t word by the
wind that he was to be kept a prisoner till they came. So the purple
leaves closed round the sleeping fairy, and he woke to find himself held
fast. Then he knew how poor Gauzy-wing felt, and wished he had not been
so unkind. But it was too late, for soon the Brownies came, and tying
his wings with a strong blade of grass said as they led him away,--

"You do so much harm we are going to keep you a prisoner till you
repent, for no one can live in this beautiful world unless he is kind
and good. Here you will have time to think over your naughtiness, and
learn to be a better elf."

So they shut him up in a great rock where there was no light but one
little ray through a crack that let air into his narrow cell, and there
poor Thistle sat alone longing to be free, and sobbing over all the
pleasant things he had lost. By and by he stopped crying, and said to
himself,--

"Perhaps if I am patient and cheerful, even in this dark place, the
Brownies will let me out." So he began to sing, and the more he sang the
better he felt, for the ray of sunshine seemed to grow brighter, the
days shorter, and his sorrow easier to bear, because he was trying to
take his punishment bravely and be good.

Lilybell was looking for him all this time, tracing him by the harm he
did, and stopping to comfort those whom he hurt; so she never found him
till she had helped the bees put the hive in order, set free poor
Gauzy-wing, and nursed the hurt fish till it was well again. Then she
went on looking for him, and wondering where he was. She never would
have guessed if he had not sung so much, for the birds loved to hear
him, and often perched on the rocks to listen and learn the fairy songs.
Columbines sprung up there in the sunshine and danced on their slender
stems as they peeped in at him with rosy faces, while green moss went
creeping up the sides of the rock as if eager to join in the music.

As Lilybell came to this pleasant place, she wondered if there was a
fairy party going on, for the birds were singing, the flowers dancing,
and the old rock looked very gay. When they saw her, the birds stopped,
and the columbines stood so still that she heard a voice singing
sadly,--

"Bright shines the summer sun,
Soft is the summer air,
Gayly the wood-birds sing,
Flowers are blooming fair.
But deep in the dark, cold rock
All alone must I dwell,
Longing for you, dear friend,
Lilybell, Lilybe