“She says,” exclaimed the voice, “she says we’re her mamma’s reels!”
There fell a dead silence; Louisa expected to be sentenced to undergo capital punishment on the spot. “It’s too bad,” she said to herself, “it’s too bad; they asked me to guess who they were.”
“She says,” continued the voice, “she says ‘it’s too bad.’ What is too bad? My friends, let the deputation stand forward.”
Instantly about a dozen fairies separated themselves from the others and advanced, slowly marching two and two up the counterpane, till having made their way across the various hills and valleys formed by Louisa’s little figure under the bedclothes, they drew up just in front of her nose. Foremost of the deputation she recognised, the one clad in pink satin, the other in glistening white, her two favourites the Princesses Blanche and Rose.
“Beautiful Louisa,” said the deputation, all speaking at once, “we have come to ask you to be our queen.”
“Thank you,” said Louisa, not knowing what else to say.
“She consents!” exclaimed the deputation, “let the royal chariot appear.”
Thereupon there suddenly started up in the middle of the bed, as large as life, but no larger, her mamma’s big workbox! The fairies all clambered on to it with a rush, and hung upon it in every direction, like bees on a hive, or firemen on a fire-engine; and no sooner were they all mounted than the workbox slowly glided along till it was close to Louisa’s face.
“Will your majesty please to get in?” said one of the fairies, “Clarke’s Number 12, extra quality,” I think it was.
“How can I?” said Louisa piteously, “how can I? I’m far too big. How can I get into a workbox?”