'It _is_ a strange country,' said Maia, throwing herself back among the cushions of the carriage, as if tired of gazing out. 'Still, I don't see that we need be so very unhappy here.'
'Nor I,' said Rollo. 'Nanni is foolish. She should not call it an outlandish country. That to _us_ it cannot be, for it is the country of our ancestors.'
'But _so_ long ago, Rollo,' objected Maia.
'That does not matter. We are still of the same blood,' said the boy sturdily. 'We must love, even without knowing why, the place that was home to them--the hills, the trees--ah, yes, above all, those wonderful forests. They seem to go on for ever and ever, like the stars, Maia.'
'Yet I don't think them as _pretty_ as forests of different kinds of trees,' said Maia thoughtfully. 'They are more _strange_ than beautiful. Fancy them always, always there, in winter and summer, seeing the sun rise and set, feeling the rain fall, and the snow-flakes flutter down on their branches, and yet never moving, never changing. I wouldn't like to be a tree.'
'But they _do_ change,' said Rollo. 'The branches wither and then they sprout again. It must be like getting new clothes, and very interesting to watch, I should think. Fancy how funny it would be if our clothes grew on us like that.'
'Yes,' she said; 'fancy waking up in the morning and looking to see if our sleeves had got a little bit longer, or if our toes were beginning to be covered! I suppose that's what the trees talk about.'
'Oh, they must have lots of things to talk about,' said Rollo. 'Think of how well they must see the pictures in the clouds, being so high up. And the stars at night. And then all the creatures that live in their branches, and down among their roots,--the birds, and the squirrels, and the field-mice, and the----'
'Yes,' interrupted Maia; 'you have rather nice thoughts sometimes, Rollo. After all, I dare say it is not so very stupid to be a tree. I should like the squirrels best of all. I do love squirrels! Can you see the castle any better now, Rollo? It must be at your side.'
'I don't see it at all just now,' said Rollo, after peering out for some moments. 'I'm not sure but what it's got round to _your_ side by now, Maia.'
'No, it hasn't,' said Maia. 'It couldn't have done. It's somewhere over there, below that rounded hill-top--we'll see it again in a minute, I dare say. Ah, see, Rollo, there's the moon coming out! I do hope we shall often see the moon here. It would be so pretty--the trees would look nearly black. But what are you staring at so, Rollo?'