HOME
As Snythergen’s friends passed from view a new happiness came into his
heart, overcoming the sorrows of parting—for at last he was going home.
All day he had been soaring above the clouds, and now he was speeding
through the air in the swift descent. It was night and the Wreath was but
a star. Soon he was sailing above the forest, over the tops of his old
comrades the trees. “They would never recognize me now,” he thought; then
suddenly he wondered: “Will _they_ recognize me!”
He was almost home. Choosing a clear space in a pasture, he made a
landing, and hurried towards the house. It was a warm, still night in
mid-summer. Through the open door he saw his mother and father sitting by
the lamp.
“I wonder where our dear boy is to-night?” Snythergen heard his mother
ask.
“Mother! Mother!” he cried.
“It’s his voice!” cried his mother, jumping up and running to the door.
“Snythergen! Snythergen! Where are you?” Both parents were looking up
among the tree-tops. “Where are you,” they cried.
“Here I am,” answered Snythergen, now but a few feet away. “Don’t you see
me,” he said, almost under their noses.
“No,” said they, looking toward the top of the house.
“Is it only his voice that has come back,” faltered his mother, her eyes
filling with tears.
“No,” cried Snythergen, throwing his arms about her waist.
“What’s that!” she screamed in fright. “Snythergen!” she whispered,
recognizing her boy. “How you have changed!” The mother took her boy in
her arms and kissed him again and again.
The father could hardly believe it was Snythergen, but there was no
mistaking the voice.
“He has come back a regular boy!” cried he, waiting for a chance to hug
his son. “How did you make yourself small?” he asked, too impatient to
wait any longer.
“Toy foods!” shouted Snythergen, half smothered in his mother’s embrace.
“I knew it! I knew it!” cried the father. “Just after you left I thought
of toy foods—but then it was too late.”
They entered the house and Snythergen began telling his adventures. It
was a happy night—the first of countless others that were to come. For a
happier boy than Snythergen simply did not exist.
[Illustration]