The Counterpane Fairy | Page 4

a little while.
The room where Teddy lay was very pleasant, with two big windows,
and the furniture covered with gay old-fashioned India calico. His
mother had set a glass of milk on the table beside his bed, and left the
stair door ajar so that he could call Hannah, the cook, if he wanted
anything, and then she had gone over to her own room.
The little boy had always enjoyed being ill, for then he was read aloud
to and had lemonade, but this had been a real illness, and though he
was better now, the doctor still would not let him have anything but
milk and gruel. He was feeling rather lonely, too, though the fire
crackled cheerfully, and he could hear Hannah singing to herself in the
kitchen below.

Teddy turned over the leaves of Robinson Crusoe for a while, looking
at the gaily colored pictures, and then he closed it and called,
"Hannah!" The singing in the kitchen below ceased, and Teddy knew
that Hannah was listening. "Hannah!" he called again.
At the second call Hannah came hurrying up the stairs and into the
room. "What do you want, Teddy?" she asked.
"Hannah, I want to ask mamma something," said Teddy.
"Oh," said Hannah, "you wouldn't want me to call your poor mother,
would you, when she was up with you the whole of last night and has
just gone to lie down a bit?"
"I want to ask her something," repeated Teddy.
"You ask me what you want to know," suggested Hannah. "Your poor
mother's so tired that I'm sure you are too much of a man to want me to
call her."
"Well, I want to ask her if I may have a cracker," said Teddy.
"Oh, no; you couldn't have that," said Hannah. "Don't you know that
the doctor said you mustn't have anything but milk and gruel? Did you
want to ask her anything else?"
"No," said Teddy, and his lip trembled.
After that Hannah went down-stairs to her work again, and Teddy lay
staring out of the window at the windy gray clouds that were sweeping
across the April sky. He grew lonelier and lonelier and a lump rose in
his throat; presently a big tear trickled down his cheek and dripped off
his chin.
"Oh dear, oh dear!" said a little voice just back of the hill his knees
made as he lay with them drawn up in bed; "what a hill to climb!"
Teddy stopped crying and gazed wonderingly toward where the voice
came from, and presently over the top of his knees appeared a brown
peaked hood, a tiny withered face, a flapping brown cloak, and last of
all two small feet in buckled shoes. It was a little old woman, so
weazened and brown that she looked more like a dried leaf than
anything else.
She seated herself on Teddy's knees and gazed down at him solemnly,
and she was so light that he felt her weight no more than if she had
been a feather.
Teddy lay staring at her for a while, and then he asked, "Who are you?"
"I'm the Counterpane Fairy," said the little figure, in a thin little voice.

"I don't know what that is," said Teddy.
"Well," said the Counterpane Fairy, "it's the sort of a fairy that lives in
houses and watches out for the children. I used to be one of the court
fairies, but I grew tired of that. There was nothing in it, you know."
"Nothing in what?" asked Teddy.
"Nothing in the court life. All day the fairies were swinging in
spider-webs and sipping honey-dew, or playing games of
hide-and-go-seek. The only comfort I had was with an old field-mouse
who lived at the edge of the wood, and I used to spend a great deal of
time with her; I used to take care of her babies when she was out
hunting for something to eat; cunning little things they were,--five of
them, all fat and soft, and with such funny little tails."
"What became of them?"
"Oh, they moved away. They left before I did. As soon as they were old
enough, Mother Field-mouse went. She said she couldn't stand the
court fairies. They were always playing tricks on her, stopping up the
door of her house with sticks and acorns, and making faces at her
babies until they almost drove them into fits. So after that I left too."
"Where did you go?"
"Oh, hither and yon. Mostly where there were little sick boys and
girls."
"Do you like little boys?"
"Yes, when they don't cry," said the Counterpane Fairy, staring at him
very hard.
"Well, I was lonely," said Teddy. "I wanted my mamma."
"Yes, I know, but you oughtn't to have cried.