“Indeed you have. Much more than they deserve. By coming here to-day.”
“Oh, that was a point of honor. Are you going to let those lovely purple ones wither on that prickly plant down there? Think how much better they’d look pinned on me—if there were any one here to see and appreciate.”
If this were a hint, it failed of its aim, for, as the hermit scuttled out from his shelter, looking not unlike some bulky protrusive-eyed insect, secured the orchids, and returned, he never once glanced up. Safe again in his rock-bound retreat, he spoke:—
“‘Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair.’”
“So you do know something of fairies and fairy lore!” she cried.
“Oh, it wasn’t much more than a hundred years ago that I read my Grimm. In the story, only one call was necessary.”
“Well, I can’t spare any more of my silken tresses. I brought a string this time. Where’s the other hair line?”
“I’ve used it to tether a fairy thought so that it can’t fly away from me. Draw up slowly.”
“Thank you so much, and I’m so glad that you are feeling better.”
“Better?”