He could recognise foolery--provided it were
ticketed plainly enough. He sat down on the flat rock before indicated,
and clasped his knee with his hands, prepared to enjoy more. "Is that
your throne up there, Sun Fairy?" he asked. She had withdrawn her head
from sight.
"It is," her voice came down to him in grave tones.
"It must be a very nice one."
"The nicest throne you ever saw."
"I never saw one, but I've often heard that thrones were unpleasant
things."
"I am sitting, foolish mortal," said she, in tones of deep
commiseration, "on a soft, thick cushion of moss--much more
comfortable, I imagine, than hard, flat rocks. And the nice warm sun
is shining on me--it must be rather chilly in the woods to-day. And
there is a breeze blowing from the Big Horn--old rocks are always damp
and stuffy in the shade. And I am looking away out over the Hills--I
hope some people enjoy the sight of piles of quartzite."
"Cruel sun fairy!" cried Bennington. "Why do you tantalize me so with
the delights from which you debar me? What have I done?"
There was a short silence.
"Can't you think of anything you've done?" asked the voice,
insinuatingly.
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