Willie explained that, having had the pleasure of meeting with Jim at an auction sale some weeks ago, he had called to renew his acquaintance; and Jim said he remembered the incident—and that, if he was not mistaken, a desire to see a live fairy in plain clo’se, with her wings off, had something to do with his visit.
“Here she is;—by the way, what’s your name?”
“Bill Willders.”
“Here she is, Bill; this is the fairy,” he said, in quite an altered tone, as he went to the bed, and took one of his sister’s thin hands in both of his. “Ziza, this is the feller I told ye of, as wanted to see you, dear; b’longs to Mr Tippet.”
Ziza smiled faintly, as she extended her hand to Willie, who took it and pressed it gently.
Willie felt a wonderfully strong sensation within his heart as he looked into the sufferer’s large liquid eyes; and for a few seconds he could not speak. Suddenly he exclaimed, “Well, you ain’t one bit like what I expected to see. You’re more like a angel than a fairy.”
Ziza smiled again, and said she didn’t feel like either the one or the other.
“My poor lamb,” said the clown, sitting down on the bed, and parting the dark hair on Ziza’s forehead, with a hand as gentle as that of a mother, “we’re goin’ now. Time’s up. Shall I ask Mrs Smith to stay with you again, till we come back?”
“Oh, no, no!” cried the child hurriedly, and squeezing her fingers into her eyes, as if to shut out some disagreeable object. “Not Mrs Smith. I’d rather be alone.”
“I wish I could stay with you, Ziza,” said Jim earnestly.