here, Tilsa dear. All I want is sympathy.'

So Tilsa stayed, and Alison soon was herself again. 'Thank you, dearie,' she said as she wiped her eyes and jumped up ready to set to work again; 'you have done me a world of good. Always be sympathetic if you can. No one knows how grateful it is.'

It was nearly bed-time, and Tilsa went downstairs to say good-night to the Liglid. On the way her little white forehead was puckered into lines like a railway map.

She entered her grandfather's room softly. The old man was seated on one side of his desk; on the other was the Town Clerk of Ule. Between them was a large sheet of paper with these words at the top:

'A BILL FOR THE CIRCUMVENTION
OF THE FLAMP.'

They were too busy to notice Tilsa's entrance.

'We must hurry it through the House,' the Liglid was saying, 'or there won't be time. Rigmarola is a long way off.'

'How long will it take to march the troops here?' the Town Clerk asked.

'Fully six months,' said the Liglid, 'and then they must be drilled. They don't fight Flamps every day, and they may find it difficult to fix upon a mode of attack. What a pity it is,' he added, 'that Ule has no army.'

'It will be expensive,' said the Town Clerk.

'Money,' the Liglid remarked, 'is no object where the circumvention of the Flamp is concerned. The city has suffered long enough.'

'True,' said the Town Clerk.

Tilsa now ventured to interrupt. 'Grandpapa,' she said, 'I've come to say good-night.'

'Eh!' said the old man, now seeing her for the first time. 'Good-night? Oh yes! good-night, my dear'; and after his wont he kissed the air an inch from her cheek.

Tilsa did not at once run out of the room as she generally did, rather glad to have done with the ceremony; instead, she spoke again. 'Grandpapa, I think I know what the Flamp wants when he comes to the town.'

'Eh!' cried the Liglid, who was intent on his Bill again. 'Eh! I thought you'd gone to bed. You know what the Flamp comes for?' he continued.

'Yes,' said Tilsa, 'it's not to eat people at all, or to do any harm; it's for sympathy.'

'Rubbish!' said the Liglid. 'Nonsense—don't meddle with things you don't understand. Run off to bed at once.'

VI

For a long time Tilsa lay awake, putting two and two together and making four every time. Then she jumped out of bed and pattered with her bare feet into Tobene's room.

'Toby,' she said, gently shaking him. 'Toby!'

Tobene thrust out his arms and looked at her with eyes that saw nothing.

'Toby,' Tilsa said again. 'It's me—Tilsa.'

'Yes,' he said in the tone of one who is not much interested. 'What is it?'

'I've found out,' said Tilsa, 'what the Flamp comes for every year.'

'What?' said Tobene.

'Sympathy,' said Tilsa.

'What's sympathy?' said Tobene.

'Oh, it's putting your arms round people and being sorry for them.'

'Pooh,' said Tobene, 'if that's sympathy, you must be wrong. He's too big.'

But Tilsa was not in the least discouraged.

'No, Toby,' she said, 'I'm right. And, Toby, Toby, darling, I want to go and find the Flamp and say I'm sorry for him, and I want you to come with me.'

'Me?' cried Tobene, now wide awake.

'Of course,' said Tilsa. 'We've never done anything alone yet, and I don't want to begin now.'

'Well, I suppose it's all right,' Tobene faltered. 'But he's drefful big, isn't he?'

'I'm afraid he is rather large,' said Tilsa, as cheerfully as she could.

'And isn't he mighty ferocious?'

'Well,' said Tilsa, 'they say so, but nobody's sure. And you know, Toby dear, what silly things the people here say about the sun shining nowhere else but on the plain. We know better than that, don't we? Well, very likely they're just as wrong about the Flamp. So you will go, Toby, won't you?'

'Yes, I'll go,' said Tobene. 'When shall we start?'

'Now,' said Tilsa. 'I want you to dress directly without making any noise. I'm going to write a little note to Alison,—she's too old to come with us,—and then I'll be ready too.'

Tilsa hurried back to her room, and wrote the following note to old Alison:—

Tilsa slipped the note under Alison's door and then fetched Tobene from his room. They went first to the larder and packed a small basket with food. Tobene's vote was for blancmange and jam tarts, but Tilsa said that bread and biscuits were better.

'How about salt?' Toby asked.

'Salt?' said Tilsa, 'what for?'

'To put on the Flamp's tail and catch him,' said Toby. 'Else how are you going to hug him, Tilsa?'

VII

The two little explorers squeezed through the bars of the northern gate and for an hour or more hurried as fast as they could along the white road. They had no plan. All that Tilsa knew was that the Flamp lived somewhere in the mountains, but whether it was north or south, east or west, she could not say.

At the end of the second hour, Tilsa felt certain that it was time to leave the road, because day was not far off and they were very weary.

'Cheer up, Toby,' she said. 'We'll soon lie down and have some sleep. I'm going to shut my eyes and I want you to turn me round three times, and whichever way I walk then, that way we shall go.'

This was done, and Tilsa struck off to the left of the road into the plain. Then after walking for nearly an hour longer, they came to a little dell with a pool at the bottom and bushes growing on its sides, and here Tilsa stopped. The two children lay down together under a bush and at once fell asleep.

When Tilsa awoke, it was broad day. She roused Tobene, and they went to the pool and splashed some water over their faces and hands, and then Tilsa opened the basket. Breakfast consisted only of bread and butter and biscuits, but as they were hungry it was better than a banquet. The real business of the day was yet to begin, and Tilsa was wondering how to set about learning the road, when both children were startled by a wee voice.

'I call that piggish,' it said. 'And inconsiderate too.'

Not seeing any speaker, neither child replied but only stared at each other in puzzlement.

'Yes,' the tiny voice continued, 'people can be too tidy. Dropping crumbs is a bad habit in the house, I know, but out of doors it becomes a virtue. People who get up first thing in the morning to gorge themselves with bread and biscuits in this greedy way, and then drop no crumbs—well, piggish and inconsiderate is what I call them.'

The accusation aroused Tilsa. 'We didn't gorge,' she said, 'whoever you are, and we've slept here all night. But here are some crumbs for you, anyway,' and so saying, she broke up a piece of bread and scattered it on the ground.

Immediately a little fiery-crested wren hopped down from a branch of the bush and began to peck among the grass.

'Thank you,' he said when he had finished; 'but if you had done it without being asked it would have been better.'

'We didn't see you,' said Tobene in excuse.

'Doesn't matter,' the wren replied; 'birds is everywhere, and always hungry. Wherever you drop crumbs you may be sure they'll be acceptable. Remember that. Now, is there anything I can do for you?'

'Well,' said Tilsa, 'we want to know the way to the Flamp.'

'Before