A Pixy in Petticoats by John Trevena

It was very dark upon the moor that night. There was a cold mist, and through it came from time to time stinging snow showers which could hardly be faced, because of the bitterness of the wind which brought them across the bare hills and bog land from the great plateau, which was the centre of Burrough's thoughts from the hour the Breton left him. Hidden away in the tin box, which in its turn was safely enclosed within the soaked masses of peat forming the cairn in the centre of the land of desolation, was Beatrice's letter, waiting for the next traveller upon Cranmere. Standing at his door, Burrough listened to the wind, felt the cold sting of the driven sleet, and thought of the region which separated him from the letter.

The whimsical act was typical of Beatrice. She would be delighted to think that her message for him was at the _poste restante_ of the pixies. He knew that she secretly regarded Cranmere as the only place left where the little people existed. It was to Cranmere that he had sent the Cornish princess of his fairy-tale, that she might make her choice between the three kings. And now it was to Cranmere that she would send him to receive her final answer.