A little world for little PEOPLE

Sun (Auckland), Volume II, Issue 352, 12 May 1928, Page 27

A little world for little PEOPLE

A

MAGIC BOX

FRIENDSHIP IS A STEADY LIGHT SHINING IN DARK PLACES

“ AH, look,” cried the Doorkeeper, shading his eyes with his v hands and gazing across the sunlit lawns to the gates of Happy Town, ‘'here come the Pixie Postmen with a big oblong box. It is taking nearly all of them to deliver it.”

“And they have borrowed my yellow and green wheelbarrow that I use for taking messages across to the Hollow Tree, but I don t mind, you know, because I’m sure it’s something important,” added the Little Thought. “Where is the Dawn Lady, I wonder?”

“When I last saw her,” said the Joy Shop Man, “she was sitting under the Happiness Tree making dreams out of thistledown for the long winter evenings. And just look, this box is addressed to her. Right about turn, Pixie Postmen, and please let us help you with the precious booty.” “But what can be in it?” asked the Dawn Lady, spilling eight ounces of the very best thistledown in her excitement. “Please open it and let us all see,” begged the Little Thought. So the Dawn Lady cut the string and raised the lid and, as she did so, a mingling of sweet perfumes escaped into the mild, Happy Town air. “Oh, how beautiful!” exclaimed a chorus of delighted voices, for the box contained great bunches of dew-wet violets and fragile sprays of fern, from the heart of which peeped the growing faces of freshly-culled red rosebuds. “A Sunbeam has sent them,” breathed the Little Thought, even before the Dawn Lady had read the letter. “And listen .. . The flowers are all talking and the box is full of messages. I can hear every word they are saying.” “And so can I,” said the Dawn Lady lifting a new-born rosebud into her lap. “They are saying ‘We bring love to Happy Town and, because of this, we are sweet with dew.’ ” “And this diversion has made me forget all about the painting competition,” murmured the Doorkeeper, “and now I can’t remember what colour an iris should be.”

“And if you please,” said the tallest Pixie Postman, modestly, “may we each have a violet to wear in our buttonholes? The Sunbeam who left this box in Tiptoe Street thought perhaps we might.”

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