you the way."

Fairyfoot took him up, and they went their way through the forest. And
the strange part of it was that though Fairyfoot thought he knew ill the
forest by heart, every path they took was new to him, and more beautiful
than anything he had ever seen before. The moonlight seemed to grow
brighter and purer at every step, and the sleeping flowers sweeter and
lovelier, and the moss greener and thicken Fairyfoot felt so happy and
gay that he forgot he had ever been sad and lonely in his life.

Robin Goodfellow, too, seemed to be in very good spirits. He related a
great many stories to Fairyfoot, and, singularly enough, they were all
about himself and divers and sundry fairy ladies who had been so very
much attached to him that he scarcely expected to find them alive at
the present moment. He felt quite sure they must have died of grief in
his absence.

"I have caused a great deal of trouble in the course of my life," he
said, regretfully, shaking his head. "I have sometimes wished I could
avoid it, but that is impossible. Ahem! When my great-aunt's grandmother
rashly and inopportunely changed me into a robin, I was having a little
flirtation with a little creature who was really quite attractive. I
might have decided to engage myself to her. She was very charming. Her
name was Gauzita. To-morrow I shall go and place flowers on her tomb."

"I thought fairies never died," said Fairyfoot.

"Only on rare occasions, and only from love," answered Robin. "They
needn't die unless they wish to. They have been known to do it through
love. They frequently wish they hadn't afterward--in fact,