Said one squirrel to the other squirrel:
‘There is a dear little maid from Padstow Town here in the wood collecting music from the thrushes. It is the same child who, unknown to herself, undid a cruel spell which the Witch o’ the Well cast over Prince Fire, a near relative of the King of the Little People. She turned him into a black stone, and a stone he had to be till somebody could rub it the colour of flame.’
‘You don’t mean to say so?’ cried the other squirrel. ‘This is news.’
‘I thought it would be,’ said the squirrel that spoke, arching his handsome tail with importance. ‘Perhaps it will also be news to you to hear that this same little maid has actually untangled the dear Little Lady Soft Winds from that great Skein of Entanglement into which the wicked old witch tangled them, and from which nobody, not even the Wee Folk themselves, was able to free them.’
‘However did she manage to do it?’ asked the second squirrel.
‘Only the Wise Woman of Bogee Down could answer that question. But the thrushes believe, and so do I, that love and pity for six little maids whom the witch has shut up somewhere gave patience to her fingers to do what the Wise Woman bade her do; and because her heart was full of love for these poor little maids, whom she hoped by her obedience to get out of the witch’s power, she unwittingly set free the other poor little prisoners—the Lady Soft Winds and Prince Fire, the King’s cousin.’
‘And has she got her own little friends out of the power of the witch after all her love and patience?’ asked the squirrel.
‘Alas! not yet; but we all hope she will soon. The Small People are her friends now, especially those she set free. And it is told that they are going to turn her into a flying creature of some sort. Some say a bird, but nobody knows for certain. We are all on the alert to see what will happen. They say the Lady Soft Winds whispered to the daffodowndillies last evening that Prince Fire had already begun to make a pair of wings for her to fly up the witch’s stairs. But it may be only talk. And yet—there! the dear little maid is coming. Not another word, remember. She understands our language, and bird language too. The Wise Woman, it is said, put something on her tongue when she was asleep one day, when Little Prince Fire came from the Wee Folk’s country to keep the Wise Woman’s hut warm;’ and then, catching sight of Betty’s eyes bent upon him, he rushed up the trunk of the oak, followed by his companion.
‘Well, those little funny things have told news, sure ‘nough,’ laughed the child to herself when the pretty little squirrels had vanished, ‘and have told me all I ached to know without asking a single question. To think that the little feathers were the dear Little People; and that queer black stone was one too, and that they are going to help me fly up to Monday and the rest!’
And she danced with delight as she thought of it, and the wonder was she did not dance the thrushes’ notes out of the bottle.