their play, for yonder was the music of their dances—­that chuckling, singing waterfall could serve no other purpose.  Perhaps one was hidden under it at present.  Kirk was half tempted to conceal himself and wait for them to reappear, though he knew that it requires extraordinary cunning to deceive wood-sprites once they have been alarmed.  But, undoubtedly, they were somewhere close by, probably watching him from behind the leaves, and if they were not such timid bodies he might try to search them out.

As it was, he took a lingering, farewell look and turned to retrace his steps, whereupon the queen fairy laughed at him softly.  He paused abruptly, then turned around, with care, so as not to frighten her.  But of course she was invisible.  Then she spoke again with the sweetest foreign accent imaginable.

“You had better cross upon the waterfall, sir.  There is no bridge above.”  After an instant, during which he strained his eyes to find her, she laughed again.

“Here I am, in the tree, across the pond.”

“Oh!” Looking over the fork of a tree-trunk, perhaps twice the height of his head above the ground, Anthony beheld a ravishing face and two very bright eyes.  Without removing his gaze, he leaned his gun carefully against a bush—­firearms have an abominable effect upon hamadryads—­and said: 

“I knew you were here all the time.”

“Indeed!” The eyes opened in astonishment.  “You did not see me at all.”

“Of course, but I knew you were somewhere close by, just the same.  How did you get up there?”

“I climbed up.”

“Why didn’t you hide under the waterfall?”

“I did not hide, senor.  I am trying to reach my orchid.”

A little hand appeared beside the face, and a finger pointed to one of the big air plants above her.  Kirk beheld a marvellous white, dove-shaped flower, nodding upon a slender stalk.

“I climbed up on the big vine; it is just like a ladder.”

“Then you can’t be the queen!”

Two very large, very dark eyes looked at him questioningly.

“Queens don’t pick flowers,” he explained.  “They hide in ’em.”

“The queen?”

“Some of them live in trees, and some preside over lakes and fountains.  Which kind are you?”

“Oh!  I am neither, I live in my father’s house.”  She tossed her head in the direction of the Savannas behind her.  “Do you wish to cross the stream?”

“If you please.”

“Wait.”  The face disappeared.  There was a sound from behind the twisted tree-trunk, a twig fell, then a piece of bark, and the next instant the girl herself stepped into view.

“I was afraid you’d gone for good,” acknowledged the young man, gravely.  He took up his gun and stepped out upon the crest of the dam.

“You must look where you go,” she admonished, “or you will fall—­ splash!” She laughed delightedly at the thought, and he saw that her eyes had a way of wrinkling almost shut in the merriest fashion.  He balanced upon the slippery surface of the waterway with the stream up to his ankles.