children mourned and could not be comforted; and they made an agreement
among themselves that they would always continue to hang flower-wreaths
on the tree as a perpetual sign to the fairies that they were still loved
and remembered, though lost to sight.

But late one night a great misfortune befell. Edmond Aubrey's mother
passed by the Tree, and the fairies were stealing a dance, not thinking
anybody was by; and they were so busy, and so intoxicated with the wild
happiness of it, and with the bumpers of dew sharpened up with honey
which they had been drinking, that they noticed nothing; so Dame Aubrey
stood there astonished and admiring, and saw the little fantastic atoms
holding hands, as many as three hundred of them, tearing around in a
great ring half as big as an ordinary bedroom, and leaning away back and
spreading their mouths with laughter and song, which she could hear quite
distinctly, and kicking their legs up as much as three inches from the
ground in perfect abandon and hilarity--oh, the very maddest and
witchingest dance the woman ever saw.

But in about a minute or two minutes the poor little ruined creatures
discovered her. They burst out in one heartbreaking squeak of grief and
terror and fled every which way, with their wee hazel-nut fists in their
eyes and crying; and so disappeared.

The heartless woman--no, the foolish woman; she was not heartless, but
only thoughtless--went straight home and told the neighbors all about it,
whilst we, the small friends of the fairies, were asleep and not witting
the calamity that was come upon us, and all unconscious that we ought to
be up and trying to stop these fatal tongues. In the morning everybody
knew, and the disaster was complete, for where everybody knows a thing
the priest knows it, of course. We all flocked to Pere Fronte, crying and