"
The wind fairy struck her little hands together, and waved her wings. In
a moment the little white troop danced over the strings of the harp, and
brought out sweet, wild strains, that made Phil nearly cry for joy. They
seemed to be dancing as they did it, for they would join hands and sway
to and fro; then, parting, they wound in and out in graceful,
wreath-like motions, and the tiny stars on their foreheads flashed like
diamonds. Up and down they went, the length of the strings, then across,
then back again; and all the time the sweet wild music kept vibrating.
"How lovely! how lovely!" said Phil, when there was a pause.
"I am so glad you like it! we often make music for people, and they
hardly hear it," said the fairy.
"I do not see how they can help hearing," said Phil.
"Why, I'll tell you how: we frequently are in the tree-tops, or whirling
about low bushes; every soft breeze that blows has some of our music in
it, for there are many of us; and yet very few people pay attention to
these sounds."
"When the wind screams and roars in winter, is it you, then, who does
that too?" asked Phil.
"Oh no," said the fairy, rustling her wings in some displeasure. "We are
of the South Wind only, and have no such rude doings; I hope I may never
have any work to do for the North Wind, he is so blustery.
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