“I told you I went to see little boys and girls. I don’t go to see grown people. They wouldn’t believe in me.”
“My mother would,” said Teddy. “She plays with me and she likes my books and I tell her all about you.”
“No, no!” cried the Counterpane Fairy, “I couldn’t think of it. I’m very glad to take you into my stories, but if you don’t care to go by yourself —” and she picked up her staff and rose as though she were going.
“Oh, I do, I do!” cried Teddy. “Please don’t go away.”
“Well, I won’t,” said the fairy, sitting down again, “if you really want me to show you another. Have you chosen a square?”
“No, I haven’t yet,” said Teddy. He looked the squares over very carefully, and at last he chose the black-and-white one where the circus was standing.
“Very good,” said the fairy. “Now I’m going to begin to count.” Teddy fixed his eyes on the square and she commenced.
Gradually he began to feel as though the white silk of the square was a pale cloudy sky. Before him stretched a white streak, and in the distance were some things like black squares; he did not know quite what.
“FORTY-NINE!” cried the fairy.
When Teddy looked about him he and the Counterpane Fairy were journeying along a dusty white road together, and the fairy looked just as any little old woman might, except that her eyes were so bright behind her spectacles.