'How pretty and good they are,' said Hildegarde. 'I shall always think of you when I see the little clouds scudding across the sky—I have often thought they looked so alive. Do you never come down to our world yourself, fairy?'
'Oh yes,' she replied, 'we have to keep all the wind instruments in order. Some we bring back with us here to repair, in the middle of the night, so that nobody misses them; but some we work at down where they are, and people say the weather has changed, and that somehow their instruments have got right again of themselves. That is one of our secrets, you see.'
'I wish you would let us know when you come,' said Hildegarde.
'We wouldn't tell anybody, and I am sure we would gladly sit up all night.'
But the fairy shook her head.
'That cannot be,' she said, 'you would not be able to see me down there. Still, I can send you messages sometimes; the little breezes will always be glad to carry you my love or to kiss you for me.'
Suddenly she stopped speaking and held up her hand.
'Hush,' she said; 'yes, I thought I heard it. It is the spinning-wheel fairy—don't you hear the whirr? It means, I fear, that you must be going. Yes, there she is, though your eyes can't see her; she is almost straight above us. She has caught two of the little clouds on their way down, and is sailing on them.'
'How shall we get to her?' exclaimed the children.
'You forget,' laughed the fairy, 'you forget what wings are for,' and with the words she blew softly on their shoulders, the wings stretched themselves, and off flew the children.