and never left her until they were grown up and had to go away
into the great world; and when that time came she gave to each whatever
gift he asked of her. But it is chiefly of the Princess Sylvia that you
are going to hear now. The Fairy loved her with all her heart, for she
was at once original and gentle, and she had nearly reached the age at
which the gifts were generally bestowed. However, the Fairy had a great
wish to know how the other princesses who had grown up and left her,
were prospering, and before the time came for Sylvia to go herself, she
resolved to send her to some of them. So one day her chariot, drawn by
butterflies, was made ready, and the Fairy said: 'Sylvia, I am going to
send you to the court of Iris; she will receive you with pleasure for
my sake as well as for your own. In two months you may come back to me
again, and I shall expect you to tell me what you think of her.'

Sylvia was very unwilling to go away, but as the Fairy wished it she
said nothing--only when the two months were over she stepped joyfully
into the butterfly chariot, and could not get back quickly enough to the
Flower-Fairy, who, for her part, was equally delighted to see her again.

'Now, child,' said she, 'tell me what impression you have received.'

'You sent me, madam,' answered Sylvia, 'to the Court of Iris, on whom
you had bestowed the gift of beauty. She never tells anyone, however,
that it was your gift, though she often speaks of your kindness in
general. It seemed to me that her loveliness, which fairly dazzled me at
first, had absolutely deprived her of the use of any of her other gifts
or graces. In allowing herself to be seen, she appeared to think
that she was doing all that could possibly be required of her. But,
unfortunately, while I was still with her she became seriously ill, and
though she presently recovered, her beauty is entirely gone, so that she
hates the very sight of herself, and is in despair. She entreated me to
tell you what had happened, and to beg you, in pity, to give her beauty
back to her. And, indeed, she does need it terribly, for all the things
in her that were tolerable, and even agreeable, when she was so pretty,
seem quite different now she is ugly, and it is so long since she
thought of using her mind or her natural cleverness, that I really don't
think she has any left now. She is quite aware of all this herself, so
you may imagine how unhappy she is, and how earnestly she begs for