Winter was really hard and fast here with Rose and Ruth, and they were settled doing all the winter things. Each morning there was school of course, school right at home, for not even the smallest school house broke the long line of the prairie within many miles of the Ranch. And there was plenty of outdoor play and excitement, too.
Somehow the two little girls never remembered a single thing about their wonderful adventure with Sappho and the fairy except when they were alone. Just as soon as Marmie or any one else came near, every bit of the memory of it floated out of their heads. But they would talk of it to each other eagerly. And one afternoon, as they sat together on the big settee, Rose suddenly wondered whether the fairy were not coming to visit them again some fine time.
“Golly, I do wish she’d come again, Ruth! There must be lots of other places to go to through the Magic Gate, and lots of other little girls to play with. Do you think she’s forgotten all about us?”
Ruth had just opened her mouth to reply when she had to open it even wider with surprise, for who should speak up but the fairy herself, in that darling voice of hers, like the chiming of tiny crystal bells:
“Forgotten you? Nonsense. The memory of a fairy is the strongest thing you can meet in a whole year of un-re-mit-ted seeking. But I’m very busy to-day, and we must hurry right off—what do you say to paying Little Women a visit?”
“What! Meg and Beth and Amy and ... and JO?”
The fairy laughed at the sound of the way they said it, both together, and both almost speechless with delight. Next instant Rose and Ruth both felt her take one of their hands, and shut their eyes just as she told them too, her voice dying softly away like a breeze in a quaking aspen.
Then came again the rushing feeling, the sensation of a little fall, a slight shock, and suddenly both girls found themselves running, clutching tightly to strong hands quite as big as their own ... not fairy’s hands. There was a joyous peal of laughter, and an eager voice cried:
“That was good. How you can run! Just as fast as I do, and Meg is always calling me a Tomboy....”
They opened their eyes, and found themselves grasping each a hand of a girl no older than themselves, a brown-skinned, clear-eyed girl, with a roguish light playing over her face, flushed with the exercise. Her dark chestnut hair hung in two braids from under a funny little round hat, and her skirts, full and voluminous to a remarkable degree, reached almost to her ankles. They were of some grey woollen goods, trimmed with scarlet braid in quite an intricate design. A little black jacket with sleeves wide at the bottom and a cunning turndown collar was also trimmed with braid, black this time. Altogether, the two girls thought they had never seen a quainter, more fascinating costume.