"There's plenty of time," said Tommy; so they went. The dew lay heavy
and thick upon the grass by the road-side, and over the miles of
network that the spiders had woven from blossom to blossom of the
heather. The dew is the Sun's breakfast; but he was barely up yet, and
had not eaten it, and the world felt anything but warm. Nevertheless,
it was so sweet and fresh as it is at no later hour of the day, and
every sound was like the returning voice of a long-absent friend. Down
to the pastures, where was more network and more dew, but when one has
nothing to speak of in the way of boots, the state of the ground is of
the less consequence.

The Tailor had been right, there was no lack of mushrooms at this time
of the morning. All over the pasture they stood, of all sizes, some
like buttons, some like tables; and in the distance one or two ragged
women, stooping over them with baskets, looked like huge fungi also.

"This is where the fairies feast," said Tommy. "They had a large party
last night. When they go, they take away the dishes and cups, for they
are made of gold; but they leave their tables, and we eat them."

"I wonder whether giants would like to eat our tables," said Johnnie.

This was beyond Tommy's capabilities of surmise; so they filled a
handkerchief, and hurried back again, for fear the Tailor should have
come down-stairs.

They were depositing the last mushroom in a dish on the table, when his
footsteps were heard descending.

"There he is!" exclaimed Tommy. "Remember, we mustn't be caught. Run