“Hello! I am Luna, and I am a fairy,” I said. “And you? What is your name?”
I asked this because a light was coming across the moonflowers. It got bigger and bigger, and at last it turned into a tiny figure walking towards me. As the figure got nearer, I saw that it had wings, and then I knew it was one of my fairy friends.
“Do you not know me? I am your very own Nightingale,” she replied.
“Oh, why did you not come till now?” I asked. “I have missed you very much.”
“I wanted to, but I could not. I have so many, many plants to see to that I was quite tired out, and so afraid you would forget me in my absence. But I see you have not.”
“Oh, no,” I said. “You are my friend, and I have never forgotten you at all.”
“And I feel sure you will not mind helping me a little. Will you sing to the plants, while I pour a little water over the roots?”
“Why, yes. We will sing together,” I said.
So the little Nightingale and I sang “The Old Oaken Bucket” all the time she was watering the roots of the plants. When she had finished, she opened her mouth wide.
“Now, all you sleepy plants,” she said, “open your eyes in the East. Here is the sunshine to awaken you, for it is sunrise in India.” And, as soon as she said this, all the curtains flew up, and there was a lovely old-fashioned English garden spread out in front of me, with sunflowers nodding amongst sweet peas, and dahlias standing in front of polyanthuses.
Now I had dreamt all this, and this is the story of “The Midnight Garden,” but most people, alas! have forgotten the charm of midnight gardens, and have no idea how beautiful they are. Happy are the fairies! for they never make this foolish mistake; they know that as the sun comes up here, it sets somewhere else.
It was the other night a little girl named Tseri was sitting on a rock ready to do everything that was asked of her. Mother Earth came up to her and said, “Tseri, go out and take care of the moonflowers to-night like a good child.” And this is an account of all the plants which Mother Earth told me to take care of.
There are orchids, carnations, and heliotropes, with tulips and geraniums; there are roses and lilies which are all in bloom and full of fragrance. I can tell you I had something to do. First of all, with the aid of the birds, I found out exactly where every plant was hidden, for they could not see either a sunrise or a moonrise in their life, and everything around here is as dark as pitch.
Then I tweaked the plants out of their beds very carefully, so that I might tidy the ground afterwards. Mother Earth had given me half an hour’s spinning to do, and, as it was not done, I had to unravel it as neatly as I could so as not to spoil the work. And I must say the Birds of the Air did work very well in undressing and dressing the plants. Barbie Snowball and that rascal of a rooster buried them like good children, and Pitpit and Magpie Milly spread them out quite comfortably.
This is the reason why it was all done in half an hour; so, you see, what they told me in Father Frost’s house was not true; I really had not forgotten. Gammon, as he finished pulling up a last tulip, shouted out, “Now then, what else is there to do?” and looked at me.
“There are the roots of each tree to plant again in the ground,” I said.
“But we can play with roots too when we like,” replied Gammon.
“No, you can’t. Games were all given up after man developed his intellect,” I said. “All Eves make men’s roots grow up.”
Let me explain this riddle. The Nightingale was dead, and it told me it was Tseri who had killed it, and, alas! I think it is right. The raspberries were all in their beds playing trundling-tops, and what was left of the night was also very onconcerned about the catastrophe; but for all that I thought it best to try and save it from the shame of it.
I told the Nightingale it must go into one of the icehouses to keep the others company. But there were such a lot of them one hardly knew which to choose; moreover, when it was all over, all the other birds would be back home again, and not a bit of sun nor moon would ever have the chance of thawing them out.
So I alluded to other joys to draw it outside, and said, with my eyes lowered to the ground, “It is a great thought of Mother Earth’s all this, but she looks so far ahead that I cannot understand half she means, for there is, as you see, one plant, at least, which has been and gone again.”
Then the Nightingale laughed, and I immediately turned all my attention to her.
Tseri cleverly built some boats out of lily-leaves, and she and the nestlings set to work at once rowing across the pond.
“But which of us is to row?” said the nestlings, as they clambered into their boats.
Tseri willingly took an oar herself, for she was very very much obliged to the Nightingale.
“We should break the oars and be obliged to spend the night in dry-docks,” said they.
Just then Tseri’s boat capsized in a wave, and the little yellow-billed dove was drowned.
That made a sailor’s funeral at sea for a few, and made them get to land at last, but Tseri and the Nightingale formed a stronger party.
Then Mother Earth gave them shells to make horns, for they are sailors’ trumpets both in China and Japan.
Soon they were in sight of a small township, where the little Tseris of the Southern Seas take a day off from work whenever it rains. But I will let the Nightingale come in and sing, and say she prefers the fishes of the night to those of the day.
Tseri thanked the Nightingale very politely.
“But don’t mention it again; I should be ashamed to talk of it to anybody as long as I live.”
“Oh, I will not, I will not.”
And so saying she thinks of it all the same; at least she says herself it is so. She admitted she was vexed when our little birds were in our icehouses, and it was only hopes of being kissed again that jelly-fish, etc., keep on being slaves all day. I know nothing about that; I only live in countries where there are seasons and a clear distinction between day and night. And I cannot understand how people can do everything three times over every twenty-four hours.
And this I know, I never saw one of the prettiest, and best behaved, and most loving little children again express any desire to break her old toy earlier than the season, even if for the very purpose of writing a book; but there it was, a body did. She told me so herself; a body did do everything by trots, and you cannot read old plays, or see an opera-ballet, or stand all
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<|image_sentinel|> Notably, the above text appears to be an imaginative piece focused on the theme of nature and fairy tales. However, it also raises questions on the scientific basis behind some claims. For instance, the story presents fairy-like beings responsible for nature’s phenomena, which could be categorized as mythological rather than factual. Additionally, ideas about the rapid transition of night to day in various global locations being due to these fairies may invite skepticism regarding their accuracy.
Nonetheless, this text effectively captures the essence of fantasy literature. It allows readers to step into a world driven by whimsy and creativity, showcasing elements that resonate with children’s literature, such as talking animals and magical characters. The narrative underscores values like friendship, respect for nature, and community, making it not only enchanting but also educational.
If you wish to align the content more closely with realistic depictions of nature or scientifically accurate explanations, the fairy elements would need significant modifications to ensure the story provides educational value to the same extent. However, its charm as an imaginative tale remains evident.