"You look as if you had a story to tell," said Felix.
"One is growing. It isn't a whole story yet," answered the Story
Girl mysteriously.
"What is it?" asked Cecily.
"I can't tell you till it's fully grown," said the Story Girl.
"But I'll tell you a pretty little story the Awkward Man told us--
told me--tonight. He was walking in his garden as we went by,
looking at his tulip beds. His tulips are up ever so much higher
than ours, and I asked him how he managed to coax them along so
early. And he said HE didn't do it--it was all the work of the
pixies who lived in the woods across the brook. There were more
pixy babies than usual this spring, and the mothers were in a
hurry for the cradles. The tulips are the pixy babies' cradles,
it seems. The mother pixies come out of the woods at twilight and
rock their tiny little brown babies to sleep in the tulip cups.
That is the reason why tulip blooms last so much longer than other
blossoms. The pixy babies must have a cradle until they are grown
up. They grow very fast, you see, and the Awkward Man says on a
spring evening, when the tulips are out, you can hear the
sweetest, softest, clearest, fairy music in his garden, and it is
the pixy folk singing as they rock the pixy babies to sleep.
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