The song had hardly begun when Sprigg could hear a huge stir in the cave, as if the call had awakened a multitude of living things from the slumber of the night. The hubbub was neither boisterous nor loud, yet it seemed to come, not only from near at hand, but from far and wide. It was an infinite mingling of confused, indistinct sounds, like the inarticulate murmurs rising from innumerable voices—talking, singing and shouting, intermixed with laughter and with the cries of beasts and birds.

On hearing the commotion around him, the boy had risen to his feet, and now, with strained eyes, was vainly striving to pierce the red mist in which he was enveloped. Before the song was ended, the multitude, from whom the hubbub rose, were evidently in rapid motion, and all in the same direction, sweeping past him so that he felt as if he were standing upon a rock, in the midst of a wide and swiftly flowing river, on whose waters rested an impenetrable fog. Closely intermingled with the voice-like sounds were now to be distinguished a variety of other noises, resembling the sharp, light clattering of cloven hoofs, the muffled pattering of hairy paws, or the wind-like whirring of fluttering wings.

As the song closed, Sprigg felt something placed in his hand, which, becoming visible the moment it came in contact with him, proved to be a coronal of bright green plumes, such as we have seen described in the interview between Jervis Whitney and Nick of the Woods. It was then remarked that his headpiece possessed the magic property of rendering the person who wore it—fairy or human—invisible to mortal eyes. Nor was this all; It had also the power of making the sights and sounds of Fairyland as clearly perceptible to the senses of the mortal who should chance to get it as to the fairies themselves, whether the wee folks were willing or not, he should pry into their mysteries.

This fantastic ornament, the only object visible to him in the red mist—his own hand that held it up to his admiring gaze not excepted—Sprigg thought even more beautiful and desirable than ever were the red moccasins. He was wishing it was his, and debating within himself whether he should venture to put it upon his head, when a voice, which he recognized to be the same he had heard at home and in the woods and on the hill, and now knew to be that of Manitou-Echo, said:

"Am I not a beautiful thing for the head, Sprigg? Yes, beautiful! You can't deny it; nobody can! Put me on your head! What's to hinder? Put me on, and you shall see what we do with wild dreams and wild dreamers, here in Manitou-land."

In a twinkling the vain boy had doffed the coonskin cap and donned the feathers. The magic coronal was hardly adjusted to his head, when suddenly the luminous red mist condensed itself high aloft into a globe of living light, leaving all surrounding objects clearly revealed to sight, as were the crystalline sheen of a June day resting upon them. What Sprigg saw there was, indeed, a cave; but far more the appearance had it of a magnificent temple, so vast and lofty it was; so mazy with multitudinous columns and arches, and so resplendent with the light of that living lamp, which found reflection in a million star-like points, as if wall, floor, ceiling, column and arch were studded with gems of every rich and brilliant hue. The hubbub which he had heard around him, the individual sounds whereof were now more distinct to his ear, Sprigg found to proceed from an innumerable multitude of diminutive people, sweeping by him in a continuous stream, and in the same direction, as if a common impulse or purpose swayed them all.

The manikins, in complexion, cast of features and fashion of dress, resembled Indians, and, though so red and outlandish, were beautiful to behold. For a robe, each wore the skin of some wild animal, which, on the hair side, showed as fresh and sleek as if the quondam owner had just walked out of it; while, on the flesh side, it was as smooth as satin and red as blood. The robe was secured at the throat by a clasp, which seemed to be made of the claws or hoofs of the beast to whom the skin had once, and, perhaps, still belonged. Many wore red moccasins and coronals of green feathers, and here and there in the throng might be seen one who wore the wings of some bird, between which and the skin, forming the robe, there seemed to be some sort of affinity, very suggestive, yet difficult to explain. Though but the miniature of men, these elfin folks were of superhuman activity and strength; and in the aspect of each was something that strangely reminded one of the beast or bird to whom he owed his robe or wings. This latter peculiarity was especially noticeable in the gait, in the play of the limbs and in the shape and glance of the eyes; yet, in the resemblance, nothing was there of deformity or unsightliness, but rather a weird beauty—fantastic, or wild, or savage, or terrible—according to the beast or bird suggested thereby—stalking elk or rolling bison, gloomy bear or rounding panther, jog-trot wolf or gliding wild-cat, nodding jay or fluttering pigeon, swooping hawk or sweeping eagle.

Sprigg had hardly time to note all this, when the weird procession had swept past him, and the last lingerers were now vanishing to the distant shadows of the subterranean temple. Though myriads had departed, many still remained—several of every order—as if, while their fellows were abroad, each fulfilling his special mission, these had some corresponding office to perform here at home. Somewhat apart from the rest stood a group arrayed in the skins of bears, and among these two who, by their lofty port and commanding gestures, were evidently the king and queen of this strange realm. The aspect of the king was dark and stern; that of the queen fair and mild. The latter, as, indeed, all the other elfin women, wore upon her head, instead of the feathered coronal, a wreath of intense crimson flowers, marvelously beautiful; whence came stealing forth the delectable perfume, which the boy had perceived in the air from the moment Meg of the Hills had made her appearance the night before. As he stood there, surveying them, Sprigg felt in his heart that these were the two whose voices he had heard in such earnest conference relative to his particular case.

The young guest now looked about him for the young bears with whom he had slept, but not only his bedfellows, but the bed itself had vanished. Then he knew that they must be among those who wore the skins of bears, and that, instead of having been littered with cubs, he had shared the couch of princes.

In saying that the magic coronal enabled the mortal who wore it to see the sights and hear the sounds of Fairyland as distinctly as the fairies themselves, a slight mistake was made. Although he could not perceive them, Sprigg had his reasons for suspecting that other boys, beside himself, were there in that underground world; yes, and men, too. Girls and women—all waiting, like himself, to be "put through," though what that might mean the poor boy could, of course, have little or no conception. Invisible though these fellow mortals were, he could see their shadows cast with marvelous distinctness upon the floor of the temple; and, strange to say, spotted were all these shadows! Some in a sitting posture, some standing, some walking, some gliding swiftly to and fro. Many, after remaining motionless for a time, would, all at once, begin dodging, skipping, flitting about among the columns in the most fantastic manner imaginable; then would they come to a pause, and, after again remaining motionless for a brief space, suddenly vanish.

The large majority of these airy figures were not sufficiently marked for safe conjecture as to the manner of persons to whom they were referrable, but many were too apparent to be mistaken. Some stood, with magisterial dignity, staff in hand. Some, with military stalk, moved slowly to and fro—swords, epaulets, plumes—all distinctly traceable. Here sat one, with the likeness of a kingly crown upon his head; while not far off, incongruous, as it may seem, appeared the picturesque silhouette of an Indian warrior, moving onward with a majestic pace, scalp lock, plumed, bow in hand, quiver on shoulder.

But it was a spectacle stranger still to observe how the elves, or, more properly speaking, "Manitous," were busying themselves about these shadows—now approaching them, now receding from them; sometimes standing beside them, earnestly gesticulating, as if engaged in conversation with the unseen, unheard personages who cast them. While watching these mysterious movements Sprigg became cognizant of another curious circumstance—the very counterpart of the shadow mystery. He perceived that, while those invisible mortals were shadowed forth with such distinctness, the Manitous themselves, with the light thrown full and strong upon them, were as shadowless in that light as air itself. Noting this, he glanced upward to see what manner of light it must be that could shadow forth the unseen, and shadowless leave the seen. How the boy started! Then backward shrank, till abruptly checked by a column, against whose base, as were he an effigy carved upon it, he stood, gazing coweringly upward. That globe of living light was a living eye! An eye immensely large, of calm and terrible look, which Sprigg felt to be bent directly upon himself, piercing his very soul and laying it open, stripped of all disguise. Though so bright that it illumined the vast temple to its uttermost bounds, that wondrous eye did not blind, nor even dazzle, the sight; for it imparted to the mortal eye, that need must meet it, strength to bear its light and behold the things it would reveal. To have been dazzled into blindness had been far more tolerable than to endure that terrible scrutiny. So felt the guilty young human thing as, with increasing awe and dread, he perceived that, while the eye was never turned from him, it seemed to be watchfully observant of all that was passing beneath it, however distant the objects, diverse, multitudinous. No secret, then; no guilty deed or thought, could be hidden in that light. The boy started! That lie he had sent back to his mother as he was slinking away from home! Did the eye see that? Aye, and the hundred others he had told, and was showing upon his soul a smutch, a smear, a spot for every one! Back, again, he shrank and hid himself behind the column. The column was far loftier and more massive than those which uphold the dome of mighty St. Peter's, and was hewn out from the eternal granite; yet the light of that terrible eye came gleaming through it, as if it had been of the clearest crystal. He ran to another, then to a third, fourth, fifth—tenth. In vain! Interpose what he might, still was it all as airy transparency between himself and that piercing glance. There are X-rays for the soul, as well as for the body. He turned his back upon it; there it was still! Look where he would—in the depths above—and the eye was ever before him, its calm and terrible look unchanged. Yet it did not seem to follow him. It was simply there! Everywhere!

The self-convicted young offender was still dodging and flitting about among the columns, when the voice of the Manitou king—the first sound he had heard since the procession had vanished—came to his ears, with the somewhat startling words:

"Manitou-Echo and Will-o'-the-Wisp, come, conjure up, now, the red moccasins' dream! By this time our light has purged the young dreamer's eyes sufficiently clear of the red mist for him to see what stuff his dream is made of, and to what it is tending."

Whereupon a bareheaded elf, extremely fantastic in appearance, yet beautiful, too, and recognized at once by his voice, Manitou-Echo came flitting up to Sprigg, and, with a bland smile and light wave of the hand, thus addressed him:

"Sprigg, how are you this morning? Fresh and spry? Glad to hear it. Our brave Sprigg ran a fine race yesterday—splendid! Everybody said so! You shall run another to-day, if you much desire it. You have just been playing at hide and seek, I see. A nice little game all to yourself. That's merry; that's brave! Everybody plays at hide and seek who comes to our house, and we like to see it; it looks as if our guests were making themselves at home. One would think the old house had been designed expressly for that game, so many nooks and crannies and other out-of-the-way corners has it, where everybody thinks of hiding himself, and nobody thinks of seeking for himself. And, Sprigg, you would be astonished, were we to tell you, who have been here before you! Still, still more astonished, were I to tell you who are here at this very moment; all, like yourself, playing at hide and seek with—strange as you may think it—their own shadows! But no one ever hides from his shadow here, nor finds it. And why? Because the light in which his shadow is cast keeps continually before his eyes, so that, let him spin himself about as he will, still is his shadow ever behind him.

"Doubtless, we Manitous would play at the same game, and as merrily, too; but, unfortunately, as you see, we have no shadows to play with—never had. This deficiency, however, is to some extent atoned for by our being allowed to conjure with the dreams and fancies of you mortals, in which we find our chief entertainment, and the wilder your dreams, the more extravagant your fancies, the finer our entertainment.

"Now, to exemplify the point in question on a more diminished scale, allow me to present to your consideration a dream, in which I happen to have personal interest. When you have considered it attentively, will you please favor me with your opinion as to the stuff it is made of and what it is worth. Here it comes on six legs! Witness."

Sprigg looked. Incredible! The Indian boy and the Shetland pony displayed before his eyes, not as a motionless picture, but as living, moving things—careering 'round and 'round, within what seemed a magnificent amphitheater, crowded with human spectators—all conjured up out of Manitou mist. Yes, there they were—the pony with a small, red flag stuck in the browband of his bridle. The boy decked out in all his Indian bravery—tomahawk, feather hat, red moccasins—executing a bewildering variety of tip-toe, neck-or-nothing, superhuman antics, along the back and neck, over the head and tail of his fairy little charger. Anon, the wild young equestrian was the Indian boy no longer, but the very semblance of Sprigg himself, throwing his red predecessor completely in the shade, as one might well infer from the plaudits of the thousands and thousands of admiring, astonished spectators, all clapping their hands, waving their hats and shouting: "Hurrah! hurrah! Splendid! splendid!"

Sprigg rubbed his eyes and looked again. Just the same. He closed his eyes; it made no difference, he could see it as plainly through his eyelids. He opened them again. His semblance was fading into a shadow, so was that of the pony—fading like a cloud picture at sunset. Nothing distinctly visible, save the red moccasins, which, from the last fading outline of the pony's back, threw a prodigious summerset, and when they alighted upon the ground, there! in them again, Sprigg saw his semblance. Manitous, temple, amphitheater—all had vanished—a forest of lofty trees appearing instead, through whose glimmer of lights and shadows the boy now saw himself, or rather his wraith running with incredible swiftness, and glancing furtively over his shoulder at every bound, as if death were a present fear behind him; life a distant hope before.

But his pursuers, who and where are they? Ah! Yonder they come, and here they are, and there they go. Sweeping swiftly onward—a bear, a wolf, a panther and a bison bull—and his pursuers are gaining upon him at every bound, now treading upon his very shadow.

Meanwhile, the real Sprigg is conscious of a peculiar sensation, as if he were moving glidingly onward, borne along by invisible hands to keep pace with, and see the wild chase to the end. The end has come. He sees his wraith stop suddenly, poised on the very brink of a frightful precipice, those terrible shapes behind; a yawning, mist-hid gulf before. A moment, that semblance of himself stands reeling on the dizzy verge, then flings away, or is flung away into the misty void! His brain spins 'round and 'round; sight and sensation forsake him. The boy has swooned away! Will he be warned? Let us see!