“What’s happened?” he boomed in his rolling bass voice.
“That’s what I’d like to know,” replied the boy, picking himself up. “I never felt so small in my life, not even when I tore my Sunday shirt and my great-aunt scolded me before everybody! Why, I’m no bigger than a sea-horse!”
The daisies were still laughing and now they could no longer contain themselves.
“He ate fairy-bread,” they giggled, “and he grew as little as a balloon when the air goes out, ho, ho, ho, ho! Tee, tee, tee, tee!”
“Ate fairy-bread!” exclaimed Birdling, “do you mean to say I am a fairy now?”
The Bumble-bee put his head on one side and deliberated.
“No,” he said slowly, “You’re not a fairy. You’re only fairyish. What’s your name?”
“I haven’t any. But people call me Birdling.”
“Well, that’s not so bad. What can you do?”
“Nothing. Oh, yes—I can whistle!”