Once upon a time, at the end of a very fierce storm, a curious little boy named Oliver came out of the house. As he looked toward the east he saw a never-to-be-forgotten sight. A beautiful rainbow had suddenly stretched itself right across the sky, with one end shining brightly just above the hill-tops, and the other vanishing behind the wide expanse of water which lay on the seashore.
Yet something strange had happened. Instead of the seven colors that rainbows usually have, there were only three, and these looked very dim and sad. Oliver stared long and earnestly, and cried out:
“Oh! Mother, darling! Look! Look! The rainbow is ill! The colors are sick, and I’ve never seen them look so hap-hazard as they do now. Pink, lilac, and green don’t belong to a rainbow. Oh, whatever can the matter be?”
“I don’t know, Oliver, my child,” replied his mother, “but perhaps if you sit down here quietly towards the evening, you may see the end of the matter.”
So Oliver sat down on the gate-post, and watched and watched till the sun began to sink in the west.
All of a sudden, and as if by magic, the three old colors of the rainbow, red, yellow, and blue, appeared, and Oliver clapped his hands for joy. But his joy was short-lived; for closer and closer came the deepening blue shadows of the evening, till they grew to be so very dark that no more colors could be seen.
All next day did Oliver stay and gaze at the rainbow, but alas! no other colors returned. After the sun had gone to bed, the last terror commenced.
Birds of every shape and kind flew by in thousands and thousands, crying out in angry voices:
“What a sight to visit us! The rainbow is all out of sorts! We cannot bear to see it so! At once, at once, let us try and do something to make the rainbow well again!”
So the birds flew away, quite distressed and broken-hearted with their mournful task.
But the next day came back the sad sight, for the rainbow dared not hide from thousands of curious eyes, and twist and turn and tumble the birds did in their endeavor to bring it right again. All to no purpose!
Then some little fairies came, and said how much better their dainty fingers were fitted for removing the wrong colors from a rainbow than a real live bird’s clumsy feet, and all the little people agreed to put the rainbow back together again themselves.
Now the story goes, that six rainbows were put together bit by bit on the evening of the second day of our own story, and Oliver, perched still on his gate-post, with great round eyes of wonder and delight opened wide in his face, saw the beautiful sight again. Yet he noticed that one of the odd colors could not be discovered. And, sad to tell, the kind little fairies knocked up and down and in and out all through that rainbow, but could not always tell for certain when they were going downright or up, for the general all-round confusion. So they dared do no more till Midsummer Day, when the Society of Rainbows were going to assemble on rowan-tree hill to hold their annual meeting; at least, so every one said.
Did the lost color ever turn up, and what was his name? The fairies did not think it right to give the puzzle up yet anyhow. Only, among themselves, they called him Grey and did their very best to find him.
Another thing must be remembered, a quiet, dreamy kind of sunset. So Oliver never disturbed the birds, and they went right on, quite delighted with their baffled task. So, I assure you, they became much more sagely birds than they were before.
At last the matter was discovered, the real secret of all the strange events. In the first place, a fine humped-up rich kind of twilight had found its way into the blue out of quite an opposite quarter of the world.
At the end of the rainbow-arch, where there should have been tipped the very smallest bit of purple, there sat the dearest little dragon; then a large shadowy white cloud, with round holes in it, crept up a shade to hide them both from the watchful covers of the sixty-thousand pair of eyes hidden behind filter-paper, till all were seen, but one.
Out hopped all.
“Grey is lost! Grey has lost its way!” cried Rainbow.
“I say! How do you know Grey is lost?” said Pink.
“He has never come to join us, I make no doubt.”
Then lilac said, “You two must be the finest shaded of all. Grey is trying to color himself out to join your charmed circle.”
“It is getting into a perfect rapture! Why, it is imagination and fancy; it is a brightening dream and glorious acidity, though how I cannot say.”
So all sang out loud, and in a tearful kind of voice, to Rainbow, “Now drive slowly away; but don’t go under any mountains or over-metals, for Grey always was shy, and now we are ashamed of doing without him so long.”