vases and threw their petals all about the room, and others talked two
at a time and other sang. "Why they are only children after all," I
said.

"Only children!" repeated the old witch who was pouring out cowslip
wine.

_"Only_ children," said the old black cat. And every one laughed at
me.

"I sincerely apologize," I said. "I did not mean to say it. I did
not intend to insult any one."

"Why he knows nothing at all," said the old black cat. And everybody
laughed till the poets were put to bed.

And then I took one look at the fields we know, and turned to the
other window that looks on the elfin mountains. And the evening
looked like a sapphire. And I saw my way though the fields were
growing dim, and when I found it I went downstairs and through the
witch's parlour, and out of doors and came that night to the palace of
Singanee.

Lights glittered through every crystal slab--and all were
uncurtained--in the palace of ivory. The sounds were those of a
triumphant dance. Very haunting indeed was the booming of a bassoon,
and like the dangerous advance of some galloping beast were the blows
wielded by a powerful man on the huge, sonourous drum. It seemed to
me as I listened that the contest of Singanee with the more than
elephantine destroyer of Perdóndaris had already been set to music.