He was about six inches in height and dressed in what seemed to be mouse-skin. He wore a little belt and a helmet the size of a thimble. His face was unwrinkled, but intelligent enough for any age.
Seeing he was unwilling to be stared at, I broke the silence by saying, "I am sorry I can not offer you a chair—but mine are too large, I am afraid." I feared he might be hurt by the hint.
"Not at all!" he replied politely, now that he had convinced himself I was not that awful Tran-somebody, "see here!"
He beckoned to my favorite easy-chair. At once it rose gently into the air, and, dwindling down to a size suitable for the little wretch, dropped softly down upon the table beside him.
Ignoring my exclamations, he seated himself comfortably within it, and, looking up at me, said, as though nothing had happened, "I said I would tell you all about it, didn't I?"
"Yes," I answered, leaning eagerly forward.
"Well, I'll not!" said he bluntly.
"You'll not?—and why not?" I asked.
"Oh," said he, calmly crossing his little legs, "you couldn't understand it."
"Perhaps I could," I replied, smiling indulgently. "Just try me."