WEEVY-WEEVY
BY
The holiday was nearly over. The children had explored every inch of the
farm. John, who lived on the farm, had run out of ideas. He thought hard for he
wanted to make their last night something special to remember.
“Bet you've never seen a fairy,” he said at last. “They dance under the
lone thorn at
“We won't see fairies,” Tom replied. “There are no such things. You
don't really believe in them, John?”
“Not really,” John said ruefully.
“I do,” said Moira, “at least I think I do.”
“You're silly. Nobody believes in fairies nowadays. I like the idea of
stealing out at
“A UFO?”
“An unidentified flying object ...... a flying saucer, if you like. I
really believe there are flying saucers. I saw a photograph of one.”
“It was a fake,” Moira said grumpily. “If you don't believe in fairies,
then I don't know how you can believe in silly old flying saucers.”
“It doesn't matter who believes in what,” John said. “Let's go out
tonight and see what is to be seen.”
Tom and Moira eyed each other. They were thrilled at the thought of a
When John's mother came to tuck them in that night they were all as
quiet as mice. She thought they were sleeping after their long day in the open
air.
When John's father had made his last round of the farmyard, they heard
him come upstairs. They held their breath till he had switched off his light. After
that, they waited for what seemed ages. The house was quite still. They dressed
by moonlight and stole out on the landing. The grandfather clock stood at a
Though they had a few nervous moments, everything went according to
plan. The stairs made only a few tiny creaks, the back door opened softly;
Drummer, the dog, recognised them at once and never uttered a bark. They
climbed over the five-barred gate at the end of the yard and ran up the grassy
slope beyond. Once over the top, they were out of sight of the house. Only the
sleepy cows stared at the running figures. They ran down the slope towards the
lone thorn tree.
They stopped a few yards from the tree and sat down on a hummock of
grass to wait and watch. Huddled together, they looked like a clump of gorse.
All three sat very still, Moira with her eyes fixed on the bare patch under the
thorn, the boys scanning the clear, starry sky. There was no sound except the
occasional chirrup of a sleepy bird and the whisper of wind in the branches of
the thorn tree.
-oOo-oOo
Far away a church clock struck
John yawned and stretched.
“I think we should go in,” he said. “I'm not sure that I believe in
flying saucers.”
“UFO's!” Tom corrected him. “I'm not sure about them either.”
“Maybe people only imagine fairies too,” Moira murmured sleepily.
They set off at a gallop, splashing the dew as they went. Their
footprints made a dark trail in the damp grass. Very soon, they were tucked up
in their warm dry beds. The cows went on chewing their cud. A rabbit came out
to nibble the grass.
The children were not entirely forgotten, however. They had been watched
by the very beings in which they did not quite believe. Their words had roused
alarm. As soon as they were out of sight, a troop of tiny figures emerged from
the deep shade at the foot of the lone thorn tree. They studied the footprints
in the grass with much head-shaking. Till cock-crow they took council together.
Then they vanished, leaving no trace.
-oOo-oOo
All through the following day, the Queen of the Fairies presided over a
solemn council in the dark cavern under the roots of the thorn. Her face was
grave. The report which her elves had brought from the Upper World disturbed
her deeply. Now her wisest gnomes sat about her in a circle and she addressed
them:
“My wise gnomes, I have called you together that we may talk over the
grave news we have received from the Upper World. Our whole future depends on
the decision you make now. We have always tried to keep contact with the
Humans. We have tried to be friendly. They have often hurt us by their
distrust. But, while they regarded us as capricious friends, or even as
enemies, we, at least, knew that they believed in us. For a long time we have
suspected that the grown-ups no longer believed. Now we have evidence that even
children doubt our existence. They have turned their attention to fanciful
things like flying saucers and space men. They scoff at the old-fashioned
ideas.
It is very serious for us. When they stop believing in us we begin to
dwindle away. Soon we shall be so weak that even the animals and birds will not
believe in us. Then we shall perish from the earth. Consider what that will
mean.”
A hush lay on the circle. The tiny wizened men looked very grave. The
Queen spoke again:
“We have got to win back the Humans somehow. There may be a few who do
not entirely doubt us. With these we must establish contact. They will spread
the news. But how shall we attract their notice?”
There was a long silence. Now and then one or other of the company rose
to his feet and offered a suggestion:
“Get the message through to the most obstinate ones. They are the
leaders. The people listen to them. They take no notice of dreamers.”
“How?” asked the Queen.
“Put a spell on their food. Turn it to ashes in their mouths.”
“Turn the petrol in their tanks into water.”
“Turn their faces green.”
“Steal their babies and leave changelings in their stead.”
There was a great babble. The Queen rose and, grasping a harebell, rang
for silence. Her voice was angry when she spoke!
“You naughty, naughty gnomes. I asked for wise advice and all you can
offer are out-dated suggestions. We tried in the old times to conquer the
stubborn by making them afraid of us. They believed in fairies then, but saw
them as enemies. If they see us as enemies, they will resist us. We are too
weak to fight now. We must win friends or renew friendship with the few who
have not quite forgotten. They will tell their children.”
“Set up diplomatic relations?” murmured a very old gnome. “Perhaps we
should send an ambassador to the Upper World.”
“An excellent suggestion, my wisest gnome,” exclaimed the Queen, “but
whom shall we send as our ambassador?”
“I have thought about that,” answered the old gnome. “There is one
amongst our people who understands Humans. Let us send him.”
“Of course,” said the Queen, “you mean Weevy-Weevy.”
“I do. Your Majesty recalls that he was a changeling. We brought him
from the Upper World long, long ago when he was an infant. He is one of us now,
but there must remain just a little of the Human in his bones. He will be able
to live in the world of men ...... bear the heat of the sun ...... see clearly
in the dazzling light.”
The Queen clapped her hands. Seizing her wand, she beckoned the old
gnome to come forward. He knelt at her feet.
“Rise Sir Gnome-Knight,” the Queen commanded, tapping him lightly on the
shoulder. “I shall make you my Prime Minister. Your advice will be very
valuable to me”.
All the gnomes rose and cheered their new Prime Minister, and threw
their pointed caps in the air, and danced about him and the Queen in great
glee.
That night Weevy-Weevy was summoned and a great feast was prepared to
bid him farewell and speed him on his way.
-oOo-oOo
Weevy-Weevy set out on his mission to the Upper World. He carried two
packages that the Fairy Queen had given him. They were wrapped in gossamer and
he did not know what they contained. She had told him:
“These will be useful to you. The large packet contains something to
help you on your way. You will find out how to use what you find inside. The
small packet contains gifts for our friends in the Upper World. I can trust you
to give them wisely. They will give great joy to those who receive them.”
He scrambled up the root stair and found himself alone in a silent,
starlit world. The size and loneliness of it would have frightened him, but he
had something else to think of. He squatted under the lone thorn and began to
undo his precious packages.
Inside the first he found two pairs of the smallest, softest shoes that
ever were. Unknown to him, the fairy shoemakers had taken his measure. The
shoes fitted perfectly and he amused himself for some time, trying on first one
pair and then the other. One pair was bright red, the other was green as grass.
He discovered something strange about the shoes. When he put on the red
pair, he had no desire to move at all; when he tried the green, he felt he had
wings to his heels and could move at great speed. “Green for GO. Red for STOP,”
he murmured. “I must remember that.”
In the smaller packet he found five tiny precious stones. They shone and
glittered in the starlight. Holding them in his palm, he danced round and round
the tree. As he moved, the stones sparkled and glowed like tiny flames. One was
red as fire, one blue as a wisp of smoke, one green as a cat's eye, one yellow
as candle flame, one clear as a dewdrop. He held a whole rainbow in his hand.
Cock-crow interrupted his caper. It sent a chill up his spine. At the
dread sound, he wanted to hurry down the root stair as the fairy people always
did. He had to put on his red shoes and let them hold him still. It made him
quite ill to be pulled one way and another. For a little while he felt that he
was going to pass out. But not being quite a fairy, he was able to bear the
first light of dawn. He pulled himself together, changed his shoes and prepared
to start on his journey.
First he tucked the precious stones into his waistcoat pocket. Then he
slung his red shoes by the laces over his shoulder. Picking up a stout little
stick, he set out across the field. He was glad of his green shoes to speed him
through the long, dewy grass.
At the end of the field, he found a tiny gap in the hedge. He squeezed
through and came out on the open road. The first cars were carrying people to
work. They seemed very large, noisy and frightening and, every time one came
along he wanted to scramble back into the quiet field. But he had heard about
these travelling monsters and knew that they would not hurt him if he took
care. He kept close to the grass margin and soon lost his fear and could stride
out boldly. He whistled a merry tune to cheer him on his way. From the
hedgerows the morning sparrows twittered their replies.
-oOo-oOo
The soles of Weevy-Weevy's shoes were thin from walking on the hard
road. Though he made good speed, he tired of walking and began to wish for a
faster and easier mode of travel. The Upper World seemed to go on for ever. At
walking pace, he felt he would never see more than a tiny bit of it.
“If only I could fly,” he thought, “if only I had a Flying Saucer.”
The road led past an aerodrome. He saw the great shining birds drawn up
on the runways. As he watched, one or two took off or came in to land. He had
never seen an aeroplane before, but had heard talk of them in the Under World.
Now, if there were only one baby plane amongst this lot, it might just fit him.
Planes surely had babies. He entered the aerodrome through a gap in the mesh
fence and hurried towards the great shining birds.
The planes which looked large at a distance, swelled to the size of monsters
as he approached. They seemed to stare at him from great blank eyes. But they
made no move. Perhaps they slept with their eyes open. He moved forward on
tiptoe lest he disturb them.
Even when he laid his hand on the glossy fuselage of the first plane, it
never made the slightest stir. He was filled with curiosity. Finding a
foothold, he began to clamber up. The plane did not seem to mind. He worked his
way to the cockpit and slid inside. To him it was like a huge room full of
strange knobs and switches and mysterious codes. Not a knob or switch could he
move, though he put all his strength to it. Everything was too big and powerful
for him. He must find a baby.
The little bi-plane must be a baby, but when he approached it, it
towered over him. In its cockpit, he found himself as much at a loss as he had
been in that of the big plane. This was the smallest flying machine in sight.
There was nothing here that suited him at all. He turned away sadly and headed
for the road and the long walk.
It was about
He was scared and excited. But, above all, he was hungry. On all sides
he caught glimpses of food displayed in shop-windows and on stalls. The more he
saw, the more his mouth watered. He longed to sample some of the things Humans
ate. But everything was just out of reach behind glass or perched high on an
open stall.
A display of fruit outside a greengrocer's caught his eye. The great
piles of glowing oranges, the rosy apples, the juicy plums and peaches were too
tempting to pass. He darted forward and began to shin up the trestle. He
reached the top in so great haste that he over-balanced and fell splosh in the
middle of a ripe peach. The juice spurted out over his face. He licked his
lips. The taste was delicious. He squatted on his haunches and set about making
a meal.
By and by he was joined by a pair of wasps. They threw him a raspy “good
day” and set to work on the peach. Presently they drew the attention of the
greengrocer who came out to shoo them away and remove the damaged peach. The
picnic was over, but Weevy-Weevy felt very well fed. He slid down the trestle
and ambled off down the long street. No longer hungry and frightened, he
enjoyed the bustle of the market and the endless array of goods on show in the
windows. Every now and then he stopped to puzzle out the use of some new object
that took his fancy.
Presently he came to a stall piled high with shining tins and pots and
pans and kitchen gadgets of every kind. He walked round and round it, trying to
figure out what each thing was and for what purpose it was used. Two women were
looking the stall over and from their talk he learnt a good deal, though it was
not always easy to understand what they said. This article was a saucepan, and
that a teapot, and the odd fellow with the long nose was a kettle. None of them
seemed to have much to do with a little fairy man.
“That's a good little frying pan,” one of the women said, “just big
enough for one.”
“It would suit you nicely,” said the other.
“It would indeed. I will think about it. Maybe, if it's still here when
I come back, I'll buy it. The price might come down later in the day.”
Weevy-Weevy stood on tip-toe to get a look at this interesting
article. “A Flying-pan, just big enough
for one!” now that was an idea. The woman replaced the pan so carelessly that
it wobbled on the edge of the stall. She had not gone more than a few yards
away when it tipped over and fell with a clatter on the pavement. There it lay
still, the sun glancing off its polished surface. Quick as a flash, Weevy-Weevy
hopped inside.
As soon as his green shoes touched the bottom, the pan began to move. It
rose so suddenly that he was forced to sit down. The pan went on rising and
moving away from the stall. It gathered speed as it rose. Soon it was high
above the street. In a few moments the busy little town lay far below and the
pan was leaving it behind as it moved out over the green country. Weevy-Weevy
leant over and stared down at the houses and woods and farmsteads drifting far
below.
So fast did the pan move that nobody could be quite sure they saw
anything happen. Some saw a flash, others thought they saw a moving speck in
the sky. They rubbed their eyes and looked again, and there was nothing.
-oOo-oOo
It was lovely to drift along in the clear air with the land gliding away
below and wispy clouds trailing above his head. Weevy-Weevy was so thrilled to
be airborne that he did not care where he was going or when his flight ended. A
butterfly fluttered lazily over his head for a few moments; then paused to ask
in a small squeaky voice:
“Please, who are you, and what is that strange machine you sit in?”
“I am Weevy-Weevy,” he replied, “and this is my new Flying Pan.”
The butterfly flew off to tell her brothers and sisters. Soon
Weevy-Weevy was joined in his flight by a cloud of bright, fluttering wings.
They swirled about him, nudging each other as they passed and whispering: “That
is Weevy-Weevy, and that is his new Flying Pan.”
Weevy-Weevy enjoyed the company at first. It made him feel important to
be the centre of so much attention. But he tired of the whispers and giggles.
He leant over the rim of the pan and shooed the butterflies away. He leant so
far that he nearly upset the pan. He clutched at the red handle to steady his
craft. The pan changed course and went into a steep dive. He let go of the
handle and it righted itself. He had discovered how to steer the pan. What an
idea! He spent quite a long time playing with the handle, finding out how to
control his machine. Now he could go wherever he wanted, The Upper World was
wide open to him.
Birds were not so easy to dismiss as were butterflies. They were very
inquisitive. A cheeky sparrow lit on the handle of the pan and very nearly
upset Weevy-Weevy. Without an apology, it fixed him with a bright eye and
chirped a question: “Who are you, and what is this strange machine you fly?”
“I am Weevy-Weevy,” he replied rather crossly, “and this is my Flying
Pan as you can see for yourself. You are sitting on the steering-handle.”
“Oh!” chirped the sparrow, and flew off to tell his friends. He came
back with a host of them„ The air was loud with chirrups and questions which
came so fast that Weevy-Weevy found it hard to keep up with the answers. The
sparrows were nosy, but meant well. They liked Weevy-Weevy and said they would
come and take him in tow if he got into difficulty. Though their chatter
wearied him, he was sorry when they had to wheel round and return to base. Left
alone again, he curled up in his Flying Pan and had a long nap.
He was aroused by a clumsy jolt. When he came to, he found that he had
been drifting for a long time. The sun had set and it was quite dusk. High in
the dark blue sky the stars twinkled down upon him. The air was chill. He felt
very much alone and far from home. But what had jolted him awake? He leant over
the rim of the pan and peered down.
In the gathering gloom he saw a strange dark winged creature circling
about as though it had lost its way. It seemed as lonely as himself. He
recognised the bat.
“Come up here and talk to me,” he called.
The bat did not seem to hear him. On it went, zigzagging about, darting
and turning in a maze, and muttering as it flew: “Right and along by the river,
left and among the trees, right and left and then right again; left, right,
right, left and roundabout wheel.” It was too busy rushing round in circles and
getting nowhere to take any notice of the Flying Pan.
Weevy-Weevy decided to land. He steered the pan into a dive which
brought him within inches of the ground. But he could not actually land. The
pan kept taking off again. He let it rise and tried to think what he must do.
“I can think better when I am comfortable,” he muttered. “I'll take off
my shoes and lie down for a while.”
As he was taking off his green shoes he remembered something. Of course,
this was the moment to try out the red pair. He slipped them on. Immediately
the pan began to lose height. It was coming down to land at a great pace. He
was so excited at this new discovery that he forgot all about the steering
handle. The pan dropped with a thud to wedge itself right in the mouth of a
rabbit-burrow.
Under the ground he could hear the scurry of padded feet and the whimper
of frightened rabbit voices. A gruff voice hailed him from the cavern.
“Who are you, and what is that monstrous machine you have parked in my
doorway?”
“I am Weevy-Weevy,” the little man said nervously. “That monstrous
machine is my new Flying Pan and I'm afraid I am not a very good pilot yet. I
am very sorry to block your door.”
“A tall story that is,” said the rabbit. “Kindly move over and let me
out so that I can see for myself. Be quick about it too.”
“I’ll be as quick as I can,” said Weevy-Weevy as he tugged at the
handle, “but oh dear, I'm afraid I am completely wedged. Please, will you be
kind enough to push from the inside.”
“I'll push,” said the rabbit, “but no nonsense. For all I know you are
Fox up to his tricks again.”
“I'm not in the least a fox,” Weevy-Weevy panted. “I wish I were half as
strong and clever. Please, push harder, kind rabbit. Then you can see for
yourself that I am only a little fairy man.”
“A fairy man,” the rabbit exclaimed and began to push with all his
might.
Mother rabbit came hurrying to help him. All the little rabbits lined up
behind her and lent their help. Weevy-Weevy pulled at the handle. At last the
pan shot free with a great plop. He rolled head-over-heels in the grass. Inside
the burrow the rabbit family was sent sprawling in the dust.
-oOo-oOo
When they had recovered the rabbit children clustered round Weevy-Weevy.
They poked him with their paws and asked so many questions that he could hear
not a single one of them. Mrs. Rabbit came to his rescue. She shooed the
children back into the burrow and told them to get into bed again. Then she
hurried away down the passage to make sure that they did what she had said.
Weevy-Weevy was left alone with father Rabbit. He began to stammer an apology.
“Not at all, not at all,” the rabbit said kindly. “You did no damage
worth talking of and it was a pleasure to help you out. You must be cold and
hungry now. If you'd like to join us, we'd be pleased to share our supper with
you. We're very snug down there even if the entrance doesn't look very grand.
We have to keep it low and narrow. Foxes are very intruding animals.”
Weevy-Weevy followed the rabbit into the round, dark hole and along an
earthy passage. At the end they came out into a cosy chamber. It smelt of earth
and roots and was dim and snug like his own underground home. Weevy-Weevy felt
very much at home. Soon he was tucking into an enormous supper of carrots and
greens.
They talked far into the night. Weevy-Weevy told of his mission and his
adventures. The rabbits gave him all the news of the countryside. At last he
was so weary that he fell asleep in the middle of a sentence.
Early next morning the rabbit summoned him to a picnic breakfast of
dandelion shoots. They were crisp and tasty and damp with morning dew. The
family had great fun scampering about the field in search of them.
“I'd dearly love to stay with you, my kind friends,” Weevy-Weevy said.
“But I must be about the Queen's business. I must find me a place to set up
headquarters. I have no experience of house-hunting.”
“You should have no trouble finding a place,” said the rabbit. “I'm sure
you would be welcome anywhere.”
Weevy-Weevy thanked the rabbits and took his leave. As he leant over to
wave to them from his Flying Pan, there were tears in his eyes. The little
group huddled about the mouth of the burrow looked quite forlorn.
When he could no longer see them, he set himself to scanning the
countryside for a place in which to settle. A lone thorn tree loomed up. It was
larger and leafier than his own familiar tree but, to Weevy-Weevy, it looked
homely and inviting. He went into a dive and had almost touched earth when a
new thought struck him.
“This will never do,” he said to himself. “I would be very happy in a
fairy place, but it would not make a good home for an ambassador to the Humans.
If I am to make friends with people then I must live where they will not be
scared to come ..... in some ordinary place that has nothing to do with fairies.”
-oOo-oOo
When the Silver Spinney rose to view, Weevy-Weevy's brown eyes twinkled
with delight. This little plantation on the edge of rolling grassland looked
trim and orderly. The trees must have been planted by some farmer. It was far
enough from a main road to be out of range of the noise and fumes, yet it was
near enough the haunts of men. He surveyed it with great satisfaction.
In the middle of the spinney a great oak tree spread its branches. It
looked like a queen in crinoline holding her court. Around her stood slender
beeches in shimmering silk. Poplars fluttered their dancing skirts. Tall fir
trees stood erect as guardsmen. On the outskirts a bevy of silver birches
shivered in the delicate breeze. Weevy-Weevy slipped on his red shoes and steered
his Flying Pan carefully to land. His heart went pit-a-pat with excitement.
This was the place. There was no doubt of that. The pan landed smoothly on the
soft mossy grass. He hurled himself out and rolled over and over kicking his
heels for joy.
At once there was a scurry of padded feet, a fluttering of wings among
the branches. Weevy-Weevy sat up and set his cap straight. He could feel a
great many watchful eyes upon him.
Then he saw little faces among the leaves and grasses and soon he was
able to make out the shapes of many furred and feathered bodies, all still and
tense, on guard against the intruder.
“Hello, my friends!” he called out. “What a charming place you live in.
I do hope you will let me stay. Do not fear me. I come from your old friend,
the Queen of the Fairies.”
The shy birds and animals came out of hiding and hurried to greet their
guest. A babble of voices broke out. Rabbits, hares, field mice, little
crawling creatures ventured out to welcome him. A mole stumbled into the light.
A wary badger half emerged from the shade of the trees. The branches and twigs
were weighed down with twittering birds. A bumble bee buzzed up. What a to-do
they made in their eagerness to see the fairy visitor.
Weevy-Weevy was quite overwhelmed. He wanted to answer all the questions
politely, but could hear none of them clearly. Then an old rook came to his
rescue. With a loud squawk he hushed the chattering crowd. Then he fixed
Weevy-Weevy with a steely eye and, in a hoarse voice, asked the question that
they had all been trying to ask!
“Who are you and where do you come from?”
“I am Weevy-Weevy and I come from the land of the fairies.”
“Well Weevy-Weevy, I know a fairy man when I see one. What puzzles me is
why you are abroad in daylight. You are not up to some mischief, I hope.”
“I am not up to mischief, I can assure you. I have come as the Fairy
Queen's ambassador to the Humans. We want to make friends with them again.”
“So you have not come to visit us after all?”
“I have come to visit you, too. I know you are our friends. But you
could forget us, couldn't you?”
“I must say that it is hard to remember everything in these busy times.
Birds and animals and insects have so much to think about. There are so many
new dangers: farm machines, deadly sprays, men with guns everywhere, aircraft.
By the way what kind of a machine is that?”
His voice had risen to a squawk. He flapped a wing in the direction of
the pan which lay shining in the moss.
“That is my Flying Pan,” Weevy-Weevy replied timidly. “I need it to get
about quickly. I may have to make some very long journeys. You don't mind my
having a Flying Pan, do you?”
“I don't mind a very small craft like that. I daresay we can all dodge
it. Just be careful how you go. I think you'd be better off with a pair of
wings.”
The old rook turned to the listening creatures and repeated: “I think
he'd be better off with a pair of wings.”
The company took up the chant and reiterated!
“He'd be better off with a pair of wings ..... better off with a pair of
wings.”
The chant rose to a monotonous refrain.
Weevy-Weevy hardly knew what to make of it. The creatures seemed
friendly enough, but they would keep repeating what the rook had said. Maybe
they did not like his Flying Pan. Or maybe they just liked the sound of the
words. The old rook had risen to the top of a tall tree and sat swaying and
muttering to himself. Weevy-Weevy saw that there was no use in appealing to
him. The rook was not even looking at him any more.
Someone else was, however. In a hollow in the trunk of the great oak he
saw a pair of eyes like dim lamps glaring down at him. A plump grey body
emerged. He could see from the bristling feathers that Owl was angry. He had
been roused from his day sleep. He opened his beak and gave a spine-chilling shriek.
“Be quiet! What is all this rumpus about? Haven't I warned you silly
things to hush your noise and let me have my sleep. Don't you ever think that
those on night-shift need rest?”
His fierce eyes swept the company. The little creatures began to steal quietly
away. When they had thinned out he saw what had raised the stir. Weevy-Weevy
trembled before his stern gaze. He dared not move or speak.
“Who have we here?” exclaimed Owl. “Who dares to disturb the peace?”
Weevy-Weevy bowed low. His tall red cap fell on the ground, but he dared not
pick it up.
“I am Weevy-Weevy,” he began, in a thin little voice. “I come at the
command of the Queen of the Fairies. I must live in the Upper World for a time.
I am looking for a home. Please, wise Owl, I should be very grateful for your
advice. I am sure you can help me. I have heard your wisdom praised in the land
of the little people.”
Owl was flattered. He smoothed down his feathers and put on a very
dignified look. He hoped all the creatures in the Silver Spinney had heard what
Weevy-Weevy said. He felt that they did not always show him the respect he knew
to be his due. It was grand to know that the little people held him in so high
regard. Let them consider that and mend their saucy ways. He stepped out on a
branch and flapped his wings, making a sound like thunder that echoed all about
the Silver Spinney. After that there was dead silence. He chuckled to himself.
“That has got rid of the mob for the time being. Now we can talk in
peace. Do you think you could scramble up this tree-trunk, little man? I'd like
fine to have a polite person to talk to ..... intelligent too, by the look of
you. I think I could help you. Put on your cap and come on up. I'll be
waiting.”
-oOo-oOo
Weevy-Weevy soon discovered the knack of climbing trees. He shinned up
the trunk, clinging by twigs and nodules till he was level with the owl's
doorway. Owl had retired into the dark hollow. Only his great lamps of eyes
showed where he was.
“Come in! Come in!” he said testily as Weevy-Weevy hesitated.
Weevy-Weevy stepped inside.
“Very kind of you,” he panted. “The Queen will be very pleased to hear
that you were prepared to help me.”
“Not at all ..... not at all,” said Owl, sounding very pleased with
himself. “I'm honoured to be asked to help her Majesty. Charming lady. Charming
lady. Used to know her very well, indeed. I moved in the very best circles in
my time.”
For a minute or two he went on murmuring, “best circles, best circles.
Charming lady, charming lady.”
He was very sleepy. At any moment he might drop off.
“Please Mr. Owl,” Weevy-Weevy said in alarm.
“Mr. Owl, indeed,” he snapped. “I am Doctor Owl, I would have you know.
My title distinguishes me from less brainy birds.”
“Quite rightly, I am sure. Please, Doctor Owl .....”
Owl was nodding his head. He liked to be called “Doctor”. For the moment
he could think of nothing else. None of the birds or animals called him so. It
had been all in his own mind till now. He was very pleased with Weevy-Weevy. He
really was a very bright little fellow.
“So that is why she chose you,” he murmured. “I might have known. I DID
hear you say something about being sent as ambassador to the Humans?”
“You did, Doctor Owl,” Weevy-Weevy replied. “The Queen thinks it is very
necessary that we renew our friendship ..... make them believe in us again.”
Owl threw back his head and hooted with laughter.
“I am sure that the Queen is a very wise woman, but don't you think she
has sent you on a very foolish mission. Ambassador to the Humans, indeed! Why
bother about those dense creatures. Their minds are quite bewitched with
machines. Forget them, and stay here with us.”
“If you please, Doctor Owl, I cannot do that. The Queen trusts me to
carry out her command.”
Owl nodded.
“Of course. Of course. You must obey the Queen. Charming woman. Charming
woman. Must obey such a charming woman.”
“He's off again,” thought Weevy-Weevy.
Sure enough Owl's next remark was a loud snore. Weevy-Weevy wrung his
hands. He wanted to escape from this confined space and from Owl's mumblings.
But he dared not go for Owl might be angry. Then he would never help him find a
place to live. He began to whistle a merry tune, very softly at first so as not
to rouse Owl too suddenly. As the volume grew, Owl began to stir. Presently he
opened his big glowing eyes.
“Ah yes,” he said drowsily, “charming tune. Used to hear it when I was
out on my night hunt. Often saw the little folk dancing under the lone thorn
tree. Beautiful they were ..... especially the Queen. That reminds me. You said
you were looking for an ambassadorial residence.”
“I am,” Weevy-Weevy answered eagerly. “Please Doctor Owl, can you help
me find a good place?”
“I think I can,” said Owl. “What do you think of the Silver Spinney? It
wouldn't be too out-of-the-way, would it?”
“Not at all. It is quite near a village, and the main road, and I can
travel very easily in my Flying Pan.”
“Flying Pan?”
“Yes. I found it in the market. Or perhaps it found me. It gets me about
at a great rate. I am quite a good pilot now. I have no wings, you know, and
walking is very slow and wearisome.”
Indeed, indeed. I must see this Flying Pan, some time. Is it anything
like a Flying Saucer. I see them about sometimes.”
“It is quite like one, I am sure.”
“Very useful, no doubt. If you set up house here, you can always get
back by bedtime. You'd be away all day, I take it.”
“I would, Doctor Owl.”
“Then you'd make just the neighbour I want. I cannot have people fussing
about when I am trying to sleep. That squirrel used to wake me up far too
often. He was forever scrabbling and scratching up and down the tree, I had to
ask him to leave. The place has had no tenant since.”
Weevy-Weevy was jigging up and down with excitement. He was about to
hear something and could not wait.
“Oh please, Doctor Owl,” he exclaimed excitedly, “do tell me where it
is.”
“I don't know that I should,” said Owl. “Are you quite sure that you are
going to be quiet. Show me that you can sit still.”
Weevy-Weevy sat very still for at least five minutes. He saw Owl's eyes
narrow to slits, heard his breathing grow deeper. What was he to do? Owl was
falling asleep and he dared not move or speak.
The old rook in the treetop gave one hoarse caw. Owl's eyes widened for
a moment. Before they closed again, he muttered between yawns:
“Very good. You can be quiet when you set your mind to it. Let yourself
out dear fellow. Come again ..... any time. Empty house just below. You may
have it. Come again ..... any time ..... any time ..... when I’m not asleep.”
By the time the first loud snore reached his ears, Weevy-Weevy was
already shinning down the tree-trunk. A few yards below Owl's hollow, he found
another hole. It was dark and empty. But the squirrel had left it in good
order. It smelt warm and snug.
oOo-oOo
Weevy-Weevy was delighted with his little home in the hollow of the oak.
As soon as it was light he began setting it in order. He had a great deal to
do, but remembered to work very quietly lest he wake Owl. He did not want to be
evicted from this desirable dwelling. He found it easy enough to move quietly,
but could hardly keep from bursting into song. He was so happy to be sweeping
out his very own little house and setting it to rights.
He made a bed of the softest, driest moss he could find. He drove a peg
into the wall to hang up his green shoes. He picked a few flowers and set them
in damp moss. By the time he had everything to his liking he was very hungry.
There was plenty to eat in the spinney if you took time to search for
it. He discovered some small round mushrooms in the nearby pasture and some
nuts among the trees. Then he collected a pile of acorn shells and, with two
pieces of flint, kindled a fire on the open ground near the tree. When it had burned
down, he roasted the mushrooms in the embers.
The fire drew his neighbours about him. There was soon quite a party of
birds, animals and insects clustered about the glow.
“I am glad I was greedy and picked too many mushrooms,” he said. “It
seems I am having company for supper.”
He asked all his new friends to stay and share with him. They were very
pleased. They brought more food and set about making a real picnic. The only
thing that worried him was the noise they made. From time to time he glanced up
to Owl's hollow expecting to see the fierce eyes fixed on him in rebuke. The
grey squirrel sensed his anxiety.
“Hush!” he said. “Don't you dare wake Owl or my old home will be “To
Let” again. Our good friend will have to go away and leave us. You don't want
that to happen, do you?”
“We don't,” they whispered together. “We must behave ourselves.”
From then on they were as good as gold. Above their whispers, the sound
of Owl's snore sounded clear and unbroken.
As the last light was fading the solemn little party was startled by a
loud flap of wings in the branches above. A dark shape rose. The Spinney echoed
with a ghostly hoot. Trembling, Weevy-Weevy clapped his hands over his ears.
“It's all right,” they comforted him. “He's gone out on his night hunt.
We can make as much noise as we like now.”
By this time very few of the party were in the mood for making noise.
They had grown sleepy. Some were dozing. Others had slipped away to their beds.
Weevy-Weevy turned to a hare who was just off to his form in the grassy field.
“Why does he sleep during the day and work at night?” he asked. “Don't
know,” the hare answered and hopped away.
“He's a professor,” chirped a sleepy sparrow. “He runs a night school
for mice and rats over in the farmyard.”
“Nonsense,” said the hare, hopping back. “He has a wife and children in
the barn. He visits them at night when the babies are asleep. He hates noise,
you know.”
“I don't believe that,” put in a cheeky young stoat. “I have heard quite
other things about Owl. Like myself, he is a hunting type. He hunts at night
because of his sight.”
“I see better in the dark too,” said Weevy-Weevy. “It's what I'm used
to. I found the daylight very trying at first. What does Owl hunt?”
A shudder ran round the small circle left crouching by the fire. Some
small faces grew pale.
“Food,” said the stoat. “He has to eat like all the rest of us.”
“What does he .....?” Weevy-Weevy began, but there was no answer. The
few friends who remained began to melt away.
Soon he was quite alone by the dying embers. It had been a good party,
but why had it ended so suddenly?
“I must halve offended them. They did not even bid me good-night,” he
said to himself with a sigh.
“I think you asked one question too many,” said the stoat from the
shadow under the tree. They don't like to be reminded of Owl's night flights.
Some of their relations live over in the farmyard; others live in the fields
and woods about here. Owl never meddles with his own friends, but his friends
do not include their relations. See what I mean?”
“I see,” said Weevy-Weevy gravely.
Far away the owl's hoots haunted the night. The sound was eerie. No
wonder his little friends had been scared.
“Doctor Owl, indeed!” he said, and shook his head.
-oOo-oOo
The following day Weevy-Weevy rose early and made ready to pay his first
official visit to the Human world. He had no plan of campaign. His experience
in the market had not been helpful. Though he had mingled freely with all sorts
of people, none had seen him or showed any sign that they felt his presence.
Indeed fairies and magic seemed to be the last thing on their minds. They were
so busy looking for bargains they missed the free offer of fairy friendship. Of
course he had not actually offered anything on that day. He had been too busy seeking
his own bargains. Things might turn out differently today.
He would begin with country people. From the air he scanned the
landscape in search of the sort of house a believer in fairies might live in.
Of course when he thought about it, he had not the slightest idea what kind of
house that would be. His first guess was a mistake as it turned out.
The pretty, white cottage with roses growing round the door drew his
eye. Whoever lived there might not believe in fairies, but was sure to be nice.
He touched down on the velvety strip of lawn before the door. All the sweetest
scents of a country garden wafted to his nose; of roses and lavender and stocks
and lilies and myrtle and honeysuckle. Never was such a scented place, he was
quite dizzy. He sat on the grass and gulped down great mouthfuls of sweetness.
The cottage was even prettier than it had looked from a distance. There
were windows with tiny panes and lovely lace curtains. The door was painted
bright blue. A paved path zigzagged up to the door. The hedge was neatly
clipped. Not a weed showed among the well-tended flowers. He appreciated the
neatness, but felt that it was a little overdone. Still there were none of
those pottery or plastic gnomes lurking behind the clipped shrubs. He had seen
these in some gardens. He knew for sure that the people who put such strange
figures in their gardens did not really believe in fairies. They just thought
they were a cute idea. Fairies never stand still. They were light nimble little
people and belonged to nobody. A fairy of any sort standing in a noonday-garden
was a poor joke.
Weevy-Weevy was soon to feel like a poor joke himself. He clambered on
the window sill to peer into the cottage. On the other side of the glass,
stretched in the heat of the sun, a great fat tabby was staring at him with
unfriendly eyes. He knew that she saw him, but she was queen of the cottage and
wanted no rivals. Her look said quite plainly:
“Go away, you silly little man.”
He was staring her back, grinning in an effort to win her over, when the
garden gate clicked. A small, neat man, with a bald shiny head walked smartly
up the path. As he came, he cast his eyes about him. He seemed to be looking
for faults. He saw a weed and stooped to pick it from the flowerbed. He removed
some dead leaves. Then he spotted the pan lying in the middle of the lawn and
swooped upon it, muttering:
“Those pesky children ..... always throwing things about. If it's not a
ball it's a toffee paper. Now they mess up my lawn with their toys.”
He picked up the pan and threw it over the hedge. Then, without a glance
at Weevy-Weevy, he unlocked his door and entered the cottage. Weevy-Weevy would
have followed, but the tabby had jumped from her perch and come to meet her
master. She stood in the doorway, her back arched. To the bald-headed man she
seemed to be purring a welcome. Weevy-Weevy only heard a mumbled threat of
“Don't you dare! Don't you dare! Don't you dare!”
Before the door closed on this unfriendly pair, he had time to catch a
glimpse of the interior. It was as neat as pins in paper. The tiled floor
shone. The cups and dishes on the dresser sparkled. The place reeked of fresh
varnish. There was a place for everything and everything was in its place.
There was no room at all for a little fairy man.
“Ah well,” he sighed, “I mustn't give up yet.”
A large pink rose leaned out from the cottage wall. He tipped it up and
drank the honey-sweet dew from its heart. It was delicious, and very
refreshing. A second rose offered its cup, then another, and another. He
drained several and the roses shook themselves and smiled. Then he hopped down
from the window-sill and hurried off to find his Flying Pan. At the gate he
turned and stuck out his tongue at the cat which watched him from the window.
His next stop was at a funny little country store. There were not many
of its kind left and he had not seen one till now. He thought it was an
ordinary house, till the wares in the window drew his attention. It was one of
those lovely old-fashioned shops that stocked everything for use and emergency.
The window was choc-a-bloc with all sorts of things: coloured sweets in
bottles, balls of string, buttons, biscuits, reels of thread and a great many
boxes and packets whose contents he could only guess.
He pressed his nose to the window and peered in. As he stared he began
to sing a little song he was composing:
“I wish I had a little shop,
With buttons and buns and thimbles and thread,
Sugar and tea and strawberry jam,
Tins of treacle and loaves of bread.”
He was about to start on a second verse when “ting-a-ling” went the shop
door bell. A woman came out carrying a bag in one hand and a basket in the
other. Before the door closed to behind her, Weevy-Weevy had time to dart through.
The shop was dim and full of all kinds of things. And all the things had
smells of their own which mingled and made one strange, overpowering odour. It
was a whiff of paraffin and cheese and coffee and bacon and soap and paint,
tobacco and spice, paper and ink and string. Some of the smells were familiar,
others quite strange to Weevy-Weevy. He set out to locate the source of each.
It was the beginning of an adventure for him.
There was an opened box of peppermints on the shelf. He sampled one and spat
out the fragment. The taste was even hotter than the smell. He nibbled a
currant from a yeasty bun, and liked its sweet, juicy flavour. Then he tried a
crumb of cheese.
Next he saw a large piece of ham. It looked rosy and tempting. A few
thin slivers lay on the slicer. He started towards them. On his way he had to
cross the scales. They began to bounce up and down. This was great fun. He
danced a jig on the scales and they jogged up and down, bouncing him into the
air.
The movement and noise drew the shopkeeper's attention. He came in from
the store at the back. When he saw the scales jogging up and down for no reason
at all, he was quite puzzled. He put on his spectacles and peered at the empty
scales, and then all about him. He could not see Weevy-Weevy. He did see the
nibbled cheese.
“It must be that mouse again,” he said, and seized the broom. He rushed
about the shop in pursuit of the imaginary mouse. Weevy-Weevy had to move very
swiftly to evade him. Every time he moved something else rustled or rattled or
creaked or clattered and drew the shopkeeper after his “mouse”.
The chase came to an end when Weevy-Weevy slipped on a piece of bacon
rind and fell, head-over-heels into a sack of chick mash. There, he sank till
he was almost suffocated. The more he struggled the deeper he sank into the
mealy mixture. At last, exhausted, he fell asleep in the mash.
He did not hear the farmer from Greenacres enter the shop. Nor did he
hear the shopkeeper tell him:
“This is the last sack of mash I have left ..... there will be no more
till the delivery lorry comes.”
The shopkeeper tied up the mouth of the sack. It was hoisted with other
sacks of animal feed on the farm trailer. Still sleeping, Weevy-Weevy was borne
away to Greenacres farm.
-oOo-oOo
At Greenacres, the sacks were unloaded. When the chick mash was dumped
on the floor, Weevy-Weevy woke with a start. It was very stuffy in the sack and
he felt he could no longer bear to be half drowned in meal. He began to work
his way to the top, clinging by the fibres of the sacking, finding footholds in
any little wrinkle.
Just as he had reached the top and could poke his head out, the sack was
jerked about and he had to hold on very firmly. The farmer's wife had been
waiting to feed her chickens. She was undoing the sack. Weevy-Weevy ducked out
of reach as she plunged in a scoop.
Try as he would, however, he was unable to avoid the scoop. At the third
go he was lifted out and dumped into a pail. He wriggled, hoping to escape
before anyone noticed him.
“I say, whatever is in the mash?” he heard a pleasant voice exclaim. “It
is moving in the oddest way.”
“Nonsense!” said the farmer. “I can see nothing at all. Maybe it was a
mouse.”
“It was not a mouse,” she said, “and it's still there. I can feel
something magic ..... something like an electric shock but much pleasanter.”
“Maybe it is one of these fairies you talk about. If you look carefully,
you may see it. You always wanted to see a fairy, didn't you?”
The farmer was laughing. Weevy-Weevy could hear him chuckle as he moved
away. He could hear the woman murmuring to herself:
“I only wish it were a fairy. I'd like to see one ..... to be really
sure. I was so sure when I was a little girl.”
Weevy-Weevy dared not appear too suddenly. He was so covered with mealy
dust that he knew he would look like a ghost-fairy. It would never do to
frighten this good lady who half believed in fairies and wanted to be sure. He
allowed himself to be carried to the chicken run and there, when he felt the
farmer's wife was not watching, he scrambled out of the pail.
He had barely time to catch a glimpse of his reflection in the drinking
water when the chickens started such a to-do of cackling and flapping and
peering and hopping about that he thought he had better take to his heels and
come again another day. Even the chickens had not been sure of this dusty
fairy. He could hear them arguing amongst themselves after he had escaped the
pen.
Once out of the farmyard then he had a problem. Which way should he
turn? He had left his Flying Pan near the country store, but he had no idea in
which direction the store lay. He sat down by a milestone and had a long think.
It was growing dark and he had not reached a conclusion. Oh dear, wherever was
he to spend the night?
A far-away hoot rose in the cool air ..... then another ..... and
another. The dim, dark form of Dr. Owl passed overhead. Weevy-Weevy sprang to
his feet and waved and called. But Owl took not the slightest notice of him. It
was just too bad. He was so sure that Owl would have seen, or heard him.
But of course he had. Owl could see very well in the gloom. But Owl did
not believe in doing things for people which they were well able to do for
themselves. Particularly, he liked people to do their own thinking and he knew
that Weevy-Weevy was well able to do that.
“Of course,” thought Weevy-Weevy, “Owl came from the Silver Spinney.
That is the way to the store at the crossroads which is between here and there.
The night is fine and clear and I have my green shoes on to help me.”
After he had walked for quite a long time, he came to the crossroads
where the shop stood. Its windows were lit up and he could see that several
people had come in to shop and to chat with the shopkeeper. He did not venture
in again. The light streaming from the windows enabled him to find his Flying
Pan. It was under a box hedge, where he had shoved it. Soon he was airborne and
heading in a straight line for his home in the oak tree.
-oOo-oOo
The next morning, Weevy-Weevy dressed himself with great care. He washed
his face in the dew, brushed the tangles out of his hair and the meal from his
clothes. He polished his shoes till they shone. Then he stuck a little
blue-grey pigeon's feather in his red hat. He was ready to pay a proper visit
to the lady of Greenacres.
He touched down behind a chicken coop, then tiptoed softly across the
farmyard till he reached the kitchen door. He peered inside the huge kitchen
with its shining array of pots and pans and delph. It was a whole world in
itself, and quite unlike any world he had seen before. There were so many
strange and fascinating objects on shelves, on the wall in cupboards, hanging
from hooks and standing in corners, that he felt it would take years for him to
explore everything. He dared not let his eyes linger on anything for too long.
His mission was to seek out friendly people ..... people like the farmer's
wife. But she was not in the kitchen.
He climbed on window-sills, peered under doors, scanned the whole
farmyard. Where could she be? At last he found her in the dairy skimming cream
from a crock of milk. She was tipping the thick yellow cream into a little
wooden churn. He sat cross-legged on the window-sill and watched her. A fat,
black cat sat beside him.
“What is she doing?” he asked the cat.
“She's gathering cream for a churning,” the cat purred in reply. “It's
good cream. She gives me some when it is fresh. That will be soured now. It has
to be soured for churning. Then it is ready to turn into butter. I think it is
a pity to waste it making butter. Still I must admit, I get my fair share.”
“I should say you do. What a fine fat cat you are. And how glossy your
coat is!”
The cat purred louder. She was very pleased with herself. She was
pleased with Weevy-Weevy too. She went on talking in purrs:
“I am lucky to live here. Most farms send the milk to the creamery.
That's a sort of factory where they make butter. My good lady keeps enough to
make butter for the house. She's an old-fashioned kind of lady. You should hear
what those uppity cats from the big farms round here say about her quaint ways.
In their hearts they envy me living on the cream of the land.” She squinted at
Weevy-Weevy from big smoky blue eyes.
“I think you should get on fine with her. She is not like some folk who
wouldn't believe in a fairy if he were plain as broad daylight. Watch this!”
She miaowed loudly and scratched at the window frame. The farmer's wife
raised her head to see what was the matter. She could not see Weevy-Weevy, but
she was puzzled by the cat's behaviour. Her face had a mystified look.
“If only I could get in,” said Weevy-Weevy, “I'd make myself visible to
her.”
“Very well,” said the cat, “I'll do my best.”
She miaowed again, and began to prance up and down on the window-sill in
a very strange manner. Soon her mistress left her work and came to open the
door.
“Whatever is the matter, Smoky?” she asked. “You know I cannot have you
in the dairy. And haven't I just a few minutes ago given you a saucer of
cream?”
The cat grinned at her and turned away. Weevy-Weevy had darted inside.
At this very moment he was bending over the empty pannikin. The cat's ears
twitched as she heard the tinkle. Weevy-Weevy had dropped one of his gifts in
the pan.
The farmer's wife also heard the tiny sound. She turned around and
there, in the bottom of the pan, lay the blue stone, twinkling like the evening
star. It was exactly the same shade as her own eyes. She picked it out, wiped
it on her apron, and held it in the palm of her hand. The sunlight made it
shimmer and wink. It was the loveliest stone she had ever seen. She could not
take her eyes off it.
“Where on earth .....?” she said over and over again.
Weevy-Weevy made a scrabbling sound on the edge of the pannikin. She
looked up. There he was sitting perched on the rim. His little brown face was
puckered with laughter. He swept off his red cap to her.
“How do you do?” he said.
“Well I never!” she gasped, “so it was you all the time. You were in
that sack of chicken feed.”
“I was.”
“You picked a funny way to travel.”
“It picked me, I fell in. Oh dear, it was very stuffy in there.”
“Why didn't you come out and talk to me?”
“I was in such a mess, I dared not let you see me. If you had, you might
have been disappointed in fairies.”
“Where were my eyes anyway?”
“You were looking at me, but you could not see me.”
“You were playing hide-and-seek in the meal, like a little mouse. My
husband thought you were a mouse.”
“Most people think things like that. You knew I wasn't a mouse. That is
why I came back ..... why I gave you the Queen's gift.”
“This beautiful stone ..... a gift? You mean I am to keep it?”
“Of course. As long as you have it, you can see fairies when they are
about. It is your reward for believing in us.”
“I am honoured. My granny used to tell me about the fairies who lived in
the Silver Spinney. Many a day I went there, but never saw them. Is it true
they live there?”
“One does now. I have just made a home in the big oak tree.”
“Do you dance there at
“I dance when I feel in the mood. Shall I dance for you now?”
She nodded. Weevy-Weevy began to whistle a merry tune. As he whistled,
he danced and leaped and capered about the floor. She tapped her foot in time
to the music which grew louder and clearer every minute. Presently she was
quite carried away by the rhythm and began to dance and caper making
tippety-tappety sounds on the tiles of the dairy floor. The cat goggled through
the window, then gave one great “Miaow” of amazement and turned her back on
them. She had not see her mistress caper like that since the day a mouse got in
the dairy
-oOo-oOo
At last, rosy and out of breath, the farmer's wife stopped in her
tracks.
“You're a fine dancer,” said
Weevy-Weevy.
“I never knew I could dance like that,” she gasped. “It was the music.
It put a spell on me.”
She smoothed her hair before a small looking-glass that hung on the
wall. Her eyes shone, blue and clear as the stone Weevy-Weevy had given her. As
she looked, she saw the little man sitting patiently waiting. She turned
quickly.
“Oh dear me,” she said, “what a way to treat a fairy guest. I never
thought to offer you something to eat. What would you like, Weevy-Weevy?”
“I'd like anything you have to offer.”
“Well there's plenty. I have home-made bread and milk and butter and
honey from the bees, and blackberry jelly. And I have a sponge cake cooling on
the tray in the kitchen. I made it this very morning.”
“I think I'd like to taste a bit of everything,” said Weevy-Weevy
licking his lips.
She took down a little basket and let him hop inside. He snuggled down
in a wisp of hay. No one would have guessed that there was anything in the
basket but, as she crossed the yard, the sheepdog kept leaping up and sniffing
and wuffing as though he spied strangers.
Weevy-Weevy sat among the blooms of a big pink geranium on the kitchen
window and had the most wonderful picnic. Indeed he ate so much of all the
goodies the farmer's wife offered him that he was ready to fall asleep He had
to pull himself together. With an effort, he rose and dusted the crumbs off his
green Jacket.
“I must go now,” he said. “May I come again another day?”
“That you may ..... as often as you like. But, before you go, tell me
what gift you would like from me. An exchange of gifts is customary, isn't it?”
“If you please, I would like a little pot to cook in ..... a very little
pot ..... like that one over there.”
“He was pointing towards her work-basket. For a moment she was puzzled.
Then she caught the gleam of silver. The tiny thimble she had used as a little
girl lay among the needles and threads.
“You may have it of course,” she said, picking the thimble out and
handing it to him.
He took off his cap and placed the thimble on his head. It was a little
too big and slipped over his eyes.
“Put this in it,” she said, “you can cook your mushrooms.”
She gave him a neat little pat of butter wrapped in a shred of lettuce.
He slipped it into the thimble and set the thimble on his head. This time it
did not fall over his eyes. He drew his red cap on over the thimble. It
stretched to cover all.
“I'll have to keep my head cool till I get back to the Silver Spinney,”
he said.
Then he was gone. The farmer's wife hardly saw him leap from the sill
and barely felt the butterfly touch of the kiss he blew her. The leaves of the
geranium went on trembling for a few moments. Out in the yard the collie wuffed
softly at nothing at all.
Presently, as she watched from the doorway, she saw something round and
shining flash across the sky. Not a flying saucer, but quite like one.
-oOo-oOo
Weevy-Weevy sat swinging his legs astride an ash twig. He hummed a merry
tune to himself. Above his head, a robin puffed out his throat and began to
lilt. Through the Spinney, other birds in their trees, joined in one by one.
The plantation was filled with music, the leaves fluttered and danced, and the
trees began to sway gently to and fro.
Whoosh! A sudden rough gust swept through the Spinney. It nearly toppled
Weevy-Weevy from his perch. All the birds stopped singing and clung to their
twigs. The trees bent over; then stood stiff and erect, bracing themselves.
Whoosh! Another boisterous gust plucked at their branches. Birds and
beasts and beetles scurried to shelter. The Spinney was filled with deep
breathing.
Whoosh! Another gust tore through the trees and brought a shower of
leaves tumbling to the ground. In the pasture the long grass was lashed flat.
Weevy-Weevy's face paled as he clung to his perch. When all was still again, he
shinned up the tree-trunk to his own safe hiding place.
He was in so great a hurry that he caught his toe in a rough piece of
bark. He tumbled flat on the moss at the foot of the tree. The fall winded him
and he had to lie still for a little while. With his ear close to the ground,
he heard a strange rumbling. As another gust of wind passed over him, he heard
its echo deep in the heart of the earth. It was like a great laugh ..... the
jolliest laugh he had ever heard.
He had to join in the laugh. He rolled on the moss and kicked his heels
and laughed. He laughed till his sides ached and tears rolled down his cheeks.
He clung to wisps of grass and rocked and swayed with laughter, and the wind
whirled and played about him.
It ruffled and tossed the branches above him, then rushed away over the
land. It tossed corn stooks, whisked sheets from lines, hats from heads and
turned umbrellas inside out. Pigs ran and snorted as though they could see the
wind. Rooks were caught in mid-air and whirled round in circles. They cawed
loudly in annoyance. Horses whinnied and threw up their heels. Ducks quacked
among the reeds. Hens cackled excitedly.
Weevy-Weevy drew a handkerchief from his waistcoat and began wiping the
tears from his eyes. When he could see clearly again, he found that a striped
face was peering at him from the thicket.
“Oh Badger!” he called. “Please come out and tell me what ever is
happening.”
Badger took a few paces forward and stood staring.
“What is happening?” he asked. “I'm afraid I did not notice anything.
There was such a din underground that I could not hear. Was there anything to
hear ..... except the big laugh?”
“You heard the laugh?”
“Why of course. It sounds much louder underground.”
“What is it? Who is laughing?”
“You don't know? Really, don't know? I thought you lived underground
when you were at home.”
“I do. We used to hear a sound like this. We had a theory .....”
“The Jovial Giant is not a theory. Oh dear me, I should not have told
you. He is a big secret ..... so big that only some of us know. Still I suppose
it's all right for an Underworld person to know.”
“Of course it is,” Weevy-Weevy said, kindly. “We have heard about the
Jovial Giant. But we did not know he could be heard in the Upper World nowadays
..... or that any creature recognised his voice. I am so pleased we have a
secret to share, dear Badger.”
The badger came closer. He was very friendly now. He wanted very much to
share his secret. It had weighed heavily on him for a long time. Weevy-Weevy
encouraged him.
“Have you heard that he's the last giant left in the world?” he asked.
“I have,” said the badger. “He must be a great age. Indeed I had begun
to think he had died, it's so long since I heard him. I know the difference
between his voice and the sound of any old storm. You do too.”
“Most certainly. We never hear ordinary storms down where I live. We
would hear an earthquake, of course, but there never are any hereabouts.”
“There used to be plenty when the giant still walked about. Every time
he went out for a stroll the earth shook. My grandparents talked of it. The
plaster fell off their walls.”
“He doesn't go walking any more?”
“No. He is too old, or too lazy. He sleeps most of the time. I can hear
him snoring. It sounds like an underground sea.”
“Maybe he doesn't come out because nobody believes in him.”
“Perhaps. You Underground people are easily discouraged. Animals are
braver. If I hid all the time, who would believe in me? Who would believe in
Mole? You have to show yourself now and then even if it means taking a risk.
Otherwise, you are treated as a joke or a fair .....”
“Fairy tale. You needn't be afraid to say it. I know how most Humans
regard us. I am trying to improve things. Do you think the Jovial Giant would
talk to me?”
“I don't know. It is not easy to get through to him. They say he's very
deaf.”
“Perhaps I shall find out how deaf.”
“If you can find him at all. He lives far under the mountains.” The
badger pointed his long snout in the direction of the horizon.
“Oh dear, how tired I am after all that rumpus. Lucky Owl who could
sleep through it.”
With a great yawn, he turned tail and slunk into the undergrowth.
Weevy-Weevy climbed to his home in the tree. He had work to do ..... plans to
make. He must fit in a visit to the Jovial Giant.
-oOo-oOo
He set out the very next morning.
“Maybe I'll meet somebody on the way,” he said to himself, “somebody who
half believes in fairies. Then I will not be neglecting my duties as
ambassador.”
He steered his Flying Pan away towards the misty mountains that Badger
had pointed out. It was early in the morning and, as he rode high, he could see
the first twists of smoke rising from the chimneys below him. Doors opened and
people came out. They were off to work. In one village he saw the postman start
up his red van. In another the milkman was hurrying from door to door with a
great clatter of milk-bottles. The bus stops were lined with waiting
passengers. Children whooped and skipped as they loitered to school.
There was a great morning scene to watch and Weevy-Weevy found it very
interesting. But he grew weary of leaning over the rim of the pan. Anyway he
was leaving the busy places. The sun was shining and the air was warm. He lay
stretched across his Flying Pan, his legs dangling, and let himself drift under
the blue sky. Great fleecy clouds rolled past him like immense sheep. He began
to count them. Soon he was dozing off.
A shrill whistle made him start almost out of the pan. He sat up on his
knees and looked down. The echo of the whistle died away. Now he heard a
strange chuffety-chuffety sound. A puff of smoke, travelling through the green
countryside, revealed the creature that whistled and chuffed so oddly. Then a
shower of sparks shot from the creature's head.
“Surely it cannot be,” he said to himself. “I thought all dragons were
banished long ago to live happily ever after in the great hot caverns at the
heart of the earth. A good thing for them, and for everybody. They meant no
harm but they were very scary. I wonder how this fellow got left behind.”
He steered his Flying Pan very carefully, bringing it down closer to the
dragon. The dragon whizzed merrily on its way, taking no notice of the UFO
hovering above. Weevy-Weevy could see that it ran on rails. Of course, it was
one of those machines that the Humans took such pride in. Trains they were
called. He had seen one or two, but this was the first that breathed smoke and
flame and sparks like a dragon. Maybe it was a mongrel - half machine, half
dragon.
The train came to a stop with a great loud hiss. Weevy-Weevy could feel
its damp, hot breath. Though he was really quite scared of the creature, he
seized this opportunity to land on its back. He just managed to touch down on
the Guard's van when the train rumbled off again. For the moment he was happy
to have landed safely. It was fine to ride high and dry without having to steer
and with all the time to watch the world pass by.
The engine, with its swirling smoke and flame, fascinated him. He wanted
to get nearer this dragon's head. But there was a huge gap between the guard's
van and the last coach. If only he could jump it! But, even with the help of
his green shoes, he dared not try.
He sat down to think. Of course, he could use his Flying Pan. It was
quite easy that way. He took his time, jumping from coach to coach and resting
between hops to see if the dragon had noticed. It did not seem to. It went on
chugging merrily past fields and houses, woods and gardens, blowing out smoke
and rumbling and muttering to itself.
A last hop landed Weevy-Weevy in the coal tender. He scrambled and slid
over the shiny black lumps and choking dust till he reached the top of the
pile. There he could sit and look right into the driver's cab. There were two
men in it.
The fireman, who had been leaning against the side of the cab, now bent
down and opened a small door. Weevy-Weevy could look right into the great
furnace. It was like looking down a fiery dragon's throat. He could feel the
intense heat. He was rather scared.
Then his mountain began to crumble under him. The fireman had opened a
hatch and was shovelling coal into the furnace. As the shovelful was removed
from below, the top layer sank. The coal mountain that had seemed so safe, was
caving in. He took a flying leap and landed in the cab.
There was not much room for him on the floor and he quite dreaded being
crushed by the two huge pairs of feet. By foot-holds and hand-hold he began to
scramble out of the way. He had climbed to a safe perch by the driver's right
hand. There he sat for a moment taking stock of the driver's face. A kind man,
he thought. He would not hurt a fairy.
“I say, Bert,” said the driver, “the old engine's going a treat now. She
fairly bounded when you put in that last shovelful. Was it special coal?”
“It was the same coal as before. It takes time to get the engine warmed
up.”
“It warmed up so suddenly I'd swear there was some magic about.”
“Come off it, Bill, it's bad enough to have you raving about the good
old days of the steam train. Don't start on magic spells and fairies now.”
“You know, Bert, I think they're worth talking about. And more, I
believe there is magic about at this very moment.”
“Well I hope your magic will work when we take these good folk on their
trip. They are so excited about it. Some of the children have never ridden on a
steam train in their lives. They missed something, I must admit. I wouldn't
like to disappoint them now.”
“We won't disappoint them. The old engine is as good as ever, even after
all these years standing idle. The magic will work. It must. It really must.”
“It will,” thought Weevy-Weevy. “I'll make sure it does.”
He had been listening to the two men, taking in all they said with his
sharp little ears. So this was not a dragon, but a kind of engine no longer in
use. A steam engine. These two men were going to run an excursion for some good
people and some children who had never had such a treat. They were trying it
out. There was nobody aboard now except Bill and Bert. And Bill half believed
in fairies.
Soon they came to a small station. The train slowed and came to a halt
with a great hiss of steam.
“We can shunt the engine here,” said Bill.
“I think I'd better have a look at the points,” said Bert. “I can change
them if you do the shunting.”
He got down from the cab and walked away along the platform; then
crossed the line to the signal box. Weevy-Weevy hopped on the driver's shoulder
and tickled his nose.
“Was that a spot of rain?” said Bill to himself. “Funny, there's hardly
a cloud in the sky.”
He stuck out his hand, palm up. Not a single raindrop fell. Instead
something quite solid and cold fell into his open hand. He started and twitched
as though he had had a slight electric shock. When he looked down he saw a tiny
stone glowing like fire in the heart of his hand.
“What on earth .....?” he exclaimed. “I can hardly believe my eyes. I'd
say it was a spark but it is quite hard and cold.”
There was no burning. His palm tingled without hurting. He stared and
stared at the stone but could make nothing of it. He shook his head, looking
very puzzled.
A burst of merry laughter made him raise his eyes. There, on the ledge
in front of him, sat the tiny figure. Weevy-Weevy's face was puckered up. His
eyes shone as brightly as the jewel in Bill's hand.
“Well I never!” Bill exclaimed.
“Never till now,” said Weevy-Weevy. “Now you really do see a fairy.”
“I do indeed. How long have you been around?”
“I came in with that last shovel of coal ..... the magic that made the
engine leap forward.”
“That was a while ago. Why didn't I see you?”
“You couldn't see me till you got the Queen's gift.”
“The Queen's gift?”
Weevy-Weevy told him the whole story. It was quite a long story, but
they had plenty of time. As Bert shifted the points and Bill shunted the engine
to and fro, Weevy-Weevy had a chance to tell the tale of his mission to the
Upper World and of his adventures there. He had to tell it by fits and starts,
for Bill had to keep his mind on what he was doing, and shout directions to
Bert, and answer his questions.
“I'm not really an engine driver,” he explained, “nor is my friend,
Bert, a fireman. It's our hobby. We belong to the Society for the Preservation
of Steam Engines. Our branch has just bought this engine and the few coaches,
and we are planning to run an outing on Saturday. We can use this length of railway
track. It is in good repair. The signals are still there and the points, and
all the things we need. All the members of the Society worked very hard to get
things going. They are looking forward to Saturday.”
“I hope it goes well.”
“It will, now that we have got the magic. You said I could keep the
stone.”
“Of course. If you ever get into difficulty, just hold it in your hand
and call for me and I'll come. I don't know much about engines. I thought they
were our enemies. But this one is different. It has a sort of magic too. I
think it is really a dragon at heart ..... a friendly dragon.”
At last the engine was in position and coupled to the other end of the
train. Now Bill and Bert were ready for the return journey. Bert was coming
back to the cab. It was time for Weevy-Weevy to be going.
Bill saw him make a move.
“I say,” he said, “I must give you something before you go.”
He searched his pockets, but there was nothing suitable except a bar of
chocolate.
“Do you like chocolate?” he asked.
“I have never tasted it,” said Weevy-Weevy, “though I have seen children
eating it. They seemed to like it.”
“I'm sure you would too. Here you are.”
Bill drew the paper from the corner of the chocolate bar and broke off a
scrap. Weevy-Weevy tasted it. It was
good. The driver wrapped a larger piece in a scrap of silver paper. Weevy-Weevy
had just time to stuff it in his pocket and make his escape before Bert climbed
into the cab.
Back in the coal tender, Weevy-Weevy found his Flying Pan. He hopped on
the roof of a coach. There he rested for a bit and nibbled on his chocolate.
Bill played a tune on the engine whistle, a funny tune all shrieks and snorts
and ghostly whoops and sudden bursts of laughter. No wonder Bert looked
confused. He did not know that Bill had an audience. Weevy-Weevy was highly
amused by the medley of sounds.
When at last he took flight, he hovered over the cab, dipping and
turning like a flashing speck. Then, as he flew away, he saw Bill lean from the
cab to wave to him. In his waistcoat pocket he had tucked the glowing red
stone. Under his hands the engine raced along as merrily as the youngest dragon
that ever was.
-oOo-oOo
Rain clouds crowded in over the meadows. Miles away, by the shore,
seagulls spread their strong wings and headed for inland. Over the quiet fields
they swept in white drifts. The ploughman looked up to see the clouds and the
circling gulls above him. He knew that a storm was coming. He would finish the
next few furrows if there was time. Behind him the gulls shrieked and skimmed
over the plum-cake-brown earth as it rolled back from the ploughshare.
Weevy-Weevy had slept well into the afternoon. He was roused by the
twittering of sparrows and the caw of rooks. All the birds of the Spinney seemed
to be talking at once ..... in angry tones. They were grumbling at the seagulls
who were having the first pick of the furrows. But some sensed the coming storm
and were gathering their nestlings about them.
The darkening sky, the mournful sound of the wind in the trees, the
to-do among the birds and animals puzzled Weevy-Weevy. This was not at all like
the day of the Jovial Giant's laugh. Everyone was very serious. There was a
real storm on the wind.
His eyes were dazzled by a flash of white wings. A swirling cloud of
strange birds passed over the spinney and skimmed to rest in the meadow. The
half-ploughed field was full of swooping wings and screaming voices. What birds
were these? He asked his Spinney neighbours, but they were all in a hurry and
had no time to listen to his question. Indeed they rushed about so fast that he
was in danger of being knocked down and trodden upon. In desperation, he
climbed the tree and put his head in Owl's door. Owl blinked a sleepy eye at
him.
“It's you,” he said grumpily. “You must want something very badly when
you come disturbing me at this hour. What is it?”
“Please, Dr. Owl, can you tell me if we are being invaded?”
“Invaded? Nonsense!”
“Then what strange birds are these that surround us on every side. They
have already taken over the meadows. They have landed and stand in companies
close together. Everybody in the spinney is in a state of alarm as though they
feared attack.”
Owl poked his head out of the hole and squinted about.
“There's a storm blowing up,” he said gruffly. “Any fool would know that
when seagulls fly so far inland it is a sign of storm.”
“So they are seagulls. We needn't fear them. They are afraid of the
storm themselves.”
“That's right. Why couldn’t you have figured that out before waking me.
Now go away and leave me in peace.”
“Seagulls,” Weevy-Weevy muttered as he slid down the tree-trunk.
“Pirates maybe. Oh dear, wouldn't I like to meet a seafaring bird that might be
a pirate. I'm sure he would have some interesting tales to tell - tales the
Queen has never heard.”
He steered his Flying Pan through the sheltered aisles of the plantation
and out along the meadows to the plough land where the gulls were having their
noisy picnic. They looked large and strong. Their eyes were grey and fierce.
They did not seem in the least friendly. And what strong, cruel beaks they had.
When he alighted from his Flying Pan he dragged it with him so that he could
take off in a hurry.
The few seagulls who noticed him, eyed him coldly as he approached. They
held their heads erect and stiff and stared through him and past him. Then he
saw what they were staring at. The last of the flight swung in to land. It was
an old grey gull, who seemed to be in command of the whole operation. All the
gulls stood stiffly to attention when he touched down.
“The Admiral, presumably,” thought Weevy-Weevy. “Admiral of the fleet.
Or flight? I don't know.”
He had not time to think it out. The tip of the AFdmiral's wing caught
him in the back and sent him sprawling face down in the long grass. It had been
an accident and, the old gull did not see what he had done. Weevy-Weevy lay
panting in terror.
Some of the gulls began to amble towards him. He raised his head and saw
them advance. A seagull in flight is a graceful dancer. A seagull walking is a
clown. Weevy-Weevy burst out laughing. Should they gobble him up with their
great beaks, he could not stop. His laughter drew the Admiral's attention. He
turned and saw the little man sprawled in the grass. So that was what his wing
had struck as he wheeled in.
“I say,” he said, “I'm glad to see that you are nothing the worse for
your mishap. Sorry I bowled you over. I'm not used to terra firma. The sea's my
element. Sure you're all right?”
“I'm quite sure,” replied Weevy-Weevy, “and I'm glad it happened,
otherwise I might not have had a chance to speak to a fine sea-faring bird like
yourself.”
The old gull looked him up and down. He was a sorry sight with mud on
his face and damp smears on his clothing. He had been buffeted by the wind. His
hat was askew and his hair straggled from under the brim all over eyes and
ears.
“Do you think it's wise for a little man like you to be out in this
stormy weather?” the Admiral asked, “and you without a feather to cover you
from the rain and wind? I doubt if there's time now for you to make it back to
your house. Hear that gale blowing up?”
Weevy-Weevy edged closer and smiled up at the old gull.
“I don't think it's wise for me to be out; but I know I'm safe when I am
under your protection.”
He was moving into the shelter of the gull's body.
“Come here,” said the gull. “Come right up under my wing. No laughing,
now. It's too tickly. If you laugh then I shall have to laugh. Then you'll fall
and the wind will blow you away.”
Weevy-Weevy promised to be very good. The Admiral raised his wing and
folded it over him. He was clasped securely in its feathery warmth. As the gull
rocked and swayed on his legs before the high wind, the little man neither saw,
heard nor felt anything except this gentle rocking. It lulled him to sleep.
When he woke the storm had passed. The sky was clear and bright.
The Admiral raised his wing and let Weevy-Weevy slide to the ground.
“Well,” he said kindly, “safe and dry. Let me look at you. It's not
often I see a land fairy these days. There are plenty of water-sprites in our
parts, but they are feckless creatures, always on the move, always changing.
Tell me, what brought you from your cosy home to face the storms and strifes of
the Upper World?”
“The Queen sent me as her ambassador to the Humans ..... to people.”
“People!” whooped the gull. “You're wasting your time on such lubbers.”
“You don't like people, then?”
“Oh, I like them well enough. They're useful. They build fine ships that
come in handy to rest on when we are far out to sea. We follow them for food. No end of it, there
is sometimes. People are very wasteful. We don't mind. The more they throw out
the better we eat. We appreciate the good things of life. Why don't you come
and be an ambassador to us ..... to the sea-birds and other creatures?”
“There is no need. I think all birds and animals are friends of the
little folk.”
“I suppose you are right about that. Still, we'd appreciate it if you
would pay us a visit. We are a little cut off down by the big sea shore.”
“I'd love to pay you a visit. When shall I come?”
“Right now, with us, as soon as I get my fleet mustered.”
With a shriek, the Admiral summoned the gulls from their pecking and
picking. They began to form in companies one after the other. Drift after drift
they rose and disappeared into the pale evening sunlight. At last there was
only a small company left ..... the Admiral's own. He summoned a young gull.
Weevy-Weevy heard him give instructions. He could make out a few words of Gull
talk.
“Silverwings was to carry a passenger ..... a V.I.P. This V.I.P. was
honouring a colony by his visit. Silverwings must take great care of the
honourable stranger.”
“Aye, aye sir,” Silverwings answered, dipping a respectful beak.
Weevy-Weevy pushed his Flying Pan under a shrub. He was ready to go when
Silverwings approached him. The gull stood very still to allow him to mount. It
was easy enough to climb up, but quite hard to sit on the gull's back. The
feathers were very smooth and slippery. He kept sliding off. When he was seated
at last, Silverwings circled at a low altitude till he was quite sure he could
hold on. He clung by the strong neck feathers and dug his heels into the gull's
downy sides.
“Right Ho!” he said.
Silverwings rose in the evening air. Soon they were speeding towards the
sunset.
Weevy-Weevy enjoyed every mile of his flight. When the sea came into
view, the sun was sinking below the skyline. Its light lay like a shimmering
ribbon on the waters.
When the gulls sighted the shore they set up a chorus of shrieks and
mews. Glad to be within sight of home, they accelerated towards the steep
cliffs. On the shelves of these high cliffs they had made their village.
Swirling, screaming, laughing, they circled in to land on their ledges.
Each seemed to know his own nesting place, though all looked alike to the
stranger. Some had barely landed when they took off again to scour the shore.
The storm tide had washed many tasty morsels on to the beach.
Silverwings circled the cliffs several times to let his passenger have a
good view of the seagull colony. The setting was rather grim but very
impressive. The colony itself was decidedly higgledy-piggledy. The shelves of
rock being above shore and well down the face of the cliffs were safe from
marauders. Their security depended on their position. Otherwise all was open to
view.
On every cliff ledge there was a disarray of old nests and new nests,
eggs-shells, new-laid eggs, fishbones, feathers, sticks, grass, hair and wool.
And there were the droppings of many generations of gulls. It was plain that
spring-cleaning was never allowed to disrupt the gullish way of life.
Silverwings touched down on the broadest ledge. The view was
magnificent. Weevy-Weevy could see the whole sweep of the bay. Far out on the
horizon a lighthouse flashed its long beams over the darkening waters. He was
so taken with it that he scarcely saw Silverwings take off again. Left to
himself, he squatted on a pile of down and, with his arms about his knees, stared
out towards the lighthouse. The sights and sounds and smells were all new and
exciting. Though he was alone on the ledge, there were many gulls flying around
him.
He sat on his lofty perch, till the stars had all come out in the dark
blue sky and the air had grown chill. He longed for a tasty supper and a warm
bed. For a moment it seemed that the gulls had all forgotten him.
But this was not so. His host had no intention of neglecting him. He had
had a great deal to attend to. The storm had done much damage. Some hasty
repairs had to be made. It took time to get everything organised and all safely
settled for the night. As soon as ever he could, he came to see Weevy-Weevy.
“Here is an appetiser,” he said, pushing a cockle-shell, already opened
towards him. I have ordered your supper. It will be along any moment. We are a
rough and ready lot as you see, but if you are happy to take us as you find us
you will enjoy your stay. We always have food in plenty, and comfortable beds
for our guests.”
Weevy-Weevy was nibbling the cockle. He had never tasted the like
before. The salty tang prepared him for
the dishes that were to follow. Two gull waiters landed. One carrying a chunk
of lobster and the other a morsel of white bread soaked in brine. When he had
sampled these delicacies, two more waiter gulls appeared bearing a crab's claw
and a wedge of cheese. More and more gulls arrived with their tasty offerings.
Before long there was a great banquet spread before him.
“Eat up, my lad,” urged the Admiral. “Nothing like the salt air for
giving a chap an appetite.”
Weevy-Weevy could manage to sample only a very few of all the tasty
morsels. He felt sad to see so much good food go to waste. But he need not have
worried. The Admiral fell to with a will and he and Silverwings cleared the
deck.
“Now,” said the Admiral, “you'll feel like a spot of shut-eye. I'll be
turning in shortly myself. A hard, land-lubberly day we had.”
Weevy-Weevy followed him along the face of the cliff till they came to a
tiny cave in the rock-wall. Unlike the seagull quarters, it was neat clean and
very snug. The inside was lined with the softest breast down. It was as white
as newly fallen snow.
A stone outcrop slanted across the cave's entrance and this acted as a
natural windbreak.
“This is our small guest room,” said the Admiral. “It's ship-shape and
should be comfortable.”
“Very cosy it looks.”
“Aye, not a bad hammock, for a small sleeper.”
As he bade Weevy-Weevy “good-night” he said:
“Any strange noises you hear in the night will be the changing of the
watches. We never sleep unguarded.”
“I'm used to that. The rooks always have a sentry on watch.”
“Indeed, that's interesting. Do they have a password?”
“I have never heard any but ‘Caw-Caw’.”
“We have a different pass-word every night. What do you suppose it is
tonight?”
Weevy-Weevy shook his head.
“It's Weevy-Weevy,” said the Admiral.
“My name! How did you know?”
“A little bird told me,” said the old gull as he rose and flapped away
into the darkness.
-oOo-oOo
The seagull colony was astir early. Roused by the shrill cries,
Weevy-Weevy left his downy bed. He washed his face in a little pool of fresh
rainwater. Then he admired himself in another pool which was still and clear as
a mirror. He was making faces at his reflection when two gulls arrived with his
breakfast. It was a fresh mussel and ship's biscuit. He ate heartily. The sea
air had sharpened his appetite and he had grown used to the salty food. He was
just finishing his biscuit when the Admiral swept in.
“Good morning!” he croaked. “Glad to see you are not a lie-abed. Lubbers
are often lie-abeds. Seafaring folk rise with the sun.”
“A good idea, I'm sure. You finish work early and have lots of time to
play.”
“Work! I'm glad you mentioned that word, Weevy-Weevy. I need your help.”
“I'll be happy to help if I can. Whatever can I do?”
The Admiral explained:
“It's like this,” he said gravely, “we're in trouble ..... serious
trouble. We need a very special kind of
help. We think you may be able to give us that help.”
“It sounds very mysterious. Do tell me.”
The Admiral glanced round, taking in the whole scene very carefully.
“You notice,” he said, “that our colony is sited well above the shore
and well below the cliff walk. There is no need to explain why. It saved us any
bother, you know. Now and then a daring lad would drop by rope from the cliff
top and make off with an egg or two. We made a great fuss but that was to scare
him more than anything. He never could do much damage. But lately .....”
“But lately, what?”
“A craftier raider has been invading our nests. She's a WITCH. They say
that she's THE VERY LAST WITCH IN THE WORLD. She has a broomstick. She can fly
in on it and out again before you could say ‘feathers’. She swoops up whole
clutches of eggs and carries them off in her apron.”
“How awful! Can't you scare her away?”
“We yell and scream like mad, but she takes no notice. When we fly in
her face she dodges. If we get too near she flaps her magic cloak and blows us
back. It takes magic to counter magic. That is why we thought you could help.”
“Oh dear, I wish I could.”
“You must try. This witch is going to be the death of us. The damage she
does is terrible. She upsets nests, breaks eggs, makes the most awful havoc.
She gets bolder and more careless all the time. We live in dread of the next
nesting season. It is tragic to see nests destroyed, eggs broken, chicks left
homeless and exposed to the spring cold.”
There were tears in Weevy-Weevy's eyes.
“I don't know how I can help. But I'll try. I promise. Have you any idea
where I can find the witch?”
“Alas, that I can't,” said the Admiral sadly. “The only person who might
know is the Jovial Giant. They used to be on visiting terms. But he never goes
out now. I believe he sleeps nearly all the time, I don't know if he has any
visitors.”
“He is going to have one soon,” said Weevy-Weevy. “I'll find him out, if
he is to be found at all.”
“I am sure you will,” said the Admiral, “and how grateful we shall be.”
He could see that the little man meant business. He did not attempt to
delay him any longer but summoned Silverwings immediately.
Before he took his leave of the Admiral, Weevy-Weevy explained that he
had to finish his mission to the Humans.
“Then I shall have all the time to search out the Jovial Giant. You will
be patient won't you?”
The Admiral nodded. “Of course, of course,” he said gruffly.
-oOo-oOo
When Weevy-Weevy reached home he had a great deal of thinking to do. He
had promised to help the seagulls. But first, he must finish the Queen's
business. There were people to seek out and gifts to present.
The thought struck him that he had not yet visited a large town or city.
Nor did he know whether towns people differed from country people. It was possible
that, even in large towns, there were people who half believed in fairies. He
decided to go and find out.
On the following morning he rose early, shined up his Flying Pan, made
himself as neat and clean as a new pin and packed some food for the journey. He
was not sure which way to go in search of a city. Then he remembered that
trains always ran between large towns and, if you followed a working train, you
were bound to come to a metropolis sooner or later. It was only retired steam
trains like the one he had ridden a few days earlier that chuffed about the
meadows and woods by winding branch-lines.
A busy line passed through the market town where he had found his Flying
Pan. He flew to the station and waited. At last he heard the sound of a diesel engine
and the rattle of coaches. When the train drew in he decided on the spur of the
moment to ride to the city in style. He hopped into the luggage van and hid his
Flying Pan. Then he found himself a window ledge in the dining car and settled
to enjoy the journey.
Miles and miles of track disappeared under the train's wheels. Acres and
acres of fields and woods flashed past. They crossed rivers and crawled through
hills. They whizzed past towns and villages. Sometimes they stopped. Once or
twice Weevy-Weevy thought of alighting, but however big and important a town
looked, he knew that at the end of the line there was an even bigger and
grander town. At last they were chugging through the suburbs of a great city.
What a size! It sprawled so that it seemed to blot out all green country
for ever after. It was full of sound and life. There were people everywhere
..... thousands of people. There must be some among them who half-believed in
fairies.
When he had recovered his Flying Pan, he flew over the city. At first he
could see nothing but rows of solemn houses with scarcely a patch of green to
make a safe landing place. The lawns and gardens looked very small. They were
overlooked by many windows and, it seemed, were policed by cats or dogs who
might make a fuss.
A large patch of green came into view. It had a great many trees and
shrubs and bright flower-beds. In the centre there was a pond with ducks
swimming and splashing about. There were seats by the pond and many people had
gathered to watch the ducks.
To Weevy-Weevy the park seemed very neat and tidy after the
raggle-taggle of the countryside. The grass was as smooth as velvet; the shrubs
were clipped to shape; the flowers were set out in patterns. Even the trees
stood stiffly as guardsmen. But the ducks looked jolly. They made everybody
laugh when they dived upside-down after crumbs. Weevy-Weevy stood by the edge
of the lake. But these city ducks took not the slightest notice of him. They
were too busy doing head-stands for the crowd and squabbling over the bread
thrown to them. It was very sad to be ignored by the ducks.
Children's voices drew his attention. They were coming from a well
scuffed playground. There were children swinging on swings, sliding down
shutes, climbing frames, riding the roundabout. Some tiny children were digging
in the sand-pit. A few were chasing each other in a noisy game of tag. Not one
took any notice of Weevy-Weevy. Not one seemed to sense his presence.
A terrier came bounding through the bushes. He stopped dead in front of Weevy-Weevy
and began sniffing the ground. He followed the scent, head down, till he bumped
into the little man. When he saw him he barked and wagged his tail.
“Hello,” he wuffed. “Race you!”
He started off at a great pace, then stopped suddenly. A woman's voice
was calling out, “
Weevy-Weevy looked after him sadly. Then his face brightened. He had
found one friend in the city. There must be other friendly animals and birds.
Perhaps there were friendly people. It was up to him to find them.
He decided to walk. He hid his Flying Pan an under a clump of azaleas
and sauntered through the park gate. He found himself in a quiet street. On one
side ran the park railings. On the other, tall dignified houses stood
overlooking the park. There were brass plates on their doors. He ran across the
street to look. There were names on the brass plates. He scratched his head.
“Of course,” he said to himself. “This is just like Owl and me. X. Brown
lives on the ground, Y. Black lives above, Z Green lives at the top. I suppose
they put their names here to remind themselves who they are and where they
live. It must be quite easy to lose yourself, or your house, in a big city like
this.”
Most of the tall houses were let out in flats, or offices, or consulting
rooms. Behind the curtains of some windows he saw people moving about.
Sometimes he had to stand aside to let someone pass. In and out he went, up and
down steps, making his own survey of the street and its inhabitants. Many of
them looked very nice people indeed. He would have liked to make their
acquaintance. But they gave no hint that they sensed his magic. What a pity
such lovely people did not believe in fairies.
At the end of the street he came to a house with only one nameplate on
the door. He thought the house had a homely look. One family must live here,
for all the curtains matched. He began to clamber up the steps. He hauled
himself up inch by inch only to find that his way was blocked. A boy was
sitting on the top step. His fair hair fell about his face. He was bending over
a sketching pad. Weevy-Weevy stared straight up into his blue eyes. They were
large and dreamy and the lashes were long and fine as silk. The boy's mouth was
slightly open and his tongue stuck out at the corner. He was very intent on
what he was doing.
Weevy-Weevy was curious about this pale, lonely boy. He was also very
curious to see the drawing. There was a tall stone urn full of flowers by the
boy's elbow. He shinned up the pedestal, then sought out footholds in the
carving. Using these, he worked his way round the urn till he could swing into
the crook of the handle. Astride the handle, he had a clear view over the boy's
shoulder.
The boy had made a fine pencil sketch of a fairy palace. It stood on a
hill and had many turrets and towers and crenellated parapets. A long winding
stair led up to its main door. There were many tall, pointed windows. Above the
door there was one window shaped like a rose.
Weevy-Weevy was so interested in taking in all the details of the sketch
that he leant over too far. He almost lost his balance. To save himself he
clutched at the boy's shoulder.
The boy gave a slight shiver. He looked up suddenly, his face flushed
with excitement.
“I've had a brain-wave,” he said. “Inspiration!”
He bent to his drawing with new interest. His hand moved over the pad as
though by magic. The lines fell into place. The smudges disappeared. He
finished the picture and held it at arm's length.
“It's good,” he said, “better than anything I ever drew. I felt the
inspiration ..... the magic in my arm. Just that little touch on my shoulder,
and then it was all so easy. I suppose I shall never know what touched me.”
He was signing his name on the drawing when something like a drop of dew
fell on his wrist and rolled down his thin fingers. It fell exactly in the
centre of the rose window above the palace door. It did not smudge and spread
like a dewdrop. Instead it lay quite still. It was like a tiny piece of
amber-coloured glass. Caught in a gleam of sun, it blazed with light.
The light from the stone filled the whole window. It spread and spread
till all the windows lit up. Presently the whole palace was bathed in golden
sunshine. The boy gasped with astonishment.
But Weevy-Weevy had not finished. He leapt onto the drawing, landing
just at the feet of the stone stair. He began climbing. The boy could scarcely
believe his eyes as he saw the little figure mounting his stairway. Weevy-Weevy
reached the door of the palace. A light touch of his finger-tips and it swung
open. For a few moments all the colour and sparkle of its treasure was
revealed. The boy gasped as he stared into the jewelled and glowing interior.
Then, softly and slowly, the door swung to again. Weevy-Weevy turned with a
grin.
“I like your palace,” he said. “I couldn't resist having a peep inside.”
“I must be dreaming,” the boy murmured.
“Perhaps,” said Weevy-Weevy. “You are a dreamer, but until now you saw
only the outlines of things. Now you have the Queen's gift, you can look
inside.”
“The Queen's gift! You mean the coloured stone. Is it really a gift
..... for keeps?”
“Yes, a gift ..... for keeps ..... from the Fairy Queen.”
“Why did she choose me?”
“Because you have already got a gift of seeing things. Let me sit by you
and explain.”
Weevy-Weevy sat on the palace steps and looked up into the boy's face.
He told of his mission and adventures. And the boy told him how he had lost his
mother in car accident, and how he had been nearly killed himself.
“I was ill for a long time. I am not quite better yet. My father worries
about me ..... and our housekeeper. She is very kind, but she does fuss. Oh
dear, I believe I hear her coming.”
“Put the stone in your pocket,” said Weevy-Weevy. “Keep it very
carefully. It will help you to see things as they are. One day you will be a
great artist. I shall follow your career with interest.”
The boy did as Weevy-Weevy had told him. As he tucked the stone away he
felt a package rustle in his pocket. He had been saving this treasure.
“I say, Weevy-Weevy,” he said holding it out to the little man. “Here's
a small gift for yourself. Turkish Delight. It's a bit squashed, but I hope you
will enjoy it.”
“I'm sure I shall,” said Weevy-Weevy as he skipped away, “I'm starving.”
They could hear the housekeeper's footsteps coming along the hallway.
“John! John!” she was calling. “Isn't it time you came in. You have been
sitting quite long enough on that doorstep. Can't imagine why. There's nothing
to see.”
John smiled to himself as he gathered up his pad and pencils.
-oOo-oOo
It was too late for Weevy-Weevy to return to the Silver Spinney. Besides
he wanted to see more of the city. The winking lights and the colourful
shop-window displays fascinated him. The traffic was quite terrifying, but he
found that he could see enough on one side of the street.
He did not attempt to cross till he came to an open square with a
stretch of green in the centre. It looked very peaceful and inviting. Beside
the many flower-beds, there were seats for people to rest. Though it was
getting late, there were quite a number of people sitting there taking their
ease.
Weevy-Weevy felt he must get to this garden of rest. It meant crossing a
very busy road. But, sooner or later, he
must get used to crossing busy roads. He darted out two or three times, but
each time was forced to draw back as great wheels bore down upon him. He wished
that he had brought his Flying Pan.
“You in trouble, mate?” a voice spoke beside him. “Got yourself lost in
the big city, by the look of you.”
He turned to see a pair of bright, beady eyes looking straight into his
own. The sparrow, though his coat was rather sooty, stood at his ease on the
edge of the kerb. He was a real bird-about-town, Weevy-Weevy could see. But he
seemed friendly and helpful.
“You're right, more or less,” he said. “I'm not exactly lost, because I
have nowhere to be lost from.”
“You mean you have no lodgings for the night.”
“That's right.”
“Left it a bit late, didn't you?”
“Well I was thinking I could camp for the night in that green garden
..... if I could get over the road.”
“That's easy,” said the sparrow perkily, “just hop on my back and I'll
ferry you over.”
Weevy-Weevy climbed on the sparrow's back.
“Hold on tight!” said the sparrow, and took off.
They skimmed over the heads of the people, over the cars and lorries and
buses. On the far side, the sparrow was just swinging in to land when a thought
struck him.
“Say mate,” he said, “why don't you come home with me. My missus would be
right mad if she thought I left a distinguished guest like yourself to camp out
in a noisy square, and us having a spare room and all.”
Weevy-Weevy accepted the invitation with pleasure. He had visions of a
good supper and a warm bed ..... and somebody his own size to talk to.
“Ups-a-daisy,” said the sparrow, and rose into the dusky air.
He was quite a heavy burden for the little sparrow. The journey had to
be made in stages. The first hop brought them to a town garden.
“Watch out for cats,” said the sparrow.
A great many flowers bloomed in this small area. Their blooms were heavy
with the evening dew. Weevy-Weevy tipped up a snapdragon and drank the sweet
liquid. The sparrow had not seen that trick before.
“Hm!” he said, “you do yourself proud, don't you. Me, I just drink from
rain puddles.”
“Try this,” said Weevy-Weevy helping him to a cupful.
The sparrow let the sweet scented liquid trickle down his throat. He
nodded in approval.
“Now that's something like a drink for a hard-working sparrow,” he said.
Together they made the round of various flowers, sampling the different
flavours. They quiet forgot time till the clock on a church tower struck nine.
“I say,” said the sparrow, “we'd better be getting along. Missus will be
in a proper mood. Still she can't say much in front of a stranger.”
By quick spurts and abrupt stops, they made their journey through and
over the maze of streets. The sparrow skimmed roofs and wove among chimneys
till a tall tower rose to view. It was a feature of an ancient church that
stood brooding in a dingy run-down street.
“This is where I hang out,” he said. “I'm quite proud of it. You could
say it's my ancestral mansion.”
The sparrow and his mate had built their nest by the water-spout in
mouth of a grinning gargoyle which peered out from a flying buttress. The
entrance to the sparrow's home was by the gargoyle's stone lips. It looked very
grand to Weevy-Weevy. As the sparrow landed on the lower lip a tiny figure came
fluttering to meet him.
“A fine time of night, this is to be gallivanting about the city?” she
twittered shrilly. “In bad company, I suppose ..... oh dear, who's that on your
back?”
“I beg your pardon, ma'am,” said Weevy-Weevy, as he dismounted and swept
her a bow, “I delayed your husband. But, only for him I'd have lost myself,
altogether. I'm a stranger in this town.”
“Well I never did!” she exclaimed. “If you aren't a fairy man. Did I
ever think I'd have the honour of entertaining one of the magical gentry. You
will come in and have a bite of supper with us, now that you're here?”
“Delighted, I'm sure,” Weevy-Weevy replied with gusto.
She led him into the gargoyle's mouth. On hands and knees he followed up
the slippery piping to her cosy nest which was wedged high in the stone cheek.
She held out a wing for him to grasp as he heaved himself into the nest.
“It's a bit cramped,” she chirped, “but we're lucky in these days of
housing shortages to have a laughing gargoyle's cheek to build in. The cross
ones suck their cheeks in so there's not room to flip a feather. Comfortable bed, isn't it? Used nothing but
the best materials.”
Indeed the nest was very cosy. He could have curled up in its downy
depths and fallen asleep. But he was hungry. His rescuer had disappeared.
“He's gone down to the fish-and-chipper,” his wife explained. “Don't you
drop off till he comes now.”
The sparrow was back in a jiffy.
“Grub's up,” he called cheerfully. “Come and get it.”
“I say, you did well tonight,” his wife said as she pecked open the
package.
“I did that ..... found half a supper by the bus stop ..... still in the
bag ..... still warm. Somebody rushing to catch the bus.”
The three gathered about the warm supper. The best morsels were pressed
on Weevy-Weevy. He had not tasted such food before and found it much to his
liking.
The three ate heartily. Then they swopped stories till it was time for
sleep. The sparrows perched on the rim of the nest while Weevy-Weevy curled up
inside.
“We don't sleep there anyway,” they assured him. “That is the nursery
you know, but we have no children at the moment.”
He slept till the sun was high in the sky. It was strange to wake to the
rumble of the city far below.
-oOo-oOo
After breakfast, the sparrow offered to taxi Weevy-Weevy where he
wished. He described the park where he had met the terrier. They flew there and
checked that the Flying Pan was safe. Then they returned to the spot where they
had met on the evening before.
“I want to cross that road all by myself,” said Weevy-Weevy, “I was glad
of your help last night, but I could not go back and tell the Queen that I was
too scared to cross a road in the modern Upper World.”
“Right Ho!” said the sparrow. “I get your point. I don't like to be
beaten myself. Good luck to you.”
Weevy-Weevy did not feel so scared of the traffic in broad daylight. He
studied how the people crossed the road. They waited at a place where there
were stripes painted on the road. When the lights changed from red to green,
they crossed in safety while the motor traffic waited. Having found out how to
use a zebra crossing, he amused himself for some time by crossing and
recrossing with the hurrying people.
When he began to tire of this game, he caught sight of a jeweller's
window. The sunlight glanced off its shining display. The gold and silver
shimmered. The gems flashed and glittered. They reminded him that he had yet
two stones left in his waistcoat pocket.
He could not spend the whole day playing games with the zebra crossing,
or staring in shop-windows. He turned from the window and walked smartly along
the busy street.
There were many things to draw his attention. A pet shop made him halt
in his tracks. There were young puppies in the window. They looked very sad.
They seemed to be begging the passersby to come in and buy them out of their
prison. There were cages with brightly coloured birds. They looked as though
they would like to spread their wings and fly. There was a slow tortoise and
nimble white mice. There were hamsters on a climbing-wheel and goldfish
swimming round and round in bowls.
Weevy-Weevy had never seen birds and animals in captivity. He was very
sorry for them but could not see any way of setting them free. He could try to
make them happier, he thought. He made faces at the puppies and they stared in
surprise. He turned a somersault on the window sill and they wagged their
tails. He danced up and down and the birds began to sing.
As he tried one antic after another, the watchers in the window grew
more and more excited. There were such bursts of song, wuffs of delight,
tail-waggings, scamperings and scratchings, that the shopkeeper came to see
what was causing it. He saw nothing except the excited birds and animals. As he
stood, scratching his head in wonder, Weevy-Weevy slipped away.
He turned down a quiet side-street. A few blocks along he came to a very
large building that did not seem to have any windows. The walls were covered in
posters which seemed miles high. They had pictures of beautiful young girls and
handsome men in strange, brightly coloured dress. Some stood on tip-toe, some
knelt, some seemed to fly through the air. One face appeared in several
pictures. She was very beautiful. Weevy-Weevy stared at a picture in which a
young man held her high in the air. She looked as light as a feather. Indeed
she reminded him of his Queen.
He slipped in by a side door and found himself in a dimly lit passage.
At the far end he could just see a flight of stairs leading upwards. He
scurried along the passage and began to clamber up the stairs. The risers were
very high. He had to drag himself up from step to step. It took him a long time
to scale the height.
He found himself in a dim and draughty area. It was full of shadows and
strange billowy shapes. It was so silent that the shadows seemed to hold their
breaths. Waiting. Then the music began.
Where the music came from, he did not know. It was music for dancing. It
made his toes itch. He began stepping in time to the lively beat. As he danced, he moved nearer to the music,
but he could not see the orchestra, for a heavy curtain blocked his view.
The music stopped suddenly. There was a shuffle of feet, and voices
talked together. He could heat a lady's voice, very clear and just beyond the
curtain. She seemed to be giving instructions. Other voices spoke from farther
away in what sounded like a big hall. Then the music started again. The same
passage was repeated, not once, but several times. He could hear the faint thud
and shuffle of slippered feet on an empty stage.
Weevy-Weevy danced too. He whirled round and round till he came to a gap
in the curtain. Out on the stage he spun. On the bare boards, under strong
lights, a group of dancers were rehearsing. The lady whose voice he had heard
appeared to be their teacher. A little knot of people watched from the stalls.
Tonight was to be the big opening of the season, Weevy-Weevy gathered. The
chorus of the ballet was being put through its paces.
Except that they were so much taller, the dancers were not so different
from Weevy-Weevy. Their tights were like his own green hose. They were neat and
swift and graceful in their movements. He mingled amongst them, weaving in and
out of the dance pattern as though it were the most natural thing. Not a soul
detected his presence.
When the particular passage had been well rehearsed, there was a short
rest. Then the chorus began from the beginning, this time with no interruption.
They reached a frenzy of skipping and leaping and whirling at great speed. Then
the music began to die. As it grew lower and softer the chorus moved to a
graceful conclusion. Like rose petals they drifted to rest in a semicircle on
the bare stage. Their heads drooped like sleeping flowers.
The music was a mere whisper. Out of the whisper a single wild note rose
like the call of a blackbird. It soared and swelled. Other instruments took it
up. The orchestra added one after the other of its many voices till there was a
great crescendo of exciting music. The dancers on the floor quivered like
leaves in a rising storm.
Like a whirlwind, she passed his ear. He hardly knew what had happened
till he saw her there on the centre stage. She moved into the first steps of
her solo. Weevy-Weevy forgot to dance. He stood, enraptured watching. She
floated like thistledown. Her face was flushed, her eyes bright. He had never
seen anyone so lovely and graceful in all his life ..... not even the Fairy
Queen.
Yet her face was familiar. Where had he seen it? Of course, she was the
beautiful dancer on the posters. She was far more beautiful than the posters
showed.
He had danced with the Fairy Queen. He would dance with the Queen of the
Ballet. Unseen, he took his place opposite her. He moved as she moved, rose on
his toes, twirled, glided, soared and drooped. They moved in perfect harmony.
And as they danced he watched her face. It was the face of someone in a dream
..... a beautiful dream. He knew that she was in his magic spell. Never had she
danced like this.
When she finally sank to the floor there was a spontaneous burst of
applause from the group in the stalls, and from the chorus on the stage. They
had seen what Weevy-Weevy had seen. They had appreciated the magic.
-oOo-oOo
Weevy-Weevy followed the ballerina from the stage and along the
corridor. He just managed to dart into her dressing room before she closed the
door. When she took the stool before her dressing-table, he sank panting, at
her feet. He saw her lean over to look in her own bright eyes, heard her
murmur:
“It was magic ..... sheer magic. If only the same magic would work
tonight.”
“It will,” Weevy-Weevy said.
He had hopped on the toe of her slipper. She could feel the slight
weight but she could not see him yet.
“Where are you?” she asked. “What did you say?”
“I said the magic would work tonight. It will work even better. I will
be at the ballet and you will know I am there. You will dance as you have never
done ..... as few people have ever done.”
“Oh my dear, kind, encouraging sprite, please let me see you,” she
pleaded.
“Pick up the Queen's gift and you will see me. It's here, at your toe.”
The ballerina looked down. There lay the tiny stone at her feet. It
shone green and bright as a clear stream. It was the colour of her own
sparkling eyes. She bent down and picked it up.
“Aren't you going to lift me up too?” asked the tiny voice.
Then she saw Weevy-Weevy perched on her slipper. She held out her hand
to him. Soon he was sitting astride the handle of her hair-brush on the
dressing table and making faces at himself in the tall mirror.
The dancer allowed him to amuse himself for a few minutes. Then he
noticed that she was waiting and turned away from his own reflection. They had
a long conversation, but it was, at last, interrupted by a knock on the door. A
messenger had come to remind the dancer that she must have some lunch and a
long rest.
“I think I need some lunch and a long rest too,” said Weevy-Weevy,
laughing.
“Of course you do,” the dancer laughed back, “and you shall have both.
You will drive with me to my hotel this very minute.”
Weevy-Weevy had never ridden in a car before. He perched on the back of
her seat as the dancer drove through the busy streets. If only the sparrow
could see him now ..... or his friends in the Silver Spinney. What ever would
Dr. Owl say?
The ballerina ordered lunch in her room. Weevy-Weevy squatted under a
centrepiece of flowers and watched the waiter arrange the table. The food was
dainty and smelt delicious. His new friend picked out some of the tastiest
morsels for him. She allowed him to use his fingers and to eat from the side of
her plate.
“When I get back to my underground home I am going to ask the
silver-smith to make a set of cutlery just for me. Do let me watch how you use
a knife and fork. I really must learn before I am any older.”
He was fascinated by the golden liquid in her glass. It made him feel thirsty.
“Is that nectar?” he asked.
“Not exactly,” she told him. “It is wine. It is made from grape juice.
Would you like a little?”
He nodded. She let him have a few sips. He liked the taste very much.
Then she let him taste her black coffee, but he did not care for that. He had a
tiny bite of a crisp red apple. Then he felt so drowsy that he could hardly
keep his eyes open.
The green stone lay on the white tablecloth by the dancer's plate. She
had been glancing at it from time to time all through the meal.
“I would like to give your Queen a gift,” she said. “Can you suggest
something?”
“I would suggest one of your slippers, but I fear I could not get it in
my pocket.”
“Never mind,” she said, “you have given me an idea.”
She disappeared for a few minutes. Then she came back with a silver box
in her hands. It was full of bits and pieces of jewellery. It looked most
interesting. Weevy-Weevy leaned over to look in. He leant too far and toppled
in among the bangles and beads. The dancer lent him her finger as a gangplank.
They both laughed so much over that that he fell in again. This time they were
very solemn till he had climbed out and seated himself on a velvet pincushion.
The dancer hunted among her treasures till she found her charm
bracelet. She ran her fingers over the various charms till she came to
the tiny silver shoe. This she removed and handed to Weevy-Weevy.
“Do you think your Queen would like it?” she asked.
“I'm quite sure she would love it. What a perfect little shoe!”
“It was made as a gift for me many years ago. My friend was an old
silversmith with a brown wrinkled laughing face like yours, Weevy-Weevy. He
said it would bring me luck. It always has.”
“Then I cannot take it from you, my dear, I cannot take your gift.”
“You have given me another in its stead. Take it for your Queen.”
Weevy-Weevy took the tiny slipper and tucked it away in his pocket.
“Before you go,” said the dancer, “is there anything you would like for yourself?”
“After that wonderful meal, there is nothing,” he said, “except to watch
you dancing.”
“That you will see. Now let us have a good rest.”
They rested all the afternoon, the ballerina on her bed, Weevy-Weevy in
one of her slippers. At length the tinkle of china woke them. A dainty tray had
been placed on the table by her bed. Weevy-Weevy tasted tea for the first time.
He found it very refreshing. After that he got himself washed and brushed up in
readiness for the ballet.
They travelled to the theatre in a taxi this time. Weevy-Weevy followed
the dancer up the stairs to her dressing room. Not one saw or sensed him as
they passed.
“I must bid you good-bye,” he said sadly. “I shall not stay after your
solo, for I have a long journey before me. Good luck, my dear ..... very good
luck!”
He took up his stand in the wings and waited for her to appear. The time
did not seem long for now he had all the costumes and scenery to admire. Now
and then he skipped a few steps of a dance, but he did not venture on the stage
any more.
At last his beautiful friend had the centre of the stage to herself.
Even as she danced the audience could hardly restrain their applause.
Weevy-Weevy felt the excitement grow in the auditorium. He could see the chorus
posed on the stage. Their eyes were spell-bound. When she finally sank to the
stage, the whole audience rose to clap and cheer. Tomorrow the press critics
would give her rave notices. Weevy-Weevy threw his red hat in the air and
whooped for joy. Then, blowing her a farewell kiss, he sped away down the
shadowy stairs.
He ran all the way to the park, never noticing the distance. It no
longer seemed difficult to avoid passing feet or to cross roads. He hurried to
the azaleas where he had hidden his Flying Pan. There it was, safe and sound.
But it had an occupant .... a sleeping hedgehog. He looked too prickly to poke.
Weevy-Weevy put his fingers to his lips and blew a shrill whistle. The hedgehog
stirred and muttered:
“What's the matter? What's the matter? Why can't you let a hard-working
chap have his sleep?”
“You're welcome to sleep as much as you like, but not in my Flying Pan.
I need it to get back to my own bed. And that's a long way away.”
The hedgehog opened his eyes and stared at Weevy-Weevy.
“So it's one of you folk,” he said, “sorry I was short with you, I'm
sure.”
“Never mind that,” said Weevy-Weevy. “Just let me get my Flying Pan
out.”
“Your Flying Pan?” So that's what it is. An excellent Flying Pan no
doubt, but a very uncomfortable bed.”
“In which case you won't mind if I take it.”
“Not at all, my dear fellow. Not at all. Take it, by all means.”
The hedgehog rolled right out of the pan and curled up in a round
prickly ball under the shrubs. Even the most inquisitive terrier could hardly
find him.
Weevy-Weevy took off into a sky brilliant with stars. His journey back
to the Silver Spinney took all night and part of the next day. He was very
tired when the trees of his home village rose into view.
-oOo-oOo
It was late afternoon when Weevy-Weevy reached his home in the hollow
oak. He was tired and lay down on his mossy couch. Soon he was fast asleep. For
hours no sound came from the oak tree except a great snore from Owl and a tiny
snore from Weevy-Weevy.
Owl woke first. It was his hoot that roused Weevy-Weevy. He jumped up,
stretched and yawned, and found that he was well rested and ready for another
adventure. The Spinney was quiet except for an occasional chirrup or rustle.
All the birds and animals had gone to rest.
It was a new thing for Weevy-Weevy to be out by himself in the Spinney.
He climbed the mound under which Badger lived. There he sat thinking over all
the things that had happened. A picture of the engine came into his mind, all
smoke and steam and sparks and flame. So clear was it in his mind that he was
not at all surprised when a red glow started up at the edge of the plantation.
He waited for the huffing and puffing sound but none came. Then he saw that the
glow came from a fire which had just been kindled. He crept very quietly
through the grass.
It took him a long time to weave through the long grass and bracken and
fern. As he drew near the fire he heard voices and the sounds of people moving
quietly about. A grinding noise made him jump. Just a few feet from him a
piebald pony was cropping the grass.
A small camp had been set up. By the light of the wood fire, Weevy-Weevy
could see a gaily painted caravan drawn up under a tree. A woman bent over the
fire. She was throwing herbs into a pot. The pot bubbled and boiled and sent
out a savoury smell that made him feel hungry.
A young woman was seated on a log holding a baby in her arms. As she
rocked the baby to and fro she sang in a low sweet voice. The baby whimpered
now and then, each time more faintly, as it drowsed off. He could hear other
children darting among the trees. They were gathering wood for the fire. They
brought armful after armful to keep the blaze going. The old woman smiled and
told them what good children they were, and that their supper would soon be
ready.
He could hear men's voices. There were two of them and they were putting
up a tent. One was a young man; the other quite old for he had a white beard.
Presently they came forward into the light of the fire and rolled logs forward
to sit on. Weevy-Weevy squatted beside them. He had a mind to get a share of
their savoury supper, even if it was only a fallen scrap. His mouth watered.
He must have fallen into a doze by the heat of the fire. In no time at
all, it seemed, the stew was ready, and the old woman was calling the children
to come and bring their plates. She ladled some of the stew on to every plate
and handed out great hunks of freshly cut bread. Weevy-Weevy admired her fine
brown hands as she ladled, and handed the plates and cut up the bread. He
admired her handsome face, her dark eyes and the big gold rings that dangled
from her ears.
He studied the group by the fire as they ate. He had a warm feeling of
kinship with these gypsy people. He liked to listen to their strange speech and
watch the firelight glancing off their dark hair and shining earrings. He liked
their brightly coloured clothes and their jingling bracelets. He would have
liked some of their supper, too. He waited patiently.
The old man was the last to finish. He mopped up every drop of the rich
gravy with his bread. His wife handed him a mug of tea.
“My dear wife,” he said, licking his lips, “that was the most delicious
stew I ever tasted. Another of your grandmother's secret recipes, eh?”
“No secret,” she said, “the same recipe I have used these thirty years.”
“Then there must have been a magic ingredient in it.”
“Magic indeed! It was your hunger made it taste so well. You haven't had
bite or cup since
“They say hunger's good sauce. It is too. It has put a flavour on many a
meal. But not like the flavour of this meal. I tell you, there is some magic
about. I feel it in my bones.”
Weevy-Weevy edged nearer the old man. Soon he was almost touching. The
old man fidgeted a little, but went on staring into the fire. The others took
no notice. They went on with their conversation. Weevy-Weevy made a point of
staring straight at the old woman. She read fortunes. She could see the future,
in a crystal ball. But she could not see the fairy by the fireside. She showed
no sign that she sensed anything strange. She counted the money in her leather
bag and noticed nothing. He had no faith in her fortune telling.
A shower of sparks made him
scurry away from the edge of the fire. In his haste he kicked up a cloud of
ash.
“What was that?” the young man asked.
“What do you mean?” asked his wife, sleepily.
“I don't know. Something ran through the ashes, just this minute.”
“A field mouse, maybe.”
“Ask your father,” the old woman said, “more than likely he'll tell you
it was a fairy.”
“And why wouldn't it be a fairy,” the old man said. “I wouldn't be at
all surprised ..... not this night, anyway. There's something strange about I
tell you.”
“Hsh, before the children start asking questions. We don't want them up
half the night.”
The young woman called the children together and began to prepare them
for bed. Her husband checked the tent ropes. The old woman moved away towards
the caravan. Soon all had disappeared. The old gypsy man sat alone by the
glowing embers. The wind in the trees sang a lullaby. Soon the old man's head
began to droop. He was almost asleep. Than he felt something cold fall on his
hand. He opened his eyes to see a tiny drop of dew twinkling in the starlight.
But he knew it was not dew. It was too clear and bright.
As he stared he saw, as if in a crystal ball, the flames and the stars
and the moving shadows of trees. Strange pictures and colour-patterns began to
appear. They kept changing. A story began to take shape. It was the story of
his own life. He saw the gypsy boy roving the country with his parents, making
camp by the wayside, visiting the fairs, putting the good wish and the bad wish
on the people he met. There were happy times and sad times; moments of
adventure and moments of great danger. He saw the first pony he had ridden and the
tree that had been struck by lightening. He saw the lights of the fairground
and the dark night of the floods. He saw the gypsy girl with whom he had fallen
in love. Their wedding feast rose clearly before him. He could hear the music
of gypsy violins.
“You can see the future in it too,” a tiny voice told him. There, by his
knee, stood Weevy-Weevy. The gypsy looked into his laughing brown eyes. In the
crystal the same eyes laughed up at him.
“I am seeing the future, I think,” he said. “I always hoped to see a
fairy some day. It was in the future. Now the future is here and I have got my
wish. I can hardly believe it.”
“You must believe what you see, Gypsy man. If you don't you will upset
my mission to the Humans. The Queen will be very upset.”
“I wouldn't want to upset your Queen ..... nor any of you little folk.
You have always been friends to the travelling people.”
“I think it is you who had the second sight,” said Weevy-Weevy. “If you
let me climb on your hand and hold the crystal, I think you will see the
thoughts in my head at this minute.”
The gypsy did as Weevy-Weevy suggested. At once he could see clearly
what thought was uppermost in the little man's head.
“You're hungry,” he said. “You want a bit of stew.”
Weevy-Weevy nodded till his tall hat nearly fell off.
“It's a good thing my wife never scrapes the pot. She always leaves a
bit for the fairies. She doesn't say that's why she does it. Lots of people
leave bits in their pots and on their plates and they couldn't say why they do
it. They don't want to seem greedy, they tell you. What they leave is not the
difference between greed and non-greed. It's just a meal for a fairy. Why down
deep they have the old belief in the wee folk still.”
Weevy-Weevy was very interested in this suggestion. Maybe the belief in
fairies and magic had life in its roots yet. The thought cheered him. He jigged
about as he waited for the gypsy to ladle out his supper. There was enough stew
left for him. The gypsy spread it on a sorrel leaf. Weevy-Weevy gobbled it up,
sorrel plate and all.
“Yum, that was good,” he said rubbing his stomach.
The two settled down for a long night's talking. The gypsy put a big log
on the fire that would last through the night. They had a great deal to say to
each other.
When dawn broke through the trees it was time to say good-bye. There
were tears in both their eyes. Weevy-Weevy smiled through his tears and held
out his little brown hand.
“Do not cry, Gypsy man,” he said gently. “This is not good-bye, really.
You have got the Queen's gift and I will tell you how to make a special use of
it. If you want to speak to me, just hold the stone in you palm and wish, and
there I will be right before your eyes.”
The old gypsy stared into the crystal. In its depths he saw Weevy-Weevy
wave farewell. When he looked up, he was alone. He remembered that he had given
Weevy-Weevy no gift. But it was not too late. He held the crystal and wished
and Weevy-Weevy stood before him.
“I have a gift that you must bear to your Queen,” he said. “It belonged
to the Queen of the Gypsies. It is a gift from one Queen to another, you could
say.”
He took a tiny snip of scarlet ribbon from a pocket in the lining of his
jacket and held it out to Weevy-Weevy.
“I have carried this about with me for many years. I met the Queen of
the Gypsies when I was a lad. She took a fancy to me and snipped the end from
her hair-ribbon and gave it to me as a souvenir.”
Weevy-Weevy shook his head.
“I couldn't take anything as precious as that,” he said.
“You must,” insisted the gypsy. “I kept that as my most precious
possession for many a year. Now I have a greater treasure ..... your Queen's
gift. In it I can see the living face of a friend. A living face is better than
a dying memory.”
Weevy-Weevy nodded gravely. He tucked the snippet of scarlet silk in his
waistcoat pocket where the precious stones had been. It was the second gift
that he could carry back to the land of fairy.
-oOo-oOo
Weevy-Weevy sat in a silver birch tree and watched the gypsies striking
camp. As the bright caravan turned out onto the main road, the old gypsy turned
and waved to him and he waved back.
When they had gone out of sight he felt very lonely. He also, for the
moment, felt at a loose end. He had made contact with several people, had
presented the Queen's gifts. He had satisfied himself that the birds, beasts
and insects still recognised fairies. His mission to the Upper World was
completed in good time. He must prepare to depart.
But a new thought struck him. There was another kind of world he had not
explored, another kind of being with whom he had not made contact. He had met
neither the Jovial Giant nor the Very Last Witch in the World. Indeed, until
the animals and birds had told him of these two, he had believed that giants
and witches were things of the past.
Perhaps they were doomed to disappear forever if nobody believed in
them, which was what the Queen had said about the fairies. The giant and the
witch were in a worse case, for not even the fairies really believed in them.
It was very serious for them. They were old enemies of course, but it was not
the fairy way to exterminate old enemies. He was sure the Queen would wish to
prove or disprove them. He began to rock to and fro on his branch. A thrush
eyed him curiously as he burst into a funny little song:
“I'm going to visit the Jovial Giant,
I'm going to see the giant today,
He sleeps afar in the misty mountain,
And I must be up and on my way.”
He boarded his Flying Pan and soon he was rising high in the bright
morning air. As he floated merrily along he sang:
“I'm going to visit the Jovial Giant,
I'm going to see the giant today,
The jolly old, laughing old, Jovial Giant,
Beyond the mountain so far away.”
By and by he caught up with a flock of swallows, who were soaring and
diving in a most energetic manner. They explained that they were exercising
their wings to strengthen them for their long flight south. Within a few days
they would be starting on their trek. The chilly autumn days were very near.
Weevy-Weevy agreed. He had noticed a nip in the air that very morning.
He had a question for the swallows, but it was some time till he could
get a word in amongst their chittering.
“Hi swallows!” he yelled at the top of his voice, “do you know where the
Jovial Giant lives?”
They shook their heads and went on soaring and diving and twittering
excitedly. If they had ever known anything about the Jovial Giant, they had
forgotten. Their minds were totally taken up with their forthcoming trip to the
sun. Amongst their twitter he picked up an absent-minded reply:
“Never heard of the Jovial Giant ..... never heard ..... don't know
..... we must fly ..... fly ..... get ready to fly ..... to fly away ..... away
..... away to the south ..... to the sunny south ..... the sunny south .....
the sunny, sunny, sunny ..... fly away south.”
Weevy-Weevy shrugged his shoulders. There was no use in repeating his
question to the swallows. They could think of nothing but the sunny south.
Maybe, like himself, they were homesick.
He steered from them towards the distant hills. They were a long journey
off but he flew on doggedly, asking no further questions of the birds he met in
mid-air. He would land in the mountains and ask an animal. Animals lived closer to the ground. They must
hear occasional rumours.
At last the mountains came into full view. There were green fields and cultivated patches on the lower slopes. Higher up the grass grew coarser and thinner. Outcrops of rock appeared. Gorse grew wild among the stone. Beyond the gorse the rock was stripped bare to the top of the mountain, but in pl