A Round Dozen

  THE TWO WISHES.

  PIEROT and Pierotte were a small brother and sister who were alwayswishing to be something that they were not, or to have something whichthey had not. They were not unhappy or discontented children,--far fromit. Their home, though poor, was comfortable; their parents, thoughstrict, were kind: they were used to both, and desired nothing better.Wishing with them was a habit, an idle game which they were foreverplaying. It meant little, but it sounded ill; and a stranger, listening,would have judged them less well-off and cheerful than they really were.

  "I wish I needn't wake up, but might lie still all day," was Pierotte'sfirst thought every morning; while Pierot's was, "I wish Pierottewasn't such a sleepy-head, for then we could get out before sunrise, andgather every mushroom in the meadow while the Blaize children are stillsnoring in their beds." Then later, at breakfast, Pierotte would say, "Iwish I were the Princess, to have coffee and white bread for my_dejeuner_, instead of tiresome porridge. I am tired of porridge. Whitebread and coffee must be better,--much better!" But all the time shespoke, Pierotte's spoon, travelling between her bowl and mouth, conveyedthe "tiresome" porridge down her throat as rapidly as though it were thefinest Mocha; and Pierotte enjoyed it as much, though she fancied thatshe did not.

  "I wish I were the young Comte Jules," Pierot would next begin in histurn. "No fagots to bind, no cow to fodder, no sheep to tend. Ah! a finelife he leads! Beautiful clothes, nothing to do. Six meals a day, two ofthem dinners, a horse to ride,--everything! I wish--"

  "And a nice yellow skin and eyes like boiled gooseberries," chimed inhis mother. "Better wish for these while you are about it. Much you knowof noblemen and their ways! Didst ever have an indigestion? Tell methat. When thou hast tried one, wish for it again, if thou canst."

  Then Pierot would laugh sheepishly, shoulder his hatchet, and go offafter wood, the inseparable Pierotte trotting by his side. As they went,it would be,--

  "I wish I were a bird," or "I wish we could jump like that grasshopper;"or, "Pierotte, I wish our godfather had left us his money. We should berich then."

  For the children had the same godfather. Pierotte first, and then Pierothaving been named after their father's cousin, a well-to-do peasant, whoit was expected would remember his little relatives in his will. Thishope had been disappointed, and the children's regrets were natural andexcusable, since even the wise dame, their mother, did not conceal heropinion of Cousin Pierre's conduct, which she considered irregular anddishonest. Children soon learn to join in chorus with older voices, andPierot and Pierotte, in this case, found it particularly easy, as itchimed with the habit of their lives.

  One warm July morning their mother roused them for an early breakfast,and sent them into the forest after wood.

  "My last fagot is in," she said. "You must bind and tie smartly to-day.And, Pierotte, help thy brother all that thou canst, for the fathercannot spare him to go again this week, and on Saturday is thesennight's baking."

  So they set forth. The sun was not fairly risen, but his light wentbefore his coming, and even in the dim forest-paths it was easy todistinguish leaf from flower. Shadows fell across the way from thetrees, which stood so motionless that they seemed still asleep. Heavydew hung on the branches; the air was full of a rare perfume, made upof many different fragrances, mixed and blended by the cunning fingersof the night. A little later, and the light broadened. Rays of sunfiltered through the boughs, a wind stirred, and the trees rousedthemselves, each with a little shake and quiver. Somehow, the forestlooked unfamiliar, and like a new place to the children that morning.They were not often there at so early an hour, it is true, but this didnot quite account for the strange aspect of the woods. Neither of themknew, or, if they knew, they had forgotten, that it was Midsummer's Day,the fairies' special festival. Nothing met their eyes, no whir of wingsor sparkle of bright faces from under the fern-branches, but a sense ofsomething unusual was in the air, and the little brother and sisterwalked along in silence, peering curiously this way and that, with aninstinctive expectation of unseen wonders.

  "Isn't it lovely?" whispered Pierotte, at last. "It never looked sopretty here as it does to-day. See that wild-rose,--how many flowers ithas! Oh! what was that? It waved at me!"

  "What waved?"

  "The rose. It waved a white arm at me!"

  "Nonsense! It was the wind," replied Pierot, sturdily, leading the wayinto a side-path which led off from the rose-bush.

  "Is it much farther where we get the wood?" asked Pierotte, for thechildren had been walking a considerable time.

  "Father said we were to go to the hazel copse," answered Pierot. "Wemust be almost there."

  So for half an hour longer they went on and on, but still no sign offallen trees or wood-choppers appeared, and Pierot was forced to confessthat he must have mistaken the road.

  "It is queer, too," he said. "There was that big red toadstool where thepaths joined. I noticed it the other day when I came with the father.What's the matter?" for Pierotte had given a sudden jump.

  "Some one laughed," said Pierotte, in an awe-struck tone.

  "It was a cricket or tree-toad. Who is here to laugh?"

  Pierotte tried hard to believe him, but she did not feel comfortable,and held Pierot's sleeve tight as they went. He felt the trembling ofthe little hand.

  "Pierotte, thou art a goose!" he said; but all the same he put his armround her shoulders, which comforted her so that she walked lesstimorously.

  One path after another they tried, but none of them led to the clearedspot where the fallen trees lay. The sun rose high, and the day grewwarmer, but in the forest a soft breeze blew, and kept them cool. Hourafter hour passed; the children had walked till they were tired. Theyrested awhile, ate half their dinner of curds and black bread, then theywent on again, turned, twisted, tried paths to right and paths to left,but still the dense woods closed them in, and they had no idea wherethey were or how they should go.

  Suddenly the track they were following led to a little clearing, inwhich stood a tiny hut, with a fenced garden full of cherry-trees androses. It was such a surprise to find this fertile and blooming spot inthe heart of the wild wood, that the children stood still with theirmouths open, to stare at it.

  "How strange!" gasped Pierot, when at last he found his voice. "Thefather always said that ours was the only hut till you got to the otherside the forest."

  "Perhaps this _is_ the other side," suggested Pierotte.

  An odd chuckling laugh followed this remark, and they became aware of anold woman sitting at the window of the cottage,--a comical old woman,with a stiff square cap on her head, sharp twinkling eyes, and a longhooked nose. As the children looked, she laughed again, and, extendingher finger, beckoned them to come nearer.

  Timidly they obeyed, setting down their big wood-basket at the gate. Theold woman leaned over the window to await them, her hand on a squareglass jar full of yellow liquid, in which floated what seemed to be apickled serpent with his tail in three coils, and the tip in his mouth.Pierotte shuddered at the serpent, but Pierot was bolder.

  "Did you want us, good madam?" he asked.

  "Want you? No," replied the "good madam." "How should I want you? I sawyou staring at my house as if your eyes would pop out of your heads, andI thought, perhaps, you wanted me."

  "It was only--we were only--surprised," stammered Pierot. "Because wedidn't know that there was a house here."

  "There was none last night, and there won't be any to-morrow morning--atleast--none for children to stare at," replied the old woman, coolly.

  "What _do_ you mean?" cried Pierot, astonished beyond measure. "How cana house be built in one night? And why won't it be here to-morrow?"

  "Because to-morrow won't be Midsummer's Day--and to-day is," replied theold woman; "and a fairy-house is visible to mortal eyes at that time,and no other."

  "Fairy-house!" faltered Pierot; while Pierotte, jumping more rapidly toa conclusion, fairly screamed: "Oh, Pierot! Madam, then, is a fairy! Areal fairy! P
ierot, think of it, only think of it!"

  "Very much at your service," said the old woman, with a malicious smile."Do you like fairies, then? Do you admire my pickled snake? Would youwish to pull some flowers?"

  Something in the smile made Pierotte draw back; but Pierot saidpolitely,--

  "One rose, perhaps--since Madam is so good."

  The fairy leaned out and plucked a rose from the vine which grew on thewall close by.

  "Now listen," she said. "Each of my roses encloses a wish. You are greatwishers, I know;" and her eyes twinkled queerly. "This time the wishwill come true, so take care what you are about. There will be no comingto get me to undo the wish, for I shan't be visible again till this timenext year on Midsummer's Day,--you know."

  "Oh, Pierot! what shall we wish for?" cried Pierotte, much excited; butthe old woman only repeated, "Take care!" drew her head in at thewindow, and all in a minute--how, they could not explain--the cottagehad vanished, the garden, the gate,--they were in the wood again, withnothing but trees and bushes about them; and all would have seemed likea dream, except for the red and fragrant rose which Pierot held in hishand.

  "What shall we wish for?" repeated Pierotte, as they seated themselvesunder a tree to talk over this marvellous adventure.

  "We must be very careful, and ask for something nice," replied Pierot.

  "It would be better to wait and think for a long time first," suggestedPierotte.

  "Thou art right. We will. Art thou not hungry?"

  "Oh, so hungry! Let us eat the rest of our bread now. I can't wait anylonger."

  So Pierot produced the big lump of bread, and divided it into two equalportions.

  "Look, look!" cried Pierotte, as her teeth met in the first mouthful. "Acherry-tree, brother,--a real cherry-tree here in the woods! And withripe cherries on it! How good some would be with our bread!"

  "First-rate!" cried Pierot; and, putting their bread carefully on thegrass, both ran to the tree. Alas! the boughs grew high, and thecherries hung far beyond their reach. Pierot tried to climb the tree,but the stem was both slight and slippery. Then they found a forkedstick, but vainly attempted to hook and draw down a branch.

  "Oh, dear! I wish we were both grown up," cried Pierot, panting withexertion.

  "So do I. If we were as old as father and mother, we could reach theboughs without even getting on tiptoe," chimed in Pierotte.

  Luckless words! As Pierot spoke, the rose, which he had stuck in hiscap, shrivelled and faded, while a queer sensation as if he were beingcarried up into the air swept over him. He clutched at something to holdhimself down. That something was the cherry-tree bough! He could reachit now, and as his eyes turned with dismay toward Pierotte, there shestood, also holding a twig of the tree, only two or three inches lowerthan his own. Her pretty round cheeks and childish curls were gone, andinstead of them he beheld a middle-aged countenance with dull hair, ared nose, and a mouth fallen in for lack of teeth. She, on her part,unconscious of the change, was staring at him with a horrifiedexpression.

  "Why, Pierot!" she cried at last, in a voice which sounded as old asher face, "how queer you look! You've got a beard, and your forehead isall criss-cross and wrinkly, and your chin rough. Dear me, how ugly youare! I never thought you could be so ugly."

  "Ugly, eh! Perhaps you would like to see your own face," said Pierot,enraged at this flattering criticism. "Just wait till we get home, and Ishow you the old looking-glass. But stay, we needn't wait;" and hedragged Pierotte to the side of a little pool of still water, which hadcaught his eye among the bushes. "Here's a looking-glass ready made," hewent on. "Look, Pierotte, and see what a beauty you have become."

  Poor Pierotte! She took one look, gave a scream, and covered her facewith her hands.

  "That me?" she cried. "Oh! I never, never will think it! What is thematter with us, Pierot? Was it that horrid fairy, do you think? Did shebewitch us?"

  "The wish!" faltered Pierot, who at that moment caught sight of thefaded rose in his cap. "I wished that we were both grown up, don't youremember? Oh, what a fool I was!"

  "You horrid boy! You have gone and wished me into an ugly old woman!I'll never forgive you!" sobbed Pierotte.

  "It was your wish too. You said you would like to be as old as fatherand mother. So you needn't call me horrid!" answered Pierot, angrily.

  Silence followed, broken only by Pierotte's sobs. The two old childrensat with their backs to each other, under different trees. By and byPierot's heart began to smite him.

  "It was more my fault than hers," he thought; and, turning round alittle way, he said coaxingly, "Pierotte."

  No answer. Pierotte only stuck out her shoulder a little and remainedsilent.

  "Don't look so cross," went on Pierot. "You can't think how horrid itmakes you--a woman of your age!"

  "I'm not a woman of my age. Oh, how can you say such things?" sobbedPierotte. "I don't want to be grown-up. I want to be a little girlagain."

  "You used to be always wishing you were big," remarked her now bigbrother.

  "Y--es, so I was; but I never meant all at once. I wanted to be bigenough to spin--and the--mother--was--going--to teach me," went on poorPierotte, crying bitterly, "and I wanted to be as big as LauraBlaize--and--pretty--and some day have a sweetheart, as shehad--and--but what's the use--I've lost it all, and I'm grown up, andold and ugly already, and the mother won't know me, and the father willsay, 'My little Pierotte--Coeur de St. Martin--impossible! get out, youwitch!'" Overcome by this dreadful picture, Pierotte hid her face andcried louder than ever.

  "I'll tell you what," said Pierot, after a pause, "don't let us go homeat all. We will just hide here in the woods for a year, and whenMidsummer's Day comes round, we'll hunt till we find the fairy houseagain, and beg the fairy, on our knees, for another wish, and if shesays 'yes,' we'll wish at once to be little just as we were thismorning, and _then_ we'll go home directly."

  "Poor mother; she will think we are dead!" sighed Pierotte.

  "That's no worse than if she saw us like this. I'd be conscripted mostlikely and sent off to fight, and me only twelve years old! And you'dhave a horrid time of it with the Blaize boys. Robert Blaize said youwere the prettiest girl in Balne aux Bois. I wonder what he'd say now!"

  "Oh, yes, let us stay here," shuddered Pierotte. "I couldn't bear to seethe Blaize boys now. But then--it will be dark soon--shan't you befrightened to stay in the woods all night?"

  "Oh! a man like me isn't easily frightened," said Pierot, stoutly, buthis teeth chattered a little.

  "It's so queer to hear you call yourself 'a man,'" remarked Pierotte.

  "And it's just as queer to hear you call yourself a little girl,"answered Pierot, with a glance at the antiquated face beside him.

  "Dear, how my legs shake, and how stiff my knees are!" sighed Pierotte."Do grown-up people feel like that always?"

  "I don't know," said Pierot, whose own legs lacked their oldspringiness. "Would you like some cherries now, Pierotte? I can reachthem easily."

  "Cherries! Those sour things? No, thank you. They would be sure todisagree with me," returned Pierotte, pettishly.

  "Times are changed," muttered Pierot; but he dared not speak aloud.

  "Where shall we sleep?" asked Pierotte.

  "Under the trees, so long as the summer lasts."

  "Gracious! We shall both die of rheumatism."

  "Rheumatism? What an idea for a child like you!"

  "I wish I _were_ a child," said Pierotte, with a groan. "Here's a treewith grass below it, and I'm getting tired and sleepy."

  When the brother and sister woke it was broad sunlight again.

  "One day gone of our year," said Pierot, trying to be cheerful.

  It was hard work as time went on, and with all their constant walkingand wandering they never seemed to find their way out of the forest, orof that particular part of it where their luckless adventure hadbefallen them. Turn which way they would, the paths always appeared tolead them round to the same spot; it was like b
ewitchment; they couldmake nothing out of it. The dulness of their lives was varied only by anoccasional quarrel. Pierot would essay to climb a tree, and Pierotte,grown sage and proper, would upbraid him for behaving sofoolishly,--"just like a boy,"--or he would catch her using the pool asa mirror, and would tease her for caring so much for a plain old facewhen there was nobody but himself to look. How the time went they had noidea. It seemed always daylight, and yet weeks, if not months, must havepassed, they thought, and Pierot at last began to suspect the fairy ofhaving changed the regular course of the sun so as to cheat them out ofthe proper time for finding her at home.

  "It's just like her," he said. "She is making the days seem all alike,so that we may not know when Midsummer comes. Pierotte, I'll tell youwhat, we must be on the lookout, and search for the little house everyday, for if we forget just once, that will be the very time, depend uponit."

  So every day, and all day long, the two old children wandered to and froin search of the fairy cot. For a long time their quest was in vain;but at last, one bright afternoon, just before sunset, as they wereabout giving up the hunt for that day, the woods opened in the samesudden way and revealed the garden, the hut, and--yes--at the window thepointed cap, the sharp black eyes. It was the fairy herself; they hadfound her at last.

  For a moment they were too much bewildered to move; then side by sidethey hurried into the garden without waiting for invitation.

  "Well, my old gaffer, what can I do for you, or for you, dame?" askedthe fairy, benevolently.

  "Oh, please, I am not a dame, he is not a gaffer," cried Pierotte,imploringly. "I am little Pierotte"--and she bobbed a courtesy. "Andthis is Pierot, my brother."

  "Pierot and Pierotte! Wonderful!" said the fairy. "But, my dearchildren, what has caused this change in your appearance? You have agedremarkably since I saw you last."

  "Indeed, we have," replied Pierot, with a grimace.

  "Well, age is a very respectable thing. Some persons are always wishingto be old," remarked the fairy, maliciously. "You find it muchpleasanter than being young, I dare say."

  "Indeed, we don't," said Pierotte, wiping her eyes on her apron.

  "No? Well, that is sad, but I _have_ heard people say the same beforeyou."

  "Oh, please, please," cried Pierot and Pierotte, falling on their kneesbefore the window, "please, dear, kind fairy, forgive us. We don't liketo be grown-up at all. We want to be little and young again. Please,dear fairy, turn us into children as we were before."

  "What would be the use?" said the old woman. "You'd begin wanting to besomebody else at once if you were turned back to what you were before."

  "We won't, indeed we won't," pleaded the children, very humbly.

  The fairy leaned out and gathered a rose.

  "Very well," she said. "Here's another wish for you. See that it is awise one this time, for if you fail, it will be of no use to come tome."

  With these words, she shut the blinds suddenly, and lo! in one second,house, garden, and all had vanished, and Pierot and Pierotte were in theforest again.

  There was no deliberation this time as to what the wish should be.

  "I wish I was a little boy," shouted Pierot, holding the rose over hishead with a sort of ecstasy.

  "And I wish I was a little girl, the same little girl exactly that Iused to be," chorused Pierotte.

  The rose seemed to melt in air, so quickly did it wither and collapse.And the brother and sister embraced and danced with joy, for each in theother's face saw the fulfilment of their double wish.

  "Oh, how young you look! Oh, how pretty you are! Oh, what happiness itis not to be old any longer! The dear fairy! The kind fairy!" These werethe exclamations which the squirrels and the birds heard for the nextten minutes, and the birds and the squirrels seemed to be amused, forcertain queer and unexplained little noises like laughs sounded fromunder the leaves and behind the bushes.

  "Let us go home at once to mother," cried Pierotte.

  There was no difficulty about the paths now. After walking awhile,Pierot began to recognize this turn and that. There was the huntsman'soak and the Dropping Well; and there--yes, he was sure--lay the hazelcopse where the father had bidden them go for wood.

  "I say," cried Pierotte, with a sudden bright thought, "we will wait andbind one fagot for the mother's oven--the poor mother! Who has fetchedher wood all this time, do you suppose?"

  Plenty of sticks lay on the ground ready for binding. The wood-choppershad just left off their work, it would seem. Pierotte's basket wasfilled, a fagot tied and lifted on to Pierot's shoulders, and throughthe gathering twilight they hurried homeward. They were out of the woodsoon. There was the hut, with a curl of smoke rising from the chimney;there was the mother standing at the door and looking toward the forest.What _would_ she say when she saw them?

  What she said astonished them very much.

  "How long you have been!" were the words, but the tone was not one ofsurprise.

  "O mother, mother!" cried Pierotte, clinging to her arm, while Pierotsaid, "We were afraid to come home because we looked so old, and wefeared you would not know us, but now we are young again."

  "Old! young!" said the mother. "What does the lad mean! One does not ageso fast between sunrise and sunset as to be afraid to come home. Are youdreaming, Pierot?"

  "But we have been away a year," said Pierot, passing his hand before hiseyes as if trying to clear his ideas.

  "A year! Prithee! And the sheets which I hung out at noon not fairly dryyet. A year! And the goats thou drovest to pasture before breakfast notin the shed yet! A year! Thou wouldst better not let the father hearthee prate thus! What, crying, Pierotte! Here's a pretty to-do because,forsooth, you are come in an hour late!"

  An hour late! The children looked at each other in speechless amazement.To this day the amazement continues. The mother still persists that theywere absent but a few hours. Where, then, were the weeks spent in thewood, the gray hair, the wrinkles, the wanderings in search of the oldwoman and her hut? Was all and each but a bit of enchantment, a trick ofthe mirth-loving fairies? They could not tell, and neither can I.Fairies are unaccountable folk, and their doings surpass our guessing,who are but mortal, and stupid at that! One thing I know, that the twochildren since that day have dropped their foolish habit of wishing, andare well content to remain little Pierot and Pierotte till the timecomes for them to grow older, as it will only too soon.