merry merry christmas MIRROR. MIRANDA'S NAME

Evening Post, Volume CXXVI, Issue 150, 22 December 1938, Page 24 (Supplement)

merry merry christmas

MIRROR.

MIRANDA'S NAME

TO MAKE A FAIRY.

A tale of hi&h adventure ...

§NCE upon a time there was a little girl called Judy, and she was a dear little girl, pretty and clever and sometimes even "What a beautiful blue day," she said as she looked through the window, "I must put on a party frock." So she put on her bluest, frilliest, party frock and her biggest, floppiest, blue hat and blue socks and even blue shoes, and out she went into the big blue day. . As she walked across the grass, the sleepy Dees and the sun-soaked flawers and the larks and the butterflies, and the clean, clean sky gave her the something-is-going-to-happen feeling. And something did happen. Something, you'd never guess what, happened. Of course, you think she saw some mushrooms on the tennis court, or a fantail's nest with eggs in, or a four-leafed clover. But is was something even more exciting than that, and Judy could hardly believe it when she saw a great big blue bird swooping down till he landed right beside her. Such a big fellow he was, far bigger than a hen or a hawk or a morepork, bigger even than Judy. "Hullo," he said, "want to come for a ride? Of course she wanted to, so he lowered his wing and heaved her up on " to his soft, warm, feathery back, and up they went to the clean, clean sky and on and on through the blue till they came to a thistledown cloud. "LovelyJ" said Judy, as they sat in its billows, letting handfuls of thistledown float down, down, to the earth for kisses, lots for Mummy, lots for Daddy, and Annette, and Thomas and Susanne, and old Fred. "Come along," said the bird. "Oh no no, please bird, don't let's go home yet, show me some more, please bird,' do, oh do, bird!" Judy always talks like that when she wants "anything very much. , . ~ , TkEAR old bird, he just nodded his head and swooped down so fast that " *■*■ she had to shut her eyes, and where do you think she found herself, when she opened them? In Fairyland! Where she'd always longed to go. The sweetest fairyland with flowers everywhere—pink ones, and palest blue

ones and xnauve ones and buttercup-yellow ones—none of the big, dark ' flowers, but afll the tiny scented lovely ones. * •

But guess what the lawns were made of? The finest, softest, greenest moss, and behind all this loveliness of moss and flowers were trees with •ilver branches and young green curly leaves. Everywhere little fairies were singing and laughing, as they made flowers and rainbows and all the pretty things f airlies do make. But when they tarn. Judy they left their work and held on to her hands and her dress and her hat, and they ran and flew and laughed till they brought her to where the fairy Queen sat. But the Queen! She was the loveliest of them all, with her shining white dress and long gold hair crowned with stars, and such a sweet smile ion her lips when she said:— . "Hullo, Judith, how do you like, Fairyland?" Fancy the Queen knowing tfiat her best name was Judith, without having to be told.

"Gorgeous!" said Judy. She always says that when she likes anything very1 much. But the Queen had never heard the word before, and she said it over and over. *

1 "Gorgeous, gorgeous," in her silvery voice, and was so pleased about learning a*new word that she said, "Well, I'll make it even more gorgeous lor you."

And she went to a golden box and took out a lovely pair of blue and silver wings and fastened them on to Judy.

"There you are," she said, "now you can fly anywhere you like." GO off flew Judy, and all the fairies fluttered after her right up into the P prettiest tree of all. And they made a crown of flowers for her head fand a necklace of smaller ones, and a tiny basket of silver twigs, and all the time they laughed and sang and were so sweet that Judy was the happiest girl in all the world. On they flew from tree to tree, finding the most wonderful things. Chocolates on the chocolate trees, oranges on the orange trees, and bananas, jknd even tiny ice-creams in the cones of an ice-cream tree! So Judy filled her little basket with lovely things to take home to other feeople. Then she flew down to where the blue bird was waiting, and the fairies took off her wings and pushed her on to his warm, feathery back, end waved and blew kisses to her as they flew off. ~., Judy was so tired that all she could do was to snuggle down into the feathers and go fast asleep. When she woke up she was lying at the bottom iof her own garden, and the other people had all come out to look for her, and they were just going to be angry when Judy jumped up and hugged them and got all out of breath and said:— v

. "Wasn't it lucky I put on my party frock! OhJ Oh! It's been simply »•*" And she took a long time telling them all about it.

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(Copied.)

MAURIE AND THE SUN

(Original.)

Little Maurie had always wanted to

live in the little brown house at the bottom of the hill, and when his mother said she was going to move in he was in a fever of excitement.

It wasn't the brown house so much, it was the hill he was interested in. And this is why.

Behind that hill Maurie was sure was the sun's beautiful bed. Every night Maurie would stand at his gate and watch the sun sink behind the hiil, and he was sure that behind the hill he'd find the sun fast asleep. So all day Maurie played on the hill, never ever climbing the top, as he knew the sun didn't go to sleep till teatime. At last the time came. Maurie's mother watched him climb up the hill and thought what a disappointment he will get, poor wee lad. When Maurie reached the top, the sun was sinking fast. But he was not disappointed. For there war the sun, in a bed of golden light, mingled with mauve, and a pillow of red. The great ball of golden fire was sinking fast beneath the beautiful eiderdown of mingled colours. Maurie stayed there for a long time, then he tumbled down the hill as fast as his fat little legs could carry him and tried to tell his mummy all about it. That night as he was being tucked in, he told his mother he would always see the sun go to bed. His mother smiled and said, "Now you be a good boy and tomorrow night you can watch again," and Maurie snuggled down and shut his eyes, thinking of the sun lying fast asleep in his cosy bed. "MISCHIEVOUS" (13). City.

Take a little silver spoon where - ffodils we growing, And from the golden heart of one That's In the wind a-blowing, Take just one drop of gold; Then find your own small thimble and run off into the lane, And in it shake some gleaming drops of newly-fallen rain, As much as it will hold. * Then get a pinch of pollen from an almond blossom tree, And take a broken spider web, the biggest you can see, And mix all these together. Wait until the moonlight gleams in pools upon the ground, ! Then say, "A crall-da-farray" twice, and stir the mixture round With a tiny yellow feather. And if through all the day you've been s good and loving child, No one's ever frowned at you, but only laughed and smiled To see you work and play, Then from your mafic spell will come ; a dainty elf, And if you love her dearly, you can keep her for yourself, For just one day. From MARGARET WATTS.

BUTTERFLY.

Butterfly silver and butterfly gold Were struck from quartz by the elves of old. green and butterfly red, A goblin clips from a woodpecker's head. Butterfly purple and butterfly blue, A fairy stilts from a drop of dew.

elves of old. Butterfly green and butterfly red, A goblin clips from a woodpecker's head.

Butterfly purple and butterfly blue, A fairy stilts from a drop of dew. Butterfly yellows of every shade, A pixie steals when the butter is made. ■

Butterfly browns a brownie sends Straight from the hole where the rainbow ends.

Hundreds and hundreds of hundreds of things,

Go to the making of butterflies wings.

NOCTURNE. The earth is still; Even the flock upon the hill Moves not—its lone sentinel Struck by 'the day's spell. Only the grasshopper sings Of ultimate drowsy things And drones the bee his double bass, Homewards through space. Whispers no wind. Life has just dropped behind— The butterfly sleeps on the stem Of a poppy's ruby gem, And in the nests the birds And on the slopes the herds Dream of those shimmering distances i Where Quiet is. ; —Owen Hamilton. DECEMBER. The palm trees slope against the sky As still as they were painted so . Very strange Jt is that I Stand under them, knee-deep in snow. In other lands as green as this. Are other men, perhaps, like me, Listening to the seething hiss Of snowflakes falling endlessly. Oh, kindly hills of home! That keep. For us who left them years ago A wintry silence, muffled deep In newly-fallen, immortal snow. —James Norman Hall.

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FORFEITS

When you are having a party these little forfeits are sure to come in useful.

Tell the person to leave the room with *wo leSs an{* come back with six. He can do this by walking out of the room and come back with a chair.

Ask a question that cannot be answered in the negative. This can be done by asking anyone what V E S spells.

The unfortunate player is told to stand on the ceiling. He must write the words "the ceiling" on a piece of paper, and then stand on it.

DON'T FORGET TO WISH

Do; not forget your wishes at Christ-mas-time. You must wish for something nice if you find two kernels in one of your nuts.

If you say the same thing at the same time as another person you can have a wish. Link your little fingers as you do so.

And you must also wish when you eat something for. the first time that season. Your portion of Christmas pudding, for instance.

Your wishes are supposed to come true then. Try and see.

EVERYBODY:

I COULD see Barty's candle bobbing across the grass. It dipped and tilted under the boughs of a tree, and then swooped wildly as Barty darted after a moth. I followed more sedately, and after me, more sedately yet, walked Wise Brigid. I held my candle high, and she moved forward into its pale circle. I could see her russet eyes and the light washing over her glossy red flank, but most of all I noticed the way she walked, so dignified and stately, as became a wise old dog. It was obvious that Barty was trying to make his candle burn upside down. The flame flickered and went out. I brushed past Wise Brigid and we tore together through the long grass and stumbled over the threshold of the littlel house. Uncle Andy had Just finished making up our shakedowns on the floor of the inner room. We put our candles on the rickety mantelpiece and looked around. It was all very interesting. "Funny whiff!" said Barty, sniffing. "All old houses have that queer, musty smell," said Uncle Andy, "and this is a very old one." "How old?" I wanted to know. "Couldn't aay. We've been on this farm for more than forty years.^and this little shack was down among the trees before our own house was tiuilt. I believe some very old pioneering family lived in it in the bygone days, but goodness knows how many years ago that is." "Why didn't you pull it down?" asked Barty, blowing at the cobwebs. But before he had time to be answered he cried: "Gosh! What's all that?" He pointed to a narrow bench, running along one wall. It was covered with all kinds of odd articles. I was sure that I could see a doll's legs hanging over the edge. Uncle Andy held his candle high and saw that I was right. The bench was covered with toys. "The kids' presents," said he. "We don't go in for the stocking business here. On Christmas morning we all have breakfast out on the lawn and then let the youngsters go for it. Hands off that engine, Barty!" "All right," agreed Barty reluctantly. "After all, you are twelve," said Uncle, with a twinkle at me. "Yes," said Barty, rather sadly. "And that's why I'm putting you out here tonight, in the old shack. I know you won't be frightened." "Frightened!" said Barty scornfully. "Why? I'm glad you haven't enough room in the house. Out here it's just like camping." "Good lad!" said Uncle, and a moment later we saw him crossing the grass towards the house. There was a queer smell about the little.house, musty and old and dry, not unpleasant. It couldn't be that, what with the salt wind.blowing straight in the open door, the tall grass bowing in over the threshold, and the pohutukawas rustling grey leaves all around. There was a sudden whirr, and I nearly jumped. Barty had the engine. It leaped about the knotty floor, and he watched it with a seraphic smile. * I was into bed first. It was hard, lying on the floor, but comfortable in a Spartan sort of way. I wriggled far down under the blankets. Barty got into his. The bedclothes immediately rose into the air in a woolly fountain. There was a grunt and a groan; the candle snuffed out; the little, brightpainted engine ran down and lay still. "Goo* night," said Barty drowsily, and he was asleep. I think I went to sleep then, too. It was strange that I did, with the tremendous hushing of the sea against the cliff, the whispering of the companionable Christmas trees, the indefinite creakings and rustlings of the old house.

If ever there was magic about, we have it in the Ring tonight. Wider and wider grows the mushroom circle till it encircles every elf that trod its fairy ways and every pixie who' left her dancing slippers in the dew for the workaday shoes of the grown-up world. To everyone « in every house Letterbox Elf and I send the old wish, "a Merry Christmas!'* We hope it will be the merriest, happiest Christmas you can rememjber and not an unhappy face to be seen anywhere! Gift-making time is nearly, nearly here and in the Ring there are books and toys sent by boys and girls who, in making up their own

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A Child's Thoughts

(By Enid B. V. Saunders.)

Who can tell a child's long thoughts * As' he dreams among the cool, Green shadows sunlight weaves about The trees beside a bushland pool? Does his fancy, shining-winged, Hover and take flight at will Like the dragon-flies that dart Above the wat'r? How gently still The air, until the drowsy throb Of bees stirs echoes heard beforeIs his a vision of dim seas Beating on some dreamlike shore?. Perhaps the Tata's scent recalls Wind-breath of more exotic flowers. Who knows what strange, unwearied thoughts A child will ponder through the hours?

The Little Gho<?t

(Written for Christmas-in-the-Ringr by Chris Barlow, Auckland.)

Beautiful things that hang in the water:

The yellow narcissus, tall and slim,

A star resembling the latter, And, proud and stilly, A swan to a swan mirrored dim. Hang shaken in a windy water; And the quaint dark heart is a blur ,

Of all that can ever really matter; Of a star and lily And a swan that hang over her.

C. H. Manuel.

THE YELLOW CAT,

In summer on the sunny wall the yellow cat

and I Sit quietly side by side and watch the clouds go sailing by. I love his yellow velvet paws—l lore to hear him sing, But when It's dark and I'm in bed, ,lt't quite a different thing. For when It's dark from every house the cats of every size Come creeping forth with angry tails and golden, gleaming eyes; They snarl and shriek and spit and swear— the yellow cat and they; • I love the yellow cat, but still—l lore "him best by day. ' —Teresa Hallows. CHRISTMAS SONG. ■ Why do the bells of Christmas ring? Why do little children sing? Once a lovely shining star, Seen by shepherds from afar, | Gently moved until its light | Made a manger's cradle bright. There a darling baby lay, Pillowed soft upon the hay; And its Mother sung and smiled, "This is Christ, the holy; Child 1" Therefore bells for Christmas ring. Therefore little children sing.

—Eugene Field.

THE FLOWER GAME

Here is a game that will cause roars of laughter. One player whispers a name of a flower to each of the others. Then he tells them that he is going to tell a story, and whenever he mentions a flower, the player with that name must run out of the room and bring back anything he likes.

The game then commences. Suddenly the story-teller says a name of a flower, and to everyone's surprise all the players make a dash for the door, making a terrible uproar, each one trying to get out first.

Of course, the story-teller has given all the players the same flower to remember.

A TRICK WITH NUTS

Place twenty-five nuts in a long row on the table. Then challenge a chum that you can make him take the last nut off the table. What you have to do is each take a number of nuts under four from the table in turns.

You must get him to take first pick. Suppose he takes two. You must also take two,. Should he take one, you must take three. This is so it makes the number up to four each time.

He will then find he is bound to take the last nut.

But I did wake up. Not abruptly, or in a startled fashion, but so imperceptibly that I was suddenly aware that I had been looking at the win- , dow for some time. It was set in a grey unpainted sash. The glass was flawed and dimpled with age, and the moonlight that flooded through it lay on the floor in whorls and warped circles of shadow and light. The room was full of light. It washed the bare, grey floor to the skirting, fell over the gay toys on the bench. I could see the upcurled hand which lay outside Barty's,tossed blankets, and the gloss on Brigid's red Irish coat. Just at the doorway there was darkness, looping across the door like a curtain. I lay and watched it wavering and blowing like a curtain as the moonlight deepened and waned. Then I saw her. She came under the darkness at the door, just as though it were a curtain indeed, and she stood for a moment hesitant. I wasn't startled at all. She was small, shy, quiet About ten years old, I should say, with long hair hanging down on either side of her face, as /straight as water. Her face was narrow, and I could see the moonlight reflected in her eyes as she glanced this way and that. She wore a queer-fashioned dress, very full and long. It was ragged at the hem, and she had bare feet. It seems odd to be describing her like this. At the time all I could see ' was her fragility—and yet fragility isn't the word. She looked like a shadow that the wind could bend, and when she moved the dimples and whorls of light upon the floor neither deepened nor darkened. She looked around the room, at Barty and me. Barty's face was screwed up with sleep, and I think mine must have seemed asleep, too, for she was not frightened. Then she saw the toys. Something passed over her face that I cannot describe, and she crossed the room as silently and swiftly as a blown piece of paper. Oh, the toys! Her little hands fluttered above them as though she didn't know which one to touch first. The bright colours, the queer, fascinating shapes! Joy ran over her face like sunshine on water. She rose on tiptoe j in sheer delight. Then the doll in the corner caught her eyes, and she opened >*her mouth to exclaim, though I didn't hear even the ghost of a sound. She stretched out her hand to pick it up. I cannot explain what happened then. Perhaps there can be no contact between the neighbouring worlds of flesh and spirit. She couldn't touch the doll. The tragedy of it was my tragedy as well. I seemed to hear her thoughts in my own mind, as her small fingers melted intangibly into the stiff body of the doll. So beautiful it was. In her short days, so long ago. she had never seen anything like it at all. So beautiful, and yet even in everlasting life she was to be denied it. She turned away from the bench, frail as a shadow. I saw the tears drop slowly down her cheeks. Wise Brigid lifted her nose from her paws and looked gravely at the stranger. Then she rose, stately and unhurried. The little ghost was poised like a bird on the point of fleeing. Brigid walked up to her and stood looking into her face. I could scarcely breathe. The light glimmered on the dog's russet eyes, on their trueness and love and faith which were Brigid's homage to every child. The small intangible hand dropped on the dog's head, and together they turned and went out the doorway. I could not see any longer. There was only the moonlight and the seasound in the room. Barty stirred and whimpered. I heard the click-click of nails upon the threshold, and Brigid came unhurriedly across the floor. I heard the thump of her tail and her small sigh as she dropped her nose upon her paws. There was nothing else.

(Original.)

"Miranda, Miranda," called Mrs. Rollon, "Time to get up!" Miranda, stirring sleepily, jumped up as she heard her name. "Oh, Muni," she cried, "why can't you call me Mary or Miriam, instead of that horrible, old-fash-ioned name?"

"It is your grandmother's, dear," reproached her mother. "And in her time it was a very nice name." Miranda said nothing but thought bitterly of the girls at school who teased her, for her rather old-fashioned name.

That dinner-time when Miranda reached home her mother was in a great state of excitement. "I've just received a telegram to say your aunt is coming ' over from Australia ' and she has made a name for herself as a singer."

THE BEES' SONG. Thouzanz of thornz there be On the Rozez where gozez The Zebra of Zee: Sleek, striped, and hairy, The steed of the Fairy Princess of Zee. Heavy with Blozzomz be The Rozez that growzez In the thickets of Zee, Where Grazez the zebra, Marked Abracadeebra Of the Princess of Zee. And he nozez the poziez Of the Rozez that growzez So luvez'm and free With an eye dark and wary, In search of a Fairy, Whose Rozez he knowzez Were not honeyed for he, But to breathe a sweet incenm To solace the Princess Of far-away Zee.

Miranda was filled with joy at the news and quite forgave her oldest enemy, Lucy Thomas, who called out "Miranda, Miranda, no name could be quite grander." « "Of course not," retorted Miranda, and ran on.

That night a big taxi drew up outside of her house and out stepped the most beautiful lady Miranda had ever seen. Underneath a dainty hat of black velvet danced and bobbed beautiful redgold curls. While two beautiful eyes smiled at her. "So this is Miranda," she said in a lovely voice and the name did not seem at all awful when she said it. "We must be alike, as that's my name, too."

Miranda could hardly believe her ears. This beautiful lady's name Miranda, "Oh, how lovely!" she cried.

—WALTER DE LA' MAR*

* *

One night in the following week, Miranda and her friends sat listening to Miranda's aunty. Her beautiful i voice echoed through the crowded building. The light lit up the jewels in her spangled dress and hair, "Oh," said Lucy Thomas, dreamily, "to think she's your aunty." "Yes! And her name's Miranda," said Miranda triumphantly. "MISCHIEVOUS" (13). City.

"MISCHIEVOUS" (13)

NUTS Ta CRACK

Freddie Fly: Come on, Flossie. Don't give up.. We're nearly home how. see, we're just flying over Mount Egmont

SWIMMING GAMES

Play follow the leaders. You can play this just as you woulcl.on land— the leader, doing just as she;■likes. She can swim, dive, turn somersaults, climb out of the water, jump in again, and so on, all those following doing just the same. They should also <;ppy all the strokes she swims—if they can. PEARL DIVING. •,..*■ * You and a friend tread water, about a yard apart, and facing each other. Having taken a good breath, you ceasa your' kick, raise your 'arms'"'straight" up out of the water, and so go gliding' straight down. Keep your eyes opeii • » • as you descend, and watch your friend* body. If you do not sink, fast enough you can drive yourself down, by sculling with your hands, which "~ : ' * ' are still above your head. ' When your hands are down to the ■^— —"— "«^i"i*^"^w»^*«^^^^Bl level of your companion's feet, slope them forward and giye a couple of kicks. Thus you will come darting; up to the surface behind your friend, and she will then turn inwards, and go down like a pearl diver herself. This game is splendid for giving confidence and calm when you are under water. ' [- ARM-IN-ARM. This is a form of tandem swimming, but it is so enjoyable that it is worth mentioning separately. Two of you lie' on your backs "arm-in-arm," and then you -simply swim along head first by fluttering the d legs, just as in back-crawl. . ' it When you are practised you will be able to get quite a good pace.

RIDDLE-ME-REE. My first is In rope but not in cord. My second is In river and also In ford, My third is in mirror but not in glass, My fourth Is in mower but not in grass, My fifth is in journal but not In book, My sixth Is in sparrow and also in rook. My seventh is in blocks and also in bricks. My eighth is in jokes but not in tricks, My,' whole is a well-known flower.

THE CHRISTMAS PIE. Without. the door let sorrow lie. And If for cold It. hap to die. We'll .bury it in a Christmas pie, And evermore be merry I

CHRISTMAS MENU

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Sor} out the letters and you will fi eight nice things you all lik« to it Christmas time.

A STAINED GfLASS WINDOW?

Whenever you go to church, I'm sure you admire the beautiful stained glass windows. If you would like to have one at home for Christmas you may use this picture to make one. It is quite easy if you do it carefully. Trace this picture on to strong, transparent paper (tracing or lunch paper) and colour it with water paints. The floor may be tinted soft green. The cradle, bench, and window-frame may be a brownish-grey. The faces and hands should be just tinted a rosy flesh shade. Mary's robes are blue and she has a golden halo about her head, like the Bab*. Leave the background white and paint the sky dark blue, leaving whit* stars. The animal's head is brown. Go over all the outline carefully and make the lines thick with dark ink or paint. When all is dry, press with a warm iron to remove creases, and stick on to a window wit* thin flour paste. It will stand out beautifully and give a real Christmas touch to your room.