Round the fire danced a motley crew.
Round-eyed Brownies, goblins gaunt and gray; the dainty dryads, spirits of the hoary trees; a company of little old women in red cloaks and black, pointed hats, who rode upon brooms, but whose bright eyes and kindly old faces belied everything that Sally had ever heard concerning witches. They resembled more a company of little old ladies out on a still-hunt for afternoon tea. The dream-child, however, drew away from the firelight with a visible shudder, and took refuge behind a large fir tree, and the children immediately followed her. Sally now saw for the first time that a delicate pair of wings, beautifully irridescent, sprang from her shoulders and lay, drooping, to her waist.
Peter Pan and Tim, however, were in no way minded to hide their shining lights behind the proverbial bushel, and before many moments had joined the dancers around the crackling fire. Round and round they went, while their weird song rose and swelled upon the air.
At the upper end of the fairy glen had been erected a lofty throne of pine and fir boughs, and upon this was solemnly perched the horned owl, who, as master of ceremonies, was seated in lordly state, and did not, of course, join the promiscuous revels. On either side of the throne stood his marshals, two huge, speckled hoptoads, crowned with big hats which consisted of enormous mushrooms, which flopped ridiculously whenever their wearers moved. Sally, whose busy brain was forever drawing parallels, was irresistibly reminded of the big picture hats that she had once seen worn by the bridesmaids at a wedding to which she had gone under the wing of mamma, Auntie Edith having been one of the bridesmaids. The whole thing struck her so funny that she began to giggle, and in another moment, despite Bob’s warning frown, she found herself shaking with silent laughter.
“Oh, how I wish we had brought Bedelia! She would certainly have written some poetry,” she gasped to Bob, who shook his head in a vain endeavor to keep her quiet. Just then the clock commenced to strike the hour of midnight, and Sally, no longer able to contain herself, burst into a ringing laugh, that was repeated, with a chorus of fearful echoes, from every near-by rock and tree.
In the twinkling of an eye, out went the fire and the whole merry swarm of dancers rose silently in the air, as if on wings, and hovering above the tree tops like a faint, gray cloud, slowly dispersed and vanished.
Only the horned owl, who had fallen fast asleep, remained majestically on his throne, and having thrice performed a lowly obeisance without receiving the smallest sign of recognition beyond a sound that was suspiciously like a snore, the two marshals, in a highly indignant frame of mind, hopped nimbly away and were lost in the darkness, their big hats flopping wildly as they went.
And now a sweet voice from above their heads sounded faintly, “Good-bye, dear Sally! Good-bye, dear Bob.” The dream-child, rising slowly on her glittering wings, was waving them farewell with one hand, while with the other she gathered to her breast the gleaming white flowers.