'Isn't it lovely?' said Hildegarde, and Leonore, who at first felt a little breathless, laughed back in agreement. But this journey through the blue soon came to an end. The wings seemed to be their guides, for they suddenly dropped on their shoulders, and the children found themselves standing in front of another silver gate, higher and more imposing than the former one. It glittered so that for a moment or two they were dazzled, but as their eyes grew accustomed to the brilliance, looking up, they saw worked in, among the silvery trellis, some letters, which with a little difficulty they spelt out.

'Singing-school,' were the words they read.

'Singing-school,' repeated Hildegarde, 'what can that mean?'

'And the fairy said we should soon meet some old friends,' added Leonore. 'Oh, Hildegarde,' and she held up her hand, 'I think I understand, listen.' They stood perfectly still and gradually sweet sounds reached their ears--a soft warbling as of many little voices in harmony. Then came a moment's silence, followed by the notes of a single singer, then warbling again--and again another voice alone, trilling high, high, till it seemed to melt away in the distance.

'That was a lark,' said Leonore, 'the last one, and the one before a blackbird, I think.'

'Or a thrush,' said Hildegarde, 'yes, I rather think it was a thrush.'

But in the eagerness with which they had been listening, they had not noticed that the high gates had opened gently inwards, and in the centre between them stood two charming figures smiling at the children.

'Come in,' said one of them, 'we have been expecting you for some time.'

'Are you the air-fairies?' asked Hildegarde. She spoke with more confidence than to the gnomes; there was something so sweet and gracious about these pretty creatures that no one could feel afraid of them.

'Yes,' was the reply, 'and we are also the birds' singing-teachers. Here you will see many of your old friends--nightingales, larks, blackbirds, robins, all of them, even down to the poor little sparrows, whom we teach to chirp and twitter.'

'How wonderful!' exclaimed the children.

'Are they all the little young birds?' asked Leonore; 'no, of course not,' she added, 'they can't be, for this is autumn.'

'We have cla.s.ses all the year round,' said one of the fairies, 'except in the very middle of your summer, when we give them a holiday, that you may all enjoy the bird concerts to perfection.'

They had been walking slowly onwards till now, through a wide pa.s.sage, the walls of which were like the whitest marble, though without its hard coldness. And now the fairy opening a door signed to them to pa.s.s in, and as they did so, the music they had heard grew clearer and louder.

For they were in the central hall of the great bird singing-school.

There they were, rows and rows of them, each family by itself, the smaller birds higher up, the bigger ones nearer the ground, and at the end of each row, perched a little apart from the others, was the head bird of his tribe--these, as the fairies afterwards explained, being the monitors of each cla.s.s.

But the queerest thing was, that every kind of bird was there, even such as we never think of as musical in any way, for down the central pa.s.sage were strolling some magnificent peac.o.c.ks, long red-legged storks; and in a large basin of water at the farther end, graceful swans, snowy ducks, and even homely gray-plumaged geese were contentedly enjoying themselves.

Hildegarde and Leonore gazed in surprise.

'Peac.o.c.ks,' they exclaimed, 'peac.o.c.ks and ducks and geese--why, none of them can sing!'

The fairy smiled.

'Ah,' she said, 'the ears that hear have something to do with true music; down below in your world it is not like here with us. Much that is true music sounds to you harsh and unlovely. Wait a little and you shall hear for yourselves.'

CHAPTER IX

A CONCERT

A kiss on each forehead and she was gone!

_The Fairy's Visit._

Greatly wondering, Hildegarde and Leonore followed the fairy to the end of the large hall, where there hung by silver cords from the roof two little seats, cushioned with the softest down.

'Rest yourselves in there,' she said; and though the little swinging chairs were a few feet from the ground, they sprang into them without the least difficulty, as their wings at once unfolded to waft them upwards.

'You may swing yourselves in time to the music, if it amuses you,' said the fairy; 'and now I must meet my sisters to get all ready for our concert.'

The children were well content to stay where they were, watching and listening with the greatest eagerness. A door at the farther end from that by which they had entered opened, admitting the sound of soft music, and in a few moments a procession of air-fairies appeared, marching two and two, each with some instrument on which she was playing.

They ranged themselves in the very centre of the hall, the two fairies who had received the children standing at each end of the group to command and direct. The music stopped; there was a flutter of excitement among the birds. Then the accompaniment of the instruments began again--softly at first, then louder, then sinking once more to gentler tones. But now--words fail to describe the wonderful sounds which filled the air in one great harmony, though to those learned in such things, and with ears endowed with the magic gift of perfect hearing, every little voice could be distinguished.

In such company the peac.o.c.k's harsh cry sounded like a distant but musical call, the duck's quacking like the pleasant clatter of castanettes; all was lovely, for all told of happiness and harmony, and the children felt as if they could sit there listening for ever. And when, almost suddenly, the music stopped in one great triumphant outburst, it seemed to them as if, for the first time in their lives, they had known what it was truly to _hear_.

Then came a loud, merry flapping of wings; the birds flew off their perches and soared about the hall, then ranged themselves again, and pa.s.sed in rows before the fairies, with twitters of farewell before they flew, or hopped, or waddled out of the doors and windows of the great hall, many more of which had opened of themselves as the music ceased.

The fairies who had taken part in the concert glided out, two and two, as they had entered, playing a soft, low march, and then the great hall was empty again, save for the two children and their two fairy hostesses.

At a sign from their friends, Hildegarde and Leonore sprang to the ground.

'Have you enjoyed the concert?' asked one of the fairies.

'Oh,' exclaimed the children together, it was too wonderful, too beautiful.' 'We can never hear anything like it again,' added Leonore half-sadly; 'down where we live the air is too thick and heavy, I suppose, to hear anything so perfectly.'

'Yes,' said the fairy, 'that is so; but those who have once heard can never again be as if they had not done so. You will always remember and be able to catch the echoes, though far away, of perfect harmony, even in common sounds.'

For a moment or two the children were silent; perhaps they did not quite understand, but they remembered, which was as good, or better.

'Is it time for us to go home now?' asked Hildegarde. 'The spinning-wheel fairy said we should easily find her, and she will show us how to get back.'

'There is no hurry,' said one of their friends. 'Would you not like to see a little more of our country? We are always busy, for we have much to do, but to those sent by the spinning-wheel fairy we have time to give.'

She held out a hand to each child, the second fairy smiling in token of farewell.

'I will go now, sister,' she said. 'I must see to some of the fledglings who are just beginning to chirp. For the birds come to us from all parts of your world,' she added, turning to the children, 'and it is not autumn everywhere, you know!'

'May we ask you questions?' said Hildegarde. 'You won't think it rude, will you? We were so afraid of offending the gnomes that we scarcely dared to speak when we were with them.'

'Ask what you like,' was the reply, 'and what I may I will answer. But we needn't stay here any longer. Outside you will see more of our country.'

Outside the great hall it was still brighter and more sunshiny than within, though over everything was the lovely faint blue haze which had met them when they pa.s.sed through the first silver gate. It was like, and yet not like, a garden--for there was nothing distinct in the shape of plants or flowers, though everywhere beautiful tree-like forms, quivering amidst waves of opal colour, were to be seen.

'It must be something like the bottom of the sea,' said Hildegarde, 'where the mermaids live.'

'No,' said Leonore, 'I think it is just like the sky at sunset. I have often wished I could get up on one of the clouds and see over to the other side.'

'And now that is what you are seeing,' said the fairy.

'But please,' began Hildegarde again, 'if I may ask you questions, do tell me what you are all busy about, besides teaching the birds to sing?'