p, and high up among the heavy cobwebs
hung poor little flies struggling to free themselves, while their
cruel enemies sat in their nets, watching their pain.

With her wand the Fairy broke the bands that held them, tenderly bound
up their broken wings, and healed their wounds; while they lay in the
warm light, and feebly hummed their thanks to their kind deliverer.

Then she went to the ugly brown spiders, and in gentle words
told them, how in Fairy Land their kindred spun all the elfin cloth,
and in return the Fairies gave them food, and then how happily they
lived among the green leaves, spinning garments for their neighbors.
"And you too," said she, "shall spin for me, and I will give you
better food than helpless insects. You shall live in peace,
and spin your delicate threads into a mantle for the stern King;
and I will weave golden threads amid the gray, that when folded over
his cold heart gentle thoughts may enter in and make it their home."

And while she gayly sung, the little weavers spun their silken
threads, the flies on glittering wings flew lovingly above her head,
and over all the golden light shone softly down.

When the Frost-Spirits told their King, he greatly wondered and
often stole to look at the sunny little room where friends and enemies
worked peacefully together. Still the light grew brighter, and
floated out into the cold air, where it hung like bright clouds
above the dreary gardens, whence all the Spirits' power could not
drive it; and green leaves budded on the naked trees, and
flowers bloomed; but the Spirits heaped snow upon them, and
they bowed their heads and died.

At length the mantle was finished, and amid the gray threads
shone golden ones, making it bright; and she sent it to the King,
entreating him to wear it, for it would bring peace and love
to dwell within his breast.

But he scornfully threw it aside, and bade his Spirits take her
to a colder cell, deep in the earth; and there with harsh words
they left her.

Still she sang gayly on, and the falling drops kept time so musically,
that the King in his cold ice-halls wondered at the low, sweet sounds
that came stealing up to him.

Thus Violet dwelt, and each day the golden light grew stronger; and
from among the crevices of the rocky walls came troops of little
velvet-coated moles, praying that they might listen to the sweet
music, and lie in the warm light.

"We lead," said they, "a dreary life in the cold earth;