“Do you know my name, then?” cried Toinette, astonished.  “That’s strange.  But what is the matter?  Why are you crying so, little man?”

“I’m not a little man.  I’m an elf,” responded the dry voice; “and I think you’d cry if you had an engagement out to tea, and found yourself spiked on a great bayonet, so that you couldn’t move an inch.  Look!” He turned a little as he spoke and Toinette saw a long rose-thorn sticking through the back of the green robe.  The little man could by no means reach the thorn, and it held him fast prisoner to the place.

“Is that all?  I’ll take it out for you,” she said.

“Be careful—­oh, be careful,” entreated the little man.  “This is my new dress, you know—­my Christmas suit, and it’s got to last a year.  If there is a hole in it, Peascod will tickle me and Bean Blossom tease, till I shall wish myself dead.”  He stamped with vexation at the thought.

“Now, you mustn’t do that,” said Toinette, in a motherly tone, “else you’ll tear it yourself, you know.”  She broke off the thorn as she spoke, and gently drew it out.  The elf anxiously examined the stuff.  A tiny puncture only was visible and his face brightened.

“You’re a good child,” he said.  “I’ll do as much for you some day, perhaps.”

“I would have come before if I had seen you,” remarked Toinette, timidly.  “But I didn’t see you a bit.”

“No, because I had my cap on,” cried the elf.  He placed it on his head as he spoke, and hey, presto! nobody was there, only a voice which laughed and said:  “Well—­don’t stare so.  Lay your finger on me now.”

“Oh,” said Toinette, with a gasp.  “How wonderful.  What fun it must be to do that.  The children wouldn’t see me.  I should steal in and surprise them; they would go on talking, and never guess that I was there.  I should so like it.  Do elves ever lend their caps to anybody?  I wish you’d lend me yours.  It must be so nice to be invisible.”

“Ho,” cried the elf, appearing suddenly again.  “Lend my cap, indeed!  Why it wouldn’t stay on the very tip of your ear, it’s so small.  As for nice, that depends.  Sometimes it is, and sometimes it isn’t.  No, the only way for mortal people to be invisible is to gather the fern-seed and put it in their shoes.”

“Gather it?  Where?  I never saw any seed to the ferns,” said Toinette, staring about her.

“Of course not—­we elves take care of that,” replied the little man.  “Nobody finds the fern-seed but ourselves.  I’ll tell you what, though.  You were such a nice child to take out the thorn so cleverly, that I’ll give you a little of the seed.  Then you can try the fun of being invisible, to your heart’s content.”

“Will you really?  How delightful.  May I have it now?”

“Bless me.  Do you think I carry my pockets stuffed with it?” said the elf.  “Not at all.  Go home, say not a word to any one, but leave your bedroom window open to night, and you’ll see what you’ll see.”