So, when she took the box of red ointment, she only rubbed one eye
with it--her left eye. Her right eye she pretended to rub, but, in
truth, she never touched it at all.
Then the little man got upon his horse again, and rode away to his home
in the hill.
After he had gone away, Dame Margery thought that she would empty her
reticule of the dirty black coals; so she turned it topsy-turvy, and
shook it over the hearth, and out tumbled--black coals? No; great lumps
of pure gold that shone bright yellow, like fire, in the light of the
candle. The good dame could scarcely believe her eyes, for here was
wealth enough to keep her in comfort for all the rest of her days.
But Dame Margery's right eye! I wish I could only see what she saw with
that right eye of hers! What was it she saw? That I will tell you.
The next night was full moon, and Dame Margery came and looked out over
the fine bed of tulips, of which she was very proud. "Hey-day!" she
cried, and rubbed her eyes, in doubt as to whether she was asleep or
awake, for the whole place was alive with little folks.
But she was awake, and it was certain that she saw them. Yes; there they
were--little men, little women, little children, and little babies, as
thick in the tulip bed as folks at a wedding. The little men sat smoking
their pipes and talking together; the little women sat nursing their
babies, singing to them or rocking them to sleep in cradles of tulip
flowers; the little children played at hide-and-seek among the
flower-stalks.
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