I only had to imagine that I was enchanted for a little while, and that I was really somebody else, living somewhere else in a fairy tale; and that some day it would all come out right; the way it always does in all the fairy tales you read." "Ah, always comes right in fairy tales!" muttered the old woman under her breath. "And I guess it was really true!" cried Maggie. "For here I am in this lovely place, -with fairies for neighbors, -and grand things happening all the time. And when I do have to go back again, it will never be so bad any more. For Bob and Bess are my friends now, and they will write to me all about what goes on here. I never had any one write to me in all my life! I never wrote a letter till I came here." "And she 's coming up to visit us every summer, Father says so," interrupted Bob, forgetting to be shy. "And Mother says she does n't know what we 'll do without her," chimed in Bess, fondly squeezing Maggie's hand. "And she 's been here only four days." "Ah!" said the old woman, who had been very quiet during Maggie's story. "And now what have you two to say for yourselves? What do you want, trying to get into the Park? Don't you know it's trespassing for any one but the owner to go there without permission?" Bob and Bess hung their heads and looked guilty. "It's all my fault," said Maggie, coming to their assistance. "I wanted to go in. These "You can't," said the old woman, gruffly. "Why not?" Maggie dared to ask. "Is she enchanted, too?" The old woman hesitated for a moment, then answered shortly, "Yes." kids have always lived here and never thought of such a thing. You see, they did n't know much about fairies until I came. But they are mighty good to me. They want to do what I like to do. So we all want to go in, dreadfully!" "H'm!" mumbled the old woman, "what for?" "We 'd-we 'd like to see the palace and the wonderful things," answered Maggie, timidly. Maggie, timidly. "And we 'd like to see the princess, if we can." Vol. XLI.-41. "Well, maybe we can break the spell," said Maggie, eagerly. "Generally in the fairy tales it is kids who help the most-or a fairy prince." "Ho!" snorted the old woman, so crossly that all three started. "Don't talk of a prince, here!" "How is she enchanted?" asked Maggie, hastening to change the subject from princes. "There are lots of ways. Is she turned into an animal or something like that?" "She is changed," said the old woman, sadly. "She is so changed that she does not know herself. Once she was the happiest lady in the world. Now she is the most miserable." "Then it must be awful!" cried Maggie, pityingly; "I've seen some terrible miserable folks. But we kids will help her. I know we can." "It is hopeless," said the old woman, in a gloomy tone. "But what is the use of talking? Here is a token that the lady means you well. Take these." She drew from her placket three large nuts, and gave one to each of the children. "Oh!" cried Maggie. "Magic nuts! I know about them." The old woman nodded. "Crack them," she said. The children did as she bade them. And there, inside of each nut, was a tiny gold ring. As you do so, you must rub your rings with your left hands and wish hard that the gate may open. There is much virtue in wishing, you know." "Yes," said Maggie, eagerly. "Wishes don't always come true," suggested Bess. "Not always," said the old woman, with a sigh. "But I think this one will if you wish hard enough. Now I am going to ask you something. You are all to close your eyes tightly while Maggie counts fifty. Then you may open them again. Do as I tell you, if you hope ever to gain your wish." The children obediently closed their eyes and Maggie began to count aloud, "One, two, three-" When she had pronounced "Fifty!" the three "Put them on your right hands," said the old opened their eyes. The old woman was nowhere woman. They obeyed, wondering. "Now, come to be seen. here to-morrow at this time-unless it rains," she continued; "wear your rings, and when you stand outside the gate, say these words: "Open, Gate, I pray, And let me in to-day. "She was a witch," said Maggie, with conviction. "But I don't think she was a wicked one." "I never saw her in Bonnyburn before," said Bob, wonderingly. So that was the end of this adventure. THERE was a gloomy gathering, which almost approached an indignation meeting, in one corner of the playground, for, that very morning, at the termination of the opening exercises, the principal had announced that, owing to a number of accidents which had occurred to coasters and pedestrians, no more sledding would be allowed on School Avenue Hill, "the only really decent coast in the town," as Bob Wilkie feelingly described it. "It's a shame!" "All our fun spoiled!" "Just mean!" were distinctly audible above the hum of voices that resembled the conversation of a hive of excited bees. Finally, the confused murmur subsided to the extent that one could realize that Harry Jackson was talking. "It's all right to say that our fathers always coasted on School Avenue," he said, "but then there were about half as many people in town' and no automobiles; anyhow, there were no bad accidents, as there have been this winter." "But what are we going to do?" some one wanted to know. "I think that I can see the way out," was Harry's answer; "and if some of you fellows are game for a half-mile walk after school, we can see if it will work. But scatter now or we 'll all be late for lunch!" And they scattered. Six of the fellows were ready that afternoon for Harry's walk, and he led them a short way out of town to where, shining in the wintry sunset, lay a snow-covered hillside whose slope was unbroken by wall or fence. "Can you beat that?" was his query. "It 's a longer run than School Hill ever gave, and no one to turn out for." |