“I dreamt I was a queen,” said Louisa.
“Did you? What country were you queen of?”
“I was queen of the reel fairies,” replied the child gravely. Her mother looked mystified “Tell me what you mean, dear,” she said. “Tell me all about it.”
So bit by bit Louisa explained the whole, and her mamma had for once a peep into that strange, fantastic, mysterious world, which we call a child’s imagination. She had a glimpse of something else too. She saw that her little girl was in danger of getting to live too much alone, was in need of sympathy and companionship.
“I think it was what Frances Gordon said that made me dream about being a queen,” she said.
“And do you still wish you were a queen?” said her mamma.
“No,” said Louisa.
“A princess then?”
“No,” she replied again. “But, mamma—”
“Well, dear?”