exquisitely dressed, was dancing gracefully in the middle of the
lonely road, whirling slowly this way and that, her dainty feet
twinkling in sprightly fashion. She was clad in flowing, fluffy robes
of soft material that reminded Dorothy of woven cobwebs, only it was
colored in soft tintings of violet, rose, topaz, olive, azure, and
white, mingled together most harmoniously in stripes which melted one
into the other with soft blendings. Her hair was like spun gold and
flowed around her in a cloud, no strand being fastened or confined by
either pin or ornament or ribbon.

Filled with wonder and admiration our friends approached and
stood watching this fascinating dance. The girl was no taller than
Dorothy, although more slender; nor did she seem any older than our
little heroine.

Suddenly she paused and abandoned the dance, as if for the first time
observing the presence of strangers. As she faced them, shy as a
frightened fawn, poised upon one foot as if to fly the next instant,
Dorothy was astonished to see tears flowing from her violet eyes and
trickling down her lovely rose-hued cheeks. That the dainty maiden
should dance and weep at the same time was indeed surprising; so
Dorothy asked in a soft, sympathetic voice:

"Are you unhappy, little girl?"

"Very!" was the reply; "I am lost."

"Why, so are we," said Dorothy, smiling; "but we don't cry about it."

"Don't you? Why not?"