The thunder seemed to rip the clouds apart and the fast-falling silver rain began to be lighted by an occasional sunbeam. Iona looked very happy and excited and she held Pierre's hand tightly while she said:
"Lovely dryad of the wood,
Help us, if you'll be so good."
Instantly, with a swirl of green draperies, a slender, laughing girl stood before them. The rain sent its silver lances over her golden hair and leaf green gown without wetting her in the least.
"You are making yourself very much at home," she said with a gay little ripple of laughter that clothed all she said.
"We didn't know it was your tree," said Pierre, his hand going up to his cap—but he remembered in time and dropped the hand. "We went downstairs to see the Wise Man because we are hunting for the key to the gate of the fairy palace, and he thinks the birds know more about it than they tell."
"My birds, my birds," sighed the dryad.
"Of course they are!" exclaimed Iona. "You'll show us where to go, won't you?"
"Secrets, secrets," laughed the dryad, a very mischievous look in her pretty eyes.