hunting in the two roads that lie below the river bed. The lady, who was
the daughter of the King of Knapdale, shut her eyes that were like the
sea, and tied in a cushion above her head her hair that was like the
tassel of the fir, and broke the crystal door of dream and reached the
two hunting roads in the bed of the river. 'We are two brothers,' said
the watchers, standing at the end of the roads, 'and we are the sons of
earls.' She thought and thought 'I am Sir Sleep,' said the younger. 'And
will you be true?' said she. 'Almost half the time, he answered. She
thought and thought. 'I am very weary,' she said. 'Then come with
me,' said the other, 'I am the Older Brother.' She heard above her the
clanging at the door of dream as she went with the Older Brother. And
she was happy for evermore."

"Oh, that is a stupid story," said Nan. "It's not a true story at all.
You could tell it to me anywhere, and why should we be troubled walking
to the Linn?"

"Because this is the Lady's Linn," said Gilian, "and to be telling a
story you must be putting a place in it or it will not sound true. And
Gillesbeg Aotram who told me the story--"

"Gillesbeg Aotram!" she said in amaze. "He's daft. If I thought it was a
daft man's story I had to hear I----"

"He's not daft at all," protested Gilian. "He's only different from his
neighbours."

"That is being daft," said she. "But it is a very clever tale and you
tell it very well. You must tell me more stories. Do you know any more
stories? I like soldier stories. My father tells me a great many."

"The Cornal tells me a great many too," said Gilian, "but they are all
true, and they do not sound true, and I have to make them all up again
in my own mind. But this is not the place for soldier stories; every
place has its own kind of story, and this is the place for fairy stories
if you care for them."

"I like them well enough," she answered dubiously, "though I like better
the stories where people are doing things."

They rose from their seat of illusion beside the Linn where the King of
Knapdale's daughter broke the gate of sleep and dream. They walked into
the Duke's flower garden. And now the day was done, the sun had gone
behind Creag Dubh while they were sitting by the river; a grey-brown
dusk wrapped up the country-side. The tall trees that were so numerous
outside changed here to shorter darker foreign trees, and yews that
never waved in winds, but seemed the ghosts of trees,