Rene Magritte The Empire of Light

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lying out on the lawn,' said Granny. 'She felt a bit poorly.' And from outside came the sound of Nanny Ogg being poorly at the top of her voice.
Magrat sighed.
'You know,' she said, 'if we are his godmothers, we ought to have given him three gifts. It's traditional.'
'What are you talking about, girl?'
'Three good witches are supposed to give the baby three gifts. You know, like good looks, wisdom and happiness.' Magrat he'll be handsome enough,' Magrat said, suddenly serious. 'Wisdom, do you think?'
'That's something he'll have to learn for himself,' said Granny.
'Perfect eyesight? A good singing voice?' From the lawn outside came Nanny Ogg's cracked pressed on defiantly. 'That's how it used to be done in the old days.''Oh, you mean gingerbread cottages and all that,' said Granny dismissively. 'Spinning wheels and pumpkins and pricking your finger on rose thorns and similar. I could never be having with all that.'She polished the ball reflectively.'Yes, but—' Magrat said. Granny glanced up at her. That was Magrat for you. Head full of pumpkins. Everyone's fairy godmother, for two pins. But a good soul, underneath it all. Kind to small furry animals. The sort of person who worried about baby birds falling out of nests.'Look, if it makes you any happier,' she muttered, surprised at herself. She waved her hands vaguely over the image of the departing carts. 'What's it to be – wealth, beauty?''Well, money isn't everything, and if he takes after his father