Sweet is childhood childhood’s over,
Kiss and part.
Sweet is youth; but youth’s a rover
So’s my heart.
Sweet is rest; but by all showing
Toil is nigh.
We must go.Alas! the going,
Say “good-bye.”

Jack crept under his canopy, went to sleep early that night, and did not wake till the sun had risen, when the apple-woman called him, and said breakfast was nearly ready.

The same thing never happens twice in Fairyland, so this time the breakfast was not spread in a tent, but on the river.  The Queen had cut off a tiny piece of her robe, the one-foot-one fairies had stretched it till it was very large, and then they had spread it on the water, where it floated and lay like a great carpet of purple and gold.  One corner of it was moored to the side of Jack’s boat; but he had not observed this, because of his canopy.  However, that was now looped up by the apple-woman, and Jack and Mopsa saw what was going on.

Hundreds of swans had been towing the carpet along, and were still holding it with their beaks, while a crowd of doves walked about on it, smoothing out the creases and patting it with their pretty pink feet till it was quite firm and straight.  The swans then swam away, and they flew away.

Presently troops of fairies came down to the landing-place, jumped into Jack’s boat without asking leave, and so got on to the carpet, while at the same time a great tree which grew on the bank began to push out fresh leaves, as large as fans, and shoot out long branches, which again shot out others, till very soon there was shade all over the carpet, a thick shadow as good as a tent, which was very pleasant, for the sun was already hot.

When the Queen came down, the tree suddenly blossomed out with thousands of red and white flowers.

“You must not go on to that carpet,” said the apple-woman; “let us sit still in the boat, and be served here.”  She whispered this as the Queen stepped into the boat.

“Good-morning, Jack,” said the Queen.  “Good-morning, dear.”  This was to the apple-woman; and then she stood still for a moment and looked earnestly at little Mopsa, and sighed.

“Well,” she said to her, “don’t you mean to speak to me?” Then Mopsa lifted up her pretty face and blushed very rosy red, and said, in a shy voice, “Good morning sister.”

“I said so!” exclaimed the Queen; “I said so!” and she lifted up her beautiful eyes, and murmured out, “What is to be done now?”

“Never mind, Queen dear,” said Jack.  “If it was rude of Mopsa to say that, she is such a little young thing that she does not know better.”

“It was not rude,” said Mopsa, and she laughed and blushed again.  “It was not rude, and I am not sorry.”

As she said this the Queen stepped on to the carpet, and all the flowers began to drop down.  They were something like camellias, and there were thousands of them.

The fairies collected them in little heaps.  They had no tables and chairs, nor any plates and dishes for this breakfast; but the Queen sat down on the carpet close to Jack’s boat, and leaned her cheek on her hand, and seemed to be lost in thought.  The fairies put some flowers into her lap, then each took some, and they all sat down and looked at the Queen, but she did not stir.

At last Jack said, “When is the breakfast coming?”

“This is the breakfast,” said the apple-woman; “these flowers are most delicious eating.  You never tasted anything so good in your life; but we don’t begin till the Queen does.”

Quantities of blossoms had dropped into the boat.  Several fairies tumbled into it almost head over heels, they were in such a hurry, and they heaped them into Mopsa’s lap, but took no notice of Jack, nor of the apple-woman either.

At last, when every one had waited some time, the Queen pulled a petal off one flower, and began to eat, so every one else began; and what the apple-woman had said was quite true.  Jack knew that he never had tasted anything half so nice, and he was quite sorry when he could not eat any more.  So, when every one had finished, the Queen leaned her arm on the edge of the boat, and, turning her lovely face towards Mopsa, said, “I want to whisper to you, sister.”

“Oh!” said Mopsa, “I wish I was in Jack’s waistcoat pocket again; but I’m so big now.”  And she took hold of the two sides of his velvet jacket, and hid her face between them.

“My old mother sent a message last night,” continued the Queen, in a soft, sorrowful voice.  “She is much more powerful than we are.”

“What is the message?” asked Mopsa; but she still hid her face.

So the Queen moved over, and put her lips close to Mopsa’s ear, and repeated it:  “There cannot be two Queens in one hive.”

“If Mopsa leaves the hive, a fine swarm will go with her,” said the apple-woman.  “I shall, for one; that I shall!”

“No!” answered the Queen.  “I hope not, dear; for you know well that this is my old mother’s doing, not mine.”

“Oh!” said Mopsa; “I feel as if I must tell a story too, just as the Queen does.”  But the apple-woman broke out in a very cross voice, “It’s not at all like Fairyland, if you go on in this way, and I would as lieve be out of it as in it.”  Then she began to sing, that she and Jack might not hear Mopsa’s story:

  On the rocks by Aberdeen,
  Where the whislin’ wave had been,
  As I wandered and at e’en
          Was eerie;
  There I saw thee sailing west,
  And I ran with joy opprest
  Ay, and took out all my best,
          My dearie.

  Then I busked mysel’ wi’ speed,
  And the neighbors cried “What need? 
  ’Tis a lass in any weed
          Aye bonny!”
  Now my heart, my heart is sair. 
  What’s the good, though I be fair,
  For thou’lt never see me mair,
          Man Johnnie!

While the apple-woman sang Mopsa finished her story; and the Queen untied the fastening which held her carpet to the boat, and went floating upon it down the river.

“Good-by,” she said, kissing her hand to them.  “I must go and prepare for the deputation.”

So Jack and Mopsa played about all the morning, sometimes in the boat and sometimes on the shore, while the apple-woman sat on the grass, with her arms folded, and seemed to be lost in thought.  At last she said to Jack, “What was the name of the great bird that carried you two here?”

“I have forgotten,” answered Jack.  “I’ve been trying to remember ever since we heard the Queen tell her first story, but I cannot.”

“I remember,” said Mopsa.

“Tell it then,” replied the apple-woman; but Mopsa shook her head.

“I don’t want Jack to go,” she answered.

“I don’t want to go, nor that you should,” said Jack.

“But the Queen said, ‘there cannot be two queens in one hive,’ and that means that you are going to be turned out of this beautiful country.”

“The other fairy lands are just as nice,” answered Mopsa; “she can only turn me out of this one.”

“I never heard of more than one Fairyland,” observed Jack.

“It’s my opinion,” said the apple-woman, “that there are hundreds!  And those one-foot-one fairies are such a saucy set, that if I were you I should be very glad to get away from them.  You’ve been here a very little while as yet, and you’ve no notion what goes on when the leaves begin to drop.”

“Tell us,” said Jack.

“Well, you must know,” answered the apple-woman, “that fairies cannot abide cold weather; so, when the first rime frost comes, they bury themselves.”

“Bury themselves?” repeated Jack.

“Yes, I tell you, they bury themselves.  You’ve seen fairy rings, of course, even in your own country; and here the fields are full of them.  Well, when it gets cold, a company of fairies forms itself into a circle, and every one digs a little hole.  The first that has finished jumps into his hole, and his next neighbor covers him up, and then jumps into his own little hole, and he gets covered up in his turn, till at last there is only one left, and he goes and joins another circle, hoping he shall have better luck than to be last again.  I’ve often asked them why they do that, but no fairy can ever give a reason for anything.  They always say that old Mother Fate makes them do it.  When they come up again, they are not fairies at all, but the good ones are mushrooms, and the bad ones are toadstools.”

“Then you think there are no one-foot-one fairies in the other countries,” said Jack.

“Of course not,” answered the apple-woman; “all the fairy lands are different.  It’s only the queens that are alike.”

“I wish the fairies would not disappear for hours,” said Jack.  “They all seem to run off and hide themselves.”

“That’s their way,” answered the apple-woman.  “All fairies are part of their time in the shape of human creatures, and the rest of it in the shape of some animal.  These can turn themselves, when they please, into Guinea-fowl.  In the heat of the day they generally prefer to be in that form, and they sit among the leaves of the trees.

“So she began to sing.”

“A great many are now with the Queen, because there is a deputation coming; but if I were to begin to sing, such a flock of Guinea-hens would gather round, that the boughs of the trees would bend with their weight, and they would light on the grass all about so thickly that not a blade of grass would be seen as far as the song was heard.”

So she began to sing, and the air was darkened by great flocks of these Guinea-fowl.  They alighted just as she had said, and kept time with their heads and their feet, nodding like a crowd of mandarins; and yet it was nothing but a stupid old song that you would have thought could have no particular meaning for them.

LIKE A LAVEROCK IN THE LIFT.

  I.

  It’s we two, it’s we two, it’s we two for aye,
  All the world and we two, and Heaven be our stay. 
  Like a laverock in the lift, sing, O bonny bride! 
  All the world was Adam once, with Eve by his side.

  II.

  What’s the world, my lass, my love! what can it do? 
  I am thine, and thou art mine; life is sweet and new. 
  If the world have missed the mark, let it stand by,
  For we two have gotten leave, and once more we’ll try.

  III.

  Like a laverock in the lift, sing, O bonny bride! 
  It’s we two, it’s we two, happy side by side. 
  Take a kiss from me thy man; now the song begins: 
  “All is made afresh for us, and the brave heart wins.”

  IV.

  When the darker days come, and no sun will shine,
  Thou shalt dry my tears, lass, and I’ll dry thine. 
  It’s we two, it’s we two, while the world’s away,
  Sitting by the golden sheaves on our wedding-day.