O nce upon a time there was a small pixie called Whistle. You can guess why he had that name—he was always whistling merrily! He lived with his mother and father in a little toadstool house not far from a big pond. It was a lonely house, for no other pixies lived near, and as white ducks swam on the pond there were no frogs or toads for Whistle to play with.
" I'm very lonely, Mother," Whistle said, a dozen times a day. " I wish I could play with the field-mice. They want to show me their tunnels under the roots of the oak tree."
" No, Whistle," said his mother firmly. " The last time you went to see a mouse's nest you got lost underground, and I had to pay three moles to go and look for you. You are not to play with field-mice."
" Well, can I play with the hedgehog then? " asked Whistle. " He is a good fellow for running about with me in the fields."
" Certainly not! " said his mother. " His prickles would tear your nice clothes to pieces. Now run out and play by yourself, Whistle, and don't worry me any more."
So Whistle went out by himself, looking very gloomy. It was dull having to play by himself, very dull. He shook his head when Tiny the field-mouse ran up to him and squeaked to him to come and play. He didn't go near the hedgehog when he saw him in the ditch. Whistle was an obedient little pixie.
He ran off to the pond. He liked to watch the big dragon-flies there. They were nearly as big as he was.
It was whilst he was watching the dragon-flies that he saw a merry little head poking out of the water nearby, watching the dragon-flies too!