“And now,” said the King, “we come to our last story, and I think it shall be told us by the fairy who comes from the furthest North.”
Several dwarfs and Elves started up at this word, but the King signalled them back to their places; “No,” he said, “none of you is the one from farthest North.” Then slowly up the middle of the circle came a quaint little figure all in white with long white hair and beard—looking, only of course the idea is ridiculous, like anoldfairy. He had come from the land of perpetual winter, where everything is white as the everlasting snow, but though he looked old he was lively and youthful as the most frolicsome of the flower fairies there. He skipped briskly on to the stool, then passing his hand down his long white beard—strange guest where all was so brilliantly coloured—he began a story which he named