This is one of the heritages that come to those who are lucky enough to dwell much in the world of fancy. They can wish for things and possess them, and enjoy them without actually grasping them with their two hands and saying, "These are my personal belongings." Material things are rather a nuisance, on the whole, for they have to be dusted and kept in order, repatched or repainted; and if one wishes to carry them about there are always the bother of packing and the danger of losing. But these other possessions are different--they are with us wherever we go and whenever we want them--to-day, to-morrow, or for eternity. "If we had the wee red wishin'-cap," said Bridget, thoughtfully, "we'd not have to be waitin' for what's likely to happen. We could just wish ourselves into Tir-na-n'Og." "What's that?" demanded Peter. "Tis the place the faeries live in, an' 'tis in Irelan'. Sure, 'tis easy gettin' the cap," continued Bridget, with conviction. "All ye need do is to say afther me, 'I wish--I wish for the wee red cap,' an' ye have it." Bridget extended her hands, palms upward, and the others followed her example; and together they whispered: "I wish--I wish for the wee red cap." Immediately Bridget's hands closed over a cubic inch of atmosphere, and she cried, exultantly, "Hold on to it tight an' slip it on your head quick--afore it gets from ye!" Only seven pairs of hands obeyed--Michael protested. "I have nothinks got," he said, disgustedly. "Shut up!" And Bridget shook a menacing fist at him. "He's foolish entirely. He thinks he hasn't anythin' foreby he can't see it. Now, all together, 'We wish--'" "Can we go 'thout any clothes?" interrupted Susan. "We'd feel awful queer in nightshirts." "Don't ye worry, darlin'. Like as not when we get there the queen herself 'll open a monsthrous big chest where they keeps all the faery clothes, an' let us choose anythin' at all we wants to wear." "Pants?" queried Peter, eagerly. "Sure, an' silk dresses an' straw hats wi' ribbon on them, an--" "Will shoes in the chest be?" Pancho was very anxious; he had never had a pair of shoes in all his six years. Bridget beamed. "Not i' the chest; but I'll be tellin' ye how ye'll come by them. When we get there we'll look about for a blackthorn-bush--an' there--like as not--in undther it--will be a wee man wi' a leather apron across his knee--the leprechaun, big as life!" "What's him?" "Faith I'm tellin' ye--'tis the faery cobbler. An' the minute he slaps the tail of his eye on us he'll sing out: 'Hello, Pancho an' Sandy an' Susan an' all o' yez. I've your boots finished, just.' An' wi' that he'll fetch down the nine pairs an' hand them round." A sigh of blissful contentment started from the cot by the door, burbled down the length of the ward, and vanished out of the window. Is there anything dearer to the pride of a child than boots--new boots?