"What! What!" cried the little green man. "The very idea! The very idonical idea! We'll see about that! Oh, my, yes, and a bushel of apple turnovers besides! Aha! Ahem!"
Then he looked most severely at that fox, most severely, I do assure you, and he asked: "Were you going to eat up my friend Sammie Littletail?"
"I was, but I didn't know he was a friend of yours," replied the fox, beginning to tremble. Oh, you could see right away that he was afraid of that little green man.
"Oh, you bad fox, you!" cried the little green man. "Oh, you bad fox! Just for that I'm going to turn you into a little country village! Presto, chango! Smacko, Mackeo! Bur-r-r-r!" and he waved his hands at the fox, who immediately disappeared. And he was changed into a little country village, with a church, a school and thirty-one houses, and it's called Foxtown to this very day. I ought to know, for I used to live there.
"Well, Sammie?" asked the little green man, when the fox had vanished, "How do you feel now?"
"Much better, kind sir. Thank you. But who are you?"
"Me? Who am I? Why, don't you know?"
"No, indeed, unless you're some relation to Bully, the frog."
"Well, I am a sort of distant thirty-second cousin to him. I am the green fairy. And to prove it, look here, I will get your ball back for you."
Then while Sammie looked on, his eyes getting bigger and bigger and his breath coming faster and faster, until it was like a locomotive or a choo-choo, whatever you call them, going up hill, if that little green man didn't wave his hands over that puddle of water, where Sammie's ball had fallen. And he spoke the magic word, which must never be spoken except on Friday nights, so if you read this on any night but Friday you must skip it, and wait. The word is (Tirratarratorratarratirratarratum), and I put it in brackets, so there would be no mistake. Well, all of a sudden, after the magic word was spoken, if Sammie's ball didn't come bounding up out of that water, and it was as dry as a bone, and it had a nice, new, clean, white cover on.