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once to do a little fancy swearing. What a place ! Not even a looking-glass! Why, what's this ? A kiddy, asleep!
[DOLLY turns and looks at her. Miss St. G. Look here, little girl, I want to see Mrs. Lewis. Where is she ?
Dolly. She's gone out.
Miss St. G. Oh, botheration take it! Why on earth must she go out just now? It really is too bad. Do you know where she's
Dolly. She's got to see about some fairies' things ; just ordinary ones, you know, not real fairy princes like you.
Miss St. G. But I want to see her. It's early for you to be going to sleep.Can't you dress and run out and send her here? Run, like a good child. The idea of going to bed at this hour !
Dolly. I can't.
Dolly. Oh, you know I can't. I won't ever be able to run again. My hip is bad, and I've got to lie here always, just as long as I live.
Miss St. G. (aside). What a brute I am. (Aloud.) Poor little girl, I'm sorry. Well, you can tell your mother when she comes in that I wanted to see her about my dress. I'll go back now.
Dolly. Oh, no! You won't go away. I've been expecting you ever so long
Miss ST. G. Eh, me?
Dolly. Yes, of course. Fairy princes always come if you're good and wait. I do try to be good, but I forget sometimes when the pain comes on bad.
Miss St. G. In pain, and alone. Are you much by yourself, little one? Haven't you any playmates to come and see you?
Dolly. Not now. They did come first when I got bad ; but I think they're tired of me now. I can't play games, you see, and they like running about and dancing when there's an organ. One of them used to come often, Willy from next door ; but then he was ill too, and got a cough if he played. It wasn't so bad then.
Miss Sr. G. And he doesn't come now?
Dolly. Oh, I've got a book. Mother got it for me. It's all about your country, Fairyland. There are pictures in it, you know. That's why I knew you at once, you see.
Now tell me, are you going to take me to Fairyland to-night?
Miss St. G. I think perhaps, not to-night.
Dolly. Oh! well I don't mind so long as you are here. Besides it'll be more fun when I'm strong and can run about like the others and pick flowers and play. Tell me, please, exactly what it's like.
Miss St. G. Do you know I think you had better tell me.
DOLLY. But you live there.
Miss St. G. People never know much about the places they live in. I seem better up in London than in Fairyland. What does your book say?
DOLLY. Oh, it's lovely! Always sun shining, you know, and lovely flowers, and the birds are so tame because no one ever hurts them. Nobody is ever ill or naughty or hungry, and the mothers don't have to work all day and leave their children alone. But you know it all, don't you ?
Miss St. G. I fancy I have heard all that; but the country had another name.
Dolly. I tell you what I want to see more than anything, that's the sea. Fairyland is close to it. I'll show you something mother gave me 'cos I couldn't go when the other children had a treat. (Shows shell). Now shake it, and listen. I think and think till the wall all gets in a mist, and it seems I must see in another minute, and—I can't. You take my hand and tell me what it's like.
Miss St. G. Don't try to see anything just yet, only feel. Isn't that breeze lovely ? We're not in London now, we're on some yellow sands.
DOLLY. Tell me about a ship, one like I saw in the picture. There is one, isn't there?
Miss St. G. Of course there is. Look at her. She's got a lot of white sails, they're all blown out by that breeze you felt. It always blows fair for her voyage.
Dolly. Where is she going? Oh ! To Fairyland, of course. Won't it be too dark ?
Miss St. G. Only here. She'll go sailing through the night, and when it gets darkest here, light breaks where she will be.
Dolly. Why does she go at night ?
Miss St. G. She is the Fairy Mail. She sails away at night from London, down the dirty river, out to the sea.
Dolly. Does she take letters and parcels ? Oh, I know she does. Letters from fairies like you, who are wanting to go home. I don't know what the parcels could be. We've nothing nice enough to send. Miss St. G. I think I know what some of them are.
The big black one is a memory someone has been carrying about for years, of a wrong he fancied his friend did him. That faint shapeless grey one is a vain regret for a kind word that was not spoken. That small deep crimson thing is the sin of a saint.
Dolly. How did they all come here?
Miss St. G. The fairies send round a collecting-van every evening in London. People give them parcels that they never want to see again. That long thing there with lines and dots is the tune of a haunting song some sleeper longs to forget.
DOLLY. What will become of the parcels ?
Miss St. G. The ship sails out to where the sea gets blue, bluer than the sky. Just ahead there is a low white line. That is the shore of Fairyland. Then the fairy sailors drop all those parcels into the water. The big black thing will fall with a splash ; but you would only think it foam drift when the tune goes overboard ; and when that crimson bundle sinks there is a sea bird's cry.
Dolly. Are you going to put my pain on board ?
Miss St. G. Not to-night; I'm afraid. The boat is full. Tell me, my child, don't you ever see a doctor ?
Dolly. No, not now. Mother thought I must go into the hospital, but I was afraid. She says some clever doctor could cure me, but she's too poor to pay him. She forgot about the fairies, I think.
Miss Sr. G. Yes. People sometimes do. You didn't, though!
Dolly. No, of course not. You will cure me, I know. You're so good.
Miss St. G. Am I? Do you know, some people don't think so.
Dolly. Ah! That's when you wear your cloak, and they can't see that you're a fairy prince.
Miss St. G. Oddly enough it has generally been when I did not wear my cloak.
Dolly. Well, they're silly. Now tell me, please, how are you going to cure me?
Miss St. G. I hardly know. What ought I to do?
Miss St. G. (glancing at her hand). Ah! My magic ring. Let me see, is there any paper I could write on here? Dolly. Yes, in that drawer.
[Miss St. G. finds paper and writes a few words. Miss St. G. (aside, drawing diamond ring from her finger). But that was the only relic of my dream of Fairyland. If he can see what I am doing now, I think he will smile and be content.
[Puts ring in letter. Now listen, dear. When your mother comes in you must give her this. It is a special sort of magic ring which she must use for you.
Dolly. It will cure me, won't it?
Miss St. G. Yes. Now put it under your pillow, and then curl round and go to sleep. I must go.
Dolly. I suppose they want you in Fairyland ?
[Kisses Dolly. Exit.
Enter MRS. LEWIS
MRS. L. Here I am, dearie, back earlier than I thought. They
didn't want me after all. That Miss St. German, as she calls herself, had gone away. She was up to no good, I'll be bound. Have you been very lonely, Dolly?
Dolly. Mumsie! Guess what has happened? Oh! you never will. I must tell you, I can't wait. The Fairy Prince has been here.
Mrs. L. Bless the child, with her tales of fairies. Well, if they keep her happy, that's all right. So my Dolly saw a fairy at last. Dolly. Yes. Such a lovely one, and I'm going to get well soon,
He promised, mumsie. You don't look a bit glad. Mrs. L. Don't I, dear? I'm tired trapezing after people who ain't any better than me, I'll warrant, if as good.
DOLLY. Mother, won't you look at it?
Mrs. L. (Opens letter, reads to herself). Please sell this, it is valuable, and get that dear kiddie advice. One thing I ask. Let her keep her faith, as long as she can, in fairies, and-in me. Sylvia St. German.
MRS. L. Dolly, what is this? Who has been here? DOLLY. I told you—the Fairy Prince!
SYDNEY K. PHELPS.
SOME RECENT EARTHQUAKE THEORIES
RECENT advances in the knowledge and theory of seismic phenomena present many points of interest, and illustrate admirably the utility of co-operation among those who study scientific questions, and especially such as deal with problems of cosmic physics. Although the precise reason for the occurrence of an individual earthquake in one place and at a certain instant cannot be stated with any degree of certainty, yet there are indications that it may be possible for the seismologist, with the assistance of the astronomer, to foretell the years when earthquakes may be expected to be most frequent, and sometimes, perhaps, to announce in a general way the probability of an earthquake at a determined place. The advisability of such forecasts, supposing them to become possible, would, in these countries, be questionable, for the panic which would inevitably follow such an announcement would undoubtedly result in greater loss of life and movable property than would be produced by the catastrophe itself.
That such progress has been made in a comparatively young science speaks eloquently for the energy and perseverance, often with very scant encouragement, of those who have laid the foundations on which all future workers must build. The first step in the systematic study of earthquakes was evidently the establishment of recording centres, where careful observations might be made and compared among themselves and with the records obtained in other places. It is chiefly due to the activity of Professor Milne--whose name will frequently occur in this article—that there exists to-day a series of seismological observatories spread all over the world, equipped more or less abundantly with delicate recording and measuring in. struments. As each of these stations is furnished with apparatus for recording disturbances not only in the immediate neighbourhood but also those in distant places, it has become possible to obtain much information which otherwise would have been unattainable, and, by a careful comparison of records, to arrive at conclusions which have materially advanced the science. One of the first fruits of this detailed accumulation of facts is the relationship indicated between the occurrence of earthquakes and other natural phenomena. Thus it has been shown that earthquakes are somewhat more frequent at full