they only seem to move?--a number of tiny figures in green and
gold. One sat astride of a snowy pinnacle, another lay stretched
at full length in a hollow, his pretty face only peering out; some
were chasing each other among the elfin hills, others were
standing at ease, their hands on their hearts, their forms bent
gracefully as if in salutation. In the middle rose a white throne,
and on this sat the prettiest fairy of all, with a crown on her
head and a wand in her hand; she was dressed in white and gold,
and round her danced a circle of elves; and every elf held a tiny
blazing candle.

"Are you too old for dolls, Hildegarde?" asked the Colonel,
puffing with pleasure as he saw the delight in the girl's face.
"These are birthday fairies, you observe. There are eighteen of
them, and every one of them wishes you good luck, my dear, and
every happiness, every blessing that Heaven can bestow."

The good Colonel had begun merrily enough, but before the end of
his little speech his deep voice trembled, and the tears stood in
Hildegarde's eyes. She tried to speak, but the words did not come;
so, leaving her seat, she went quietly up to the Colonel and
kissed his forehead. "Thank you, dear friend!" she said; and it
was all she could say.

"There! there!" said the Colonel, recovering himself at once.
"Glad you like it, my child! Glad you like it! The fancy was my
mother's; she had a poetic taste, madam." He turned to Mrs.
Merryweather, who was beaming with admiration and delight. "She
had these little figures made long ago,--for another eighteenth
birthday,--a dear young friend of hers. Yes, yes! They have been