There was no doubt about it,—no doubt at all: as the Lady of Dreams-Come-True had said, she really was in Fairyland at last. These airy beings floating and fluttering, singing and crowding on every hand, were certainly the Fairies,—the dainty folk whose Queen she was seeking. Meg resolved not to loiter any longer in that delicious field, but to hurry across it as fast as she could and to find the Queen. But when she tried to move more quickly, she found that the soft transparent forms were holding her back. She struggled for a minute or two in vain. She felt hands as light as rain-drops on her wrists, and at last she heard a high, sweet laugh. Then the clearest of bell-like voices said: “Well, Mortal, what are you doing here? And why do you struggle so hard against the Fairy Folk?” “Oh, please!” panted Meg. “Take me to the Fairy Queen!” Again came the light, soft laugh. “Not so fast, Mortal! That is easy to ask. Do you think our Queen is so easy to see? You must state your business.” “I _must_ see the Queen!” cried Meg. “It—it’s very important! It’s”—speaking with a sort of rush—“it’s about the Wicked King, and the spell in the crystal box!” Instantly an angry chorus filled the air, and Meg found herself held more tightly than before. “How dare she?” cried the Fairies. “How dare she speak of the Wicked King and the spell _here_? She must know either the Wicked King or Grump!” “Yes!” Meg tried to explain, speaking eagerly. “And Grump told me—” But at this point the chorus rose to the shrillest rage. “Grump! Grump! She knows him! She admits it! Away with her! She shall not live another hour! No—no—turn her into a rat or an oyster! She is a friend of our dear Lady’s enemy, the Gray Dwarf!” “Indeed I’m _not_ a friend of Grump’s!” exclaimed Meg, indignantly. “You just ask _him_ if I am!” But they would not listen to her, and she felt herself being hurried away, faster and faster and faster with every second, until she was sure she should die if they did not let her stop to take breath. “Please—please—” she panted, as they pulled her along, “I can explain if you will just wait one moment!” But they were far too busy abusing her, to hear a word she said. “Oh, dear, dear, dear!” sighed poor Meg to herself. “Grump _must_ be a nasty person, if just mentioning his name has this effect!” As she was dragged along through the Flower Meadow, she kept repeating over and over: “I _must_ see the Queen! I _must_ tell her! I _must_ warn her!” And suddenly—she never knew how, but she suspected Mother Goose or Dreams-Come-True of having something to do with it—she really did break from the grasp of her captors and dash on across the field alone.