leasant way. And a tree on the other side of the street was showering
softly, softly, softly, yellow autumn leaves, until they covered the
cobblestones all around. Eric did not think about being late. The Magic
was pulling him now. He went across and stood under the tree, and felt
the leaves showering on his head and shoulders, and caught a few in his
hands.

All the people passed, and soon the last one was hidden behind the heavy
factory door. Eric gave the door a glance or two, but did not go. Over
the roof of the factory he saw the tops of tall trees waving. He had
never looked so high above the factory before. But he knew there was a
wood on the other side, a wood he had always been too tired to think of
exploring, even on holidays. Now he saw the tops of the tall trees
beckoning him in a golden mist. "The mist is the yellow leaves they're
dropping," thought Eric. With every beckon the golden mist of leaves
grew brighter and brighter, until he could not see the beckoning any
more, but only the mist. Still he knew the beckoning was going on behind
the mist.

"If I'm to live in the streets at night," he thought to himself,
"there's no need to live in the factory by day. I'll just go and see
what those trees want of me."

Very slowly, with little firm steps, he went by the factory door, and
then around under its windows to the wood at the back.

It was Indian Summer. That was why the golden leaves were showering in a
mist, and why the sun was so warm.

Eric dropped his ragged coat and cap on the edge of the wood,--it was so
warm,--and went in.

A little girl had been watching him from her place at one of the factory
windows where she was sorting cans. She had seen him before, working at
the factory, day after day, and they had played together sometimes in
the noon half hour. Now she wondered what he was doing out there. Had
they sent him, perhaps, to do a different kind of work that could only
be done in the woods? But as he walked away in under the trees farther
and farther, the golden mist that was over the wood drew in about him;
and although she leaned far forward over the cans at a great risk of
knocking over dozens and setting them rolling,--he was lost in it. It
had dropped down behind him like a curtain.

CHAPTER II

THE BRIGHT HOUSE

Eric knew nothing of the little girl and her thoughts. He was walking in
a golden mist, but he could see quite perfectly, and even far ahead down
long tree ais