“D’ye git nothin’ better at other times?” inquired Willie in surprise.
“Not often. Father is very poor. He was ill for a long time, too, and if it hadn’t been for your kind master I think we should all have starved. He’s better now, but he needs pretty good living to keep him up to his work—for there’s a deal of training to be done, and it wears him out if he don’t get meat. But the pantomimes began and we were getting on better, when the fire came and burnt everything we had almost, so we can’t afford much meat or beer, and I don’t like beer, so I’ve got them persuaded to let me live on bread and butter and water. I would like tea better, because it’s hot, but we can’t afford that.”
Here was a revelation! The fairy lived upon bread and butter and water! Willie thought that, but for the interpolation of the butter, it would have borne marvellous resemblance to prison fare.
“When had you dinner?” inquired Willie suddenly.
“I think about four o’clock.”
“An’ can’t you eat nothin’ now?”
Again the fairy shook her head.
“Nor drink?”
“Look if there’s anything in the tea-pot,” said the fairy.
Willie looked, shook his head, and said, “Not a drop.”