The following story was written by a woman writer while convalescing from an attack of melancholia. She had written it for publication as a short story for children.

When I read it, I was certain that it was a deliberate piece of autobiography, written in the form of a fantasy. I was therefore much surprised on putting this to the1 author to be told that it was not supposed to have any reference to herself whatever. Without any attempt at serious analysis it was not difficult to convince her of the real significance of her story, and it is such a good example of the part the subconscious plays in the writing of such stories that it seems worth recording.