upon their noble mission. They were the wards of the nation, and the favorites of the army. Moreover, for why should we keep it a secret? every one of them was dearly beloved by a worthy youth, who had the joy of being loved in return.

Fig. 40.—The Poison Bag and Fang.

The four Nurses made the round of the Hospital, visited every couch, and applied or ordered needed remedies. At the end of the tent was a group of Brownies, with wounds which required treatment, but were not serious enough to hinder from duty. Their hurts were quickly cared for, and one after another the party dropped out until only one was left. He was a tall, shapely youth, who stood within the shadow of the gangway with his face muffled in a cloak. As the last of the group was dismissed from the Nurses' hands he stepped forward into the light, dropped his cloak, saluted the Nurses, and advancing to Sophia's side held out toward her his left arm. The sleeve had been ripped up, and a blood-stained bandage surrounded the forearm. Sophia's cheeks grew pale, and she uttered a low cry of alarm.

"Why, Sophie," exclaimed the youth, "what has possessed you? One would think you had never seen blood before. Come, my good lass, it is only a scratch, and a few drops of your Lily Balm will make it all right."

Fig. 41.—Sophia Dressing Sergeant True's Wounded Arm.

Sophia now found voice. "What a fright you gave me! Are you sure that you are not badly hurt, True? Quick! let me undo the bandage." The blood came back to her cheeks which now were hot and flushed. Her fingers trembled as she clipped the bandages with the scissors that hung at her belt, bathed the wound, and tenderly laid on lint and balm. Sophia was one of the best and most impartial of nurses; but it must be confessed that her fingers passed more gently over that swollen arm; that her eyes had a more pitiful look upon that hurt; that she lingered longer about the details of bathing, anointing and bandaging that wound than she had done in any other case. Do you blame her?

And Sergeant True was a model patient. Indeed he seemed quite to enjoy his wound, or at least the treatment of it. Agatha, after a few kind inquiries, had busied herself in giving instructions to the ward nurses and watchers. Faith and Grace had withdrawn to their own tent.

"I am glad you came to me, True," said Sophia as the last stitch was taken in the bands, and the sleeve was being gently fastened to its place.

"Didn't I wait, just to make sure of that?" answered the Sergeant. "Why, it is almost worth while to get a scratch like this for the pleasure of having you doctor it with those canny fingers of yours. Many thanks!"

"But I don't care to practice my art on you, remember! Good bye!"

The words were spoken in the gangway as the handsome Sergeant passed out, and—though it is by no means certain,—something very like the sound of a kiss followed close upon them.

"Good bye!"

Ah, how many times the words are uttered on the border of shadows that shall pall loving hearts. It is well that good-byes can be said in happy ignorance of the morrow.

FOOTNOTES:

[Y] Appendix, [Note A.]

CHAPTER IX.

NIGHT WATCHES.

The four Brownie maidens were once more together in their own quarters. There was little said for a long time. The meeting between Sophia and her lover had awakened tender and anxious thoughts in the hearts of all. Agatha was following in imagination the agile form of Lieutenant MacWhirlie, as he went the grand rounds of his pickets. The thoughts of Faith were with Adjutant Blythe who, somewhere in camp or field, served at the Captain's side, his faithful squire and counsellor. Grace's musings were of the gallant and stalwart Ensign of the Corps, Sergeant Lawe.

It would be too much to say that the Nurses had no anxiety about the safety of their lovers. But then, they had been bred in the midst of war's alarms. They knew that their fathers, kindred, and friends were brave, experienced, skillful, and devoted to one another. They had learned to regard war risks as matters of ordinary life and business, and were rarely troubled about them. There was special reason why they should be even more light hearted than usual that night. Yet, so strangely run the currents of one's thoughts, that these maidens were all sad.

There was some reason, indeed, why Agatha and Faith should feel thus, for the old saying fell true in their case about the course of true love not running smooth. Captain Bruce refused consent to the marriage of Agatha and MacWhirlie. The two had waited long, patiently, devotedly; yes, and hopefully, although they had often known that "hope deferred" which "maketh the heart sick." Every one thought the Captain's conduct strange. But he never gave any reason, except that Agatha was too grave, and MacWhirlie too gay for a well balanced marriage. As obedience to parents is one of the unchanging laws of Brownieland, no one could oppose.

Now, it so happened that Commodore Rodney had taken up a like notion concerning his daughter and Adjutant Blythe. "Blythe is too jovial, and Faith is too serious," said the Commodore. "They could never sail smoothly in the same ship on a whole life's course." An odd feature of this trouble was that each of the fathers pooh-hooed the objection of the other, and each uncle was highly pleased with his niece's choice! The best of Brownies, like other people, have their whimsies. Grace and Sophia had no such sorrows to vex them, and were looking forward to their wedding on the next Thanksgiving Day.

Enough for the present of these disappointments and hopes. The night watch in the Hospital has just been changed, as have also the outer sentinels. Blythe, for it is he who attends to this latter duty, has sounded a soft note on the whistle that hangs against the rear door of the Sanitary Tent. It is the signal that the Nurses are wanted in the Hospital. Night duty is divided between them, two of them always watching in the Hospital, while the others sleep in the marquée. Agatha and Grace have the first watch to-night, and pass into the Hospital. But Faith knows whose lips had sounded the call, and comes in to exchange a few words with her lover.

"Good-bye!"

Why should she, too, have come back with a tear upon her cheek?

The light is turned down low in the fox-fire lantern. The yellow hospital flag flaps lazily against the staff. The full moon hangs over Hillside. The tramp, tramp of the sentinel grows dim and clear by turns as he recedes from or nears the door. The noises of the camp have died away and silence reigns at last over plain, fort and field. Both Brownies and Pixies are weary with the day's battling and sleep well. Faith and Sophia, too, after a long talk about their trials and their loves, their hopes, fears and joys, have fallen asleep in each other's arms.

The stars that mark the midnight hour are fast hastening into the zenith. The sentinels walk their beats with weary pace. The relief guards will soon be on the rounds. Faith and Sophia stir in their sleep uneasily as though dimly conscious that the whistle will soon call them to duty. There is a soft touch, as the touch of an angel's finger, upon their cheeks. It seems to rest upon their eyes, their lips. It is pressed against their nostrils. It stays their breathing. They turn restlessly on their couch. They toss their arms, but the soft touch is on them, too. Cannot they awake?

Yes, their eyes are open now. Is it a dream? Is it the vision of a nightmare? Two forms, the terrible forms of their foes, the Pixies, are bending over them, wrapping them around in the silken folds of their snares!

Alas! it is no dream. The most dreaded of all their enemies, Spite the Spy, chief of the Pixies, and Hide the son of Shame, are crouching at their bedside. The maidens start from their pillows, but fall back again hopeless. They are bound hand and foot as with grave-clothes. They are wrapped in a winding sheet of gossamer; enshrouded alive.[Z]

Spite reckoned truly that the next impulse of the Nurses would be to scream. He thrust his hairy face close against their cheeks, and hissed from between his lips, "Utter one sound and you die! Keep still and you shall not be harmed."

The Boy's Illustration.
Fig. 42.—Spite and Hide Carry off the Nurses.

Sophia swooned quite away. Faith closed her eyes and waited in an agony of fear. She felt Spite's strong arms placed around her. She was lifted from her couch; was borne through the tent. She was in the open air, and the breeze blowing upon her cheeks revived her. She opened her eyes. In the clear moonlight she could see Hide pushing through the side of the covered gangway, close by the rear door of the marquée, carrying Sophia in his arms. With an instinct of hope that no terror could check she lifted her voice and screamed with the energy of despair. She felt the Pixie's hot breath upon her cheek; an awful oath sounded in her ear, and a rude hand smote upon her mouth. She fell back unconscious.

Let us follow backward the thread of our story into the Pixie's camp where we left Spite keeping his solitary watch, that we may account for this sudden appearance in the heart of the Brownie encampment. Spite could not sleep. Anger, mortification, hate, disappointed ambition, all the evil passions were ablaze within him, as he thought of what the Brownies had already gained, and of their assured victory on the morrow. His troops discouraged, provisions cut off, Madam Breeze (for aught he knew) ready to side again with the Brownies,—his utter defeat, the loss of the fort, and the massacre of his people seemed certain.

"If we could abandon the fort," he muttered; "if we could quietly steal out and leave the enemy watching an empty camp? That would be our salvation! But we can't; those troopers of MacWhirlie's are patrolling the plain, and the woods in the rear are swarming with pickets. But—I don't know?—"

He sprang to his feet, crossed over to Hide's quarters in Fort Tegenaria, bade him join him, and walked hastily to the line of breastworks on the lake front. He stopped under a bush that stood within the entrenchment. The night was cloudless, and by the moonlight streaming through the leaves, the two Pixies saw stretched among the upper branches a round, vertical web. It was the inner abutment of a bridge that once extended from Fort Spinder to Lakeside, but had been long in disuse.

"Do you know the condition of the Old Bridge?" asked Spite. "It has been a long time since I crossed it."

"I know little, except that I have heard some of my boys say that the piers on this end are in pretty good condition, and that some of the cables are still up."

Fig. 43.—"A Round, Vertical Web"—p. 86.

"Very well," said Spite, after musing a few moments, "let us explore a little. You always used to be ready for a scout, Hide, and I suppose have not forgotten your old cunning. The Brownie sentinels are just beyond us, there. Yon big fellow's beat runs under the middle of the second span."

Hide was quite as ready for the adventure as Spite. Without more words the two swung themselves into the bushes, climbed up the sides of the abutment wall, and were presently at the top.

"Here are the cables, at any rate," said Hide. "Only two of them, however. The rest are broken off. They hang down the sides of the abutment, and over the ends of the branches."

"Pull on the one next you," cried Spite, who had himself laid hold of one of the sound cables, and was pushing down upon it with all his might. "Mine holds. It is fast to the second pier in yonder bush, I am sure. How with yours?"

"It is all right," answered Hide, "I am willing to venture on it."

Nearly fifteen hundred millimetres distant was another and taller bush in which pier No. 1 of the bridge was built. The Pixies could not see this since the darkness of the night and the shadow of the leaves hid the white outlines of the web-wall. But they knew that it must be there, and therefore crept upon the silken ropes each upon one, and began their journey.[AA]

Three thousand millimetres above the ground, for the whole distance from bush to bush over that single coil of rope those two creatures crawled. The cables shook, swayed and bent down, but neither parted, and the adventurous Pixies landed safely on top of the pier.

Fig. 44.—A Cobweb Bridge Across a Path.

The next pier was in a clump of bushes thirty-five hundred millimetres away, not in a direct course, but angling slightly across the field. The architects of the Old Bridge had taken advantage of the brushwood between the hill and lake. But as the shrubs grew at irregular distances from each other, and in various lines of direction, the course of the bridge was somewhat broken from the right line. Only one cable remained of those that had united pier No. 1 and pier No. 2. The scouts must therefore cross singly. To add to the danger a Brownie sentinel was stationed underneath the cable, about midway between the piers.

"What say you, Hide?" asked the chief, "shall we go on?"

"What have you to gain by it, Cap'n? That's the question with me. Tell me what you intend by exploring this old suspension bridge, and I'll say whether it seems worth the risk."

"Certainly," said Spite. "My plan is to repair these cables by bracing the old ones, and putting up new ones, so that we can abandon the fort secretly, if we are pressed too hard. We could pass the whole force across the bridge by night, embark in our vessels, and cross the lake to the other shore, or to the island. The point I want to settle is, whether the cables are so far good that we can make a good roadway in the time at our command. We must do night work, repairing as well as crossing; and if we are hard pushed by the Brownies, we shall have to do some rapid engineering. That's the plan; what say you?"

"Good," cried Hide, "very good! It will be a fine stroke to slip away and leave the enemy to watch bare walls. Ha, ha! I fancy I see their solemn faces, on the discovery of our flight." Hide grew quite merry over his conceit.

"Very well then, that settles it. Here goes!" So saying, Spite stepped upon the single cable and began the passage. He moved slowly at first, until he found that the line was strong enough to bear him; then he increased his gait, and soon landed upon the top of pier No. 2.

Hide perceived that Spite had reached the pier, for the cable had ceased to vibrate under his movement, and accordingly began his voyage. Midway between piers he saw the Brownie sentinel approach. He passed underneath the cable humming some pretty ditty as he paced his beat.

Overhead just above him hung the black form of the Pixie. Hide paused and peered downward upon the unconscious Brownie. His eyes swelled with hate; his breath escaped with a hissing sound, he bowed his back in readiness to spring down upon the sentinel.

Fig. 45.
Unseen Dangers. Pixie Hide
Threatens the Brownie Sentinel.

"Fool!" he muttered at last, "would you risk the discovery of all for the sake of one miserable Brownie more or less in the world? Ha! it was a great temptation; and I was mighty near yielding to it. Might have broken my neck, too! I don't know, though;" and he followed the sentinel's retreating form with gloating eyes; "I believe I could have dropped right down upon the rascal, and throttled him ere he could have piped a note. I'm sorry now that I didn't do it! But, no matter; I'll get him some other time."

The sentinel, meanwhile, with steady gait passed onward under the cable and out of sight behind the bushes. He never knew how nearly he had escaped death that night, nor even suspected that peril threatened him. Hide hurried over the remainder of the cable, and joined his comrade on the pier.

"Well," whispered Spite, "my heart was beating a tattoo of terror lest you might be rash enough to pounce upon that fellow. Really, I expected to see you take the leap. It was lucky that you controlled yourself. It would uncover all were we to start the Brownies' suspicions in this direction. We must keep all quiet on this side the fort. Now for the next pier! How does it look on your side?"

"There are a half dozen perfect lines here."

"Good. There are three here in prime order. Where is the next pier?"

"Over in that oak sapling to the right. The span is the longest in the bridge, about five thousand millimetres."

"Jolly, jolly!" exclaimed Spite in great glee. "We are now sure of most of the way. This long span needs little repairing. The first two we can fix up, I am quite sure. Now for the last."

They were not long in running across the third span; but when they reached pier No. 3, they found no traces of the cables which once united it to the lakeside abutment.

"Bad!" said the Pixie chief. "It will have to be built anew, that's all. It's lucky, too, that the worst break is on the last span, for we can repair here with less risk than elsewhere."

"Moreover," said Hide, "we have a double chance for escape, the river as well as the bridge."

"True; and now let us finish our observation by finding out the condition of yonder abutment." The pair descended to the ground, crossed to the willow in which the last pier had been fixed, and found it in quite as good repair as the others.

"All right!" exclaimed Hide.

Spite said "Jolly!" one of his favorite slang expletives, which he thought particularly good since he had lately borrowed it from one of his English cousins.

Fig. 46.—Spite and Hide View the Brownie Camp.

Highly pleased with what they had learned, the Pixies turned their faces homeward. As they crossed the space between the shore and pier No. 4, they had full view of the Brownie encampment from a vine covered old stump. There the line of cavalry guards stretched along the plain, encircling the fort. Beyond, the camp fires of the main army glimmered amid the grass, weeds and bushes. A profound silence hung over the whole scene. Both camp and fort were locked in the deep repose of midnight.

"Captain!" said Hide. He stopped and looked steadfastly toward the camp.

"Say on, comrade."

"I followed your venture," continued Hide, "will you risk mine?"

"That depends," answered the chief. "What is it?"

"Just to make a private visit to the headquarters yonder and pay our respects to the Brownie Captain. We are now inside the picket line. We can make a circuit around here by the lake and come up in the rear of the tents. The sentinels will not be numerous there, nor very watchful. It's a chance if there are any at all. There is little risk in the matter, just enough to give it spice. And—who knows? there might be a chance to end the campaign by putting my dagger into Murray Bruce's heart; or, failing that, you might bag that little fairy flame of yours, and carry her off to the fort. That would be 'jolly' indeed! Come, what say you?"

Spite hesitated. The plan seemed plausible. Hide was a prudent fellow, and not apt to take unusual risks. But then, there was the risk that he and his second in command might be taken, or cut off. And what would become of the Pixie cause in that case? It was not a prudent act. But then, again, it was a strong temptation. Assassinate Bruce? or, seize Faith?

"Lead on," he cried, "I'm with you."

The yellow flags of the hospital and sanitary tent were their guide. Hide's theory about the sentinels they found correct. They stole through the camp, passed the rear of the hospital, and paused before the marquée of the Sanitary Corps, which they took to be the officers' headquarters. A peep through the flap of the tent showed them their mistake, and revealed the sleeping forms of Faith and Sophia.

"We stop here!" said Spite, pushing aside the door. What followed has been told.

FOOTNOTES:

[Z] Appendix, [Note A.]

[AA] Appendix, [Note B.]

CHAPTER X.

THE GOLDEN MOTTOES.

Faith's cry breaking upon the midnight stillness was heard throughout the camp. The wounded in the hospital started up in their beds. The attendants ran toward Agatha and Grace supposing that the cry came from one of them. The two Nurses stood holding each other fast, trembling violently, their eyes fixed upon the door. Bruce ran from the headquarters tent, sword in hand, followed by Blythe, Rodney and Pipe. There was no need to sound the alarm, for the Brownies were running from all parts of the camp to headquarters.

"What is it? A night attack?" Nobody knew. "What was it—that terrible cry?" Nobody knew that. The sentinels had seen nothing. Then came MacWhirlie riding into the camp at full speed on one of the Goldentailed matches, which Madam Breeze had presented him.

Some one exclaimed: "Hah! this explains it! The picket line has been attacked by the Pixies. The Lieutenant has come for help."

No! He too had heard the cry, and had come to learn the cause. All was quiet along the plain.

Leaving the perplexed throng outside, let us re-enter the hospital. Agatha and Grace had recovered from their fright. The excitement caused by the alarm, the sudden and violent action of the soldiers in starting up upon their couches, even leaping from them, had reopened many wounds so that they were bleeding freely. Some of the worst cases had fallen back fainting. All was confusion within the place. The helpers were hurrying hither and thither. From the outside the Brownies were running in and out with the pointless questions usual in times of panic. Agatha's heart was touched at the sight. The voice of pity within her at once mustered her disordered faculties.

Fig. 47.—"Silk Ravelled from Cocoons of Spiders."

"Grace, Grace," she cried, "this will never do! Hasten to the marquée and bid Faith and Sophia come to the aid of these poor fellows. Quick! and bring all the lint that you can find. Guards!" she continued, calling to the sentinels at the doors, "keep out the people. We must have quiet here. Howard," addressing the head helper, "look to your aids! Brothers," she spoke to all attendants now, "remember your Golden Mottoes!"

She pointed as she spoke to the eastern side of the tent, sweeping her hand along the line of wall. Silk banners hung thereon, upon every one of which a Golden Motto was embroidered, together with various emblems, designs and tracery. Rich effects were produced by using the many hued scales on the wings of butterflies, the brilliant shells and elytra of beetles, and minute feathers of humming birds, which were embossed upon the cloth with silk raveled from cocoons of moths and spiders.[AB] The banners were the gift of the Sanitary Corps whose cunning fingers had made them. Let us follow the rapid motion of Agatha's hand and read these Golden Mottoes.

Fig. 48.—A Spider's Cocoon Nest.

The design of Banner One is, on a blue shield, a carrier pigeon in full flight, with a message tied by a ribbon about its neck. In the surrounding border are grouped and interwoven arrows and other emblems of speed and promptness. The motto is:

QUICKLY DONE IS TWICE DONE.

The design of Banner Two is, on a blue shield, a silver pyramid, the North Star shining above it. In the border are wrought figures of a frontiersman with his rifle in hand standing among rocks and great oaks; a pilot at his wheel; an Indian shooting rapids in his bark canoe; a whaleman at the bow of his boat with harpoon poised. The legend is:

COOL HEAD GIVES HELPFUL HANDS.

The design of Banner Three is, on a red shield, a full orbed golden sun with the old fashioned cheerful human face wrought upon it, and bright rays shooting out in all directions. In the border are anchors, flowers, song birds, sporting Brownies, winsome figures and emblems. The motto is:

Fig. 49.—The Brownies' Banners and Golden Mottoes.

CHEERFULNESS IS BOTH BALM AND BROTH.

Banner Four, although not the most beautiful in point of imagery, is the most costly, the most carefully wrought and the most striking of all. On a purple shield two points, one above the other, one in chief and one in base are represented by golden stars, and these are united by a straight line. The motto is:

OUR LIFE LINE A RIGHT LINE.

The border consists of various mathematical instruments, a rule, square, dividers, sailor's compass, etc., and running all around the banner through these are the sentences "Straightway From Knowledge to Duty," "Duty First, Duty Last."

It has taken some time to note these decorations, but only a moment was consumed by the glance that Agatha and her aids cast upon them. That glance and the voice of their fair leader acted like a charm. The words had scarcely been uttered before the helpers were scattered through the tents and at the couches of the suffering. Agatha herself kneeled beside a wounded soldier, rearranged the bandages, and poured in fresh balm. She had cast more than one impatient look toward the side door that led into the Sanitary tent, wondering why Grace had not already come back with Faith and Sophia.

The rear door of the hospital, near which Agatha was kneeling, was pushed violently forward and Grace entered. She was capless, her hair streamed over her shoulders, her whole appearance showed anguish and agitation.

"They are gone!" she cried. Agatha rose hastily and threw herself into her arms.

"Gone? who? Faith? Sophia? Gone!—where? Speak, girl, what do you mean?"

"Oh, I cannot tell. Something dreadful has happened. They were not in the room when I went in. I supposed they had gone out to learn what was the trouble, and ran into the crowd to seek them. Nobody knew. Your father and uncle, and Pipe, and all the rest were there, but no Faith—no Sophia. They knew nothing of them. They are searching for them now. They fear that the Pixies have carried them off. Oh, Agatha! what shall we do?"

Ah, Agatha, do you remember the Golden Mottoes now! Will she remember, think you? Her frame shook with emotion; her hands were cold; beads of moisture gathered on her pale forehead. She spoke in a dreamy way, as though talking to herself: "Carried off by the Pixies? Gone? Cousin Faith gone? Sophia gone?"

Then she started as from a trance. There was a tremor in her voice, but she spoke quietly, as one who had struggled with her own heart and got the victory.

"Grace, God help them! But our duty lies here. There is no time now for grief. There is no call on us to take part in the work and peril of delivering our sister Nurses. Others will do it better than we. Our duty is plain. And is just before us. Mine is here. Grace, dear, yours is there!"

She pointed first to the couch at which she had been kneeling, then to one across the aisle, and quietly turning from her companion, knelt down again by the wounded Brownie, and took up the dropped thread of her labor of love. When she lifted her eyes Grace was at her post. Noble conquerors! These are the victories of those who be better than they who take a city.

FOOTNOTES:

[AB] Appendix, [Note A.]

CHAPTER XI.

ON THE TRAIL.

Meanwhile, the light of fox-fire and fire-fly lanterns was glancing everywhere through camp and field, showing where eager searchers were scattered looking for the lost Nurses. Rodney was well nigh frantic with grief, and ran here and there among the tents calling the name of his daughter. Only the echo of his voice came back to him out of the night. Pipe was as one paralyzed. He leaned against the wall of the tent with folded arms, and eyes fixed upon the spot where his child had lain. His mute sorrow was pitiful to see.

Blythe and Sergeant True entered the tent. The Adjutant's bright face was clouded; the tall form of the Sergeant was bowed.

"If one only knew!" said Blythe. "It is this terrible uncertainty that is so hard to bear. If I knew where they were, I could cut my way through legions of fiends to save them, or die trying."

"Is there no trace at all?" asked True.

"Not the slightest. It is only a suspicion"—he lowered his voice—"that they have been carried off by the Pixies. No one dares even name it to the Commodore and—" nodding toward the Boatswain.

"But that is not reason," answered True. "It is important that we should know the worst, at once. For one, I mean to find out the truth, if I can, and face it manfully."

He stepped to the couch, which lay just as it had been left by the Nurses. His hand caught upon a thread of gossamer that lay upon a pillow. He looked more closely. There was another, then another, then a thick strand of the silken material. He rose with the delicate filaments floating from his fingers, walked to the lantern, and held his hand within the light. Blythe followed every motion.

Fig. 50.—A Brownie Link Boy with a Fire-fly Lantern.

"Do you see?" cried True. "There can be no doubt of it. Some of the enemy have passed the lines, entered this tent, woven their snares around the sleeping maids, and escaped. One of the two Nurses uttered that cry as they were being carried off. We must look for them in the Pixies' fort or on the way to it."

"That is truth," said Blythe, "and the sooner we begin the search the better."

True walked up to Pipe and touched him tenderly upon the shoulder. The Boatswain looked up vacantly.

"Ah, my lad, it is you!" he said at last. "Where is our Sophia?"

"Boatswain," said True, holding up the hand to which the gossamer threads were still clinging, "Sophia is in the Pixies' fort or on the way to it. And you and I must bring her back. Come, rouse up! Be yourself again!"

Pipe started from his lethargy. He looked at the floating strand of web-work; listened to True's statement; passed his palm against his brow, then seized the Sergeant's hand.

"My boy, you are right! And I have been acting the fool! Poor girl! poor girl! Come—let us not delay. To the Pixies' fort! Ho, my brave tars!" Even while he spoke Pipe stepped to the door of the tent and put his whistle to his lips.

"Stop, stop!" cried True, laying a hand upon his arm. "Remember the proverb: Make haste slowly! Are we sure that our lost ones are at the fort yet? May we not find some other traces of them that will enable us to go to work more intelligently? Don't call your men. They are scattered abroad in busy search. They are doing no harm, and may do much good. Let them alone for the present. You and I can follow this trail a little further."

There was a cool head at last on the track of the fugitives. The fact gave at least a glimmer of hope. True first inquired carefully of Agatha, Grace and others in the hospital, as to the exact point from which the shriek had come. They all agreed that it had been made close by the rear of the tent, so near that it seemed to be inside.

"That determines our first step," said True. "Now for lanterns and the sharpest eyes among you. We shall search here," he continued, and led the party just outside the tent, and set them to scanning every bush, grass blade and weed in the vicinity. The Nurses had been asked to join the search for a little while, and fortune gave to Agatha the first important discovery.

"Here!" she cried, "I have a trace!" She had plucked from a thistle stalk a bit of gossamer.

"I too!" cried Pipe, holding up a similar object.

"And I!" said Grace, who was in advance of the party.

"Stop!" exclaimed True. "Stand where you are until I get the line of the trail."

Agatha stood nearest the tent. Pipe was beyond her and a little to the right. Grace stood some distance from both in a direct line with Agatha.

Fig. 51.—"From a Thistle Stalk a Bit of Gossamer."

"That will do," said True, glancing up at the North Star. "The line runs due north, and straight from the rear of the camp. Start again while I make some inquiries of the Adjutant. Blythe, a word with you. Who was on guard over there, to the north?"

"No one."

"Impossible! Blythe, you couldn't—"

"Stop!" exclaimed Blythe, his voice choking with emotion. "The Captain bade it. And Rodney, and Pipe,—and myself, alas, alas! we all councilled it. The men were weary. A strong picket line entirely surrounded the fort. They were picked men with MacWhirlie at their head. We knew that no force of the enemy lay in our rear. No one dreamed of danger from that quarter."

"Say no more," said True. "Regrets are useless now. I see how it is. A party of stragglers or spies has stolen in here while we slept. Faith and Sophia have been surprised while alone in the tent."

"But what motive?—" began Blythe. A shout from the searchers interrupted him. It was Pipe's voice.

"We have struck the trail again!"

"Who has it?"

"Howard there, and myself."

"Steady! let me see. Here are our first traces, where those three lanterns hang. Hold up your lights to the points where you found the last signs. That will do. There, do you see? Two of the first lanterns are in line with Howard's light, the other in line with Pipe's. And the two lines are nearly parallel, showing the paths by which the two maids were borne away. We are on the trail. Due north still! Forward, once more!"

Fig. 52.—"A Bit of Gossamer."

Step by step the trail was followed by threads caught here and there upon leaves and branches. It continued to bear northward for a goodly distance, then turned westward as though the fugitives were making gradually toward the fort. There it was lost for a while, and when, discovered again was once more bearing north. Again it turned westward, and was lost completely in the plain that encircled the fort, just where it bordered on a strip of sand that ran down to the little lake.

CHAPTER XII.

THE LOST TRAIL.

Sergeant True stood on the edge of the plain considering what should next be done. All signs of the trail had ceased as soon as the searchers had come out of the grass and brushwood. There could be no trail upon the flat plain, the Sergeant knew. A large party had just returned from searching the wood between the lake and the fort. There was a bare possibility that the fugitives had ventured to cross the plain, and run the gauntlet of the picket line into the fort; a little stronger possibility that they had skirted the wood by the shore and pushed on down toward the outlet where the Pixie navy lay. True therefore questioned the returning searchers:

"Have you seen anything?"

"Nothing. Lieutenant MacWhirlie has had the entire strip between lake and fort thoroughly guarded ever since the alarm. Nothing could have passed, he says. Nothing has passed that has left any trail. The Lieutenant has sent scouts down the shore to make sure."

Rodney and Pipe heard the report with heavy hearts. Hope was fast dying within them. "Must we give it up?" cried the Commodore. "Is there no deliverance?"

"There is but one way by which they could have escaped us," said True, pointing toward the lake. "Is it possible that we have been mistaken, and that pirates have done this outrage after all? Commodore, have there been any boats or ships off shore lately?"

"Not one," answered Rodney. "Both fleets are lying by for repairs, for the last fight used them up pretty well. We've been doing shore service ever since."

"It is most strange! But we must search the shore thoroughly in this neighborhood, at any rate."

The bank of the lake was presently covered with Brownies eagerly scanning by the light of their torches and lanterns every foot of ground.

"We have it, we have it!" shouted Rodney. "Come here, Pipe! and you, Waterborn. Look at this!" Immediately a crowd surrounded the excited Commodore.

"Stand back!" he cried; "don't push down so close upon the shore until some of the sailors have seen these marks. A boat has landed here within the last half hour. See the wash of the waves upon the sand! And just there the bow has scraped. What say you, lads?"

"There is no doubt of it," responded Pipe, after a careful examination. Waterborn, the mate, held his lantern to the water line and after a moment's inspection gave the same opinion.

"Here," exclaimed Blythe, "is the crowning proof!" He plucked from the shore a handful of silken threads that had caught upon the sand and gravel which covered the spot where Faith and Sophia must have lain. Yes, they had found the trail again; but only to lose it in the waters of Lake Katrine.

"What shall be done?" asked Rodney.

"We must follow you now," answered True. "The path lies upon an element of which I know little. You and the Boatswain are at home there. To you who are most wronged Providence gives the opportunity to undo the injury. We yield to the navy, now. Lead on; we'll follow you, you may be sure."

Rodney and Pipe had scarcely been themselves since the first tidings of their bereavement. Their wills seemed benumbed by the blow. They followed Sergeant True like little children. But now that responsibility was laid in their hands, they roused themselves to duty. They were the keen, shrewd, sailor chiefs once more. Subdued still by their grief, but alert and intelligent, they took up the work before them.

"'Tis an element that leaves no trail," said Rodney, "yet it will go hard, but my gallant tars shall find the lost ones. We'll scour every nook and beat every bush along shore, if need be. We'll pluck the dear captives from under the black flag or we'll sink every timber in the fleet! What say you, lads?"

A hearty cheer was the sailors' answer. The whole company on shore joined in it. And it did them all good.

"You can not tell which direction the boat has taken, of course," said True. "But have you any opinion at all about it? You must start out from some view point. What shall it be?"

"That is exactly what I have been asking myself," said Rodney. "I have a notion that the boat, wherever it came from, has crossed to the island or gone down to the outlet to join the fleet. I incline to the latter view. The island is lightly garrisoned; the Orchard Camp is nearly deserted; the mass of Pixie troops are shut up in Fort Spinder. Naturally, the robbers would take to the fleet as the safest place."

"That is good reasoning, Commodore," said Waterborn, "and there is only one thing that weakens it. The wind would be dead against them going downward. For the last half hour it has been blowing due north—straight upon the island."

"True; but we shall see presently. The first thing is to rally our men. Boatswain, pipe to quarters."

"Aye, aye, Sir!" answered Pipe, and the shrill whistle sounded through the air and along the water. A few stragglers who had joined the various searching parties gathered in at the call. But most of the sailors and marines were already present.

"Now lads, we must away to our ships. Fall in! Forward, march!" The column started up the shore at quick step, and was soon lost to view.

CHAPTER XIII.

RAFT THE SMUGGLER.

Spite and Hide saw that Faith's cry had aroused the Brownies, and pushed at their utmost speed directly from the camp. It did not occur to them that they might be tracked by the threads of web-work torn off by leaves and twigs from the cords with which they had bound their captives. But they did fear that one of the Nurses might again cry out; and they stopped long enough to fasten gags upon their mouths.

Several times the Pixie chiefs turned toward Fort Spinder, hoping to reach the Old Bridge by the way they had come. But their progress was checked by bands of Brownies scattered everywhere in the direction of the fort. The lights of the searchers were seen dancing throughout the entire plain, and running hither and thither in confused lines among grass and shrubbery.

More than once the Pixies were on the point of being discovered. Several times they had to crouch under the leaves, lest they should be seen by parties of excited searchers. Indeed, their safety lay in the fact that the Brownies were so much excited; and had all been as self-possessed as the cool headed True, Spite and Hide would have been captured.

At last they reached a point where the plain sweeps down to the sandy bank of the lake, which is a natural basin widened into an artificial pond. The brook that flows from the Hillside spring runs through it. There is an island in the middle of the lake, covered with grass, moss and ferns. In honor of the old home the Brownies called the lake Loch Katrine, and the island Ellen's Isle, names which the Pixies refused to acknowledge, and called the pond Lake Arachne and the island Aranea Isle. On this little sheet of water, and its inlet and outlet, the navies of the Brownies and Pixies floated; and here was the scene of many a battle between Rodney and his sailors and the Pixies and pirates.

Spite and Hide paused on the border of the plain to consider. It was not far to the pier of the Old Bridge along which lay the path to the fort. But the space between them and that point was swarming with Brownies. MacWhirlie had mustered his entire troop, and set them to patrolling the plain. Throughout the woods, from the foot of the hill to the very lakeside, sentinels were posted at short intervals, and burdened as they were the Pixies could not pass that line.

"Well, Hide, what shall we do?"

"Do? Humph! there is little choice left us now. I will follow my chief. Lead on!"

"Lead on? Whither?" Spite snapped his fangs angrily as he spoke. "You got me into this scrape. It was a foolhardy adventure. Now get me out! I know you have something to advise."

"Very good! Let us kill these pretty captives of ours," said Hide with a sneer, "and cut our way through to the pier. Or, if you lead the way with them, I'll follow."

Spite looked down upon the unconscious form of Faith.

"I see no way out of this," he said. "To break through the line would be certain death. It looks as though it had come to that at any rate. May the foul fiend take you for tempting me to this madcap raid! Hide, Hide, bethink you, I pray!" Spite's voice was trembling with—fear, shall we say? Without awaiting reply from his companion, he took Faith in his arms and ran down to the edge of the water.

Hide followed him. He had long suspected what no one else had dreamed of, that Spite at heart was a coward. He had little love for his chief. Indeed, the thought was not new to the ambitious Lieutenant that Spite alone blocked the way of his own promotion to the headship of the Pixies. That he would be a worthy leader he, at least, did not doubt. He enjoyed his Captain's agitation, and was pleased to keep him upon nettles. He had already settled a plan of escape.

Fig. 53.—Brownie Fire-fly Lantern.

Spite eagerly scanned the surface of the lake.

"It's no use looking for the navy, Captain," said Hide. "There it rides, away down by the outlet. We must pass the Brownie pickets to get at the boats. Might as well cut through to the pier!"

"Is there no escape then? This is terrible! We shall be slaughtered outright." He pointed to the semi-circle of lanterns and torches drawing closer and closer upon them, marking where True and his party were following hard upon their trail. Spite dropped his burden, sat down, and fairly wrung his hands in despair. Yes, Spite the Spy, the chief of all the Pixies, did that!

Hide highly enjoyed the distress of his Captain. He had proved what he had long suspected, and, best of all, he had gained a hold upon Spite that would give great advantage over him in the future. He saw that it was high time to drop this malicious by play and address himself in earnest to escape.

"Cheer up, my brave Captain!" he cried, "I think I see a way out of this."

"Hah! Is it so?" Spite was too much elated with hope to notice the sneering tone of his Lieutenant.

Fig. 54.—The Nurses Carried Away on Raft Dolomede's Yacht, the Fringe.

"You shall see wait here a moment." He ran along the sand to a clump of ferns that bent over from the bank until they kissed the water. He mounted one of these and disappeared. Soon the drooping tips of the ferns lifted up, parted, and a curious craft glided out from the cove formed by the bended foliage. What a snug and secret harbor it was! The vessel touched the bank close by the spot where Spite stood, and Hide jumped ashore.

"Now then," he cried, "all aboard! We have no time to lose." He lifted Sophia from the ground as he spoke, carried her to the boat and laid her down in a leafy canopy or cabin. Spite followed with Faith.

"Push off now!" said Hide to a tall Pixie who had charge of the vessel. He put his paws against the shore and shoved vigorously. The waterman did the same, and the boat shot out into the lake. A brisk wind was blowing along the surface of the water, and the craft was soon off shore and out of danger.

The lanterns of the Brownies were seen bobbing along the bank just above the spot at which but a moment before the boat had been moored. A group of lights marked the point at which the trail had been lost, and where True and his party were now standing perplexed.

"Ugh!" said Spite as he watched the scene. It was hard to tell whether the sound betokened pleasure or displeasure. He was greatly relieved at the prospect of escape, but was not in the most amiable humor, for all that. With the easing of his fears came the thought of how he had exposed his weakness. His pride was hurt. He felt humiliated. He knew that Hide had been trifling with him, and his wrath grew hot thereat. He vowed revenge in his heart, but was too wise to show his feeling then. "I can wait!" he said. He glowered upon the Lieutenant, but soon cleared up his face and spoke cheerfully.

"Truly, friend Hide, you seem to be a person of varied resources. Pray, how chanced you to come across this waterman and his boat?"

"The fact is, Cap'n?" answered Hide laughing, "I have to keep a little private yacht for my own use. There are certain things, you know, for which one cannot well use the government ships. This is my friend, Raft Dolomede. Raft, allow me to present you to my chief, Spite the Spy. You see, Captain, my American friend has great respect for our community, although he does not belong to us. He has been brought up on this lake; is a skillful sailor, willing to obey orders, take his pay and ask no questions. He runs on his own hook—is a privateersman, in fact, on a small scale. We understand each other pretty well, and, of course, I knew where he kept his boat moored. He's not on very good terms with our cruisers; for, in sooth, he doesn't quite understand our revenue laws. I fear, now, that it wouldn't do to look closely under these leaves! There might be something contraband aboard besides these fair Brownies. Hey, Raft?"

Raft's boat was a home-made affair, but was ingeniously built. Dry leaves had been gathered into a mass, and fastened together with silken threads. To this had been added a mast, a sail, a jib and other fixtures so that the structure was a cross between a raft and a schooner. The leaves served admirably the varied uses of hull, sails, storerooms, beds and barricade. They caught the wind and drove the boat along as well as a ship's canvas. They were soft dry couches for sailors or passengers. The hollows and crevices between them were the "hold" of the vessel and gave ample storage.

Raft, the owner of this craft, was a handsome specimen of the family of water-pixies. He wore a coat of chocolate brown, trimmed with a broad orange band, and covered with double rows of white buttons. His trousers were pale red. He was quite at home on the lake with his yacht, and was such a skillful swimmer that he might really be said to walk on the water instead of swimming through it.[AC]

"How shall I put her head now?" asked Raft. "We're bearing nor' east by east, and with this wind will soon strike the cave yonder on the orchard shore. Shall I keep her so?"

"What say you, Captain?" asked Spite. "What are we to do with these, now?" pointing to Faith and Sophia.

"The first thing to be done, it seems to me," said Raft, casting a pitying look upon the nurses, "is to give 'em a little breathing privilege. If you don't take those rags off their figure-heads, and give 'em a breath of fresh wind, they'll soon be dead Brownies." With that he opened the sharp claws on one of his hands, like a pair of scissors, and without more ado cut the bands that had been placed as gags around the captives' mouths.

Fig. 55.—"Murderous Assaults Upon One Another."

"All right!" he said, resuming his rudder, "go on with your palaver. But heave ahead lively, or we'll be across the lake before you decide."

Spite had been in a deep study. At last he said, "We must go to the island."

Raft glanced inquiringly at Hide, who nodded assent. "Aye, aye, Sir. Port-a-helm it is." He turned the bow toward Ellen's Isle.

"We can easily find lodgings for our fair prizes there," continued Spite. "But what about Fort Spinder? That is what troubles me. How are we to get back? It is now too soon after the alarm to think of running the pickets. Even if it were possible to do that by night as things are now, it would be madness to try it by daylight. And yet, we must get some word to our people soon, and have them out of that fort by to-morrow night, or—" Spite paused and looked serious.

"Well?" said Raft.

"Well?" said Hide, "or—what?"

"You know quite as well as I!" answered Spite. "There will not be a corporal's guard of Pixies left in Fort Spinder, that's all!"

Hide shrugged his shoulders and looked grave. He had known very well what Spite meant, and he had a wife and children in the fort. There was a long pause. Spite and Hide were in deep and anxious thought. They could imagine the wild natures shut up within Fort Spinder venting their native savagery in murderous assaults upon one another.[AD] What could control them when the absence of their two chief officers should be discovered? Was there any chance for them to return to the fort? or any other way to prevent the catastrophe which they dreaded? The wind freshened, and in the meantime the "Fringe" (as Raft called his yacht) was rapidly approaching the island.

FOOTNOTES:

[AC] Appendix, [Note A.]

[AD] Appendix, [Note B.]

CHAPTER XIV.

A PALACE AND A PRISON.

Faith and Sophia were much relieved by Raft's considerate act. They had never thought to be grateful to a Pixie, but they felt gratitude toward the smuggler as he cut the bands upon their mouths. Their limbs were still bound, but they could turn upon their sides or backs, and look into the quiet, starlit sky. Their minds were in a whirl of wonder, uncertainty, terror. They had scarcely taken in the full horror of their condition. Captives in Pixies' hands!

Their hearts had beaten fast with fear when Raft drew near, but the kind words and act of the bluff sailor revived their hopes a little. Perhaps even the Pixies might take pity upon them and restore them to their home! At all events, it lessened their suffering to be free to breathe naturally, and it was a comfort to be able to talk together, instead of looking into each other's faces in mute wretchedness. They were near the bow and their captors were in the stern of the boat with Raft; they could therefore speak freely in whispers without fear of being heard. On the contrary, the three Pixies spoke aloud, as though not caring to conceal their thoughts from the prisoners, or not thinking they were overheard. Thus, much of their conversation reached the nurses' ears.

Spite and Hide sat thinking. Raft stood at the tiller and kept the boat steady on its course. Not a sound was heard except the ripple of water against the sides of the vessel as it moved rapidly onward through the darkness.

"Faith, dear Faith," whispered Sophia, "I cannot make it all out. Where are we? What is to be done with us? How came we here?"

"We are on Lake Katrine, Sophia, and we are sailing toward Ellen's Isle in a Pixie yacht. That much I am sure of. I know nothing more. But alas! I dread the worst. What can we expect from our terrible foes? And then the hatred they bear father and uncle—oh, my poor, poor father!" The thought of their friends' grief and anxiety for them awakened a fresh train of anguish in the captives' hearts. They laid their heads down upon the leaves and wept together.

Forsaken! Lost! The waves laughed and danced merrily by them as the bow cut the water. The stars looked down coldly from the great solemn heights of the sky, and twinkled and winked upon them as though careless or ignorant, or even in mockery of their fate! Why had such a sorrow come upon them?

"Captain Spite," said Hide, at last.

"Well, Hide, what is it?"

"Oh Faith, do you hear that?" whispered Sophia. "We are in the hands of Spite the Spy and his Lieutenant! Heaven defend us now!"

Faith answered with a groan.

"I have thought," said Hide, "that we might sell our prisoners. If we keep them, they will be a world of trouble and risk. Dispose of them, we get out of our scrape handsomely, save the garrison and people in the fort, get vast credit for valor and strategy, and start a fresh campaign full handed, with good chance to regain our lost ground. I don't see any way out of this, but to put up our fair prizes at ransom."

"Well," said Spite sharply, "go on!"

"Not much more to say, Cap'n. Let's go in, or send Raft in with a flag of truce. Offer to give up the Nurses if Bruce and the Commodore will raise the siege of Fort Spinder. I believe they'll do it."

"Aye, aye, that they will!" said Raft heartily. "It's a sensible plan, and as manly as sensible; for, the fact is, I don't relish this making war on women."

"Faugh! no cant, please!" sneered Spite. "Anything with Brownie blood is our game. But you're mistaken. Bruce and all the rest, that Sergeant True particularly, would take the high moral grounds about the business, and send back word: 'Better all die than compromise Truth and Duty, or give up the pursuit of wrong.' They wouldn't do what you expect. I doubt if they would even receive our flag of truce."

The hearts of the prisoners fluttered between hope and fear as they heard these words. Home again! The very thought gave them joy.

"Faith, we shall be ransomed, I know!" exclaimed Sophia.

Faith was silent.

"Oh, Faith, you don't believe they would do that?" again whispered Sophia when Spite had ended. "Surely your father would consent! and dear True also—" She stopped and caught her breath quickly as though a cruel doubt had suddenly seized her new fledged hope.

Faith was still silent.

Raft next spoke. "Well, that's amazing to me! Now, I think if my gal was in the hands of two such—" he paused as though at loss for a word. "Two such—accomplished villains;" he continued, "I reckon you'll think that complimentary, gentlemen;—I wouldn't stop to split hairs very long, I can tell you. I like grit, too; but I can't say that I admire it at the expense of those pretty things over there."

"Captain," said Hide, "wouldn't Bruce compromise by simply letting our folks retire from the fort unmolested? March out with arms, banners, and all the honors, and leave the Brownies to occupy the old shell, and destroy it at their leisure? I say try it anyhow."

"So do I," said Raft. "That proposition ought to double the cape of the sharpest scruple. Say you'll land your cargo; hoist a flag of truce; and I'll run in shore within hailing distance. Or, if you like it better, I'll undertake the matter myself."

The Pixie chief made no answer. Faith and Sophia listened to hear their fate pronounced, with feelings wrought up to the highest pitch. Spite rose and walked excitedly up and down the deck. He stopped and looked at Faith. He seemed about to yield. He raised his eyes to the water, then cast them upon the island which was now just ahead of them. Then he stood like a statue gazing at some object which hung in the air beyond the bow of the yacht. A fiendish smile passed over his face. For a long time he was silent and motionless.

"Gentlemen," he said, "I'm much obliged for your council. But I have a better way. Fort Spinder shall be empty before to-morrow's sunrise, and its garrison and contents safe on the orchard side of the lake in Big Cave Camp. Patience! You shall know my plans as soon as we have put our prisoners in a secure place."

He spoke like a new person. There was an air of confidence in his manner, and a jubilant ring in his voice that gave assurance to his companions. They were quite content to wait and trust the chief. Besides, the boat was now touching shore. The bow grated upon the sand. Raft jumped off and made the Fringe fast.

"Come now, my dears," said Spite, approaching the Nurses, "we will go ashore and take things a little easier."

Faith and Sophia were once more stricken with despair. The hope of being ransomed had been dashed by this mysterious plan which Spite had hinted to his comrades. What it was they could not even conjecture; but it meant imprisonment, death, it may be worse than death to them in a Pixies' den. Resistance they knew was vain. They could only plead for mercy. They lifted up their voices together and with crying and tears sought to move the pity of their captors.

"Tut, tut!" said Spite, "if you will behave yourselves there shall not a hair of your head come to harm. Bless your pretty faces, we don't mean to eat you. Come, cheer up! We intend to take you to a snug and comfortable house, a palace in fact. You never spied a prettier place, I warrant. You shall be with friends who will know how to take care of you. 'Pon honor, you shall not be harmed. There now!"

With an effort at consolation which sat awkwardly upon him, he cut loose the web-work shroud that enveloped Faith, and without more ado picked her up and jumped on shore. Hide followed with Sophia.

The two Pixies ran along shore a short distance, and then began to ascend the bank. They stopped near a tuft of grass on a mossy slope, where Spite laid down his burden and began to examine carefully the surface. A bunch of moss somewhat dried, and heaped up in a careless way, attracted his attention. "Here is our place!" he exclaimed, and tapped against one side of the heap. There was no response. He seized the moss and shook it vigorously. Thereupon, one side of the moundlet suddenly opened, pushing outward like a door.

An old Pixie, large and gaunt, thrust out her head, and cried, "What do you want? Begone, or I'll—"

"Oh, no you won't, Mother Tigrina! Don't you see? It's Spite, my good old lady. Open quickly! There, that will do. Come on, Hide."

The officers entered, carrying Faith and Sophia. The place in which the party now stood was a domed chamber or vestibule, lined in all parts with white silk. The tapestry was spread over the interior of the moss heap, which was in fact a hollow ball built up by skillful workmanship, although the rude exterior had the appearance of a chance accumulation. At the outer end of this mossy dome an oval portion had been left unattached to sides and bottom, and was fastened at the top alone by the silken lining. Thus was formed a rude sort of door, hinged at the top, which the occupant could raise at will or fasten by overspinning from the inside. This dome was in fact a vestibule or outer approach of a deep cave or tunnel, which slanted into the ground for a short distance and then turned downward.[AE] This cavern was held by Spite as a sort of country seat or castle, which he had dignified with the name of Aranea Hall. It was in charge of Dame Tigrina whom we have just seen in possession of the place. She was a monstrous character, even among her own nation, but what she lacked in grace she made up in her rude devotion to the Pixie cause and leader.

"You see, Dame Tigrina," said Spite, "I've brought you two nice companions. You can't complain of being solitary now."

"Humph!" said the old hag, looking fiercely upon the Brownies.

The Nurses were carried into an inner room of the cavern. Its walls and ceiling were hung with beautiful white silk tapestry. The floor was covered with a purple silk carpet; cushions formed of yellow floss and fibres of plants were spread for couches and chairs.[AF]

"There, my lassies," said Spite, "you never slept in such a room as this. I am sorry that I must leave you immediately, but you shall be well cared for. Be happy! and expect me soon." He dropped the curtain partition or portiére and Faith and Sophia were alone in their prison palace.

FOOTNOTES:

[AE] Appendix, [Note A.]

[AF] Appendix, [Note A.]

CHAPTER XV.

A PIXIE INSURRECTION.

Fort Spinder was in a ferment. The unusual stir in the Brownie camp was seen by the pickets on the outer barricades, and they at once gave the alarm, thinking that a night attack was to be made. The garrison sprang to arms. The Pixies swarmed to the breastworks; the Pixinees (as the females were called) mounted the ramparts of the fort.

Now arose the trouble that Spite had anticipated.

"Where is the Captain?" The word ran from mouth to mouth along barricades and breastwork. The Captain was not to be found.

"Where is the Lieutenant, then?" The inquiry ran through the Tegenaria quarter with the same puzzling result. Presently a sentinel who had mounted guard near the abutment of the old suspension bridge reported that he had seen the two officers climb the pier and go out upon the cables.

"Have they returned?"

No he had seen nothing of them since.

A rumor was started, and ran through the lines, that Spite had been captured by the Brownies, and that had caused the unusual excitement in their camp.

Then came another rumor that made headway amid whispers, hints, and mutterings of "Treachery!" "Cowardice!" "Desertion!" "Sold out to the Brownies!"

So the leaven of riot and panic began to work. Some bewailed the missing officers as martyrs; some cursed them as traitors; all mourned their absence as a fatal blow to their own safety. Irritated by the uncertainty, worn out by watching, fasting and fighting, the two parties readily passed from words to blows.

"They are true as steel!"

"They are false traitors!"

"You lie!"

"Hah! take that!"

Words like these, followed by the clatter of claws, and the sharp rasping of fangs were heard in every quarter. Luckily the third in command, Lieutenant Heady, was no milksop. He had seen riots and rebellions before and had quelled them. In stubbornness, cunning and ferocity he was a genuine Pixie. Fortune, it seemed, had made him chief, for the time, at least. And chief he would be, or cease to be at all.

He summoned a squad of the most courageous guards, and with them passed along the line of barricades. Quarrels were broken up with a strong hand, both parties being impartially beaten. The seditious were warned, the orderly praised, the doubters cheered, the timorous encouraged.

That answered for a little while.

Once more the riot began.

Heady and his patrol renewed their round. But as soon as a tumult was silenced in one quarter it arose in another. No sooner had the police squad reduced matters to quiet and moved to another point, than the riot broke out afresh behind them. Finally it gathered such headway that the Lieutenant was compelled to retire. The ill feelings which the rioters had vented upon one another were turned against him. The combatants united to wreak a common vengeance upon Heady.

"He is a usurper!"

Fig. 56.—Lieut. Heady and the Pixie Parson Among Admiring Pixinees.

"He wants to be chief himself!"

"He has made way with the other officers so that he may seize the command!"

"Down with him! Death to the tyrant!"

"Death! Death! Death!"

The whole seditious element of the garrison gathered together, and moved in a solid mass upon Heady and his little band of aids, who had fallen back toward the tower that united the two main quarters of the fort.

"Aha!" said he, "is it that you are after? Very good, my brave boys! There are two who can play the game of death, as you shall learn!"

The Pixinees had assembled upon the rampart and were looking down grimly upon the tumult in the parade ground or open space beneath. Heady called to them to open the tower gates. Now, strange to say, Heady was a universal favorite among the Pixinees. Which one of his particular qualities won their admiration it would be hard to say, but the cross-grained and savage old crumdudgeon had a host of enthusiastic friends among the Pixinees of Fort Spinder. They always stood up for him, and the cunning fellow knew well that he could count upon them now; especially as the Pixie Parson,[AG] who had great influence among the Pixinees, was also his warm friend.

The gates of the tower flew open immediately, and an excited crowd of Pixinees gathered about their favorite. They leaped from the ramparts. They climbed down the walls. They thronged the gate. Their forms fairly swelled with indignation. They were ready at a word to fall upon the insurgents.

The mob paused at this demonstration. They did not like the look of things. They began to consult among themselves. A few in the rear ranks of the main body dropped out one by one and sneaked off toward the barricade. Heady spoke a few words to his Amazon squad, and then approached the rioters. He advanced several paces from the gate and addressed them.

"Gentlemen, you have chosen to submit this little difference of opinion to a very grim sort of a judge called—Death. I am ready to argue the case, and—there is the court!" He pointed to the group of angry Pixinees.

The leaders of the riot held a brief whispered consultation. They were quite taken aback at this turn of affairs.

"Come, gentlemen," continued Heady, in the same cool, sneering tone. "The court is waiting. Are you ready for trial?"

There is no telling what the issue might have been had not the current of feeling been suddenly arrested. During these moments of tumult a thin white speck had been floating in from the lake. It sailed above the tops of the trees, hovered over the fort, and gradually settled down toward the parade ground. A voice was heard to issue from it:

"Pixies, ahoy—oy!"

Fig. 57.—"A Balloon Hung Overhead."

All eyes turned upward. A balloon hung overhead and just beyond, toward the lake, another and another could be seen.

"Lay hold of the ropes!" called a voice from the nearest of these ships of the sky. "We want to descend here. We bear a message from your chief."

A score of willing hands were reached out, and the cords, which by this time dragged upon the ground, were seized. The little vessel, thus steadied, began to descend. It touched the ground in a vacant space between the rioters and the Pixinees. A small Pixie stepped from the basket, and looked inquiringly around. He was dressed in a dark gray coat, with broad white stripes; breeches pale colored and spotted, and a black vest over which a white-haired beard was streaming. He seemed much puzzled at the strange grouping of the parties around him, who for the most part had kept their positions, but were looking quietly on, their interest in the new arrival having nearly soothed their wrath.

"I should like to see Lieutenant Heady," said the stranger. "I have a message for him from Captain Spite and Lieutenant Hide."

Fig. 58.—Gossamer's Balloons.

"I am the person you seek," said Heady, stepping forward.

"If you will pardon me a moment, Sir," said the stranger, "and give me some help in getting my comrades anchored, I will deliver my message."

The second of these little voyagers of the air reached a position above the fort, and cast out cords and grapnels. He soon anchored. Then another and another followed until five had safely landed.

The interest of the fort Pixies in these æronauts had now quieted the passions that had been so near fatal explosion. Here was news from their missing officers. All would now be well! By common consent both parties put up their weapons and gathered around the messenger.

"There is nothing secret in my orders, Sir, I think," said the balloonist who had first landed, "My name is Lycosa. Here are my credentials. My orders I will give when you are ready for them."

"Say on, then!" said Heady, "You couldn't have come with them at a luckier time. What news from our chiefs."

"Good news," answered Lycosa; "they crossed the bridge, raided the Brownie camp, seized two of the Nurses—the Commodore's daughter and the Boatswain's—and have them safe on the island to hold as ransom for your safe and quiet departure."

This news was received with unbounded favor and applause, not hearty, ringing cheers such as Brownies give, but a noisy clatter of fangs. The applause ceased and Lycosa resumed.

"The capture of these prisoners was a masterly stroke. The chiefs stole into the Brownie camp, seized their captives from the very headquarters, and made off with them. A scream from one of them aroused the camp. The hue and cry was raised, and by the barest chance Spite and Hide got off to sea on board a smuggler's yacht."

"With their prisoners?"

"Yes, all safe. They are in limbo now, ready to be exchanged if need be. But the Captain hopes to keep them for another and worse difficulty than the present."

Fig. 59.—Spite Sends off Lycosa and his Balloon Corps.

"Humph!" grunted Heady, "that would be hard to find, I fancy. Go on!"

"He sends word by me that the old suspension bridge is passable; that a few cables stretched across spans Nos. 1, 2 and 4, will make it a quite good route. I am here with my companions, not only to bring the message, but to do this work of repair."

"But when is it to be done," asked Heady, "and how are we to make a landing in face of the enemy's camp? The Brownies would climb the piers and cut the strands under us; or would send their cavalry up to do it, and attack parties crossing.

"They would swarm on the shore and prevent our landing. They would have us at great disadvantage, for they could destroy us one by one. A pretty plan that! Perhaps our chiefs had better come and try their own chances in it. No! let them send out their she Brownies and try the ransom." Heady spoke with much warmth and the Pixies applauded.

"Not so fast, General," said Lycosa, like a good diplomat conciliating Heady with a high sounding title. "All that has been attended to. The Fringe, a fast yacht, has gone down to the outlet with your officers, to order up the navy. The ships will be anchored off the Old Bridge within two hours. It will then be the hour just before dawn, which you know is the darkest of the night. We can have the bridge ready for travel by that time. Both your chiefs agree that the Brownies will then be quieted down and will sleep more soundly because of this disturbance. One of us, however, is to make a balloon reconnoissance before the start from the fort shall be made, to see whether all is quiet. The navy will land your party as fast as they arrive, and we can get over, it is thought, before daylight. Should the movement be discovered, the ships can resist any onset until all the garrison are off. That is the plan which I bring. The chief orders the trial. If it fails, the ransom plan will not."

Heady looked sullen, shook his head, and meditated for a few moments. No one spoke. All waited for his decision.

"Well, lads," said the Lieutenant, looking around with brightened face, "Is that little unpleasantness settled? What say you?"

The Pixies clapped their fangs in chorus by way of approval.

"You will stop your nonsense, return to duty and obey orders, will you?"

"Yes, yes!" was the unanimous response.

"Very well, then. To your posts, all of you! Cousin Lycosa, go on with your engineering, and draw on us for all the men and material that you need."

The garrison scattered to their various posts at the barricades and ramparts. Many laid down for a short sleep. Some went out with

Heady to look after repairs upon the bridge. The mutiny was over. Once more Spite had saved Fort Spinder. It was Lycosa and his companions, just alighting upon Aranea's Isle in their balloons, that had fixed the attention of the chief while the Fringe approached the shore carrying the captive Nurses. The whole plan of rescue flashed upon his mind: he would send a balloon message to the fort, and with it engineers to direct the repair of the Old Bridge and the proposed escape thereby! Meantime Hide and himself would bring up the fleet to convey the garrison across the lake.

Lycosa and his chief assistant Gossamer lost no time in beginning work. Their balloons were anchored by strong cords to grass stalks, and hung in the air swaying backward and forward ready for the embarkation. They were hammock shaped silken structures, quite wide at the middle, and gathered into a point at each end. From the bow and stern floated filaments of silk, which served the purpose of gas in human inventions for air locomotion, that is to say, they buoyed up the balloon so that it floated aloft.

The Pixie æronaut was seated in or beneath his hammock. Gossamer's hammock or "car," was a rather broad, close ribbon of silk but Lycosa's was a light meshwork affair, just enough for his body to rest upon, and which he aptly called his basket.[AH] When the time came to ascend, the stay lines would be cut, the balloons rise up and be carried along by the breeze. If he wished to go higher, the balloonist opened his spinnerets, set his tiny silk factory agoing, and thus by adding to the number and length of the filaments increased the buoyancy of the machine. If he wished to descend he gathered up the floating lines into a little ball underneath his jaws, something like a seaman reefing sails, and as the surface exposed to the air was diminished, the balloon descended.

Figs. 61 and 62.—Madame Lycosa and American Dolomede Carrying Their Cocoons.

"Let go the ropes!" shouted Lycosa, as he climbed by a thread into his car, which swung beneath the netted hammock. The ropes were cut, and away the voyager went to the Old Bridge, followed by his brother balloonists. Assisted by the fort engineers, they stretched new cables across the broken spans, and strengthened the old ones. An hour's steady service finished all needful repairs. Then Lycosa ascended from one of the piers, made a survey of the Brownie camp, returned and reported that the camp had settled into its usual quiet. Rodney and his sailors were off to the inlet. Being certain that the lost Nurses were not in the fort, the Brownies had recalled the extra pickets. There was little more risk in crossing the bridge than had attended the venture of Spite and Hide, especially as a fog now hung over the shore. Lookouts were placed upon the shore pier to watch for the fleet. All baggage and portable material were packed. Some of the Pixinees took their children upon their backs, like Madam Lycosa; others carried their round, silken cradles in their jaws, like Madam Pholcus, or lashed beneath their bodies, like Madam Dolomede.[AI] Fort Spinder was stripped and ready to be abandoned to its fate.

Fig. 63.—Madam English Ocyale Carries Her Cradle Lashed to Her Body.

Soon Lycosa's signal flag was seen flying from above the pier. The fleet was in sight! The news was passed rapidly from mouth to mouth along a line of sentinels stationed on the bridge. The garrison was set in motion. In a short space of time the whole force had gone over without accident, and without a sound loud enough to alarm the Brownie pickets, a result much assisted by a contrivance of Lycosa's. To prevent the noise made by vessels mooring to the shore, he caused all the ships to anchor some distance from land. He then attached cords to the masts and bowsprits, and by means of his balloons carried them directly from the bridge to the ships. Thus there was no tramping from abutment to lake across the bank. There were no splash of oars and wash of waves by the plying of boats from shore to ship.

The last soldiers had embarked. The cables were cut, the anchors weighed, and with a favoring breeze the fleet crossed the lake and anchored in Big Cave harbor on the opposite or orchard shore. One of their camps or villages was located here, and the wearied Pixies were disembarked and comfortably housed.

FOOTNOTES:

[AG] Appendix, [Note A.]

[AH] Appendix, [Note B.]

[AI] Appendix, [Note C.]

CHAPTER XVI.

BROWNIES ON A LARK.

After the evening meal there usually comes a lull in the duties of Brownie camp life. Pickets have been told off and stationed at their posts, camp fires are kindled, and the soldiers gather around the glowing light, stretched upon the grass underneath the shadow of leaves and flowers, or seated on rude stools of pebbles and twigs. In chat and story they forget the fatigues and dangers of a soldier's life. They spin yarns of past adventure, tales of "moving accident by flood and field" and "perils in the imminent deadly breach;" they discuss the chances of the campaign, the strategy and behavior of the enemy, and the merits of their commanders. Jokes, quips, merry anecdotes and witty sayings run around the circle, and ever and anon hearty peals of laughter break out upon the still evening air.

"Ho, lads! Tone down your mirth a bit!" cried the officer of the day to one of these groups, in the camp before Fort Spinder.

"Aye! aye, Sir!" was the response, and for a moment silence fell upon the circle.

"Say, boys," at last exclaimed one of the company, "let's get out of this and go for a lark. I have a capital idea in my head."

"Ho, ho!" cried Brownie Highjinks; "Twadeils really has an idea in his head! I'll warrant it's a lively one. Out with it! I'm for any fun that's not against general orders."

"Well then, lads, come close together and listen."

Twadeils was one of two brothers who had got their somewhat peculiar name from their daring and mischievous spirit which kept them and most people around them in a whirl of excitement and adventure. Their chums nicknamed them the "Twa deils," and the two words at length became one, and the lads were called Twadeils Senior and Twadeils Junior. But among their fellows they were simply known as "Twadeils" and "Junior."