He did not answer, but laughing low to himself, crept in among the lilies-of-the-valley, and lay there, himself like a white bloom. The voices came near, nearer, and passed by. Peterkin’s heart smote him, for he heard the pain in the calling voices; but it was so cool and quiet there among the lilies, and it was so sweet to be out of sight of every one and lost, that he could not break the spell. What if he were to be found by the elfin-folk and led into fairyland? He thrilled both with fear and eager delight at the thought. Surely even now he heard the delicate music of the lily-bells? Peterkin did not know that he had a neighbour. Suddenly, he heard a faint rustle. Ah, it was one of the Shee--one of the little people! Mayhap it was the green Harper, of whom Ian Mor had told him, or one of the seven star-crowned queens, or the haughty Midir, with a peacock’s feather in his moon-gold hair, or Fand, who walked in fairy dew, or--or---- And then Peterkin saw who his neighbour was. From under a stone, beset by lily-sheaths, a small toad crawled. Its strange bright eyes were fixed upon the staring child, whom, however, it did not seem to heed after it had once examined this strange white creature who lay among the lilies. Suddenly Peterkin began to laugh. The toad sat still, solemnly regarding him. Peterkin laughed the more. Once the toad gave a short jump, though this was not from fear, or even from lack of interest in his unfamiliar neighbour, but because a gnat had come temptingly almost within reach of his long, thin, serpentine tongue. “Tell me, toad,” Peterkin said at last, “why are you so funny?” Whether it was because the toad was not given to gaiety, or whether his disappointment about the gnat had soured him, he did not respond save by an unwinking stare. After a while it shot out its tongue, as though it were speculating as to Peterkin’s flavour as a pleasant morsel, or perhaps only to find if he were within reach. This was too much for Peterkin, who rolled back among the lilies, crushing the little white bells into a floating fragrance. But, alas, that betraying laughter! Peterkin was still in its throes when he heard a voice falling upon him as though out of the skies. “Ah, there you are, you little rascal! How you frightened us all, and what a hunt we have had!” Almost before he recognised the voice of Ian Mor, Peterkin was seized and lifted high into the air. “Don’t be angry, Ian,” the child whispered. “I came out to see the fairies. And then I ran on here to see if the little dead bird had come out of the earth again.” “And have you seen a fairy, Peterkin?” “I don’t know. I saw a toad.” “What did the toad do?” “It looked at me till I laughed. Then it put out its tongue, and I laughed and laughed and laughed.” “I’m thinking that toad must have been a fairy in disguise, Peterkin. But now come: I am going to carry you back to your bed.”