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Blackwood, Algernon, 1869-1951

"A Prisoner in Fairyland"

You're like a star--'
'But how--like a star?'
'Why,' he explained gently, yet a little disappointed that his
adventure was not instantly accepted, 'you shine, and your eyes
twinkle, and everybody likes you and thinks you beautiful--'
'Even if you're not?' inquired Jinny.
'But you _are_--'
'Couldn't we go there now? Mother's fast asleep!' suggested Jimbo in a
mysterious whisper. He felt a curious excitement. This, he felt, was
more real than usual. He glanced at Monkey's eyes a moment.
'Another time,' said Daddy, already half believing in the truth of his
adventure, yet not quite sure of himself. 'It collects, and collects,
and collects. Sometimes, here and there, a little escapes and creeps
out into yellow flowers like dandelions and buttercups. A little, too,
slips below the ground and fills up empty cracks between the rocks.
Then it hardens, gets dirty, and men dig it out again and call it
gold. And some slips out by the roof--though very, very little--and
you see it flashing back to find the star it belongs to, and people
with telescopes call it a shooting star, and--' It came pouring
through him again.
'But when you're in it--in the Cavern,' asked Monkey impatiently;
'what happens then?'
'Well,' he answered with conviction, 'it sticks to you. It sticks to
the eyes most, but a little also to the hair and voice, and nobody
loves you unless you've got a bit of it somewhere on you.


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