Jonah skipped about the room, waving his hideous creation in the air. Toby, in her efforts to make a still better one, almost climbed into the ink-stand. Nixie sat on the window-sill, dangling her legs and looking on. ‘Very little ink does it,’ explained Paul, frightened at the results of his instruction. ‘You needn’t pour it on! He works with the smallest possible material, remember!’ His own fingers were no longer as spotless as they might have been. ‘Look!’ shouted Jonah, standing on a chair and ignoring the rebuke. ‘There he goes—just like a black spider flying!’ He let his half-sheet drop through the air, ink running down its side as it fell, while Toby watched with the envy of despair. Paul pounced upon the wriggling figure just in time to prevent further funeral trappings. He turned it face downwards upon the blotting-paper. ‘Oh, oh!’ cried the children in the same breath; ‘it’s drank him up!’ ‘Drunk him up,’ corrected Paul, relieved by the success of his manœuvre. ‘His feet touched the blotting-paper, you see.’ A pause followed. ‘You promised to tell us his song, please,’ observed Nixie from her perch on the window-sill. ‘This is it, then,’ he answered, looking round at the smudged and solemn faces, instantly grown still. ‘To judge by appearances you know this Sprite better than I do! I dance on your paper, I hide in your pen, I make in your ink-stand My black little den; And when you’re not looking I hop on your nose, And leave on your forehead The marks of my toes. When you’re trying to finish Your “i” with a dot, I slip down your finger And make it a blot; And when you’re so busy To cross a big “T,” I make on the paper A little Black Sea. I drink blotting-paper, Eat penwiper-pie, You never can catch me, You never need try! I hop _any_ distance, I use _any_ ink! I’m on to your fingers Before you can wink.’ Paul’s back was to the door. He was in the act of making up a new verse, and declaiming it, when he was aware that a change had come suddenly over the room. It was manifest from the faces of the children. Their attention had wandered; they were looking past him—beyond him. And when he turned to discover the cause of the distraction he looked straight into the grey eyes of a woman—grave-faced, with an expression of strength and sweetness. As he did so the opening words of verse four slipped out in spite of themselves:—