through the undergrowth to a spot where the trees were older, and
standing at wider distances. Among them was the tree he had spoken
of--an elm; huge, hollow, distorted, and headless, with a rift in its
side.

'Now go inside,' he said, 'before it gets any darker. You will find
there everything you want. At any rate, if you do not you must do
without it. I'll keep watch; and don't be longer than you can help
to be.'

'What am I to do, sir?' asked the puzzled maiden.

'Go inside, and you will see. When you are ready wave your
handkerchief at that hole.'

She stooped into the opening. The cavity within the tree formed a
lofty circular apartment, four or five feet in diameter, to which
daylight entered at the top, and also through a round hole about six
feet from the ground, marking the spot at which a limb had been
amputated in the tree's prime. The decayed wood of cinnamon-brown,
forming the inner surface of the tree, and the warm evening glow,
reflected in at the top, suffused the cavity with a faint mellow
radiance.

But Margery had hardly given herself time to heed these things. Her
eye had been caught by objects of quite another quality. A large
white oblong paper box lay against the inside of the tree; over it,
on a splinter, hung a small oval looking-glass.

Margery seized the idea in a moment. She pressed through the rift