When they had gone he leaned forward in an elegant yet somewhat dejected attitude, his hands clasped between his knees. Then he arose, shrugging his shoulders as if a burden were clinging to them, and turned toward the Masked Lady. "What are you doing?" he asked wonderingly. She set free a fine dove, which immediately disappeared through the window. "I am getting ready for a very important journey," she said. He watched her intently. Presently he said, in a strange, abashed tone, "You seem a very nice, kind lady, after all!" She did not reply to this, because a dove came in at that instant and she busied herself placing it in its compartment in the cote. He continued to regard her, though he was now studying her face, rather than taking note of her work with the doves. "Sometimes," he continued falteringly, "I have a wish to speak to you--I mean, to tell you of things which I cannot speak of to others." "I have tried always, Everychild, to be close to you," she said. For an instant it seemed to him that it would not be difficult at all to speak to her of what was in his heart. And he said, "You know I--I am not very happy." She replied to this with gentle mockery. "Not happy?" she said; "and yet there are many to play with you, and none to turn away from you with coldness and indifference--any more." He became strangely still. What did she mean by that? He had never told her about his childhood; he had never mentioned his parents to her. Whom could she be, that she should know so many things without having to be told? Or was she speaking only of the present, without reference to the past? "My playmates are all friendly," he said; "but you know I have come far from home . . ." When he faltered she added, "But have you found what you started out to find?" He was a little embarrassed. "What I started out to find?" he echoed. "I don't seem to remember----" "You know you started out to find the truth," she said. He nodded. "So I did," he declared. "But so many things have happened, especially since I found the Sleeping Beauty, and it's been so nice, most of the time . . ." "Still, you shouldn't give up, you know," she said. "Maybe that's the reason why you're not quite happy--because you haven't found the truth." He sighed heavily. She hadn't comforted him, after all. And somehow he could not tell her that what ailed him was that he was heartsick to see his parents again. He remembered the pretty sitting room at home, and the way his father and mother used to look; and it seemed to him that if he could go back they would perhaps be happy to see him. But he could not speak of all this to the Masked Lady. He was greatly amazed when she said in a low tone: "It would be the same thing over again if you didn't find the truth before you went back." It was quite as if he had spoken his thoughts to her aloud!