how sweet!' cried Maia. 'May we take them home with us, godmother?' It seemed to come quite naturally to call her that, and Maia did it without thinking.
'Certainly,' godmother replied; 'but remember this, don't throw them away when they seem withered. They will not be really withered; that is to say, long afterwards, by putting them in the sunshine, they will—some of them, any way—come out quite fresh again. And even when dried up they will have a delicious scent; indeed, the scent has an added charm about it the older they are—so many think, and I agree with them.'
Rollo and Maia looked at their flowers with a sort of awe.
'Then they are fairy flowers?' they half whispered. 'You said they came from the other country. Do you come from there too, godmother? Are you a fairy?'
Godmother smiled.
'Fancy me one if you like,' she said. 'Fancy me whatever you like best, you will not be far wrong; but fairyland is only one little part of that other country. You will find that out as you get older.'
'Shall we go there some day, then?' exclaimed Maia. 'Will you take us, dear godmother? Have Waldo and Silva ever been?'
'Oh, what a lot of questions all at once!' cried godmother. 'I can't answer so many. You must be content to find out some things for yourself, my little girl. The way to the other country for one. Shall you go there some day? Yes, indeed, many and many a time, I hope.'
Maia clapped her hands with delight.
'Oh, how nice!' she said. 'And when? May we go to-day? Oh, Silva, do ask godmother to let us go to-day,' she exclaimed, catching hold of Silva in her eagerness. But Silva only smiled, and looked at godmother; and somehow, when they smiled, the two faces—the young one with its bright rich colour, and the old one, white, so white, except for the wonderful, beautiful eyes, that it might have been made of snow—looked strangely alike.
'Silva has learned to be patient,' said godmother, 'and so she gets to know more and more of the other country. You must follow her example, little Maia. Don't be discouraged. How do you know that you are not already on the way there? What do you think about it, my boy?' she went on, turning to Rollo, who was standing a little behind them listening, but saying nothing.
Rollo looked up and smiled.
'I'd like to find the way myself,' he replied.
'That's right,' said godmother. And Maia felt more and more puzzled, as it seemed to her that Rollo understood the meaning of godmother's words better than she did.
'Rollo,' she exclaimed, half reproachfully.
Rollo turned to her with some surprise.
'You understand and I don't,' she said, with a little pout on her pretty lips.
'No,' said Rollo, 'I don't. But I like to think of understanding some day.'
'That is right,' said godmother again. 'But this is dull talk for you, little people. What is it to be to-day, Silva? What is old godmother to do for you?'
Silva glanced out of the window.
'The day will soon be closing into evening,' she said,' and Rollo and Maia cannot stay after sunset. We have not very long, godmother—no time to go anywhere.'
'Ah, I don't know about that,' godmother replied. 'But still—the first visit. What would you like, then, my child?'
'Let us gather round the fire, for it is a little chilly,' said Silva, 'and you, dear godmother, will tell us a story.'
Maia's eyes and Rollo's, too, brightened at this. Godmother had no need to ask if they would like it. She drew the large chair nearer the fireplace, and the four children clustered round her in silence waiting for her to begin.
'It is too warm with my cloak on,' she said, and she raised her hand to unfasten it at the neck and loosen it a little. It did not entirely fall off; the dark green hood still made a shade round her silvery hair and delicate face, but the cloak dropped away enough for Maia's sharp eyes to see that the dress underneath was of lovely crimson stuff, neither velvet nor satin, but richer and softer than either. It glimmered in the light of the fire with a sort of changing brilliance that was very tempting, and it almost seemed to Maia that she caught the sparkle of diamonds and other precious stones.
'May I stroke your pretty dress, godmother?' she said softly. Godmother started; she did not seem to have noticed how much of the crimson was seen, and for a moment Maia felt a little afraid. But then godmother smiled again, and the child felt quite happy, and slipped her hand inside the folds of the cloak till it reached the soft stuff beneath.
'Stroke it the right way,' said godmother.
'Oh, how soft!' said Maia in delight. 'What is it made of? It isn't velvet, or even plush. Godmother,' she went on, puckering her forehead again in perplexity, 'it almost feels like feathers. Are you perhaps a bird as well as a fairy?'
At this godmother laughed. You never heard anything so pretty as her laugh. It was something like—no, I could never tell you what it was like—a very little like lots of tiny silver bells ringing, and soft breezes blowing, and larks trilling, all together and very gently, and yet very clearly. The children could not help all laughing, too, to hear it.
'Call me whatever you like,' said godmother. 'A bird, or a fairy, or a will-o'-the-wisp, or even a witch. Many people have called me a witch, and I don't mind. Only, dears,' and here her pretty, sweet voice grew grave, and even a little sad, 'never think of me except as loving you and wanting to make you happy and good. And never believe I have said or done anything to turn you from doing right and helping others to do it. That is the only thing that could grieve me. And the world is full of people who don't see things the right way, and blame others when it is their own fault all the while. So sometimes you will find it all rather difficult. But don't forget.'
'No,' said Maia, 'we won't forget, even though we don't quite understand. We will some day, won't we?'
'Yes, dears, that you will,' said godmother.
'And just now,' said Silva, 'it doesn't matter. We needn't think about the difficult world, dear godmother, while we're here—ever so far away from it.'
'No, we need not,' said godmother, with what sounded almost like a sigh, if one could have believed that godmother could sigh! If it were one, it was gone in an instant, and with her very prettiest and happiest smile, godmother turned to the children.
'And now, dears,' she said, 'now for the story.'
The four figures drew still nearer, the four pair of eyes were fixed on the sweet white face, into which, as she spoke, a little soft pink colour began to come. Whether it was from the reflection of the fire or not, Maia could not decide, and godmother's clear voice went on.
'Once——'
'Once upon a time; do say "once upon a time,"' interrupted Silva.
'Well, well, once upon a time,' repeated godmother, 'though, by the by, how do you know I was not going to say it? Well, then, once upon a time, a long ago once upon a time, there lived a king's daughter.'
'A princess,' interrupted another voice, Maia's this time. 'Why don't you say a princess, dear godmother?'
'Never
