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.

When he came to see her in the evening, and sat by the fire watching her, she did not notice him, but kept her eyes fixed on the mirror over the chimneypiece, and if he spoke to her of his love, she would laugh and turn away. Then if he sighed she would laugh still more and say—

“Get yourself a wife, my good Erick; that will stop your sighing.”

“I never can have any wife but you, Lamorna,” he would answer.

“Then you will have to wait a long time single,” she returned merrily; “I do not mean to marry for ages—perhaps never—certainly not a fisherman.”

One night, when he went in to see her, he found her standing at the door looking at the moon, which shone brightly.

“Let us take a walk,” he said; “let us go down to the sea.”

“Yes,” said Lamorna, “I will come;” and first she ran into the house, and fetched a scarlet handkerchief, and tied it over her head, not because she was cold, but because she thought it made her look prettier.

“Let us go down to the water’s edge,” said she, taking Erick’s arm; and then they strolled down to the beach together.

The sea was smooth as glass, and the bright big moon made it almost as bright as day. A row of steep rocks stood out into the sea, and on to these Lamorna would go, because she wanted to bend over and see herself in her scarlet handkerchief in the moonlight. So they sat down on the edge of the rocks, and Lamorna leaned down till she could see all her figure and her pretty face in the deep clear water. And, when they saw her appearing, the elves who watched gave notice to all the others, who stood waiting in a crowd with their ropes in their hands.

“Look at the moon, dear Lamorna,” said Erick. “See how beautiful it is!”

“Yes, it is lovely,” said she. But she did not lift her eyes from her own image. Then, at a given signal, the water elves threw up their sand ropes, and caught her reflection, and all pulled it together, and Lamorna started back with a shudder.

“Erick,” she cried, gasping, “is anything the matter with the moon? Is it gone behind a cloud?”

“No,” said Erick, surprised; “see, there it is, as bright as ever.”

Lamorna bent over the water again, and again drew back trembling, for her pretty reflection had quite disappeared, and she could see it nowhere.

“Erick,” she cried, “I don’t feel well. Will you help me to go home?”

Erick jumped up at once, and lifted her tenderly across the rocks, and helped her up the beach to her house.

Meantime the water elves were almost wild with delight. They were pleased at the thought that they were helping Erick; but they were also pleased for themselves, that they had got such a pretty new plaything as Lamorna’s reflection. It was thirty times as big as any of them, and they had to keep it tied down, lest it should rise to the surface and float away. So they found a special grotto for it—between some large rocks, and there they fastened it down—and all were allowed to look at it, though no one might touch it, for fear it should be injured. It looked very pretty, with the bright red kerchief over the head, and the lips smiling sweetly just as Lamorna’s had smiled when she bent over the water.

“Now we know how she did her hair, and can do ours like it,” said the young maiden elves; and they were never tired of examining it. At last one said—

“It is so pretty, and poor Lamorna can never see it now. Shall we never set it free, and let it return to her?”

“On the day that she no longer cares about it, when she has ceased to be vain,” said the old elf gravely, “we will cut its ropes, and it will fly to her wherever she is.”

“But she may have grown old by then, and have changed so much that it would not know her,” said the young elf.

“Then it will change too,” said the old elf; “if even a wrinkle comes on Lamorna’s face it will at once appear on the face of her image here, and should her hair become grey its hair would be grey also.”

“Then it will be very amusing,” cried the elves; “we can watch it and know how Lamorna is going on, and if she looks well or ill.”

When Lamorna got home she felt frightened and uncomfortable, and she was cross with Erick for looking at her.

“Erick,” she said, “don’t you know that it’s very rude to stare?”

“Dear Lamorna, I feared you were ill,” said Erick, humbly.

“I am not ill,” said Lamorna, pouting; “so do look another way.”

“I shall never be able to please you, Lamorna,” said Erick, sighing, as he looked away. “Are you determined always to be unkind to me?”

“Oh, don’t talk so, Erick,” cried Lamorna. “How you tease me!”

“Do I tease you?” said Erick, very gravely. “I won’t do so any more;” and he got up and kissed her forehead, and went away without saying another word.

When Lamorna was left alone, she jumped up and ran to the looking-glass, in her usual way; but when she looked in it she stood still, staring in surprise, for she saw nothing!

“There must be something wrong with the light,” she said, and she moved the candles; but when she turned again to the glass it was just the same. She saw the reflection of the room—only her own image was wanting.

“I declare it makes one feel quite uncomfortable,” she said. “I must be ill. I’ll go to bed at once; tomorrow, doubtless, I shall wake up quite well.” So she went to bed.

Next morning she sprang up when the first rays of the sun shone in at the window, and ran at once to her looking-glass. But it was just the same as the previous evening. No likeness of herself could she see. At last she began to cry outright.

“I never heard of such an absurd thing!” she sobbed. “Not to be able to see one’s own face in the glass. Either I must be very ill, or else something must be wrong with the glasses. And I dare not tell anyone, for fear they should laugh or think I’m going mad. But I think I’ll go down and tell Erick about it. He won’t laugh at me, at any rate.”

So she dressed as quickly as she could; but when she had to do her hair without seeing it she cried again till her eyes were red. She would not look in a glass all day, but when the evening came she went down the village to the cottage where Erick lived. She tapped at the door, and it was opened by Erick’s mother, who stood behind it with a pale face and red eyes.

“Can I speak to Erick?” asked Lamorna.

“You cannot speak to him, for he is not here,” said his mother, coldly. “And it is all your doing. He was so grieved by the unkind things you said to him last night that he could not bear to stay here any longer, so he is gone to enlist for a soldier, and go to the war;” and his mother began to cry afresh. Lamorna stared in surprise.

“Why, how could it be my doing?” she said. “If Erick was so silly as to mind what I said, I can’t help that,” and she turned away in a huff. “But he needn’t have gone away just now,” she added, beginning to whimper, “for I wanted to speak to him.”

“Then you should not have been so cruel to him,” said his mother; and she looked closely at Lamorna, to see if she showed signs of repentance.

“Why are you looking at me?” cried Lamorna. “Have I done my hair badly, or do I look amiss?” for she felt frightened as she could not see herself, lest her looks might have changed.

“You are a vain, heartless girl, Lamorna,” cried the woman, angrily. “I only looked at you to see if you were sorry that Erick had gone, and you are thinking all the time of your own looks, forsooth!” and she slammed the door in her face.

Lamorna turned back and went home. She tried to laugh when she told her father that Erick had gone to the war; but in reality she felt far more inclined to cry.

“I should not have minded telling Erick,” she thought, “but I should not dare to say anything to anyone else, lest they should think me mad.”

As the time passed away, and she had new dresses and could not see herself in them, she cried afresh.

“I don’t know what I shall do,” she sobbed, as she stood in front of a looking-glass in a fine new dress that she had never worn before, and yet could not see herself in it. “I believe I shall go out of my mind. And I daresay I am growing frightfully ugly without knowing it.” And she began to fret, and lie awake at night, and grow quite pale and thin.

“What is the matter with you. Lamorna?” said one of the neighbours. “You’re growing quite thin. You mustn’t get to look like that at your age, or you’ll lose all your good looks;” and Lamorna shivered with fear as she listened. And again, another woman said to her, “Lamorna, you’ve not done your hair well today. You must not grow untidy, or you’ll never look pretty;” and Lamorna, who knew that her hair was not so well done because she could not see it, ran away to hide her tears.

So a year passed, and nothing had been heard of Erick.

Lamorna had plenty of other lovers, but as she grew cross and bad-tempered, and her enticing looks began to leave her, her lovers left her too.

Every year there was a great fair held in the village, to which Lamorna had always gone, dressed in her best, and looking her prettiest; so when the time came round for the fair again, she determined to go, and to dress herself as smartly as possible, that no one might say she was less pretty than formerly. So she chose the prettiest dress she could find, and trimmed it with cherry-coloured ribbons, and then she took out her hat, and looked at it, and thought it was too plain.

“If I could get a new feather for it,” she said, “or some flowers, it would be much better. I’ll go out and see what I can find.”

She went to the village and looked at all the shop windows, and saw nothing that would suit her; so then she turned into the fields, thinking she would pick some flowers to make a wreath instead.

She looked in all the banks and hedges, but all the flowers she saw she thought too plain, and she threw them away as soon as she had gathered them.

“If I can’t find anything prettier than these,” she said, “I will not go to the fair at all,” and she began to be cross.

At last she came to a large old tree, and on one of its lowest boughs was seated the loveliest bird she had ever seen in her life. Its body was bright blue, but its wings were striped gold and green, and it shone as if it had been set with jewels.

“Oh, what a beauty!” thought Lamorna; “if I could but get some of its feathers for my hat, how happy I should be!” and she looked at the bird longingly. Presently she took up a large stone, and going softly under the tree, threw it up at the bird, but the stone fell on the other side and missed the bird, who sat quite still and did not stir.

“You silly creature!” said Lamorna, “if you sit so still, I shall easily be able to catch you.” So she ran to the back of the tree and climbed up it on to the lowest bough, and bending across tried to seize the bird. But the bird fluttered in her grasp, and she lost her balance and fell from the bough on her face. Underneath the tree was a little heap of sharp stones, on to which Lamorna fell, and her face was cut right across, and the blood gushed out. At first she lost her senses with the fall, but she soon recovered herself and started up and ran home crying. Of course she could not see the cut, but she felt the blood flowing down, and she washed and bandaged it as best she could. But when her father came in he stared at her in surprise.

“Why, girl,” he cried, “what have you done to yourself?”

“I have fallen down and cut my face,” said Lamorna shortly.

“Cut your face—that you have, and a bad cut too. But what made you put on the plaster like that—half on and half off? I’ll go out and ask some of the women to come in and do it for you, if you can’t manage it better than that for yourself.”

So Lamorna’s face was bandaged, and of course she could not go to the fair. All thought it a very bad cut, and that it would most likely leave a scar for life. She had to lie in bed for many days, and she felt very sick and ill. But while she was thus lying alone she thought of a great many things which had never entered her head before; and most of all of Erick. She remembered how she had repaid his love with scorn, and she thought of how vain she had been of her beauty; and now it would all be gone, if ever he saw her again.

“And if it had not been for my vanity,” she sighed to herself, “I need not have been hurt at all. It was only that which made me want the bird’s wing. Ah, what a little thing beauty is to be so vain of!”

When her face was healed she strolled to the water’s edge, and stood looking down at it. All the neighbours had been very kind to her during her illness, and no one said anything to her about the mark on her face, but she knew well that her beauty was gone forever.

“If Erick would only come back,” she said as she stood looking at the water, “I should not now be always thinking about my looks, as he talked to me; I would think of him instead.”

When the water elves heard her words, they flew to the wise old elf, and said—

“See how hardly she has been punished. She is quite cured of her vanity. Let us cut the ropes of sand, and let her image free.”

But the old elf shook his head, and said—

“Not just yet. Wait a little longer.”

As Lamorna stood gazing over the water, she did not know that someone came up behind her, but she heard her name called, and looking round she saw a soldier with only one arm standing by her. He was so altered and brown that she looked at him for some time before she saw that it was Erick. Then she gave a little cry, and holding out her hands called him by his name.

“Did you really know me again, dear Lamorna?” he said, coming up to her. “I thought you would quite have forgotten me by now. And see how changed I am—I have only one arm.”

Then Lamorna turned her face, and showed him the scar. “I am more changed than you, Erick,” she said; “see here.” But she thought, “Now he will cease to love me, when he sees how ugly I am grown,” and she felt inclined to cry.

But Erick said nothing about her face. Only he asked her if she were glad he was come back.

“I am very, very glad,” she said. “Ah, how I missed you after you were gone!”

“Is that really true, Lamorna?” said Erick. “And all the time I was away I thought of no one but you; and now I should not dare: to ask you to be the wife of a poor broken-down fellow like me.”

“But if you will have me, Erick,” said Lamorna, “I will be your wife and love you dearly;” and they kissed each other, and settled that they would be married as soon as they could. And then they went home to tell Erick’s mother, and were as happy as they could be.

So they were married, and on the evening afterwards Lamorna asked Erick to go down with her to the rocks on which they had sat the evening before he went away. It was a beautiful moonlight night, and the sea was smooth as glass.

“It was on just such a night as this that we last sat here,” said Erick; “but how different you were then! Do you remember how unkind you were to me that night?”

“Yes, Erick, indeed I do,” said she. “But my looks were different then as well. I don’t mind about them for myself, but I wish I had not lost my pretty face, as you used to admire it.”

When the water elves heard these words, the old elf said—

“Now is the time!” and they all hastened to the reflection and cut the sand ropes, and with a mighty crash it rose straight through the water to the surface, exactly beneath Lamorna’s gaze.

“Erick!” she cried with a start, “what’s the matter? Has anything happened to the moon?”

“No, dear Lamorna, it is all right. Are you ill?” asked Erick anxiously.

“I think I must have been ill for the last year, and now I am quite well again,” said Lamorna, as she looked at her own face in the water.

“How much my cheek is marked! But I don’t mind it if you don’t, dear Erick;” and Erick kissed the scar, and told her he loved her all the better for it.

The water elves made a great festival when they heard this, and danced till morning.

“Anyhow, that is one good thing we have done in the past year,” they said. “We have cured Vain Lamorna.”

“Ah, a terrible thing is vanity!” said the Shawl-pin solemnly. “I have suffered from it. I myself make a point of pricking anyone who I think is getting too vain.”

“It rather depends on what one has to be vain of,” said the Brooch. “Of course some people are vain of almost nothing.”

“I like your story,” said the Pin, “but I cannot say that I consider it natural.”

“It is true, nevertheless,” said the Brooch. “Now someone else must tell one. Perhaps the Shawl-pin will oblige us.”

The Shawl-pin hesitated for some time, and then said he would try and remember a story which was told to him many years back by an Indian Scarf into which he was often stuck.