Curious children both were, for they cared but little for company in their rambles; they were indeed all in all to each other. And even though they knew well that a welcome-home awaited them every day, they made no great hurry, and hardly ever went back from school without a bagful of delicacies for their pets in the fairy palace—green food and seeds for the birds, worms and dead mice or dead birds for the owl, and nuts for all who cared for them.
They ought to have been very happy, and so they were, yet Leonard was continually planning strange adventures.
The kind of books they read had much to do with the formation of the boy’s character, as they have on the minds of all boys. But in those good old times there were fewer writers for the young than we have now, so poetry was more in fashion, and books of travel and weird tales of ghost and goblin, and old, old, strange stories of romance.
Sometimes Effie read while Leonard listened, but just as often it was the other way.
“I tell you what I should like to have,” said Leonard, one day, throwing down his book. “What do you think, Effie?”
“Oh! I could never guess. Perhaps a balloon.”
“N-no,” said Leonard, thoughtfully; “some day we might perhaps get a balloon, and fly away in it, and see all those beautiful countries that we read of, but that isn’t it. Guess again.”
“A large, large eagle, like what Sinbad the Sailor had, to carry us away, and away, and away through the skies and over the clouds and the sea.”
“No, you’re not right yet. Guess again.”
“A real live fairy, who would strike on the black rock where they say all the treasure is buried, and open up a door and take us down into the caves of gold and gems and everything beautiful.”