She was very glad when the person who was reading the book shut it up again, and she was allowed to go quietly to sleep.

But her sleep was not long. Every time any one began to read the book poor Christabel was obliged to wake up and go through all her troubles again. She soon became horribly tired of being shipwrecked.

"Have I got to spend the rest of my life with pirates and savages?" she asked herself in despair.

It was especially annoying that they were always the same pirates and savages, who said always exactly the same things. Christabel soon knew the whole book by heart. She wished sometimes she could be one of the pirates for a change, instead of being always a little girl.

"I suppose I shall never even be grown up," she thought sadly.

The most unpleasant thing of all was that she was never able to say what she wished to say: she was always obliged to say what was in the book.

Sometimes she opened her mouth to say what was in her mind, and then found herself speaking words that had nothing to do with her thoughts.

"It is simply hateful not to be able to say and do what one likes," she thought.

She made up her mind to try and be drowned at the very next shipwreck.

Of course it was useless for her to try, for the book said she was saved by a big wave which flung her up on a rock. It was uncomfortable for her to be saved in this way, but she could not avoid it. The shipwreck happened in the usual way, in spite of her efforts to be drowned; and then, as usual, she met the savages on the Island, and soon afterwards came the end of the book.

[Ill.u.s.tration: THE OTHER PEOPLE IN THE BOOK LOOKED AT HER IN SURPRISE]

Now, it happened this time that the person who was reading the book did not shut it up at all, but handed it at once to some one else who wished to read it. This was really too much for Christabel's temper. She had had no sleep, and she was determined not to begin all over again without a rest. It suddenly struck her that this was her only chance--now, before the beginning of the first chapter.

She lost no time. She knew she ought to be standing up--the book said she was standing up. Finding to her great joy that she was able to move of her own accord, she calmly sat down and folded her arms. The other people in the book looked at her in surprise.

"It's no use looking at me like that," she said; "I'm tired of this. I'm not going on any more saying the same things over and over again. If there's any pirate who would like to change places with me I don't mind being a pirate for a bit. But I'm not going on being the little girl."

Then there was indeed an outcry. All the people in the book began speaking at once. Just at that moment--before the beginning of the first chapter--they were all able to say what they chose.

"Make her stand up!" cried one.

"I never heard such nonsense!" said another.

"Why can't she behave as we do?" asked a third angrily.

"The idea of wanting a change!"

"She'll have to behave like other people in the end."

"So discontented!"

"So very odd!"

So they went on, while Christabel still sat calmly, with her arms crossed.

"I'm not going to begin all over again," she repeated firmly.

"But that poor boy is waiting to begin the book," said some one; "and we can't go on while you are behaving in this silly way."

"I can't help that," said Christabel; "I'm tired of saying things I don't a bit mean."

Before she knew what was going to happen Christabel found herself in the middle of a terrible turmoil. All the people in the book seemed to be rushing at her.

Far away she heard a voice saying--

"There's something very queer about this book. It seems all in a muddle, somehow!"

Then there was silence, and Christabel realized that the people in the book had turned her out! She was no longer a little girl in a book, but a little girl in real life. She looked round and saw her Big Sister, still writing.

"I don't want to be in a book any more," said Christabel. "Real life is nicer. In real life one can at least say what one thinks one's self, instead of always saying what other people think."

"Don't be too sure of that," said her Big Sister.

_THE FAIRY WHO WAS LOOKING FOR A HOME_

Little Fairy Flitterwing had no home. Whenever he settled down in a place something happened to turn him out. If he found a comfortable rosebud some one would come and pick it, and then it died and he was homeless again. If he chose a pink-edged daisy to live in, the gardener would mow the lawn at once. He grew very tired of wandering about the garden, and he determined at last to go out into the world in search of a home.

It was quite a small garden, in the middle of a town. Flitterwing felt rather afraid of venturing into the streets, because he knew there would not be many fairies there, and not many nice places for a fairy to live in. So he was a little sad and anxious as he flew over the high brick wall of the garden and looked about him. He found himself in a queer little yard, not nearly as nice as the garden, with a pavement of round stones and an ugly brick house at one end of it. There never was a more unlikely place for a fairy to find a comfortable home. Flitterwing was on the point of flying back again over the garden wall, when he caught sight of something green at the further end of the courtyard. Some gra.s.s had grown up among the stones.

"The very place for me!" said Flitterwing to himself. "No one is likely to disturb me here, and I can fly across to the garden whenever I feel lonely."

So he found a cosy corner between two stones, where the gra.s.s was thick and soft, and there he made up his mind to stay. It was not, of course, the very best kind of place for a fairy, but, after all, it was quiet and near his friends, and he was terribly tired of moving about from rose to rose and from daisy to daisy. So he thought he would make the best of it.

Very soon he felt quite at home in the gra.s.s-patch at the end of the yard. Every morning, of course, he had to attend to the gra.s.s and see that it was always fresh and green, for it is the business of every fairy to take care of the place he lives in. He does it instead of paying rent. Then, after polishing his wings nicely and making them shine like opals, he would fly across the brick wall and have a chat with the gra.s.s-fairies and flower-fairies in the garden.

His life went on in this quiet and comfortable way for some time.

But one morning poor Flitterwing received a great shock. He was very busy cleaning the gra.s.s with a dewdrop, and thinking how strong and tall the blades had grown since he first began to take care of them. They were a good deal taller than himself now, and he was not able to see over them. So, when he heard a heavy footstep clattering across the yard, he peered between the blades of gra.s.s to see who was coming.

"Oh dear, oh dear," he cried, "here's that dreadful gardener! I'm sure he's going to turn me out!"

He quickly dropped the crumpled cobweb soaked in dewdrop with which he was rubbing the green blades, and folding his wings closely round him he hid himself in the gra.s.s, and waited to see what was going to happen.

The gardener was carrying a basket in one hand, and in the other a tool with dreadful p.r.o.ngs. He was going to pull up the gra.s.s that had grown among the stones! Poor Flitterwing's nice new home was going to be spoilt!

One by one the tufts were dragged up by the roots, while the sharp p.r.o.ngs clinked against the stones and the gardener's fingers crumpled up the blades of gra.s.s that had looked so green and fresh a few minutes before. Flitterwing was terribly frightened.

"The sooner I get out of this the better," he said to himself, skipping away from the gardener's big fingers. Then he spread his wings and flew up and away, over the wall and over the garden and on and on. He went on flying, flying, till all his friends were left far behind and he came to strange streets such as he had never seen before. Still he went on flying, flying. You see he was extremely anxious to be very far away from the gardener with the big fingers and the terrible, sharp p.r.o.ngs.

At last he became dreadfully tired. It would be impossible, he felt, to go on flying much longer, so he looked about him for shelter. He saw an open window, and beyond it a large cool room. Here was shelter at all events, so he flew straight in. There were a number of tables and chairs in the room, and at each table a man sat writing; but Flitterwing was too much frightened to see anything. He only wanted to find a place where he could hide and rest. A large ink-pot stood on a table, and just inside the ink-pot was a little ledge where a fairy might rest comfortably. Flitterwing lost no time; he darted into the ink-pot and sat down on the ledge. In a few moments he folded his tired wings about him and fell fast asleep.

Now, the room into which Flitterwing had flown was a place where a great deal of business was done. Every day a number of men sat there adding up figures and writing letters about dull things that neither you nor I could understand. If you have done many sums, you will agree with me that no sensible man could really like spending all his time in adding up pounds, shillings, and pence. Very few of the men in this big room really liked it. Some of them wanted to be playing cricket or golf, some would rather have been reading books or listening to beautiful music; and every one of them was longing to be in the country among the flowers and the fairies. And there was one among them--a little man with a pale face and a thin coat--who wished above all things to be making poetry.

There were two good reasons against his doing this. In the first place, he was obliged to earn money, and this is more easily done by adding up figures than by making poetry; and in the second place, he did not in the least know how poetry ought to be made.

On the sunny morning when Flitterwing took refuge in the ink-pot the Man in the Thin Coat was very busy. There were rows and rows of figures waiting to be added up, so that there seemed to be no end to them. A large sheet of paper was before him on which he was doing these sums, and the figures were arranged in terribly long columns--and no doubt you know how unpleasant that is. Suddenly something glittered in the air for a moment and then disappeared. It was so bright that it caught his eye and made him lose his place. He thought it was some beautiful kind of insect with the sunshine caught in its wings.