winds blow."

"What did you hear?"

"I heard the water-drops made and the ears of corn fill."

"Tell me everything, Mary, for you must have seen the fairies."

"Then take me on your knee, mother, and listen. Last night a hundred
fairies danced on lively feet to the merry music of nine harpers, but
the merriest thing was the sound of the fairy talk."

"What did you hear them say?"

"I'll tell you, but let me do it in my own way. Some rolled water down
the hill and said, 'this will turn the poor old miller's wheel, and a
busy man he will be by morning. There has been no rain since the first
of May, and how the jolly old miller will laugh till the tears fill his
eyes when he sees the water rise in the milldam.' And some seized the
winds and put horns to their mouths and blew sharply. 'And there!' said
they shrilly, 'the merry winds go from every horn to clear the damp
mildew from the blind old widow's corn. Though she has been blind for a
long time she'll be merry enough when the corn stands up stiff and
strong without any mildew!' Then some brought flax seed and flung it
down, saying, 'by sunrise this will be growing in the weaver's field,
and how the poor lame fellow will laugh when he sees his vacant field
filled with blue flax flowers in a single day.' Then a brownie with a
long beard spoke, 'I have spun all the tow and I want more. I have spun
a linen sheet for Mary's bed and an apron for her mother.' I couldn't
help but laugh out loud, and then I was alone. On the top of Caldon-Low,
the mists were cold and gray and I could see nothing but mossy stones
lying about me. But as I came down I heard the jolly miller laughing
and his wheel going merrily. I peeped into the widow's cornfield and,
sure enough, the golden corn was free from mildew, and at the gate of
the croft stood the weaver, whose eye told the good news about his flax
field. Now that's all I heard and all I saw, so please make my bed,
mother, for I'm as tired as I can be."

Rather a pretty story, even in plain prose, is it not? It is re-written
just about as it would be told to a little child for the first time, a
child interested in the good fairies who do good things for the poor and
the suffering. Then a little later, when the child reads for himself he
can see how much better Mary Howitt tells the story in verse.
Nevertheless, some children will prefer it in prose and often may ask to
have other poems "told in prose." There is no reason for refus