So down over Lewthwaite Crag he went: a very smart groom he was at the top, and a very shabby one at the bottom; for he tore his gaiters, and he tore his breeches, and he tore his jacket, and he burst his braces, and he burst his boots, and he lost his hat, and what was worst of all, he lost his shirt pin, which he prized very much, for it was gold, and he had won it in a raffle at Malton, so it was a really severe loss: but he never saw anything of Tom. And all the while Sir John and the rest were riding round, full three miles to the right, and back again, to get into Vendale, and to the foot of the crag. When they came to the old dame's school, all the children came out to see. And the old dame came out too; and when she saw Sir John, she curtsied very low, for she was a tenant of his. "Well, dame, and how are you?" said Sir John. "Blessings on you as broad as your back, Harthover," says she--she didn't call him Sir John, but only Harthover, for that is the fashion in the North country--"and welcome into Vendale: but you're no hunting the fox this time of the year?" "I am hunting, and strange game too," said he. "Blessings on your heart, and what makes you look so sad the morn?" "I'm looking for a lost child, a chimney-sweep, that is run away." "Oh, Harthover, Harthover," says she, "ye were always a just man and a merciful; and ye'll no harm the poor little lad if I give you tidings of him?" "Not I, not I, dame. I'm afraid we hunted him out of the house all on a miserable mistake, and the hound has brought him to the top of Lewthwaite Crag, and----" Whereat the old dame broke out crying, without letting him finish his story. "So he told me the truth after all, poor little dear! Ah, first thoughts are best, and a body's heart'll guide them right, if they will but hearken to it." And then she told Sir John all. "Bring the dog here, and lay him on," said Sir John, without another word, and he set his teeth very hard. And the dog opened at once; and went away at the back of the cottage, over the road, and over the meadow, and through a bit of alder copse; and there, upon an alder stump, they saw Tom's clothes lying. And then they knew as much about it all as there was any need to know. And Tom? Ah, now comes the most wonderful part of this wonderful story. Tom, when he woke, for of course he woke--children always wake after they have slept exactly as long as is good for them--found himself swimming about in the stream, being about four inches, or--that I may be accurate--3.87902 inches long, and having round the parotid region of his fauces a set of external gills (I hope you understand all the big words) just like those of a sucking eft, which he mistook for a lace frill, till he pulled at them, found he hurt himself, and made up his mind that they were part of himself, and best left alone. In fact, the fairies had turned him into a water-baby.