'Where do you come from--from what star?' he asked softly in an ecstasy of wonder. The tiny face looked straight at him and smiled. 'From the Pleiades, of course,--that little group of star-babies as yet unborn.' 'I've been looking for you for ever,' he answered. 'You've found me,' sang the tiny voice. 'This is our introduction. Now, don't forget. There was a lost Pleiad, you know. Try to remember me when you wake.' 'Then why are you here?' He meant in the Pattern. The star-face rippled with laughter. 'It's yours--your Scheme. He's given it perfect shape for you, that's all. Don't you recognise it? But it's my Story as well. ...' A ray with crimson in it shot out just then across the shoulder of the Blumlisalp, and, falling full upon the tiny face, it faded out; the Pattern faded with it; Daddy vanished too. On the little azure winds of dawn they flashed away. Jimbo, Monkey, and certain of the Sprites alone held on, but the tree-tops to which they clung were growing more and more slippery every minute. Mother, loth to return, balanced bravely on the waving spires of a larch. Her sleep that night had been so deep and splendid, she struggled to prolong it. She hated waking up too early. 'The Morning Spiders! Look out!' cried a Sprite, as a tiny spider on its thread of gossamer floated by. It was the Dustman's voice. Catching the Gypsy with one arm and the Tramp with the other, all three instantly disappeared. 'But where's my Haystack friend?' called Mother faintly, almost losing her balance in the attempt to turn round quickly. 'Oh, she's all right,' the Head Gardener answered from a little distance where he was burning something. 'She just "stays put" and flirts with every wind that comes near her. She loves the winds. They know her little ways.' He went on busily burning up dead leaves he had been collecting all night long--dead, useless thoughts he had found clogging a hundred hearts and stopping outlets. 'Look sharp!' cried a voice that fell from the sky above them. 'Here come the Morning Spiders, On their gossamer outriders!' This time it was the Lamplighter flashing to and fro as he put the stars out one by one. He was in a frantic hurry; he extinguished whole groups of them at once. The Pleiades were the last to fade. Rogers heard him and came back into himself. For his ecstasy had carried him even beyond the region of the freest 'thinking.' He could give no account or explanation of it at all. Monkey, Jimbo, Mother, and he raced in a line together for home and safety. Above the fields they met the spiders everywhere, the spiders that bring the dawn and ride off into the Star Cave on lost rays and stray thoughts that careless minds have left scattered about the world. And the children, as they raced and told their mother to 'please move a little more easily and slipperily,' sang together in chorus:--