“May I wish, this time, fairy? Oh, please let me!”
“Of course you can, dear child. But don’t plunge about like a bewitched windmill. I can’t keep my wings still in such a commotion.”
“I’m so sorry,” Ruth said, hastily sinking down on the rug. “How I wish we could see your wings.”
“They are rather nice, if I say it as shouldn’t. But come now, what is it you were going to propose?”
Rose listened eagerly, wondering where Ruth meant to go. She had a plan of her own, and was hoping Ruth wouldn’t choose that, so that she could get her turn next time.
“Please take us to visit Rowena—you know, in ‘Ivanhoe,’” Ruth almost whispered, so thrilled was she at the idea of seeing her favourite heroine.
Rose sighed with relief and with pleasure, too. It wasn’t her plan, and yet it was so splendid.
“Fine idea,” said the fairy, briskly. “Give me your hands, and—poof!!”
When the two children opened their eyes the fairy, as usual, had gone and they stood hand in hand, staring about them.
They were standing in a sort of avenue through a forest. On either side sturdy oaks crowded close, with holly and other shrubs and bushes. Underfoot the grass grew thick and short, scarcely trampled by the light traffic that passed over it.