The head nodded at her. Merrimeg stared with both eyes. The head rose up, and the next moment the little girl that it belonged to was standing in shallow water to her knees. She was singing. She was making precisely the same sound as the brook itself, only louder.
She was smaller than Merrimeg. If she hadn’t been so pale, she would have been very pretty indeed. What looked like the stubs of two wings stuck out a trifle from her shoulder-blades. Her little slim body was glistening wet.
She stopped singing, and the instant she did so the brook stopped singing too. It positively fell silent as a pond.
“I know who you are,” said the little girl. “You’re Merrimeg.”
“Are you—?” said Merrimeg. “Are you a—?”
“Yes, of course. I live under the waterfall. I’m Myrma. I’m the fairy of this brook. I’m the one that makes it sound as if the brook was singing. You know the brook can’t sing, really; it’s me. Do you want to hear me do it?”
Merrimeg said “Yes,” and came closer to her. Myrma the fairy opened her mouth, and the sound she made was exactly the little song of a brook, and it seemed to come from the brook itself. She stopped, and the brook was silent again.
“It’s terribly tiresome,” said Myrma, “but I only have to do it when there’s somebody around to hear it. You don’t think the brook sings all the time, do you?”
“I didn’t know,” said Merrimeg.
“When there’s nobody to hear it, what’s the use? But I’m supposed to keep it up as long as there’s anybody around. Oh, dear, I get so tired hiding away behind the waterfall when people come. I just couldn’t help coming out to see you. Do you like me?”