This lost dryad had no very good idea of time and, after she had walked about the streets, and even a little way into the country, looking for a tree and finding none, she thought that the cruel step-mother must surely have gone to bed, and so she went back to the house of her friend the girl, and opening the door she slipped in. There she saw the cruel step-mother scolding the girl. As she entered, the step-mother stopped short in her scolding, and the poor girl looked as if she was about to faint.
“Heigho!” cried the woman, “and who is this? How dare you come in without knocking? What! Where did you get that sun-bonnet? You wretched creature!” she cried, addressing her step-daughter, “what does this mean? And your cape and your frock?” And without waiting for an answer she stepped up to the dryad.
“Take that off this minute, whoever you are!” she cried, and as she said this she grasped the sun-bonnet and pulled it from the dryad’s head.
The girl almost fainted and sank into a chair, while the poor dryad, nearly scared out of her wits, had barely sense enough left to throw her arms around the step-mother’s neck and give her four kisses, as quick as lightning.
The next day was the step-mother’s birthday, and she intended to celebrate the occasion by inviting some of her old cronies to sup with her; but now there was a little girl standing on the floor, beginning to cry. The dryad clapped her hands with delight.
“So many clothes,” she exclaimed, “and such a dear little body in the middle of them all!”
The girl with the hat cried out, “Oh, what have you done!” But, in spite of her consternation, she could not help laughing.
“She does look funny,” said she. There was such a difference between the little child and the cross step-mother, that it was impossible for any one to be really sorry.
“How queer it is!” said the dryad. “She knows nothing at all of the life she has lived.”
“Of course not,” said the girl, “she could not look back on her future, you know.”