When the eventful day was past, the Mermaids and the Sea-gulls covered the shore once again, talking it over, and the Mer-babies and the little Sea-gulls stood around listening.
Presently the Mer-mothers said: “No more holidays. Lessons to-morrow!” and the Mer-babies sighed, and the little Sea-gulls looked gloomy.
One of the Mer-babies stepped forward, holding something.
“Please take care of our pretty ball for us,” she said, “until holidays come again.”
As she was speaking the Mermaids sprang up, and they and all the grown-up Sea-gulls cried with one accord:
“The Philosopher’s Stone!”
And, sure enough, it was. It lay in the Mermaid’s hand, all glowing with its magic blue, pale and dark by turns, its wonderful veins panting as if it were a living thing, its threads of gold moving and twining underneath, round the red heart burning deep in the midst of it.
“That!” cried every one of the Mer-babies and every one of the little Sea-gulls. “Why, we have had that all the time! We found it on the sand, and we have played with it every day since!”
Then the Sea-gulls remembered what the Albatross had said, and the Mermaids remembered what the Sea-serpent had said, and the Mer-babies remembered what the Wise White Bear had said, and they all looked at one another.
Now arose the question, What should be done with the Stone?