He described it with as little emotion as if it were a Persian cat. Perhaps his perfect faith had indeed opened something to his vision.
“It was in the day nursery. There was a stool by the window. The fairy jumped on the stool and then down, and went across the room.”
“What was it dressed like?”
“All in grey, with a long cloak. It was about as big as Baby’s doll. I could not see its arms, for they were under the cloak.”
“Did he look at you?”
“No, he was sideways, and I never really saw his face. He had a little cap. That’s the only fairy I ever saw. Of course, there was Father Christmas, if you call him a fairy.”
“Daddy, was Father Christmas killed in the war?”
“No, boy.”
“Because he has never come since the war began. I expect he is fightin’ the Jarmans.” It was Dimples who was talking.
“Last time he came,” said Laddie, “Daddy said one of his reindeers had hurt its leg in the ruts of the Monkstown Lane. Perhaps that’s why he never comes.”