There is life in you ; and it is the life in you which makes you grow , and move , and think : and yet you ca n't see it . And there is steam in a steam-engine ; and that is what makes it move : and yet you ca n't see it ; and so there may be fairies in the world , and they may be just what makes the world go round to the old tune of `` C'est l'amour , l'amour , l'amour Qui fait la monde a la ronde : '' and yet no one may be able to see them except those whose hearts are going round to that same tune . At all events , we will make believe that there are fairies in the world . It will not be the last time by many a one that we shall have to make believe . And yet , after all , there is no need for that . There must be fairies ; for this is a fairy tale : and how can one have a fairy tale if there are no fairies ? You do n't see the logic of that ? Perhaps not . Then please not to see the logic of a great many arguments exactly like it , which you will hear before your beard is gray . The kind old dame came back at twelve , when school was over , to look at Tom : but there was no Tom there . She looked about for his footprints ; but the ground was so hard that there was no slot , as they say in dear old North Devon . And if you grow up to be a brave healthy man , you may know some day what no slot means , and know too , I hope , what a slot does mean -- a broad slot , with blunt claws , which makes a man put out his cigar , and set his teeth , and tighten his girths , when he sees it ; and what his rights mean , if he has them , brow , bay , tray , and points ; and see something worth seeing between Haddon Wood and Countisbury Cliff , with good Mr. Palk Collyns to show you the way , and mend your bones as fast as you smash them . Only when that jolly day comes , please do n't break your neck ; stogged in a mire you never will be , I trust ; for you are a heath-cropper bred and born . So the old dame went in again quite sulky , thinking that little Tom had tricked her with a false story , and shammed ill , and then run away again . But she altered her mind the next day . For , when Sir John and the rest of them had run themselves out of breath , and lost Tom , they went back again , looking very foolish . And they looked more foolish still when Sir John heard more of the story from the nurse ; and more foolish still , again , when they heard the whole story from Miss Ellie , the little lady in white . All she had seen was a poor little black chimney-sweep , crying and sobbing , and going to get up the chimney again . Of course , she was very much frightened : and no wonder . But that was all .
The boy had taken nothing in the room ; by the mark of his little sooty feet , they could see that he had never been off the hearthrug till the nurse caught hold XXXXX him .
So after as before except for from like of with