"It's the devil," he said to himself, "when boys speak English." He turned suddenly to the girl, who was puzzling over the boy's tears. "It's time you went back to bed," he said; "there won't be any fairies tonight. It's too cold for them."
The girl yawned.
"I shall get into a row when I get back if they've found it out. I don't care."
"The moon is fading," said the boy suddenly; "there are no more shadows."
"We will see you through the wood," the man continued, "and say good-night."
He put his pictures back in his knapsack and then walked silently through the murmuring wood. At the edge of the wood the girl stopped.
"You are a wood-boy," she said to the boy, "and you mustn't come any farther. You can give me a kiss if you like."
The boy did not move, but stayed regarding her awkwardly.
"I think you are a very silly boy," said the girl, with a toss of her head, and she stalked away proudly into the mist.
"Why didn't you kiss her?" asked the man.