"Where does she live?" asked the frightened little boy.
But already the Owl had adjusted her spectacles, become absorbed in the green leaf, and gave no answer.
"Oh, poor me!" little Paul thought sadly. "Now I am to go to the Cuckoo, and I don't even know where he lives. Will the Cuckoo know more than the Owl? And I am already so tired, my feet hurt me."
He sank down upon the soft green moss at the foot of a slender young birch. Little by little he became very depressed. He was thinking how he was altogether abandoned and alone, how nobody was good to him, and all at once he began to weep bitterly. Thereupon he became aware of a thin small voice coming from somewhere high up; it sounded like little bells of pure silver.
"Why are you crying, little child?" the silvery voice asked.
Paul looked upward and he saw the most wonderful little creature he had ever beheld in his life. Upon a branch of the birch sat a fairy. She had long golden-blond hair, which reached down to her feet, her little face was pale and delicate as moonlight, and her big eyes shone green like the leaves of the birch. She fluttered down toward Paul very lightly, alighted on his shoulder, it was as tho a light leaf touched him, and stroked his face with her tiny white hands. Paul's heart warmed. How good it was to be touched by tender hands! His tears stopped, he stared at the little creature, and asked at last, "Who are you?"
"I am a Dryad, I am the soul of the birchtree," declared the little creature. "All day long I must sit in my tree, but when night comes I am free, I walk about on the earth, play with the other Dryads, my sisters. But tell me, for what reason are you sad?"
Paul told the Dryad of his unhappiness, saying at the end, "I must always ask why. The question burns in my heart, hurts me, and I believe if I ever receive an answer I will be happy. But now
