She opened a door in the back of the hut—or what seemed the back—and led Merran through. The little girl gave a cry of pleasure. They were standing in the prettiest room you could imagine. It was all brightness and cosiness, the chairs and tables of white wood, the carpet like green moss, the walls hung with soft pink silk, and above all the "window-doors," as Merran called them to herself, opened on to—surely the loveliest garden that ever was seen, "out of fairyland" I was going to say, forgetting that it was, if not fairyland itself, just at the entrance to it. It did not seem a very large garden, or rather one could not quite tell how far it extended, for at the farther end it sloped down rather suddenly and beyond, a great thicket of beautiful trees and bushes gave a misty, vague appearance, through which Merran only caught sight of gleams of sky and sunshine—almost, she fancied, of blue hills far in the distance.
"That must be the real fairyland," she thought. But she did not feel much curiosity about it; the pretty room and lovely garden were too full of delight. And as she gazed, another object attracted her. This was a fountain in the centre of one of the velvety lawns. She had never seen a fountain before, but she was a clever child in her own way, and she remembered pictures which she had seen, of which the dancing silvery drops reminded her.
"Is that a—a waterfall?" she asked.
The fairy lady shook her head.
"Not exactly," she replied, "though for a little girl like you it is a very good guess. No, it is the fountain by which we know about the rain and showers. We send messages far and wide by its means. You could not understand if I explained. But we work very hard. Fairy folk are not idle, as some foolish mortals imagine. See—my husband is coming to speak to you. He and I work together, though behind there in your world people fancy we don't! Rain without sunshine, or sunshine without rain, would make a sad state of things."
"Yes, indeed," said a merry voice, and from behind the mist and dazzle of the fountain Merran perceived a new-comer—a man with a nice brown face, dressed something like a charming old china figure which her aunt greatly treasured—brown velvet jacket and breeches, flowered waistcoat, a scarlet cap on his short curls—altogether quite the right sort of person to match the lovely Sunshine fairy.
He doffed his cap as he came forward, Merran gazing at him in surprise. She would much have liked to ask him how ever he managed to keep so beautifully clean and smart if he was always working away at the water, but she felt rather shy, and only gazed.
"So you have come at last, little maiden," he said pleasantly. "We have been waiting here a good while for you."