"So you have come at last, little maiden."
Merran felt greatly astonished and puzzled.
"Yes," said the Sunshine fairy, "our queen knows all about you. She always cares for lonely or unhappy children more than for any others, though they may not be aware of it. And she told us to stay here till the time came for us to be of service to you, poor little Merran. Not that it matters much to us where we live. Rain and I can do our work wherever we are, and move our abode in less time than it would take you to run downstairs."
"I wish you would stay here always and let me come and live with you," pleaded Merran. "Nobody cares for me down there," and she nodded towards where she supposed the farm must be. "Couldn't you—couldn't your queen turn me into a fairy for good? I shouldn't ever want to be a real little girl again, and nobody would mind. They'd just think I'd got lost—they'd never imagine I'd gone to fairyland."
"Would nobody mind—would nobody miss you?" the Sunshine fairy asked gently.
Merran's eager face fell. She hesitated.
"P'r'aps Dirk would have minded once, before he went away," she said ruefully. "But not now—oh no—they say he's grown so fine and strong like the others. He won't care for me any more, I'm sure. That's another reason why I wish you'd let me stay with you and never go back to the farm again. Aunt says I grow stupider and stupider, and uglier too, I daresay she thinks, though she doesn't exactly say so. And just look at me"—she held out her shabby old skirt as she spoke—"this horrid dress is only fit for a beggar girl, and I'll have to wear it all the week, though it wasn't my fault that I dirtied my nice clean one. The lane was so slippery, and so muddy. It had been raining so hard."
The Sunshine fairy smiled.