Mangeon uttered a scream of dismay, but Twisk showed no remorse.

Mangeon cried out in fury: "Vixen, you have done me a double mischief, and you shall do appropriate penance."

He took her to a road which skirted the forest. At a crossroads he fashioned a kind of pillory and affixed her to this construction.

Over her head he posted a sign: DO WHAT YOU WILL WITH ME and stood back. "Here you stay until three passersby, be they dolts, lickpennies or great earls, have their way with you, and that is the spell I invoke upon you, so that in the future you may choose to be more accommodating to those who accost you beside Tilhilvelly Pond."

Mangeon sauntered away, and Twisk was left alone.

The first to pass was the knight Sir Jaucinet of Castle Cloud in Dahaut. He halted his horse and appraised the situation with a wondering glance. "'DO WHAT YOU WILL WITH ME,'" he read. "Lady, why do you suffer this indignity?"

"Sir knight, I do not suffer so by choice," said Twisk. "I did not attach myself to the pillory in this position and I did not display the sign."

"Who then is responsible?"

"The troll Mangeon, for his revenge."

"Then, surely, I will help you escape, in any way possible."

Sir Jaucinet dismounted, removed his helmet, showing himself as a flaxen-haired gentleman with long mustaches and of good aspect. He attempted to loosen the bonds which confined Twisk, but to no avail. He said at last: "Lady, these bonds are proof against my efforts."

"In that case," sighed Twisk, "please obey the instruction implicit in the sign. Only after three such encounters will the bonds loosen."

"It is not a gallant act," said Sir Jaucinet. "Still, I will abide by my promise." So saying, he did what he could to assist in her release.

Sir Jaucinet would have stayed to share her vigil and assist her further if need be, but she begged him to leave. "Other travelers might be discouraged from stopping if they saw you here. So you must go, and at once! For the day is waning and I would hope to be home before night."

"This is a lonely road," said Sir Jaucinet. "Still, it is occasionally used by vagabonds and lepers, and good luck may attend you. Lady, I bid you good-day."

Sir Jaucinet adjusted his helm, mounted his horse and departed.

An hour passed while the sun sank into the west. At this time Twisk heard a whistling and presently saw a peasant boy on his way home after a day's work in the fields. Like Sir Jaucinet, he stopped short in amazement, then slowly approached. Twisk smiled at him ruefully. "As you see, sir, I am bound here. I cannot leave and I cannot resist you, no matter what might be your impulse."

"My impulse is simple enough," said the ploughboy. "But I wasn't born yesterday and I want to know how the sign reads."

"It says: Do what you will..."

"Ah then, that's all right. I was fearing it might be either a price or a quarantine."

With no more ado he raised his smock and conjoined to Twisk with rude zest. "And now, madam, if you will excuse me, I must hurry home, as there'll be bacon tonight with the turnips, and you've given me a hunger."

The ploughboy disappeared into the evening, while Twisk in disquiet contemplated the coming of night.

With darkness a chill crept through the air, and an overcast blotted out the stars so that the night was black. Twisk huddled, shivering and miserable, and listened to the sounds of the night with fearful attention.

The hours passed slowly. At midnight Twisk heard a soft sound: the pad of slow footsteps along the road. The footsteps halted, and something which could see through the dark paused to inspect her.

It approached, and even with her fairy vision Twisk could see only a tall outline.

It stood before her and touched her with cold fingers. Twisk spoke in a trembling voice: "Sir? Who are you? May I know your identity?"

The creature made no response. In tremulous terror Twisk held out her hand and felt a garment, like a cloak, which when disturbed wafted forth an unsettling odor.

The creature came close and subjected Twisk to a cold embrace, which left her only half-conscious.

The creature departed along the road and Twisk fell to the ground, soiled but free.

She ran through the dark toward Thripsey Shee. The clouds broke; starlight helped her on her way, and so she arrived home. She cleansed herself as best she could then went to her green velvet chamber to rest.

Fairies, though they never forget an injury, are resilient to misfortune, and Twisk quickly put the experience out of mind, and was only reminded of the event when she found herself large with child.

In her term she gave birth to a red-haired girl which even in its willow basket, under its owl's-down quilt, surveyed the world with a precocious wisdom.

Who—or what—was the father? The uncertainty caused Twisk a nagging vexation, and she took no pleasure in her child. One day Wynes, the woodcutter's wife, brought a baby boy into the forest. Without a second thought Twisk took the blond baby and left in its place the strangely wise girl.

In such fashion did Dhrun, son of Aillas and Suldrun, come to Thripsey Shee, and so, in due course did Madouc, of uncertain parentage, enter the palace Haidion.

Fairy babies are often guilty of peevishness, tantrums and malice.

Dhrun, a merry baby with a dozen endearing traits, charmed the fairies with his amiability, as well as his glossy blond curls, dark blue eyes, and a mouth always pursed and crooked as if on the verge of a grin. He was named Tippit, showered with kisses and fed nuts, flower nectar and grass-seed bread.

Fairies are impatient with awkwardness; Dhrun's education proceeded quickly. He learned flower-lore and the sentiments of herbs; he climbed trees and explored all of Madling Meadow, from Grassy Knoll to Twankbow Water. He learned the language of the land as well as the secret language of the fairies, which so often is mistaken for bird-calls.

Time in a fairy fort moves at a rapid rate, and a sidereal year was eight years in the life of Dhrun. The first half of this time was happy and uncomplicated. When he might be said to have reached the age of five (such determinations being rather indefinite), he put the question to Twisk, toward whom he felt as he might toward an indulgent, if flighty, sister. "Why can't I have wings like Digby, and fly? It's something, if you please, that I would like to do."

Twisk, sitting in the grass with a plait of cowslips, made a large gesture. "Flying is for fairy children. You are not quite a fairy, though you're my adorable Tippit, and I shall weave these cowslips into your hair and you will seem ever so handsome, far more than Digby, with his sly fox-face."

Dhrun persisted. "Still, if I am not quite a fairy, what am I?"

"Well, you are something very grand, that is sure: perhaps a prince of the royal court; and your name is really Dhrun." She had learned this fact in a strange fashion. Curious as to the condition of her red-haired daughter, Twisk had visited the cottage of Graithe and Wynes, and had witnessed the coming of King Casmir's deputation. Afterwards she lay hidden in the thatch, listening to the lamentations of Wynes for the lost baby Dhrun.

Dhrun was not entirely pleased with the information. "I think that I would rather be a fairy."

"We shall have to see about that," said Twisk, jumping to her feet. "For now, you are Prince Tippit, Lord of all cowslips."

For a period all was as before, and Dhrun put the unwelcome knowledge to the back of his mind. King Throbius, after all, wielded marvelous magic; in due course, if asked nicely, King Throbius would make him a fairy.

A single individual of the shee showed him animosity: this was Falael, with the girl's face and the boy's body, whose mind seethed with ingenious mischief. He marshaled two armies of mice and dressed them in splendid uniforms. The first army wore red and gold; the second wore blue and white with silver helmets. They marched bravely upon each other from opposite sides of the meadow and fought a great battle, while the fairies of Thripsey Shee applauded deeds of valor and wept for dead heroes.