“Winter’s really gone,” remarked Rose, dreamily. “And what a splendid winter it’s been, Ruth.”
“Yep. We haven’t been a bit lonely this year, just because of Fairy Honeysqueak. She’s given us a lot of glorious experience, hasn’t she?”
“It’s some time since we’ve seen—I mean heard her. I wonder if she isn’t coming any more, now that spring is here at last? I wish we could at least say good-bye and thank you, don’t you?”
“Then that’s just what you can do,” the silver-sounding voicelet spoke, the clear and chiming voice they knew and loved so. “For I’m come, and I’m going to take you one last trip for a sort of farewell, because I’m too busy now that spring’s here to be able to play any more; and I daresay you’ll not have any too much time on your hands yourselves.”
“Oh, Fairy Honeysqueak, how sweet and kind of you to come once more. We shall miss you awfully. I guess we are the two luckiest girls in the world to know you. When it’s cold again and you have nothing to do, perhaps you’ll come back. Please.”
She laughed, and the sound was like the rocking of canterbury-bells atop of their long stalks, if you could only hear them.
“It has been lots of fun for me too, and maybe I’ll see you next year, though no one can tell about a fairy,” she answered. “Anyway, here we are now. And now for our last trip. How about going to Quaker-town to see a small maid called Darthea Penniston?”
“What larks! And shall we see Hugh Wynne too? And Washington? And....”
“I’m sure I don’t know what you’ll see or not see; keep your eyes open, that’s what they’re for. Except that you must shut them now, and grab my hands tight....”
So that’s what was done, and once more the two felt the singular sensation, ending in a slight jar, which always accompanied their trips through the Magic Gate.