The white fairy inquired how it was that so few flowers were seen in the garden, and so few birds' nests under the eaves of the cottage; and why Dame Dorothy did not take her knitting that fine morning, and enjoy the bright sun in the doorway?
The widow looked melancholy, and heaved a deep sigh; but the black dog, who had overheard every syllable, sneaked away with a low growling noise, and knocked down a chair on purpose to indicate his malice.
"I shall return another day," said the good little fairy as she rose to take leave, "and bring you such a sweet nosegay fresh from the forest, to decorate the table and cheer your heart, because," she added, quite in a whisper, lest Nero might hear her—"because I am sorry to see you have none left in your flower-beds."
From this day forth Dame Dorothy's dog was "poorly." He skulked about the garden, keeping to the gravel walk, with drooping ears and tail between his legs. And by-and-by he began to leave his food untasted.
The poor widow noticed the change, and became anxious. Then presently she grew more uneasy; and at last, greatly concerned about her favourite's health, she set about cutting him out a warm coat for the autumn out of her own best velvet mantle, for she was sure he had taken the influenza.
By-and-by she observed that Nero grew worse on the days of the bright little fairy's visits; that no sooner did the white robe and the golden hair cross the threshold than he would move away from the fireside, slink whining under the tables and chairs, and pass outside the house altogether.
Yet Dame Dorothy could not help loving the sunny fairy who every time fetched a lovely posy of sweet-scented flowers from the forest; to say nothing of her winning voice, her musical laughter, her gentle, loving eyes.
And the village children trooped often now past the woodside cottage, for they wanted to catch a glimpse of the fairy as she went in and out; and they were quite overjoyed when she spoke to them.
At last one day Dame Dorothy, who had got into the habit of telling the fairy everything, thought she would consult her about her dog.
"Ah me, my poor Nero!" she said; "look at him, he is not thriving at all. And what will become of me, a lone widow woman, if aught befall my black dog? And only think, I cannot persuade him to wear the jacket I sewed for him out of my own best mantle!"