There was a boy who used to sit in the twilight and listen to his great-aunt’s stories.
She told him that if he could reach the place where the end of the rainbow stands he would find there a golden key.
“And what is the key for?” the boy would ask. “What is it the key of? What will it open?”
“That nobody knows,” his aunt would reply. “He has to find that out.”
“I suppose, being gold,” the boy once said, thoughtfully, “that I could get a good deal of money for it if I sold it.”
“Better never find it than sell it,” returned his aunt. And then the boy went to bed and dreamed about the golden key.
Now, all that his great-aunt told the boy about the golden key would have been nonsense, had it not been that their little house stood on the borders of Fairyland. For it is perfectly well known that out of Fairyland nobody ever can find where the rainbow stands. The creature takes such good care of its golden key, always flitting from place to place, lest anyone should find it! But in Fairyland it is quite different. Things that look real in this country look very thin indeed in Fairyland, while some of the things that here cannot stand still for a moment, will not move there. So it was not in the least absurd of the old lady to tell her nephew such things about the golden key.
“Did you ever know anybody find it?” he asked one evening.
“Yes. Your father, I believe, found it.”