Now it flowed
smoothly and softly, again it seemed to dash and foam among pebbly
nooks.
"Does it rest you? are you better?" asked the one little fairy who did
all the talking.
"Oh, so much!" said Phil.
After a while the song stopped, and the fairies drew all together in a
cluster, and were quite still.
"What does that mean?" asked Phil.
"They are disturbed; there is a storm coming. We shall have to return."
"I am so sorry! I wanted to know more about you, and to see what you
wear."
"Mortals must not approach us too nearly. We may draw near to you. See,
I will stand before you."
"You seem to be all moonshine," said Phil.
"Yes," said the fairy, laughing merrily; "these robes of ours are of
mountain mist, spangled with star-dust so fine that it makes us only
glisten. We have to wear the lightest sort of fabric, so that we are not
hindered in our long flights."
"Do you know flower fairies?"
"Yes; but we are of a very different race. I suppose you thought we
dressed in rose-leaves and rode on humble-bees, but we do not; we are
more--now for a long word--more ethereal." And again the fairy laughed.
"Ether means air," said Phil, quite proudly. "Do you know any fairy
stories?" he asked.
"Yes; shall I tell you one next time I come?"
"Oh do, please. So you _will_ come again.
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