'But how was it that I got in?' 'Because you belong to both worlds. And you built the cities. So they were yours.' 'But Lucy got in.' 'She built up a corner of your city that the nurse had knocked down.' [Illustration: He heard quite a loud, strong, big voice say, 'That's better.'] 'But _you_,' said Philip, more and more bewildered. 'You're here. So you can't be there.' 'But I _am_ there,' said Mr. Noah. 'But you're here. And you're alive here. What made you come alive?' 'Your tears,' said Mr. Noah. 'Tears are very strong magic. No, don't begin to cry again. What's the matter?' 'I want to get back into the city.' 'It's dangerous.' 'I don't care.' 'You were glad enough to get away,' said Mr. Noah. 'I know: that's the worst of it,' said Philip. 'Oh, isn't there any way to get back? If I climbed in at the nursery windows and got the bricks and built it all up and----' 'Quite unnecessary, I assure you. There are a thousand doors to that city.' 'I wish I could find _one_,' said Philip; 'but, I say, I thought time was all different there. How is it Lucy is lost all this time if time doesn't count?' 'It does count, now,' said Mr. Noah; 'you made it count when you ran away and left Lucy. That set the clocks of the city to the time of this world.' 'I don't understand,' said Philip; 'but it doesn't matter. Show me the door and I'll go back and find Lucy.' 'Build something and go through it,' said Mr. Noah. 'That's all. Your tears are dry on me now. Good-bye.' And he laid down his yellow mat, stepped on to it and was just a little wooden figure again. Philip dropped the ear-trumpet and looked at Mr. Noah. 'I _don't_ understand,' he said. But this at least he understood. That Helen would come back when she got that telegram, and that before she came he must go into the other world and find the lost Lucy. 'But oh,' he said, 'suppose I _don't_ find her. I wish I hadn't built those cities so big! And time will go on. And, perhaps, when Helen comes back she'll find _me_ lost _too_--as well as Lucy.' But he dried his eyes and told himself that this was not how heroes behaved. He must build again. Whichever way you looked at it there was no time to be lost. And besides the nurse might occur at any moment. He looked round for building materials. There was the chess-table. It had long narrow legs set round it, rather like arches. Something might be done with it, with books and candlesticks and Japanese vases. Something _was_ done. Philip built with earnest care, but also with considerable speed. If the nurse should come in before he had made a door and got through it--come in and find him building again--she was quite capable of putting him to bed, where, of course, building is impossible. In a very little time there was a building. But how to get in. He was, alas, the wrong size. He stood helpless, and once more tears pricked and swelled behind his eyelids. One tear fell on his hand.