"Nevertheless the old nest will serve your purpose perfectly," said the fairy lady. "Hide your treasures in it; you can easily reach up without any danger of falling, as there is a good stretch of flat roof outside. And then, if by any chance you were seen there, it would only be supposed that you were looking out of the window at the view--trying to catch the peep of the sea, as you often do." "Yes, yes," replied Merran, greatly pleased. "What a good idea, and how clever of you to think of it! How do you know so much about me and the garret and everything, dear Sunshine fairy? I suppose you really could see me when you were the little toy woman in the rain-house? But it won't be easy to believe she's you! You are _so_ pretty compared with her. Mayn't I come up here again and see you as you really are?" The fairy shook her head. "Our task here is accomplished," she said. "You will not need to puzzle about the toy woman, and how she and I can be the same and yet not the same. And this way into fairyland will now be closed. But when the sunshine peeps in at your window and lights up your fair hair and puts some colour into your cheeks, you may believe, my little maiden, that I am kissing you. Or when some drops of rain make you start by their cool touch, you may say to yourself that the Rain fairy is sending you his greeting. Both of us, first one and then the other, working together. That is how it is and should be. And now," she went on, "we will see you safe home again," and glancing up, Merran saw that beside the lovely lady stood the picturesque figure of the Rain fairy, with his dark but kindly face. "Together," for once, "the pair that tell the weather." They turned and entered the pretty room, passing through it, however, till at the other side, where a door led into the familiar "rain-house," or hut, they stood still, beckoning to Merran, who had followed them in silence, feeling excited and happy, and yet a little sad. Then each took one of her hands--her gifts were safely nestling inside her bodice--and whispering softly, in a sort of musical murmur, which made her close her eyes half sleepily: "Farewell, little Merran, farewell. In sunshine or in rainy weather, little maiden, fare thee well." And before she had time to look round or wonder what was going to happen to her, she felt herself gently pushed over the edge of the rain-house, like a fledgling which the parent birds are training to fly, and though she had no wings, fly or flutter she did, down, down, till she found herself standing safely on the floor of the old garret, just in front of the storm-window, in her favourite nook. She rubbed her eyes. Was it all a dream?