But he had not long been sitting there alone, when he heard a fluttering sound near him in the chimney and presently down by his side dropped the tiniest wee girl you could think of; she was not a span high, and had hair like spun silver, eyes as green as grass, and cheeks red as June roses.  The little boy looked at her with surprise.

“Oh!” said he; “what do they call ye?”

“My own self,” she said in a shrill but sweet little voice, and she looked at him too.  “And what do they call ye?”

“Just my own self too!” he answered cautiously; and with that they began to play together.

She certainly showed him some fine games.  She made animals out of the ashes that looked and moved like life; and trees with green leaves waving over tiny houses, with men and women an inch high in them, who, when she breathed on them, fell to walking and talking quite properly.

But the fire was getting low, and the light dim, and presently the little boy stirred the coals with a stick to make them blaze; when out jumped a red-hot cinder, and where should it fall, but on the fairy child’s tiny foot.

Thereupon she set up such a squeal, that the boy dropped the stick, and clapped his hands to his ears but it grew to so shrill a screech, that it was like all the wind in the world whistling through one tiny keyhole.

There was a sound in the chimney again, but this time the little boy did not wait to see what it was, but bolted off to bed, where he hid under the blankets and listened in fear and trembling to what went on.

A voice came from the chimney speaking sharply: 

“Who’s there, and what’s wrong?” it said.

“It’s my own self,” sobbed the fairy-child; “and my foot’s burnt sore.  O-o-h!”

“Who did it?” said the voice angrily; this time it sounded nearer, and the boy, peeping from under the clothes, could see a white face looking out from the chimney-opening.

“Just my own self too!” said the fairy-child again.

“Then if ye did it your own self,” cried the elf-mother shrilly, “what’s the use o’ making all this fash about it?”—­and with that she stretched out a long thin arm, and caught the creature by its ear, and, shaking it roughly, pulled it after her, out of sight up the chimney.

The little boy lay awake a long time, listening, in case the fairy-mother should come back after all; and next evening after supper, his mother was surprised to find that he was willing to go to bed whenever she liked.

“He’s taking a turn for the better at last!” she said to herself; but he was thinking just then that, when next a fairy came to play with him, he might not get off quite so easily as he had done this time.

Black Bull of Norroway