“Could you tell us who you are, little lady?—that’s more to the point,” said the young man pleasantly.
“I’m Molly, and this is my brother Jack,” the little girl replied; which did not enlighten the young man very much.
The old man gazed at them with his small, dull eyes, and ran his fingers nervously through his beard.
“We’ve only just come—through that tree,” volunteered Jack, pointing to the giant tree behind them.
“Through the tree!” exclaimed the old man and the young man together.
“Then you are from the Impossible World,” added the young man in an excited, high voice.
“We live in England,” said Jack with dignity.
“That may be. I don’t know England. But if it lies on the other side of that Tree it is in the Impossible World.”
“Why do you call it that?” asked Molly.
“Because that’s its name in our geography books. This is the Possible World, and always was—except——” The young man glanced at the old man, who turned his head aside.