On a Pincushion

On a Pincushion

On a pincushion were a pebble Brooch, a jet Shawl-pin, and a common Pin. They were all complaining because they were so often left behind instead of being taken out like the other brooches and pins.

“It is all very well for you,” said the Shawl-pin, “but for me it is trying, because I have seen better days, and remember the time when I was never used to pin up anything but the finest Indian and Cashmere shawls.”

“Nay,” cried the Brooch, “you cannot expect to be used as much as I, for you are all black, and would not be taken for anything but a dark shawl. But I am all sorts of colours, and therefore might be used any day. I would sooner have been left uncut, unpolished, than brought to this.”

“I don’t think,” said the Pin, “that either of you have as much cause to complain as I, for you are neither of you as useful, and might not be wanted, but I am always needed, and so many pins are taken every day that it seems hard I should be left here for nearly a week, and all because I am run so far into the pincushion that nothing but my head can be seen.”

After a pause the Shawl-pin said, “I wish those Bracelets up there would leave off chattering. There’s nothing disturbs my nerves so much as the clatter of talking.”

“Bracelets are always great talkers,” said the Brooch. “I once passed two months in a jewel-box with a number, and I was truly thankful when I was taken out. Their talking was incessant, and it was impossible to get a wink of sleep.” And all three scowled up at the Bracelets, who were hanging over the looking-glass, but who did not mind them in the least, but went on talking just the same. “Let us do something to drown their noise,” said the Pin. “Let us tell stories.”

“I will tell you one,” said the Brooch, “and I know it to be true, for it was before I was cut and polished, and I was at the place myself where it happened;” and having cleared its throat, the Brooch began as follows.

The Story of Vain Lamorna

A pretty young girl was standing by a brook, bending over it talking to her own reflection.

“You are so pretty!” she said. “There is not such a pretty face as yours in all the village.”

The girl’s name was Lamorna, and she was the daughter of a farmer. Everyone told her she was very pretty, and so indeed she was. She had bright brown hair and big brown eyes, and a mouth like a rosebud. The brook by which she stood ran into the sea about half a mile farther down, and it was full of water people. Water people are a sort of elves, who live beneath the water, and never come to the surface, because if they were to breathe the air they would die.

They are not mermaids, but are shaped exactly like men, only they are never more than two or three inches high. They are very kindly and well-disposed towards human beings, and never hurt anyone who does not hurt them.

But when the little water people flitted up and down under the water, and heard what Lamorna said as she bent over the brook, they shook their heads and sighed and said—

“Lamorna! Lamorna! you will come to no good end if you are so vain.” But Lamorna did not hear them, and went on just the same, watching her fair face, and smiling that she might see her pretty row of white teeth; and there she stayed till the clock struck six, and she started away in a fright, knowing she would be late, to get her father’s supper, and he would be angry with her.

No sooner was she gone than there came down to the side of the brook a young fisherman, who had been watching her unperceived. He went to his boat, and pushing it off rowed out to sea and began to fish. His name was Erick, and the water people knew him well. They often watched him, and knew that he was neither cruel nor wicked, but always was careful not to torture the fish he caught, but killed them at once. So they all liked him, and threw the best fish under his boat. Today he seemed very sad, and sat leaning his head on his hand, scarcely noticing his lines.

“Ah, Lamorna!” he sighed to himself, “when we were children you said you loved me, and promised me to be my wife, and now you will not speak to me, though you know how I love you.”

The water people had all gathered around his boat, and when they heard this they shook their heads and looked very grave.

“So it is all for Lamorna,” cried one, “worthless Lamorna, who does nothing but look at her own reflection, and loves nothing so much as her own pretty face.”

“Who is she,” said another, “that she should scorn the love of a good young man like Erick? She has nothing but her good looks, and they will soon leave her. How can we punish her?”

“Nay,” said a third; “what good will it do to Erick for us to punish her? Rather let us think how we can cure her of her vanity and win him her love.”

“But you can never cure her of her vanity;” said the first, “as long as she can see herself in her looking-glass or the brook; while she can see her own face, she will continue to be vain and foolish.”

“Then what is to be done?” they cried all together; and there was silence, till at last a very wise old water elf spoke up and said—

“We cannot keep her from looking in glasses or in the brook. There is only one thing, therefore, to be done. It will be difficult, but it is quite possible. We must wait till she is leaning over the water looking at herself, and then we must steal her reflection.”

On hearing this all the elves gave a loud cheer. “You have got it,” they cried. “Ah, what a fine thing it is to have a mind like that!”

“If my poor dear son had not imprudently gone over the top looking after a flying fish, and so been suffocated, he would have grown up just such another,” said a lady elf with a sigh.

“With such a mind as that,” said another old lady elf solemnly, “one could rule countries or take cities.”

On this, the old elf who had made the suggestion bowed all round and smiled pleasantly, for he was a great favourite with the lady elves, and prided himself on his good manners.

“We now have to think,” he went on, “how this can be done, for reflections are such difficult things to keep under water when one has got them, and rise to the top like bubbles. We must make a number of sand ropes to catch it with, and all pull it down together at a given signal.”

“But,” said a very young elf, “she still will be able to go and look at herself in her looking-glass.”

On hearing this the elves all burst into a scornful laugh, and would have scolded the young elf for talking about what he did not understand; but the wise old elf stopped them with a wave of his hand, and said that he himself would explain to the young elf his mistake, as he was never angry with ignorance in the young, but he wished rather to correct it than blame it.

“Do not suppose, my young friend,” he said, blandly, “that people have more than one reflection. It is a common mistake to suppose so, but in reality there is only one reflection to each object; only, as the object moves before a glass, the reflection moves too, so that all sides of it are shown. If we can steal this vain girl’s image as she leans over the brook, she will not be able to see herself in any glass.” He stopped, and all the elves applauded his wisdom again; and the young elf felt quite ashamed of his mistake.

But now everyone began to think of how this thing was to be done, and all busied themselves making sand ropes, with which the reflection was to be caught and tied. They agreed that it could be best secured by moonlight, when the water was very smooth; and on every moonlight night some of them waited near the surface, to see if it appeared, and give warning to the others.

But Lamorna of course knew nothing of all these plans, and was still happy looking at herself in her glass, and never thinking of poor Erick.