So saying, they disappeared for a moment, and soon crept out at the foot of the rocks, bringing with them a go-cart, into which they put Winikin.
“All right,” they cried out, and away it darted, at the speed which would shame an express train.
The go-cart, which was indeed worthy of its name, ran over hill and dale, rocks and water till Winikin thought every moment he would be dashed to pieces. At length it stopped when it reached his native village, before the door of a fine large farmhouse, and then, as if to make up for the lost time the moment Winikin had got out, it darted away again at double speed and went back to the magical garden.
“How is this?” said Winikin. “I don’t see our cottage anywhere.” And then he stopped a passer-by, and said to him: “Where do my parents live? For some reason I can’t find the house!”
“Straight before your nose, you young idler,” said the man.
At the same moment his mother appeared at the door of the farm house.
“Well, Winikin,” she said, putting her arms around him, “you have been a long time, but I suppose you have brought something worth the trouble.”
It must be explained, that what had appeared three days to Winikin was, in fact, three weeks, for in that enchanted region a single day was equal in time to a week in the ordinary world. Finikin had escaped from this law, because he had returned before midnight, and consequently, had not spent a whole day away from home.
The mother then led Winikin into the house where he found Finikin and his father, who had quite recovered since he had eaten one of the golden pippins. All the rest of them had hardened into topazes, and had been sold by the parents to a rich jeweler in the nearest town. The money received had served to buy and stock the farm where they were living. The old cottage had been pulled down, and a barn was going to be built on its site.
“And now,” said the father, “though you are too late, Winny, to do me any good, let us see what you have brought.”