plements, and slipped away, murmuring that the task was too
difficult and tedious.

Poor Randal felt sorely tempted to follow their example; and indeed he
might have yielded, too, had not one pale-faced, earnest-looking boy,
who held a file and piece of polished metal in his hand, exclaimed,--

"Six times have I tried my key in the lock of the palace door, and all
in vain. The _seventh_ time I must succeed--and then--the treasures are
mine!"

"What that pale-faced boy can do, I can do," said Randal to himself;
and, like a thorough workman, he set himself bravely to his task,
determined, come what might, to finish it.

And every morning, when Randal left his home, and started for the forge,
he took his way through the pine grove, just to gaze a moment with awe
and admiration at the fairy palace, and for the twentieth time to fancy
himself deftly turning the key in the lock, and gliding softly in.

But once, as he hastened by at break of day, whom should he meet but
Sylvan, the squire's son, setting out with a couple of terriers to hunt
for weasels.

"Where are you going so early?" said Sylvan; and Randal told him.

Then the young squire laughed aloud, and cried out, "Oh, I have been a
locksmith too at the four roads' end! My father made me go and work like
a common slave. But I have had enough of that sort of life, and I don't
wish to hear anything more about 'locks and keys, and fairy palaces.'
Come with me, and I'll teach you how to set a trap."

But Randal silently shook his head, and went his way to the forge at the
four roads' end. Sylvan's words, however, continued to ring in his ears,
and spoiled his heart for his labour. And all that day the smithy seemed
in his eyes like an ugly den, and himself and the little locksmiths like
so many toil-worn slaves. And now he chafed and fretted; and now he
loitered at his work; and now he hastened to make up for squandered
time. And then, alas, in his haste, he broke the key he was making.

"Here's a pretty mess!" cried Randal in despair. "Must I start at the
beginning again? Or shall I give it up altogether? Ah! why did I hear
about the fairy palace at all?"

The temptation was strong to fling down his tools, as many another
before him had done, and leave the anvil for ever. Randal's ten fingers
were just raised to unfasten the ties of his leather apron, when a
joyous cry rang through the forge.

It came from the pale-faced, earnest-looking lad, who held up his