'That was a lark,' said Leonore, 'the last one, and the one before a blackbird, I think.'
'Or a thrush,' said Hildegarde, 'yes, I rather think it was a thrush.'
But in the eagerness with which they had been listening, they had not noticed that the high gates had opened gently inwards, and in the centre between them stood two charming figures smiling at the children.
'Come in,' said one of them, 'we have been expecting you for some time.'
'Are you the air-fairies?' asked Hildegarde. She spoke with more confidence than to the gnomes; there was something so sweet and gracious about these pretty creatures that no one could feel afraid of them.
'Yes,' was the reply, 'and we are also the birds' singing-teachers. Here you will see many of your old friends—nightingales, larks, blackbirds, robins, all of them, even down to the poor little sparrows, whom we teach to chirp and twitter.'
'How wonderful!' exclaimed the children.
'Are they all the little young birds?' asked Leonore; 'no, of course not,' she added, 'they can't be, for this is autumn.'
'We have classes all the year round,' said one of the fairies, 'except in the very middle of your summer, when we give them a holiday, that you may all enjoy the bird concerts to perfection.'
They had been walking slowly onwards till now, through a wide passage, the walls of which were like the whitest marble, though without its hard coldness. And now the fairy opening a door signed to them to pass in, and as they did so, the music they had heard grew clearer and louder. For they were in the central hall of the great bird singing-school.