and he wanted them to undo it. He would not look. They would
please understand that this time he did not mean to deceive them.

"Cross my heart," he murmured very solemnly, and gave the pledge.

But it did no good. They would not undo the queer things they had
done to the house. They were spiteful and mean, and not to be
trusted. The house remained without trees and vines, a scowling,
ugly thing. The garden had no shrubs; the seeded grass was matted
down and yellow, like hay, and there were bald places where the
gray ground was showing through.

They did not know, those foolish fairy folk, of the courage and
the faith that may be in the heart of a little boy. They might be
stubborn if they chose; they might keep him waiting, but in the
end they would not abuse his patience. All would come right. Only
it did take such a long, long while for it to get that way!
Hungry-time is very hard on little boys when they are waiting for
things to come right, and it was so hard on David that twice he
called aloud for Mother. A wooden echo, sent back from barns and
sheds, dolefully repeated the last syllable of his cry. It was
sad mockery, but David held doggedly to his belief that finally
things would come right. His hands closed rigidly upon the sides
of the fence-post, and from beneath the tight-shut eyelids slow
tear-drops were squeezing out.

It was so that Dr. Redfield found him. With medicine-case in
hand, the physician had come down the walk from the desolate,
scowling house. As he seized the child in his arms, and as he
felt the small arms of David go about his neck, the word that