While the boy was eating, he observed that this hedge was very high and thick, and that there was a great hollow in the trunk of the old thorn-tree, and he heard a twittering, as if there was a nest somewhere inside; so he thrust his head in, twisted himself round, and looked up.

It was a very great thorn-tree, and the hollow was so large that two or three boys could have stood upright in it; and when he got used to the dim light in that brown, still place, he saw that a good way above his head there was a nest,—rather a curious one, too, for it was as large as a pair of blackbirds would have built,—and yet it was made of fine white wool and delicate bits of moss; in short, it was like a goldfinch’s nest magnified three times.

“Those heads had no beaks, I am sure,” said Jack, and he stood on tiptoe and poked in one of his fingers. “And the things have no feathers,” he continued; so, the hollow being rather rugged, he managed to climb up and look in.

“It’s a fairy!” exclaimed Jack to himself. “How curious! and this must be a fairy’s nest. Oh, how angry the old mother will be if this little thing creeps away and gets out of the hole!” So he looked down. “Oh, the hole is on the other side,” he said; and he turned round, but the hole was not on the other side; it was not on any side; it must have closed up all on a sudden, while he was looking into the nest, for, look whichever way he would, there was no hole at all, excepting a very little one high up over the nest, which let in a very small sunbeam.

Jack was very much astonished, but he went on eating his cake, and was so delighted to see the young fairy climb up the side of the hollow and scramble again into her nest, that he laughed heartily; upon which all the nestlings popped up their heads, and, showing their pretty white teeth, pointed at the slice of cake.

These young fairies were a long time dividing and munching the cake, and before they had finished, it began to be rather dark, for a black cloud came over and covered the little sunbeam. At the same time the wind rose, and rocked the boughs, and made the old tree creak and tremble. Then there was thunder and rain, and the little fairies were so frightened that they got out of the nest and crept into Jack’s pockets. One got into each waistcoat pocket, and the other two were very comfortable, for he took out his handkerchief and made room for them in the pocket of his jacket.

It got darker and darker, till at last Jack could only just see the hole, and it seemed to be a very long way off. Every time he looked at it, it was farther off, and at last he saw a thin crescent moon shining through it.

“I am sure it cannot be night yet,” he said; and he took out one of the fattest of the young fairies, and held it up towards the hole.

“Look at that,” said he; “what is to be done now? the hole is so far off that it’s night up there, and down here I haven’t done eating my lunch.”

“Well,” answered the young fairy, “then why don’t you whistle?”

Jack was surprised to hear her speak in this sensible manner, and in the light of the moon he looked at her very attentively.

“When first I saw you in the nest,” said he, “you had a pinafore on, and now you have a smart little apron, with lace round it.”

“That is because I am much older now,” said the fairy; “we never take such a long time to grow up as you do.”

“But your pinafore?” said Jack.

“Turned into an apron, of course,” replied the fairy, “just as your velvet jacket will turn into a tail-coat when you are old enough.”

“It won’t,” said Jack.

“Yes it will,” answered the fairy, with an air of superior wisdom. “Don’t argue with me; I am older now than you are,—nearly grown up, in fact. Put me into your pocket again, and whistle as loudly as you can.”

Jack laughed, put her in, and pulled out another. “Worse and worse,” he said; “why, this was a boy fairy, and now he has a mustache and a sword, and looks as fierce as possible!”

“I think I heard my sister tell you to whistle?” said this fairy, very sternly.

“Yes, she did,” said Jack. “Well, I suppose I had better do it.” So he whistled very loudly indeed.

“Why did you leave off so soon?” said another of them, peeping out.

“Why, if you wish to know,” answered Jack, “it was because I thought something took hold of my legs.”

Jack thought he would rather have done a long-division sum than have been obliged to whistle; but he could not help doing it when they told him, and he felt something take hold of his legs again, and then give him a jerk, which hoisted him on to its back, where he sat astride, and wondered whether the thing was a pony; but it was not, for he presently observed that it had a very slender neck, and then that it was covered with feathers. It was a large bird, and he presently found that they were rising towards the hole, which had become so very far off, and in a few minutes she dashed through the hole, with Jack on her back and all the fairies in his pockets.

It was so dark that he could see nothing, and he twined his arms round the bird’s neck, to hold on, upon which this agreeable fowl told him not to be afraid, and said she hoped he was comfortable.

“I should be more comfortable,” replied Jack, “if I knew how I could get home again. I don’t wish to go home just yet, for I want to see where we are flying to, but papa and mamma will be frightened if I never do.”

“Oh no,” replied the albatross (for she was an albatross), “you need not be at all afraid about that. When boys go to Fairyland, their parents never are uneasy about them.”

“Really?” exclaimed Jack.

“Quite true,” replied the albatross.

“And so we are going to Fairyland?” exclaimed Jack; “how delightful!”

“Yes,” said the albatross; “the back way, mind; we are only going the back way. You could go in two minutes by the usual route; but these young fairies want to go before they are summoned, and therefore you and I are taking them.” And she continued to fly on in the dark sky for a very long time.

“They seem to be all fast asleep,” said Jack.

“What craft is this that hangs out no light?” said a gruff voice.

“I might ask the same question of you,” answered the albatross, sullenly.

“I’m only a poor Will-o’-the-wisp,” replied the voice, “and you know very well that I have but a lantern to show.” Thereupon a lantern became visible, and Jack saw by the light of it a man, who looked old and tired, and he was so transparent that you could see through him, lantern and all.

“I hope I have not hurt you, William,” said the albatross; “I will light up immediately. Good-night.”

“Good-night,” answered the Will-o’-the-wisp. “I am going down as fast as I can; the storm blew me up, and I am never easy excepting in my native swamps.”

Jack was so happy that he hardly knew which to look at first, there really were so many remarkable things.

“They snore,” said the albatross, “they are very fast asleep, and before they wake I should like to talk to you a little.”

She meant that the fairies snored, and so they did, in Jack’s pockets.

“My name,” continued the albatross, “is Jenny. Do you think you shall remember that? because, when you are in Fairyland and want some one to take you home again, and call ‘Jenny,’ I shall be able to come to you; and I shall come with pleasure, for I like boys better than fairies.”

“If it is in the night that you want me, just look up,” continued the albatross, “and you will see a green and a red spark moving in the air; you will then call Jenny, and I will come; but remember that I cannot come unless you do call me.”

“Very well,” said Jack; but he was not attending, because there was so much to be seen.

“Why, those are clouds!” exclaimed Jack; “and O how rosy they have all turned! I thought they were mountains.”

“Yes, they are clouds,” said the albatross; and then they turned gold color; and next they began to plunge and tumble, and every one of the peaks put on a glittering crown; and next they broke themselves to pieces, and began to drift away. In fact, Jack had been out all night, and now it was morning.

“It has been our lot to sail with many captains, not one of whom is fit to be a patch on your back.”—Letter of the Ship’s Company of H. M. S. S. Royalist to Captain W. T. Bate.

All this time the albatross kept dropping down and down like a stone, till Jack was quite out of breath, and they fell or flew, whichever you like to call it, straight through one of the great chasms which he had thought were lakes, and he looked down, as he sat on the bird’s back, to see what the world is like when you hang a good way above it at sunrise.

“Are those young fairies awake yet?” asked the albatross.

“As sound asleep as ever,” answered Jack; “but, Albatross, is not that the sea which lies under us? You are a sea-bird, I know, but I am not a sea boy, and I cannot live in the water.”

“Yes, that is the sea,” answered the albatross. “Don’t you observe that it is covered with ships?”

“I see boats and vessels,” answered Jack, “and all their sails are set, but they cannot sail, because there is no wind.”

“The wind never does blow in this great bay,” said the bird; “and those ships would all lie there becalmed till they dropped to pieces if one of them was not wanted now and then to go up the wonderful river.”

“But how did they come there?” asked Jack.

By this time the albatross was hovering about among the vessels, making choice of one to take Jack and the fairies up the wonderful river.

“It must not be a large one,” she said, “for the river in some places is very shallow.”

“You remember my name?” asked the albatross.

“Oh yes,” said Jack; but he was not attending,—he was thinking what a fine thing it was to have such a curious boat all to himself.

“That’s well,” answered the bird; “then, in the next place, are those fairies awake yet?”

“No, they are not,” said Jack; and he took them out of his pockets, and laid them down in a row before the albatross.

“Rather,” said Jack.

“Then,” replied the albatross, “as soon as you feel very hungry, lie down in the bottom of the boat and go to sleep. You will dream that you see before you a roasted fowl, some new potatoes, and an apple-pie. Mind you don’t eat too much in your dream, or you will be sorry for it when you wake. That is all. Good-by! I must go.”

Jack put his arms round the neck of the bird, and hugged her; then she spread her magnificent wings and sailed slowly away. At first he felt very lonely, but in a few minutes he forgot that, because the little boat began to swim so fast.

“Tell that boat of yours to mind what she is about,” said the fairy sea-captain to Jack.

Jack touched his hat, and said, “Yes, sir,” and then called out to his boat, “You ought to be ashamed of yourself, running down these little live fishing-vessels so carelessly. Go at a more gentle pace.”

So it swam more slowly; and Jack, being by this time hungry, curled himself up in the bottom of the boat, and fell asleep.

He dreamt directly about a fowl and some potatoes, and he ate a wing, and then he ate a merry-thought, and then somebody said to him that he had better not eat any more, but he did,—he ate another wing; and presently an apple-pie came, and he ate some of that, and then he ate some more, and then he immediately woke.

At last he lifted up his head, and saw straight before him two great brown cliffs, and between them flowed in the wonderful river. Other rivers flow out, but this river flowed in, and took with it far into the land dolphins, sword-fish, mullet, sun-fish, and many other strange creatures; and that is one reason why it was called the magic river, or the wonderful river.

At first it was rather wide, and Jack was alarmed to see what multitudes of soldiers stood on either side to guard the banks, and prevent any person from landing.

They guarded the banks for miles and miles, many thousands of them, standing a little way into the water among the flags and rushes; but at last there were no more reeds and no soldier guards, for the stream became narrower, and flowed between such steep rocks that no one could possibly have climbed them.

He was so much pleased at this change, that he cried out hastily, “Oh how I wish my boat would swim into that bay and let me land!” He had no sooner spoken than the boat altered her course, as if somebody had been steering her, and began to make for the bay as fast as she could go.

“How odd!” thought Jack. “I wonder whether I ought to have spoken; for the boat certainly did not intend to come into this bay. However, I think I will let her alone now, for I certainly do wish very much to land here.”

As they drew towards the strand, the water got so shallow that you could see crabs and lobsters walking about at the bottom. At last the boat’s keel grated on the pebbles; and just as Jack began to think of jumping on shore, he saw two little old women approaching, and gently driving a white horse before them.

“What does he say?” asked one old woman of the other.

“I asked if this was Fairyland?” repeated Jack, for he thought the first old woman might have been deaf. She was very handsomely dressed in a red satin gown, and did not look in the least like a washer-woman, though it afterwards appeared that she was one.

“He says, ‘Is this Fairyland?’” she replied; and the other, who had a blue satin cloak, answered, “Oh, does he?” and then they began to empty the panniers of many small blue, and pink, and scarlet shirts, and coats, and stockings; and when they had made them into two little heaps they knelt down and began to wash them in the river, taking no notice of him whatever.

At last the blue washer-woman said, “I shall leave off now; I’ve got a pain in my works.”

“Do,” said the other. “We’ll go home and have a cup of tea.” Then she glanced at Jack, who was still sitting in the boat, and said, “Can you strike?”

“I can if I choose,” replied Jack, a little astonished at this speech. And the red and blue washer-women wrung out the clothes, put them again into the panniers, and taking the old horse by the bridle, began gently to lead him away.

“I have a great mind to land,” thought Jack. “I should not wonder at all if this is Fairyland. So as the boat came here to please me, I shall ask it to stay where it is, in case I should want it again.”

“Is there any law to prevent my coming into your country?”

“Wo!” cried the red-coated old woman, and the horse stopped, while the blue-coated woman repeated, “Any law? No, not that I know of; but if you are a stranger here you had better look out.”

“Why?” asked Jack.

“You don’t suppose, do you,” she answered, “that our Queen will wind up strangers?”

While Jack was wondering what she meant, the other said,—

“I shouldn’t wonder if he goes eight days. Gee!” and the horse went on.

“No, wo!” said the other.

“No, no. Gee! I tell you,” cried the first.

Upon this, to Jack’s intense astonishment, the old horse stopped, and said, speaking through his nose,—

“Why, he talks!” exclaimed Jack.

“It’s because he’s got a cold in his head,” observed one of the washer-women; “he always talks when he’s got a cold, and there’s no pleasing him; whatever you say, he’s not satisfied. Gee, Boney, do!”

“Gee it is, then,” said the horse, and began to jog on.

“He spoke again!” said Jack, upon which the horse laughed, and Jack was quite alarmed.

“It appears that your horses don’t talk?” observed the blue-coated woman.

“Never,” answered Jack; “they can’t.”

“You mean they won’t,” observed the old horse; and though he spoke the words of mankind, it was not in a voice like theirs. Still Jack felt that his was just the natural tone for a horse, and that it did not arise only from the length of his nose. “You’ll find out some day, perhaps,” he continued, “whether horses can talk or not.”

“Shall I?” said Jack, very earnestly.

“They’ll TELL,” proceeded the white horse. “I wouldn’t be you when they tell how you’ve used them.”

“Have you been ill used?” said Jack, in an anxious tone.

“Yes, yes, of course he has,” one of the women broke in; “but he has come here to get all right again. This is a very wholesome country for horses; isn’t it, Boney?”

“Yes,” said the horse.

“Well, then, jog on, there’s a dear,” continued the old woman. “Why, you will be young again soon, you know,—young, and gamesome, and handsome; you’ll be quite a colt, by and by, and then we shall set you free to join your companions in the happy meadows.”

The old horse was so comforted by this kind speech, that he pricked up his ears and quickened his pace considerably.

“Yes,” said the other, as if apologizing for the poor old horse. “He gets low-spirited when he thinks of all he has gone through; but he is a vast deal better already than he was. He used to live in London; his master always carried a long whip to beat him with, and never spoke civilly to him.”

“London!” exclaimed Jack; “why that is in my country. How did the horse get here?”

“That’s no business of yours,” answered one of the women. “But I can tell you he came because he was wanted, which is more than you are.”

“You let him alone,” said the horse, in a querulous tone. “I don’t bear any malice.”

“No; he has a good disposition, has Boney,” observed the red old woman. “Pray, are you a boy?”

“Yes,” said Jack.

“A real boy, that wants no winding up?” inquired the old woman.

“I don’t know what you mean,” answered Jack; “but I am a real boy, certainly.”

“Ah!” she replied. “Well, I thought you were, by the way Boney spoke to you. How frightened you must be! I wonder what will be done to all your people for driving, and working, and beating so many beautiful creatures to death every year that comes? They’ll have to pay for it some day, you may depend.”

Jack was a little alarmed, and answered that he had never been unkind himself to horses, and he was glad that Boney bore no malice.

“They worked him, and often drove him about all night in the miserable streets, and never let him have so much as a canter in a green field,” said one of the women; “but he’ll be all right now, only he has to begin at the wrong end.”

“What do you mean?” said Jack.

“Indeed,” said Jack; “and do you like that?”

“It has nothing to do with me,” she answered. “We are only here to take care of all the creatures that men have ill used. While they are sick and old, which they are when first they come to us,—after they are dead, you know,—we take care of them, and gradually bring them up to be young and happy again.”

“This must be a very nice country to live in, then,” said Jack.

“For horses it is,” said the old lady, significantly.

“Well,” said Jack, “it does seem very full of haystacks, certainly, and all the air smells of fresh grass.”

“You shouldn’t be in such a hurry,” observed the old horse; “your weights will be running down some day, if you don’t mind.”

“It’s all zeal,” observed the red-coated woman.

Just then a little man, dressed like a groom, came running up, out of breath. “Oh, here you are, Dow!” he exclaimed to the red-coated woman. “Come along, will you? Lady Betty wants you; it’s such a hot day, and nobody, she says, can fan her so well as you can.”

“Oh, this must be Fairyland, I am sure,” thought Jack, “for in my country our pulses beat quite differently from that.”

“Well,” said Faxa, rather sharply, “do you find any fault with the way I go?”

“No,” said Jack, a little ashamed of having listened. “I think you walk beautifully; your steps are so regular.”

“She’s machine-made,” observed the old horse, in a melancholy voice, and with a deep sigh. “In the largest magnifying-glass you’ll hardly find the least fault with her chain. She’s not like the goods they turn out in Clerkenwell.”

“I’m so glad you are come, my good Dow,” said the brown mare. “Don’t you think I am strong enough to-day to set off for the happy meadows?”

“Well,” said Dow, “I’m afraid not yet; you must remember that it is of no use your leaving us till you have quite got over the effects of the fall.”

Just then Lady Betty observed Jack, and said, “Take that boy away; he reminds me of a jockey.”

The attentive groom instantly started forward, but Jack was too nimble for him; he ran and ran with all his might, and only wished he had never left the boat. But still he heard the groom behind him; and in fact the groom caught him at last, and held him so fast that struggling was of no use at all.

“What harm did I do?” asked Jack. “I was only looking at the mare.”

“Harm!” exclaimed the groom; “harm indeed! Why, you reminded her of a jockey. It’s enough to hold her back, poor thing!—and we trying so hard, too, to make her forget what a cruel end she came to in the old world.”

“You need not hold me so tightly,” said Jack, “I shall not run away again; but,” he added, “if this is Fairyland, it is not half such a nice country as I expected.”

“Fairyland!” exclaimed the groom, stepping back with surprise. “Why, what made you think of such a thing? This is only one of the border countries, where things are set right again that people have caused to go wrong in the world. The world, you know, is what men and women call their own home.”

“She was a beautiful fleet creature, of the racehorse breed,” said the groom; “and she won silver cups for her master, and then they made her run a steeple-chase, which frightened her, but still she won it; and then they made her run another, and she cleared some terribly high hurdles, and many gates and ditches, till she came to an awful one, and at first she would not take it, but her rider spurred and beat her till she tried. It was beyond her powers, and she fell and broke both her forelegs. Then they shot her. After she had died that miserable death, we had her here, to make her all right again.”

“Is this the only country where you set things right?” asked Jack.

“Certainly not,” answered the groom; “they lie about in all directions. Why, you might wander for years, and never come to the end of this one.”

“I don’t think our world is much larger than yours,” answered the groom. “But come along: I hear the bell, and we are a good way from the palace.”

Jack, in fact, heard the violent ringing of a bell at some distance; and when the groom began to run, he ran beside him, for he thought he should like to see the palace. As they ran, people gathered from all sides,—fields, cottages, mills,—till at last there was a little crowd, among whom Jack saw Dow and Faxa, and they were all making for a large house, the wide door of which was standing open. Jack stood with the crowd, and peeped in. There was a woman sitting inside upon a rocking-chair,—a tall, large woman, with a gold-colored gown on,—and beside her stood a table, covered with things that looked like keys.

“What is that woman doing?” said he to Faxa, who was standing close to him.

“Extraordinary!” said Jack. “Then are you wound up every evening, like watches?”

“Unless we have misbehaved ourselves,” she answered; “and then she lets us run down.”

“And what then?”

“What then?” repeated Faxa, “why, then we have to stop and stand against a wall, till she is pleased to forgive us, and let our friends carry us in to be set going again.”

Jack looked in, and saw the people pass in and stand close by the woman. One after the other she took by the chin with her left hand, and with her right hand found a key that pleased her. It seemed to Jack that there was a tiny key-hole in the back of their heads, and that she put the key in and wound them up.

“You must take your turn with the others,” said the groom.

“But you must do as others do,” he persisted; “and if you have no key-hole, our Queen can easily have one made, I should think.”

“Make one in my head!” exclaimed Jack. “She shall do no such thing.”

“We shall see,” said Faxa, quietly. And Jack was so frightened that he set off, and ran back towards the river with all his might. Many of the people called to him to stop, but they could not run after him, because they wanted winding up. However, they would certainly have caught him if he had not been very quick, for before he got to the river he heard behind him the footsteps of those who had been first attended to by the Queen, and he had only just time to spring into the boat when they reached the edge of the water.