“Lemons,” said the young man; “and do what I can I cannot shake him out of the gloom into which he has fallen.... It’s strange,” the young man continued, “but poor old Father seems the only person who did not cheer up when the World became Possible again. It was a nasty shock for him, being banished from Court; and although they’ve taken him back and given him another post—I suppose he’s getting old. And then those dreams——” Glan’s face became serious for a moment. “However, they mean nothing, I’m sure. And now you are here you’d like to see our Possible Country, wouldn’t you? I’m afraid as you are from the Impossible World you’ll have to get a Pass before you can come into the City—but that’ll be all right. You must come and have tea with us. I opened a little baker’s and pastry-cook’s business when Father lost his place at Court, and I still keep it up—fascinating work, making puff pastry and currant buns. I run a special line in gooseberry-jam puffs. I used to do a lovely line in lemon cheese-cakes, but I’ve had to leave them off since Father’s had those dreams. He can’t bear to be reminded——” He stopped, a little out of breath. “We’d love to come up to the City; where can we get a Pass?” said Molly. “But, I say, what about that thing we were following,” broke in Jack, suddenly remembering what it was they had followed through the tree; the interest of meeting their new acquaintances had made the children forget for a few minutes. “We’d forgotten, hadn’t we, Molly? We were really following a Pumpkin, you know,” he said, turning to the young man. “A what!” and the young man’s voice rose to a shriek, and his eyes grew round. “A Pumpkin,” faltered Jack, a little dismayed, “A Grey Pumpkin.” “Father! Father! It’s come back,” shouted the young man, wheeling round excitedly. “Come back!” repeated the old man, rising to his feet and stumbling toward them. “Come back! What has come back? Not the—not——” “The Pumpkin,” gasped Glan, his fat, jolly face pale and his hands trembling. “Oh, my heart and soul,” cried the old man, his eyes wild with fear, wringing his hands together. “What did I warn you! What did I warn you! I said those lemons meant trouble. Oh, my heart and soul, what shall we do!” The father and son stared wildly into each other’s eyes for a second. “What shall we do, Glan? What shall we do?” the old man quavered, shaking from head to foot. “Where has the Pumpkin gone?” asked Glan, turning to the children. “We don’t know,” said Molly, frightened at the distress of the two men. “It came through the tree before us, we followed it, and by the time we got through it had disappeared.” “I must go and spread the alarm. I must go and warn. Oh, my heart and soul!” the old man sobbed, and turning, he stumbled out on to the white road and waddled rapidly up the hill toward the walls of the city, mumbling and chattering and sobbing to himself, the keys at his belt jangling a dismal accompaniment.