Those little flowers comforted the Children, who felt extremely lonely. A great mysterious silence surrounded them; and they trembled a little with a very pleasant sense of fear which they had never felt before.
"Let's take Granny a bunch of flowers," said Mytyl.
"That's a good idea! She will be pleased!" cried Tyltyl.
And, as they walked along, the Children gathered a beautiful white nosegay. The dear little things did not know that every pansy (which means "a thought") that they picked brought them nearer to their grandparents; and they soon saw before them a large oak with a notice-board nailed to it.
"Here we are!" cried the boy in triumph, as, climbing up on a root, he read:
The Land of Memory.
They had arrived; but they turned to every side without seeing a thing:
"I can see nothing at all!" whimpered Mytyl. "I'm cold!... I'm tired!... I don't want to travel any more!"
Tyltyl, who was wholly wrapped up in his errand, lost his temper:
"Come, don't keep on crying just like Water!... You ought to be ashamed of yourself!" he said. "There! Look! Look! The fog is lifting!"