"Let us go to it," cried Uncle Blair, gaily, casting aside his
sorrowful mood and catching our hands. "A wood fire at night has
a fascination not to be resisted by those of mortal race. Hasten--
we must not lose time."

"Oh, it will burn a long time yet," I gasped, for Uncle Blair was
whisking us up the hill at a merciless rate.

"You can't be sure. It may have been lighted by some good, honest
farmer-man, bent on tidying up his sugar orchard, but it may also,
for anything we know, have been kindled by no earthly woodman as a
beacon or summons to the tribes of fairyland, and may vanish away
if we tarry."

It did not vanish and presently we found ourselves in the grove.
It was very beautiful; the fire burned with a clear, steady glow
and a soft crackle; the long arcades beneath the trees were
illuminated with a rosy radiance, beyond which lurked companies of
gray and purple shadows. Everything was very still and dreamy and
remote.

"It is impossible that out there, just over the hill, lies a
village of men, where tame household lamps are shining," said
Uncle Blair.

"I feel as if we must be thousands of miles away from everything
we've ever known," murmured the Story Girl.

"So you are!" said Uncle Blair emphatically. "You're back in the