She waved her wand, and on the edge of the orchard there appeared again a rose-tinted cloud. Rowena could see it gleaming through the branches. She looked about on the happy, winged children who began to rise and fly about among the trees. They accompanied the visitor as far as to the edge of the cloud. Could it be Rowena who was thus pursued with affectionate calls and good wishes and loving looks?
She waved kisses back to them as she and Lily-bud floated away on their rosy couch, down, and down, and down.
The voices grew fainter and fainter until they died away. Rowena was so deep in her thoughts that she did not notice when the cloud itself finally faded into mist and disappeared.
A little red-haired girl in a torn calico dress stood on the bridge over the Polawee. She felt a light kiss on the cheek and looked up and about for Lily-bud; but she saw nothing but the weeping willow tree, dipping its tassels in the dark river. Her eyes rested on the empty tin cans and ashes lying in the edge of the water.
Rowena's first thought was that she should be very late home, and that she would be punished by the aunt with whom she lived.
Her hair was hanging down over her eyes. She had never cared if it did. It shut out some of the things she shrank from seeing.
She hurried off the bridge. She had been away such a long time. How could she explain it? Who would believe her?
One thing Rowena did not know. There is no time in Fairyland. Just as one can in one's sleep go through hours of adventure and awaken to find that it all happened in one minute, so can a delightful visit to Fairyland take place between two whisks of a cow's tail.
The fact is that when Rowena entered the kitchen, expecting a rebuke, her aunt turned from the stove and said:
"It's time to set the table. How untidy you look, child. You've torn your dress again, too."