They were moved with compassion when they heard her sad tale, and at once led her before their King, who was seated on a throne of molten gold, with red and yellow flames curling up and arching over him for a canopy, and a crown of fire on his head. He looked rather fierce, but received Violet very graciously, and at once ordered his head blacksmith to make the little fairy a new pair of wings. Violet was a little startled when she found that these were made of fire, and were to be fastened on her shoulders with bands of liquid gold, but the King assured her that they were the very best of their kind.
"There is nothing so powerful as fire," he cried, with a fierce exultant laugh; waving his fiery sceptre in the burning atmosphere so wildly, that though Violet thought he had been very kind to her, and bade him a very grateful farewell, she was yet not at all sorry to be safely out of his domains.
How fresh and green the earth looked as she emerged from the dark caverns that led to the Fire-King's palace, and rested her hot feet on the cool grass! But when eager to tell her friends of her success, she began to try the Fire-King's present, a general cry of dismay and terror broke forth.
"Sister Violet, you are killing our flowers," cried the fairies, reproachfully.
"Oh, I am burning! I am burning!" shrieked the grass.
"Cruel fairy! you have killed us!" murmured the insects, as, with scorched wings, they fell helpless to the ground.
"Alas!" said Violet weeping, "I am bringing death and destruction wherever I go. I will fly back to fairy-land before I work more mischief."
But the birds looked down from their nests wild with terror at the thought.
"You will kill us if you fly up here with your burning wings," they chirped piteously. "You will scorch us to death," shouted the trees, tossing their heads angrily in the breeze.
"Ah, gentle fairy, have pity on us!" cooed the dove; "did I not comfort you when your pet violet died?"