A fair-haired, freckled boy was Johnny Grudge. He was the grandson of old Grudge the wood-carter, who occupied a hut on a Government grant some few miles out of Sydney. Johnny’s father and mother were both dead and buried, therefore the boy lived with his grandfather, and assisted the old man in his business.
As our hero journeyed to the market with his wood, he often met young Master Woolcrop riding by on his milk-white pony, with a tall groom following on a fine charger, standing I don’t know how many hands high; and I am sorry to say our little hero grew very envious; for, be it known, young Woolcrop’s father was one of the richest men in New South Wales, while Johnny’s grandfather had not enough cash to purchase a set of harness for the old mare.
“Why was I not born to have a white pony and a servant following me?” grumbled the youth, lashing the bushes with his whip in a savage way. “I’m quite as good as he is, and bigger and stronger. Who is he to ride while I have to walk in the dust and heat? Ah, I wish—but what’s the use of wishing, I should like to know? I’m always wishing for something or other, and I never get what I wish for. Now if I could only come across the elves that grandad talks about, I’d ask them for a wishing-cap. Then I could have all I want.” And there Johnny paused and fell into a reverie, which lasted until he reached the wood market with his team.
Often during the long winter nights the old wood-cutter had talked to his grandson of the fairies, the good little people, light as the thistledown, and beautiful as innocence, dwelling in the bell flowers, drinking the dew for nectar, and happy, ay, as happy as the moonlight night was long. Not far from the hut there were several mossy ridges where, it was said, the elves danced at night and made merry.
The boy had wished to see them. How high were they? About as tall as a sugar-stick? Why, he had an idea that it would be quite easy to capture a whole army of them, and take them home as securely as blackfish out of the creek.
Returning home, Johnny again met the son of Sir Anthony Woolcrop with a little lady by his side, mounted on a cream-coloured pony. And the little wood-carter agreed within himself that it was a shame, and resolved to seek out the fairies that very night.
So, in not the very best of tempers, and the very lowest of spirits, our hero went out to the moss ridges to seek the wishing-cap. He lay down on the soft green carpet, and kept very quiet until he heard the great clock at the post-office boom twelve; then he heard a rustic and a bustle, and voices—not so loud as the buzz of a blue-bottle, and laughter scarcely so distinct as the chirp-chirp of a canary; but he knew it was the elves, and his heart went thump! thump!
Presently he ventured to look round him. The moon was shining—as it only can shine in Australia—and by its light he saw the gayest company of miniature beings you can possibly imagine dancing merrily. Time would fail to tell you how beautiful they all were, how gaily dressed, how courteous to each other, and how graceful in every motion. Johnny rubbed his hands and fancied he was dreaming; he stretched out his hand and ran it into a lot of prickles, and that quite convinced him he was wide awake. The pain caused him to cry out, and instantly the ball became a rout. The fairies fled in great haste, some hiding themselves in the cracks and fissures of the ridges, some burying themselves under the fallen leaves, all escaping save one, and he got his feet entangled in a large ant-hole, and could do nothing but wriggle and cry out.
‘THE FAIRIES FLED IN GREAT HASTE.’
Johnny Grudge rose to his feet, and hastened to the rescue; yet when he beheld the wee creature our hero stood quite still and did not attempt to help him.
“Pray assist me out of this nasty hole; the ants are beginning to bite me,” quoth the fairy.
“Certainly I will,” cried Johnny; “but if I help you I want you to give me something in return.”
“What will you have?” said the little fay. “Speak quickly, and get me out of this horrible web.”
“I should like the wishing-cap,” replied our hero boldly.
“The wishing-cap? Silly boy! Why do you ask such a boon?”
“Because I want to be as well off as young Bertie Woolcrop, who rides on a white pony with a groom following him,” answered Johnny.
“Tush!” responded the fairy. “You are much better as you are.”
“Am I?” said the boy in a gruff tone. “If you say that you know nothing about it, and you may stop in that hole until the ants sting you to death, before I’ll help you, now! Why should he have a pony, and a servant, and a little girl to ride with him and to keep him company, while I——”
“You are a strong, healthy little boy, without a care,” interrupted the entrapped elfin.
“I am worn with care and with hard work,” answered the youngster. “My grandfather is cross; the damper is tough, and not too much of it; my clothes are worn, and my boots are gaping at the toes; the old mare is lazy, and firewood cheap. Come, what will you do for me?”
“If I gave you the wishing-cap, what would you do?” inquired the fay.
“I’d change places with the boy who rides the white pony,” he answered readily.
“Very well. Be it so. Lift me out of the hole.”
When Johnny Grudge raised the elfin from his awkward position, the creature commanded him to lie down on the moss and close his eyes. Our hero obeyed, and strange to relate, in a twinkling, the moonlight, grassy dell, fairy, all faded away, and he was sleeping on a soft, rich couch. He awoke with a start, and looked round him in surprise. The grey light of the morning was stealing into the room, and he saw that the apartment was handsomely furnished. A clock struck five.
At that moment the door opened, and a man in a striped jacket came in, and wished him “Good-morning.” He was rather astonished when the man lifted him out of bed, took off his night clothes, and plunged him into a cold bath. It was in vain Johnny gasped, and spluttered, and protested that he didn’t like it, and was not used to it. The man only shook his head very gravely, and went on plunging him till he was satisfied; then he rubbed him dry with a rough towel. After this he helped him to dress, and poor little Grudge never had so much trouble before. It occupied nearly an hour, and when it was over there was a tap at the door, and a message to say that Mr. Cramwell was expecting Master Bertrand in the study.
“Who is he?” inquired Johnny.
“Your tutor, sir, of course.”
“What does he want with me?”
“To prepare you for the day’s exercises,” replied the servant, with a stare.
“Oh! I can get exercise enough without him,” cried the boy. “Just you give me a piece of fresh damper and some tea, and then I’m off down to the creek to look for the old mare.”
The man in the striped jacket held up his hands in dismay. He assured our hero the thing was impossible, and without further parley led him out of the room and down a broad, winding, carpeted stair, on which beautiful busts of ladies and gentlemen stood staring at him in wonder to see him there, and appearing as if they were about to call out to the whole household and proclaim that he was only Johnny Grudge the wood-carter.
Down at the bottom of the stairway there stood a very prim old lady in cap and apron, and looking as cold and stiff as the statues up above. Our hero, not altogether liking the severe look upon her face, attempted to push by in haste; but the dame bade the man return with “Master Bertie,” and the mandate being obeyed, she turned upon the youth, and inquired if he had left his manners behind him.
“Say, ‘Good-morning, Aunt Dora,’ ” whispered the servant in his ear, and the boy having complied, he was conducted into a chamber with more books in it than Johnny supposed could ever have been written or printed in the world.