ny more."

He became strangely still. What did she mean by that? He had never
told her about his childhood; he had never mentioned his parents to
her. Whom could she be, that she should know so many things without
having to be told? Or was she speaking only of the present, without
reference to the past?

"My playmates are all friendly," he said; "but you know I have come far
from home . . ."

When he faltered she added, "But have you found what you started out to
find?"

He was a little embarrassed. "What I started out to find?" he echoed.
"I don't seem to remember----"

"You know you started out to find the truth," she said.

He nodded. "So I did," he declared. "But so many things have
happened, especially since I found the Sleeping Beauty, and it's been
so nice, most of the time . . ."

"Still, you shouldn't give up, you know," she said. "Maybe that's the
reason why you're not quite happy--because you haven't found the truth."

He sighed heavily. She hadn't comforted him, after all. And somehow
he could not tell her that what ailed him was that he was heartsick to
see his parents again. He remembered the pretty sitting room at home,
and the way his father and mother used to look; and it seemed to him
that if he could go back they would perhaps be happy to see him. But
he could not speak of all this to the Masked Lady.

He was greatly amazed when she said in a low tone: "It would be the
same thing over again if you didn't find the truth before you went
back."

It was quite as if he had spoken his thoughts to her aloud!

He drew away from her uneasily; but even as he did so she received
another dove which fluttered in at the window. And as she read the
message it had brought she said musingly--almost as if she were reading
the message, and not speaking to him at all--"_Everychild shall find
his parents again!_"

He felt that he almost loved her when he heard those words--almost, yet
not quite. His heart beat more lightly. He wondered where all the
children had gone. He listened for their voices.

It was then that an outer door opened hurriedly and the giant, Will
o'Dreams, entered the room. Perceiving Everychild, he stood an instant
with clinched hands and uplifted face; and then he cried out in a loud
voice:

"Everychild!"

And Everychild replied, with a little of that kindly condescension
which a married man feels toward a youth, "Well, my boy?"

The giant cried out with elation,