Slowly and sadly he turned away and slunk down a side street toward another entrance to the Park. But the children wondered what had become of their balloon boy, who was always waiting for them on the corner, smiling pleasantly. Carlo wandered into the Park and walked about the twisting paths, wondering what he should do. He had no money to buy more balloons. How could he start out afresh in business? He had sent his last earnings back across the water to the little sister in the land where they still believed in fairies, and she had saved almost enough to bring her here to him. But now, what was he to do now? How buy food and lodging, and especially how buy more balloons with which to pile up future pennies? Carlo wandered about for a long time, thinking and puzzling, until the shadows began to lengthen, and it was almost night. Then he went to a little arbor in the Park, far from the place where the nurses and children mostly gathered. It was a spot that he loved, for it was full of grape-vines, which reminded him of the beautiful home from which he had come,--the country where the fairies still lived. He was very tired and hungry, and he curled up on a settee in the arbor and went to sleep. [Illustration: THE LITTLE MAN] He must have slept a long time, for when he woke the Park was quite dark, save where the electric lights made queer patches of brightness among the leaves and on the grass and gravel walks. In the arbor itself hung a light which made the grape-vine with its half-ripened clusters look strange but very beautiful. Carlo awoke with a start, for he had certainly felt something touch his knee. Yes! Carlo looked again, and rubbed his eyes. There at his knee stood a little man,--a little, thick man in a queer long gown, with a rope about his waist,--one of the very same Little Men of whom his mother had often told him in the land across the sea! “What is the matter, Carlo?” asked the Little Man, in Carlo’s own home language. And Carlo answered in the same soft tongue: “The boys have cut my balloons away, and I have nothing left with which to earn my living, that I may send money to Nita.” “That is too bad!” exclaimed the Little Man. “What can we do about it?” Carlo stared hard at him, for he had always wanted to see a Little Man. His hat was tall and had a broad brim, and on his feet were sandals. His brown gown clung tight about him, like the skin upon a russet apple, seeming ready to burst with the plumpness inside. His cheeks, too, seemed ready to burst with laughing, even when Carlo told him the story of the boys’ wicked deed. “That is too bad!” he cried again, but not sadly. “What can we do about it?” He glanced thoughtfully around the arbor in which they were sitting. It was a grape arbor, as I have said, and already the grapes were beginning to turn red and purple in the autumn coolness, though some were still green.