“Oh, the wicked little villain!” cried Malkin, and the two gnomes made a dash at the Elf; but he skipped away in a hurry, laughing “Ha, ha, ha!” and disappeared from sight under the bush.
The butterfly flapped its wings, trying to fly, but it couldn’t. All the powder, the soft delicate powder with its beautiful colors, which covered its wings, was brushed off; and without this powder on its wings the butterfly could not fly.
The gnomes looked about carefully, and on the leaves of the bush they found the powder, and they dusted it off into an acorn cup. But they didn’t know how to put it on again.
“What’ll we do about it?” said Nibby.
“We’d better go to the Paint Shop,” said Malkin.
“That’s a good idea, brother,” said Nibby. “I declare you do think of everything.”
“Then let’s go,” said Malkin, and he picked up the poor butterfly gently. It wasn’t beautiful any longer, and it couldn’t fly.
“I’ll carry the powder,” said Nibby, and he took the acorn cup in his hands, full of a powder all white and blue and brown, mixed up together.
They made off through the woods as fast as they could. By and by they came to a brook, and on the other side of the brook, among the trees, was a tiny house, with an open door no taller than the gnomes, and over the door was a sign, and it said: