here was a great storm, and I came
sweeping in with the tide into the bay. I wish I could always dream like
that!"

"You shall have tea with the elves to-day," said Elaine, bringing the
little fellow back, if not to absolute reality, at least to a less
visionary world than the dream-country he was picturing. "Look! I've
brought a mug with a robin on it for your milk. May you eat bread and
honey? Honey is fairy food, you know. Here's a paper serviette with
violets round it, instead of a plate."

Eric's appetite was apparently that of a sparrow. He ate a very little
of the bread and honey, and a tiny piece of cake, but drank the milk
feverishly. He seemed tired, and lay back for a while on his pillows
without speaking, just gazing at the flowers and the sea and the sky. He
fondled his book now and then with a long sigh of content. Elaine
motioned to Marjorie and Dona not to disturb him. Her knowledge of
nursing told her that the child must not be over-excited or wearied. She
felt it a responsibility to have charge of him, and was rather relieved
when Lizzie's creaking boots came back along the road.

Eric brightened up to say good-bye.

"I shall tell Titania all about you," he vouchsafed. "Perhaps she'll
come and see me soon now. I love her best, of course, but I love you
next best. I shall pretend every day that I'm playing with you here."

"I hope he's not too tired," whispered Elaine to Lizzie.

"No, but I'd best get him home now, or his ma'll be anxious. He'd one of
his attacks last night. Oh, it'll have done him good coming out this
afternoon! He was set on seeing you."

The girls stood watching as Lizzie trundled the long perambulator away,
then packed their basket and set off towards Brackenfield, for it was
time for Marjorie and Dona to return to school.

"How stupid of us!" ejaculated Elaine. "We never asked his surname or
where he lives, and I particularly intended to, this time."

"So did I, but I quite forgot," echoed Marjorie.

"I'm not sure if I want to know," said Dona. "He's just Eric to me--like
someone out of a book. I've never met such a sweet, dear, precious thing
in all my life before. Of course, if I don't know his name I can't send
him things, but I've got an idea. We'll leave a little parcel for him
with the girl who looks after the refreshment kiosk on the Whitecliffe
Road, and ask her to give it to him next time he passes. She couldn't
mistake the long perambulator."

"And write 'Fro