mroses were opening and filling the desert air with their sweet
perfume, he all at once saw a little grey old man not above six
inches in height standing on the ground right before him, and
staring fixedly at him with great, round, yellow eyes.

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"You bad boy!" exclaimed this curious, little, old man; whereupon
Martin stopped in his walk and stood still, gazing in the greatest
surprise at him.

"You bad boy!" repeated the strange little man.

The more Martin stared at him the harder he stared back at Martin,
always with the same unbending severity in his small, round, grey
face. He began to feel a little afraid, and was almost inclined to
run away; then he thought it would be funny to run from such a very
small man as this, so he stared bravely back once more and cried out,
"Go away!"

"You bad boy!" answered the little grey man without moving.

"Perhaps he's deaf, just like that other old man," said Martin to
himself, and throwing out his arms he shouted at the top of his voice,
"Go away!"

And away with a scream he went, for it was only a little grey
burrowing owl after all! Martin laughed a little at his own
foolishness in mistaking that common bird he was accustomed to see
every day for a little old man.

By-and-by, feeling very tired, he sat down to rest, and just where
he sat grew a plant with long white flowers like tall thin goblets
in shape. Sitting on the grass he could see right into one of the
flower-tubes, and presently he noticed a little, old, grey,
shrivelled woman in it, very, very small, for she was not longer
than the nail of his little finger. She wore a grey shawl that
dragged behind her, and kept getting under her feet and tripping her
up. She was most active, whisking about this way and that inside the
flower; and at intervals she turned to stare at Martin, who kept
getting nearer and nearer to watch her until his face nearly touched
the flower; and whenever she looked at him she wore an exceedingly
severe expression on her small dried-up countenance. It seemed to
Martin that she was very angry with him for some reason. Then she
would turn her back on him, and tumble about in the tube of the
flower, and gathering up the ends of her shawl in her arms begin
dusting with great energy; then hurrying out once more she would
shake the dust from her big, funny shawl in his eyes. At last he
carefully raised a hand and was just going to take hold of the queer,
little, old dame