“I think Jack ought to have saved the giant’s wife before he cut down the beanstalk,” said Christopher disgustedly, when the story was ended, “after she had treated him so kindly and all. It was a shame to leave her up there without any way of getting down.”
“She was the fairy, you goose,” exclaimed Jane, “who first told Jack that all the giant’s treasure belonged to his mother, and so she could easily get down, because fairies can go anywhere.”
“Don’t you know any other stories, Letty?” asked Christopher. “New ones?”
“Make up one!” urged Jane. “You know you said you did sometimes.”
“But they aren’t really stories; I mean not long ones. They’re just little thoughts about the birds and flowers and things talking. But I will try to tell you a story I read once, that I love dearly. It was a story in a magazine that a girl lent me at school, and I loved it so that I read it over and over again. I think I know it by heart and I’ll tell it to you if you think it will interest you. It’s not exactly a boy’s story,” she added apologetically, looking at Christopher.
“Oh, never mind, fire away,” answered Christopher grandly.
Christopher was very comfortable, sprawled on his back in the shade, and was ready to be amused by anything except a nursery tale.
“Well, then, here is the story. It is called ‘Thistledown.’”
“‘Thistledown,’” repeated Christopher, “that’s a funny name.”
“Thistledown was the fairy’s name, and you’ll see what he got for being naughty and mischievous. Well——”