“Mamma has gone to carry home the work,” answered the child, timidly; “and Dolladine and I have been making sunshine for her. But, see! it flies away!” and again she tried to catch the dancing beams.
“It often does from older and wiser hands than yours; but how did you make it, fairy?” asked the old man, laughing.
“God put it in my hair, and I shook it out for dear mamma, who is sick, and so tired of the dark days,” replied the little one, again shaking her pretty curls, that were luminous with beauty.
“I see!” said the old man. “Now, I am a great magician, and can help you;” and he sang, with a clear, ringing voice:—
“Sunshine, sunshine, flitting and airy,
Dwell in the heart of the little fairy;
Make her gentle, loving, and mild,
Make her the mother’s sunshine child.”
Just at that moment the washerwoman took down a big sheet, and the little room was flooded with warm, glowing sunshine.
“Oh! it is glorious, is it not, Dolladine?” exclaimed the child, clapping her hands, and dancing about with pleasure. “Mamma will be so happy, and so will Dolladine and I.”