Despite the fact that they had repeatedly offered big sums of money to any one who could discover the secret of how they were done, every attempt to do so had utterly failed.  The Mysteries of Martin and Davenport’s Home of Wonder, in the Kingsway, baffled the world.  Of course one thing had helped them enormously—­namely, they had no rivals.  So colossal was their reputation, that no one else had ever even thought of setting up in opposition.

And now one of the two great master-minds, that had accomplished all these marvels and acquired such universal fame, was stricken down, checkmated by the still greater power of nature; and his colleague—­the only other man in existence who shared his knowledge—­was obliged to rack his brain as to what was now to be done—­done for the continuance and prosperity of the firm.

After finishing her breakfast Gladys joined her aunt in the garden.

“To dream of flowers and trees evidently means bad news,” she said.  “But as I feel in a mood for a walk, I shall call at the Vicarage.”

“What, now!  At this hour!” Miss Templeton cried aghast.

“Why not?” Gladys said imperturbably.  “I’m not going to pay a call.  They haven’t called on us.  I shall say I’ve merely come to make an inquiry.  Can she tell me of any one who interprets dreams?  Come with me!”

But as her aunt pleaded an excuse, Gladys went alone.

The Vicar was in the garden in his shirt sleeves, and though obviously surprised to see Gladys, seemed quite prepared to enter into conversation with her.  But Gladys was not enamoured of clergymen.  Her ways were not their ways, and she had come strictly on business.  Consequently she somewhat curtly demanded to be conducted into the presence of his wife, who received her very affably.

“Why, how very strange,” she observed when Gladys had stated the object of her visit.  “I was asked a similar question only yesterday.  A Miss Rosenberg, who is staying with us, had an extraordinary dream about trees and flowers—­only it took the form of a poem, which she awoke repeating.  There were several verses—­quite doggerel it is true—­but nevertheless rather remarkable for a dream.  She wrote them down, and asked me if I could tell her whether there was any hidden meaning in them.  Here they are,” and she handed Gladys two pages of sermon paper on which was written—­

    “In the greenest of green valleys,
    Aglow with summer sun,
    Lived a maiden fair and radiant,
    More radiant there was none.

    “The flowers gave her their friendship;
    Her couch was on the ground. 
    A happier, gayer maiden,
    Was nowhere to be found.

    “The air was filled with music
    Sung by the babbling brook. 
    Sweet lullabies with chorus clear
    In which the flowers partook.

    “This maiden knew not sorrow,
    Until an evil day;
    When riding lone across the moors,
    A hunter lost his way.