"Oh, whatever is going to happen? I can't see anything at all!" she cried.
"I am going to wave my golden wand," answered the slow and solemn voice of the Indian priest.
As he spoke there was a vivid flash of light. Little Grace gave a violent start, and rubbed her eyes; and then—and then she burst into tears.
For what do you think that sudden flash of light had shown her?
It had shown her that she was back again in the shabby little home she had known so long; that her mother, pale and ill as ever, was just awakening from her sleep; that her father had returned and was lighting the lamp; that the little carved figure of the Indian priest was sitting motionless before the temple on the doors of the Magic Cabinet; and, showing her all this, it also showed her that she had been fast asleep and dreaming.
It was too hard to bear. To think that the wonderful power of the magic priest, the beautiful fairy-like country, the dear old home, her mother's health and happiness, and her father's book,—to think that all these delightful things were only parts of a strange dream was a terrible disappointment to Grace, and she cried as if her heart would break.
"Why, darling," said her father, crossing the room and lifting up the little girl in his strong arms, "is it as bad as all that? Can't you bear to part with the old cabinet, even for mother's sake?"
"It's—it's not that," sobbed Grace, hiding her face on his shoulder. "I—I wish we could keep the cabinet; but it's not that. It's my dream."
"Your dream, dear? Well, come and tell mother and me all about it."
Mr. Goodman sat down in a chair beside his wife, and when she could control her sobs, Grace told them the whole story of her strange journey to the other side of the Magic Cabinet.