as he was wrapping a lizard who had chills in a
warm mullein-leaf blanket.

"Why, it is naughty Thistle!" cried the bees, ready to sting him to
death.

"No, no," chirped an old cricket, who had kept the secret. "It is the
good fellow who has done so much to make us all happy and comfortable.
Put up your stings and shake hands, before he flies away to hide from
you again."

The bees could hardly believe this at first, but finding it true were
glad to make up the quarrel and be friends. When they heard what
Thistle wanted, they consented at once, and sent Buzz to show him the
way to Cloudland, where the air spirits lived.

It seemed a lovely place, for the sky was gold and purple overhead,
silver mist hung like curtains from the rainbow arches, and white clouds
were piled up like downy cushions for the spirits to sleep on. But they
were very busy flying to and fro like motes in a sunbeam, some polishing
the stars that they might shine well at night, some drawing up water
from rivers and lakes, to shower it down again in rain or dew; others
sent messages by the winds that kept coming and going like
telegraph-boys, with news from all parts of the world; and others were
weaving light into a shining stuff to hang on dark walls, wrap about
budding plants, and clothe all spirits of the airy world.

"These are the ones I want," said Thistle, and asked for the mantle of
sunshine.

"You must earn it first, and help us work," answered the weavers.

Thistle willingly went with them and shared their lovely tasks; but most
of all he liked to shake sweet dreams from the dreamland tree down upon
little people in their beds, to send strong, bright rays suddenly into
dark rooms, dancing on the walls and cheering sick or sad eyes.
Sometimes he went riding to the earth on a raindrop, like a little
water-cart man, and sprinkled the dusty road or gave some thirsty plant
a good drink. He helped the winds carry messages, and blow flower-seeds
into lonely places to spring and blossom there, a pleasant surprise for
all who might find them.

It was a busy and a happy life, and he liked it; for fairies love light,
air, and motion, and he was learning to live for good and helpful
things. Sooner than he expected the golden cloak was won, and he shot
like a falling star to the forest with his prize.

"One more trial and she will wake," said the Brownies, well pleased.

"This I shall not like, for I am not a water elf, but I'll do my best,"