This pugnacious master of the mouth organ, caroling a street song in the tree-turrets of Friday Lane, became for them the embodied soul of adventure. [Illustration: 0243] The boy came slithering down. Kay watched him, how he dangled by his arms, caught on with his legs, dug in with his toes, got himself completely dirty and always saved himself at the last moment from falling. He dropped breathless at their feet. “It's fine up there. Different from down here. Up there it belongs to anybody.” Kay wasn't quite sure that she approved of him. He had ripped his coat, and it didn't seem quite kind to give his mother so much work. She spoke reproachfully. “D'you like tearing your clothes?” He gazed at her out of the corners of his eyes with a sly expression. “I don't mind. Don't need to mind--my clothes are magic. They mend themselves.” “Mend themselves!” She tugged at Peter, to see in what spirit he was accepting this amazing assertion. “Why, how wonderful!” And then, reluctant to show doubt, “But--but how can they?” The boy grinned broadly. “Not really, you know--just pretence. I--I mend them myself. I'm an awful liar. Come on now.” Confession had made him self-conscious; he darted ahead. Kay and Peter followed slowly. He turned. “Aren't you coming?” It was Peter who answered. “But to where?” “To where I live--the Happy Cottage.” Was this also pretence? The name sounded too good to be true--and yet it was the kind of name you tried to believe, despite yourself. The boy left the grassy avenue and broke into the undergrowth of woods. He went in front, parting the branches for Kay. He explained to them, “Friday Lane's shorter, you know; but this other way's heaps jollier.” Presently above the rustle of their passage they heard a little singing sound. Sometimes it grew quite loud and near them; sometimes it died away into the merest breath. It was like someone who was almost asleep, humming over and over the first two notes of a tune that refused to be remembered. Kay snuggled her hand into Peter's; she was a little scared. Everything was so dark and eerie. The sound drew near and seemed to slip away from under her very feet. She cried out; it was as though someone had touched her and had vanished before she could turn round. The boy heard her cry and looked back. He nodded reassuringly. “It's always doing that--plays no end of pranks. You needn't be frightened; it won't hurt you.” “But what is it? What won't hurt you?” Peter asked almost angrily. The boy laid his finger on his lips. “The wood's haunted. That's the queen fairy calling. There are all kinds of fairies hidden about here. When you see them, they turn into rabbits and birds, and----” Because Kay had covered her face, he stopped. “I'm--I'm an ass. It isn't really, you know. I just tell myself that.” “Then what is it?” asked Peter, slightly awed, for the voice kept on singing.