A BOX OF OINTMENT
“Poor little Miss Crimson Lake!” said Major C. “What has happened to her? She was so pretty, so pink, and so lively.”
“She looks rather washed out now,” said Minora.
The holiday fairies looked at one another, looked at poor Crimson Lake, and burst out crying.
“It’s our fault,” said Christmas.
“Our fault,” sobbed Easter.
“We are so sorry,” said Summer.
“Then help us to do something to make her better,” said Thirteen-fourteenths. “You know, it isn’t all our fault. Betty Barber’s book is at the bottom of the mischief. I expect poor Crimson Lake was trying to get here to look for the book.”
Half-term nodded. “She was talking about the tree and the book, when I met her.”
“She’s gone to sleep,” said Christmas, “perhaps that will do her good.”
“We will move further away, so as not to waken her,” said Minora.
“The Conference Meeting will be held in the Upper Hall,” said Thirteen-fourteenths, and he swung himself up into the branches of the tree. The fairies followed, so did Minora, and the Major soon found himself sitting astride a branch, feeling quite happy and comfortable.
“I recommend the outside of the tree, not the inside,” said Half-term, as they all settled down to plot and plan and scheme.
At the foot of the tree Crimson Lake lay quite still, fast asleep. As the Fraction had guessed, she had tried to get to the tree to tear up the book, feeling that that was the first thing to do; but had she not met Half-term she would never have reached the tree, for she was tired out.
Chatter, chatter, chatter went the voices up in the tree.
Half-term’s voice could be heard distinctly above the others: “Of course, Santa Claus would help.”
Miss Crimson Lake moved in her sleep.
“I must find out if Lucy is in Nonsense Land, and help her out.”
