William Paterson

           Wehadbeentogether,wethree,inmyrooms,DavidtellingmeaboutthefairylanguageandPorthoslollingonthesofalistening,asonemaysay.Itishisfavouriteplaceofadullday,andunderhimweresomesheetsofnewspaper,whichIspreadthereatsuchtimestodeceivemyhousekeeper,whothinksdogsshouldlieonthefloor.

           Fairymetribberiswhatyousaytothefairieswhenyouwantthemtogiveyouacupoftea,butitisnotsoeasyasitlooks,forallther’sshouldbepronouncedasw’s,andIforgetthissooftenthatDavidbelievesIshouldfinddifficultyinmakingmyselfunderstood.

           “Whatwouldyousay,”heaskedme,“ifyouwantedthemtoturnyouintoahollyhock?”Hethinkstheeasewithwhichtheycanturnyouintothingsistheirmostengagingquality.

           TheanswerisFairymelukka,butthoughhehadoftentoldmethisIagainforgotthelukka.

           “Ishouldneverdream,”Isaid(tocovermydiscomfiture),“ofaskingthemtoturnmeintoanything.IfIwasahollyhockIshouldsoonwither,David.”

           Hehimselfhadprovidedmewiththisobjectionnotlongbefore,butnowheseemedtothinkitmerelysilly.“Justbeforethetimetowitherbegins,”hesaidairily,“yousaytothemFairymebola.”

           Fairymebolameans“Turnmebackagain,”andDavid’sdiscoverymademeuncomfortable,forIknewhehadhithertokepthisdistanceofthefairiesmainlybecauseofafeelingthattheirconversionsarepermanent.

           SoIreturnedhimtohishome.IsendhimhomefrommyroomsunderthecareofPorthos.