ay in my
little wooden temple, brooding over the sins of the parish."

"A brazen lie!" cried Robin.

"Nay, the truth, as I'm a living soul! Wae worth ye, Robin Telfer: ye
think yersel' hardly used. Say, have your brithers softer beds than
yours? Is your ain father served with larger potatoes or creamier
buttermilk? Whose mither sae kind as yours, ungrateful chiel? Gae to
Elf-land, Wild Robin; and dool and wae follow ye! dool and wae follow
ye!"

The round yellow sun had dropped behind the hills; the evening breezes
began to blow; and now could be heard the faint trampling of small
hoofs, and the tinkling of tiny bridle-bells: the fairies were
trooping over the ground. First of all rode the queen.

"Her skirt was of the grass-green silk,
Her mantle of the velvet fine;
At ilka tress of her horse's mane
Hung fifty silver bells and nine."

But Wild Robin's closed eyes saw nothing; his sleep-sealed ears heard
nothing. The queen of fairies dismounted, stole up to him, and laid
her soft fingers on his cheeks.

"Here is a little man after my ain heart," said she: "I like his
knitted brow, and the downward curve of his lips. Knights, lift him
gently, set him on a red-roan steed, and waft him away to Fairy-land."

Wild Robin was lifted as gently as a brown leaf borne by the wind; he
rode as softly as if the red-roan steed had been saddled with satin,
and shod with velvet. It even may be that the faint tinkling of the
bridle-bells lulled him into a deeper slumber; for when he awoke it
was morning in Fairy-land.

Robin sprang from his mossy couch, and stared about him. Where was he?
He rubbed his eyes, and looked again. Dreaming, no doubt; but what
meant all these nimble little beings bustling hither and thither in
hot haste? What meant these pearl-bedecked caves, scarcely larger than
swallows' nests? these green canopies, overgrown with moss? He pinched
himself, and gazed again. Countless flowers nodded to him, and seemed,
like himself, on tiptoe with curiosity, he thought. He beckoned one of
the busy, dwarfish little brownies toward him.

"I ken I'm talking in my sleep," said the lad; "but can ye tell me
what dell is this, and how I chanced to be in it?"

The brownie might or might not have heard; but, at any rate, he
deigned no reply, and went on with his task, which was pounding seeds
in a stone mortar.

"Am I Robin Telfer, of the Valley of Yarrow, and yet canna shake aff
my silly dreams?"