You see, those two were old friends of hers. They came from Fairyland originally, but the tale went that a wicked witch had cast a spell over them which was to last for seven hundred and seventy-seven years. At the end of that time they would be able to go back to Fairyland, but meanwhile the Queen used to come and visit them now and then in order to cheer them up. Sure enough, the very next time she came, the flower-seller remembered about the little clock and told her how unhappy it was. The Queen came and stood in front of it and stroked its face with her tiny hand and patted its pretty ormolu pillars. Finally she sat down on the little green marble slab on which it stood, and asked it to tell her all its troubles. And the little clock opened its heart to her and told her how miserable it was to think that it would never, never be able to tell the time again. “But you _will_,” said the Queen. “Every day and every night at eleven o’clock you will be exactly right. None of the other clocks”--she glanced round almost contemptuously at the grandfather--“can be quite sure of ever being perfectly right. But you will be. Why, it must be about eleven now.” She pulled a dandelion-clock from her pocket and began to blow and to count. “One, two, three, four....” The white darts floated away and went drifting about the room. At last only one remained. [Illustration: SHE PULLED A TINY DANDELION-CLOCK FROM HER POCKET AND BEGAN TO BLOW AND TO COUNT] At that moment the cuckoo clock was heard striking in the hall. The Queen stopped blowing to listen. “He’s fast,” she said, and waited till he had finished. “Five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven,” she went on, and, as she ended, the last white morsel of down rose in the air. She glanced at the little clock. “You see, you’re quite right,” she said triumphantly. “And to-morrow morning you’ll be right again at eleven o’clock.” The little clock beamed, and it beamed still more when the Fairy Queen opened its glass door and gently clasped its hands in hers and said how much she looked forward to seeing it again. Just then the grandfather cleared his throat and went through his pompous performance of chiming out the quarters and hour. “You’re five minutes slow,” said the Queen, and she waved her hand and vanished through the ventilator. EIGHT The Moon The moon, of course, is a big golden penny hung up in the sky. Every month when it is at the full the fairies stand in the fields and gaze at it and feel in their empty pockets. There are so many things they want to buy. Rainbow ribbon from the weather clerk for sashes, silken thread from the spider for weaving into shawls, pearl varnish from the snail for doing up their wings, and little red feathers from the robin for wearing in their Sunday bonnets.