“Yes?” said Anthea, busy with her plaiting.

“But, one day,—­Fate, or Chance, or Destiny,—­or their benevolent spirit, sent a certain square-shouldered Waggoner to show me the way, and, after him, a very small Porges,—­bless him!—­to lead me into this wonderful Arcadia.”

“Oh, I see!” nodded Anthea, very intent upon her plaiting.

“But there is something more,” said Bellew.

“Oh?” said Anthea.

“Shall I tell you?”

“If—­it is—­very interesting.”

“Well then, in this delightful land there is a castle, grim, embattled, and very strong.”

“A castle?” said Anthea, glancing up suddenly.

“The Castle of Heart’s Desire.”

“Oh!” said she, and gave all her attention to her plaiting again.

“And so,” continued Bellew, “I am waiting, very patiently, until, in her own good time, she who rules within, shall open the gate to me, or—­bid me go away.”

Into Bellew’s voice had crept a thrill no one had ever heard there before; he leaned nearer to her, and his dreamy eyes were keen now, and eager.  And she, though she saw nothing of all this, yet, being a woman, knew it was there, of course, and, for that very reason, looked resolutely away.  Wherefore, once again, Bellew heartily wished that sunbonnets had never been invented.

So there was silence while Anthea stared away across the golden corn-fields, yet saw nothing of them, and Bellew looked upon those slender, capable fingers, that had faltered in their plaiting and stopped.  And thus, upon the silence there broke a sudden voice shrill with interest: 

“Go on, Uncle Porges,—­what about the dragons?  Oh, please go on!—­there’s always dragons in ’chanted castles, you know, to guard the lovely Princess,—­aren’t you going to have any dragons that hiss, you know, an’ spit out smoke, an’ flames?  Oh!—­do please have a dragon.”  And Small Porges appeared from the other side of the hay-mow, flushed, and eager.

“Certainly, my Porges,” nodded Bellew, drawing the small figure down beside him, “I was forgetting the dragons, but there they are, with scaly backs, and iron claws, spitting out sparks and flames, just as self-respecting dragons should, and roaring away like thunder.”

“Ah!” exclaimed Small Porges, nestling closer to Bellew, and reaching out a hand to Auntie Anthea, “that’s fine! let’s have plenty of dragons.”

“Do you think a—­er—­dozen would be enough, my Porges?”

“Oh yes!  But s’pose the beautiful Princess didn’t open the door,—­what would you do if you were really a wandering knight who was waiting patiently for it to open,—­what would you do then?”

“Shin up a tree, my Porges.”

“Oh but that wouldn’t be a bit right—­would it, Auntie?”

“Of course not!” laughed Anthea, “it would be most un-knight-like, and very undignified.”

“’Sides,” added Small Porges, “you couldn’t climb up a tree in your armour, you know.”