Bim's garden was still flourishing. Its flowers shone proudly with fairy-light. They--aha!--were not faint-hearted. On many roofs spring-time petals were looking upward, an elf-flame breaking from every opening bud. Fairyland was effectually translated; London transformed.
Good-bye for a time! To-morrow she would leave all this--her particular task was done. She would, in the minutes before midnight, hasten to the new crowning, wherever it might be, to congratulate the happiest fairy, whoever that should be, and then, free, she would fly to the dear home ways, to rest, refresh, rejoice.
But would the gentle King forgive her? She remembered his command of a year ago, and felt sorrow, which the record of a completed purpose and victory won could not banish or diminish.
The question troubled her, till Oberon brought the answer.
She was seated brooding on the rim of the chimney, her deportment and limp wings signs of extreme dejection, when she was aware of brightness and happiness approaching. She looked hastily about her.
Sorrow went.
Myriads of fairies were on the wing, coming fleetly towards her, singing the songs that gladden the night of the crowning. Their brightness was such that for a time it paled the stars. Then slowly, still chanting, they ranged on the houses about her, or fluttered in laughing lines under the sky.
Gnomes, eager to join in what was happening, came up, climbing rain-pipes, and using other means of reaching the roof-country.
They reminded June of Bim. She wished he, too, was there. Why had not he returned? This procession and display meant honour and happiness which he deserved to share. But wherever he was, it was well with him; that she knew.
She gave the whole of her attention to the wonders approaching.