Presently it began to grow dark, and the sisters returned to the fire, curling up close together on the long seat with its thick cushions that stood in front of the hearth. Rose was a good deal taller than her sister, though they were only a year apart. Her hair was thick and hung in two long red braids, a real golden red, and her eyes were golden too, with brown shadows. There were freckles on her nose, which turned up just a little. Rose was forever imagining and pretending, and wondering whether she might not be lucky enough to stumble on a fairy or a gnome, or find a charm or a wishing cup; and Ruth would listen to the wonderings, and follow her sister about, hoping that Rose really might have an adventure, and that she would be in it too. Ruth was a slender, vivid, dark little thing, with hair that tumbled round her head in curls, and big, black eyes that opened wide when she sat listening to Rose’s make-believes. She liked to read better than anything, and even when they went off on long rides she would tuck in a book somewhere, and find a chance to read it while they stopped for a rest or to water the ponies or to chat with the Dillinghams, on the next ranch. “Think of all the little girls there are in the world, hundreds and hundreds and millions, and we don’t know any of them,” continued Rose, lugubriously. “Wouldn’t it be grand if we had a magic carpet, and could sit on it and wish we were anywhere and be there in the shake of a cat’s hind leg.” “What’s that?” asked Ruth. “Oh, nothing. It’s just what Jim says when he means a little bit of a time.” “Where would we go, Rose?” “Perhaps to a big school, where lots and lots of girls were playing together. Or to a fairy island, where all the nicest boys and girls in the world lived, and went on picnics and had parties. Or maybe we’d go to a nice big house where there were two other girls as old as we are, and they were wishing, like us, that they had some little friends to play with—that would be nicest of all, I think.” Ruth sighed deliciously, picturing the joy of it. “I don’t suppose you can _possibly_ find such a carpet,” she murmured. “N-no—I suppose they are all in Persia or Arabia. Or perhaps they are all worn out by this time.” The fire shot up a great plume of sparks as one of the logs fell apart, and then died down. The room was dark, for the storm had brought night on earlier than it should have come. “Well,” said a small, clear voice right beside the girls, “I don’t know anything about wishing carpets; but I can’t see why you don’t go through the Magic Gate. If you go through that, you reach places quite as interesting as those you are talking about—and as for children! Why, it leads to thousands and thousands of them.” Rose was too surprised to breathe, and Ruth’s eyes opened and opened. “What’s the matter? Don’t you know a fairy when you see one?” went on the clear voice. The girls looked all around. “But—but we don’t see anything,” stammered Rose.