"And won't you come back again?" we asked.
Miss Goldy-hair stopped to consider a little.
"Let me see," she said. "Yes, I'll tell you what I'll do. I'll come and have tea with you if you'll invite me."
We all clapped our hands at this.
"And after tea," said Tom, "will you tell us a story? I am sure you must know stories, Miss Goldy-hair, for all your poor little children. Don't you tell them stories?"
"There are so many of them," she said. "I generally read stories to them. And most likely you already know most of those I read. But sometimes I tell stories to any of them who happen to be ill and stay in bed. I'll see if I can remember one."
"About fairies, please," we all called out.
"I'll do my best," said Miss Goldy-hair, who by this time was opening the door to go away. She turned round and nodded to us as she said it, and then she shut the door and we three were alone again.
But it didn't seem as if we were alone—it didn't seem the same dull nursery with nothing to amuse us or to look forward to—it didn't seem the same any way.
"Tom," I said, "doesn't everything seem different?"