rks, and to seek his company. He
was considered a great man, and wealth and honors flowed in upon him. It
happened to him that one day in travelling he came to a great city,
where there was a large collection of pictures. He went to see them, and
among them he saw many of his own pictures; some of them he had painted
before he had left his forest home; others were of more recent date. All
the people and all the painters praised them. But there was one that
they liked better than the others; and when he heard them call it his
masterpiece, he went and sat down opposite to it, that he might think
over again some of the thoughts that he had had when he painted it.

"It was a picture of a little child, holding in its hands several
beautiful water-lilies; and the crowd that gathered round it praised the
lightness of the drapery, the beauty of the infant form, the soft light
shed down upon it, and, above all, the innocent expression of the baby
features.

"He was pleased, but not elated. He called to mind the words of his
fairy benefactress, and acknowledged to himself that at length they were
certainly fulfilled.

"And then it drew toward evening, and the people one by one disappeared,
till he was left alone with his masterpiece. The excitement of the day
had made him anxious for repose. He was thinking of leaving the place,
when suddenly he fell asleep, and dreamed that he was standing behind
the sheet of water in his native country, and lingering, as of old, to
watch the rays of the setting sun as they melted away from its surface.
He thought, too, that his beautiful lily was in his hand, and that while
he looked at it the leaves withered and fell at his feet. Then followed
a confused recollection of his conversation with the fairy; and after
that his thoughts became clearer, and, though still asleep, he
remembered where he was, and in what place he was sitting. His
impressions became more vivid. He dreamed that something lightly touched
his hand. He looked up, and his fairy benefactress was at his side,
standing on the arm of his chair.

"'O wonderful enchantress!' said the dreaming painter, 'do not vanish
before I have had time to thank you for your magic gift. I have nothing
to offer you but my gratitude in return; for the diamonds of this world
are too heavy for such an ethereal being, and the gold of this world is
useless to you who have no wants that it can supply. The fame I have
acquired I cannot impart to you,