carried him
under the shade of some elm or maple tree, to sit and see pictures of
wonderful creatures in the beauty and melancholy of nature all around.
For this reason his loving mother called him _Inabandang_, a dreamer of
dreams.

CHAPTER II.

FAIRYLAND.

With the woodland fairies I can talk,
I can list their silver lays;
Oh! pleasant in a lonely walk
Is the company of fays.
_Havergal._

The ravine adjoining the castle was a mysterious looking place, dark
with dense underwood, the haunt of wild beasts and the home of
numberless birds, now sending forth awful cries and inspiring songs,
then silent as the grave. A tortuous difficult pathway in the hollow
extended along its length, while one or two animal tracks in the
neighborhood crossed it from side to side. A few grassy spaces here
and there slightly relieved the gloom, while a small stream of water
moved slowly along its base, now forming into pools where little fishes
leaped, then gradually unwinding itself and stealing softly on under a
wealth of branches and green leaves.

Down to that stream Robin wandered alone one beautiful afternoon in
June. He followed its course as best he could till he found it turning
into a deep, dark, eddying pool beside and partly under the steepest
slope of the ravine. The opening underneath the projecting bank,
though large, was almost concealed by overhanging branches. Robin
crawled out on a strong beech branch, brushed aside the leaves and
peered in. It seemed as if it were a water-gateway into the heart of
the great ridge, and had a weird misty look. Robin said to himself,
"Wouldn't it be fine if I got a real peep at some of those brownies and
fairies I hear so much about! Wouldn't mother stare when I got home
and told her!" He therefore waited and imagined and watched, until he
got quite excited at the thought of seeing something wonderful. But
no, nothing came, and he was disappointed, although he only half
believed that anything strange might really appear. His excitement
cooled down, and then after a time he yawned, feeling weary; yet,
retaining a lingering hope, he stretched himself comfortably across two
or three adjoining branches, his face downwards, with one arm and one
leg dangling below, and finally fell asleep. It was not a very
becoming or a very wise act in that riskful, dismal hollow; yet, are
not men themselves but thoughtless boys in bigger shape?

While thus