“Oh, I have tried a great many times.  It is of no use to try any more.”

“But I will help you.”

“Oh,” said the boy.  “Then I might succeed.”

“I heard your wish, and I am willing to help you,” said the fairy.  “I know a charm which will give you success.  But you must do exactly as I tell you.  Do you promise to obey?”

“Spirit of a water lily!” said the boy, “I promise with all my heart.”

“Go home, then,” said the fairy, “and you will find a little key on the doorstep.  Take it up and carry it to the nearest pine tree; strike the trunk with it, and a keyhole will appear.  Do not be afraid to unlock the door.  Slip in your hand, and you will bring out a magic palette.  You must be very careful to paint with colors from that palette every day.  On this depends the success of the charm.  You will find that it will make your pictures beautiful and full of grace.

“If you do not break the spell, I promise you that in a few years you shall be able to paint this lily so well that you will be satisfied; and that you shall become a truly great painter.”

“Can it be possible?” said the boy.  And the hand on which the fairy stood trembled for joy.

“It shall be so, if only you do not break the charm,” said the fairy.  “But lest you forget what you owe to me, and as you grow older even begin to doubt that you have ever seen me, the lily you gathered to-day will never fade till my promise is fulfilled.”

The boy raised his eyes, and when he looked again there was nothing in his hand but the flower.

He arose with the lily in his hand, and went home at once.  There on the doorstep was the little key, and in the pine tree he found the magic palette.  He was so delighted with it and so afraid that he might break the spell that he began to work that very night.  After that he spent nearly all his time working with the magic palette.  He often passed whole days beside the sheet of water in the forest.  He painted it when the sun shone on it and it was spotted all over with the reflections of fleeting white clouds.  He painted it covered with water lilies rocking on the ripples.  He painted it by moonlight, when but two or three stars in the empty sky shone down upon it; and at sunset, when it lay trembling like liquid gold.

So the years passed, and the boy grew to be a man.  He had never broken the charm.  The lily had never faded, and he still worked every day with his magic palette.

But no one cared for his pictures.  Even his mother did not like them.  His forests and misty hills and common clouds were too much like the real ones.  She said she could see as good any day by looking out of her window.  All this made the young man very unhappy.  He began to doubt whether he should ever be a painter, and one day he threw down his palette.  He thought the fairy had deserted him.

He threw himself on his bed.  It grew dark, and he soon fell asleep; but in the middle of the night he awoke with a start.  His chamber was full of light, and his fairy friend stood near.