As Corette and the Condensed Pirate took their way through the woods to their home, they found it very difficult to get along, they were so small.  When they came to a narrow stream, which Corette would once have jumped over with ease, the Condensed Pirate had to make a ferry-boat of a piece of bark, and paddle himself and the little girl across.

“I wonder how the fairies used to come down to us,” said Corette, who was struggling along over the stones and moss, hanging on to her companion’s hand.

“Oh!  I expect they have a nice smooth path somewhere through the woods, where they can run along as fast as they please; and bridges over the streams.”

“Why didn’t they tell us of it?” asked Corette.

“They thought it was too little to be of any use to us.  Don’t you see?—­they think we’re big people and wouldn’t need their path.”

“Oh, yes!” said Corette.

In time, however, they got down the mountain and out of the woods, and then they climbed up on one of the fences and ran along the top of it toward Corette’s home.

When the people saw them, they cried out:  “Oh, here come our dear little fairies, who have not visited us for so many days!” But when they saw them close at hand, and perceived that they were little Corette and the Pirate who had reformed, they were dumbfounded.

Corette did not stop to tell them anything; but still holding her companion’s hand, she ran on to her parents’ house, followed by a crowd of neighbors.

Corette’s father and mother could hardly believe that this little thing was their daughter, but there was no mistaking her face and her clothes, and her voice, although they were all so small; and when she had explained the matter to them, and to the people who filled the house, they understood it all.  They were filled with joy to have their daughter back again, little or big.

When the Condensed Pirate went to his house, he found the door locked, as he had left it, but he easily crawled in through a crack.  He found everything of an enormous size.  It did not look like the old place.  He climbed up the leg of a chair and got on a table, by the help of the tablecloth, but it was hard work.  He found something to eat and drink, and all his possessions were in order, but he did not feel at home.

Days passed on, and while the Condensed Pirate did not feel any better satisfied, a sadness seemed to spread over the country, and particularly over Corette’s home.  The people grieved that they never saw the fairy sisters, who indeed had made two or three visits, with infinite trouble and toil, but who could not make themselves observed, their bodies and their voices being so very small.

And Corette’s father and mother grieved.  They wanted their daughter to be as she was before.  They said that Sweet Marjoram Day was very near, but that they could not look forward to it with pleasure.  Corette might go out to the fields, but she could only sit upon some high place, as the fairies used to sit.  She could not help in the gathering.  She could not even be with the babies; they would roll on her and crush her.  So they mourned.