Frisken nodded his head mysteriously. He was delighted to see what a regular elfin Con was growing.
“Sometimes,” he said. “It’s all very well for a little while, but I couldn’t stay there long. The air is so thick—ugh—and the cold and the darkness! You wouldn’t believe, would you, now that you know what it’s like down here, that fairies have been known to go up there and to stay by their own choice—to become clumsy, miserable, short-lived mortals?”
“What made them?” said Con.
“Oh, a stupid idea that if they stayed up there they would have the chance of growing into— oh, nonsense, don’t let us talk of anything so disagreeable. Come and have some games.”
But Con persisted. He had discovered that when he got Frisken all to himself he had a strange power of forcing him to answer his questions.
“Was old Nance once down here?” he asked suddenly. Frisken wriggled.
“What if she was?” he said, “she’s not worth speaking about.”
“Why did she go up there?” said Con.
“She was bewitched,” answered Frisken. “I cannot think why you like to talk about such stupid things. You have forgotten about things up there; luckily for you you came down here before you had learnt much. Did you ever hear talk of a stupid thing they call ‘love’ up there? That took her up, and then she stayed because she got more nonsense in her head.”
“I love my mother and my father,” said Con stoutly.