‘I was so taken up with singing the old song, that I must have missed my way,’ he said again to himself. ‘I’ll go back to the head of the common and start afresh,’ which he did; and when he got to the place where his gate ought to have been, he could not find it to save his life.
‘I must be clean mazed,’[1] he cried. ‘I have never got out of my reckoning before, nor missed finding my way to our gate, even when the night has been as dark as pitch. It isn’t at all dark to-night; I can see Trevose Head’—looking across the bay—’and yet I can’t see my own little gate! But I en’t a-going to be done; I’ll go round and round this common till I do find my gate.’
And round and round the common he went, but find his gate he could not.
Every time he passed the ruins of the church a laugh came up from the pool below the ruins, and once he thought he saw a dancing light on the edge of the pool, where a lot of reeds and rushes were growing.
‘The Little Man in the Lantern is about to-night,’ he said to himself, as he glanced at the pool. ‘But I never knew he was given to laughing before.’
Once more he went round the common, and when he had passed the ruins he heard giggling and laughing, this time quite close to him; and looking down on the grass, he saw to his astonishment hundreds of Little Men and Little Women with tiny lights in their hands, which they were flinking[2] about as they laughed and giggled.
Ruins of Constantine Church.
The Little Men wore stocking-caps, the colour of ripe briar berries, and grass-green coats, and the Little Women had on old grandmother cloaks of the same vivid hue as the Wee Men’s coats, and they also wore fascinating little scarlet hoods.
‘I believe the great big chap sees us,’ said one of the Little Men, catching sight of Jan’s astonished face. ‘He must be Piskey-eyed, and we did not know it.’