talked much about him when delirious. Nor was it much wonder, for he was

the only boy except Joe who had ever shown her kindness.

Meantime Mr. Raymond was going from bed to bed, talking to the little

people. Every one knew him, and every one was eager to have a look, and

a smile, and a kind word from him.

Diamond sat down on a stool at the head of Nanny's bed. She laid her

hand in his. No one else of her old acquaintance had been near her.

Suddenly a little voice called aloud--

“Won't Mr. Raymond tell us a story?”

“Oh, yes, please do! please do!” cried several little voices which also

were stronger than the rest. For Mr. Raymond was in the habit of telling

them a story when he went to see them, and they enjoyed it far more than

the other nice things which the doctor permitted him to give them.

“Very well,” said Mr. Raymond, “I will. What sort of a story shall it

be?”

“A true story,” said one little girl.

“A fairy tale,” said a little boy.

“Well,” said Mr. Raymond, “I suppose, as there is a difference, I may

choose. I can't think of any true story just at this moment, so I will

tell you a sort of a fairy one.”

“Oh, jolly!” exclaimed the little boy who had called out for a fairy

tale.

“It came into my head this morning as I got out of bed,” continued Mr.

Raymond; “and if it turns out pretty well, I will write it down, and get

somebody to print it for me, and then you shall read it when you like.”

“Then nobody ever heard it before?” asked one older child.

“No, nobody.”

“Oh!” exclaimed several, thinking it very grand to have the first

telling; and I daresay there might be a peculiar freshness about it,

because everything would be nearly as new to the story-teller himself as

to the listeners.

Some were only sitting up and some were lying down, so there could not

be the same busy gathering, bustling, and shifting to and fro with which

children generally prepare themselves to hear a story; but their faces,

and the turning of their heads, and many feeble exclamations of expected

pleasure, showed that all such preparations were making within them.

Mr. Raymond stood in the middle of the room, that he might turn from

side to side, and give each a share of seeing him. Diamond kept his

place by Nanny's side, with her hand in his. I do not know how much of

Mr. Raymond's story the smaller children understood; indeed, I don't

quite know how much there was in it to be understood, for in such a

story every one has just to take what he can get. But they all listened

with apparent satisfaction, and certainly with great attention. Mr.

Raymond wrote it down afterwards, and here it is--somewhat altered no

doubt, for a good story-teller tries to make his stories better every

time he tells them. I cannot myself help thinking that he was somewhat

indebted for this one to the old story of The Sleeping Beauty.

NO HOUSE of any pretension to be called a palace is in the least worthy

of the name, except it has a wood near it--very near it--and the nearer

the better. Not all round it--I don't mean that, for a palace ought to

be open to the sun and wind, and stand high and brave, with weathercocks

glittering and flags flying; but on one side of every palace there must

be a wood. And there was a very grand wood indeed beside the palace of

the king who was going to be Daylight's father; such a grand wood, that

nobody yet had ever got to the other end of it. Near the house it was

kept very trim and nice, and it was free of brushwood for a long way in;

but by degrees it got wild, and it grew wilder, and wilder, and wilder,

until some said wild beasts at last did what they liked in it. The king

and his courtiers often hunted, however, and this kept the wild beasts

far away from the palace.

One glorious summer morning, when the wind and sun were out together,

when the vanes were flashing and the flags frolicking against the blue

sky, little Daylight made her appearance from somewhere--nobody could

tell where--a beautiful baby, with such bright eyes that she might have

come from the sun, only by and by she showed such lively ways that she

might equally well have come out of the wind. There was great jubilation

in the palace, for this was the first baby the queen had had, and there

is as much happiness over a new baby in a palace as in a cottage.

But there is one disadvantage of living near a wood: you do not know

quite who your neighbours may be. Everybody knew there were in it

several fairies, living within a few miles of the palace, who always had

had something to do with each new baby that came; for fairies live

so much longer than we, that they can have business with a good many

generations of human mortals. The curious houses they lived in were well

known also,--one, a hollow oak; another, a birch-tree, though nobody

could ever find how that fairy made a house of it; another, a hut of

growing trees intertwined, and patched up with turf and moss. But there

was another fairy who had lately come to the place, and nobody even knew

she was a fairy except the other fairies. A wicked old thing she was,

always concealing her power, and being as disagreeable as she could,

in order to tempt people to give her offence, that she might have the

pleasure of taking vengeance upon them. The people about thought she was

a witch, and those who knew her by sight were careful to avoid offending

her. She lived in a mud house, in a swampy part of the forest.

In all history we find that fairies give their remarkable gifts to

prince or princess, or any child of sufficient importance in their eyes,

always at the christening. Now this we can understand, because it is

an ancient custom amongst human beings as well; and it is not hard to

explain why wicked fairies should choose the same time to do unkind

things; but it is difficult to understand how they should be able to

do them, for you would fancy all wicked creatures would be powerless on

such an occasion. But I never knew of any interference on the part of

the wicked fairy that did not turn out a good thing in the end. What a

good thing, for instance, it was that one princess should sleep for a

hundred years! Was she not saved from all the plague of young men who

were not worthy of her? And did she not come awake exactly at the right

moment when the right prince kissed her? For my part, I cannot help

wishing a good many girls would sleep till just the same fate overtook

them. It would be happier for them, and more agreeable to their friends.

Of course all the known fairies were invited to the christening. But the

king and queen never thought of inviting an old witch.

For the power of the fairies they have by nature; whereas a witch gets

her power by wickedness. The other fairies, however, knowing the danger

thus run, provided as well as they could against accidents from her

quarter. But they could neither render her powerless, nor could they

arrange their gifts in reference to hers beforehand, for they could not

tell what those might be.

Of course the old hag was there without being asked. Not to be asked

was just what she wanted, that she might have a sort of reason for doing

what she wished to do. For somehow even the wickedest of creatures likes