The other voice here murmured some reply too low for the children to catch. “What’s that?” replied the first speaker. “No—not _you_. But I’ll tell you what will happen, you’ll be having an attack of melancholia——” “Oh, not that, not that!” The low voice was raised and pleading. “Don’t talk of melons, Glan, don’t, I pray you. They make me think of those lemons—and the—and——” “Now don’t you think of that any more,” ordered the high voice. “Come, come, come. Pull yourself together....” The speakers became visible, wending their way through the wood in which the children were standing. One was a young, fat, rosy-cheeked man, with a jolly smile, wearing a white overall and white baker’s cap; he was clean-shaven, and was the possessor of the high voice. His companion was a striking contrast to him, being old and thin and pale, with a long white beard; he was dressed in a rich, dark-coloured robe, and had a number of keys dangling from his belt. They pulled up short when they caught sight of Jack and Molly; then advanced slowly, with sidelong glances at each other and low whispers. Molly stepped forward. “If you please,” she said, very politely, “could you tell us where we are?” “Could you tell us _who_ you are, little lady?—that’s more to the point,” said the young man pleasantly. “I’m Molly, and this is my brother Jack,” the little girl replied; which did not enlighten the young man very much. The old man gazed at them with his small, dull eyes, and ran his fingers nervously through his beard. “We’ve only just come—through that tree,” volunteered Jack, pointing to the giant tree behind them. “Through the tree!” exclaimed the old man and the young man together. “Then you are from the Impossible World,” added the young man in an excited, high voice. “We live in England,” said Jack with dignity. “That may be. I don’t know England. But if it lies on the other side of that Tree it is in the Impossible World.” “Why do you call it that?” asked Molly. “Because that’s its name in our geography books. This is the Possible World, and always was—except——” The young man glanced at the old man, who turned his head aside. “Don’t speak of that,” groaned the old man. “Cheer up, Father,” cried the young man. “Pull yourself together now. Snap your fingers and—tss—it is gone, remember.” And he beamed encouragingly down at the thin little old man beside him, who only looked more depressed than ever at his son’s efforts to cheer him up. “But how is it we’ve played in this wood—I mean that wood—ever so many times and never found our way here before?” inquired Jack.