‘And didn’t you ever tell Mr Ellis, Andy?’
‘Of course he did!’ I said, coming to Andy’s rescue; ‘I remember it now. You told me that night we camped on the Bogan river, Andy.’
‘Of course!’ said Andy.
‘Did he tell you about finding a lost child and the fairy with it?’
‘Yes,’ said Andy; ‘I told him all about that.’
‘And the fairy was just going to take the child away when Andy found it, and when the fairy saw Andy she flew away.’
‘Yes,’ I said; ‘that’s what Andy told me.’
‘And what did you say the fairy was like, Andy?’ asked Mrs Head, fixing her eyes on his face.
‘Like. It was like one of them angels you see in Bible pictures, Mrs Head,’ said Andy promptly, sitting bolt upright, and keeping his big innocent grey eyes fixed on hers lest she might think he was telling lies. ‘It was just like the angel in that Christ-in-the-stable picture we had at home on the station—the right-hand one in blue.’
She smiled. You couldn’t call it an idiotic smile, nor the foolish smile you see sometimes in melancholy mad people. It was more of a happy childish smile.