Prince Bravedeed's Wings

Sun (Auckland), Volume II, Issue 566, 19 January 1929, Page 27

Prince Bravedeed's Wings

And the Little Pixie Timmikin

The brave young Prince of Fairyland had met and engaged in battle with one of the Goblins of Midnight Despair. After a long and weary fight, he had vanquished his foe, who IVid fled yowling into the Caverns of Night under the Western Hills.

The prince tried to fly back to Fairyland, but found, to his dismay, that his wings were so badly torn that they could not carry him. He tried again and again, till at length, tired out, he crept beneath a large leaf, and fell asleep. Here two Sunrise Pixies found him the next morning, and they speedily made a plan to get him home. One of them fetched half a walnut shell, which he padded comfortably with soft moss. The other hastened to a lovely garden, and begged two butterflies to return with him to the wounded fairy.

Soon the prince was seated in the shell, to which the butterflies had been harnessed with threads of gossamer spun for them by an obliging spider. Away they went to Fairyland, and delivered the prince to the Queen, who had been watching anxiously all night. It was not long before Prince Bravedeeds was up and about again, but, alas and alas! his wings were a sorry sight, and not all the magic of the Chief Court Physician could make them whole again.

Now, as perhaps you know, if a fairy damages her wings, she can easily weave new ones, and wish them on her back in place of the old pair. So that there was no difficulty in the way of getting a new pair for the Prince.

“But,” said the Queen, “they must be very beautiful, fit for a king indeed. Supposing we have a competition. and give a fine prize to the one who brings in the very best pair.” This seemed a splendid notion, and heralds were sent out north, south, east and west to announce details of the wonderful competition. Soon after so many fairies were busy weaving wings—such airy, fairy delicate things, all colours, all shapes, all sizes. Now, dear little Pixie Timmikin lived all alone in the neatest, sweetest little cottage at the edge of a wood. When the herald came riding by and told him of the competition, he sat down and had a long, long think.

He glanced round at his cottage and his garden, and over his spandy little green fence at the woods beyond. “It’s no use looking for ideas in Fairyland,” he said to himself. “All the others will have the best ones already. I’ll slip down to the earth, and see if the dear mortals can help me.”

So he raked out his little fire, put on his cap. drew the curtains at the windows, locked his strong green front door, and flew down 1o the earth.

He went straight to a garden which he loved to visit, for it belonged to a baby, a dear, fat, chuckling baby. Of course, it really belonged to the baby’s parents, but Timmikin always thought of it as the “baby’s garden.” When he arrived, there the baby was, sitting in the middle of the lawn, and she laughed and stretched out her chubby little arms to him when she saw him. He turned somersaults and Catherine wheels, stood on his head and walked on his hands to amuse her, and all the time he was thinking, thinking about those wings. The baby was the sweetest, loveliest thing he had ever seen, but he felt he couldn’t make wings like her. Why, the very best thing about her was her chuckle S

Just then a gorgeous butterfly flew by, and Timmikin gazed after him with eager interest. No, no, he thought. Those colours wouldn't do at • all. They were too bright and gaudy, not sweet and soft like the baby. Why, of course, he could

GOING ON

make the wings like the baby, and they would be lovely. White likelier skin, pink like her dimpled cheeks, blue like her laughing eyes. and shining gold like* her sunny curls.

With a whoop of joy lie darted away to seek his materials- Hither and thither he hastened, humming cheerily to himself, packing his treasures carefully in the wee kit-bag. The pink rose gave him two of the freshest, most delicately-tinted petals, the forget-me-not showered their lovely blue on him. the lilies gave him of their gleaming whiteness and the sunbeam fairies brought him a fat bag of the pale gold of sunrise. With a light heart he hastened home, and set to work on the wings As they grew beneath his nimble fingers they were so sweetly soft and shiny, and they smelt so sweet, that they reminded him of the baby in her garden, and made him wish that he had been with him.

At last the wings were finished, and oh, how lovely they were, all gleaming lily white, with soft touches of pink and blue peeping out here and there, and the edges tipped ■with shining gold. Timmikin’s heart beat high with excitement as he wrapped his treasures in silken gauze and set off for the palace on the appointed day.

When he got there he was almost dazzled by the bewildering array of lovely wings. There were pea.cockcoloured wings, gaudy purples and green, rainbow colours, opal tints silvers and gold, but none so swecstly pretty as his, or so delicately perfumed.

To his great delight the prince chose his “Baby Wings” as he called them.

Prince Bravedeeds was simply delighted with their beauty, and put them on straight away. Then the Queen gave him his prize. It was a beautiful new silver wand tipped with a twinkling diamond star, and. beside that, the biggest iced, cake 4 t ever a fairy had for tea.

The*. Prince Bravedeeds sprang up and cried. “These wings are so wonderfully beautiful that I have decided to give Timmikins one wish, as a special prize. What do you want, most of all, Timmikins?’* Timmikins sighed. “I am afraid 1 cannot have what I most want, dear Royal Highness,” he said. Then he told them of the sweet little mortal baby in the garden, and how he wanted her for his own.

“Why, Timmikins,” said the Queen, waving her wand over him, “I can give you something better than that. Y'ou shall have the sweetest little lady in all Fairyland for your wife, and you won’t want that mortal baby after all.” And so it happened.

If vou should chance to visit Fairyland, just ask to be directed to Timmikin’s cottage. If you are lucky, Mrs. Timmikins will ask you in to tea. and in a cunning little corner cradle, you will see the fattest, jolliest and sweetest of pixie babies, and you w'ill entirely lose your heart to her. And over the mantelpiece you will see hanging a fine portrait of the Prince Bravedeeds, and I am sure you wrill admire his lovely wings.

THE FAIRY HATTER

Hob was the best hatter in fairyland. No one questioned that. A fairy might get as good a fit in meadowland, a gnome might purchase a hard-w’earing hood in the warren; and an elf might flatter himself that he had secured a really bright bargain in the Briar-bush Bazaar, but there was not a shadow of doubt that Hob's hats were the very best to be had in all fairyland; and no one of any importance ever dreamed of buying a hat anywhere else. But they were very expensive indeed, these hats of Hob’s. Every ’nonio who took his fairy sister or daughter to buy her a little present, every elf who took his little flowerfairy sweetheart to buy a hat for a fairing, came out with almost empty pockets. Well, nobody minded this so very much, because fairies, like mortals, if they want a really good hat, have to be prepared to pay for it. But the trouble about these hats was that they disappeared almost as soon as they were bought. A fairy would just wear a hat once and it would disappear, as if by magic.

Of course, Hob rather liked this, because when anyone lost* a hat they went straight to him for another, and ho was making quite a fortune. Now there was a moth who kept a hat shop, too. and he was rather jealous of Hob; so he watched him secretly, and found that he was very friendly with Mr. Jackdaw. Fm sorry to have to say it, but. really, you know, the Jackdaw is a bit of a thief. They take spoons and bright things when they can get them; but if they can’t they will take anything else they can'get.

This particular Mr. Jackdaw stole the fairies’ hats and took them back to Hob, and that wicked old gnome sold them over again!

When this was known most of the fairies preferred to go to someone else for their hats, and Hob is quite poor now.

Guard: “This is Worthington, my little inan, the station you have kept asking for. Come along out.’ Little Man; “I don’t have to get ou f , thank you. Mother said to begin eating my sandwiches here.”