What was it? Oh, it was a noise,—a low sound like a moan. Could it be Sheila? Was she lying somewhere there in the woods? Why, it sounded as if it came from the little cabin! Nathalie’s head went up as she peered resolutely through the gloom. No, she would not allow her foolish fear to master her. She would go forward and see what it was—perhaps. A moment or so later the girl, still frenziedly clinging to the little boy’s hand, her heart leaping with anxious agitation and nervous fear, tapped loudly on one of the log posts of the open doorway, which was hung with what appeared to be a large dark-colored shawl that waved dismally in the wind. Almost immediately, in answer to her rap, the shawl was pushed hastily aside and a man stood in the doorway. From the weird red gleam of a lantern that hung from the center of the cabin, Nathalie perceived that the man was young, with a strange pallor on his lean, brown face, which was lighted by large, densely black eyes, that were peering down at her from beneath a tangle of soft, wavy black hair. Inwardly quaking, but determined not to show her fear, Nathalie inquired, “Have you seen anything of a little girl about?” Without answering, the man turned and was pointing towards a log couch built up against the wall, spread with an old army-coat. Nathalie gave a hurried glance, and then made a wild rush forward, for the little form lying so strangely still on the coat was Sheila! But the man’s hand stayed her as he said in a low, but pleasant-sounding voice, “Sh-sh! I would not awaken her. Poor little thing, she cried herself to sleep.” He then briefly explained how he had been awakened by the low whimpering of a child, and, on going out to the clearing, had found her sitting on a rock, crying piteously for the fairies to come and get her. He was moved to question her, and then, by a little coaxing, and the explanation that the fairies had all gone back to fairyland, as it was long after midnight, he had coaxed the child into the cabin, and finally she had fallen asleep. As Nathalie bent over her in anxious solicitude she saw the undried tears still on her lashes, while low, whimpering moans—the sounds that had arrested her attention—came at intervals from between the soft, red lips. As the girl pondered as to how she was to get Sheila home, Danny’s policeman’s whistle, as he called it, followed by Janet’s shrill “hoo-hooing,” announced that the rest of the party of searchers had arrived. In a short space they were all in the little cabin, animatedly discussing how to carry the little girl down the mountain. Danny, meanwhile, had hastened to the couch and was down on his knees, softly kissing the little hand thrown over the side, in the abandon of sleep, while the young man stood at one side, quietly watching the little group.