The boy laughed. “It's the tiniest little river that's lost itself. It creeps about under the bushes and wriggles through the leaves on its tummy, trying to find a way out.” “And does it find it?” asked Kay, plucking up her courage. “You bet you. Wait till we get to the Happy Cottage.” And all of a sudden they got there. It was as though the little river had led them, for just where they broke out into the sunlight it rushed past them, flashing silver and singing merrily, with all the words of its song remembered. At first they saw a green, green stretch of grass, over which the yellow of cowslips drifted like blown gold-dust. Then they saw Friday Lane, with its tall oaks holding back the woods, like big policemen marshaling a crowd when a procession is expected. And then they saw the Happy Cottage--a bee-hive, with low-thatched roof, set down in a refuge of flowers. It had one chimney, from which smoke was lazily ascending; and it must be logs that the fire was burning, for the air was filled with the indescribable homey smell that sets one dreaming of all the country cottages, tucked away in gardens, and all the summer happiness he has ever chanced on. They followed the little stream right up to the high hedge which went about the Happy Cottage; they crossed it by a plank, pushed open a gate and entered. Flowers, flowers everywhere and the banjo-music of bees humming. A red-tiled path, moss-grown and edged with box, led through a wilderness of beauty, comfortably untrimmed and neglected. The door of the cottage stood open; across its threshold lay a Great Dane, which rose up and growled at sound of their footsteps. The boy called to him, “All right, Canute, old dog. Come here, old fellow.” Canute came with the solemn suspicion of majesty, ignoring the strangers, and placed his great head against his master's breast, gazing up attentively. “Canute, this is Kay and this is Peter. They're my friends. You've got to look after them. D'you understand?” The dog blinked his eyes and turned away indifferently, as much as to say, “Your friends! Humph! We'll see. Very sudden!” “He's always like that with newcomers,” said the boy. “He's very particular about my brother. Guess he's thinking what I said, that he don't let the Faun Man know just anybody.” Fearful lest he should have given offence, he made haste to add, “But you're not just anybody any longer.”