It was a showery summer evening when the brother and sister walked up to the Folly in a partial clearing, when the evening sun made every bush twinkle all over with diamond drops. Childish voices were heard near the gate, and behind a dripping laurel were seen Elvira, Armine, and Barbara engaged in childhood’s unceasing attempt to explore the centre of the earth. “What do you expect to find there?” they were asked. “Little kobolds, with pointed caps, playing at ball with rubies and emeralds, and digging with golden spades,” answered Babie. “And they shall give me an opal ring,” said Elfie, “But Armine does not want the kobolds.” “He says they are bad,” said Babie. “Now are they, Mr. Ogilvie? I know elder women are, and erl kings and mist widows, but poor Neck, that sat on the water and played his harp, wasn’t bad, and the dear little kobolds were so kind and funny. Now are they bad elves?” Her voice was full of earnest pleading, and Mr. Ogilvie, not being versed in the spiritual condition of elves could best reply by asking why Armine thought ill of their kind. “I think they are nasty little things that want to distract and bewilder one in the real great search.” “What search, my boy?” “For the source of everything,” said Armine, lowering his voice and looking into his muddy hole. “But that is above, not below,” said Mary. “Yes,” said Armine reverently; “but I think God put life and the beginning of growing into the earth, and I want to find it.” “Isn’t it Truth?” said Babie. “Mr. Acton said Truth was at the bottom of a well. I won’t look at the kobolds if they keep one from seeing Truth.” “But I must get my ring and all my jewels from them,” put in Elfie. “Should you know Truth?” asked Mr. Ogilvie. “What do you think she is like?” “So beautiful!” said Babie, clasping her fingers with earnestness. “All white and clear like crystal, with such blue, sweet, open eyes. And she has an anchor.” “That’s Hope?” said Armine. “Oh! Hope and Truth go hand in hand,” said Babie; “and Hope will be all robed in green like the young corn-fields in the spring.” “Ah, Babie, that emerald Hope and crystal Truth are not down in the earth, earthy,” said Mary again. “Nay, perhaps Armine has got hold of a reality,” said Mr. Ogilvie. “They are to be found above by working below.” “Talking paradox to Armine?” said the cheerful voice of the young mother. “My dear sprites, do you know that it is past eight! How wet you are! Good night, and mind you don’t go upstairs in those boots.” “It is quite comfortable to hear anything so commonplace,” said Mary, when the children had run away, to the sound of its reiteration after full interchange of good nights. “Those imps make one feel quite eerie.”