in the wood, was a large beetle lying struggling on its back, and I
went down directly on one knee to help the poor thing on its feet
again. In some things, you know, you can't be quite sure what an insect
would like; for instance, I never could quite settle, supposing I were
a moth, whether I would rather be kept out of the candle, or be allowed
to fly straight in and get burnt; or, again, supposing I were a spider,
I'm not sure if I should be _quite_ pleased to have my web torn down,
and the fly let loose; but I feel quite certain that, if I were a
beetle and had rolled over on my back, I should always be glad to be
helped up again.

So, as I was saying, I had gone down on one knee, and was just reaching
out a little stick to turn the beetle over, when I saw a sight that
made me draw back hastily and hold my breath, for fear of making any
noise and frightening the little creature away.

Not that she looked as if she would be easily frightened; she seemed so
good and gentle that I'm sure she would never expect that any one could
wish to hurt her. She was only a few inches high, and was dressed in
green, so that you really would hardly have noticed her among the long
grass; and she was so delicate and graceful that she quite seemed to
belong to the place, almost as if she were one of the flowers. I may
tell you, besides, that she had no wings (I don't believe in fairies
with wings), and that she had quantities of long brown hair and large,
earnest brown eyes, and then I shall have done all I can to give you an
idea of what she was like.

Sylvie (I found out her name afterward) had knelt down, just as I was
doing, to help the beetle; but it needed more than a little stick for
_her_ to get it on its legs again; it was as much as she could do, with