"I have come from London," I said. "And I want to see Singanee. I
want to go to his ivory palace over the elfin mountains where the
amethyst precipice is."

"Nothing like changing your illusions," she said, "or you grow tired.
London's a fine place but one wants to see the elfin mountains
sometimes."

"Then you know London?" I said.

"Of course I do," she said. "I can dream as well as you. You are not
the only person that can imagine London." Men were toiling dreadfully
in her garden; it was in the heat of the day and they were digging
with spades; she suddenly turned from me to beat one of them over the
back with a long black stick that she carried. "Even my poets go to
London sometimes," she said to me.

"Why did you beat that man?" I said.

"To make him work," she answered.

"But he is tired," I said.

"Of course he is," said she.

And I looked and saw that the earth was difficult and dry and that
every spadeful that the tired men lifted was full of pearls; but some
men sat quite still and watched the butterflies that flitted about the
garden and the old witch did not beat them with her stick. And when I
asked her who the diggers were she said, "These are my poets, they are