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Yes; she is deeply read in Peter Parley's tomes, and has an increasing love for fairy-tales, though seldom met with nowadays, and she will subscribe, next year, to the Juvenile Miscellany. But, truth to tell, she is apt to turn away from the printed page, and keep gazing at the pretty pictures, such as the gay-colored ones which make this shopwindow the continual loitering-place of children.
Fairy-tales have a real value to the child; they are a mental food he needs, if he is not to be spiritually starved; to deprive him of fairy-tales at this age is to do him a wrong which can never be made up at any subsequent age.
It would be, wouldn't it? it must have been the subject of some fairy-tale, if fairy-tales were made now, or better still of some Christmas pantomime: 'The Gnome and the Giant." Nanda appeared to try not with much success to see it. "Do you find Lord Petherton a Gnome?" Mitchy at first, for all reward, only glared at her. "Charming, Nanda charming!"
“What did Dicky say?” Maida asked after awhile. “Oh, Dicky said he would believe anything you told him, no matter what it was. Dicky says he believes you’re a princess in disguise—like in fairy-tales.” “Dear, dear Dicky!” Maida said. “He was the first friend I made in Primrose Court and I guess he’s the best one.”
Such things occur in the fairy-tales one reads in the books in the old Mission, but seldom in real life," and she was gone. Considering an all-night ride over a rough road in a lumbering old Spanish stagecoach, and the thrilling, harrowing events that succeeded their arrival at the Posada, it is little wonder that Mrs.
"I have only read 'The Heroes," Halcyone admitted, "but I know it by heart and I know it is all true though my governess says it is fairy-tales and not for girls. I want to learn Greek, but they can't teach me." "That is too bad." "When things are put vaguely I always want to know, them I want to know why Medusa turned into a gorgon? What was her sin?" The old man smiled.
And it actually seems to you that there is no one on earth save you and God." The pilgrim spoke, and his voice and sing-song speech reminded Foma of the wonderful fairy-tales of Aunt Anfisa. He felt as though, after a long journey on a hot day, he drank the clear, cold water of a forest brook, water that had the fragrance of the grasses and the flowers it has bathed.
Once a boy found a pot o' gold hangin' on to the end of a rainbow. There's always one there, Daddy. Yes, there is, Peter Fiddle says so. An' a boy travelled a long, long way to the end of a rainbow, an' he found it the pot o' gold. An' he was rich, an' he gave money to all the poor people an' made them happy." "And so Peter's been telling you more fairy-tales, eh?
He still lived in the world of fairy-tales, but the invisible and pitiless hand of reality was already at work tearing the beautiful, fine web of the wonderful, through which the boy had looked at everything about him. The incident with the machinist and the pilot directed his attention to his surroundings; Foma's eyes became more sharp-sighted.
It was evident that the master needed cheering up. They began to tell him the fairy-tales he loved; tales of robbers and witches and pirates grand old tales that never wearied him. To arouse his interest they joked among themselves, as though unaware of his existence.
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