Outside, Prilla found dozens of fairies standing on branches or hovering, waiting for her. Word had traveled that the new fairy didn't know what her talent was. Someone called out, "You think you'd like shearing caterpillars? That's an animal fairy job!"

Someone else said, "Isn't it fun to dry toadstools?"

Prilla recognized Terence, the dust-keeper fairy, near the front of the crowd. And she thought another fairy looked familiar too, maybe from the tea room or the kitchen. A fairy cried, "Don't you love washing wings? It's a helping-talent job!"

Another called, "How about weaving grass? It's a very important part of being a tinker!"

They all began shouting at once, "Sorting sand? That's another helping-talent job!" "Cricket whistling is my favorite part of being an animal fairy!" "Grading tree bark is a fun part of being a garden fairy!"

Prilla flattened herself against Tink's door, frightened.

Then, she was in a Clumsy supermarket, wedged in with a bunch of broccoli, a rubber band tight around her waist. A Clumsy boy bounded toward her. The boy called over his shoulder, "Mom, can we get broccoli?"

The woman hurried over, "Broccoli? Absolutely."

She reached for the bunch next to Prilla.

"No, I want that bunch."

Laughing, Prilla said, "Don't cook me!"

A fairy jostled her. Prilla flinched.

"Me first!" someone called out.

"No, me!"

"Stop pushing," Terence said; his voice deep and resonant. "We're frightening her."

He smiled at Prilla, the same winsome smile that Tink had failed to see. "I'm Terence."

A voice in the crowd rang out, "Why should you go first?"

Prilla thought, Terence glitters.

"Because," Terence said, "If she's a dust-keeper fairy, she has to get ready for the Molt."

That convinced them. The Molt was urgent.

Terence did glitter. It was the fairy dust that clung to his oak leaf frock coat and caught his glow light.

"Prilla, would you like to visit the mill and see if you're a dust-keeper fairy?"

Prilla nodded, although she thought it was probably too much to hope for. They flew off. Terence shouted over the wind, "Did Tinker Bell mention me to you?"

"No!" Prilla shouted back.

"Oh, I see."

Prilla heard the disappointment in his voice. He likes Tink, she thought. She shouted, "Tink didn't mention anyone!"

"Ah."

They flew on without any more conversation. Prilla wondered what dust-keeper fairies did. If they only poured a cup of fairy dust over everybody every day, she could do that. She wouldn't mind waking up early.

Terence began to descend. Soon they landed on the bank of Havendish Stream.

"The mill is around the next bend," Terence said. "But first, do you know what fairy dust does?"

Prilla had known as soon as she'd become a fairy. After all, it was what had changed her from a fluff to a fairy.

"Fairy dust helps us fly! Without fairy dust, we can fly about a foot or so, but with it, we can fly any distance. Fairy dust makes everything go. It powers the mill; it goes in the balloons for the balloon carriers. We can barely glow without it!" She smiled, feeling like a star pupil.

"Do you know where fairy dust comes from?"

Prilla thought a moment. "From Mother Dove. After she molts, we grind up her feathers. Fairy dust is ground feathers!"

Oh, Prilla thought, understanding. That's why we're celebrating tonight! Mother Dove is about to molt!

"She molts every year, right?"

"Right. What do we do?"

"We?"

"Dust-keeper fairies."

Prilla's glow flared. Was Terence suggesting she might be one of them? One of "we"?

"They - , ah, we, give out fairy dust to every fairy every day!"

"What else?"

She thought hard, anxious to hold on to the "we". "Um… we set aside a portion for Peter Pan and the Lost Boys." There was probably more to it. "Um – we collect the feathers after the molt and grind them." Prilla pictured Mother Dove. "We sort the feathers into wings, back, neck, and belly. Do we grind them in the mill in separate proportions?"

Terence nodded, beginning to feel hope. "What else?"

Prilla was thinking like mad. "We make sure nothing blows away, not the smallest grain. We make sure the fairy dust doesn't get wet. We store the dust in… in… something big." Prilla's wings drooped. "I don't know what we store it in."

But Terence was smiling. "Very good!" He thought she'd done well, better than a new fairy in another talent would have. "We store it in dried pumpkin canisters. Come, I'll take you to the mill."

He started flying. Prilla did a handstand and sprang into the air after him. But he came down again. "Watch out for Vidia," he said.

She landed next to him. "Vidia?"

"Vidia. You met her on the Home Tree when you arrived. She calls everyone "darling" and "sweetheart"."

Prilla nodded, remembering. She sneered at Tink.

"Why do we watch out for her?"

"She's stolen fairy dust more than once. She hurt Mother Dove, too." Terence didn't like speaking ill of anyone, but in Vidia's case he had a responsibility. "Vidia plucked living feathers from Mother Dove, and plucking hurts."

"Why did she do that?" Prilla asked, shocked.

"To fly faster. Feathers that are fresh that don't come from the molt are supposed to make you fly faster. Vidia's talent is fast-flying, you know."

Prilla resolved that she'd never hurt anyone for the sake of her talent, if she turned out to have a talent.

Terence added, "She got 10 feathers before a scout caught her. Queen Ree has banned her from Mother Dove's presence." He flapped his wings, glad to be done with the subject of Vidia. "Ready for the mill?"

Prilla followed him into the air, but he came down again, and so did she. "I have a saucepan," he said. "I could dent it and bring it to Tink to fix, but do you think…" He trailed off.

"Don't just dent it!" Prilla said. "Squash it or put a hole in it! The worse it is, the better she'll like it."

"Ah," Terence said. "I'll take your advice." He jumped into the air, and this time, he kept going.

The mill, which was built with peach pits and mortar, was close to Havendish Stream. As he unlatched the big double doors, he said, "If you're one of us, you'll be spending a lot of time here." The wind pushed the doors open. He added, "The garden fairies use the mill too, but not today, because of the celebration."

The mill was empty and quiet. Daylight streamed in the small windows just below the roof. Prilla saw the mill works. The grinding stones, the wheel, the hopper, and across from them, a dozen pumpkin canisters. She wasn't feeling the joy other fairies felt from their talents, but she thought that might be because she hadn't yet done anything with fairy dust. She pointed at the grindstones. "You could squash your saucepan in there."

"In there?" Terence was horrified. "Where Mother Dove's feathers go?"

She'd said something wrong again. "I was… just joking."

"Oh," Terence didn't think a saucepan in the mill was funny. He perched on the top of an open pumpkin canister. "Look, Prilla. This is all the fairy dust we have left."

He flew into the canister. Prilla followed. The fairy dust was only three inches deep. It sparkled faintly.

"It looks so… so… so… achoo!" She sneezed, and sneezed five more rabid-fire sneezes. Luckily, she was too high up to blow any fairy dust away, but still, Terence frowned. She knew why. You couldn't be a dust-keeper fairy if three inches of fairy dust made you sneeze.