It was the dwarf village! Rows and rows of tiny houses—none of them more than about twice as high as Olive herself, for that was quite big enough for a dwarf cottage, each with a sweet little garden in front, like what one sees in English villages, though the houses themselves were like Swiss châlets. It was not dark down here, there was a soft light about as bright as we have it at summer twilight; and besides this each little house had a twinkling blue light hanging above the front door, like a sign-post. And at the door of each cottage stood one of the dwarfs, with a little dwarf wife beside him; only, instead of blue, each little woman was dressed in brown, so that they were rather less showy than their husbands. They all began bowing as Olive appeared, and all the little women curtseying, and Olive seemed to understand, without being told, that she was to walk up the village street to see all there was to be seen. So on she marched, her blue cloak floating about her, so that sometimes it reached the roofs of the houses on each side at the same time.
Olive felt herself rather clumsy. Her feet, which in general she was accustomed to consider rather neat, and by no means too large for her age, seemed such great awkward things. If she had put one of them in at the window of a dwarf house, it would have knocked everything out of its place.
“Dear me!” thought Olive, “I had no idea I could seem clumsy! I feel like a great plowman. I wish I were not so big.”
“Yes,” said a voice beside her, “it has its disadvantages;” and Olive, looking down to see who spoke—she had to look down for everything—caught sight of one of the two dwarfs with whom she had first spoken. She felt a little ruffled. She did not like this trick of the dwarf hearing what she thought before she said it.
“Everything has its disadvantages,” she replied. “Don’t you find yourself very inconveniently small when you are up in our world?”
“Exactly so,” said the dwarf; but he did not seem the least put out.
“They are certainly very good-tempered,” said Olive to herself. Then suddenly a thought struck her.
“Your village is very neat and pretty,” she said; “though, perhaps—I don’t mean to be rude, not on any account——”
“No,” interrupted the dwarf; “Auntie told you on no account to be rude.”
“Auntie!” repeated Olive, in astonishment; “she is not your auntie!”