“Oh,” said Dolly, her eyes shining with interest. “Then do you think, Aunt Abbie, that there could be a little girl fairy, about as big as me?”
“Why, yes, I suppose so; if there are fairies at all. But I’m not sure that there are.”
“Would you believe it if you saw one?”
“Yes, if I were awake, and sure I was not dreaming.”
Dolly stared at Aunt Abbie, as if fascinated by her words. Then Pinkie might be a fairy, after all!
“You’re a queer child, Dolly,” said Aunt Rachel, looking at the little girl’s perplexed face. “And when you find your fairies, don’t bring them in the house, for there’s no knowing what tricks they may cut up. They’re said to be mischievous little people.”
“Of course they’re little,” argued Dick. “I think you’re mistaken about Cinderella’s godmother, Aunt Abbie. I think she was a little mite of a lady.”
“Perhaps so, Dicky. I’m not much of an authority on fairy lore, I’ll admit.”
And then, somehow, the matter was dropped, and nothing more was said about fairies or their probable size.
But a little later, when the twins were alone in their playroom, Dolly reopened the subject.