"Once upon a time there was a very grizzly old bear, and he lived in a beautiful place called Capel Court, and he used to hunt the wild bulls and the stags and the poor little guinea pigs that abounded in that salubrious locality. And there were two young ladies there, called Cora and Dora. . . ." "Are those the princesses?" asked the boy. "No, I think not," said Jeconiah. "They were of quite ordinary stock. Well, the old bear thought they were too high and mighty, and that he would like to take them down a point or two. . . ." "Oh, this won't do," said the Urchin rudely. "This isn't a _real_ fairy tale at all. You must do something better than that." The wretched Jeconiah groaned, and looked again at his telegrams. Then he started afresh. "Once upon a time there was a great dragon with seven heads, and he ate seven princesses every day for dinner. . . ." "That's better," said the boy, encouragingly, as he settled himself to listen. The old hawker resumed his walk. "They haven't made a very good job of him, after all," he remarked aloud, apparently to the terrier. "But I expect that sort is incurable." Was it a flicker of sunlight? Or did the black terrier really wink? CHAPTER VIII FIONA FINDS HER TREASURE And Fiona? Fiona sat on the hearthrug in the bookroom, and told her father the whole story from beginning to end, as it has been told here. And sometimes he asked a question, and sometimes he said, "Yes, that would be so," and sometimes he stroked her hair and said nothing. And when she had ended, he said, "So you never found your own treasure after all, Fiona?" She said, "I suppose I can have it now, if I go back." "Do you think you will go back?" he asked. She replied with another question. "Have you found out what my treasure is, daddy?" "I believe I could guess," he answered. "But you have found a good many things already, apart from treasure, haven't you, little daughter?" She sat silent and looked into the fire. "I suppose I have," she said. "We won't enumerate them," said the Student. "It spoils things entirely, sometimes, to put them into words. But I will tell you something an old writer once said. He was talking of that particular kind of treasure which men call Truth; and he said that if he were offered Truth itself on the one hand, and the everlasting search for it on the other hand, he would choose the search. I expect you can understand that now; for you have seen what has happened to you over your own search." "I think I can understand," said Fiona. "I must be growing older, daddy." "You'll be too old soon to go back to Fairyland at all, little daughter," said the Student. "If you are going, you will have to go at once." "What do you think, daddy?" she questioned. "I can only tell you that, in my case, I went back," the Student answered. "Why, daddy, have you been in Fairyland too?" cried Fiona. "And you never told me."