Puck sat for a moment thinking what he should do; then he flew out through the window and back to the wood.
The multiplication table, indeed! No one ever thinks of such things on Midsummer Eve. It is a time to dream of dancing, music, light, laughter, the wind in the trees, the tinkle, tinkle of water in the little brooks, the song of birds—they are all awake then—of almost anything else, but not twice times two.
The fairies were just beginning to dance when Puck flew into the middle of the ring, and he looked so angry that they all stopped, wondering what could have happened.
He could say nothing at first but "twice times four is ten," which is nonsense, but he had never learned his tables and never wanted to. He said this over and over again, just as if it were a rhyme, and they all listened, though they did not understand a bit what it meant.
"Oh, ho!" said the old frog, who was sitting there puffing himself out as if he were trying to turn himself into a toy balloon. "Oh, ho! I see what it is. George won't come after all. I told you so. Oh, ho! Oh, ho!"
"For shame!" all the fairies cried out. "For shame! Nasty old thing! You're quite glad he isn't coming."
Puck sat with his head in his hands, thinking and whispering to himself, "Three times four are seven," which was worse than ever.
The fairies felt so sorry for him. They all came and sat round him in a ring with their little heads in their hands. They did not know why he was doing this, but they did it to cheer him up. The old frog sat puffing, just as if some one had wound him up like a clockwork toy and he wasn't able to stop.
After a long time Puck looked up and said: "Well, it's no use waiting. He won't come to-night."