“Nimble, nimble,
Turn my thimble,”
there sprang up the cutest little soldier, with needles in his hands for swords.
“At your
service!”
“Salute!” he shouted in a very thin silvery voice, making a military bow to Fairy Lady.
“At your service!” he said, turning to Mary Frances, who was looking on with amazement.
“Are you really my own thimble?” she asked, looking at the second finger of her right hand.
“It’s me—I, I mean—I’m he—it, I mean—well, anyhow, I’m Thimble, your Seamstress-ship,” he answered, making another bow.
“Well, well,” said Mary Frances delightedly, “if you are, you can obey my orders.