And, "It is such a great land, Daiv!" Meg had said one night, lying sleepless and excited over the wonders she had seen that day. "Such a great land, this Tizathy! How I wish I had lived in it when the Ancient Ones had welded it all together." "A great land, indeed," was Daiv's answer. "But what did you call it? Tizathy?" "Yes," explained Meg. "That was its name. One of the ancient songs tells of it. 'My country, Tizathy; sweet land of liberty--'" Daiv looked at her with vast respect. "Someday we must visit my people, Golden One. The elders of my tribe will want to talk to you. You have such great learning...." But now, at last, their journey was over. Jinnia's sweet green hills cradled them; tomorrow they would join and touch hands with Meg's sisters. Tonight they would sleep in the little forest Meg knew so well.... Daiv turned, an unfamiliar wrinkle-look on his forehead. "Golden One, didn't you say we were coming to forest land?" "Yes, Daiv. Right before you. There--" Then Meg was at his side, and her eyes were round with wonderment. "But--but this is not right!" she cried. It was no forest that confronted them. Where Meg's memory had told her would be a riotous jungle of intertwining green, great trees that brushed the heavens, high archways of leaves and thick-boled woodland monarchs, there was nothing but a vast and desolate plain, strewn with bristling twigs! Stark and severe was that glade, swept bare of all vegetation save these thousands upon countless thousands of twigs. No grass, no shrubs, no flowers. Rough, bare hillside, and ankle-deep--the host of stunted branches. * * * * * "I--I don't understand!" said Meg bewilderedly. She looked at Daiv, fear suddenly cold in her heart, and she made a magic sign over her breast to ward away the evil wood ghosts. "This is not as it should be, Daiv! Something--" The plain echoed Daiv's boisterous happy-sound. "Something tells me," he chuckled, "you've made a mistake, Golden One. So you know every inch of this country, eh? Well--" He shrugged. "It is a cloudless night. And plain or forest, this is as good a place as any to make camp. Get water, Meg, for the cawfee, and I will build a fire." Silently, with a sun-heat burning her cheeks, Meg moved to the rill and got water. Then, as silently again, she returned to the spot Daiv had designated. By this time she expected he would have made fire-sparks with a rock and the bit of flame-metal he carried in his pouch--but to her great surprise, no crackling blaze awaited her. Instead, Daiv was standing upright beside one of the branched twigs that festooned the plain. There was an angry-look on his face; perspiration dripped from his forehead and his throat. The look he turned to her was red with shame. "Meg," he began, "Meg--a magic is upon me. I am weak. I have no strength!" "Strength, Daiv?"