"Daffy, let's crawl through! We must! We'll go and ask him who he is."
To speak was to act with Freda. She crammed her battered hat down on her head and crawled through the little door, Daffy following her. Then they stood up and advanced along the gravel path.
"This is an adventure!" whispered Daffy.
But Freda, with eager shining eyes, sped along without a word. The man was too engrossed with his occupation to look up, and it was only when Freda spoke that he turned wondering eyes upon them.
"Did you leave the door open on purpose? Did you expect us to find it one day? And will you tell us why it is so little? Is it for the fairies?"
The man had kind eyes; they saw that at once. He was no ogre or gloomy hermit. But he looked ill, and they saw that crutches were by his side.
"Ah," he said, "that's my secret, But I didn't have it made for you."
"Why is the gate locked, the proper gate belonging to us?" asked Freda.
Daffy had quietly glided round to the back of his chair.
"Oh!" she said, in her soft little voice. "What a darling little fairy girl! She's swinging from an apple-tree bough, Freda. Come and see!"