As Kevan MacGreene walked through the forest, he became aware of the sounds about him. From every side flooded the songs of birds. Somewhere ahead of him two squirrels barked indignantly at each other. He caught sight of huge antlers as a deer crashed through the underbrush to his right. But having lived all of his life in New York City, Kevan was not attuned to these new sounds. "Noisy place," he said to himself. "It's interesting to visit a place like this, but I'd certainly hate to live here." After what seemed like a long walk, he sighted his third snail and turned left. For a moment he considered speaking to the snail, remembering that in all the stories he'd heard speech was standard equipment for all forms of life in fairyland, but he refrained because of the petulant look on the snail's face. The new path seemed well-worn and he strode along at a fast pace. It wasn't long before he saw an impressive castle ahead. Long before he reached it, he could hear the sound of loud and quarrelsome voices coming from it. He wondered if this was the beginning of the riot he was to quell and hesitated. But only for a minute. "I'll be damned," he muttered under his breath, "if any two-foot fugitive from a Walt Disney movie is going to scare me." He set his jaw grimly and marched on. * * * * * When he entered the castle, Kevan MacGreene found himself in what was obviously the throne room. There were four elegant thrones, all empty. From in front of the thrones came the loud voices, even more shrill now that he was nearer. His eyes became accustomed to the dim light and Kevan saw four little old men. They were alike as four peas in a pod. None of them was more than two feet in height, although each wore a peaked hat which gave the illusion of adding eight or ten inches. Each of them had a long white beard, almost reaching the floor. At the moment, four faces were screwed up in rage, while four fists shook themselves in the air. "Isn't it a grand brawl?" asked a voice near Kevan. He turned and saw another gnome, his eyes fixed admiringly on the four old men. "What's wrong with them?" Kevan asked. "There's nothing wrong with them," the other said. "'Tis but a bit of an argument. They're just working themselves up to the interesting stage." "What are they arguing about?" "Sure and it's the same old argument--which of them has the longest beard. It's been going on ever since Finbheara endorsed Macushla's Magic Beard Groom, claiming that he had the longest beard in all Midgard. Iubdan brought suit in the Court of the Leprechauns to prove Finbheara a liar, but then Geanncanac and Daoine Glas called both of them liars and so it started." "Do you think it'll last long?" Kevan asked anxiously. "Until there's not a hair left on the chin of a one of them," the gnome said with anticipation. "Then they'll retire for a few hours until their beards grow back--and they'll be at it again. Isn't it heavenly?"