Transcriber’s Note: Italic text is denoted by _underscores_. [Illustration: “Indeed,” said the Duke, “I should not have thought you so very pretty.” [_Vain Kesta_, _p._ 43.] THE WINDFAIRIES _AND OTHER TALES_ BY MARY DE MORGAN AUTHOR OF “ON A PINCUSHION,” “THE NECKLACE OF PRINCESS FIORIMONDE.” WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY OLIVE COCKERELL LONDON SEELEY AND CO. LIMITED 38 GREAT RUSSELL STREET 1900 [Illustration: TO ANGELA DENNIS AND CLARE THESE LITTLE TALES ARE DEDICATED BY THEIR WRITER] CONTENTS PAGE THE WINDFAIRIES 1 VAIN KESTA 35 THE POOL AND THE TREE 52 NANINA’S SHEEP 65 THE GIPSY’S CUP 81 THE STORY OF A CAT 128 DUMB OTHMAR 147 THE RAIN MAIDEN 192 THE PLOUGHMAN AND THE GNOME 209 [Illustration: THE WIND FAIRIES] THERE was once a windmill which stood on the downs by the sea, far from any town or village, and in which the miller lived alone with his little daughter. His wife had died when the little girl, whose name was Lucilla, was a baby, and so the miller lived by himself with his child, of whom he was very proud. As her father was busy with his work, and as little Lucilla had no other children to play with, she was alone nearly all day, and had to amuse herself as best she could, and one of her greatest pleasures was to sit and watch the great sails of the windmill figures like them, and they held each other by the hand, and were dancing and springing from the ground as lightly as if they had been made of feather-down. “Come, sisters, come,” cried the one nearest Lucilla. “See, here is a little human child out here alone at twelve o’clock at night. Come and let us play with her.” “Who are you?” asked Lucilla; “my name is Lucilla, and I live in the mill with my father.” “We are windfairies,” said the first grey figure. “Windfairies!” said Lucilla, “what are they?” “We blow the winds and sweep the earth. When there are many of us together we make a great hurricane, and human beings are frightened. We it is who turn your mill wheel for you, and make all the little waves on the sea. See, if you will come with us we will take you for a ride on one of the sails of your mill. That is, if you will be brave, and not cry.” “I will not cry one bit,” said Lucilla, and she sprang up, and held out her arms. At once she was lifted up, and felt herself going higher and higher, till she rested on one of the great windmill sails, and, with the little grey elves beside her, was sweeping through the air, clinging to the sail. “She is quite good,” whispered one, as she held Lucilla in her tiny white arms. “I really think we might teach her to dance, for she has not cried at all.”