The next day seemed a long time in coming, but come it did. So did Miss Mills. Miss Mills was young and pretty, and she thought herself even prettier than she was. During the past year or two, she had been giving daily lessons to PhilomÈne, but she was not fond of teaching, and her temper was uncertain.

“Tell me at once,” she said sharply, as the lesson dragged itself towards its close, “what did Edwin and Morcar do?”

“They ruled with rods of iron,” responded PhilomÈne absently.

“You are not attending properly, child,” said Miss Mills, “or you would not repeat things parrot-fashion out of the book in that way. Do you suppose that one took the poker and the other the tongs? And, you know, you were very careless too about reciting your psalm this morning, saying that the trees of the Lord were full of soup, when you know perfectly well that they aren’t any such thing. What has come over you? Take down your work for to-morrow.”

It was no wonder that PhilomÈne found it difficult to attend to her lessons that day, for she could think of little else than the coming examination, and when tea at last appeared she felt too much excited to eat.

“Now don’t begin to be faddy, Miss, like Master Harold,” said Nurse.

“Who was Master Harold?” asked PhilomÈne, “he wasn’t one of the Ruthven-Smiths, was he?”

“No,” said Nurse, “he was one of their cousins, and he came to stay with them, and a mighty long visit he paid too. I never did like him from the first moment I set eyes on him; he was all fads and fancies, and one day, I remember, he made my poor dear little Miss Maisie cry by telling her that her legs looked like two snakes that had swallowed oranges, and they were no fatter than his own in the middle, for that matter. But if you won’t get along with your tea, Miss, you had better say grace, and run into the garden.”

Outside the afternoon’s sad yellow sunlight lay all across the lawn; it awoke diamond flashes in the wall, and even gilded the handle of the pump. The metallic notes of the starlings were heard on every side, and London was doing its best to forget that it was the largest pile of brick and mortar in the world. PhilomÈne ran to her own garden and up its little pathway. A great fear was at her heart lest yesterday’s experience should prove to have been a make-up also, and nothing more, like Mrs Handy and the rest. Tremblingly she tapped upon the wall, and prompt to her signal came the sound of a step inside, and the turning of the key in the key-hole. Sweet William stood before her in his green suit, with the red and white cockade in his hat.

“Come in,” said he in his delicate high-pitched voice, “everything is quite ready.”

PhilomÈne entered, and the catkin tapestries rustled in the draught of the closing door. The little room looked cool and friendly. On the giant mushroom lay a packet of satin-smooth lily petals, a swan’s quill pen, and two snails’ shells, one filled with red and the other with violet ink, distilled from red roses and from violets. There was also a little pad of moss upon which to dry the pen. PhilomÈne sat down upon the nearest toadstool.

“Well,” said Sweet William pleasantly, “have you been reading up much for the examination?”

“No, not much,” returned PhilomÈne, “I really know all that’s in my books already, but I have been trying to remember everything I ever heard about the fairies.”

“You see,” said Sweet William, “the Good People do not like letting children into their secrets who have not first taken the trouble to find out all they can about us for themselves. Now we had better begin, and here are the questions. Number your pages, and pin them together with this thorn when you have finished writing. There is a sun-dial in the next garden, and he has promised to send word when the time is up.”

For the next hour PhilomÈne wrote busily; she did not even look round when Sweet William opened a door opposite to that by which she herself had entered, and spoke to someone outside.

“It was a grasshopper,” said Sweet William, “and he came to say that the hour is over. Poor fellow, he spends his time trying to reach the sun by high hops, and his friend the dial keeps on assuring him that it is of no use, but the grasshopper will not believe him. He thinks it is only that the dial has lost heart and got depressed, from having had “Art is long and time is fleeting” written across him for so many years.”

PhilomÈne was pinning her papers together. “I have done my best,” said she, with a threatening of tears in her voice, “but I am afraid it won’t be prize-standard.”

“Well, let us see,” said Sweet William encouragingly, as he took the neatly written sheets into his hands, “I will read aloud the questions and what you have written, correcting your mistakes as I go along, and then we will add up the marks. Perhaps you would like some refreshments after all that hard work; here are some bee-bread and purest rainwater.” So saying, Sweet William settled himself comfortably upon his stool, dipped his pen into the red ink, and began.

“‘I. Give the names of the King and Queen of Fairyland, of the King’s favourite page, and of the Queen’s four chief attendant elves.’

“‘Oberon, Titania, Puck, Master Mustardseed, Master Peasblossom, Master Cobweb, Master Moth.’

“Perfectly correct. The maximum for that is six marks; half a mark for the King’s name, half a mark for the Queen’s, and a whole mark for each of the five elves. Now then:

“‘II. What events do you connect with the following dates; April 30th, June 23rd, October 31st, and December 24?’

“‘April 30th is the Walpurgis Night, when the witches dance on the top of a mountain called the Brocken. June 23rd is midsummer eve, when all the goblins and sprites are abroad, and you light fires to keep them at a distance; sometimes also you hang up a hatchet in a wood, so that they can hew themselves timber if they will. On December 24th animals and all lifeless things are able to speak.’

“I see you have left out October 31st. Didn’t you know it? It is the great feast of Samhain, or of All Fairies.”

“It is All Hallows’ Eve with us,” replied PhilomÈne innocently, and then remembered with a pang that fairies cannot bear the sound of church bells, because it reminds them of a power that is stronger than their strongest magic. “So I do not suppose they like the Saints much either,” she reflected ruefully.

“Well, it is All Fairies’ with us, at any rate,” said Sweet William, speaking rather fast, “which makes three marks out of a maximum of four for the second question. Now for the third.

“‘III. Write all you know, (A) about Leprechauns; (B) about Brownies.’

“‘(A). Leprechauns are little men dressed all in green, who generally live in Ireland; at least I have never heard of their living anywhere else. They are the fairies’ cobblers, and are kept very busy because the fairies dance so much that they wear out any number of shoes. They also know where all the crocks of gold and other hidden treasures are kept, and if you find a leprechaun, and don’t take your eyes off him, he is obliged to give you anything you want, but he tries to startle you and make you look away, and then you have lost your power over him, unless you can catch him again. The best thing to do is to take him to running water, for he is very much afraid of that, and will promise you anything rather than stay near it.’

“‘(B) Brownies are little men who come into houses during the night, or very early in the morning before anyone is up, and sweep and dust and lay the fires, and make themselves very useful. You may put a bowl of bread and milk for them, or even cream, if you want to show that you are grateful, but you must never offer them new suits of clothes. Some people have caught sight of them, and seen how ragged their coats were, and have made new clothes for them, and left these near the bread and milk, but when the brownies saw that they went away, and never came back again. I suppose it offends them.’

“Quite right. You have full marks for that question, five for A and five for B. That makes the whole ten for the third question.

“‘IV. Write short notes on:—fairy ring; fairy-gold; witch-apples; blackthorn; the rainbow.’

“‘A fairy ring is a circle of teeny mushrooms in the grass, and it marks the place where the fairies have been dancing over-night. If you should ever happen to fall from a height down into the middle of one of these rings, you would not hurt yourself, not even if you fell from the clouds.

“‘Fairy gold is not very satisfactory, for when mortals touch it, it all turns into withered leaves.

“‘Witch-apples are very dangerous things, for if a witch gives you an apple, and you eat it, it makes you restless ever after, so that you are never able to settle down to anything again.

“‘Blackthorn is the fairies’ tree, and they do not like its being picked by us, or brought into our houses. That is why some people say that it is unlucky to bring home blackthorn after a country walk, and other people get a little mixed and think that it is hawthorn which is unlucky, but it isn’t.’

“Ah! I see you have left out the rainbow. Do you mean to tell me you don’t know what a rainbow is for?”

“I don’t think so,” replied PhilomÈne with some hesitation; Noah was in her mind, but she fancied that Sweet William might find him as little acceptable as the Saints. She therefore determined to run no risks this time.

“It is the triumphal arch,” explained Sweet William, “which is thrown up whenever the fairy queen is expected to pass that way.”

“I never heard that before,” said PhilomÈne, “and I like the idea very much (though I feel quite sure Nurse wouldn’t),” she added to herself.

“It isn’t an idea,” retorted Sweet William rather huffily, “it is a custom. Let me see, that makes four out of five marks for the fourth question,” he continued, “and now for number five.

“‘V. Copy three bars of music from the song, either of a mermaid, or of the Lorelei.’

“Five marks for that question. But I see you have left it out altogether?”

“I have never had a chance of hearing the Lorelei,” answered PhilomÈne, “for no one has ever taken me to the Rhine, and I have not heard any mermaids either, though the Cushats is near the sea.”

“Well, perhaps it was not quite a fair question,” said Sweet William, “but never mind, you have done very well so far, and you can well afford to lose five marks at this stage. Let us see what you have made of number six.

“‘VI. Complete the following quotations, and state if possible, in what work of which author each occurs.

“Very good indeed. Two marks for (A) and three for (B), which makes five. You have full marks for that question. You must have a good memory.

“‘VII. (A). When did toads not turn into what, and if not, why not, and what did they turn into?’

“‘(B). Supposing yourself to be escaping from an enchanter’s dwelling, what three articles would be likely to prove of the most use to you, and why?’

“‘(A). In the story of “Eliza and the Eleven Swans,” out of Hans Andersen, the wicked stepmother throws toads into Eliza’s bath, wishing to poison her. The toads were so ugly that they could not turn into roses, which they would like to have done, and which less ugly creatures might have been able to do, but they did manage to turn into poppies, for Eliza was so good that they could not harm her. Miss Mills says toads are not really poisonous.’

“‘(B). I should take with me’ (it would have been better to say,—If I were escaping from an enchanter’s dwelling I should take with me—always repeat your question in your answer, it saves the examiner trouble,) ‘I should take with me a comb, a flower-pot and a tumbler of water, because when the enchanter pursues you, you can throw the comb behind you, and it turns into a ridge of mountains, and he has to waste time going back and fetching a ladder so as to be able to climb up them; later you can throw the flower-pot behind you which turns into a forest, so that the enchanter has to turn back again and fetch a hatchet to cut down the trees; afterwards you can throw the glass of water behind you, which turns into a lake, so that he has first to get a boat. By that time you have generally arrived at your own kingdom or wherever else you want to go.’

“Yes, that is very well answered. You get full marks for that question also, two and a half for (A), and two and a half for (B). Now there is only number eight left.

“‘VIII. Write in note form, and as concisely as possible, any story out of Grimm’s fairy-tales.’

“I see you have chosen the story of the flounder.

“‘Fisherman catches flounder. Flounder owns to being a prince; is let go. Fisherman’s wife annoyed at wasted opportunity. Fisherman goes back to beach, finds flounder, states wish. Fisherman’s hovel vanishes, nice cottage instead. Fortnight later fisherman’s wife grumbles. Fisherman returns to flounder, flounder rather cross. Cottage disappears, stone castle instead. After few days fisherman’s wife grumbles again, sends husband back to flounder. Flounder crosser. Sea rough. However, castle vanishes, king’s palace instead. Fisherman goes home to find wife already discontented because only queen, not empress. Has to return to beach. Flounder angry. Sea very rough. King’s palace disappears, emperor’s palace comes instead. Wife says she wants to be Pope, sends husband back to beach. Flounder very angry. Sea stormy. Emperor’s palace goes, Pope’s palace comes. Sunrise next morning. Wife sees it, says she wants to be able to make the sun rise. Fisherman returns to seashore. Sea running mountains high. No flounder, voice only. Fisherman returns to find old hovel back again.’

“The maximum there is ten marks,” Sweet William said, after he had finished reading the notes aloud, “and you have remembered the story well, all but the rhyme.”

“I did remember the rhyme though,” said PhilomÈne eagerly, “and I had meant to add it, but just then the grasshopper came. The first time the fisherman says:—

And all the other times he says:—

“Capital!” exclaimed Sweet William with enthusiasm, “PhilomÈne rightly named, beloved of the fairies! It is not often we have the good luck to come across such a child. Now we will add up the marks. Six for the first question, three for the second, ten for the third, four for the fourth, none for the fifth, five for the sixth, five for the seventh, ten for the eighth. That makes forty-three out of fifty, which is eighty-six per cent. I congratulate you, my dear, and have much pleasure in presenting you with a latchkey, exactly like my own.”

PhilomÈne’s face lit up, her cheeks glowed and her eyes sparkled, but “Thank you very much” was all she said as she took the key and slipped it into her pocket.

“I expect it will be a treat for you to come out here now and again,” said Sweet William, watching her closely, “not indeed that there isn’t plenty to amuse you indoors.”

“Not indoors at home,” said PhilomÈne, decidedly, “Daddy is out nearly all day, and though Nurse and Miss Mills are very kind and all that, they are neither of them any good at fairy things, or at plays, or at story-telling. It seems to me it is often very dull at home.”

“The very young,” remarked Sweet William, gazing into space, “and more particularly the young of the present day, are apt to condemn the place in which they live because they are themselves too stupid to find out its attractions. Do you follow me?”

“I can’t very well help following you,” said PhilomÈne, almost losing her temper, “but if you lived at Sideview yourself, perhaps you would not find it so very amusing either. Even Daddy says it is an uninteresting little house, though of course I try to be contented so as to please him, but it is not at all so easy as you make out. It isn’t a bit like the ‘House of Surprises’ in the story-book.”

“A good many surprising things go on in it, notwithstanding,” retorted Sweet William, “as Master Mustardseed could very well tell you, if you only had the sense to listen to him a bit when you are alone together.”

“I’m afraid I don’t quite understand you about Master Mustardseed,” said PhilomÈne, “why should I need to be alone with him specially?”

“Because,” replied Sweet William calmly, “he is every bit as much a fairy as I am.”

“A fairy! What fairy?” cried PhilomÈne, jumping off the stool in her excitement.

“What fairy? Why, Master Mustardseed, of course. Haven’t you been writing about him only this very afternoon? Just you listen to a piece of good advice. When next you are left alone for any length of time, get as near as ever you can to his cage. And now good-bye for the present, for I am still up to my eyes in work.”

“Goodbye,” said PhilomÈne, and she felt in her pocket to make sure that the key was still there.