“It’s his voice!” cried his mother, jumping up and running to the door. “Snythergen! Snythergen! Where are you?” Both parents were looking up among the tree-tops. “Where are you,” they cried. “Here I am,” answered Snythergen, now but a few feet away. “Don’t you see me,” he said, almost under their noses. “No,” said they, looking toward the top of the house. “Is it only his voice that has come back,” faltered his mother, her eyes filling with tears. “No,” cried Snythergen, throwing his arms about her waist. “What’s that!” she screamed in fright. “Snythergen!” she whispered, recognizing her boy. “How you have changed!” The mother took her boy in her arms and kissed him again and again. The father could hardly believe it was Snythergen, but there was no mistaking the voice. “He has come back a regular boy!” cried he, waiting for a chance to hug his son. “How did you make yourself small?” he asked, too impatient to wait any longer. “Toy foods!” shouted Snythergen, half smothered in his mother’s embrace. “I knew it! I knew it!” cried the father. “Just after you left I thought of toy foods—but then it was too late.” They entered the house and Snythergen began telling his adventures. It was a happy night—the first of countless others that were to come. For a happier boy than Snythergen simply did not exist. [Illustration] End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Snythergen, by Hal Garrott