“The Possible World,” he said, then shook his head and held up his finger. The tolling of the bell floated across to them. “I suppose that’s to warn people, isn’t it?” said Jack. Glan nodded. “But we’ll soon change its tune, won’t we?” he said. “It’s joy-bells that’ll be ringing next, because the Black Leaf is found. And who will have found it.... Ah, ha!” he winked knowingly, and wagged a fat forefinger at the two children. “What a great day it will be,” he chuckled. “You’ll have to be careful I don’t win, because I’m going to search too, you know ... but we’ll talk all about that in the morning.” At the top of the hilly street they crossed an open square with a market cross in the centre, and entered another narrow street with bulging houses and shops in it. They met few people now as they continued on their way: many were still down by the West Gate, and others had wended their ways homeward after assuring themselves that the Pumpkin was safely outside the City walls. About half-way up the street Glan came to a halt outside a small shuttered shop, that lay back underneath the frowning brow of the bulging upper story of the building, like a dark deep-set eye. Producing a key from the pocket of his white jacket, Glan placed it in the lock of the side door and opened it quietly. “I’ll go in first, shall I?” he said. “There’s no light in the passage, and you might fall over something.” Jack and Molly followed him into the house, and stood hesitating on the mat while he strode down the passage and opened a door at the farther end. A dim light crept out and thinned the darkness. From the room came a low murmur in familiar tones. “Come along,” called Glan. “Would you mind just shutting the front door. Thanks very much.” It was a small room at the end of the passage with a round table in the centre of it on which stood a shaded lamp. At the table sat Glan’s father with his elbows resting on a large open book in front of him, while his hands, held to the sides of his head, covered his ears; an expression of profound melancholy was on his face as he gazed at the children on their entrance. Bending over the fireplace was a genial, comfortable-looking, elderly woman, who was stirring something in a saucepan. “Bless their hearts, how tired they look,” she exclaimed, as she caught sight of the children’s faces. “It’s the little lady and her brother that I told you about, Aunt Janet,” said Glan. “Is everything ready for them?” “Yes, my dear,” replied Aunt Janet. “The beds is sweet and aired, and there’s a bowl of hot broth for both of them, bless their innocent souls, which’ll be cooked in a minute or two. Sit you down, dearies, and rest yourselves, and Aunt Janet’ll have things ready in no time for you.” “They’re sure to be tired,” said Glan. “They were chased up the hill by the Pumpkin,” he added in a lower voice. But his father had heard. “What was that?” he asked mournfully, taking his hands down from his ears.