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The fairy flew off. "I will not tell you," she said. "You shall not go."

"I will go," said Fairy Tenderheart again. With steadfast steps she searched through Fairyland until she found a narrow track that led between the winding mountains and far out across wide, shimmering plains. This track she followed till she came upon the Magic Garden.

The Oldest Fairy of All sat thinking among her flowers, and her eyes were filled with peace. She looked at Fairy Tenderheart standing at the gate. "Who enters here can never return to Fairyland," she said, and her voice was sweeter than the songs of birds.

Fairy Tenderheart pushed open the gate and stepped within the Garden. "Who enters here finds joy," said the Oldest Fairy of All, and a crown of happiness sat on her hair.

"You come to work?" she asked.

"I come to learn what I may do to help the suffering earth," said Fairy Tenderheart. "Its cries of agony have beaten on my heart until there was no rest for me in Fairyland. Is there no way to make war cease? I come to you for wisdom."

The Oldest Fairy of All rose up and smiled, and her face was brighter than the moon and stars. "Look closely at my flowers," she said, "and tell me which you think most beautiful."

The flowers bloomed on every side, in every lovely hue—crimson and gold and orange, blue and purple and pink and softest lavender. All were scented, and all were beautiful; but there was one plant that pleased the little fairy more than any other. It grew no taller than the rest, made no great show of colour, yet through its stems and leaves there shone a radiance as if a light hid in them. Its flowers were clear as crystal—one could see quite through them—but the sunlight falling on them was broken into glowing colours, so that every blossom was a little bunch of flashing rainbows. And where the flowers had closed and grown to fruit they hung golden as the sun and fragrant with a scent that stole upon the wind and made the heart heat high with happiness.

"This is the most beautiful," said Fairy Tenderheart.

"You have chosen well," said the Oldest Fairy of All. "You are fitted to help me in my work. That is the Plant of Knowledge; its crystal blossoms are called the Flowers of Understanding, and its fruit is Love. By it alone can war be made to cease."

She pointed far below. "I have planted it upon the earth in many spots," she said. "Here and there it has flourished and spread, and its fruit has sweetened all the air. But, alas!" her eyes grew sad, "too often it has been trampled under foot and killed, and war has broken out afresh. If only men would care for it and let it grow the world would soon be wrapped in peace."

"In the children's gardens ... they planted the seeds."

"Can we not plant more and more until it spreads across the world in spite of all neglect?" asked Fairy Tenderheart.

The Oldest Fairy shook her head. "I have done my best," she said; "but while men tramp it down it cannot spread across the world. Even when it has grown well it cannot do the good it ought to do: a nation which has eaten of its Fruit of Love and has learned to scorn the littleness of war is yet forced by that same Love to fight, that it may rescue a weak and helpless country from the greedy clutches of those who have refused to let my dear plant bloom. In the end it shall spread, no doubt, and my work shall be complete; but the time is long, the time is long."

She mused, and Fairy Tenderheart gazed thoughtfully upon the earth. Presently she raised her eyes, and