“Well,” said a small, gruff voice that made Tommy sit up suddenly very straight and surprised in his chair, “you were long enough about it!”
From the dark corner there emerged into the fire light the most astonishing person Tommy had ever seen or dreamed of. He was scarcely higher than the boy’s knee and he was lamentably thin; and his head was quite out of proportion to any other part of him. But the queerest thing of all was his face, which was just as round as—as, well, as a basket ball and very much the same color. From the middle of it protruded a long and very pointed nose. His eyes were small and sharp and bright and his mouth was thin and reached almost from one perfectly huge ear to the other. He was dressed in rusty black, with pointed shoes that were ridiculously like his nose, and a sugar-loaf cap, from which dangled dejectedly a long green feather. And under one pipestem of an arm, clutched with long brown fingers, was a football almost as large as he was!
Tommy stared and stared and thought he must be dreaming. But the strange visitor quickly put that notion out of his head.
“Well! Well!” he said crossly. “Can’t you speak?”
“Y-yes, sir,” stammered Tommy. “But—I—I don’t think I heard wh-what you said!”
“Yes, you did! You didn’t understand. Boys are all stupid. I said you were long enough about it.”
The visitor advanced to the hearth and took up his position on the rug, his back to the fire and his beady eyes blinking sharply at the boy.
“About—about what?” asked Tommy apologetically.
“About wishing, of course! Don’t you know fairies can’t grant a wish until it has been made three times? You wished once and then you kept me waiting. I don’t like to be kept waiting. I’m a very busy person. Nowadays, with everyone wishing for all sorts of silly things that they don’t need and oughtn’t to have, a fairy’s life isn’t worth living.”
“I’m very sorry,” murmured Tommy apologetically. “I—I didn’t know you were there.”