"Fairy-house!" faltered Pierot; while Pierotte, jumping more rapidly to a conclusion, fairly screamed: "Oh, Pierot! Madam, then, is a fairy! A real fairy! Pierot, think of it, only think of it!"
"Very much at your service," said the old woman, with a malicious smile. "Do you like fairies, then? Do you admire my pickled snake? Would you wish to pull some flowers?"
Something in the smile made Pierotte draw back; but Pierot said politely,—
"One rose, perhaps—since Madam is so good."
The fairy leaned out and plucked a rose from the vine which grew on the wall close by.
"Now listen," she said. "Each of my roses encloses a wish. You are great wishers, I know;" and her eyes twinkled queerly. "This time the wish will come true, so take care what you are about. There will be no coming to get me to undo the wish, for I shan't be visible again till this time next year on Midsummer's Day,—you know."
"Oh, Pierot! what shall we wish for?" cried Pierotte, much excited; but the old woman only repeated, "Take care!" drew her head in at the window, and all in a minute—how, they could not explain—the cottage had vanished, the garden, the gate,—they were in the wood again, with nothing but trees and bushes about them; and all would have seemed like a dream, except for the red and fragrant rose which Pierot held in his hand.
"What shall we wish for?" repeated Pierotte, as they seated themselves under a tree to talk over this marvellous adventure.
"We must be very careful, and ask for something nice," replied Pierot.
"It would be better to wait and think for a long time first," suggested Pierotte.