Fairy Godmother said she might pick all the roses she wanted
An hour flew by as hours only can in Fairyland gardens.
“Honk, honk!” Tilda jumped to one side quicker than pop, it sounded so near, and Fairy Godmother, standing on the porch with wide-awake Maggie in her arms, laughed outright.
“It is talking to us, Tilda,” she explained, “and says, ‘Come out front.’”
There by the curb stood a splendid great, shiny auto, waiting for Tilda and Maggie.
Out from the front seat hopped a nice big man with a nice big smile to match, to help them all in and get them settled.
“This is ‘Fairy Godfather,’ Tilda,” introduced Fairy Godmother. “He’s heard all about you and Maggie over the ’phone.”
“I’m delighted to meet you, Miss Tilda and Maggie,” he said in a nice big voice as he held out his hand, and Tilda felt almost too magnificent to live.
Norah now came flying out with a mysterious box, which she handed right over to Tilda. Then Fairy Godfather packed in the gocart and away they whizzed for the tenement—by way of the shore.
Two hours later, when tired Mother came home from her long day’s work, a radiant and breathless Tilda met her at the door and invited her to a royal spread.