"Don't the thorns prick your feet, wood-boy?" she asked; but the boy said nothing, and they were both silent for a while, the girl looking about her keenly as she walked, and the boy watching her face. Presently they came to a wide pool where a little tinkling fountain threw bubbles to the hidden fish. "Can you swim?" she said to the boy. He shook his head. "It's a pity," said the girl; "we might have had a bathe. It would be rather fun in the dark, but it's pretty deep there. We'd better get on to the fairy ring." The moon had flung queer shadows across the glade in which the ring lay, and when they stood on the edge listening intently the wood seemed to speak to them with a hundred voices. "You can take hold of my hand, if you like," said the girl, in a whisper. The boy dropped his flowers about his white feet and felt for the girl's hand in the dark. Soon it lay in his own, a warm live thing, that stirred a little with excitement. "I'm not afraid," the girl said; and so they waited. * * * * * The man came upon them suddenly from among the silver birches. He had a knapsack on his back and his hair was as long as a tramp's. At sight of him the girl almost screamed, and her hand trembled in the boy's. Some instinct made him hold it tighter. "What do you want?" he muttered, in his hoarse voice. The man was no less astonished than the children. "What on earth are you doing here?" he cried. His voice was mild and reassuring, and the girl answered him promptly. "I came out to look for fairies." "Oh, that's right enough," commented the man; "and you," he said, turning to the boy, "are you after fairies, too? Oh, I see; picking flowers. Do you mean to sell them?" The boy shook his head. "For my sister," he said, and stopped abruptly. "Is your sister fond of flowers?" "Yes; she's dead." The man looked at him gravely. "That's a phrase," he said, "and phrases are the devil. Who told you that dead people like flowers?" "They always have them," said the boy, blushing for shame of his pretty thought. "And what are _you_ looking for?" the girl interrupted. The man made a mocking grimace, and glanced around the glade as if he were afraid of being overheard. "Dreams," he said bluntly. The girl pondered this for a moment. "And your knapsack?" she began. "Yes," said the man, "it's full of them." The children looked at the knapsack with interest, the girl's fingers tingling to undo the straps of it. "What are they like?" she asked. The man gave a short laugh. "Very like yours and his, I expect; when you grow older, young woman, you'll find there's really only one dream possible for a sensible person. But you don't want to hear about my troubles. This is more in your line!" He put his hand in his pocket and pulled out a flageolet, which he put to his lips. "Listen!" he said.