them in His mercy and His pity, and sent down His rain
and dew and sunshine upon it five hundred years in
token of His peace? It was their home—theirs,
by the grace of God and His good heart, and no man
had a right to rob them of it. And they were
the gentlest, truest friends that children ever had,
and did them sweet and loving service all these five
long centuries, and never any hurt or harm; and the
children loved them, and now they mourn for them,
and there is no healing for their grief. And
what had the children done that they should suffer
this cruel stroke? The poor fairies could have
been dangerous company for the children? Yes,
but never had been; and could is no argument.
Kinsmen of the Fiend? What of it? Kinsmen
of the Fiend have rights, and these had; and children
have rights, and these had; and if I had been there
I would have spoken—I would have begged
for the children and the fiends, and stayed your hand
and saved them all. But now—oh, now,
all is lost; everything is lost, and there is no help
more!”
Then she finished with a blast at that idea that fairy
kinsmen of the Fiend ought to be shunned and denied
human sympathy and friendship because salvation was
barred against them. She said that for that very
reason people ought to pity them, and do every humane
and loving thing they could to make them forget the
hard fate that had been put upon them by accident
of birth and no fault of their own. “Poor
little creatures!” she said. “What
can a person’s heart be made of that can pity
a Christian’s child and yet can’t pity
a devil’s child, that a thousand times more
needs it!”
She had torn loose from Pere Fronte, and was crying,
with her knuckles in her eyes, and stamping her small
feet in a fury; and now she burst out of the place
and was gone before we could gather our senses together
out of this storm of words and this whirlwind of passion.
The Pere had got upon his feet, toward the last, and
now he stood there passing his hand back and forth
across his forehead like a person who is dazed and
troubled; then he turned and wandered toward the door
of his little workroom, and as he passed through it
I heard him murmur sorrowfully:
“Ah, me, poor children, poor fiends, they have
rights, and she said true—I never thought
of that. God forgive me, I am to blame.”
When I heard that, I knew I was right in the thought
that he had set a trap for himself. It was so,
and he had walked into it, you see. I seemed
to feel encouraged, and wondered if mayhap I might
get him into one; but upon reflection my heart went
down, for this was not my gift.
