The Fairy laughed. “It is not language at all,” he said. “But you know it. There were women, too; women with loud voices and a curious twist to their tongues. They heard my voice, some of them seemed even to understand what I cried. For I heard them exclaim and wonder and talk of the Fairy Folk. The first time that this happened I was hopeful. Surely, I said to myself, they know the Fairies. They say that they come from a Green Land where many Fairies live. Surely, surely they will love the Little Men of another country. They will understand why I long for green grass and blue sky and fresh air. They will help me to escape. But no! They were cowards. They screamed and fainted when I spoke from the old well. They must have had wicked hearts, for they feared the Fairies. They dared not come near, but complained to the master and mistress, and would not live in the same house with me.” “Silly things!” said Rob. “Katie was one of them.” “So to please them the well was covered,” sighed the Fairy, “and then it was worse than ever. Think how dark, how lonely, how ugly a home it was for an Indian Fairy who loved the free, open life of outdoors! Oh, for the green woods, the sunshine and blue sky! The song of birds and the odor of flowers! Oh, to feel the soft green moss, and taste the dew fresh in the morning! Please let me out, kind boy, that I may know those joys again!” “Dear Fairy,” said Rob hesitatingly, “I am so sorry, but to find all these things, save the sky and air, one must now seek far from here. The White Men have driven them away, just as they drove the Indians, the squirrels, and the rabbits. There is no green grass, there are no flowers, no moss, no ferns on all the Hill.” “What do you tell me!” cried the Fairy. “My Hill is no longer beautiful?” “It is beautiful,” said Rob. “At least, the White Men call it so. But the wigwams are thick and very tall, shutting out the sunlight from the paths between. And these paths are dusty, hard streets, with neither grass nor trees nor flowers.” “Oh, why do White Men try so hard to make the world ugly?” wailed the poor Indian Fairy. “How can they live away from the woods and the flowers and the beautiful, beautiful green grass! Where shall I go? What shall I do?” Rob thought and wondered, and thought again. And at last he had an idea. “There is a green country not so very far from here,” he said. “One goes there in an electric car,--but you don’t know what a car is. Never mind. I went there yesterday and brought away some beautiful ferns, growing in the mossy earth.” “Oh, that I might see them!” cried the Fairy eagerly. “One sniff of leafy mould, one breath of the woods lingering about the tufted moss! To lie once more in the shadow of a fern and feel its freshness on my face! Where is this woodsy wonder?” “It is upstairs in my bedroom,” answered Rob. “Will you come with me?” The Fairy hesitated, looked at the pail of water resting beside the well, and brightened with a sudden thought.