‘Yes, don’t you know? They are the fairies’ tables. They come out and spread them with lily tablecloths at night, and have acorn cups for dishes, with honey in them. And they dance and play there. Well, couldn’t Mr. Edward go and sit under the beech-tree at the edge till they come?’
‘I don’t think he would like it at all,’ said Martyn. ‘He never goes out at odd times.’
‘Oh, but don’t you know? when they come they begin to sing—
‘“Sunday and Monday,
Monday and Tuesday.”
And if he was to sing nicely,
‘“Wednesday and Thursday,”
they would be so much pleased that they would make his back straight again in a moment. At least, perhaps Wednesday and Thursday would not do, because the little tailor taught them those; but Friday makes them angry. But suppose he made some nice verse—
‘“Monday and Tuesday
The fairies are gay,
Tuesday and Wednesday
They dance away—”
I think that would do as well, perhaps. Do get him to do so, Martyn. It would be so nice if he was tall and straight.’
Dear little thing! Martyn, who was as much her slave as was her grandfather, absolutely made her shed tears over his history of our accident, and then caressed them off; but I believe he persuaded her that such a case might be beyond the fairies’ reach, and that I could hardly get to the spot in secret, which, it seems, is an essential point. He had imagination enough to be almost persuaded of fairyland by her earnestness, and she certainly took him into doll-land. He had a turn for carpentry and contrivance, and he undertook that the Ladies Rosella, etc., should be better housed than ever. A great packing-case was routed out, and much ingenuity was expended, much delight obtained, in the process of converting it into a doll’s mansion, and replenishing it with furniture. Some was bought, but Martyn aspired to make whatever he could; I did a good deal, and I believe most of our achievements are still extant. Whatever we could not manage, Clarence was to accomplish when he should come home.