Merrimeg woke up, and listened. She thought she heard a sound as if someone were crying.
She got up out of bed in her white nightgown, and tiptoed over to her mother and looked at her. Her mother was fast asleep, but she still heard the sound of crying.
She decided that it must be outside in the street, so she opened the front door and peeped out.
In the street before the door were three beautiful children, and one of them was crying.
They were all of about the same size as Merrimeg, and they were dressed in long dark blue gowns, fine as spider webs, which rippled around them in the cool air. They were barefoot and bareheaded. Each one had long black hair streaming down to her waist, and a pair of great wide wings standing out straight from her shoulders, like the wings of an enormous butterfly, all blue and silver.
One of the children had her arms about the one who was crying. They all looked up at Merrimeg as she opened the door.
“You’re Merrimeg, aren’t you?” said the one who had her arms about the other.
Merrimeg stepped out into the street under the stars.
“Yes,” said she. “What is she crying about? Are you lost?”
“You’d—better—tell her—who we are, Pennie,” said the one who had been crying, choking back her sobs.