downs the orchids grew like daisies, and the carnations like buttercups. All about was that kind of turf on which the gardener does not like you to play, and they had pulled armfuls of lemon verbena and made a bed of it. But Selim’s blouse was tight under the arms. So when Thomasina said—
“Oh, Silly dear, how beautiful it is, just like fairyland,” he said—
“Silly yourself. There’s no such thing as fairyland.”
Just then a fairy, with little bright wings the colour of a peacock’s tail, fluttered across the path, and settled on a magnolia flower.
“Oh! Silly darling,” cried Thomasina, “it is fairyland, and there’s a fairy, such a beautiful dear. Look—there she goes.”
But Selim would not look—he turned over and hid his eyes.
“There’s no such thing as fairyland, I tell you,” he grunted, “and I don’t believe in fairies.”
And then, quite suddenly and very horribly the fairy turned into a policeman—because every one knows there are such things as policemen, and any one can believe in them.
And all the rare and beautiful flowers
