O nce upon a time there were nine little elves who lived in a small mushroom house on the edge of Cuckoo Wood. It was a fine house, and suited the elves well.
But one day a most annoying thing happened—a farmer came that way, saw the large mushroom, and picked it! He put it into his coat-pocket, with fairies and all in it—though he didn't know they were there, of course.
The elves had a terrible shock. They squeezed out of the door of the mushroom house, and found themselves in the dark pocket. They found their way to the opening of the pocket and peeped out. In a trice they had spread their cobwebby wings and had flown to the ground.
" My goodness! " said Goldie-wings, " that was a narrow escape! "
" We've lost our lovely house! " said Gossamer, beginning to cry.
" It will be cooked," said Tippytoe.
" Never mind," said Twinkles. " We'll find another."
" But we haven't any furniture now," said Tiptap.
They flew over the fields till they came to where a family of rabbits was nibbling the grass.
" Good morning! " said Goldie-wings. " I suppose you couldn't tell us of any good house to be sold? Ours has just been picked by a farmer, and will be cooked. So we want another."
" No," said the father-rabbit, thinking so hard that his ears went crooked. " No—I don't know of any."