Otto knew she was a fairy, because she was just like those he had seen at the play, dressed all in gold and silver tissue, and sparkling with jewels. Besides, although she looked grown-up, she was not bigger than Otto himself. She spoke to him also in the beautiful language used in plays:—
“Mortal child,” she said, “thou lovest well to join in the festivities of other mortals,—what sayest thou now to making one in a fairy revel?”
“A fairy party, do you mean, ma’am?” asked Otto. “It would be awfully jolly, I should think.”
“Come, then, with me,” said the fairy, rising from her sofa.
As she did so, it occurred to Otto that they would wonder what had become of him at home. He hesitated, and said,—
“Could I go back home for a minute first, if you please, ma’am, to let them know where I am? And I think my sister, Bertha, would like very much to come too, if she might.”
“Mortal boy, dost fear to trust thyself with us?” exclaimed the fairy, indignantly.
Otto felt he had offended her, but before he could reply, she had disappeared. For a moment everything seemed confused: “Just like a change of scene in a pantomime,” thought Otto to himself. Afterwards, instead of floating along upon the river, he found himself sitting upon its bank, while a very large moon rose over the water. Bertha was sitting by his side, and two lovely fairies stood by them, but not the same fairy as before. In front of him, standing up in the water, was a very shabby, damp-looking, white-bearded old man. Otto was puzzled to account for him at first, then he recollected to have seen a picture somewhere of old Father Thames, and he assumed that this old man must be the river-god. There were also some little naked fairies hovering about him, “And those,” thought Otto, “must be little streams that run into the river.” Besides all these, there was a large tortoise or turtle close to Otto, which crept up, and stared him in the face.
The old man, addressing Bertha and Otto, said,—“Tell me, children, what is your wish?”