Excerpt
CHAPTER I.ABOVE THE CLOUDS.
“And can this be my own world?
’Tis all gold and snow,
Save where scarlet waves are hurled
Down yon gulf below.”
“’Tis thy world, ’tis my world,
City, mead, and shore,
For he that hath his own world
Hath many worlds more.”
A boy, whom I knew very well, was once going through a meadow, which was full of buttercups. The nurse and his baby sister were with him; and when they got to an old hawthorn, which grew in the hedge and was covered with blossom, they all sat down in its shade, and the nurse took out three slices of plum-cake, gave one to each of the children, and kept one for herself.
While the boy was eating, he observed that this hedge was very high and thick, and that there was a great hollow in the trunk of the old thorn-tree, and he heard a twittering, as if there was a nest somewhere inside; so he thrust his head in, twisted himself round, and looked up.
It was a very great thorn-tree, and the hollow was so large that two or three boys could have stood upright in it; and when he got used to the dim light in that brown, still place, he saw that a good way above his head there was a nest,—rather a curious one, too, for it was as large as a pair of blackbirds would have built,—and yet it was made of fine white wool and delicate bits of moss; in short, it was like a goldfinch’s nest magnified three times.
Just then he thought he heard some little voices cry, “Jack! Jack!” His baby sister was asleep, and the nurse was reading a story-book, so it could not have been either of them who called. “I must get in here,” said the boy. “I wish this hole was larger.” So he began to wriggle and twist himself through, and just as he pulled in his last foot, he looked up, and three heads which had been peeping over the edge of the nest suddenly popped down again.
“Those heads had no beaks, I am sure,” said Jack, and he stood on tiptoe and poked in one of his fingers. “And the things have no feathers,” he continued; so, the hollow being rather rugged, he managed to climb up and look in.
His eyes were not used yet to the dim light; but he was sure those things were not birds,—no. He poked them, and they took no notice; but when he snatched one of them out of the nest, it gave a loud squeak, and said, “O don’t, Jack!” as plainly as possible, upon which he was so frightened that he lost his footing, dropped the thing, and slipped down himself. Luckily, he was not hurt, nor the thing either; he could see it quite plainly now: it was creeping about like rather an old baby, and had on a little frock and pinafore.
“It’s a fairy!” exclaimed Jack to himself. “How curious! and this must be a fairy’s nest. Oh, how angry the old mother will be if this little thing creeps away and gets out of the hole!” So he looked down. “Oh, the hole is on the other side,” he said; and he turned round, but the hole was not on the other side; it was not on any side; it must have closed up all on a sudden, while he was looking into the nest, for, look whichever way he would, there was no hole at all, excepting a very little one high up over the nest, which let in a very small sunbeam....