These Story Tellers, who need never lack an audience, are the most ancient of all the Fairies—so old (though they do not look it) that they seem to have existed ever since the World began. What they were first called, no one now remembers. Some think they once had names which meant Faith, Love, Truth, Knowledge and Art; but be that as it may, to-day they are called “Touch,” “Taste,” “Sight,” “Smell,” and “Hearing.” Whenever they tell a story they always begin it in the same way. First they give the title of the tale, and then, as in all Fairy Stories, they say: “Once upon a time, a long while ago,” such and such a thing happened. So, when “Touch” began his Tale, he being first to be asked, this is what he said:— THE SKYLARK’S STORY “Once upon a time, a long while ago, I was passing over a field. Pausing for a moment to look at a flower, a Lark fell palpitating at my feet, hot and weary with singing. Taking him up in my left hand, whilst I gently fanned him with my right, I said, ‘Tell me, Lark, what is your story, and why do you sing?’ And when he was cool again, this is the tale he told:— “‘Once I was an egg, and I lay in a tiny nest among the grasses of the field. The shell, within which I lived, was very small and somewhat dark, but warm! Occasionally, however, I could see just a little glimpse of light; and now and then I could indistinctly hear my father talking or singing to my mother. But I couldn’t move, and I couldn’t speak. “‘Then came a day when I thought I heard an awful crash. It was so loud and thunderous that it seemed to me as if the sky had fallen. At the time it happened I was almost asleep, I think, for I appeared to have waked with such a sudden start, that I pushed my beak clean through the shell in which I lived; broke it in half; and there I sat, blinking and winking at the sunlight in the most stupid manner conceivable. “‘In a minute or two I saw my mother! She was looking down at me as proudly as if I were an eagle instead of a wee little lark—almost naked, and so weak, that I couldn’t stand up, no matter how hard I tried. In fact, every time I tried, I fell back so funnily that my mother laughed a little, and that made me cry! “‘When she saw me crying she said: “Never mind, little one! You’ll soon do much more than stand up—you’ll fly! And now just lie down until I go and get you your breakfast!” and off she flew! My word, she was quick! I hardly seemed to have lain down before she was back with it—the queerest little pinky-red wriggly thing you ever saw in your life; but so soft and juicy looking that, when she put it on my tongue, I just popped it down my throat and gave a little squeak for more! “‘But that’s a long while ago!