On a Pincushion · Through the Fire (1/4)

Through the Fire

Little Jack sat alone by the fire, watching it sadly. He was seven years old, but so small and pale that he looked little more than five, for he was a cripple, He had no brothers or sisters, and he was nearly always alone, for his mother, who was a widow, went out all day to teach music, and often in the evening also to play dance-music at children’s parties. They lived on the third floor of a small house in a dull old street in London, and Jack spent nearly all day in the little lonely sitting-room by himself, sitting by the fire. Tonight he felt sadder than usual, for it was Christmas-eve, and his mother had gone to a child’s party at a grand house, and she had said that there would most likely be a Christmas-tree there, with presents on it for all the little boys and girls, and Jack thought it very hard that when other children had so much more pleasure than he, they must even rob him of his own mother.

If she were at home she would sit by him on the hearthrug and take his head in her lap and tell him long, long stories of giants and fairies. Generally he liked her to go to parties, for, where-ever it was, she never forgot to bring him something from the supper-table; no matter how little a thing it might be, only a cracker or a single sweet, but he was sure to find something waiting for him on his pillow when he woke in the morning; and, indeed, sometimes there had been quite a nice little parcel of sweets and crackers and dried fruits sent to him by the mistress of the house or some of the children, when his mother had dared to ask if she might take something to her little boy at home.

But tonight he wanted his mother herself, and did not care for anything she would bring him in the morning. He sat and thought till the tears rose to his eyes, and he sobbed outright.

“It’s a shame,” he said, “a dreadful shame. I think it’s too bad;” and he seized the poker, and gave the fire a great dig.

“For pity’s sake, don’t do that again,” said a small voice from the flames; “it’s enough to break one to bits.”

Jack stopped crying and looked into the fire. There he saw a little figure, the strangest he had ever beheld, balancing itself skilfully on the top of a piece of burning coal. It was just like a little man, not more than three inches high, dressed from head to foot in orange-scarlet, the colour of flame, and wearing on his head a long pointed cap of the same colour.

“Who are you?” asked Jack, breathlessly.

“Don’t you know that it’s rude to ask questions?” said the mannikin, winking one eye. “However, if you very much want to know, I’m a fire-fairy.” .

“A fire-fairy!” repeated Jack, still staring and breathless.

“Yes; is that so very strange?”

“But I don’t believe in fairies,” said Jack, unable to remove his eyes from the weird little figure.

The little man laughed.

“That doesn’t make any difference to me,” he said. “Perhaps you don’t believe in wind-fairies or water-fairies either. But you’d never have a fire but for us; we light them, and keep them in. If I were to go away now, your fire would be out in an instant, and you might blow and blow it as much as you liked; it would be all no use, unless one of us were to come back and put the light into the coals.”

“But how is it you don’t get burnt up?” asked Jack.

“Burnt up!” said the little man, scornfully; “why, we breathe fire and live in it; we should go out at once if we weren’t surrounded by it.”

“Go out! What do you mean by going out. Do you mean that you’d die?”

“I don’t know about dying,” said the little man, “but of course, without care, one is liable to go out. But don’t let’s talk of unpleasant subjects.”

“But do you mean that you live forever?” asked Jack.

“With proper care there is no reason why one should go out after one is three hundred years old,” said the little man, settling himself comfortably into a corner of burning coals. “Before that age we are very delicate, and the least wind is dangerous.”

“But where do you live⁠—where do you come from?” asked Jack.

“We live in the very middle of the earth, where there is always a nice comfortable fire; but when you have fires alight up here, we have to come up and attend to them.”

“Then do you come to lamps and candles as well?” said Jack, “for they are fire.”

“We leave that to the young folks,” said the little man, with a yawn; “I never come up for anything less than a coal fire.”

Jack was silent for a little; then he said⁠—

“I wonder I never saw you before.”

“I have always been there; so it has been only your own stupidity,” said the gnome.

“I wish I could get into the fire with you,” said Jack; “I should so much like to see what it’s like.”

“You couldn’t come without a proper dress,” said the tiny man, “and even then I am afraid you’d find it warm.”

“I shouldn’t mind that,” said Jack. “And in your own home, where you live, is it quite red and bright, like the middle of a fire?”

“It’s a great deal better. Ah, that is worth seeing!” said the fairy, thrusting one arm over a burning coal, and skilfully balancing himself in a little jet of flame. “All round the palace where our King lives there’s flame⁠—flame⁠—nothing but flame for miles, and the Princess’s windows look on to burning hills. Ah, what a pity it is people are so discontented! If there is anyone who ought to be happy, it’s the Princess Pyra.”

“Isn’t she happy?” asked Jack.

“Don’t be so inquisitive. She might be, if she liked.”

“Then why isn’t she?”

“It all came of sending her to school,” said the little man, gravely. “If she’d never left her father’s palace she would never have seen him. You must know that our King and Queen have only one daughter, Princess Pyra, and of course they are very proud of her, and wished her to make a good match. A fire King, whose country is close to ours, proposed for her, and her father and mother settled that they would accept him; but as she was very young, and they wished her to be well educated, they sent her to school for a year in a burning mountain, thinking it would give her a chance of seeing more of the world than if she always remained at home. But, as it turned out, it was a great mistake, for one day the water King’s son, Prince Fluvius, came and looked over the top of the mountain, and saw our Princess; and they fell in love with each other, and the Princess has never been happy since.”

“Why can’t they be married?” asked Jack.

The little man burst into a roar of laughter.

“Why, you ought to know that it’s impossible. In the first place, they can’t go near each other, lest he should be dried up, or she should be put out. Besides which, our King would never hear of such a thing, as the water King is his bitterest enemy. Every evening after she first saw him, the Princess used to come to the top of the mountain, and the Prince came and sat a little way off, and then they talked together. Ah! the King little thought what mischief was brewing. But when he discovered her one evening, when he came to see her, sitting talking to Prince Fluvius, he was in a rage. He took her home at once, and was anxious to marry her to the fire Prince out of hand. But she grew so thin that the doctors said they feared if she were much excited she would go out altogether. It’s a great pity she should be so silly.”

“Is she pretty?” asked Jack.

“Pretty? Pretty’s no word for her. She is lovely⁠—beautiful! She is much the loveliest woman in Fireland, and she’s wonderfully clever as well.”

“Little man,” said Jack, coaxingly, “take me with you, and show me your home. I would never tell anyone, and it’s so dull here. Do let me go with you.”

“I don’t see how it can be done,” answered the little man. “Besides, you’d be frightened.”

“I wouldn’t, I wouldn’t, indeed,” said Jack. “Only try me, and see.”

“Wait a minute, then;” and the little red figure disappeared into the brightest part of the fire. In a few seconds he appeared again, carrying a little red cap, and suit, and boots.

“Put on these,” he said, throwing them into Jack’s lap.

“How ever shall I get them on? Why, they’re not as long as my arm.” But no sooner had he touched them than he found himself growing smaller and smaller, until the clothes seemed quite the right size for him, and he easily slipped into them.

“Now take this,” said the red man, and threw him a thin shining glass mask. Jack drew it over his face. It fitted exactly, and left no openings.

“Now,” said the fireman, “climb over the bars, and see how you like it.”

Jack scrambled over the fender, and helping himself with the fire-irons, climbed on to the first bar. The red man leant down, and gave him his hand to help him. What a hot hand it was! It burnt like flame. Jack felt inclined to drop it, but he was afraid of seeming impolite, so he bit his lips, to prevent himself screaming, and scrambled over the bars right into the midst of the fire.

On looking round, he thought he was in a new world. He stood in the middle of rich, red-glowing hills, from which sprouted jets of flame, like trees. Here and there was a black mountain, which smoked and hissed most alarmingly. But how hot it was! At first Jack felt as if he were going to faint, and could not breathe.

“Well,” said the red man, who now seemed to Jack quite full-size, “how do you feel now?”

“It’s warm,” murmured poor Jack.

“If you can’t bear this, you won’t be able to stand Fireland. Better not come any farther,” said the fairy.

“I’m all right,” said Jack, making an effort. “I daresay soon I shall feel quite used to it. How does one get to Fireland?”

“I’ll show you,” said the man, taking a thin piece of stick from his pocket. This he took in both hands, and dug into the coal beneath his feet till he had made a good-sized hole. Then he took from his pocket some little marbles, and dropped them one by one into the hole, which gradually began to grow larger and larger, until it was an immense black gulf in the coal in front of him.

“Now come along,” said the red man, sitting on the edge, with his legs swinging over. “Get on to my shoulders, and put your legs round my neck, and give me your hands, and I’ll take you quite safely. Only don’t scream or call out, or I shall drop you.”

Jack did as he was bid, and seated himself firmly on his companion’s shoulders, holding on round his neck. He could not help feeling frightened when, without a word, his guide sprang into the hole, and began to fly through the darkness so fast that he felt giddy. They went down⁠—down⁠—down. It was pitch dark, and poor. Jack felt quite sick with the quick motion. He would have called out for them to stop, only he feared that the red man would keep his threat of letting him fall.

At last, a long way beneath them, he saw a faint red light, growing larger and brighter every moment.

“There’s Fireland,” said his guide, stopping for a minute, “and we shall be there in a few seconds now.” And on they went again quicker than before towards the light, which now grew so brilliant that Jack could scarcely bear to look at it.

“Here we are!” said the little man, as they passed from the darkness into the light through a kind of archway. Then he quietly shook Jack from his shoulders on to the ground, and sat down to rest beside him. When he had a little recovered from his giddiness and fright, Jack raised himself, and looked about him. It was quite as strange as the fire had seemed to him. There were great hills, and they were of every shade of red and orange, some pale, some bright, and on the hillsides were lakes of fire. The sky was one mass of flame, and many of the hills smoked.

“Well, what do you think of it?” asked the fire-fairy.

“It’s certainly very odd,” said Jack, fearful of saying what he really thought, lest he might be thought rude. “But where do you live? I don’t see any houses.”

“The towns are farther. If you want to see them, you must get on my shoulders again,” said Jack’s friend, taking him again on his back as he spoke.

On they went again, passing over the ground so quickly that Jack could not see half enough of the strange country through which they passed.

At last they came in sight of a large city, with tall spires and bridges, and a little way out of it stood a palace made of red-hot iron, and glistening with precious stones.

“That’s the King’s palace,” said the fireman; “and as it’s the thing most worth seeing in the whole place, we’d better go there first.”

“Shall I see the Princess?” asked Jack, eagerly.

“Most likely she’ll be in the garden, and then you can see her as much as you like.”

They stopped in front of the garden gate, and the fire-fairy, pushing it open, told Jack he could go in, but he must not make a noise. It was the queerest palace and garden. Jack now saw that what he had at first supposed to be precious stones was nothing but different-coloured fire, spouting out all over the palace. There was blue fire, and red fire, and green fire, and yellow fire, shining against the palace walls just like jewels.

At first Jack thought that the garden was full of beautiful flowers, but when he drew near to them he saw that they were only fireworks in the forms of flowers. There was every sort of catherine-wheel turning round as fast as possible, throwing off sparks; and every now and then a brilliant rocket went up into the air, and fell in shining stars.

Jack ran from one thing to the other, examining it with delight, when his companion, seizing his arm, drew him on one side, saying, “The Princess!” and pointed to where a group of ladies were coming slowly down the path. In their midst walked the Princess, who, Jack thought, was the most beautiful lady he had ever seen.

Her long bright golden hair fell almost to her feet. Her face was very pale, and she walked very slowly and kept her eyes on the ground, with a very sad expression.

She wore a shining flame-coloured dress, with a long train, and one pale blue and silver catherine-wheel fixed in her bosom, and another in her hair.

She was surrounded by beautifully dressed ladies, but none so lovely as she; only Jack wished she did not look so very sad. The ladies all talked together, but the Princess never said a word.

“Your Royal Highness should not walk too fast,” said one.

“Had not your Royal Highness better sit down?” said another.

“Will your Royal Highness not return to the palace?” asked a third. But the Princess only shook her head in silence, and walked on as before.

Then Jack, seeing her so beautiful, and so unhappy, could contain himself no longer, but burst out⁠—

“Oh, poor Princess! how sorry I am for you!”

At this the Princess raised her eyes for the first time. Such bright eyes they were, shining just like stars, Jack could not bear to look at them, but had to turn his own another way.

“Who spoke?” said the Princess, in a low, sad voice. “Which of you spoke?”

The ladies said nothing, but looked at each other in surprise.

“Someone said she was sorry for me, and I am sure you need not mind my knowing which of you it was,” continued the Princess, beginning to sob, only, instead of tears, sparks fell from her eyes.

Here all the ladies drew about her, and tried to soothe her. “You know,” said one, “that the doctors said that, whatever happened, your Royal Highness was not to excite yourself, or the consequences might be fatal.”

“Pray be calm, your Royal Highness,” said another. “You will really make yourself seriously ill if you go on in this way.”

“But who spoke?” asked the Princess again. “I think it very unkind of you all not to tell me. It’s the first time I have heard a kind voice since I left school.”

At this Jack could keep silence no longer, and, despite the red fireman, who did his best to hold him back, he strode in front of the Princess, and said⁠—

“If you please, your Royal Highness, it was I.”

“You! And who are you?” asked the Princess, kindly.

“I’m a little boy, and my name is Jack.”

“How did you come here?”