MICHAELMAS

Evening Post, Volume CXV, Issue 88, 15 April 1933, Page 5

MICHAELMAS

(By "Wandering Walter,," for a comer of the "Fairy Ring.") MICHAELMAS drew her whito skirt further up and.ran as fast as sh« could through the green meadows; and thnt meant she was speeding as fast as the wind; and could race any thistledown tliat chanced to bo abroad. At the end of the meadows lay a little green fairy wood, and Michaelmas was glad in her heart that she was drawing nearer it, At last she slipped down to rest <=n. a inoss-i'cvered bank, and her whito toes stole into the cool water. She --was as pale as any flower in the garden, her hair was as fine as silk, clinging about' her lovely shoulders; and had-you seen her, you would have been afraid, because she was as shy and lovely as timid fawns that1 play in the far-away places. Gently as the water lapped, she began to sob. "What ails you, maid<-ii , fair?" asked a bird resting on her hand. Mivh.aclm.ah looked round: "L did not know," she said, "that winged birds had the power of speech." "It is not so," replied the bird. "Only this is a forest where fairies dwell; and besides, 1 cannot mistake the enchantment in your pale eyes 4t is bewitching. Anything you a.sk of mo I will be glad to give to you." "Oh—oh!" cried Michaelmas. "But I have nothing to ask of you. I am coutont, if I could stay here; only I i-annot and I am afraid." "What of?" asked the bird. Michaelmas sighed. "I live far aver yonder," she explained, "in a tiny hut with an old man. He' is very old and bent. Though his life has been hard, he has always been good to me. Today, whilst I was gathering sticks for our midday fire, I thought I' hoard some sound. I dropped them and ian to tho hut, to find, not my old friend, for such I will always call him, but somebody strange to me. It was an old woman, bearing a striking resemblance to the man, bent, too, but she wire a witch's hat on*her grey head, and there was hate in her dark" eyes. "She told me never to come there again, and she ~waved a burning stick before my face. In fear I fled. Here I am," she finished, with a slight laugh, "My name is Michaclmasi" By now- a crowd of forest folk—birds, grasshoppers, spiders, insects of every description, and -one or two^ flower children—had collected to listen. The trees bent forward to catch .the, girl's words. All was very still. Plainly the story troubled tho folk of the forest. , "Ah!" cried the bird. "It is in vain. -For she you. speak of is Witch Win, if I remember aright. Many yoars ago blic o took mo from my homo garden and made me a bird. If I could take my right form now, maiden, I would be a man of soven and twenty." "And I," cried a wizened grasshopper. "My years arc all done, I fear." "Life has held a cruel fate for us all," sighed a slender sapling. . "I have lost count of years, slow though they are to pass, but I was once your height, child, and I once had hair as fine and lovely." The tree bent to touch tha girl's smooth head. "Ah," spoke the bird again. "She said she would return again in year* to como. Now she comes, and we must flee, though I will never have wing* again to fly, or you, tree, will you g'vay in the breeze as now." "Farewell! Farewell!" And - only Michaelmas was alone in the enchanted forest. As she Baw tho last bird wing skywards, there fell all around a hush. Then every limb' creaked,' tlio water tore at a maddening pace, while Michaelmas bowed her head. There came a murmur of the old witch's name, then a storm, fierce and deadly, swept over tho wood. Michaelmas could not remember after that, but the very roots'of the trees were torn from tho ground. The next day saw nosign of the trees and the birds; they, were gone. All the beauty and wonder had vanished. Instead there lay a lpnely common without a sign of life surrounding, save for a brave white daisy flower that clung precariously to a bank. People came and people went, and tho little flower, loved by all, was named Michaelmas. I have it in my garden, and I think if you look you'll find it in yours. Round about Easter it opens its pale flower buds to smile at the world, anil there's brdvery in its small gold heart; for Easter time is just a few dayi that are brave and sad—like Michaelmas daisy.