As I had anticipated, Harry was grateful. Everything was arranged. So the next evening but one, we had a merry pretty company of boys and girls, none older, or at least looking older, than twelve. It did my heart good to see how Adela made herself at home with them, and talked to them as if she were one of themselves. By the time tea was over, I had made friends with them all, which was a stroke in its way nearly equal to Chaucer's, who made friends with all the nine and twenty Canterbury pilgrims before the sun was down. And the way I did was this. I began with the one next me, asking her the question:
"Do you like fairy-stories?"
"Yes, I do," answered she, heartily.
"Did you ever hear of the princess with the blue foot?"
"No. Will you tell me, please?"
Then I turned to the one on my other side, and asked her:
"Did you ever hear of the giant that was all skin—not skin and bone, you know, but all skin?"
"No-o" she answered, and her round blue eyes got rounder and bluer.
The next was a boy. I asked him:
"Did you ever hear of Don Worm of Wakemup?"