“Under a picture” they told her, not knowing that it was also written in the works of Mr. John Milton. “Then I’m afraid you’ll have to wait ’til someone happens to read what is under the picture,” said Maia kindly. “But the house is locked up; there’s no one there to read anything,” Bernard reminded them. There was a dismal silence. Then: “Perhaps burglars will break in and read it,” suggested Reuben kindly. “Anyhow, what’s the use of kicking up a shine about it? _I_ can’t see what you want to go back for. It’s a little bit of all right here, so it is—I _don’t_ think. Plucky sight better than anything _I_ ever come across. I’m a-goin’ to enjoy myself I am, and see all the sights. Miss, there, said we might.” “Well spoken indeed,” said Maia, smiling at his earnest face. “That is the true spirit of the explorer.” “But we’re not explorers,” said Mavis, a little crossly, for her; “and we’re not so selfish as you think, either. Mother will be awfully frightened if we’re not home to tea. She’ll think we’re drowned.” “Well, you _are_ drowned,” said Maia brightly. “At least that’s what I believe you land people call it when you come down to us and neglect to arrange to have the spell of return said for you.” “How horrible,” said Mavis. “Oh, Cathay,” and she clutched her sister tightly. “But you needn’t _stay_ drowned,” said the Princess. “Someone’s sure to say the spell somehow or other. I assure you that this is true; and then you will go home with the speed of an eel.” They felt, somehow, in their bones that this was true, and it consoled them a little. Things which you feel in your bones are most convincing. “But Mother,” said Mavis. “You don’t seem to know much about magic,” said Maia pityingly: “the first principle of magic is that time spent in other worlds doesn’t count in your own home. No, I see you don’t understand. In your home it’s still the same time as it was when you dived into the well in the cave.” “But that’s hours ago,” said Bernard; and she answered: “I know. But your time is not like our time at all.” “What’s the difference?” “I can’t explain,” said the Princess. “You can’t compare them any more than you can compare a starlight and a starfish. They’re quite, quite different. But the really important thing is that your Mother won’t be anxious. So now why not enjoy yourselves?” And all this time the other Princess had been holding up the jar which was the source of all the rivers in all the world. “Won’t she be very tired?” asked Reuben. “Yes, but suppose all the rivers dried up—and she had to know how people were suffering—that would be something much harder to bear than tiredness. Look in the pool and see what she is doing for the world.” They looked, and it was like a colored cinematograph; and the pictures melted into one another like the old dissolving views that children used to love so before cinematographs were thought of.