ined she grew. It seemed to her that she searched for weeks
and weeks.

"It was very discouraging, very dirty and very fatiguing work. She
moved always in a cloud of dust. At times it seemed as if her back
would break from bending so much. Often she had to bite her lips to
keep from screaming with rage after she had gone through a
rubbish-pile as high as her head and, still, no keys. All kinds of
venomous insects stung her. All kinds of vines and brambles scratched
her. All kinds of stickers and thistles pricked her. Her little feet
and hands bled all the time. But still she kept at it. After that first
conversation, Klara never spoke with the old lady again. After a few
days Klara left her in the distance. At the end of a week, the
moon-door was no longer in sight when Klara looked back.

"But during all those weeks of weary work Klara had a chance to
think. She saw for the first time what a naughty little girl she had
been and how she had worried the kindest mother in the world. Her
longing for her mother grew so great at times that she had to sit
down and cry. But after a while she would dry her eyes and go at the
hunt with fresh determination.

"One day she caught a glint of something shining from a clump of
bushes. She had to dig and dig to get at it for about these bushes
the ashes were packed down hard. But finally she uncovered a pair of
iron keys. On one was printed in letters of gold, 'I'M SORRY,' on
the other, 'I'LL NEVER DO SO AGAIN.'

"Klara seized the keys joyfully and ran all the long way back to the
great door. It had two locks. She put one key in the upper lock,
turned it--a great bolt jarred. She put the other key into the second
lock, turned it--a great bolt jarred. The door swung open.

"'I'm sorry,' Klara whispered to herself. 'I'll never do so again.'

"She had a feeling that as long as she said those magic words,
everything would go well with her.

"Extending out from the door was the Wake of Gold. Klara bounded
through the opening and ran. She turned back after a few moments and
there was the old lady with her cat and her broomstick standing in
the doorway. But the old lady's face had grown very gentle and kind.

"Klara did not look long. She ran as fast as she could pelt across
the golden path, whispering, 'I'm sorry. I will never do so again.
I'm sorry. I will never do so again. I'm sorry. I will never do so
again.'

"And as she ran all the little mer-people came to the surface of th