A/N: By the way, the poem in the last chapter was by L. M. Montgomery.

Little Elizabeth meant to share her day's delightful surprise with her father, but found Pierce Grayson in a hurried departure as she wended her way to his library. A colleague had returned to New England sooner than he expected, and his note sounded as though he had eager business to discuss. He gave Elizabeth a quick kiss on her golden hair as she brushed against his tweed jacket, promising to be back soon.

Little Elizabeth sat down in her father's armchair, slightly disappointed. On second thought, she decided that it was a nice secret to keep to herself. She could already anticipate how Father would tease her if he saw the letter! He would suggest that it could be any of the boys from school: Froggy-eyed Jasper Dickinson, or chubby Ted Parker who tried to give her a rose last week. As if any of them could find a rhymne to save his life! Little Elizabeth shuddered - the thought took all the romance out of the occasion.

She liked the mysteriousness of the message. There was much more scope for imagination if she didn't know who had written those verses - she could pretend she was really receiving missives from a voyageur in fairyland. The thought pleased her.

She pulled her father's pen out of the stand and penned a letter:

Dearest Miss Shirley,

I received a most delightful missive from you - with a sea-song poem and blurbs of sunsets in fairyland. I am afraid you will tell me it was all a mistake - but I'd rather believe fate meant me to receive it, so I will ask you please do not tell me how it came to be.

I must answer his letter, though. But will you forward my answer to him, rather than give his address to me? An address - a Boston street name and a postal code - will make it all so prosaic and real. I'd rather imagine that you really do have dealings with fairyland and are sending my notes to a correspondent in a magic realm I cannot reach myself. Can you make this magic happen, Miss Shirley? And will you swear solemnly never to reveal our true identities to each other?

Three weeks later she received a reply.

"The Teacher of my youth wrote that an maiden of elfland wished to bring me news of her world, in exchange for tidings of mine. It sounds every bit a delightful proposal. There are so few of us that speak the language of fairyland, you know. I stumble daily across bouts of beauty, here in the Boston woods, that cry to be immortalized in prose or poetry. I have always been glad that I could record their messages for Teacher, and now, you.

What shall I call you, my elfin friend? How shall I imagine you? I do not know where you live, how old you are, or your name, and have been warned against asking. But that won't stop us from seeing each other as we'd rather imagine ourselves, and calling each other as we've always longed to be called. And if I can make the request - could you please call me the Poet? I am a poet - I have always longed to be a worthwhile one - and it will mean much to me if there was at least one soul who acknowledged me as such."