Migwan sat on a rock on the beach making notes in her journal,
now and then lifting her eyes to the lake to watch the shadows
gliding across the water, as the clouds floated by overhead.
Sometimes the sunlight was darkened for a few minutes and the
lake looked gray and cold, but on the opposite shore a tiny
village nestled at the foot of a mountain, and over there the sun
was shining, and the white houses gleamed brightly against the
dull brown background. "It looks like a mirage," said Migwan to
Hinpoha, who had dropped down on the sand at her feet.

Hinpoha glanced across the lake at the fairy scene and then back
at Migwan. "What are you always writing in that book of yours?"
she asked curiously.

"Wouldn't you like to know, though!" replied Migwan, closing it
up.

"Oh, let me see some of it, won't you, Migwan, dear?" said
Hinpoha coaxingly. "I love to read what you write and I never
make fun of it, you know that. Please do." After a little more
coaxing Migwan relented and handed Hinpoha the page she had just
written. Hinpoha spread it out on her knee and read:

"I was sitting in the woods rather pensively the other day when I
suddenly became aware of two merry eyes fixed on me from the
ground beside me. There was something so irresistibly roguish in
their expression that my sadness leaked out of me unceremoniously.
As I looked the eyes disappeared behind a leaf, only to appear an
instant later on the other side, and a tiny, round red face nodded