[Illustration: FIG. 36.--"Weaving Together Grass, Leaves and Twigs."]
Matters were not so pleasant with the Pixies. The provisions laid up within Fort Spinder were not abundant, and Spite had to order all to be put upon short rations. Moreover, their hunting ground was quite limited, of course, and the game on which they were used to prey had been frightened off by the late commotions. However, the lights from the watch fires of their enemies drew some unwary and over curious night wanderers within the confines of the fort, and the hungry Pixies were able to catch a few of them. As for Spite, their chief, he was silent and moody. After mounting the guards, and giving necessary orders, he threw himself upon the ground, wrapped his blanket around him and began to think. We shall learn the fruits of his plotting, by and by.[X]
In the centre of the Brownie camp were three large tents, the officers' headquarters, the hospital tent, and the marquée of the Sanitary Corps. These were wrought out of large leaves, deftly stretched upon frames, with edges overlapping like a tiled roof, and anchored to the ground by small pebbles, heaps of sand, and by tent pins of thorns or splinters.
[Illustration: FIG. 37.--The Hospital Tent and Marquée of the Sanitary Corps.]
The Headquarters' tent was occupied by the chief officers, Bruce, Rodney, MacWhirlie and Pipe. The Hospital tent was devoted to the sick and wounded. But one would not easily imagine who were the occupants of the Sanitary tent; we shall therefore lift the door of the marquée, and peep within.
It is a snug place. In the centre, well up toward the roof, a large fox-fire lantern hangs from the ridge pole which sheds a soft light throughout the interior. A strong odor of herbs and ointments fills the place, the reason for which soon appears. Four wee Brownie women are busy with retorts, jars, boxes, lint, bandages, and various other articles of the healing art.
The oldest of the party, judged by our human standard, has reached that uncertain boundary of womanhood which divides maiden from matron. One might venture to call her an "old maid" Brownie, and perhaps she would not deny it, for that is a class--God bless them!--whom the Brownies dearly love. But no one could aver that the fairy woman had suffered loss of charms by advance in life. One glance into her face shows how pure, gentle and good must be the disposition that has wrought the tracery of such sweet expression around her features. Her name is Agatha; she is the only child of Captain Bruce, and one does not wonder, having once seen her, that even the Brownies call her Agatha the Good. She is spreading upon tiny bandages out of a tiny jar some kind of ointment, the recipe for which you may be sure is in none of our dispensaries, but which the Brownies call Lily Balm.