"Listen," whispered the bird, and as she obeyed, there fell on her ears the prettiest bell-like chimes she had ever heard. "One, two, three—" on to twenty, then a pause and in deeper tones, "one, two, three, four."
"Twenty minutes to four," said her friend. "If it had been past four, the four would have struck first. All our clocks are what your clumsy human watchmakers call 'repeaters,' you see."
"And what do you do to make them tell you the time?" asked the little girl eagerly.
"You just say 'What o'clock is it?' That is of course if you are at one of the entrances to fairyland. You can generally find one if you look about. They are always in the centre of a ring."
"Oh," replied Linde, "that's a good thing to know. I often see fairy rings, but I had no idea they had a door in the middle. Then tell me more, please. I must wait till I hear the fairy clock strike twelve, and then—will the door open? And—what do you want me to do? And—if I can do it, will you let me gather some roses?"
"Not so fast, not so fast," said the robin. "Let me see—what was I saying? You stand here—the clock strikes, at the twelfth stroke you tap the ground with the three feathers—you have them safe?"
"Yes," replied Linde, feeling for them as she spoke.
"The door will then open and you will descend. That is all you require to know at present. Three nights hence, three nights hence."
"But," began the little girl, "I must know something more. How am I to find my way here in the middle of the night when it is all dark? It wasn't easy to distinguish the path even by daylight, and now, even now, I don't know how to get through these thick bushes on to it. I can't see any opening in them."
Instead of replying the robin suddenly spread his wings and alighted on a bush close beside her, and at once Linde perceived that there was a narrow sort of passage through the hedge. She turned towards it.