"I must explain to little Lady Laura," said Grim, with a wave of his hand towards the Motherkin, "if you will allow me, madam, that we fairies have the power of making ourselves unseen whenever we wish, though we seldom use the power except for some useful purpose."

"Ah," thought Laura, "perhaps I was not so much alone in the Motherkin's absence as I thought."

"And thus it is," continued the dwarf, "that we see many strange things; but I have nothing very remarkable at present to relate, for my journey was an ordinary one but for my accident. I had to see the elves who had charge of healing herbs, and gain their permission to cull them, for they are very particular that they should be pulled in the right season, and they so cover their gardens up that one could easily think there was not a bit of motherwort or hoarhound to be found when they choose to conceal them. To see the Chief Gardener Elf I had to go pretty far out of my way, for he was off superintending the planting of some tansy beds, and had quite an army of elves at work. I wish Lady Laura could have seen them. They are such an odd crew; but it is as well not to interfere with them while they are at work, for sometimes they are very troublesome; they have a spiteful way of scattering weed seed, right plump into a bed of roses or violets, that is very provoking. But they were too busy to take much notice of me, and when I had gained the permission I wanted, and was about to leave them, I thought I heard a child's cry. It attracted me at once, for, you know, my lady, we have an especial interest in children.

"I listened, and again heard the cry; but the elves did not seem to hear it at all. Concluding that it was best not to attract their attention to it, for they are very teasing to little children, and often give them a pinch which is supposed to come from a mosquito, and fearing that the cry might come from some little unhappy victim of their malevolence, I followed the sound until I came to a small house which looked as if it might be a forester's—a forester, Lady Laura, you know, is one who plants and trims the trees, and sees that the brushwood is cut properly, and in every way keeps the forest in order. Well, as I said, the cry came from this little cottage, and I made bold to enter invisibly. All alone on a little bed of straw was lying a young child; it looked to me as if it were a cripple, for its little feet were all drawn up and its legs were bent. By its side was a stool on which had been some bread, for I saw the crumbs; a tin cup was there also, but no milk, no water. 'Crying from hunger,' said I to myself; and, pulling out my luncheon, I laid a bit of bread beside the little creature. He did not see it at once, and kept on his sad little cry; but when he did notice the food, his eager grasp of it assured me I was right in my supposition. Ah, my Lady Laura, it is a dreadful thing to be hungry—to feel that gnawing in one's stomach, as if one could almost swallow stones to stop it. Well, the child ceased crying a moment and turned its little white, pinched face towards me; it was a pitiful sight, it looked so old, so wan, so wizened; but while I looked at it a bright smile came over it, just as you see a gleam of sunshine lighten up a cold, dark little pool of water, so this smile danced over the child's features. I was vain enough for an instant to think myself the cause of the little creature's pleasure, but, remembering I was invisible, I turned at some slight sound and saw that another child had entered the door—a girl not larger than yourself, Lady Laura, about eleven or twelve years of age, thin and poor-looking, but with the sweetest, tenderest of faces. Her hair was a dark chestnut brown, brushed away from her temples and braided neatly, her eyes were the same color, and her skin was very white, but the expression of her face was its charm. She looked so calm, so resigned, so willing, so free from pettishness—but, oh! so much older and calmer than her years. Coming in quickly, she lifted the little one from the bed and folded him in her arms, where he nestled as if he were a bird, and her embrace his warm, soft nest.

"'Ah, my little Fritz,' she said, 'how tired you must be, how weary and hungry! And does the little leg ache to-day? See, sister has a cake for thee,' drawing from her pocket one poor little cake made of meal.

"Her gentleness was exquisite, but it made my heart ache. I knew this was all the food she had, and I was puzzled to know what to do. While I was pondering the girl hushed the little one to sleep, after she had rubbed his legs with her poor thin little hands. Laying the child down, she brought in a few fagots and made a little blaze on the hearth, and with a handful of herbs brewed some sort of a tea from the water in the pot which hung over the blaze. It was a sorry sight, this poverty and wretchedness, but it was a beautiful sight also to behold this sisterly care and affection. Evidently she had long nursed this poor little cripple. How could I relieve her? was my perplexity. I had not seen any houses near, no neighbors were at hand. I determined to try and enlist the sympathy of the Chief Gardener Elf, and yet I also feared the result. Just as I left the little hut I met a woodsman, and the happy thought came to me to whisper my wish in his ear; that is to say, I spoke in fairy fashion my plan of relief for these poor children, abandoned as they seemed to be by all human beings. I was rewarded by seeing the man enter the little abode. Resolving to return as soon as I could, I was making my way through the forest when I fell, and was obliged to despatch the first Herb Elf who came in my way to gain assistance. To my great annoyance, the Chief Gardener Elf had gone to South America for seeds. I could not follow him, and I would not intrust the lesser elves with a message to him, lest I should do the children more harm than good. Relying, therefore, upon the little assistance which the poor woodsman I met would undoubtedly give after my suggestion, I was obliged, my dear madam, to return to you."

"Oh, my dear Grim," cried Laura, "how could you leave them to starve! Let us go, dear Motherkin—pray let us go to those poor little children. Quick! quick! they must be suffering so much."

She fell on her knees before the Motherkin in her great anxiety and excitement, and the tears of pity rolled down from her blue eyes.

Grim nodded his head with satisfaction.

"Ay, my lady, do go; do not wait for my lame leg to get well. The way is rough and fatiguing, but by all means let Lady Laura go and do what she can for those suffering little ones."

Laura did not want to wait a moment; she begged the Motherkin to start at once, that very night; but the old lady insisted upon the night's rest.

"But I cannot sleep, dear Motherkin— I am sure I cannot sleep; pray let us go. I am so afraid they are suffering dreadfully."

"We have to arrange matters a little, Laura," urged the Motherkin, pleased at the child's earnest desire to aid the little unfortunates. "I will go as early as we can to-morrow; and now let me see you show prudence as well as zeal by sleeping soundly, and so fitting yourself for the fatigue of a journey. Come, dear, to bed, and hope that the good angels are caring for the little ones we are so sorry for."

Grim, too, assured Laura that this plan was best, and that he felt confident the woodsman would do all he could until they reached the little sufferers.

So Laura went to bed, her heart stirred with very new emotions, that were both happy and painful; the desire to do good, the hope that she might relieve the poor little objects of her pity, made her glad, while the thought of their pain and poverty caused her real sorrow. Her bed no longer seemed hard, nor her little room empty of any luxuries; and, as she looked out at the stars glittering in the sky and listened to the running of the brook, she prayed that she might be of use to the poor children of the forest.