Toonie drew near, the other turned about and said to him, "Can you tell me,
neighbour, if this be the way to the fairies?"

"Why, you fool," cried Toonie, "a moment ago it was! But now you have gone and
let go your mouthful of silence!"

"To be sure, to be sure--so I have!" answered the old man sadly; and turning
about, he disappeared among the bushes.

As for Toonie, he went on right over the top of Drundle Head, keeping his eyes
well to the right; but never a fairy did he see. For he too had on the way let
go his mouthful of silence.

Toonie, when his second failure came home to him, was quite vexed with himself
for his folly and mismanagement. So that it should not happen again, he got
his wife to tie on his cap of moonshine so firmly that it could not come off,
and to gag up his mouth so that no word could come out of it. And once more
taking his courage in both hands, he set out.

For a long way he went and nothing happened, so he was in good hopes of
getting the desire of his eyes before the night was over; and, clenching his
fists tight upon his courage, he pressed on.

He had nearly reached to the top of Drundle Head, when up from the ground
sprang the same little elderly man of the evening before, and began beating
him across the face with a hazel wand. And at that Toonie threw up both hands
and let go his courage, and turned and tried to run down the hill.

When her husband did not return, Toonie's wife became a kind of a widow.
People were very kind to her, and told her that Toonie was not dead--that he