George often talked to Mother about his little house in the wood. One day when they were sitting in the garden he said to her: "You have a house there too, haven't you?"
"Yes, I have a little house," replied Mother. "I have been back to it quite lately. I sometimes forget about it for a time, but I always like to go back to it when I am feeling a little tired or cross. It is so nice to rest there."
"Has Father got a house there?"
"Yes. I once had a tiny peep at it. It was so untidy, just as he likes things to be. Papers and books all over the floor; clothes all unfolded, and a smell of tobacco in every room. He called it a 'heavenly little house.'" And Mother laughed merrily at the thought.
"Did you really see it?"
"Yes, but it was only a peep, you know. He has seen the inside of mine once, and he said he thought he would have to sleep outside in the garden if he ever came to pay me a visit. The house was far too neat and tidy for a big clumsy man."
"Did you ever see the fairies?"
"Long, long ago. You see, once you have been back to your little house they know that you belong to the 'right people,' and only pay you a visit on very special days."
"Oh, then shall I go back to my little house again?" asked George.