what dell is this, and how I chanced to be in it?"

The brownie might or might not have heard; but, at any rate, he
deigned no reply, and went on with his task, which was pounding seeds
in a stone mortar.

"Am I Robin Telfer, of the Valley of Yarrow, and yet canna shake aff
my silly dreams?"

"Weel, my lad," quoth the queen of the fairies, giving him a smart tap
with her wand, "stir yersel', and be at work; for naebody idles in
Elf-land."

Bewildered Robin ventured a look at the little queen. By daylight she
seemed somewhat sleepy and tired; and was withal so tiny, that he
might almost have taken her between his thumb and finger, and twirled
her above his head; yet she poised herself before him on a
mullein-stalk and looked every inch a queen.

Robin found her gaze oppressive; for her eyes were hard and cold and
gray, as if they had been little orbs of granite.

"Get ye to work, Wild Robin!"

"What to do?" meekly asked the boy, hungrily glancing at a few kernels
of rye which had rolled out of one of the brownie's mortars.

"Are ye hungry, my laddie? Touch a grain of rye if ye dare! Shell
these dry beans; and if so be ye're starving, eat as many as ye can
boil in an acorn-cup."