As he sat there all alone on the ring his own little dancing feet had helped to make, two tiny hands were suddenly thrust up out of a small earth-heap half a foot from where he was sitting. So dainty were the hands, that he thought they belonged to one of the little Good People, a distant relation of his; and thinking that somehow one had got buried under the earth, he got up from the ring to help her out, and, without waiting to say ‘Allow me,’ or anything so polite, he caught hold of the wee hands, and pulling with all his strength, he dragged something very dark and soft out of the earth-heap, and saw to his surprise and disgust that it was the round plump body of a mole!
‘Whatever did you drag me out of the want-hill for, you horrid creature! whoever you are?’ cried the mole, who was not as soft as she looked. ‘It took me hours to throw up that beautiful hill, and now it has fallen down into my tunnel, and my work will all have to be done over again, thanks to you.’
‘I am so sorry,’ said the Piskey. ‘I saw two dinky little hands sticking up, and thought a relation of mine had got buried; and when I did my best to get her out I found it was only a want, as the country people call you moles.’
‘A want indeed!’ exclaimed the mole. ‘Who are you, pray, to speak so disdainfully? If I am only a want, I was not always the poor thing I am now. Once upon a time I was a very great lady, and because I was foolish and proud and very vain of my beauty I was turned into a mole. My little hands are the only things left of me to show who I once was.’
‘I am very sorry for you,’ said the Piskey, with strong note of sympathy in his voice, so entirely new to him that he scarcely knew it was himself speaking; for Piskeys, although they are merry and gay, are often selfish in the extreme. ‘I am more sorry for you than I can say,’ he went on. ‘It cannot be nice to be only a want, when once you were a beautiful lady. I am a Piskey,’ as the little dark mole was silent.
‘A Piskey, are you?’ she cried, speaking at last. ‘I remember you little Piskey people quite well, and have cause to remember. Once, when I was a grand lady and wore fine clothes, you Piskeys led me into a bog and spoilt my silken gown. I did not bless you then, and I do not bless you now. You are still up to your tricks, I find to my cost, for you have done your best to pull down my house about my ears.’
‘I did not mean to do anything so unkind,’ said the little Piskey. ‘I am not merry enough now to play games on anyone.’
‘How is that?’ asked the mole.
‘I have lost my laugh, and my heart is as heavy as lead,’ he answered sorrowfully.
‘Lost your laugh!’ cried the mole. ‘That is very strange.’