"Perhaps," suggested Tangle, feeling ashamed, but not too much so to say a word for herself--"perhaps that is because the tree made me cry so." "My poor darling!" said the lady, looking now as if the moon were melted in her eyes, and kissing her little face, dirty as it was, "the naughty tree must suffer for making a girl cry." "And what is your name, please?" asked Tangle. "Grandmother," answered the lady. "Is it really?" "Yes, indeed. I never tell stories, even in fun." "How good of you!" "I couldn't if I tried. It would come true if I said it, and then I should be punished enough." And she smiled like the sun through a summer-shower. "But now," she went on, "I must get you washed and dressed, and then we shall have some supper." "Oh! I had supper long ago," said Tangle. "Yes, indeed you had," answered the lady--"three years ago. You don't know that it is three years since you ran away from the bears. You are thirteen and more now." Tangle could only stare. She felt quite sure it was true. "You will not be afraid of anything I do with you--will you?" said the lady. "I will try very hard not to be; but I can't be certain, you know," replied Tangle. "I like your saying so, and I shall be quite satisfied," answered the lady. She took off the girl's night-gown, rose with her in her arms, and going to the wall of the cottage, opened a door. Then Tangle saw a deep tank, the sides of which were filled with green plants, which had flowers of all colours. There was a roof over it like the roof of the cottage. It was filled with beautiful clear water, in which swam a multitude of such fishes as the one that had led her to the cottage. It was the light their colours gave that showed the place in which they were. The lady spoke some words Tangle could not understand, and threw her into the tank. The fishes came crowding about her. Two or three of them got under her head and kept it up. The rest of them rubbed themselves all over her, and with their wet feathers washed her quite clean. Then the lady, who had been looking on all the time, spoke again; whereupon some thirty or forty of the fishes rose out of the water underneath Tangle, and so bore her up to the arms the lady held out to take her. She carried her back to the fire, and, having dried her well, opened a chest, and taking out the finest linen garments, smelling of grass and lavender, put them upon her, and over all a green dress, just like her own, shining like hers, and soft like hers, and going into just such lovely folds from the waist, where it was tied with a brown cord, to her bare feet. "Won't you give me a pair of shoes too, Grandmother?" said Tangle. "No, my dear; no shoes. Look here. I wear no shoes."