L. What do you call real things?

Isabel.  Now, you know!  Things that really are.

L. Whether you can see them or not?

Isabel.  Yes, if somebody else saw them.

L. But if nobody has ever seen them?

Isabel. (evading the point).  Well, but, you know, if there were a real Valley of Diamonds, somebody must have seen it.

L. You cannot be so sure of that, Isabel.  Many people go to real places, and never see them; and many people pass through this valley, and never see it.

Florrie.  What stupid people they must be!

L. No, Florrie.  They are much wiser than the people who do see it.

May.  I think I know where it is.

Isabel.  Tell us more about it, and then we’ll guess.

L. Well.  There’s a great broad road, by a river-side, leading up into it.

May (gravely cunning, with emphasis on the last word).  Does the road really go up?

L. You think it should go down into a valley?  No, it goes up; this is a valley among the hills, and it is as high as the clouds, and is often full of them; so that even the people who most want to see it, cannot, always.

Isabel.  And what is the river beside the road like?

L. It ought to be very beautiful, because it flows over diamond sand—­only the water is thick and red.

Isabel.  Red water?

L. It isn’t all water.

May.  Oh, please never mind that, Isabel, just now; I want to hear about the valley.

L. So the entrance to it is very wide, under a steep rock; only such numbers of people are always trying to get in, that they keep jostling each other, and manage it but slowly.  Some weak ones are pushed back, and never get in at all; and make great moaning as they go away:  but perhaps they are none the worse in the end.

May.  And when one gets in, what is it like?

L. It is up and down, broken kind of ground:  the road stops directly; and there are great dark rocks, covered all over with wild gourds and wild vines; the gourds, if you cut them, are red, with black seeds, like water-melons, and look ever so nice; and the people of the place make a red pottage of them:  but you must take care not to eat any if you ever want to leave the valley (though I believe putting plenty of meal in it makes it wholesome).  Then the wild vines have clusters of the color of amber; and the people of the country say they are the grape of Eshcol; and sweeter than honey:  but, indeed, if anybody else tastes them, they are like gall.  Then there are thickets of bramble, so thorny that they would be cut away directly, anywhere else; but here they are covered with little cinque-foiled blossoms of pure silver; and, for berries, they have clusters of rubies.  Dark rubies, which you only see are red after gathering them.  But you may fancy what blackberry parties the children have!  Only they get their frocks and hands sadly torn.