Elizabeth Rhodes Jackson

“ You must curtail his powers instead of enlarging them.”
“A cook would be good,” said Wendell, who really had a very practical mind. “My mother and all her friends say there aren’t enough cooks to go ’round.”
“I told you,” said the Pixie wearily, “you must curtail his powers. Just use your brain a little. Isn’t the cook the greatest power in the household? Might as well leave him a giant and be done with it!”
“Well, I can’t think,” said Wendell. “I don’t know anything useful. A victrola, perhaps. I wonder if the Beauteous Maiden has a victrola. I’m sure she can think of something, anyhow.” ”

“ Only a black and white cat prowled the gutters. A strange silence covered the city. Even the surging, seething roar of West End children at play, which rises all the evening, was stilled. Wendell’s running footsteps, beating rhythmic time on the brick pavement of Old Boston, alone broke the stillness. No traffic policemen presided over Beacon Street. He gained the Common, skirted the Frog Pond, and faced Flag Staff Hill and, brave boy though he was, he did tremble in his boots.
The frequent electric lights along the thoroughfares that bound the Common drew glowing lines of light around it ”

“ Now Wendell had the Cap of Thought in his pocket, and as he couldn’t hear one word that the young man was saying and the Beauteous Maiden evidently didn’t wish him to be left out, he took out the Magic Cap and slipped it on under his own cap as a convenience.
Around him rose the confused babble of many thoughts; but to his utmost amazement, close beside him was a sound of sobbing, of heart-breaking sobbing, although the Beauteous Maiden was laughing gayly.
And what was she thinking? “Oh, my dear Deliverer, I must marry you when you grow up. The Deliverer always expects it. ”

“ For many years we were a happy household, but after a time my stepmother was transformed into a cruel witch by the magic charms of an old Kobold.”
“Hold on!” cried the Pixie. “Does he live under Flag Staff Hill on the Common?”
“He does,” said the Beauteous Maiden.
“There, didn’t I tell you this thing was mixed up with him?” said the Pixie, turning triumphantly to Wendell. “I can always pick out his style.”
“The old Kobold,” went on the Beauteous Maiden, “gave my stepmother three magic gifts. The first was a cloak that rendered the wearer invisible. ”

“ Really?” she asked.
“I certainly do,” said Wendell fervently.
“Oh, how perfectly wonderful!” she cried; and then Wendell took off his Cap of Thought, for her thoughts of the young man grew so enthusiastic that Wendell was rather bored by listening in.
“Well, that’s well over,” he said to himself gayly “And I’m certainly coming out of this adventure all to the good. There’s the Pixie doing my fractions for me. There’s the Cloak of Darkness and the Cap of Thought whenever I want to do a little sleuthing, and there’s the Magic Book for all-’round enchantment. I certainly am in luck.” ”

“ As every Beacon Hill boy knows, Acorn Street is only one block long, or rather one block short, and there isn’t an oak on it. In fact, there isn’t a tree of any kind: there isn’t room for one.
The Pixie looked delighted, but he tried to assume a nonchalant air to hide his triumph. He swung one knee over the other carelessly and tilted his chin.
“We-ell!” said Wendell, a bit discouraged. But the thought came to him that in every fairy story the knight who passes the first of three tests always squeaks through the other two also, so of course there must be some way out. ”

“ THE HAPPY FAMILY HAVE so much to tell you,” said the Beauteous Maiden’s happy voice over the telephone. “Listen. I’ve heard from Mummer. She ’phoned. My Cruel Stepmother, you know, only she isn’t any more. She says she is entirely disenchanted, and she was perfectly lovely to me. I told her all about you, and she was so pleased. She wants to meet you, of course, but I thought it was safer to wait until you had killed the Giant. Mummer says he’s terribly hard to get on with, now that she’s stopped being a witch. He doesn’t like it a bit. When do you think you can kill him?” ”

“ IT’S YOUR FAIRY TALE,
YOU KNOW CHAPTER I
THE WISHING STONE HE children’s room of the Library was very still. Once in a while a murmur arose at the delivery desk, or some squeaky-shoed small feet crossed from open shelves to reading table. Occasionally a helpful child leaned across to another and whispered, “That’s a dandy book. Have you read the rest of them?” But all of these minor sounds were blended into the general effect of stillness and seclusion; and they did not even reach the ears of a small boy named Wendell, who bent over a large volume on one of the low round tables. ”

“ Standing at the top of the extremely steep slope which is Acorn Street, Wendell surveyed the prospect doubtfully. He saw a narrow cobble-stoned roadway; on his left, a trim row of doll houses, each with its projecting doorstep and old-fashioned scraper, its spotless white door and shining brass knocker, and{24} a narrow brick sidewalk where two thin people could just walk abreast; on his right, a long brick wall, broken by neat back doors, and a still narrower brick sidewalk where only one very thin person could walk abreast. Nowhere was there a tree, nor room to plant a tree. ”

“ THE PIXIE STARTS IT F course, Wendell’s intentions were excellent. He fully meant to devote himself to that home work, to forget the fairy stories that still hung like a mist about his brain and tackle those fractions like a man. But we all know how it is,—just as soon as we have looked at this one funny page of the newspaper, or read this one verse, or found out what the next chapter is about, we will certainly settle right down to business. There was the arithmetic. There were the two fairy books from the Library. ”

“ After he had it on, the inspiration came to him to board an electric at the next white post, and ride home free.
Perfectly simple! He got on behind an unsuspecting gentleman and took a seat near the door. Across the aisle sat a cross-eyed man. Wendell had always longed for a chance to see how a cross-eyed man worked his eyes, but he had never been allowed to stare at any one. Now he sat and stared to his heart’s content, unforbidden and unseen. He stared with such concentration that he was unaware that another passenger had entered the car, a very stout old colored woman, until, ouch! ”

“ No inspiration came to Wendell. The Pixie had no suggestion to offer, only unsympathetic criticism:—“You might have known that was too subtle for him. He’s no deep thinker. I could have told you.” His mother grew anxious. “You mustn’t study so hard, dear,” she said. “You should have been out playing with the boys instead of poring over that Memorial History of Boston this afternoon. Yes, I know it is fascinating reading, especially the earlier chapters, but you must think of your health, dear.” Cousin Virginia looked at Wendell solicitously, and Wendell knew she meant to be funny again. ”

“ Wendell’s name and the date were written at the top in his own handwriting. The work was done neatly enough to pass, but not so excessively neatly as to arouse suspicion.
“Well, you are some little fiend at arithmetic,” pronounced Wendell with great relief.
“Glad you are satisfied,” said the Pixie. “Of course you understand that if you can’t perform my tasks, you belong to me.”
“Well, I might as well belong to you as to Miss Ounce,” ruminated Wendell. “Come on with your first task. I suppose it will be water in a sieve from the Charles River or something like that. They always are.” ”

“ The Frog Pond, within close view of the Massachusetts State House, within three minutes’ walk of Boston’s financial center, and within a stone’s throw of the shopping district, belongs exclusively to the youngsters. Any grown person may occupy a bench on the walk and watch the fun, but he mustn’t complain if he happens to get splashed. Neither must he object to large groups of girls and boys all around him, struggling to exchange wet bathing suits for dry clothes without the shelter of a dressing room. The youngsters are required to put on their bathing suits at home ”

“ Something useful, as you say.{103}”
“I thought of a victrola,” urged Wendell, who was fond of music. “You haven’t a victrola, have you? And every family needs one.”
“No—o, we haven’t,” said the Beauteous Maiden. “That’s rather good, if we can’t think of anything better. But, let me see. What we really need in our family, more than a victrola, even, is Social Placement,—Background,—that sort of thing, you know. Even with Youth, Innocence, and Beauty, you do need Background, too, if you know what I mean. ”

“ In winter, when the pool is frozen, it is a skating pond, and Flag Staff Hill, just above it, makes an ideal start for a sled to go whizzing down across the icy glare of the Frog Pond. Popular opinion has it that it was this very slide on the Common that was made famous in the winter of 1774 and 1775 by the contest between the youngsters of Boston and General Gage’s redcoats, then quartered on the town, who tried to spoil the slide with sand and ashes. ”

“ A traffic policeman, very military-looking in trim khaki, was holding up the Charles Street traffic while automobiles spun up and down Beacon Street. Wendell, pausing on the curb, saw him suddenly check the Beacon Street traffic, while still holding the Charles Street lines at bay. The large square expanse was quite clear except for the khaki figure with both arms uplifted. Charles Street truck-drivers prepared to speed up. Beacon Street automobilists craned their heads out to see what was delaying the long double lines. ”

“ And it’s been an awfully hard thing to manage—impossible, really—with a Giant and a Witch right in plain sight in the family. Now what can you change the Giant to that will be most useful for Background?”
“Mayflower Society?” said Wendell. “Sons of the American Revolution? We have a lot of those in our family. That’s what you mean, isn’t it?”
“In a way,” said the Beauteous Maiden. “But those things aren’t any use unless they are handled properly. I’ll tell you the kind of thing I mean,—a Harvard professor, say. That would give us Atmosphere as well as Background.” ”

“ They made futile grabs below the water; they swam and dove after that frog. Several times some boy’s hand closed over it, only to find its slippery length wriggling through his fingers. At length it was captured by Izzy Icklebaum, who brought it triumphantly to the surface and held it in a tight grasp.
“Oh, Izzy, give it to me,” begged Wendell. “I’ll give you anything you want for it.”
Izzy lent a business-like ear to this offer.
“You will, eh?” he said, showing a large degree of interest. “Will you give me your aeroplane?” ”

“ When I first saw it, it was near the top of the hill.”
“Of course it was!” cried the Pixie, slapping his leg. “That’s where the old Kobold lives. This is just like his work. He never had an original idea in his life.”
“You mean—?” questioned Wendell.
“I mean this isn’t a real frog at all. It’s a person changed into a frog—by enchantment, you know. He’s always doing it, pulling that frog stuff. Why, I can count one, two, three—seven times anyway he’s used that same spell since Cinderella’s god{37}mother first suggested it. I should think he’d be tired of it himself.” ”

“ There was a pleasant group in the library when he joined them after dinner. They were all very quiet. His mother was darning stockings, his father reading the Transcript and occasionally reading some item aloud, and his Latin School brother playing checkers with Cousin Virginia. Yet the room was filled, to Wendell’s sensitive consciousness, with a fine hum, as of conversation. He sat down quietly behind his mother, who had not heard him come in.
“And then,” she went on thinking, “he will step down from the stage, with everyone applauding wildly and saying, ‘Yes, that’s the one. ”

“ They do the best they can to create for themselves a privacy that doesn’t exist. They bring newspapers and old blankets and sit under them on the grass to dress; they form close rings around each other at critical moments; and the Mayor of Boston consents, because he is very human and very sensible; and the Common police, who have all known the delights of the Frog Pond and the difficulties of dressing in public in their own boyhood days, turn their backs ”

“ Mr. Herford, it seemed, was originally a Boston man, though now dwelling in the outlands, and, said Mr. Herford, “Boston is a center of gravity almost entirely surrounded by Newtons.”
It sounded like sense, though naturally Wendell didn’t quite understand it at first. After he had read it several times, he began to see the point. Encouraged by the views the Pixie had expressed, Wendell decided to stop right in at the Kobold’s on the way home. If he wasn’t on the slope of the hill,{62} or if he remained invisible there, doubtless the spell that worked before would bring him to light again. ”

“ TO CHANGE A HUMAN BEING INTO A BUTTERFLY.
TO CHANGE A HUMAN BEING INTO A STONE—’ That might be good,—
‘TO CHANGE A HUMAN BEING INTO A DRAGON—’ He is that already.”
“Hold on,” said Wendell. “We don’t want any of those. Find a general one, to change him into any old thing. We can decide what afterwards.”
“All right,” said the Pixie. “I’ll keep on looking, and you keep on thinking.”
“We might change him into a janitor,” suggested Wendell, who had been looking idly out of the window until his eye fell on the janitor of Sammy’s apartment house. “He’s useful, you know. ”