his guide. The aisle between the
unearthly trees widened, and the giants were fewer. It seemed a mile,
perhaps, before a sound of tinkling water obscured that other strange
music; they emerged on the bank of a little river, swift and
crystalline, that rippled and gurgled its way from glowing pool to
flashing rapids, sparkling under the pale sun. Galatea bent over the
brink and cupped her hands, raising a few mouthfuls of water to her
lips; Dan followed her example, finding the liquid stinging cold.

"How do we cross?" he asked.

"You can wade up there,"--the dryad who led him gestured to a sun-lit
shallows above a tiny falls--"but I always cross here." She poised
herself for a moment on the green bank, then dove like a silver arrow
into the pool. Dan followed; the water stung his body like champagne,
but a stroke or two carried him across to where Galatea had already
emerged with a glistening of creamy bare limbs. Her garment clung tight
as a metal sheath to her wet body; he felt a breath-taking thrill at the
sight of her. And then, miraculously, the silver cloth was dry, the
droplets rolled off as if from oiled silk, and they moved briskly on.

The incredible forest had ended with the river; they walked over a
meadow studded with little, many-hued, star-shaped flowers, whose fronds
underfoot were soft as a lawn. Yet still the sweet pipings followed
them, now loud, now whisper-soft, in a tenuous web of melody.

"Galatea!" said Dan suddenly. "Where is the music coming from?"

She looked back amazed. "You silly one!" she laughed. "From the flowers,
of course. See!" she plucked a purple star and held it to his ear; true
enough, a faint and plaintive melody hummed out of the blossom. She
tossed it in his startled face and skipped on.

A little copse appeared ahead, not of the gigantic forest trees, but of
lesser growths, bearing flowers and fruits of iridescent colors, and a
tiny brook bubbled through. And there stood the objective of their
journey--a building of white, marble-like stone, single-storied and vine
covered, with broad glassless windows. They trod upon a path of bright
pebbles to the arched entrance, and here, on an intricate stone bench,
sat a grey-bearded patriarchal individual. Galatea addressed him in a
liquid language that reminded Dan of the flower-pipings; then she
turned. "This is Leucon," she said, as the ancient rose from his seat
and spoke in English.

"We are happy, Galatea and I, to welcome