“Oh,” cried Fairyfoot, “I should be so happy if I might!”

“Well, you may,” said Robin; “I’ll take you.  They’ll be delighted to see any friend of mine, I’m a great favourite; of course, you can easily imagine that.  It was a great blow to them when I was changed; such a loss, you know.  In fact, there were several lady fairies, who—­but no matter.”  And he gave a slight cough, and began to arrange his necktie with a disgracefully consequential air, though he was trying very hard not to look conceited; and while he was endeavouring to appear easy and gracefully careless, he began accidentally to hum, “See the Conquering Hero Comes,” which was not the right tune under the circumstances.

“But for you,” he said next, “I couldn’t have given them the relief and pleasure of seeing me this evening.  And what ecstasy it will be to them, to be sure!  I shouldn’t be surprised if it broke up the whole thing.  They’ll faint so—­for joy, you know—­just at first—­that is, the ladies will.  The men won’t like it at all; and I don’t blame ’em.  I suppose I shouldn’t like it—­to see another fellow sweep all before him.  That’s what I do; I sweep all before me.”  And he waved his hand in such a fine large gesture that he overbalanced himself, and turned a somersault.  But he jumped up after it quite undisturbed.

“You’ll see me do it to-night,” he said, knocking the dents out of his hat—­“sweep all before me.”  Then he put his hat on, and his hands on his hips, with a swaggering, man-of-society air.  “I say,” he said, “I’m glad you’re going.  I should like you to see it.”

“And I should like to see it,” replied Fairyfoot.

“Well,” said Mr. Goodfellow, “you deserve it, though that’s saying a great deal.  You’ve restored me to them.  But for you, even if I’d escaped that hawk, I should have had to spend the night in that beastly robin’s nest, crowded into a corner by those squawking things, and domineered over by her!  I wasn’t made for that!  I’m superior to it.  Domestic life doesn’t suit me.  I was made for society.  I adorn it.  She never appreciated me.  She couldn’t soar to it.  When I think of the way she treated me,” he exclaimed, suddenly getting into a rage, “I’ve a great mind to turn back into a robin and peck her head off!”

“Would you like to see her now?” asked Fairyfoot, innocently.

Mr. Goodfellow glanced behind him in great haste, and suddenly sat down.

“No, no!” he exclaimed in a tremendous hurry; “by no means!  She has no delicacy.  And she doesn’t deserve to see me.  And there’s a violence and uncertainty about her movements which is annoying beyond anything you can imagine.  No, I don’t want to see her!  I’ll let her go unpunished for the present.  Perhaps it’s punishment enough for her to be deprived of me.  Just pick up your cap, won’t you? and if you see any birds lying about, throw it at them, robins particularly.”

“I think I must take the swine home, if you’ll excuse me,” said Fairyfoot, “I’m late now.”