t bump--an' they'll put all the trusters in
cages--all but the nice Wee One--cages like they have in the circus--
An' they'll never get out to pesther us--never--never--no--more--"
Bridget's voice trailed off into the distance, carrying with it the
last of Rosita's fearing consciousness.

Ward C had suddenly become empty--empty except for a row of tumbled
beds and nine little tired-out, cast-off bodies. They had been shed as
easily as a boy slips out of his dusty, uncomfortable overalls on a
late sultry afternoon, and leaves them behind him on a shady bank,
while he plunges, head first, into the cool, dark waters of the
swimming-pool just below him, which have been calling and calling and
calling.

VII

AND BEYOND

What happened beyond the primrose ring is, perhaps, rather a
crazy-quilt affair, having to be patched out of the squares and
three-cornered bits of Fancy which the children remembered to bring
back with them. I have tried to piece them together into a fairly
substantial pattern; but, of course, it can be easily ripped out and
raveled into nothing. So I beg of you, on the children's account, to
handle it gently, for they believe implicitly in the durability of the
fabric.

Sandy remembered the beginning of it--the plunge straight across the
primrose ring into the River of Make-Believe; and how they paddled over
like puppies--one after another. It was perfectly safe to swim, even
if you had never swum before; and the only danger was for those who
might stop in the middle of the river and say, or think, "A dinna
believe i' faeries." Whoever should do this would sink like a stone,
going down, down, down until he struck his bed with a thud and woke,
crying.

It was starlight in Tir-na-n'Og--just as Bridget had said it would
be--only the stars were far bigger and brighter. The children stood on
the white, pebbly beach and shook themselves dry; while Bridget showed
them how to pull down their nightshirts to keep them from shrinking,
and how to wring out their faery caps to keep the wishes from growing
musty or mildewed. After that they met the faery ferryman,
who--according to Sandy--"wore a wee kiltie o' reeds, an' a tammie made
frae a loch-lily pad wi' a cat-o'-nine-tail tossel, lukin' sae ilk the
brae ye wad niver ken he was a mon glen ye dinna see his legs,
walkin'." He told them how he ferried over all the "old bodies" who
had grown feeble-hearted and were too afraid to swim.

It was Pa