ed the lady, rising, 'you must
sit in my chair while I get you the present I have been preparing for
you. I told you my spinning was for you. It is finished now, and I am
going to fetch it. I have been keeping it warm under one of my
brooding pigeons.'

Irene sat down in the low chair, and her grandmother left her, shutting
the door behind her. The child sat gazing, now at the rose fire, now
at the starry walls, now at the silver light; and a great quietness
grew in her heart. If all the long-legged cats in the world had come
rushing at her then she would not have been afraid of them for a
moment. How this was she could not tell--she only knew there was no
fear in her, and everything was so right and safe that it could not get
in.

She had been gazing at the lovely lamp for some minutes fixedly:
turning her eyes, she found the wall had vanished, for she was looking
out on the dark cloudy night. But though she heard the wind blowing,
none of it blew upon her. In a moment more the clouds themselves
parted, or rather vanished like the wall, and she looked straight into
the starry herds, flashing gloriously in the dark blue. It was but for
a moment. The clouds gathered again and shut out the stars; the wall
gathered again and shut out the clouds; and there stood the lady beside
her with the loveliest smile on her face, and a shimmering ball in her
hand, about the size of a pigeon's egg.

'There, Irene; there is my work for you!' she said, holding out the
ball to the princess.

She took it in her hand, and looked at it all over. It sparkled a
little, and shone here and there, but not much. It was of a sort of
grey-whiteness, something like spun glass.

'Is this all your spinning, grandmother?' she asked.

'All since you came to the house. There is more there than you think.'

'How pretty it is! What am I to do with it, please?'

'That I will now explain to you,' answered the lady, turning from her
and going to her cabinet. She came back with a small ring in her hand.
Then she took the ball from Irene's, and did something with the
ring--Irene could not tell what.

'Give me your hand,' she said. Irene held up her right hand.

'Yes, that is the hand I want,' said the lady, and put the ring on the
forefinger of it.

'What a beautiful ring!' said Irene. 'What is the stone called?'

'It is a fire-opal.' 'Please, am I to keep it?'

'Always.' 'Oh, thank you, grandmother! It's prettier than anything