Sally held her breath for very rapture. Ah, how strange, how sweetly strange! He, her Fairy Prince, had called her his dear Fairy! Could it be? Yes, it was true, true!
"But, remember, he knows naught of you," came the sad voice that always kept her down.
"See to it," cried her cheerful Fairy, "that should he ever see and know you, there will be naught for which to be ashamed."
"I will try," said Maid Sally.
But if Sally had been careful not to have the Fairy Prince see her before, doubly unwilling was she now that he should catch a glimpse of her.
And not much danger of it was there except on Sundays, when he appeared at meeting. But Sally managed to stand behind the person in front of her, so that not a peep at her face did the young gentleman of Ingleside get, when during the last singing the congregation turned about and faced the choir.
But under her broad-rimmed hat it is doubtful if Sally's features would have reminded him of the nymph of the pine woods. And so cautious was Maid Sally that not another peep did her Fairy Prince get at her anywhere during the rest of his vacation.
And but seldom did the careful maid go over to the beloved perch between hedge and wall. From her window she more than once saw Lionel go flying by on Hotspur's back, for the Southern lad rode as if by nature the swift, noble horses always to be found in the stables.
Then companies of young people would go forth on picnics, driving in wagons through the woods; or riding parties would be formed, when Hotspur would be left at home, while Lord Rollin, Lady Grace, and other fine horses would bear young men and maidens to the make-believe hunt, or on the long, breezy ride.
And then again there came a fair September day, when Sally went to the quay, and away and away sailed the Fairy Prince, going back to his studies and the books that were to fit him for the life that lay ahead and the days that were to come.