"Once upon a time there was a fairy who had done something wrong, and for this reason had to be punished. I do not know exactly what it was that she had done, perhaps only something that we should scarcely think wrong at all, such as jumping on a mushroom before it was full grown, or drinking too much dew out of a lily-cup, and thereby leaving the poor flower thirsty through the hot noontide. Most likely it was nothing worse than something of this kind, but still it was a fault that had to be corrected; so the little culprit was banished to a desert part of fairyland, a bleak and barren spot, which you would scarcely have thought could be found in the magic country which we always think of as so bright and beautiful.

"There she stayed with nothing to do for some time, which is about the worst punishment a fairy can have to endure. So she felt very pleased when one morning there came a messenger direct from the queen, charged to tell the little exile that she should be forgiven and released from her banishment as soon as she should have fulfilled a task which was to be set her. This task was to build a house, which to us may sound almost impossible without masons and carpenters and all manner of workmen. But fairy houses are not like ours, as you will hear.

"The messenger led the fairy to a spot on the moor where there was a heap of stones.

"'These are what you are to build with,' he said. 'As soon as the house is completed you may send a butterfly to tell the queen, and she will then come to test it. If it is quite perfect, you shall return at once with her to the court,' and so saying he fled away.

"The fairy set to work in good spirits. She had no need of mortar, or scaffolding, or tools, or anything, indeed, but her own little hands and the stones. Nor were the stones cut evenly and regularly, as you might have expected. They were of all sizes and shapes, but each only required a touch from the fairy's fingers at once to fit itself into the place which she saw it was intended for. So for some time the work went on merrily. It was not till the house was very nearly completed that the fairy began to fear something was wrong. It lopped a little – a very little – to one side. But there was nothing to be done that she could see. So she finished it in hopes that the queen would not notice the tiny imperfection, and despatched the butterfly to announce her readiness for her royal lady's visit.

"The queen arrived promptly, – fairy queens are never unpunctual, – and at first sight she smiled amiably.

"'You have worked hard,' she said to the poor fairy, who stood there half hopeful and half trembling. Then her Majesty stepped out of her chariot, patting her winged steeds as she passed them, and entered the new building, followed by the little architect.

"All seemed right till they got to the second floor, when the queen stopped and looked round her sharply.

"'Something is wrong here,' she said. 'The left-hand wall is out of level. I suspected it downstairs, but waited to see.'

"The fairy builder looked very distressed.

"'Did you know there was anything wrong?' said the queen, more coldly than she had yet spoken.

"'I – I was afraid it was a little crooked,' the little fairy replied, 'but I hoped perhaps your Majesty would not mind it.'

"'My messenger told you that the building must be perfect,' replied the queen. 'You had all the stones, every one ready for its place. If you have left one out, even the smallest, the building cannot be perfect. Ah, well, you must try again,' and so saying she left the house, followed by the builder. As soon as she stepped outside she waved her wand, and in an instant the walls had fallen apart, and there was nothing to be seen but the heap of stones as before.

"The poor little fairy sat down and cried as she saw the queen's chariot disappear in the air.

"'I don't know what to do,' she thought. 'It would be just the same thing if I set to work to build it up again. I am sure I used every stone, down to some quite tiny ones; but still it is no good crying about it,' and she started up, determined to try afresh.

"As she did so, a very slight sound caught her ears. Out of her pocket had rolled a very small stone, a tiny, insignificant pebble, probably smaller than any she had used in the building.

"'That's the very pebble I found in my shoe the other day,' she exclaimed. 'I must have picked it up with my handkerchief,' and she was just about to fling it away when a new idea struck her. Was it possible that this little atom of a stone – or rather its absence – was what had spoilt the whole piece of work? It might be so, for had not the queen said that the slightest little scrap of material wanting would spoil the perfection of the building.

"And, full of fresh hope, she carefully placed the little stone on the top of the heap and began again. All went well. Deep down in the foundations, unseen but far from unneeded, the tiny pebble found its own place, and before the sun set, the magic edifice stood perfect, gleaming white and fair in the radiance of the evening sky.

"It was without fear or misgiving this time that the fairy sent off her butterfly messenger the next morning; and her joy was complete when the queen not only took her back to court in her own chariot, but as a proof of her perfect restoration to favour, transported the pretty white house by a wave of her wand to the centre of a lovely garden near her own palace, and gave it to the fairy as her home."

Miss Lilly stopped reading. The children looked up, pleased but a little puzzled.

"What a funny story," said Ferdy; "it's nice, but isn't it more what you call a – I forget the word."

"Allegory, do you mean?" said Miss Lilly. "Well yes, perhaps. Many fairy stories have a kind of meaning behind them, but I don't think this one is difficult to guess."

"It means, I suppose," said Chrissie, "that everything is of use, if you can find the right place for it."

"A little more than that," said Miss Lilly. "We might put it this way – that everybody, even the smallest and weakest, has his or her own place in the house of – " and she hesitated.

"In the house of the world?" said Ferdy.

"In the house of life," said Miss Lilly after thinking a little. "That says it better."

Then, seeing that Ferdy was looking rather tired, she told Chrissie to run off and get dressed for going a walk.

"I will send Flowers to sit with you," she said, as she stooped to kiss the little invalid, "and in the afternoon Chrissie and I will come back again for an hour or so if you are not asleep."

"I won't be asleep," said Ferdy; "I have slept quite enough to last me all day. Miss Lilly – "

"What, dear?" for the boy's eyes looked as if he wanted to ask her something. "Would you like us to bring you in some flowers? – not garden ones, but wild ones. There are still primroses – and violets, of course – in the woods."

"Yes," Ferdy replied, "I should like them very much. And could you get some moss, Miss Lilly? I would like to arrange them with moss, in that sort of birds'-nesty-looking way."

"I know how you mean," the young lady said. "Yes, we will bring you some moss. And, by the bye, Ferdy, if I had some wire I could show you how to make moss baskets that last for ever so long to put flowers in. You put a little tin or cup to hold water in the middle of the basket – the moss quite hides it, – and then you can always freshen up the moss by sousing it in water."

"What a nice word 'sousing' is," said Ferdy, in his quaint old-fashioned way. "It makes you think of bathing in the sea. Miss Lilly, do you think I'll ever be able to bathe in the sea again? I do so love it. And then there's skating and cricket, and when I go to school there'll be football. Papa was so good at football when he was at school. I wonder – " he stopped short. "I wonder," he went on again, "if I'll ever be able for any of those things. Boys who are all right, well boys, don't think of the difference being like me makes."

"No, they don't," his governess agreed. "But there is still a good long while before you would be going to school, Ferdy dear."

"I know," he said, though he could not keep back a little sigh. "I've only been two days in bed, but I have thought such a lot. Miss Lilly, there was something I wanted to ask you. It's about that boy, Jesse Piggot. I was thinking about him when I was awake in the night. If you meet him, please thank him for asking if I was better, and do you think mamma would let him come in one day to see me? It's partly that story, too."

Miss Lilly did not at first understand.

"The 'nallegory," said Ferdy, "about all the stones being some good."

Miss Lilly's face cleared; she looked pleased and interested.

"Oh yes," she said.

"I haven't got it straight in my head yet," said Ferdy. "I want to think a lot more. It's partly about me myself, and partly about Jesse and boys like him. Oh, I do wish I could be on the sofa in the window," he added suddenly. "I'd like to see the children going to school and coming back."

"I hope you will be on the sofa in a very few days, dear," said Miss Lilly. "But I must go – Chrissie will be waiting for me. I hope we shall get some nice flowers and moss, and to-morrow I will bring some wire and green thread that I have at home on purpose for such things."

When she had gone Flowers made her appearance. She sat down with her work, and Ferdy lay so still, that she thought he must have fallen asleep again. But no, Ferdy was not asleep, only thinking; and to judge by the look on his face, his thoughts were interesting.

The moss baskets proved a great success as well as a great amusement. Ferdy's nimble fingers seemed to have grown even more nimble and delicate in touch now that he was forced to lie still. They twisted the wire into all sorts of new shapes, some quaint, some graceful, that Miss Lilly had never even thought of, and when some little old cups without handles or tiny jelly pots or tins were found to fit in, so that the flowers could have plenty of water to keep them fresh, you cannot think how pretty the moss baskets looked. The children's mother was quite delighted with one that was presented to her, and she smiled more cheerfully than she had yet done since Ferdy's accident, to see him so busy and happy.

And time went on. It is very curious how quickly we get accustomed to things – even to great overwhelming changes, which seem at first as if they must utterly upset and make an end of everything. It is a great blessing that we do get used to what is. When I was a little girl I remember reading a story about the old proverb which in those days was to be found as one of the model lines in a copy-book. This one stood for the letter "C," and it was, "Custom commonly makes things easy."

Somehow the words fixed themselves in my memory. You don't know how often and in what very far differing circumstances I have said them over to myself; sometimes in hopefulness, sometimes when I had to face sorrows that made me feel as if I could not face them, "Custom commonly" seemed to be whispered into my ear, as if by a gentle little fairy voice. And I found it came true, thank God! It is one of the ways in which He helps us to bear our sorrows and master our difficulties, above all, real sorrows and real difficulties. Fanciful ones, or foolish ones that we make for ourselves, are often in the end the hardest to bear and to overcome.

It was so with little Ferdy and his friends. One month after that sad birthday that had begun so brightly, no stranger suddenly visiting the Watch House would have guessed from the faces and voices of its inmates how lately and how terribly the blow had fallen upon them. All seemed bright and cheerful, and even the boy's own countenance, though pale and thin, had a happy and peaceful expression. More than that indeed. He was often so merry that you could hear his laugh ringing through the house if you were only passing up or down stairs, or standing in the hall below.

By this time things had settled themselves down into a regular plan. The oriel room was now Ferdy's "drawing-room" – or drawing-room and dining-room in one, as he said himself. It was his day room, and every night and morning his father or Thomas, the footman, carried him most carefully and gently from and to the invalid couch in his favourite window to bed, or from bed in his own little room.

This was a delightful change. Ferdy declared he felt "almost quite well again" when the day came on which he was allowed "to go to bed properly," and be attired nicely the next morning in a little dressing-gown made to look as like a sailor suit as possible.

His general health was good, thanks to the excellent care that was taken of him, and thanks too to his own cheerful character. There were times, of course, when he did find it difficult to be bright – lovely summer afternoons when a sharp pang pierced his little heart at the sight of the school children racing home in their careless healthfulness, or fresh sweet mornings when he longed with a sort of thirstiness to be able to go for a walk in the woods with Christine and Miss Lilly. But these sad feelings did not last long, though the days went on, and still the doctor shook his head at the idea even of his being carried down to the lawn and laid there, as Ferdy had begun to hope might be allowed.

The oriel window was his greatest comfort. It really was a delightful window. On one side or other there was sure to be something to look at, and Ferdy was quick to find interest in everything. He loved to see the school children, some of whom were already known to him, some whom he learnt to know by sight from watching them pass.

But one boyish figure he missed. All this time Jesse Piggot had never been seen. Miss Lilly had looked out for him, as Ferdy had asked her to do, but in vain. And it was not till within a day or two of a month since the accident that she heard from some of the Draymoor people that the boy had been taken off "on a job" by one of his rough cousins at the colliery village.

"And no good will it do him neither," added the woman. "That's a lad as needs putting up to no manner o' mischief, as my master says."

"Wasn't it a pity to take him away from Farmer Meare's?" Miss Lilly added.

"They hadn't really room for him there," said the woman. "But Farmer Meare is a good man. He says he'll take the poor lad back again after a bit when there'll be more work that he can do."

Miss Lilly told this over to the children the next day. Ferdy looked up with interest in his eyes.

"I hope he will come back again soon," he said. "You know, Miss Lilly, I never finished talking about him to you. I was thinking of him again a lot yesterday; it was the birds, they were chattering so when I was alone in the afternoon. I was half asleep, I think, and hearing them reminded me in a dreamy way of birds' nests and eggs, and then, through that, of Jesse Piggot and what the fairy story put in my head about him."

"What was it?" asked Miss Lilly.

"It's rather difficult to explain," Ferdy replied. "I was thinking, you see, that if I never get well and strong again I wouldn't seem any use to anybody. It does seem as if some people were no use. And Jesse Piggot seems always in everybody's way, as if there was no place for him, though quite different from me, of course, for everybody's so kind to me. And then I thought of the stones, and how they all fitted in, and I wondered what I could get to do, and I thought perhaps I might help Jesse some way."

Miss Lilly looked at Ferdy. There was a very kind light in her eyes.

"Yes, Ferdy dear," she said. "I think I understand. When Jesse comes back we must talk more about it, and perhaps we shall find out some way of fitting him into his place. Stop dear, I think I had better look at your knitting; you are getting it a little too tight on the needles."

Ferdy handed it to her with a little sigh. He did not care very much for knitting, and he had also a feeling that it was girls' work. But it had been very difficult to find any occupation for him, as he could not go on making moss baskets always, and knitting seemed the best thing for the moment. He was now making a sofa blanket for his mother, in stripes of different colours, and Miss Lilly and Christine were helping him with it, as it would otherwise have been too long a piece of work.

"I'm rather tired of knitting," he said, "now that I know how to do it. I liked it better at first, but there's no planning about it now."

"We must think of a change of work for you before long," said Miss Lilly, as she quickly finished a row so as to get the stitches rather looser again. "Don't do any more this morning, Ferdy. Lie still and talk. Tell me about the birds chattering."

"They are so sweet and funny," said Ferdy. "Sometimes I fancy I'm getting to know their different voices. And there's one that stands just at the corner of the window-sill outside, that I really think I could draw. I know the look of him so well. Or I'll tell you what," he went on. "I could figure him, I'm sure I could, better than draw him."

"Figure him! what do you mean?" said Chrissie. "What funny words you say, Ferdy."

"Do you mean modelling it?" asked Miss Lilly. "Have you ever seen any modelling?"

"No," said Ferdy, "I don't understand."

"I mean using some soft stuff, like clay or wax, and shaping it, partly with your fingers and partly with tools," replied Miss Lilly. "I don't know much about it, but I remember one of my brothers doing something of the kind."

Ferdy reflected.

"It does sound rather fun," he said, "but I didn't mean that. I meant cutting – with a nice sharp knife and soft wood. I am sure I could figure things that way. I know what made me think of it. It was a story about the village boys in Switzerland, who cut out things in the winter evenings."

"You mean carving," said Christine; "you shouldn't call it cutting. Yes, I've always thought it must be lovely work, but you would need to be awfully clever to do it."

"I'd like to try," said the boy. "When my sofa's put up a little higher at the back, the way Mr. Stern lets it be now, I can use my hands quite well. You needn't be afraid I'd cut myself. Oh, it would be jolly to cut out birds, and stags' heads, and things like that!"

"Stags' heads would be awfully difficult," said Christine, "because of the sticking-out horns – they're just like branches with lots of twigs on them. What is it you call them, Miss Lilly?"

"Antlers, isn't that what you mean?" Miss Lilly replied. "Yes, they would be very difficult. You would have to begin with something much simpler, Ferdy."

"I suppose I thought of stags because the Swiss boys in the story cut out stags' heads," said Ferdy. "I think I'd try a swallow's head. When I shut my eyes I can see one quite plain. Miss Lilly, don't you think I might try to draw one? If I had a piece of paper and a nice pencil – "

Just then the door opened and his mother came in. Her face brightened up as soon as she caught sight of Ferdy's cheerful expression and heard his eager tone – it was always so now. Since the accident Mrs. Ross seemed a kind of mirror of her boy; if he was happy and comfortable her anxious face grew smooth and peaceful; if he had had a bad night, or was tired, or in pain, she looked ten years older.

And Miss Lilly, who, though still quite young herself, was very thoughtful and sensible, saw this with anxiety.

"It will never do for things to go on like this," she said to herself, "the strain will break down poor Mrs. Ross. And if Ferdy is never to be quite well again, or even if it takes a long time for him to recover, it will get worse and worse. We must try to find something for him to do that will take him out of himself, as people say, – something that will make him feel himself of use, poor dear, as he would like to be. I wonder if my grandfather could speak to Mrs. Ross and make her see that she should try not to be always so terribly anxious."

For old Dr. Lilly was a very wise man. In his long life he had acquired a great deal of knowledge besides "book-learning"; he had learnt to read human beings too.

But just now Miss Lilly's thoughtful face brightened up also as Ferdy's mother came in.

"We are talking about wood-carving," she said. "I am going to ask my grandfather about it. And Ferdy would like to prepare for it by drawing a little again – he was getting on nicely just before he was ill."

"I'd like a slate," said Ferdy, "because I could rub out so easily; only drawings on a slate never look pretty – white on black isn't right."

"I know what," exclaimed Christine. "Mamma, do let us get Ferdy one of those beautiful white china slates – a big one, the same as your little one that lies on the hall table for messages."

Ferdy's eyes sparkled with pleasure.

"That would do lovelily," he said.

So it was arranged that Christine should drive with her mother that afternoon to the nearest town – not Whittingham, but a smaller town in another direction, called Freston, in quest of a good-sized white china slate.