The old dame had built a fire in the corner of her cave, and sat, alone, watching the embers.
Presently she heard a sound unlike the storm—a parting of the bushes outside, a crackling of dry sticks upon the ground; and, all at once, Daisy's bright face appeared, seeming to bring a sunshine into the gloomy den.
Daisy was dripping with rain, and felt a little afraid that the dame would scold her because her feet made wet tracks on the floor.
But the fairy seemed in a merry mood to-night—perhaps she was glad of some one to keep her company. She laughed till the old cave rang again, when her visitor told that she had been frightened by the storm; for she said it was music in her ears, and ought to be in the ears of every one.
So she drew a stool before the fire for Daisy, and, while wringing the dampness from her dress, asked what had become of the spectacles.
"O, they are safe enough," answered Daisy. "I know now how much they are worth, and what a splendid present you gave me, though it seemed so poor. You are very good to us, dame."
"Better than I seem—always better than I seem," she muttered, looking into the fire still. "Now, if you think so much of your glasses, put them on."
Daisy wiped the water from them on a corner of the fairy's dress, for her own was too wet, and did as she was told.
And, down, down miles beneath the cave, she saw fires burning, blazing, flashing, flaming about, and filling the whole centre of the earth; beside them the lightning was dull, and the old dame's fire seemed hardly a spark.