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!” [156]
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.............