While he was lying there in despair, he heard a sound in the air above him, and looked up to see what it was.  It sounded like a little bird in some trouble.  And, surely enough, there was a huge hawk darting after a plump little brown bird with a red breast.  The little bird was uttering sharp frightened cries, and Prince Fairyfoot felt so sorry for it that he sprang up and tried to drive the hawk away.  The little bird saw him at once, and straightway flew to him, and Fairyfoot covered it with his cap.  And then the hawk flew away in a great rage.

When the hawk was gone, Fairyfoot sat down again and lifted his cap, expecting, of course, to see the brown bird with the red breast.  But, in. stead of a bird, out stepped a little man, not much higher than your little finger—­a plump little man in a brown suit with a bright red vest, and with a cocked hat on.

“Why,” exclaimed Fairyfoot, “I’m surprised!”

“So am I,” said the little man, cheerfully.  “I never was more surprised in my life, except when my great-aunt’s grandmother got into such a rage, and changed me into a robin-redbreast.  I tell you, that surprised me!”

“I should think it might,” said Fairyfoot.  “Why did she do it?”

“Mad,” answered the little man—­“that was what was the matter with her.  She was always losing her temper like that, and turning people into awkward things, and then being sorry for it, and not being able to change them back again.  If you are a fairy, you have to be careful.  If you’ll believe me, that woman once turned her second-cousin’s sister-in-law into a mushroom, and somebody picked her, and she was made into catsup, which is a thing no man likes to have happen in his family!”

[Illustration:  “WHY,” EXCLAIMED FAIRYFOOT, “I’M SURPRISED!”]

“Of course not,” said Fairyfoot, politely.

“The difficulty is,” said the little man, “that some fairies don’t graduate.  They learn to turn people into things, but they don’t learn how to unturn them; and then, when they get mad in their families—­you know how it is about getting mad in families—­there is confusion.  Yes, seriously, confusion arises.  It arises.  That was the way with my great-aunt’s grandmother.  She was not a cultivated old person, and she did not know how to unturn people, and now you see the result.  Quite accidentally I trod on her favorite corn; she got mad and changed me into a robin, and regretted it ever afterward.  I could only become myself again by a kind-hearted person’s saving me from a great danger.  You are that person.  Give me your hand.”

Fairyfoot held out his hand.  The little man looked at it.

“On second thought,” he said, “I can’t shake it—­it’s too large.  I’ll sit on it, and talk to you.”

With these words, he hopped upon Fairyfoot’s hand, and sat down, smiling and clasping his own hands about his tiny knees.

“I declare, it’s delightful not to be a robin,” he said.  “Had to go about picking up worms, you know.  Disgusting business.  I always did hate worms.  I never ate them myself—­I drew the line there; but I had to get them for my family.”