'Yes,' she said, 'now I'm quite sure it's you and not a dream. No dream has cheeks so soft as yours, godmother, and no one else kisses like you. Your kisses are just like violets. But what am I to do? Must I get dressed at once?'
Godmother passed her hands softly round the child. She seemed to stroke her.
'You are dressed,' she said. 'The clothes you wear generally would be too heavy, so I brought some with me. You do not need shoes and stockings.'
But Maia was looking at herself with too much surprise almost to hear what she said. 'Dressed,' yes, indeed! She was dressed as never before in her life, and though she turned herself about, and stroked herself like a little bird proud of its plumage, she could not find out of what her dress was made, nor what exactly was its colour. Was it velvet, or satin, or plush? Was it green or blue?
'I know,' she cried at last joyously; 'it's the same stuff your red dress is made of, godmother! Oh, how nice, and soft, and warm, and light all together it is! I feel as if I could jump up to the sky.'
'And not be seen when you got there,' said godmother. 'The colour of your dress is sky colour, Maia. But when you have finished admiring yourself we must go—the others have been ready ever so long. They had not been expecting me too much, like you, and so they were ready all the quicker.'
'Do you mean Rollo?' said Maia. 'Rollo, and Silva, and Waldo?'
Godmother nodded her head.
'I'm ready now, any way,' said Maia.
'Give me your hand,' said godmother, and taking it she held it firm, and led Maia to the window. To the little girl's surprise it was wide open. Godmother, still holding her hand, softly whistled—once, twice, three times. Then stood quietly waiting.