Author of Handy Mandy in Oz, "The Wizard of Pumperdink," "King, King! Double King!" etc.
Originally published in the Springfield Union, November 7, 14, and 21, 1915.
Once upon a fairy time the Queen—the Fairy Queen herself, dears—fell a-pouting. ’Twas the night of the autumn ball, too! All the little gentlemen and lady fairies were twirling about in the merriest, maziest light-hearted dance—but the Queen sat sulkily upon a tall mushroom, crumpled into her purple finery like a wilted flower. Around her stood the wise men and ministers of the fairy court, looking hugely glum—for they felt that they were going to have a wishing time of it. Suddenly the Queen straightened up and clapped her hands sharply. “Stop dancing!” she commanded. Stop DANCING!—the fairies could scarcely believe their ears. With their tiny toes suspended gracefully in the air, and looked at each other in astonishment and gasped, “Stop dancing!”
The grasshoppers and katydids ceased fiddling and, with their elbows still crooked, shot their pop eyes in a manner frightful to behold. Every one, in fact, stared at every one else. Such a thing had never before happened in the history of Fairydom. Why, ’tis almost impossible for a fairy to stop dancing! But, seeing the Queen look so stern, the fairy gentlemen hastily began pulling grass blades. These they tied tightly ’round the delicate ankles of the fairy ladies—then wound them ’round and ’round their own. Then the whole company drooped disconsolately, like a garden of flowers after a shower. The Queen surveyed them with tilted nose—“I’m tired of dancing!” Turning to the Chiefest Minister, she snapped: “Think of something new—quickly!” “Oooooh!” rustled all the little fairies uneasily. “Something new?—something new!—er, something new!” muttered the Chief Minister, mopping his bald head frantically with his cobweb handkerchief, while the wise men at once put on their fairy spectacles and began tapping their foreheads and breathing heavily.
“Something new—something new!” groaned the Chief Minister over and over. Suddenly he brightened visibly.
“Your gracious Majesty,” he announced, with a low bow. “I have the honor to inform you that there is nothing new under the sun!”
At this, all the wise men, as if turned upon a crank, pointed their long arms accusingly at the moon, and, indeed, it did not take a wise man to know that it was not the sun.
“Ah!” cried the Queen, in a passion, “I wish a wart on your nose.” And straightway a hideous wart appeared on the wise man’s nose. Then up hopped a little fairy named Speckle and wished it off, and straightway it was off. Then the Queen wished it on—and, dears, such a wishing time as they had. They wished each other frogs and ants and worms and caterpillars—till everybody was breathless from so much changing about. I do not want you to think that this happens often. Dear, no! ’Tis only once in a very great fairy while that the Queen loses her temper—once in a thousand years, I should say.
All during this terrible wishing commotion the wise men had been trying in vain to make themselves heard; but no sooner did they approach the Queen before she wished them all spiders and daddy-long-legs, which was highly insulting to their dignity and station. Nevertheless, they waved their spiderish and daddy-long-legs appealingly—and it was very plain that they had thought of something new. At last the Queen grew tired of wishing, and the fairies that were left promptly wished everybody back into their proper shapes again.
Now the first wise man, drawing his embroidered robe closely about him, approached the throne. “It is true, your Majesty, that there is nothing new under the sun,” he began, in his harsh voice, “but under the moon—under the moon all things are new!” Having delivered himself of this weighty truth, he folded his arms, tapped his foot upon the ground and looked horribly pleased with himself. The other wise men nodded their heads in approval, but the Queen looked doubtfully from one to the other.
“If that is so, then dancing is new—and that cannot be, for we have been dancing for a thousand thousand years—you are wrong!” she cried angrily. “Wrong—quite wrong!” echoed all the little fairies, shaking their heads, mournfully. The wise men exchanged startled looks, for they thought the matter settled. “Well,” said the first, swallowing hastily, “There are any number of new things—er—er—puddings, for instance!” “How nice!” cried the Queen, appeased at once. “A new pudding immediately!” At this the fairy cook turned pale and glared angrily at the old wise man—but the Queen stamped her foot, and off he flew in a jiffy to concoct a new and marvelous pudding, while all the fairies fell to guessing what would be in it.
At last, puffing and blowing and with cap awry, he came back. “M—mmm!” breathed everybody, crowding ’round, and truly it was a wonderful pudding! Made from a whole strawberry, garnished with honey sauce and dew. Wiping his hot face upon his flower apron, the poor fellow stood anxiously by while the Queen daintily stuck her finger into the dish. “A—hh!” she wailed, dismally, “it’s strawberry, and not new at all!” The cook promptly disappeared.
“Something new!” cried the Queen, turning to the next wise man. “Something new!” cried all the fairies together.
“Ahem—ah—ahem!” coughed the old fellow, rolling his eyes to the heavens and looking most fearfully wise, “there are indeed many new things—stories, for instance. Let me tell you a new story—not a fairy tale, mind you, but a WONDERFUL NEW—OH, A TERRIBLY NEW MORTAL TALE!” Without more ado, he put his finger tips together and, looking solemnly over them, began:
“Once upon a time there was a merchant who had but one eye and one son. He loved both so well that he hardly knew which he loved the better. In order to satisfy himself upon this point he—” All the little fairies were listening breathlessly, but at this point the Queen sprang from her throne. “Pouf! ’tis a stupid tale!” she cried, and, stamping her foot, she bade him stop. One after another, the wise men came forward; but at each new suggestion the Queen grew sulkier and sulkier and the little fairies gloomier and gloomier. When the last old fellow came mincing up, the Queen tilted her nose so high that nothing was visible but the tip of her chin. Raising himself upon his toes, the wise man whispered a few words into her ear. Down came the tilted nose—down hopped the Queen herself, and seizing him by the hands, spun merrily ’round and ’round, till his specs were lost, his hat was lost and his dignity quite entirely lost. “Oh, how perfectly honey!” exclaimed the Queen. “’Tis a rose of an idea—a buttercup of an idea!” “Tell us, tell us!” shouted the fairies tumbling over each other in their eagerness—for they had forgotten that their ankles were tied. So the Queen rose up on her throne again and told them the perfectly honey idea. And now they all began dancing wildly about, hugging each other and singing out: “Isn’t it delightful!—isn’t it perfectly honey!” and a good bit more fairy nonsense that you probably would not understand.
“We must hurry,” called the Queen. “The cloak!—let us weave the cloak!” Hither and thither flew the fairies, some darting into the deepest shadows, others flitting over the treetops, and soon they all came hurrying back laden with a filmy, cloudy, shadowy stuff. Then down they all sat in a ring and began weaving a magic cloak. In and out with lightning speed flashed fairy fingers; high and clear rang fairy voices in an entrancing little song. ’Twas a wonderful cloak—woven from the purple shadows that one may gather after dusk, streaked with silvery star mist and moonshine, broidered with pearls of dew. Through it all danced the magic melody of the fairy song in a pattern of weirdest beauty—fairy heads, and flowers and birds that peeped out mischievously from the dusky background. When it was finished, four little fairies—Merry and Speckle, Flitterwing and Silvertop—seizing lightly upon the edges of the cloak, flew up—up and away over the forest and hills, to the great sleeping city. Here they began peering in through all the windows. What do you s’pose they were up to?
After looking through many windows, they finally found what they were in search of, and in through the sash they rustled, and perched, all four, upon the foot of a bed where a real little boy lay, sound asleep. “Isn’t he cunning?” whispered Merry, brushing the round cheek softly with her wing. “Ah, I should dearly love to kiss him!” murmured Silvertop, flitting above his head, but the others hastily pulled her back—for, you know, a fairy kiss is fatal to a human. Now they raised the magic cloak and let it fall gently over the little sleeping boy. Then—then, sweethearts—the little boy awoke, and his bed seemed like a huge white wilderness—for he himself was no larger than a fairy. But before he had time to even think of it, the four had taken hold of him and flown out of the window. They were stealing him. Think of it! Over the city, over the woods and hills they swept, and dropped at last, breathlessly, into the fairy ring.
“Oh, OH!” called the Queen running to meet them, “something new! At last, something new!” And all of the impulsive little fairies, catching hands, danced in a circle ’round the little stolen boy, shouting “Something new! Something new!” Do not think the little boy was scared—not a bit of it! Wide-eyed he gazed at this strange proceeding, till the fairy Queen dropped on her knees before him and cried: “Come—will you play with us?” Then the little boy scuffed his bare toe in the dust. “I’ll not play ring around a rosy!” said he firmly, “’tis a baby game! Don’t you know any better games that that?” “What?” gasped the Queen, and all of the fairies looked terribly crestfallen to think that they had been playing a baby game. “Don’t you know any better games?” persisted the little boy, advancing a step or so. “DO YOU?” asked the Queen, jumping excitedly to her feet. “Sure!” said the little boy, swinging his foot carelessly, “And my name’s Jack.” “Jack,” repeated all of them curiously. “Are you any relation to the Jack roses?” “Roses, nothin’!” scoffed Jack contemptuously, at which the wise men raised their eyebrows and hands in shocked surprise to the heavens. But Jack was already deep in the explanation of a marvelous game, hopping about in his pajamas and the magic cloak to show them just how it went. “O-o-o-h,” rustled the fairies, “’tis a dandy-lion of a game—can’t we play it?” Dears and ducks, what game do you suppose he was teaching them? But you never could guess. FOOTBALL—think of that!
“Now, if we just had a football, we might play!” he sighed as he finished. Mercies! Down in the midst of them plumped a gigantic football, toppling them over like so many tenpins, for, of course when you have on a magic cloak you have but to wish—and, presto! your wish comes true. Next Jack wished the ball the right size, and then—then the game began. Fairies are quick little creatures, and they caught on to the thing immediately. Two teams were picked—the lady fairies insisting upon playing, too. The Queen herself was determined to be in it, as were a number of the wise men. Oh! ’twas the funniest sight, dears, to see them tackling and rushing each other, yelling like savages while the fairy audience kept flying into the air to get a better view. “Push ’em back, shove ’em back, YO!” screeched Jack hoarsely, and making a flying grab at an old wise man’s ankles, brought him crashing to the ground. Out of a frightful whirligig of arms and legs rose the cook. With the ball tightly clasped to his middle, he went plunging through the defense to a glorious touchdown. “Peach! peach!” shrilled Jack. Then Merry, who was playing on his side, failed to kick a goal—the other side got the ball; a wily old wise man, with his skirts held high above his skinny knees, pranced off like a colt toward the goal post.
Then the Queen—the Queen, mind you! with Jack calling wildly for somebody to kill the old fellow—whirled after him and, butting him amidships, sent him sprawling to the ground.
He lost the ball, mashing his peaked hat into the semblance of an inverted coal scuttle. The fairy audience shouted themselves hoarse—and when the Queen’s team finally won, you would have thought they had all taken leave of their senses. Such a commotion—such a cheering and clapping and hopping and howling! If there was anywhere a dirtier, tatterder, happier bunch, I should like to have seen them. The Queen’s purple gown was in ribbons, a long scratch was on her cheek, a great patch of mud obliterated one eye; both knees were missing from Jack’s pajamas, while the wise men and other fairies were sights to behold. The cook looked like a fallen biscuit—but not a mite cared any of them. Down they flopped upon the ground and, fanning themselves with leaves, fell to discussing forward passes and end runs and flying tackles like regular veterans, spitting upon their fingers and rumpling their hair.
Next they played hare and hounds and tag and prisoner’s base—and never—never in all their hundred-thousand-year lives had the fairies had such a frolic.
All too soon the gray dawn came streaking over the trees, and the fairies, seizing Jack by the hands, hurried him off to the fairy gardens underground—where they all curled up in the sweet flowers that are always blooming there and slept soundly through the day. Jack was as much at home snuggled down in the heart of a rose as though he had always been a fairy. Not once had he thought of his own home—not once! And next night at moon-up, when the fairy watchman called “Whoo—ooo! WhOO—OO! All’s well above!” he tumbled out of his rose as though he were quite accustomed to being called up by an owl. Everything was hustle and bustle tonight. Some great work was a-foot—that was clear—even fairies cannot play all the time, you know! Each little fairy carried a pot of paint and a tiny brush, and the Queen immediately ordered them to fetch Jack one. Now they all went pattering off into the dim and dusky forest, leaving the Queen writing letters—letters written with dew upon flower petals and cunningly sealed with honey.
“What’s up?” asked Jack of Merry, who skipped happily at his side. “Why, you’ll be up in a minute!” laughed Merry. “We must paint the leaves, so that the birds will know that it is time to fly south and the mortal folk will prepare for Jack Frost.” Hundreds of the fairies were already at work, flitting about among the trees like gay butterflies. Up flew Merry—and Jack, wishing to fly, immediately found himself beside her. Busily they worked away, Merry singing and Jack whistling. Merry had touched her leaf with golden speckles, but Jack had painted his a deep crimson. Faster and faster they worked. My, but it was fun! Soon the whole forest, under the fairies’ nimble fingers, had taken on a tinge of crimson and gold, and, swinging their empty paint pots, the little creatures flew gaily back to the Queen. “We ought to finish tomorrow night,” confided Merry to Jack—but Jack did not answer. He felt very strangely.
Come!” called the Queen, as soon as Merry and Jack appeared, “let us play the new games.” All the fairies began shouting gleefully, but Jack slowly shook his head. “I don’t want to play tonight—I wish—I wish—” Here the Queen hastily put her hand over his mouth, for she was afraid he was going to say it. “I know what you would like,” she cried gaily; “you would like to visit the sprites of the moon! Wouldn’t you, now?” and “Wouldn’t you, now?” pleaded all the little fairies anxiously. At this alluring prospect Jack forgot what he was going to wish. “Oh, wouldn’t I!” he exclaimed, hopping about madly, “Well, rather!” “Come on, then! Come on, all of you!” called the Queen, and spreading her gauzy wings, she darted into the air. Swish—hh whir—rr! All of the fairies were circling up now—high above the dim forest—and Jack flew lightly in their midst. After they had gone about so far up, the Queen hailed a purple cloud and they all climbed aboard. The cloud went sailing, sailing across the wonderful sky. Queer creatures kept floating past, the creatures of the mist; some looked like fishes, others had goats’ bodies and human heads; altogether, they were frightful-looking shapes—but Jack swung his legs over the edge of the cloud and enjoyed it all immensely.
Now they sailed into the brilliant path of light that led to the moon. The shimmery robes of the little fairies took on a strange green light—sparkling with a magic glow like phosphorus on the sea. Now up to the moon herself swept the purple cloud and off stepped Jack and the fairies. The sprites of the moon rushed to meet them, and Jack thought he had never seen beings more beautiful. They were entirely transparent—but glowed and sparkled as from an inner light; their hair flamed like a cloud of fire ’round their oval faces, and their great eyes peered out darkly—eyes that were just a bit wistful and sad. Crystal mountains and fields glowing with the same strange phosphorus stretched on all sides—till the radiance of it all made Jack’s head swim. He grew dizzy and would have fallen had not one of the moon spirits thrown her arm about him.
Jack looked up and straight into the wistful eyes. “Oh!” he cried suddenly, for they were very like the eyes of his own mother. “I wish—I wish that I were home!” “Ants and beetles!” cried the old wise men crossly, while all of the little fairies flung themselves upon the ground and wept bitterly. He had said it at last.
“Come back! Come back!” wailed the Queen, but Jack was far, far away, flying to the sleeping city and his own mother. In through his window he sped, and, wishing himself large again, crept under the covers. Next morning, when his mother came stealing into the room to weep over her little stolen boy—there he lay fast asleep, in his torn and tattered pajamas, spattered all over with mud.
In a crumpled little heap, the magic cloak lay on the pillow beside him. Jack opened his eyes slowly and, reaching up, hugged his mother with all his might—but when she asked him where he had been he shook his head mysteriously; he was a true sport, and no one should hear about the fairies’ trick—from him! When she was not looking he slipped the magic cloak beneath his shirt. Now—often after dusk, when every one is sleeping—he steals off to visit the fairies and to teach them all the new games—and, yes—all the new, delicious slang—which is a pity, isn’t it? No one knows but you and me—and we will never tell, will we? I wish that I had a magic cloak, too.
Supposyville’s King and Queen Decide to Go Again!
October morning, fresh and fair,
With Jack Frost’s tonic in the air,
And old Sir West Wind sweeping all
The lanes and streets and fields for fall!
A morning to feel bright and snappy.
Heighho! a morning to be happy.
But two were not; with looks of gloom
They paced the marble-floored courtroom,
Stopping to glance out windows wide.
“Hah-hoh! Hah-hum!” the good King sighed.
“Hah-hum! Hah-hoh!” the little Queen
Sighed too—pshaw! now, what can this mean?
Sighs in Supposyville? My stars!
I’d just as soon ’spect trolley cars.
And they won’t have those pests for ages,
For travel there’s by easy stages.
Now takes the King from off his nose
His royal specs, and loudly blows
That member. “Very dull, my dear,
Without the children playing near!”
“Your Highness needs not to remind
Me of the fact, ’tis most unkind,”
The Queen pouts crossly, looking down
Upon the streets of ’Sposy Town.
Then all at once the old King dropped
His specs entirely, wildly hopped
About the Queen. “Let us go too.
Come on, dear; come along with you!”
With crowns askew and robes awry,
Like children off those monarchs fly.
“Remember how we used to buy
Pencils and tablets, you and I!
“Marbles and jumping ropes—pshaw! I say—
I feel like a boy who has been away
And just gotten back with his chums.” The Queen
Smiled gayly and skipped along over the green.
Going straight to a shop in Sunshine Lane,
With never a pause nor a stop to explain,
They bought rules and pencils and all the stuff
One needs at school—more than enough.
“Oh, isn’t this fun?” the old King chuckled
As round the books his strap he buckled.
“Now let’s have some apples and lollipops
For recess and good old lemon drops.”
All out of breath and with smiles a-plenty
They got to school at eleven twenty,
And just as the master a sum completes
They sidled into the last two seats.
Every one smiled, so they stayed all day
And behaved in the properest kind of way,
Spelling and writing and parsing nouns,
Drawing and reading, locating towns.
And now they have made it a royal rule
To go one day in each week to school.
Copyright © 2025 Eric Shanower and David Maxine. All rights reserved.
