ourself.
That's merry; that's brave! Everybody plays at hide and seek who comes
to our house, and we like to see it; it looks as if our guests were
making themselves at home. One would think the old house had been
designed expressly for that game, so many nooks and crannies and other
out-of-the-way corners has it, where everybody thinks of hiding himself,
and nobody thinks of seeking for himself. And, Sprigg, you would be
astonished, were we to tell you, who have been here before you! Still,
still more astonished, were I to tell you who are here at this very
moment; all, like yourself, playing at hide and seek with--strange as
you may think it--their own shadows! But no one ever hides from his
shadow here, nor finds it. And why? Because the light in which his
shadow is cast keeps continually before his eyes, so that, let him spin
himself about as he will, still is his shadow ever behind him.

"Doubtless, we Manitous would play at the same game, and as merrily,
too; but, unfortunately, as you see, we have no shadows to play
with--never had. This deficiency, however, is to some extent atoned for
by our being allowed to conjure with the dreams and fancies of you
mortals, in which we find our chief entertainment, and the wilder your
dreams, the more extravagant your fancies, the finer our entertainment.

"Now, to exemplify the point in question on a more diminished scale,
allow me to present to your consideration a dream, in which I happen to
have personal interest. When you have considered it attentively, will
you please favor me with your opinion as to the stuff it is made of and
what it is worth. Here it comes on six legs! Witness."

Sprigg looked. Incredible! The Indian boy and the Shetland pony
displayed before his eyes, not as a motionless picture, but as living,
moving things--careering 'round and 'round, within what seemed a
magnificent amphitheater, crowded with human spectators--all conjured
up out of Manitou mist. Yes, there they were--the pony with a small, red
flag stuck in the browband of his bridle. The boy decked out in all his
Indian bravery--tomahawk, feather hat, red moccasins--executing a
bewildering variety of tip-toe, neck-or-nothing, superhuman antics,
along the back and neck, over the head and tail of his fairy little
charger. Anon, the wild young equestrian was the Indian boy no longer,
but the very semblance of Sprigg himself, throwing his red predecessor
completely in the shade, as one might wel