Complete Works of Lewis Carroll (50 page)

"No," I said, feeling more and more ashamed.
"I haven't got any title."

The Fairy seemed to think that in that case I really wasn't worth the trouble of talking to, for he quietly went on digging, and tearing the flowers to pieces.

After a few minutes I tried again.
"Please tell me what your name is."

"Bruno," the little fellow answered, very readily.
"Why didn't oo say 'please' before?"

"That's something like what we used to be taught in the nursery," I thought to myself, looking back through the long years (about a hundred of them, since you ask the question), to the time when I was a little child.
And here an idea came into my head, and I asked him "Aren't you one of the Fairies that teach children to be good?"

"Well, we have to do that sometimes," said Bruno, "and a dreadful bother it is."
As he said this, he savagely tore a heartsease in two, and trampled on the pieces.

"What are you doing there, Bruno?"
I said.

"Spoiling Sylvie's garden," was all the answer Bruno would give at first.
But, as he went on tearing up the flowers, he muttered to himself "The nasty cross thing wouldn't let me go and play this morning,—said I must finish my lessons first—lessons, indeed!
I'll vex her finely, though!"

"Oh, Bruno, you shouldn't do that!"
I cried.

"Don't you know that's revenge?
And revenge is a wicked, cruel, dangerous thing!"

"River-edge?"
said Bruno.
"What a funny word!
I suppose oo call it cruel and dangerous 'cause, if oo wented too far and tumbleded in, oo'd get drownded."

"No, not river-edge," I explained: "revenge" (saying the word very slowly).
But I couldn't help thinking that Bruno's explanation did very well for either word.

"Oh!"
said Bruno, opening his eyes very wide, but without trying to repeat the word.

"Come!
Try and pronounce it, Bruno!"
I said, cheerfully.
"Re-venge, re-venge."

But Bruno only tossed his little head, and said he couldn't; that his mouth wasn't the right shape for words of that kind.
And the more I laughed, the more sulky the little fellow got about it.

"Well, never mind, my little man!"
I said.

"Shall I help you with that job?"

"Yes, please," Bruno said, quite pacified.

"Only I wiss I could think of somefin to vex her more than this.
Oo don't know how hard it is to make her angry!"

"Now listen to me, Bruno, and I'll teach you quite a splendid kind of revenge!"

"Somefin that'll vex her finely?"
he asked with gleaming eyes.

"Something that will vex her finely.
First, we'll get up all the weeds in her garden.
See, there are a good many at this end quite hiding the flowers."

"But that won't vex her!"
said Bruno.

"After that," I said, without noticing the remark, "we'll water this highest bed—up here.
You see it's getting quite dry and dusty."

Bruno looked at me inquisitively, but he said nothing this time.

"Then after that," I went on, "the walks want sweeping a bit; and I think you might cut down that tall nettle—it's so close to the garden that it's quite in the way—"

"What is oo talking about?"
Bruno impatiently interrupted me.
"All that won't vex her a bit!"

"Won't it?"
I said, innocently.
"Then, after that, suppose we put in some of these coloured pebbles—just to mark the divisions between the different kinds of flowers, you know.
That'll have a very pretty effect."

Bruno turned round and had another good stare at me.
At last there came an odd little twinkle into his eyes, and he said, with quite a new meaning in his voice, "That'll do nicely.
Let's put 'em in rows— all the red together, and all the blue together.
"

"That'll do capitally," I said; "and then—what kind of flowers does
Sylvie like best?"

Bruno had to put his thumb in his mouth and consider a little before he could answer.
"Violets," he said, at last.

"There's a beautiful bed of violets down by the brook—"

"Oh, let's fetch 'em!"
cried Bruno, giving a little skip into the air.
"Here!
Catch hold of my hand, and I'll help oo along.
The grass is rather thick down that way."

I couldn't help laughing at his having so entirely forgotten what a big creature he was talking to.
"No, not yet, Bruno," I said: "we must consider what's the right thing to do first.
You see we've got quite a business before us."

"Yes, let's consider," said Bruno, putting his thumb into his mouth again, and sitting down upon a dead mouse.

"What do you keep that mouse for?"
I said.
"You should either bury it, or else throw it into the brook."

"Why, it's to measure with!"
cried Bruno.

"How ever would oo do a garden without one?
We make each bed three mouses and a half long, and two mouses wide."

I stopped him, as he was dragging it off by the tail to show me how it was used, for I was half afraid the 'eerie' feeling might go off before we had finished the garden, and in that case I should see no more of him or Sylvie.
"I think the best way will be for you to weed the beds, while I sort out these pebbles, ready to mark the walks with."

"That's it!"
cried Bruno.
"And I'll tell oo about the caterpillars while we work."

"Ah, let's hear about the caterpillars," I said, as I drew the pebbles together into a heap and began dividing them into colours.

And Bruno went on in a low, rapid tone, more as if he were talking to himself.
"Yesterday I saw two little caterpillars, when I was sitting by the brook, just where oo go into the wood.
They were quite green, and they had yellow eyes, and they didn't see me.
And one of them had got a moth's wing to carry—a great brown moth's wing, oo know, all dry, with feathers.
So he couldn't want it to eat, I should think—perhaps he meant to make a cloak for the winter?"

"Perhaps," I said, for Bruno had twisted up the last word into a sort of question, and was looking at me for an answer.

One word was quite enough for the little fellow, and he went on merrily.
"Well, and so he didn't want the other caterpillar to see the moth's wing, oo know—so what must he do but try to carry it with all his left legs, and he tried to walk on the other set.
Of course he toppled over after that."

"After what?"
I said, catching at the last word, for, to tell the truth, I hadn't been attending much.

"He toppled over," Bruno repeated, very gravely, "and if oo ever saw a caterpillar topple over, oo'd know it's a welly serious thing, and not sit grinning like that—and I sha'n't tell oo no more!"

"Indeed and indeed, Bruno, I didn't mean to grin.
See, I'm quite grave again now."

But Bruno only folded his arms, and said "Don't tell me.
I see a little twinkle in one of oor eyes—just like the moon."

"Why do you think I'm like the moon, Bruno?"
I asked.

"Oor face is large and round like the moon," Bruno answered, looking at me thoughtfully.
"It doosn't shine quite so bright—but it's more cleaner."

I couldn't help smiling at this.
"You know I sometimes wash my face,
Bruno.
The moon never does that."

"Oh, doosn't she though!"
cried Bruno; and he leant forwards and added in a solemn whisper, "The moon's face gets dirtier and dirtier every night, till it's black all across.
And then, when it's dirty all over—so—" (he passed his hand across his own rosy cheeks as he spoke) "then she washes it."

"Then it's all clean again, isn't it?"

"Not all in a moment," said Bruno.
"What a deal of teaching oo wants!
She washes it little by little—only she begins at the other edge, oo know."

By this time he was sitting quietly on the dead mouse with his arms folded, and the weeding wasn't getting on a bit: so I had to say "Work first, pleasure afterwards: no more talking till that bed's finished."

CHAPTER 15.

BRUNO'S REVENGE.

After that we had a few minutes of silence, while I sorted out the pebbles, and amused myself with watching Bruno's plan of gardening.
It was quite a new plan to me: he always measured each bed before he weeded it, as if he was afraid the weeding would make it shrink; and once, when it came out longer than he wished, he set to work to thump the mouse with his little fist, crying out "There now!
It's all gone wrong again!
Why don't oo keep oor tail straight when I tell oo!"

"I'll tell you what I'll do," Bruno said in a half-whisper, as we worked.
"Oo like Fairies, don't oo?"

"Yes," I said: "of course I do, or I shouldn't have come here.
I should have gone to some place where there are no Fairies."

Bruno laughed contemptuously.
"Why, oo might as well say oo'd go to some place where there wasn't any air—supposing oo didn't like air!"

This was a rather difficult idea to grasp.
I tried a change of subject.
"You're nearly the first Fairy I ever saw.
Have you ever seen any people besides me?"

"Plenty!"
said Bruno.
"We see'em when we walk in the road."

"But they ca'n't see you.
How is it they never tread on you?"

"Ca'n't tread on us," said Bruno, looking amused at my ignorance.
"Why, suppose oo're walking, here—so—" (making little marks on the ground) "and suppose there's a Fairy—that's me—walking here.
Very well then, oo put one foot here, and one foot here, so oo doosn't tread on the Fairy."

This was all very well as an explanation, but it didn't convince me.
"Why shouldn't I put one foot on the Fairy?"
I asked.

"I don't know why," the little fellow said in a thoughtful tone.
"But I know oo wouldn't.
Nobody never walked on the top of a Fairy.
Now I'll tell oo what I'll do, as oo're so fond of Fairies.
I'll get oo an invitation to the Fairy-King's dinner-party.
I know one of the head-waiters."

I couldn't help laughing at this idea.
"Do the waiters invite the guests?"
I asked.

"Oh, not to sit down!"
Bruno said.
"But to wait at table.
Oo'd like that, wouldn't oo?
To hand about plates, and so on."

"Well, but that's not so nice as sitting at the table, is it?"

"Of course it isn't," Bruno said, in a tone as if he rather pitied my ignorance; "but if oo're not even Sir Anything, oo ca'n't expect to be allowed to sit at the table, oo know."

I said, as meekly as I could, that I didn't expect it, but it was the only way of going to a dinner-party that I really enjoyed.
And Bruno tossed his head, and said, in a rather offended tone that I might do as I pleased—there were many he knew that would give their ears to go.

"Have you ever been yourself, Bruno?"

"They invited me once, last week," Bruno said, very gravely.
"It was to wash up the soup-plates—no, the cheese-plates I mean that was grand enough.
And I waited at table.
And I didn't hardly make only one mistake."

"What was it?"
I said.
"You needn't mind telling me."

"Only bringing scissors to cut the beef with," Bruno said carelessly.
"But the grandest thing of all was, I fetched the King a glass of cider!"

"That was grand!"
I said, biting my lip to keep myself from laughing.

"Wasn't it?"
said Bruno, very earnestly.
"Oo know it isn't every one that's had such an honour as that!"

This set me thinking of the various queer things we call "an honour" in this world, but which, after all, haven't a bit more honour in them than what Bruno enjoyed, when he took the King a glass of cider.

I don't know how long I might not have dreamed on in this way, if Bruno hadn't suddenly roused me.
"Oh, come here quick!"
he cried, in a state of the wildest excitement.
"Catch hold of his other horn!
I ca'n't hold him more than a minute!"

He was struggling desperately with a great snail, clinging to one of its horns, and nearly breaking his poor little back in his efforts to drag it over a blade of grass.

I saw we should have no more gardening if I let this sort of thing go on, so I quietly took the snail away, and put it on a bank where he couldn't reach it.
"We'll hunt it afterwards, Bruno," I said, "if you really want to catch it.

But what's the use of it when you've got it?"
"What's the use of a fox when oo've got it?"
said Bruno.
"I know oo big things hunt foxes."

I tried to think of some good reason why "big things" should hunt foxes, and he should not hunt snails, but none came into my head: so I said at last, "Well, I suppose one's as good as the other.
I'll go snail-hunting myself some day."

"I should think oo wouldn't be so silly," said Bruno, "as to go snail-hunting by oor-self.
Why, oo'd never get the snail along, if oo hadn't somebody to hold on to his other horn!"

"Of course I sha'n't go alone," I said, quite gravely.
"By the way, is that the best kind to hunt, or do you recommend the ones without shells?"

"Oh, no, we never hunt the ones without shells," Bruno said, with a little shudder at the thought of it.
"They're always so cross about it; and then, if oo tumbles over them, they're ever so sticky!"

By this time we had nearly finished the garden.
I had fetched some violets, and Bruno was just helping me to put in the last, when he suddenly stopped and said "I'm tired."

"Rest then," I said: "I can go on without you, quite well."

Bruno needed no second invitation: he at once began arranging the dead mouse as a kind of sofa.
"And I'll sing oo a little song," he said, as he rolled it about.

"Do," said I: "I like songs very much."

"Which song will oo choose?"
Bruno said, as he dragged the mouse into a place where he could get a good view of me.
"'Ting, ting, ting' is the nicest."

There was no resisting such a strong hint as this: however, I pretended to think about it for a moment, and then said "Well, I like
'Ting, ting, ting,' best of all."

"That shows oo're a good judge of music," Bruno said, with a pleased look.
"How many hare-bells would oo like?"
And he put his thumb into his mouth to help me to consider.

As there was only one cluster of hare-bells within easy reach, I said very gravely that I thought one would do this time, and I picked it and gave it to him.
Bruno ran his hand once or twice up and down the flowers, like a musician trying an instrument, producing a most delicious delicate tinkling as he did so.
I had never heard flower-music before—I don't think one can, unless one's in the 'eerie' state and I don't know quite how to give you an idea of what it was like, except by saying that it sounded like a peal of bells a thousand miles off.
When he had satisfied himself that the flowers were in tune, he seated himself on the dead mouse (he never seemed really comfortable anywhere else), and, looking up at me with a merry twinkle in his eyes, he began.
By the way, the tune was rather a curious one, and you might like to try it for yourself, so here are the notes.

    "Rise, oh, rise!
The daylight dies:
     The owls are hooting, ting, ting, ting!
     Wake, oh, wake!
Beside the lake
     The elves are fluting, ting, ting, ting!
     Welcoming our Fairy King,
     We sing, sing, sing."

He sang the first four lines briskly and merrily, making the hare-bells chime in time with the music; but the last two he sang quite slowly and gently, and merely waved the flowers backwards and forwards.
Then he left off to explain.
"The Fairy-King is Oberon, and he lives across the lake—and sometimes he comes in a little boat—and we go and meet him and then we sing this song, you know."

"And then you go and dine with him?"
I said, mischievously.

"Oo shouldn't talk," Bruno hastily said: "it interrupts the song so."

I said I wouldn't do it again.

"I never talk myself when I'm singing," he went on very gravely: "so oo shouldn't either."
Then he tuned the hare-bells once more, and sang:—-

    "Hear, oh, hear!
From far and near
    The music stealing, ting, ting, ting!
    Fairy belts adown the dells
    Are merrily pealing, ting, ting, ting!
    Welcoming our Fairy King,
    We ring, ring, ring.

    "See, oh, see!
On every tree
    What lamps are shining, ting, ting, ting!
    They are eyes of fiery flies
    To light our dining, ting, ting, ting!
    Welcoming our Fairy King
    They swing, swing, swing.

    "Haste, oh haste, to take and taste
    The dainties waiting, ting, ting, ting!
    Honey-dew is stored—"

"Hush, Bruno!"
I interrupted in a warning whisper.
"She's coming!"

Bruno checked his song, and, as she slowly made her way through the long grass, he suddenly rushed out headlong at her like a little bull, shouting "Look the other way!
Look the other way!"

"Which way?"
Sylvie asked, in rather a frightened tone, as she looked round in all directions to see where the danger could be.

"That way!"
said Bruno, carefully turning her round with her face to the wood.
"Now, walk backwards walk gently—don't be frightened: oo sha'n't trip!"

But Sylvie did trip notwithstanding: in fact he led her, in his hurry, across so many little sticks and stones, that it was really a wonder the poor child could keep on her feet at all.
But he was far too much excited to think of what he was doing.

I silently pointed out to Bruno the best place to lead her to, so as to get a view of the whole garden at once: it was a little rising ground, about the height of a potato; and, when they had mounted it, I drew back into the shade, that Sylvie mightn't see me.

I heard Bruno cry out triumphantly "Now oo may look!"
and then followed a clapping of hands, but it was all done by Bruno himself.
Sylvie: was silent—she only stood and gazed with her hands clasped together, and I was half afraid she didn't like it after all.

Bruno too was watching her anxiously, and when she jumped down off the mound, and began wandering up and down the little walks, he cautiously followed her about, evidently anxious that she should form her own opinion of it all, without any hint from him.
And when at last she drew a long breath, and gave her verdict—in a hurried whisper, and without the slightest regard to grammar— "It's the loveliest thing as I never saw in all my life before!"
the little fellow looked as well pleased as if it had been given by all the judges and juries in England put together.