"I don't think I did."
"Then come here, and I'll show you some."
The man led Ellen over to a large case and opening the lid he bade her look in. There, all placed in rows, were countless boxes of puzzles,—puzzles that were finished. As Ellen looked she gave a little cry of astonishment and delight. The pictures she saw were just such as one might see upon any puzzle blocks,—pictures of children swinging in a garden, of a farm-yard scene, or a child's birthday party. The difference was that all of these were alive. The swing really swung up and down; the trees and flowers stirred their leaves; the tiny cows switched their tails to scare away flies too small for Ellen to see, and a cock upon the fence swelled his neck and crowed. The children at the party looked at the gifts and then began to play. Ellen even fancied that she could hear their voices very tiny and clear as they laughed and talked together.
"Do you have puzzles like that at home?" asked the keeper of the gate.
"Oh no," cried Ellen. She drew a long breath as the man closed the case. "Can everybody that comes here make puzzles like those?"
"No, indeed. Sometimes even when they get the puzzles finished they don't come alive, and then they're good for nothing but to be thrown away. Do you see all these doorways?"
"Yes."
"Well, there are people in all those rooms, and in every room they're doing something different."
"What are some of the things they do?"
"Over there," and the man pointed to one of the doorways, "they're making garments out of thin air; in the room next to that they're stringing stars."