Scanned, proofed and corrected from the original edition for your reading pleasure. (Worth every penny!)
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CONTENTS:
The Road to Fairyland
The Pipes of Pan
ILLUSTRATIONS:
Piping Pan. Who Knows All About Art
by Louis Saint Gaudens
Flying Cupid. From the Next Pedestal.
By Janet Scudder
Young Pan. Piping Pan’s Saucy Brother.
By Janet Scudder
Boy With the Fish. Whom the Playellows Call Roly Poly.
by Bela Lyon Pratt
Fighting Boys. Who Do Not Mind Being Splashed.
by Janet Scudder
Wild Flower. Who Seems To Say, “Kiss Me.”
by Edward Berge
Duck Baby. Who Makes Everybody Laugh.
by Edith Barretto Parsons
Boy With Frog. Who Loves The Wild Things.
by Edward Berge
Bird Fountain Baby. The Sweetest Baby of All
by Caroline Everett Risque
Sun-Dial Boy. “There Is No Time Like The Present.”
by Edward Berge
Young Diana. The Maiden of The Moon.
by Janet Scudder
Youth. The Girl From the Fountain of Youth.
by Edith Woodman Burroughs
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An excerpt from the beginning of the first story:
The ROAD to FAIRYLAND
Eleanor and Eleanor's Mother and the Pretty -Young - Lady - with - Jingling Earrings and Eleanor's Aunt Kate, who knew all about everything and could explain even to Father and Mother, had spent the day at the Exposition.
Now the buildings were closing for the evening and soft, bright blue twilight, spangled with the first stars and glimmering with the early moon, filled the quiet courts and flowery avenues and made Eleanor say, "Oh! Isn't it beautiful!" and dance for joy until her curls bobbed.
The great tower and the smaller towers were glowing red like huge lanterns. Just enough lights had appeared to make shimmers and gleams in the sheets of water that fell from the fountains. The quiet pools had become mirrors; Eleanor looked into them and saw the buildings all turned magically upside down.
It was just as if the Evening Fairy had waved her wand and turned the world into Fairyland.
"Is this why we stayed here for the evening," asked Eleanor, "to see how lovely it is now?"
"Not tired, dear?"
"No, Mother—not very. I just wanted to know why we stayed; because Aunt Kate said she thinks there will be no fireworks tonight."
Eleanor had once been allowed to wait for the fireworks and had found them most exciting.
"We're going to do the Fine Arts, honey. The Palace of Fine Arts is open tonight and—you're not tired, dear?" For Eleanor had sighed a little sigh without meaning to.
She was not tired—not tired enough to admit it, at least. But "doing the Fine Arts" did not seem very attractive to her. She had tried it before, by day, and it meant rooms and rooms and rooms of pictures; very pretty ones to be sure, but too many for a little girl to see all at once without growing bewildered. And it meant Aunt Kate's stopping before almost every one—or so it seemed to Eleanor—and saying queer long words, like Divisionist, Futurista, Boccionist, Munich School, while the Pretty-Young-Lady-with-Jingling-Earrings exclaimed, "I know I shall never remember a word of it!" and Dear Mother said, "Wonderful! It is so interesting to know these things, Kate!"
