re as my name is Polly Timmens!"

So the little old man and woman hurried up to the flower, and after
trying a great many times to stoop down, making their old joints crack
like so many torpedoes, Mrs. Polly succeeded in plucking it, and off
they went, pell-mell, hurry-scurry, to the little old house that ran on
wheels, to consult their fairy story books, and see what was the right
thing to be done in such a case! _Did_ you ever? Well, I never _did_.

Down sat the little old man in _his_ rocking chair with the patchwork
cover, and down sat the little old woman in _her_ rocking chair with
the patchwork cover; and after a long consultation of the "Sorrows of
Prince Popinjay," and the "Wonderful History of the Princess Lillie
Bulero and the Fairy Allinmieyeo," they discovered that the proper way
to do was to hold the fairy foxglove in your hand exactly as the clock
struck twelve, at noon, and say

"Rorum corum torum snoram,
Highcum tickleme cockolorum!"

seven times; then shut your eyes tight and wish, stand on one leg and
turn round three times, and, presto! you would find, when you opened
your eyes, that your wish was accomplished!

"Dear me!" cried Mrs. Polly Timmens when her husband had finished
reading this wonderful charm; "how lucky it is that we should be the
ones to find the fairy foxglove! just as we were wishing, too, for
something of the sort. Let me see, it is half past eleven now, I
declare! Timmy, my dear, I'll go into the garden and gather two or three
tomatuses and three or four potatuses for dinner, for it would be a
shame to leave our fine vegetables behind; and then, as the clock
strikes twelve, we'll try the fairy spell, wish that our house was in
the village, and see what comes of it."

So the little old woman, taking a small basket off a nail, and a sharp
knife in her hand, went into the garden to gather the vegetables. Down
she plumped beside the bed, and began to dig and cut at the potatuses
to get them up. Her back was turned to the house, and the tall stalks
and thick leaves of the tomato bushes quite hid it from her view when
she sat on the ground, for she was a teeny-tawny little old woman. While
she was thus engaged, the little old man was sitting inside with the
book open in one hand, for fear he should forget the charm, and the
fairy foxglove tight in the other, waiting impatiently for her return.
The hands of the clock kept getting nearer and nearer to twelve, and