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 climbing one of those distant hills. Siddereticus, of course, was with him, and they were hand in hand. Curiously enough, the long, soft grass which brushed their feet with cool dew as they walked was not green, but blue—just the trembling blue of those far hills of the coast; and the ethereal summit toward which they climbed was like an amethyst. Perhaps it was an amethyst—a great single jewel, clear as water, and as fragrant as violets. Strange flowers grew on the mountain-side—pale, translucent flowers, whose centers glowed like the heart of a fire-opal. In the deep, pearly cup of each lay a little pool of dew which tasted like the most wonderful honey, but it was really melted starlight. They picked some of the flowers and made wreaths of them, and they ran and laughed. For Fen could run very fast—even up the mountain—even faster than Siddereticus. Their feet