re, and both Jeanne and he had their
little red flannel dressing-gowns on.

"How did these come here?" he said, touching the sleeve of his own one.

"Yes," said Jeanne. "And where are our wings, if you please, Mrs.
Marcelline?"

Marcelline only smiled.

"I went to fetch you," she said, "and of course I didn't want you to
catch cold on the way back."

But that was _all_ they could get her to say, and then she carried them
off to bed, and they both slept soundly till morning.

CHAPTER XI.

DUDU'S OLD STORY.

"It was not a story, however,
But just of old days that had been."
CHILD NATURE.

It was queer, but so it was. The children said very little to each other
the next day of their new adventures. Only Hugh felt satisfied that this
time little Jeanne had forgotten nothing; daylight Jeanne and moonlight
Jeanne were the same. Yet he had a feeling that if he said much about
it, if he persisted in trying to convince Jeanne that he had been right
all through, he might spoil it all. It would be like seizing the fairy
lady's cobweb threads roughly, and spoiling them, and finding you had
nothing left. He felt now quite content to let it all be like a pretty
dream which they both knew about, but which was not for everyday life.

Only one impression remained on his mind. He got the greatest wish to
learn to throw balls like the princess of the Brown Bull story, and for
some days every time they went out, he kept peering in at the toy-shop
windows to see if such a thing as golden balls was to be had. And at
last Jeanne asked him what he was always looking for, and then he told
her.

She agreed with him that golden balls would be a very pretty play, but
she was afraid such a thing could not be found.

"They were fairy balls, you know, Cheri," she said, gravely.

"Yes," Hugh replied, "he knew they were; he did not expect such balls as
they were, of course, but still he didn't see why they might not get
some sort of gold-looking balls. There were red and blue, and green ones
in plenty. He didn't see why there should be no gold ones."

"Gold is so very dear," said Jeanne.

"Yes, real gold is, of course," said Hugh; "but there are lots of things
that look like gold that can't be real gold--picture frames, and the
edges of books, and lots of other things."

"Yes," said Jeanne, "but still, I don't see that the stuff any of those
are made of would do to make balls o