“And,” said Liza, “isn’t my Flip ever, ever going to come back no more?”
“Certainly, Butterfly! In much less than a year he will return.”
“And live here?”
Mother smiled. “I’m afraid not. But he is to have a lovely cottage just a short distance down the road and—— Ssh! Flip is coming. I want you to be very nice to him and not say anything about what I have told you.”
Flip came in with a perfectly happy smile. Immediately he saw that something was wrong. The children were always more noisy when he came. But he looked at Mother Dear and she nodded, so he pretended to notice nothing.
“Well, I’m here,” he said. “Supposing we find out now what happened to Winfred.”
“Yes!” the children shouted, forgetting for the moment that it might be the last story he would tell them in a long time. (Personally, I know that it wasn’t.)
“Well,” said Flip (he always said “Well” when he started to speak), “I’ll tell you, and please, Martha Mary, will you sit on my knee just this once while I tell it?”
Martha Mary came and climbed to his knee just like a baby and hid her face in his big coat, because she was afraid of crying. Then Flip coughed to clear his throat and told the second chapter of Winfred’s story:
“Now, let me see! Winfred was standing in the middle of the field, alone, and he was no larger than a string bean. Every time a small breeze came along it picked him up, just like a leaf, and carried him to another part of the field. That was rather good fun at first, but after a while it was unpleasant to have to fly whether you would or not. So Winfred crept under a wild rosebush and hid in the leaves, where he could think without being disturbed. But thinking did not do any good, for that would not make him large again. He sat with his tiny face in his hands and frowned. Then the sky grew dark and it was night. Lady Rumdidoodledum and thousands of star children came into the sky and the moon appeared like the largest gold plate you have ever seen. Soon voices were heard in the field—voices of people calling and shouting, ‘Prince Winfred!’ They were the guards seeking the lost boy. They tramped here and there and everywhere and could not hear when Winfred answered them, for his voice was as small as his body. Once a guard came along, swinging a blue lantern, and he almost stepped on Winfred. Finally they said he could not be in that field, so they went ahead, the men shouting and blowing trumpets, and the women calling and moaning. Last of all came the Queen Mother. She did not speak or cry, but walked with her head bowed and tears in her eyes. Winfred held out his arms and called, ‘Mother Dearest!’ but she could not see or hear him. And so she passed out of sight with the others. Then Winfred crept out from the wild rosebush and commenced to climb the hill. It was a hard climb for his short legs and he was very much out of breath when he reached the top. He rested a moment and then looked down. Far below him he saw the ocean, grey and cold, and very great, reaching all the way to the shores of Japan. Along the beach the huge waves splashed like white horses. The winds came skipping across the waters, mussing them in all directions. Winfred gasped, for he had never seen the ocean before. Then, suddenly, he remembered—(and this is true, I assure you) the first time you see or do anything, such as eating the first grape of the season, or seeing the first firefly, or anything like that, if you make a wish it is sure to come true. So Winfred reached out his arms to the sea and whispered: