They say that “It’s a long lane that has no turning,” and the hardest tasks come to an end some time, and Amelia’s dresses were clean at last; but then a more wearisome work was before her.  They had to be mended.  Amelia looked at the jagged rents made by the hedges; the great gaping holes in front where she had put her foot through; the torn tucks and gathers.  First she wept, then she bitterly regretted that she had so often refused to do her sewing at home that she was very awkward with her needle.  Whether she ever would have got through this task alone is doubtful, but she had by this time become so well-behaved and willing that the old woman was kind to her, and, pitying her blundering attempts, she helped her a great deal; whilst Amelia would cook the old woman’s victuals, or repeat stories and pieces of poetry to amuse her.

“How glad I am that I ever learnt anything!” thought the poor child:  “everything one learns seems to come in useful some time.”

At last the dresses were finished.

“Do you think I shall be allowed to go home now?” Amelia asked of the woman of the heath.

“Not yet,” said she; “you have got to mend the broken gimcracks next.”

“But when I have done all my tasks,” Amelia said; “will they let me go then?”

“That depends,” said the woman, and she sat silent over the fire; but Amelia wept so bitterly, that she pitied her and said—­“Only dry your eyes, for the fairies hate tears, and I will tell you all I know and do the best for you I can.  You see, when you first came you were—­excuse me!—­such an unlicked cub; such a peevish, selfish, wilful, useless, and ill-mannered little miss, that neither the fairies nor anybody else were likely to keep you any longer than necessary.  But now you are such a willing, handy, and civil little thing, and so pretty and graceful withal, that I think it is very likely that they will want to keep you altogether.  I think you had better make up your mind to it.  They are kindly little folk, and will make a pet of you in the end.”

“Oh, no! no!” moaned poor Amelia; “I want to be with my mother, my poor dear mother!  I want to make up for being a bad child so long.  Besides, surely that ‘stock,’ as they called her, will want to come back to her own people.”

“As to that,” said the woman, “after a time the stock will affect mortal illness, and will then take possession of the first black cat she sees, and in that shape leave the house, and come home.  But the figure that is like you will remain lifeless in the bed, and will be duly buried.  Then your people, believing you to be dead, will never look for you, and you will always remain here.  However, as this distresses you so, I will give you some advice.  Can you dance?”

“Yes,” said Amelia; “I did attend pretty well to my dancing lessons.  I was considered rather clever about it.”

“At any spare moments you find,” continued the woman, “dance, dance all your dances, and as well as you can.  The dwarfs love dancing.”