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"Very well," said the lord; "if you like, I will say there are sylphids in the air, and trolls inside the earth; and, once on a time, I was myself a great white butterfly: do you remember chasing me over a bed of roses?" "O papa, now you laugh!
She longed for the true home she had left; but whither should she go to seek it? "Dear papa," said she, one day, "I beg you will not say again there are no sylphids; for I remember so well how I spread my wings and flew. It was glorious to see the clouds float under my feet!"
"You fancy you were once a sylphid," said he; "but there are no sylphids, my sweet one, and there is no Summer-land." The child became as dear to the lord and lady as their very heart's blood; and they forgot her foreign birth, and almost believed, as all the world did, that she was their own little daughter. But the child did not forget.
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