The Piskey who sat cross-legged on Phillida’s arm uncrossed his lean little legs, rose up and stepped on to her nose, and as he walked over its bridge he said ever so tenderly:
‘Dream, sweet little Phillida—dream that you shared your cake with the dicky-birds, and put a piece of it on the doorstep for the Dinky Men, which they will treasure as long as there are any Dinky Men.’
The child dreamt as she was ordered, and when she had put a bit of the cake on the doorstep for the Piskeys, she saw in her dream a crowd of Dinky Men in quaint little green coats, and caps as red as bryony berries, and tiny fellows in red cloaks and green hats, come and take up the cake with solemn faces and bent heads, and carry it away over the moors towards the Piskey Circle. When they had gone, she stood on the doorstep looking out over the moors, white with the feathers the old Sky Woman had thrown down; then she lifted her sweet little face to the sky, and saw that it was free from clouds and full of stars, which, she thought, were chiming the wonderful news of the Nativity. She was so happy listening to the music of the Christmas stars that she forgot she had not tasted her cake till a little Piskey sprang on to her nose to turn her dream.
‘Dream that you are come over to the table and eating your cake,’ he said, slowly passing over the bridge of her nose.
‘How can I dream that when I am out here on the doorstep listening to the ringing of the star-bells?’ murmured the child in her sleep. ‘I wonder if the Dinky Men like listening to the star-bells’ music? They are ringing up there in the dark because the Babe was born and laid in the cratch.’
‘We shall never get her to dream our dreams if we let her stay there on the doorstep,’ cried the Piskeys, looking strangely at one another. ‘We never had such trouble to make a cheeld dream our dreams before.’
‘Dream your poor old Grannie feels the cold from the open door,’ said a Dinky Man, jumping on to Phillida’s nose with all his weight, which caused her to jerk her head in her sleep, and made the Dinky Man lose his balance, and over he toppled on the heads of his tiny companions sitting at the bottom of the pillow near the child’s soft white neck, much to the amusement of the other Piskeys and his own. They laughed so much, including the wee fellow who was heavy-heeled, that he could not order the dream, and a Piskey, when he could stop laughing for a minute, jumped up and stepped on to Phillida’s nose, and as he passed over its bridge he said:
‘Dream that you shut the door on the cold and the Sky Goose’s feathers, and come back to the table.’ And Phillida reluctantly dreamt as the Dinky Man ordered, and in her dream she saw herself sitting at the table facing her grandmother, who was munching a bit of the cake and smacking her withered old lips.
‘This is a lovely cake, cheeld-vean.[10] We must eat every crumb of it, for we shall never have such another.’
Phillida was glad her Grannie liked the cake, and she began to eat the generous slice the old woman had given her, and as she ate it she thought it was so delicious that she must go on eating cake for ever and ever. ‘I shan’t want to eat grail-bread after this,’ she said, laughing out loud in her sleep. ‘I shall always eat cake made