“What?”
“Do you remember how Marmie has told us about her visit to Knutsford, in England, when she was little? And that that is the real name of Cranford. Well, don’t you think it would be dandy to go there the next time we go through the Magic Gate?”
“Jiminy!” exclaimed Ruth, adopting one of her sister’s expressions, in her excited approval of the idea.
“Last time, when you wished, I was so afraid you’d choose that. Rowena was a fine wish, though. But there must be lots of nice little girls in Cranford, and we will have such fun if the fairy takes us there—I wish we could take our new saddles with us.”
“The little girls in Cranford haven’t any cow-ponies,” Ruth returned.
“I should say not.” But it wasn’t either of the girls that said that.
No, it was Honeysweet, as Rose had inwardly named their fairy, because of that small, golden voice of hers. And now, in the joy of hearing her, she divulged this name.
“Very pretty,” agreed the fairy. “It’s always been a favourite of mine, too—honey, I mean.”
“Then can we call you Honeysweet after this?”
“Why not make it Honeysqueak, since it’s my voice you’re alluding to?” replied the fairy, laughing.