Then all the fairies set to work in good earnest. Some dipped clover
blossoms in the water, and washed and rubbed her mouth and cheeks
until there was not a sign left of strawberry or blackberry stain;
others gathered fern leaves and soft grass, and washed her little feet
until they were as white as lambs' wool; and the Very Least, who had
been the one to carry her hand, now washed it with ever so many
morning-glory-blossom-fuls of water and rubbed it dry with soft clean
moss.
Other fairies curled her hair around flower stalks, while some
scattered sweet smelling blossoms about her, until there was never
such a sweet, clean, and fragrant little girl in the whole world.
And all this time she never opened her eyes. But no wonder, for if you
are ever washed by fairies while you are asleep, you will find that
you will never know it.
When all was done, and not a speck of dirt was to be seen anywhere on
little Bridget, the fairies took her gently up and carried her to her
mother's house, for they knew very well where she lived. There they
laid her down on the doorstep, where it was both warm and shady, and
they all scampered away as fast as their funny little legs could carry
them.
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