ted cave,
looking about her wistfully, as though she expected to see the
enchanted princess; and once her father found her peering into a dark
green dell, and listening attentively, her dark eyes growing big with
expectant awe.

"Why, daughter Fanny, what have you there?" he asked. "What wonderful
discovery are you making?"

"Hush, father!" she replied, with her small taper finger on her lip,
"it's the fairies I'm after--the 'good people,' nurse Bridget has told
me so much about. I am sure there must be some of them in this still,
shady place. I've found their 'rings' in the fresh, green grass."

Lord Clare at first smiled at this simple, childish faith, then grew
serious, and sitting down on a flowery bank, drew his little daughter
on to his knee, and explained to her how the story of fairies was, in
the beginning, only a fable of poets and romance-writers, and was now
only believed in by ignorant peasants, like her Irish nurse; that, in
truth, there were no such beings as the fairies in all the world. When
he had finished, he was surprised to see that the child had covered her
face with her hands, and that the tears were fast trickling through her
fingers. "What is my little daughter weeping for?" he asked.

"For the fairies, papa; the dear, beautiful fairies. I can't believe
in them any more."

"But was it not right for papa to tell you the truth, my darling, even
though it gave you pain?"

"Yes, I suppose it was. But, oh, papa, somehow things don't look so
beautiful as they did when I believed in the 'good people.' Then every
bank of moss, or bit of green turf, I thought might be a fairy
ball-room. Whenever I saw a flower, or a leaf floating on the water, I
thought some fairy might be sailing on it. I was almost sure
full-blown roses were the thrones of fairy queens, and buds just
opening they were the little baby-fairies' cradles. Oh, it was so
beautiful! and then, the kindness and goodness of the wee things, papa;
that is, when you did not happen to offend them. They were always
helping people out of trouble, especially poor persecuted princes and
princesses, and they were such fast friends of good children--at least,
so nurse and the fairy books said, and I used to believe so;--now it's
all over."

"But, my daughter," said Lord Clare, "we can be better than fairies to
one another, if we will; and then, remember, that we have God's good
angels to watch over and help us, when they can."

"Yes