"
"I'm sorry," said the boy huskily; "I can't help it."
"I know," the man said quickly; "it doesn't matter a bit. I expect
you've seen these pictures before."
"I know them all," said the boy, "but I have never seen them."
The man frowned.
"It's the devil," he said to himself, "when boys speak English." He
turned suddenly to the girl, who was puzzling over the boy's tears.
"It's time you went back to bed," he said; "there won't be any
fairies tonight. It's too cold for them."
The girl yawned.
"I shall get into a row when I get back if they've found it out. I
don't care."
"The moon is fading," said the boy suddenly; "there are no more
shadows."
"We will see you through the wood," the man continued, "and say
good-night."
He put his pictures back in his knapsack and then walked silently
through the murmuring wood. At the edge of the wood the girl stopped.
"You are a wood-boy," she said to the boy, "and you mustn't come any
farther. You can give me a kiss if you like."
The boy did not move, but stayed regarding her awkwardly.
"I think you are a very silly boy," said the girl, with a toss of her
head, and she stalked away proudly into the mist.
"Why didn't you kiss her?" asked the man.
"Her lips would burn me," said the boy.
The man and the boy walked slowly across the park.
"Now, boy," said the man, "since civilisation has gone to bed the
time has come for you to hear your destiny."
"I am only a poor boy," the boy replied simply.
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