Wonder-Box Tales | Page 7

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her little feet, she observed that her shoes were growing shabby and
faded. "Quite a disgrace, I declare," said she. "I must look for another
pair. Perhaps two of the smallest flowers of that snapdragon which I see
growing in the hedge would fit me. I think I should like a pair of yellow
slippers." So she flew down, and, after a little trouble, she found two
flowers which fitted her very neatly, and she was just going to return to
the oak-tree, when she heard a deep sigh beneath her, and, peeping out
from her place among the hawthorn blossoms, she saw a fine young
Lark sitting in the long grass, and looking the picture of misery.
"What is the matter with you, cousin?" asked the Fairy.
"Oh, I am so unhappy," replied the poor Lark; "I want to build a nest,
and I have got no wife."
"Why don't you look for a wife, then?" said the Fairy, laughing at him.
"Do you expect one to come and look for you? Fly up, and sing a
beautiful song in the sky, and then perhaps some pretty hen will hear
you; and perhaps, if you tell her that you will help her to build a capital
nest, and that you will sing to her all day long, she will consent to be
your wife."
"Oh, I don't like," said the Lark, "I don't like to fly up, I am so ugly. If I
were a goldfinch, and had yellow bars on my wings, or a robin, and had
red feathers on my breast, I should not mind the defect which now I am
afraid to show. But I am only a poor brown Lark, and I know I shall
never get a wife."
"I never heard of such an unreasonable bird," said the Fairy. "You
cannot expect to have everything."

"Oh, but you don't know," proceeded the Lark, "that if I fly up my feet
will be seen; and no other bird has feet like mine. My claws are enough
to frighten any one, they are so long; and yet I assure you, Fairy, I am
not a cruel bird."
"Let me look at your claws," said the Fairy.
So the Lark lifted up one of his feet, which he had kept hidden in the
long grass, lest any one should see it.
"It looks certainly very fierce," said the Fairy. "Your hind claw is at
least an inch long, and all your toes have very dangerous-looking points.
Are, you sure you never use them to fight with?"
"No, never!" said the Lark, earnestly; "I never fought a battle in my life;
but yet these claws grow longer and longer, and I am so ashamed of
their being seen that I very often lie in the grass instead of going up to
sing, as I could wish."
"I think, if I were you, I would pull them off," said the Fairy.
"That is easier said than done," answered the poor Lark. "I have often
got them entangled in the grass, and I scrape them against the hard
clods; but it is of no use, you cannot think how fast they stick."
"Well, I am sorry for you," observed the Fairy; "but at the same time I
cannot but see that, in spite of what you say, you must be a quarrelsome
bird, or you would not have such long spurs."
"That is just what I am always afraid people will say," sighed the Lark.
"For," proceeded the Fairy, "nothing is given us to be of no use. You
would not have wings unless you were to fly, nor a voice unless you
were to sing; and so you would not have those dreadful spurs unless
you were going to fight. If your spurs are not to fight with," continued
the unkind Fairy, "I should like to know what they are for?"
"I am sure I don't know," said the Lark, lifting up his foot and looking

at it. "Then you are not inclined to help me at all, Fairy? I thought you
might be willing to mention among my friends that I am not a
quarrelsome bird, and that I should always take care not to hurt my
wife and nestlings with my spurs."
"Appearances are very much against you," answered the Fairy; "and it
is quite plain to me that those spurs are meant to scratch with. No, I
cannot help you. Good morning."
So the Fairy withdrew to her oak bough, and the poor Lark sat moping
in the grass while the Fairy watched him. "After all," she thought, "I am
sorry he is such a quarrelsome fellow, for that he is such is fully proved
by those long spurs."
While she was so thinking, the Grasshopper came