"Well," he said, at last, "I am so miserable here, I'll go, if only you will go with me."
"Ah!" said Ellie, "I wish I might; but the worst of it is, that the fairy says that you must go alone if you go at all. Now don't poke that poor crab about, Tom" (for he was feeling very naughty and mischievous), "or the fairy will have to punish you."
Tom was very near saying, "I don't care if she does;" but he stopped himself in time.
"I know what she wants me to do," he said, whining most dolefully. "She wants me to go after that horrid old Grimes. I don't like him, that's certain. And if I find him, he will turn me into a chimney-sweep again, I know. That's what I have been afraid of all along."
"No, he won't—I know as much as that. Nobody can turn water babies into sweeps, or hurt them at all, as long as they are good."
"Ah," said naughty Tom, "I see what you want; you are persuading me all along to go, because you are tired of me, and want to get rid of me."
Little Ellie opened her eyes very wide at that, and they were all brimming over with tears.
"Oh, Tom, Tom!" she said, very mournfully—and then she cried, "Oh, Tom, where are you?"
And Tom cried, "Oh, Ellie, where are you?"
For neither of them could see the other—not the least. Little Ellie vanished quite away, and Tom heard her voice calling him, and growing smaller and smaller, and fainter and fainter, till all was silent.