"Well, Mr. Ellery, here I am!"

The dwarf had come down from the tree, leaving the child asleep in the tree-hollow, with Cousin Goldfinch to keep watch over her; now he was sitting in the root-seat of the yellow birch, looking up at a man who stood before him.

"Yes," said the dwarf; "here you are. Anything new? It isn't a month since you came."

The man said it was more than a month. "I've brought the papers," he said. "There are deeds to sign, and a lot of things to look over. Hadn't we better come into the house, sir?"

"Presently!" said the dwarf, looking up at the tree. He was not absolutely sure that the child was sound asleep, and if she waked suddenly she might be frightened to find herself alone.

"You are not looking well, Phillips!" he remarked, easily.

"I'm not well, Mr. Ellery," said the man, with some heat. "I'm worn out, sir, with all this business. How you can persist in such foolishness passes my comprehension. Here are leases running out, petitions coming in, bills and letters and—the office looks like the dead letter office," he broke out, "and the clerks are over their heads in work, and I am almost broke down, as I tell you, and you are—"

"By the way!" said the dwarf, settling himself comfortably, "where am I, Phillips?"

"In Thibet!" replied the other, sulkily. "Hunting the wild ass."

"And a fine sport!" said the dwarf, musingly. "That shows invention, Phillips. That really shows ingenuity, do you know? You grumble, my good fellow, but you don't seem to realise what this is doing for you. You have lived forty odd years without imagination; now you are developing one; against your will, it is true, but the effect is no less admirable. I admire you, Phillips; I do indeed."

He smiled up at the man, who regarded him gloomily, yet with a look of affection.

"I wish you would give it up," he said, simply. "I wish to goodness you would give it up, Mr. Ellery, and come home. A man like you living this life—the life of an animal, sir—it's monstrous. Think of your interests, think of your estate, of all the people who looked to you; of—"

"By the way," said the dwarf again, "have you paid those legacies?"

"I know nothing about any legacies," replied the man, peevishly. "I'll have nothing to do with any such talk as that. When I see you dead and in your coffin, Mark Ellery, it'll be time enough to talk about legacies."

"I don't like coffins!" murmured the dwarf, looking up at the black hole in the great buttonwood tree. "I never intend—go on, Phillips. You paid the money, did you say?"

"Yes, sir, I did; but I did not tell the old ladies you were dead, because you were not, and I am not engaged to tell lies of that description. Professional fiction I must use, since you drive me to it; but lie to those old women I could not and did not!"

"No," said the dwarf, soothingly, "surely not; I could not expect that, Phillips. And you told them that I was—"

"In Thibet," said the man. "Hunting the wild ass. I told you that before."

"Precisely," said the dwarf. "Don't limit yourself too strictly, Phillips. You might vary the place a little oftener than you do, and find it more amusing. It would have impressed the old ladies more, for instance, if you had said that I was in Mashonaland, converting the wild ass—I mean the black man. The old ladies are well, I trust?"

"Pretty feeble, Mr. Ellery. They cried a good deal, and said you were the best and—"

"Et cetera!" said the dwarf. "Suppose we skip that part, Phillips. A—before I forget it, I want you to get me some things in town. Let me see,"—he considered, and began to check off items on his fingers. "A doll, the handsomest doll that can be found, with a trunk full of clothes, or you might say two trunks, Phillips. And—some picture-books, please, and a go-cart—no, I can make that myself. Well, then, a toy dinner-set. You might get it in silver, if you find one; and some bonbons, a lot of bonbons, say ten pounds or so. And—get me a couple of new rugs, thick, soft ones, the best you can find; and—oh! cushions; get a dozen or so cushions, satin and velvet; down pillows, you understand. What's the matter?"

The man whom he called Phillips was looking at him in a kind of terror that sent the dwarf into a sudden fit of laughter. He gave way to it for a few minutes, then restrained himself, and wiped his eyes with a fine handkerchief, like the one he had given the child. "Phillips, you certainly have the gift of amusing," he murmured. "I am not mad, my dear man; never was saner in my life, I assure you. Observe my eye; feel my pulse; do. You see I am calm, if only you wouldn't make me laugh too much. Far calmer than you are, Phillips. Now we'll come in and go over the papers. First, though,"—he glanced up at the tree again, and seemed to listen, but all was silent, save for the piping and trilling that was seldom still,—"first, is there any news? I don't mean politics. I won't hear a word of politics, you know. I mean—any—any news among—people I used to know?"

The man brightened visibly; then seemed to search his mind. "Mr. Tenby is dead, sir; left half a million. You can have that place now for a song, if you want to invest. Old Mrs. Vivian had a stroke the other day, and isn't expected to live. She'll be worth—"

The dwarf made a movement of impatience. "Old people!" he said. "Why shouldn't they die? Who cares whether they die or live, except themselves and their heirs? Are there no—young people—left in the place?"

Phillips pondered. "No one that you'd be interested in, sir," he said. "There's been a great to-do about a lost child, yesterday. Mr. Valentine's little girl ran away from home, and can't be found. Wild little thing, they say; given her governess no end of trouble. Parents away from home. They're afraid the child has been kidnapped, but I think it's likely she'll turn up; she has run away before, they say. Pretty little girl, six years old; image of her mother. Mother was a Miss—"

Here he stopped, for the dwarf turned upon him in a kind of fury and bade him be still. "What do I care about people's children?" he said. "You are an idle chatterer. Come and let me see this business, whatever it is. Curse the whole of it, deed and house, land and letter! Come on, I tell you, and when you have done, begone, and leave me in peace!"

When the child woke, she was at first too much surprised to speak. She had forgotten things, for she had been sleeping hard, as children do in their noonday naps; and she would naturally have opened her eyes upon a pink nursery with gold trimmings. Instead, here she was in—what kind of place? Around her, on all sides save one, were brown walls; walls that felt soft and crumbly, and smelt queer; yet it was a pleasant queerness. On the one side where they were not, she looked out into a green sky; or perhaps—no, it wasn't a sky, it was woods, very thick woods, and there was no ground at all. She was lying on something soft, and partly it rustled, and partly it felt like thick cold velvet. Now some of the rustling came alive, and two or three birds hopped down from somewhere and sat on her foot and sang. At that the child laughed aloud, instead of screaming, as she had just been beginning to think she might; and then in a moment there was the dwarf, looking in at the green entrance, smiling and nodding at her.

"Oh, you dear dwarf!" said the child. "I am glad to see you. I forgotted where I was in this funny place. Isn't it a funny place, dwarf? how did you get here? what made you know about it? why don't you always live here all the time? what's that that's bright up there?"

Indeed, the hollow in the tree made a good-sized room enough, if a person were not too big. The walls were pleasant to sight, touch, and smell; their colours ran from deepest black-brown up to an orange so rich and warm that it glowed like coals. When you touched the surface, it crumbled a little, soft and sympathetic, as if it came away to please you. The cushion of moss was thicker than any mattress ever made by man; altogether, a delightful place—always supposing one to be the right size. Now the dwarf and the child were exactly the right size, and there seemed no reason why they should not live here all their lives. This was evident to the child.

In one place, a natural shelf ran part way round the tree-wall; and on this shelf lay something that glittered. "What is that that's bright?" the child repeated. "Give it to me, please, dwarf!"

She stretched out her hand with an imperious gesture. The man took the object down, but did not give it to her. "This," he said "is a key, Snow-white."

"Huh!" said the child. "It looks like a pistol. What for a key is it to? where did you get it? is there doors like Bluebeard? why don't you tell me, dwarf?"

"Yes, it does look like a pistol," the man assented, weighing the object in his hand. "But it is a key, Snow-white, to—oh! all kinds of places. I don't know about the Bluebeard chamber; you see, I haven't used it yet. But it is the key of the fields, you understand."

He was speaking slowly, and for the time seemed to forget the child, and to be speaking to himself. "Freedom and forgetfulness; the sting left behind, instead of carried about with one, world without end. The weary at rest—at rest!"

"No wives?" asked the child. The man looked at her with startled eyes. "Wives?" he repeated.

"Dead ones," said the child. "Hanging up by their hairs, you know, dwarf, just heads of 'em, all the rest gone dead. Isn't that awful? Would you go in just the same? I would!"

"No, no wives!" said the dwarf; and he laughed, not his pleasant laugh, but one that sounded more like a bark, the child told him. "No wives!" he repeated; "my own or other people's, Snow-white. What should I have to do with wives, dead or alive?"

The child considered him attentively. "I don't suppose you could get one, anyhow, do you?" she said. "Always, you know, the dwarfs try to get the princesses, but never they do. You never was yellow, was you?" she asked, with a sudden note of apprehension in her voice.

"No, Snow-white, never yellow; only green."

The child bubbled over. "Was you truly green?" she cried. "Isn't that funny, dwarf? and then you turned brown, didn't you? you don't suppose I'll turn brown, do you? because I ain't green, am I? but I was just thinking, suppose you should be the Yellow Dwarf, wouldn't it be awful?"

"Probably it would. He was a pretty bad sort of fellow, was he, Snow-white? I—it's a good while since I heard anything about him, you see."

"Oh, he was just puffickly frightful! He—Do you want me to tell you the story, dwarf?"

Yes, the dwarf wanted that very much indeed.

"Well, then, if I tell you that, you must tell me one about some dwarfs what you knew. I suppose you knew lots and lots of them, didn't you? Was they different colours? was they blue and green and red? what made you turn brown when you was green? well!

"Once they was a queen, and she had twenty children, and they was all dead except the Princess All-fair, and she wouldn't marry any of the kings what wanted to marry her, and so her mother went to ask the Desert Fairy what she should do wiz her. So she took a cake for the lions, and it was made of millet and sugar-candy and crocodiles' eggs, but she went to sleep and lost it. Did ever you eat a cake like that? should you think it would be nasty? I should! Well, and so there was the Yellow Dwarf sitting in the tree—why, just the way you are, dwarf. We might play I was the queen, and you was the Yellow Dwarf. Let's play it."

"But I don't want to be a horrid one," the man objected, "and I want to hear the story, besides."

"Oh, well, so I will. Well, he said he would save her from the lion, if she would let him marry the Princess, and she didn't want to one bit, but she said she supposed she'd have to, so he saved her, and she found herself right back there in the palace. Well, and so then she was very unhappy all the time, and the Princess didn't know what upon earth was the matter wiz her, so she thought she would go and ask the Desert Fairy. So she went just the same way what her mother went, but she ate so many oranges off the tree that she lost her cake, too. That was greedy, don't you think so?"

"Very greedy! she was old enough to know better."

"Why, yes! why, I'm only six, and I don't eat so many as all that, only till I feel queer in front, and then I always stop. Do always you stop when you feel queer in front? Well! so then the Yellow Dwarf comed along, and he said her mother said she had to marry him, anyway. And the Princess said, 'How! my mother promised me to you in marriage! you, such a fright as you!'

"And he was puffickly horrid. He said, 'Well, if you don't, the lions will get you, and eat you up every scrap, and I sha'n't care a bit.' Wasn't he mean? So she said she s'posed she'd have to; and right off then she went to sleep, and there she was in her own bed, and all trimmed up wiz ribbons, and on her finger was a ring, and it was just one red hair, and she couldn't get it off. Wasn't that puffickly awful, dwarf?"

"It chills my marrow, Snow-white. Go on!"

"What is your marrow? what does it look like? why do you have it, if it gets cold so easy as that? I wouldn't! Well! So at last the Princess said she guessed she would marry the King of the Golden Mines, 'cause he was puffickly beautiful, and most prob'ly the old dwarf wouldn't dare to say a word when he found how beautiful he was, and strong and big and rich and everything."

"No!" said the dwarf, bitterly. "The poor dwarf would have no chance, certainly, against that kind of king. He might as well have given up in the beginning."

"But, Mark, this dwarf wasn't poor, or anything else but just as horrid as he could be. Why, when the Princess and the King was going to be married, all in gold and silver, wiz roses and candy and everything lovely, they saw a box coming along, and an old woman was on it and she said she was the Desert Fairy, and the Yellow Dwarf was her friend, and they shouldn't get married. So they said they didn't care, they would—oh, and she said if they did she would burn her crutch; and they said they didn't care one bit if she did. They were just as brave! And the King of the Golden Mines told her get out, or he would kill her; and then the top of the box comed off, and there was the Yellow Dwarf, and he was riding on a cat,—did ever you ride on a cat, Mark?"

"No, never."

"Well, he was; and he said the Princess promised to marry him, and the King said he didn't care, she shouldn't do noffing of the kind. So they had a fight, and while they were fighting that horrid old Fairy hit the Princess, and then the Yellow Dwarf took her up on the cat, and flewed away wiz her. That's all about the first part. Don't you think it's time for luncheon?"

"Oh, but you are never going to stop there, Snow-white! I want to know what became of them. Even if the dwarf did carry off the Princess, and even if she had promised to marry him,—for she did promise, you say,—still, of course he did not get her. Dwarfs have no rights that anybody is bound to respect, have they, Snow-white?"

"Well, I don't like the last part, because it doesn't end right. The Desert Fairy falled in love wiz the King, and she hoped he would marry her, but he said no indeed, he wouldn't have her in the same place wiz him at all; so he wouldn't stay in the house, but he went out to walk by the wall that was made of emeralds, and a mermaid came up and said she was sorry, and if he hit everything wiz this sword it would kill them, but he must never let go of it. So he thanked her very much, and he went along, and he killed lots of things, spinxes and nymps and things, and at last he came to the Princess, but then he was so glad to see her that he let go of the sword just a minute, and what do you think that horrid dwarf did? Why, he comed right along and took it, and said he shouldn't have it back unless he would give up the Princess. 'No,' said the King, 'I scorn thy favour on such terms.' And then that mean old thing stabbed him to the heart, and so he was dead; and the Princess said, 'You puffickly hideous old horrid thing, I won't marry you, anyway!' and then she fell down and perspired wizout a sigh. And that's all. And the mermaid turned them into palm-trees, because that was all she knew how to do, don't you know? and that's all. Aren't you going to get me something to eat? can't we have it up here in this place? aren't you glad I'm here to keep you company and tell you stories? don't you say hurrah for us, dwarf? I do; hurrah!"