‘“Of fairy cow’s cream
And every good thing.”’
She was enjoying her dream-cake so very very much in her sleep that the Dinky Men would have liked her to go on eating it; but the quick ticking of Tamsin’s clock told them that time was flying, and they had not yet finished ordering her dreams.
‘Dream, little Phillida—dream that you and Grannie Tredinnick have eaten all the cake, and there is nothing left but the little cake-bird,’ said one of the Dinky Men passing over the bridge of her nose; ‘and that Grannie says the little cake-bird is yours.’
Phillida dreamt all that, and in her dream her grandmother said, in her kind old voice: ‘The little bird on the top of the cake belongs to the cheeld of the house, and Phillida is the only cheeld in my little house. Take the cake-bird, Phillida, my dear;’ and Phillida took it and held it in her little warm hand.
As she was holding it thus a Piskey stepped lightly as a ladybird on to her nose, and as he passed over its bridge he said:
‘Dream, Phillida, dream that your little cake-bird is alive and wants to fly and sing;’ and the child dreamt that the little cake-bird was alive, and was fluttering in her little warm hand, and then it flew out of her hand up to the thatch, and began to sing a wonderful song.
‘What is my little cake-bird singing?’ asked Phillida in her sleep.
‘It is singing it is a fairy-bird,’ said a Dinky Man, passing over the bridge of her nose, ‘and that it is going to sing with other little fairy-birds in the Dinky People’s land.’
‘I don’t think my little cake-bird is singing it is a fairy-bird and going to sing in the Dinky People’s country,’ said the child in her sleep. ‘Its song is much too happy and beautiful for that. What is it singing? Please tell me. I do want to know. Can’t you tell me?’ she asked as the Piskeys looked at one another. ‘Ah! I know now what its song is about. My little cake-bird is singing a little song because it is a little Christmas bird, and was on top of a Christmas cake! Isn’t it a lovely song? It has changed its tune now, and it is singing a golden song about the Babe who was born on Christmas Day in the morning. I am a little Christian cheeld and know! Listen, listen!’ she cried, clasping her hands and lifting her sweet child-face to the thatch. ‘Isn’t it wonderful? It thinks it is a little golden bird, and one day will sing with the Great White Angel Birds Grannie told me about.’