"Back to the fairies' palace, of course, underground," said Betty. "But
they like the world best, they're such sociable little darlings; and
when the heather-bells are coming out they all return, and each fairy
takes possession of a bell and lives there. She makes it her home. And
the brownies--they live under the leaves of the heather, and attend to
the fairies, and dance with them at night just over the vast heather
commons. Then, by a magical kind of movement, each little fairy sets her
own heather-bell ringing, and you can't by any possibility imagine what
the music is like. It is so sweet--oh, it is so sweet that no music one
has ever heard, made by man, can compare to it! You can imagine for
yourselves what it is like--millions upon millions of bells of heather,
and millions upon millions of fairies, and each little bell ringing its
own sweet chime, but all in the most perfect harmony. Well, that is what
the fairies do."

"Have you ever seen them?" asked the much-excited voice of Susie
Rushworth.

"I see them now," said Betty. She shut her eyes as she spoke.

"Oh, do tell us what they are like?" asked a girl in the background.

Betty opened her eyes wide. "I couldn't," she answered. "No one can
describe a fairy. You've got to see it to know what it is like."

"Tell us more, please, Betty?" asked an eager voice.

"Give me a minute," said Betty. She shut her eyes. Her face was deadly
white. Presently she opened her eyes again. "I see the same great, vast
moor, and it is winter-time, and the moor from one end to the other is
covered--yes, covered--with snow. And there's a gray house built of
great blocks of stone--a very strong house, but small; and there's a
kitchen in that house, and an old man with grizzled hair sits by the
fire, and a dear old woman sits near him, and there are two dogs lying
by the hearth. I won't tell you their names, for their names are--well,
sacred. The old man and woman talk together, and presently girls come in
and join them and talk to them for a little bit. Then one of the girls
goes out all alone, for she wants air and freedom, and she is never
afraid on the vast white moor. She walks and walks and walks. Presently
she loses sight of the gray house; but she is not afraid, for fear never
enters her breast. She walks so fast that her blood gets very warm and
tingles within her, and she feels her spirits rising higher and higher;
and she thinks that the moor covered with snow is eve