They did not pause to dissect his logic--but just tore about full speed with busy plans and questionings. He began to wonder how in the world he would satisfy them--and satisfy himself as well!--when the time should come to introduce them to Express and Cave and Passengers. For if he failed in that, the reality of the entire business must fall to the ground. Yet the direct question did not come. He wondered more and more. Neither child luckily insisted on immediate tangible acquaintance. They did not even hint about it. So far the whole thing had gone splendidly and easily, like floating a new company with the rosiest prospectus in the world; but the moment must arrive when profits and dividends would have to justify mere talk. Concrete results would be demanded. If not forthcoming, where would his position be? Yet, still the flood of questions, answers, explanations flowed on without the critical sentence making its appearance. He had led them well--so far. How in the world, though, was he to keep it up, and provide definite result at the end? Then suddenly the truth dawned upon him. It was not he who led after all; it was they. He was being led. They knew. They understood. The reins of management lay in their small capable hands, and he had never really held them at all. Most cleverly, with utmost delicacy, they had concealed from him his real position. They were Directors, he the merest shareholder, useful only for 'calls.' The awkward question that he feared would never come, but instead he would receive instructions. 'Keep close to the children; they will guide you.' The words flashed back. He was a helpless prisoner; but had only just discovered the fact. He supplied the funds; they did the construction. Their plans and schemes netted his feet in fairyland just as surely as the weight of their little warm, soft bodies fastened him to the boulder where he sat. He could not move. He could not go further without their will and leadership. But his captivity was utterly delightful to him.... The sound of a deep bell from the Colombier towers floated in to them between the trees. The children sprang from his knees. He rose slowly, a little cramped and stiff. 'Half-past six,' said Jimbo. 'We must go back for supper.' He stood there a moment, stretching, while the others waited, staring up at him as though he were a tree. And he felt like a big tree; they were two wild-flowers his great roots sheltered down below. And at that moment, in the little pause before they linked up arms and started home again, the Question of Importance came, though not in the way he had expected it would come. 'Cousinenry, do you sleep very tightly at night, please?' Monkey asked it, but Jimbo stepped up nearer to watch the reply. 'Like a top,' he said, wondering. Signals he tried vainly to intercept flashed between the pair of them. 'Why do you ask?' as nothing further seemed forthcoming. 'Oh, just to know,' she explained. 'It's all right.'