r
ears and ran away, so they could not hear. The telltale Goblin,
however, was bound to tell, and he ran until he was near enough to
shout: "She has married a River God and she left her wand in the dell;
they gave me this silver cap not to tell."

When the Queen and the fairies heard this they stopped and the Goblin
thought they wished to hear more, so he went to them and said he would
help them hunt for the wand, if they would come to the dell.

The Queen put her finger on her lips to warn the fairies not to speak,
and back they went to the dell, following the Goblin, who was hopping
and jumping along before them.

"Here it is," he said, stooping to pick up a little gold wand.

"Hold!" cried the Queen; "do not touch it. I will pick it up, and now
that you have told us the secret you shall have your reward."

The Goblin hopped with delight, for he was sure the Queen would touch
him with the wand and he would have a new red coat at once.

"You shall wear the silver cap the rest of your life," she said, and
before the Goblin could jump away the Queen tapped him on the head, and
in place of the tell-tale Goblin there stood a silver thistle, all
prickly and shining among the leaves and bushes.

"Your sister has left us, and we must forget her," said the Queen as
the fairies followed her home. "Let her be forgotten by you all; her
wand shall be saved for a more worthy sister."

The Little Fairy never regretted marrying her River God, for she lived
happy ever after, and sometimes when they come up from the river bottom
to sit in the moonlight she will say to the River God: "What do you
suppose became of the Goblin? Do you think he ever told the Queen?"

"Of course he did," replied the River God. "He ran as fast as he could
to the Queen, but the silver cap was so uncomfortable for him to wear
that I am sure he has discarded it long before this. So he gained
nothing for playing the spy."

"Perhaps his conscience pricked him and he is sorry," said the Little
Fairy.

The Little Fairy was right. The Goblin was sorry when it was too late,
and the silver thistle swayed in the breeze. It tried to tell the
breeze it was sorry for telling tales, but even the breeze did not wish
to listen to a prickly thistle, so there it had to bloom unloved and
alone the rest of its life.

DAME CRICKET'S STORY

[Illustration: Dame Cricket]

"Come, children, it is time to get up," said Dame Cricket to her ten
little cric