shining new key now completed. "My seventh trial," he shouted, with
tears in his eyes, "and I know that it is perfect!" and he bounded forth
in the direction of the wonderful mansion in the forest.

At the sight of the pale boy's success Randal blushed deep red, and bit
his lip; then, picking up his instruments one by one, he begged the
master to give him another bit of iron.

After that, the little locksmith wrought the livelong day with more
energy and greater courage than any one at the forge. Before daybreak
now he hastened to his work, ever choosing the nearest way, and avoiding
the wood, lest he might encounter idle Sylvan, the squire's son. But
once, at eventide, whom should he chance to meet but the gentle,
pale-faced boy, coming from the fairy house, and looking so radiant and
happy, that Randal rushed towards him, and questioned him about the
treasures.

"Oh, Randal!" cried his friend, "you will simply be enchanted when you
come. For, once within the fairy palace, you must look and listen, and
laugh, and admire."

"Oh, tell me no more," cried the little locksmith, "my key is almost
finished!"

After this many more days passed in silent, steady toil; until at last,
one bright morning in early Spring, as the sunbeams were breaking
through the mist, Randal quietly laid down his file, and, nervously
clasping a brightly-polished key in his vigorous young hand, glided
softly from the smithy, and out into the cool air.

The master locksmith stepped to the threshold to look after him; and,
as he shaded his hand with his horny palm, and watched the lad's
retreating figure, a smile of satisfaction and approval flitted across
his wrinkled face.

The new key turned smoothly in the lock, the door was opened, and he
entered in.

Randal wandered through the fairy palace. He found himself in beautiful
apartments, lofty, grand and airy, containing countless lovely and
curious objects. Some of these he could only look at; others he might
feel and handle at his pleasure.

There were portraits of kings and great warriors, pictures of
battlefields and processions, which filled his mind with wonder; of
quaint streets, and homely firesides, and little children attired in
funny costumes, that made him laugh, and clap his hands, and hold his
sides for merriment.

In another apartment were various kinds of coloured glasses and prisms,
through which the little Langaffer lad looked at strange countries he
had never dreamed