CHAPTER II
.
THE NEW MASTER ... ... _S. Baring-Gould_
PETER ... ... ... ... _Fanny Barry_
SANTA KLAUS ... ... ... _Helen Wilmot-Buxton_
WATTIE AND THE WOLVES ... _Frances Clare_
_STORIES JOLLY: STORIES NEW:_
_STORIES STRANGE & STORIES TRUE._
[Illustration]
The Fountain Angel.
_BY FANNY BARRY._
————————
IT was called the Orange Garden, and in the middle stood a beautiful fountain. The water flowed from a horn held in the hands of a child-figure carved in marble, and fell down with a soft plash into a fluted shell beneath.
Out of this it rippled again into a marble basin, round which the grass grew so green that the flower beds shone like jewels in a brilliant setting.
Great orange trees, in tubs, stood on each side of the path that led from the old red-roofed Palace to the fountain, and white benches, with banks of flowering plants behind them.
In the summer evenings many of the townspeople came and walked in the garden, enjoying the soft air and listening to the murmur of the fountain, whilst their children played round the stone basin and, as they looked up at the marble child, wondered how it felt to be so high up, and to sit so still, so very still, all day! Was his little hand never tired of holding the great horn?
And then, when the twilight fell, and the stars peeped out one by one, the moon shone softly, and the scent of the orange flowers filled the air—was he not very lonely there; was he not afraid?
He never seemed frightened, for a smile dimpled his baby face; and old, old people told their grandchildren that he had always been the same.
"He can never change," they said; "he is like one of the little angels." So the children called him the "Fountain Angel."
Now the Fountain Angel had many friends, and the chief of them all was Herminé, a poor little lame girl, who lived with her grandfather, Bernhardt, in the grey stone cottage just outside the Orange Garden: old Bernhardt was one of the Duke's gardeners, and Herminé had lived with him ever since she was a baby. She could remember no other relations, and as she could not run about and play with the other children, she had made her only friend, playmate, and confidant of the marble Fountain Angel, and she spent all her spare minutes happily by his side.
One evening, late in the summer, old Bernhardt lay ill in his cottage, and the moon was shining brightly over the Orange Garden before Herminé came through the iron-scrolled gates with the slow tap, tap, of her little crutch-stick, and seated herself wearily on the grass beside the fountain.
"I must wait here till I am rested, and then I shall creep in so that I do not wake poor grandfather," she said to herself; but somehow the air was so warm, and she had been working so hard all day, that she fell asleep—a little round ball of blue homespun—with her head against a cold marble pillow.
It must have been many hours later that the child awoke with a start, wondering where she was, and why her bed had suddenly become so hard.
It was bright moonlight. She rubbed her eyes, jumped up with the help of her crutch-stick, and walked slowly round the fountain.
The water splashed in the moonbeams, the shell and the rocks that supported it shone in the soft light—but the Fountain Angel was gone!
Herminé stood with her eyes growing round with astonishment. Gone! Had someone stolen him whilst she was asleep? Had the earth opened and swallowed him up? What, what had become of him?
* * * * * *
"Are you looking for me, little friend?" said a child voice at her elbow.
She turned quickly, and there in the path stood the missing Fountain Angel.
He carried a watering-can in his little hand, and his face was so sweet and child-like that Herminé quite forgot to be frightened, and found herself sitting down by his side on one of the white benches by the orange trees before she realized what she was doing.
"You are wondering why I am here, little Herminé," he said, as he slipped his hand confidingly into hers, and looked up at her with soft grey eyes. "You do not know that every night as the clock strikes one I have the gift of life bestowed upon me, and can descend to earth to be indeed the good angel of the fountain.
"This power was given me as a reward for the faithful labours of my master, the great sculptor who, many, many, years ago, designed and wrought me from a block of purest marble, and then presented me as an offering to the town in which he was born. So faithfully had he loved and studied Nature, and so truly had he used his powers for noble ends, that his last prayer was granted him; and he died happily, knowing that I should be allowed to carry on his good deeds and loving care for others.
"For the last hundred years I have tried faithfully to fulfil his wishes. I have carried water to fill the buckets and tubs of all the good neighbours round the Orange Garden; I have watered the gardens of all those who were poor or busy; I have brought fresh life to the plants and flowers."
Herminé had listened to the Fountain Angel with absorbed interest; now she seized her crutch-stick, and jumped from her seat eagerly.
"Oh, let me help you!" she cried. "I know I can never work as well as other children, because I am lame; but 'please' teach me to be useful, and show me what I can do!"
"Yes, you shall help me, little friend," said the marble child. "Poor old Bernhardt is too old now to water his garden himself, so I do it every night for him, and you shall help."
He put a watering-can into Herminé's hand exactly like the one he carried himself, and when she had once filled it at the fountain she noticed that it always remained full of bubbling water.
So there they worked together, the little girl and the Fountain Angel. In and out amongst the banks of flowering bushes tapped Herminé's crutch, and in and out darted the white form of the marble child, whilst a beautiful scent of fresh, moist earth and orange bloom rose upon the air.
The stars shone down softly upon the little pair, and Herminé's heart was filled with joy as she thought how happy she was to be allowed to share in such a good work!
"And now, little friend, you must go home and sleep," said the Fountain Angel, "for I have to carry water to the houses of all the sick and poor in the town. You could not help me there, I have to go and come so quickly. Before you go bathe your lame foot in the fountain; its water has a gift of healing. Good-bye! To-morrow we shall meet again."
He waved his hand affectionately towards Herminé, and disappeared through the iron-scrolled gates.
Left alone, she sat dabbling her foot in the cool waters of the fountain, and thinking over all that the marble child had told her, till the clock in the Palace Tower struck three, and she started as she realized how late it was!
She pulled on her little wooden-soled shoes, and hurried to her grandfather's cottage, letting herself in as gently as she could, so that she might not disturb him.
He was still sleeping quietly; and as soon as Herminé's little tired head touched the pillow she also was in the land of dreams.
Old Bernhardt grew rapidly better, and was pleased and surprised, on his first visit to the Orange Garden, to find that everything was in perfect order, and the ground fresh and moist, as though just watered by a heavy shower.
"How thick the dews have fallen," he said to Herminé, as he seated himself contentedly on one of the white benches. "It is a happy thing for me, for it would have tired my old back sorely to begin to water the orange tubs this morning."
Herminé smiled with delight, and nodded towards the Fountain Angel. She would have liked to laugh out loud, but reflected that her grandfather might ask what amused her.
"Really it all looks very well, considering the time of year," mused the old gardener. "I might just do a little sweeping up, and then leave it. It is wonderful how heavy the dews are now the autumn comes on."
Herminé left her grandfather with a broom in his hand, and went back again to the little cottage.
She worked very hard to keep everything clean and neat, and that day her foot felt lighter and more easily moved than she could ever remember it.
"Oh, I wonder if the Fountain Angel will really cure me," she said to herself, as she scrubbed away at the black chest in which she and her grandfather kept their Sunday clothing. "How beautiful it would be to be able to run about like other children—how beautiful!"
Again that evening Herminé went into the Orange Garden, and for many evenings after; helping the Fountain Angel in his work, and bathing her lame foot in the healing water.
Her grandfather noticed, with astonishment, that she had put aside her crutch-stick, and before very long she was able to run about as merrily as any of the children she used to long to play with on the grass by the marble Fountain.
* * * * * *
It is many, many years ago now, since little Herminé grew well and strong, and went away to a new country, where children with blue eyes like her own clustered round her knee in the soft summer twilight, but the Orange Garden remains unchanged.
The scent of flowers still fills the air; the water drips with the same soothing splash into the marble basin, and there, with his old sweet smile, stands the marble figure of the "Fountain Angel."
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
A Gallant Rescue.
_BY R. M. BALLANTYNE,_
AUTHOR OF "THE LIFEBOAT, A TALE OF OUR COAST HEROES;" "FIGHTING THE FLAMES, A TALE OF THE LONDON FIRE BRIGADE;" "THE LIGHTHOUSE, OR THE STORY OF A GREAT FIGHT BETWEEN MAN AND THE SEA," &c.
————————
##