But when they approached, the dog's back bristled and he growled. He lifted his black lip, showing the whiteness of his fangs. His sullen eyes were on the golden woman. Like one embittered, who had ceased to believe that virtue could be found anywhere, he regarded all four of them in anger. The Faun Man shrugged his shoulders. “When he climbs trees that means he's getting better. There's no sense in worrying him; he won't come down till he's ready.” “Good-night,” Kay called to him with piping shrillness. “Good-night,” called Peter. And again, when the tree was growing small in the distance, Kay shouted, “Good-night, Harry. We've missed you.” From up in the clouds, very faint and little, came the sound of a mouth-organ playing the wander-tune of romance: “I've been ship-wrecked off Patagonia, Home and Colonia Antipodonia; I've shot cannibals, Funny-looking animals, Top-knot coons. I've bought diamonds...” Their memories set the tune to words. The old tandem trike was trundled out from its hiding place behind the hedge. The Faun Man lifted Kay on to her seat at the back; Peter mounted. All was ready. “So you're riding away from fairyland,” sighed the golden woman. “Foolish! Foolish! It's so easy to do that---- And when you've gone and until you come again, there won't be any fairyland. It's so easy to ride away; so difficult to come back.” Kay thought that a doubt was being cast on Peter's cleverness. “It isn't difficult at all,” she protested; “not if you have a tandem tricycle and a big brother like Peter.” The golden woman laughed with her hand against her throat. “But I hav'n't a tandem tricycle, and I hav'n't a big brother like Peter.” Kay knew she hadn't; she wondered what made the golden woman say that, and---- yes, why she choked at the end of her words. “Good-by till we come again.” They rang their bells as a parting salutation. The wheels began to turn. They disappeared between the hedges down the road, a vision of plunging legs, bent backs and flying hair. The man and woman were left alone on the highway between the Haunted Wood and the town, to both of which these children had such ready access. Slowly, slowly the sun was vanishing; once a ball of fire; now the boldness of sight on which an eye-lid was closing; at last a glory to be taken on faith and conjecture. The country became vague as though seen through water. Its greenness had a coolness which was more than color; which had to be realized by a spiritual sense. The evening dimness, like the hand of death, removed sharp temporary edges from the landscape and revealed an expression which was timeless, which had been always there. Birds had ceased calling. The moon floated out--the soul of the night, high-lifted and inspired. Trees sought to touch her with their fingers; she slipped by them, unhurried by their effort.