He began by asking the fairy if she was all right and comfortable, to which she replied that she was not; upon which he explained that he meant, was she as right and comfortable as could be expected in the circumstances; could he do anything for her, in fact, or get her anything that would make her more comfortable than she was--but the fairy shook her poor head and said, "No." "Come now, won't you have somethin' to eat? What had you for dinner?" said Willie, in a cheery voice, looking round the room, but not discovering any symptoms of food beyond a few empty plates and cups (the latter without handles), and a tea-pot with half a spout. "I had a little bread and butter," said the fairy. "No tipple?" inquired the nurse. "No, except water." "Ain't there none in the house?" "No." "D'ye git nothin' better at other times?" inquired Willie in surprise. "Not often. Father is very poor. He was ill for a long time, too, and if it hadn't been for your kind master I think we should all have starved. He's better now, but he needs pretty good living to keep him up to his work--for there's a deal of training to be done, and it wears him out if he don't get meat. But the pantomimes began and we were getting on better, when the fire came and burnt everything we had almost, so we can't afford much meat or beer, and I don't like beer, so I've got them persuaded to let me live on bread and butter and water. I would like tea better, because it's hot, but we can't afford that." Here was a revelation! The fairy lived upon bread and butter and water! Willie thought that, but for the interpolation of the butter, it would have borne marvellous resemblance to prison fare. "When had you dinner?" inquired Willie suddenly. "I think about four o'clock." "An' can't you eat nothin' now?" Again the fairy shook her head. "Nor drink?" "Look if there's anything in the tea-pot," said the fairy. Willie looked, shook his head, and said, "Not a drop." "Any leaves?" "Why, y-yes," he brought the pot nearer to the candle; "there are a few used-up ones." "Oh, _do_ pour some hot water into it; but I fear the water is cold, and the fire's too low to boil it, and I know the coals are done; but father gets paid his salary to-morrow, and he'll give me some tea then. He's very kind to me, father is, and so is Jim." She sighed as she spoke, and shut her eyes. "Ziza," said Willie in a careless tone, "you won't object to my leavin' you for a few minutes; only a few; I want to get a little fresh air, an' see what sort of a night it is; I won't be long gone." Ziza, so far from objecting, said that she was used to being left alone for long, long hours at a time, and wouldn't mind it. So Willie put the candle nearer to her bedside, placed a tea-cup of water within reach, went out, shut the door softly behind him, groped his way through the passage and up the stair, and got into the street.