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“Yours, of course,” said the little man. “I shouldn’t need any. If it hadn’t been for those green ribbons on your christening robe, my young friend, you wouldn’t be sitting here now. It is only the children that have worn green ribbons at their christening who can see the fairies at all.”

“Then you really, really are a fairy?” cried Philomène.

“Should I be living in this house and eating these things if I weren’t?” retorted her host. “I am a fairy, and my name is Sweet William.”

“Am I to call you that?” asked Philomène, doubtfully.

She could not help feeling that the name sounded very affectionate, and that it might be forward for her to use it upon so short an acquaintance.

“I don’t know what else you’re to call me,” said the little man, “it strikes me as a very good name of its kind. Perhaps I ought to tell you that I am the fairies’ land- and house-agent for this garden; I chose it for various reasons, partly so as to be near you, for it is the business of the fairies to look after lonely children.”