"In that isle is a dead sea or lake, that has no bottom; and if any thing falls into it, it will never come up again. In that lake grow reeds, which they call Thaby, that are thirty fathoms long; and of these reeds they make fair houses. And there are other reeds, not so long, that grow near the land, and have roots full a quarter of a furlong long or more, at the knots of which roots precious stones are found that have great virtues; for he who carries any of them upon him may not be hurt by iron or steel; and therefore they who have those stones on them fight very boldly both by sea and land; and therefore, when their enemies are aware of this, they shoot at them darts without iron or steel, and so hurt and slay them. And also of those reeds they make houses and ships and other things, as we here make houses and ships of oak, or of any other tree. And let no man think I am joking, for I have seen these reeds with my own eyes." The words flowed on and on; Margaret felt her troubles smoothing themselves out, melting away. "Who is this pleasant person?" she asked, without raising her head. "Sir John Mandeville," said her uncle. "Rest a bit still, and we'll go and see the Chan of Cathay with him. Here we are!" He turned a page or two, and read again: "The emperor has his table alone by himself, which is of gold and precious stones; or of crystal, bordered with gold and full of precious stones; or of amethysts, or of lignum aloes, that comes out of Paradise; or of ivory bound or bordered with gold. And under the emperor's table sit four clerks, who write all that the emperor says, be it good or evil; for all that he says must be held good; for he may not change his word nor revoke it." "Oh, but I shouldn't like that, Uncle John!" cried Margaret. "I shouldn't like that at all! Should you?" "I don't think it would be agreeable," Mr. Montfort admitted. "But when we come to anything we don't like, we can suppose that Sir John was--shall we call it embroidering? And how does my girl feel now? Are the wrinkles smoothing out at all?" "All smooth!" replied the girl. "All gone, Uncle John. I was only a little tired; and--Uncle John--" "Yes, dear child." "You must expect that I shall do a great many wrong things, at first. I am very ignorant, and--well, not very old, perhaps. If only I can make the children love me!" "They'd better love you," said Uncle John. "If they don't, they'll get the stick. But don't fret, Margaret; I am not going to fret, and I shall not let you do it. The little girl seems slightly abnormal, at first sight; but the boys--" "Yes, Uncle John?" and Margaret raised her head and looked eagerly at her uncle, hoping for some light that would make all clear to her. "The boys?"