my dear little readers, i have told you about dear aunt polly, who was so kind to ray and dorothy, but i have not said a word about their uncle john philip.

uncle john philip was a very learned professor. he lived in a great, gloomy house that was filled with queer-looking specimens from all parts of the world.

there were cabinets, the shelves of which contained stones of every variety, besides queer-looking stuffed birds and animals.

there were great, thick volumes on his library shelves, and strange maps and charts on the walls. it was very seldom that the children went to visit uncle john philip, but whenever they did they were so awed by all the strange265 sights in the lonely house that they were always glad to go home.

one night there was a fire and the professor’s house with all its strange furniture was totally destroyed. then uncle john philip came to live at dorothy may’s for awhile, and she became better acquainted with the great professor.

now it so happened that uncle john philip, though a very wise professor, was a very foolish uncle.

he had studied and could explain many wonderful laws of nature, but he did not understand the heart of a little child.

one day when dear little dorothy was asking him about the man in the moon he said, “tut, tut, child, uninhabitable, no water, no atmosphere.”

dorothy did not understand in the least what he meant, but she said:

“don’t you like mother goose, where the cow jumped over the moon?”

“cow, sea-cow, that reminds me,” cried uncle john philip, and he darted into his study. dorothy did not see him again until supper.

but she did not give up hopes, and the very next day she asked him for a fairy story.

“fairies, nonsense,” said the great professor, “there are no fairies.”

“o uncle,” cried dorothy in grieved surprise, “how can you say that? aunt polly says there are, and besides it tells all about them in my santa claus book.”

“tut, tut, tut,” said the wise professor.

“but, uncle dear, don’t you love dear old santa claus and mother goose?” pleaded the wistful voice.

“rubbish, romance,” muttered the learned man.

dorothy waited to hear no more. she ran out of the room, and never stopped until she reached her own little playroom. she felt terribly disappointed.

“my uncle doesn’t believe in the lovely267 fairies,” sighed poor little dorothy, “he’ll never have nice times, will he, susan ida?”

the doll thus addressed, stared in blank amazement, and dorothy somehow felt better for susan ida’s sympathy.

just then from the window in her playroom dorothy saw her uncle go down the steps and out of the house. she watched his tall, slightly bent form until it was out of sight.

she left the playroom and roamed all over the house. as she walked through the hall, she saw uncle john philip’s study door partly open. at first she just took a peek, then she walked into his study.

the first thing she noticed was that he had left his great spectacles on the desk.

“he’s forgotten his glasses,” said dorothy, and her first impulse was to run after uncle john philip and return them.

but he was probably out of sight so dorothy decided to keep them for him.

“what a dear little star-fish!” said dorothy, as her eyes fell on a small one, lying on a shelf.

dorothy had gathered star-fishes and sea-urchins in the summer, among the rocks at the seashore, and she knew all about them.

“i’ll put on uncle john philip’s glasses,” said the child, “and make believe i’m a professor.”

i’m afraid the frolicsome fairies were playing a trick on dorothy, because no sooner did she put on the professor’s spectacles, than the most wonderful change occurred.

the pretty little star-fish assumed the proportions of a gigantic octopus, and dorothy was so frightened that she quickly took off the glasses, and stared in wonder.

“o,” cried the child, “what a dreadful-looking thing!” and she backed away as far as possible from the harmless little star-fish.

“it’s only a star-fish,” cried dorothy to reassure herself, and once more put on the glasses.269 again the dreadful octopus was before her and off came the glasses with a jump.

just then she spied a bottle filled with water on a table. “that’s nothing but a bottle of water,” said the little girl, “i’m not afraid of that,” and again she clapped on the professor’s spectacles.

but horrors! as dorothy looked through the glasses, the bottle became as large as a tub and right in the center was a strange, black monster, with two eyes and a tail swimming around.

the glasses were pulled off in a second and poor little dorothy began to cry.

“now i know why uncle doesn’t believe in the beautiful fairies,” cried the child, “it’s all on account of these horrid spectacles—they make him see dreadful things.”

she ran out of the study and down the steps to the garden still holding the professor’s glasses.

“i’m glad i’m out of that terrible room, it’s just filled with monsters, i’m not afraid out here,”270 said dorothy seating herself on a rustic bench. now it so happened that a certain, plump caterpillar was taking a walk across that very bench and dorothy happened to see him. on went the spectacles and up jumped dorothy. the little caterpillar had turned into a brown, furry snake and dorothy ran for her life.

she tried to take off the glasses, but they would not come, and she walked quickly on.

some daisies that grew near by looked like immense sunflowers, and their beautiful white petals were swarming with black bugs.

suddenly she came upon a gray, maltese monster, curled up asleep in a corner of the garden. of course it was chuff, her own pussy, but she never recognized him and ran on more frightened than ever.

a cow dozing near a hedge became a red horned monster and dorothy fled in terror.

suddenly a giant appeared in the path before her. he was looking on the ground to the right271 and left and never saw dorothy, who ran behind some bushes, almost frightened out of her wits.

as he came near the bushes where dorothy was hiding she recognized uncle john philip, but she was so thoroughly frightened since he had turned into a giant that she dared not call or make her presence known.

when he had passed she emerged from the bushes and ran into the woods.

at last thoroughly tired she threw herself on the ground, under a great oak tree and cried herself to sleep with the professor’s spectacles on her dear little nose.

when dorothy was fast asleep the good fairies removed the spectacles and put them in her lap. they felt so sorry to think that dorothy had looked through the ugly glasses that they kissed her pretty eyelids and whispered beautiful dreams in her little pink ears.

they placed her on a swing, made of a single,272 silver spider thread, suspended between two trees, and dorothy swung her little feet while the fairies sang:

“where the bee sucks, there lurk i,

in a cowslip’s bell i lie.

there i crouch where owls do cry;

on the bat’s back i do fly,

after summer merrily,

merrily, merrily shall i live now

under the blossom that hangs on the bow.”

the song was followed by a merry dance, and dorothy watched the fairies with delight.

all at once as the fairies danced a strange footstep was heard approaching. in the twinkling of an eye, every fairy disappeared, dorothy’s silver swing broke in the middle, and she found herself under the oak tree, with the professor’s spectacles in her lap.

she looked up and there stood uncle john philip looking down at her, a puzzled smile on his face.

“my dear child,” said the professor, “how did you get here and what are you doing with my spectacles?”

dorothy looked at the glasses in her lap and two big tears rolled down her cheek.

she began to cry bitterly, and uncle john philip sat beside his little niece and tried to comfort her.

“don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry, my dear!” said the great man over and over.

“o uncle john philip,” sobbed the little girl, “i know why you don’t believe in the beautiful fairies. it’s all on account of these horrid spectacles.”

then she told him all about her adventure in his study and questioned him between sobs and tears.

“that dear little star-fish isn’t a great creepy thing is it, uncle?”

“no dear, no dear, no dear!” declared the professor.

“and you don’t keep black monsters in bottles of water, now, do you, uncle?”

“no, no, no, no!” cried the great man.

“you’re not a wicked giant and you do believe in fairies, don’t you, uncle?”

“surely, surely, i do, i do.”

“mother goose isn’t rubbish, is she?” pleaded dorothy.

“never,” declared uncle john. “mother goose is a luxury—a positive luxury, my dear.”

“and santa, dear old santa, he’s good, too, isn’t he?” coaxed the child.

“a necessity, my pet, a real necessity, splendid fellow!” exclaimed the man.

“o, i’m so glad to hear you say so,” cried dorothy, and she cuddled up closer to the great professor and put her little hands confidingly in his.

“there is a man in the moon?” questioned dorothy suddenly.

“there is, there is, my pet,” cried uncle john275 philip, “and a lady too, and baby stars, and—and all that sort of thing, my dear.”

“o, goody, do tell me about it!” cried dorothy.

uncle john philip smiled at the eager little face that looked into his, full of confidence.

the touch of childish hands sent a thrill through the great professor. he felt twenty years younger, and forty years happier.

a strange something crept into his heart and stole up to his busy brain. something was at work brushing away dusty old facts, and underneath them all bright fancies made themselves known.

uncle john philip, the great professor began to half sing and partly recite a song about the moon.

lady moon, lady moon, up in the sky,

what do you do, up there so high?

do you watch your baby stars all night

and smile into their faces bright?

ah! lady moon, i’ve watched you play

at hide-and-seek with clouds in gray.

lady moon, lady moon, in your golden car,

do you ride on the milky way afar,

smiling down on this great world,

stooping to kiss the waters curled

on its breast with rippling grace,

rising to meet your beaming face?

lady moon, lady moon, your song i know

when the night is still; it’s sweet and low.

the drowsy tree-tops nod their heads,

the birdies dream it in their beds,

the west wind sings your lullabys,

while all the world in slumber lies.

“there now,” said uncle john philip, “there’s a song about the lady, and some time i’ll tell you the most wonderful fairy story you ever heard.”

“you are the best uncle in the world,” said dorothy, now smiling and happy.

“here are your spectacles. i don’t believe they’ll ever make you see dreadful things again.”

“dorothy, child,” said the wise man, “my spectacles were blurred and dim, but they have been washed in the tears of a little child, and henceforth i shall see better.”