“No,” said grandmother; “nowadays there are no more fairies, and the birds are all creatures.”
“Good-bye, Grandmother.”
“Good-bye, Fanny.”
AS SHE WENT ON HER WAY WITH EVEN STEPS AND LOOKING VERY WISE AND GOOD SHE HEARD A PRETTY SOUND OF BIRDS CRYING BEHIND HER, AND TURNING HER HEAD SHE RECOGNIZED THE LITTLE BEGGARS THAT SHE HAD FED WHEN THEY WERE HUNGRY. THEY HAD BEEN FOLLOWING HER. “GOOD NIGHT, LITTLE FRIENDS,” SHE CALLED TO THEM. “GOOD NIGHT. IT’S TIME TO GO TO BED NOW. GOOD NIGHT.”
Printed in France
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And Fanny went away across the fields toward home. She could see the chimney of her house smoking in the distance against the red sunset sky.
On the way she met Antony, the gardener’s little boy, who said to her: “Are you coming to play with me?”
“No,” replied Fanny, “I’m not coming to play with you because my grandmother told me not to stop. But I’ll give you an apple, because I like you very much.”