"
Tot descended from her throne, slowly and unwillingly, and, going
obediently away, never knew about the beautiful river fairy just then
springing to life, like Minerva in the brain of Jove, in Will's fancy,
purposely to make Tot's acquaintance.
With glistening wonder in her eyes, in robe of trailing, snowy, sun-shot
mist, with water lilies dropping from her hair, and the cave--Will could
have provided for her such a cave, the water tinkling and trickling from
the walls hung with silver spray, stalactites of purest barley sugar
glittering, pillars of creamiest cream candy shimmering; and, to crown
all and above all, the fairy would have had a daily diet of cream cakes
and caramels.
But, before all this splendor of material could be built up into words,
the builder had departed, the river fairy had melted back and away into
her native mist, and Tot never knew.
That night, Will tossed Tot flying once more into the air, rescued once
more his fresh collar from her crumpling embrace, kissed her once more,
good-by this time, and was off and away on the cars to school. No more
stories. No more fairies. No more anything. Only a wonderful river
winding and gleaming and leaping through Tot's childish
dreams--beautiful, wonderful "Soogar Wiver," where happy Uncle Will went
fishing, lying on the bed of rock candy.
One morning, all in the gray and quiet, Tot had a queer dream. She
thought some one said, with a funny little catch in the voice: "Wake up,
little Tot, mamma's treasure," and some one held her so tightly she
could hardly breathe.
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