"Nobody can ever take that away from you," said the Lion.
"Did any other little boy ever have the Great Order of Imagination,
Lal?"
"Yes," said the Lion, "there was one who had the highest and greatest order of all, the Pure Soul of Imagination itself." The Lion paused and seemed to be thinking.
"Where is he now?" whispered Ridgwell, for unconsciously he seemed to have lowered his voice.
The Lion lifted his great and noble head, and looked upwards towards the silver stars above them. The Lion shook his head doubtfully, and the children noticed that there was something very like a tear in his eyes.
"I don't know which particular star," said the Lion, "but somewhere there, I think; but then, you see, I'm only a Pagan."
The Lion stopped and purred; they were outside the familiar windows of their own home.
"Oh, Lal," whispered the children, "how shall we remember all we've seen to-night; how shall we be able to think about it and go through it all again, if the Order of Imagination has been taken away from us and if we are never to speak to you again, and only to see you once more? Even then you cannot tell us how we are going to see you."
The Lion smiled. "I can arrange that easily. Be of good heart, little Ridgwell and Christine. I know a writer—he comes and talks to me at night sometimes, though I never answer him—and I will suggest he writes it all down for you. I can ask him things without saying a word."
"Will you?" pleaded the children. "Oh, please ask him, Lal!"