It was May-day, and she was going May-dewing. You know if you wash your face with dew, early on May-morning, it will keep you fair and sweet to look on, almost forever. That is what she was going to do. She didn’t do it at once, however, because she had to run after a good many rabbits and squirrels. She stopped out of breath beside a pretty little brook, and then she bethought herself that she hadn’t yet washed her face with May-dew. The woods were all about her, and the brook was dropping down over its stones between moss and ferns. It was singing a little song to itself. Merrimeg stopped to listen. She dipped her bare foot in the water, and as she did so she noticed that there was a waterfall, quite a tall one, a little way up the stream, pouring down smoothly into a pool. She thought she might as well wash her face now with dew, and she stooped down. At that moment the song of the brook became quite loud, and she looked up in surprise. From the pool at the bottom of the waterfall a head was looking out at her, the head of a little girl. 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?” “Yes,” said Merrimeg. “I like you too. Would you--do you think you could--kiss me?” Merrimeg waded in to her and kissed her on the cheek. She gave a great sigh. “Now you’ve made me warm all over. I wish you’d stay with me. I can show you things, lots of things. Wouldn’t you like to see them?”