Mischievous Nop. 53

“ The friendly chicken brought the sprite all sorts of things
to eat, such as made his own supper, but the delicate stranger
could not touch the food.

“«T will call on you in the morning again. With that the
bird flew away.

“The last prank the sprite ever played was to try on the
magic carpet-bag before the amazed Petrel. When the bird
returned at sunrise, an oak-leaf lay on the grave of the tree,
and the sprite had faded from life.”

When the Laurel Queen ceased speaking, some of her fairy
audience clapped their hands politely.

“ Poor little sprite,” said Job.

“TI knew the oak-tree well,” said a Winter Fairy. “ How
many times we hung its branches with icicles. It was years
ago, to be sure—but fairies never grow old; the children who
believe in us become men and women, and forget us. We are
always the same.”

“ Will somebody please make Nip behave ?” asked the clock,
in an injured tone. “I know that he is trying to make mis-
chief with my works by the way he spies through the keyhole
of my case. If he pokes me I shall run down, or come to a
dead-lock in my machinery, and that has never yet happened
to me.”

Nip, who had been capering around the kitchen while the
Laurel Queen told her story, now assumed the most innocent
look.

“Dear me, how touchy you are, Clock! I was only trying

to see how you were made. Perhaps I shall invent a time-