for the wee red cap,' an'
ye have it."

Bridget extended her hands, palms upward, and the others followed her
example; and together they whispered: "I wish--I wish for the wee red
cap."

Immediately Bridget's hands closed over a cubic inch of atmosphere, and
she cried, exultantly, "Hold on to it tight an' slip it on your head
quick--afore it gets from ye!"

Only seven pairs of hands obeyed--Michael protested.

"I have nothinks got," he said, disgustedly.

"Shut up!" And Bridget shook a menacing fist at him. "He's foolish
entirely. He thinks he hasn't anythin' foreby he can't see it. Now,
all together, 'We wish--'"

"Can we go 'thout any clothes?" interrupted Susan. "We'd feel awful
queer in nightshirts."

"Don't ye worry, darlin'. Like as not when we get there the queen
herself 'll open a monsthrous big chest where they keeps all the faery
clothes, an' let us choose anythin' at all we wants to wear."

"Pants?" queried Peter, eagerly.

"Sure, an' silk dresses an' straw hats wi' ribbon on them, an--"

"Will shoes in the chest be?" Pancho was very anxious; he had never
had a pair of shoes in all his six years.

Bridget beamed. "Not i' the chest; but I'll be tellin' ye how ye'll
come by them. When we get there we'll look about for a
blackthorn-bush--an' there--like as not--in undther it--will be a wee
man wi' a leather apron across his knee--the leprechaun, big as life!"

"What's him?"

"Faith I'm tellin' ye--'tis the faery cobbler. An' the minute he slaps
the tail of his eye on us he'll sing out: 'Hello, Pancho an' Sandy an'
Susan an' all o' yez. I've your boots finished, just.' An' wi' that
he'll fetch down the nine pairs an' hand them round."

A sigh of blissful contentment started from the cot by the door,
burbled down the length of the ward, and vanished out of the window.
Is there anything dearer to the pride of a child than boots--new boots?

Bridget took up the dropped thread and went on. "An' afther that the
leprechaun reaches for his crock o' gold an' pulls out a penny. Ye can
buy anythin' i' the whole world wi' a faery penny."

"Anythinks!" said Michael, skeptically.

"That's what I said."

"Could yer buy a dorg?" Peter asked, opening one renegade eye.

"Sure--a million dogs."

"Don't want a million. Want jus' one real live black dorg--named
Toby--wiv yeller spots an' half-legs--an' long ears--an' a stand-up
tail--an' legs--an' long--long--long--" The renegade eye closed