emlock,
for I thought you needed a tonic."

Phil smelled something exquisite as she spoke, but all he said was,

"What is a tonic?"

"Something the doctors give when children are pale and thin, and do not
have enough fresh air. I don't pretend to know what it means, but I
often go to see sick children in hospitals, and so I hear about such
things."

"Hark! is that my wind harp?--why, it sounds like water dropping and
gurgling over stones."

"It is the song of a mountain brook that my friends are singing as they
dance over your harp. Look!"

Phil looked, and saw the flock of fairies like white butterflies
swarming again over his harp, and heard the soft, sweet singing which
kept time to their steps.

"Oh, how beautiful! how beautiful!" said Phil.

"When you hear a brook singing, you must remember us," said the fairy.

"Indeed I will; but I am afraid I shall never hear one: only the hoarse
cries of the street and the rumbling of wagons come to me here."

"Ah, better times are coming; then you will not need us."

Phil lay still in his chair, listening intently; the white figures
glanced in shadowy indistinctness across the window, only the starry ray
from each little brow lighting their dance. They swept up and down, and
swayed like flowers in a breeze, and still the little clear notes of
their song fell like dripping water in cool cascades. Now it flowed
smoothly and softly, again it seemed to dash and foam among pebbly
nooks.

"Does it rest you? are you better?" asked the one little fairy who did
all the talking.

"Oh, so much!" said Phil.

After a while the song stopped, and the fairies drew all together in a
cluster, and were quite still.

"What does that mean?" asked Phil.

"They are disturbed; there is a storm coming. We shall have to return."

"I am so sorry! I wanted to know more about you, and to see what you
wear."

"Mortals must not approach us too nearly. We may draw near to you. See,
I will stand before you."

"You seem to be all moonshine," said Phil.

"Yes," said the fairy, laughing merrily; "these robes of ours are of
mountain mist, spangled with star-dust so fine that it makes us only
glisten. We have to wear the lightest sort of fabric, so that we are not
hindered in our long flights."

"Do you know flower fairies?"

"Yes; but we are of a very different race. I suppose you thought we
dressed in rose-leaves and rode on humble-bees, but we do not; we are
more--now for a long w