“I do, your Majesty,” I answered eagerly; “and when I return to earth, I will do my best to convince other people. Besides, sire, children always believe in faeries.”
“Yes, the dear children!” cried Titania brightly; “they are our best friends. Ah, children will always believe in us, although they do not see us.”
“If you would only show yourselves sometimes,” I suggested, “it would make every one believe.”
“I don’t think so,” said Oberon, smiling; “you see your wonderful grown-up people have proved conclusively that there are no faeries, so it would be quite an impertinence for us to appear and upset all their fine theories.”
“It might make their hearts better, your Majesty,” I ventured to remark.
“I doubt it,” replied the King of Faery. “With you it is all greed of money, pursuit of pleasure, and desire of learning; there is no room in your lives to believe that beings like us exist; we can be turned to no practical use, therefore you mortals regard us as unnecessary existences. But while the world moves on, there will always be bright, happy children who will keep our memories fresh and green in their hearts, and perhaps some day, when the world returns to its childlike faith of old, we may once more appear to mortals.”
“Meanwhile”—I began.
“Meanwhile,” repeated Oberon a little sadly, “you will go back to earth and write down the seven stories you have read in my library; when good children read them they may perhaps find out their hidden meaning, and it will make them wiser and more obedient. Tell your child friends that faeries do nothing without having some good end in view, and if they want to please us, they must try and be noble and good, for there is nothing so hateful in the world as wickedness. And now, mortal, I will permit you to see a faery dance, and then you must leave us for ever.”
“For ever?”
“Unless,” said the King graciously, “you revisit us in your beautiful dreams. Good-bye, mortal, good-bye: