hose dewdrop diamonds were all the jewels
he got for his night's work.

When he made this discovery he turned over and groaned and wept with rage
and shame, and never, to his dying day, could he bear to look at sparkling
gold or gems, for the mere sight of them made him feel quite ill.

At last, afraid lest he should be missed, and searchers be sent out to
look for him, he got up, brushed off the dewy webs, and putting on his
battered old hat, crept slowly home. He was wet through with dew, cold,
full of rheumatism, and very ashamed of himself, and very good care he
took to keep that night's experiences to himself. No one must know his
shame.

Years after, though, when he had become a changed man, and repented of his
former greediness, he let out the story bit by bit to be a lesson to
others, until his friends and neighbours, who loved to listen to anything
about fairies, had gathered it all as I have told it to you here. And you
may be quite sure it is all true, for the old man was not clever enough to
invent it.

THE FAIRY OINTMENT.

Now I will tell you a story of a very foolish woman, whose curiosity got
the better of her, and of how she was punished.

The old woman's Christian name was Joan. I will not tell her surname,
for it does not make any difference to the story, and there may be
some of her descendants left who would not like it to be known.
Joan was housekeeper to Squire Lovell. The name of his house shall be
kept a secret too, but I will tell you this much, that he lived a few
miles out of Penzance.

Now one Saturday afternoon it fell out that Joan wanted to go to Penzance
Market to get herself a pair of shoes, and to buy some groceries and
several Christmas things for the house, for it was Christmas Eve, and the
Squire had a lot of folks coming to supper that very night. So, the
weather being fine, Joan started off soon after her twelve o'clock dinner,
to walk into Penzance to market. Having, though, a great fancy for
company, and loving a little gossip, she thought she would step in on her
way to see if her friend Betty Trenance was going to market too.
It would be so nice to have each other's company on the way.

Now many persons in those parts told some very queer stories about Betty
Trenance, and amongst themselves some called her a witch, and were afraid
of her. Joan, though, argued that if she was a witch, there was all the
more reason for keeping friendly with her. And if on