His name was Fergus Greybar the Fourth, but everyone called him the Mirror Man because he lived in a wagon of mirrors pulled by two magnificent white horses named Look and See.

To the people who saw it rolling slowly along the narrow roads of the countryside, the wagon looked exactly like a small house.

It was covered by boards that had been painted a gleaming white.

It had a bright red roof and bright red window shutters at tiny windows which were on both sides of the wagon.

Small flower boxes were beneath the windows, filled with yellow-eyed daisies and little sprigs of herbs that the Mirror Man used for cooking.

A red door was in the back of the wagon, with red steps that could unfold to touch the ground.

There were drawers underneath the wagon that pulled out. One of the drawers contained cooking utensils. One was a table. One was used to store the Mirror Man's clothes. Still another was a bed, where the Mirror Man slept when the weather was cool and pleasant and the night sky was filled with star-winks.

On the sides of the wagon, between the boards of the house and the pull-out drawers, these words had been painted:

Come and see yourself as no one else can

Look in the mirrors of the Mirror Man

Everywhere the Mirror Man went, grown-ups gathered with their children to marvel at his wagon house and to pay their pennies to see themselves in the mirrors that were inside.

"How can this be?" the grown-ups muttered with amazement. "Outside, it is such a small wagon, but inside, it is as large as a great house belonging to a great man -- a king, perhaps, or at least the mayor of a town."

The Mirror Man smiled when asked about his house.

"Magic," he answered with a wink.

And the grown-ups laughed. None of them believed in magic. Magic was an ancient superstition, something that lived only in the imagination of children, or in the rambling stories of the very old, who, themselves, were often like children.

There were seven mirrors in the Mirror Man's wagon.

Six of the mirrors made everyone look funny.

Some short and fat.

Some tall or flat.

Such funny things!

Ears that were wings.

Knees that bowed in,

Then out again.

Smiles that turned down,

A silly frown.

Two long, thin lips,

And narrow hips.

So much to see

That could not be.

The Mirror Man's wagon was always filled with laughter when people looked at themselves in his six funny mirrors.

But it was the Seventh Mirror that was truly special.

The Seventh Mirror was at the front of the wagon, in a small, brilliantly white room that had a thick cluster of gold and yellow stars painted across the ceiling and spilling like stardust onto the walls.

On the door of the room of the Seventh Mirror, a warning had been posted:

FOR CHILDREN ONLY

"But, why?" asked the grown-ups when they came to the door. "What is in the room of the Seventh Mirror?"

And, again, the Mirror Man answered with a smile, "Magic."

And, again, the grown-ups laughed.

"The only magic here," they said, "is watching our pennies disappear into the money pouch of the Mirror Man."

But the Mirror Man knew they were wrong.

There was magic in the Seventh Mirror, although it looked the same as any mirror in any home or shop.

It was toe-to-head tall and arm-to-arm wide, just large enough for a person to see all of himself, or herself.

It was, by appearance, an ordinary mirror.

But, in it, was magic.

And before each child entered the room, the Mirror Man would lean to them and whisper the words taught to him by his father:

Look into this mirror and you will see,

Not who you are, but who you wish to be.

And that was why the Seventh Mirror was different -- because it let the children see themselves as they wished to be.

Not as children, but as grown-ups.

Young girls who wanted to be ballerinas saw themselves as young ladies, dressed as dancers, in colorful, flowing skirts and ballet slippers.

Young boys who wanted to be firemen saw themselves as young men, dressed in a fireman's uniform, with a fireman's red hat and black boots.

The Seventh Mirror knew every secret dream, every true wish, of anyone who looked into it.

Dreams of being doctors or nurses.

Dreams of being astronauts soaring to the moon .

Dreams of being great athletes cheered by fans.

Dreams of being school teachers.

Dreams of being farmers or gardeners.

Dreams of being musicians or great singers.

Dreams of being painters or sculptors.

Dreams of building tall buildings -- buildings so tall, people would become dizzy looking up to see the tops.

Dreams of sailing great ships across blue oceans.

Dreams of climbing mountains that disappeared into clouds.

All kinds of dreams.

Or wishes.

For a wish is only a dream that has never been forgotten.

And so it was that everywhere the Mirror Man went, children gathered eagerly to pet his two white horses, Look and See, and to pay their pennies to gaze at themselves in his mirrors.

Always, after looking into the Seventh Mirror, the children would ask him in awe, "How did it happen? How did I see myself as I wish to be when I become a grown-up?"

And the Mirror Man would smile and again he would whisper, "Magic." Then he would say, "But you must never tell the grown-ups what you have seen."

"Why?" the children would ask.

"Because the grown-ups are afraid of magic," the Mirror Man would answer. "As you will be when you become older."

"Oh, I could never forget what I saw," the children would vow. "Never. Not in a million years."

And the Mirror Man would smile, yet he knew that as the children became grown-ups they would think of the Seventh Mirror as nothing but a trick.

Often, after the people -- the grown-ups and the children -- had gone away to their homes and the Mirror Man was alone with Look and See, he would think about the answer he had given to the children.

Children were not afraid of the magic of being a grown-up, yet grown-ups were afraid of the magic of being a child, and it was sad.

Still, he, too, was afraid.

So afraid he had never looked into the Seventh Mirror. Never. Not even as a young boy.

"But you should look," his father, Fergus Greybar the Third, had urged. "One day you will be the Mirror Man and you must know about the Seventh Mirror."

"I will look," he had promised his father. "Someday. Not now. Someday."

And the years had passed, and he had become the Mirror Man after his father, but he had never looked into the Seventh Mirror because he was not certain that he wanted to be a Mirror Man.

What if he had become a Mirror Man only because his father and his grandfather had been Mirror Men before him?

He had known many people who became what they were because it was expected of them, not because it was their dream, their wish.

What if he looked into the mirror and saw a man dressed as a police officer?

Or a railroad engineer, guiding large trains across the country?

Or a chef in a busy restaurant?

Or a soldier marching in a parade?

Or a fisherman casting a net over water?

There were many things he might have become, too many to count.

Sometimes, at night, when sitting in his chair beside his wagon, with Look and See standing nearby, eating oats from feed buckets, he would gaze at the deep purple sky above him and wonder if there was anything at all special about being a Mirror Man.

It was not easy work, as many people believed.

Sometimes jeering boys jumped out from hiding along the roadways, trying to frighten him.

Sometimes the men of the towns and villages made fun of him, saying such things as, "Why don't you join a circus, Mirror Man? You're nothing but a sideshow, and that's where sideshows should be -- in a circus."

Sometimes the rain and the wind swept so furiously around his wagon home, he was afraid it would topple over, breaking all of the mirrors, or the snow would be so deep his wagon would look like an igloo.

Sometimes the sun fell over him with such blistering heat, he wondered if he would melt.

Sometimes he became so lonely he would talk for hours to Look and See, and sometimes he believed Look and See answered him with the nodding of their heads and the jingling of the bells on their bridles.

Being a Mirror Man had hardships that other people did not understand.

Yet, there were times when he believed that the most wonderful thing in the world was being exactly who he was.

Who else heard so much laughter from children?

Who else saw so many glad smiles on the faces of mothers?

Who else traveled so slowly from place to place? So slowly he could listen to concerts by birds, or watch blossoms open in distant fields, or spy on animals playing in meadows.

And sometimes at night, he saw wondrous displays in the heavens -- showers of shooting stars, the feathered tails of streaking comets, the billowing smile of the man in the moon -- and he would cry out, "Oh, look, Look! Do you see, See?" And Look and See would whinny and lift their heads skyward.

On those nights, Fergus Greybar the Fourth was happy to be a Mirror Man.

And it was on such a night that the Mirror Man heard a faint whimper coming from the trees near his campsite. Look and See turned toward the trees, causing the small bells on their bridles to jingle. One of them whinnied softly.

"So, you heard it also," the Mirror Man said in a whisper.

The whimper from the trees grew louder.

"Who's there?" called the Mirror Man.

The whimpering stopped, and the Mirror Man could hear something -- or someone -- moving among the trees.

A stray cat, he thought. Cats made strange, mewling sounds like whimpering.

Or perhaps it was a puppy someone had abandoned, a puppy too small to know about the woods at night.

Or perhaps it was a group of town boys slipping into his campsite to frighten him. He knew he was not far from the town of Whistlestop, where a great whistle on the top of the courthouse sounded each day at noon and again at five o'clock, signaling people to stop their work and enjoy the fellowship of their families and friends. He had not been to Whistlestop in many years, yet it was one of his favorite towns. The people who lived in Whistlestop were kind and always welcomed his visits.

Still, boys were boys, and it seemed to the Mirror Man that all boys were alike in one way, regardless of where they lived: All boys played pranks.

The Mirror Man stood at his chair and peered into the dark shadows of the trees. "Who's there?" he called a second time.

He could hear a soft crying, like that of a child.

"Please don't hurt me," a voice begged.

"Hurt you?" said the Mirror Man. "Why would I hurt you? I would never do that. Come forward. Let me see you."

A small girl stepped cautiously from the shadows.

Look and See bobbed their heads, the bells on their bridles jingling merrily. The girl looked at them, startled.

"Oh, don't mind Look and See," the Mirror Man said, laughing warmly. "They're not going to hurt you. They're happy to see you, that's all. They always ring their bells when they're happy to see someone. Now, come, let me have a look at you."

The girl walked slowly toward the wagon, and into the light of the lantern that the Mirror Man had placed on the pull-out table.

She wore a dress of a bright red flower print. She had hair so blond it was a soft yellow in the lantern light, and she was very pretty, although her eyes were red from crying. She clutched a small suitcase in her hands. The Mirror Man thought she was nine years old. Or eight. Or ten. Guessing the age of someone was not easy for him.

"Well, now," the Mirror Man said pleasantly. "I don't get many visitors who look so lovely and so sad at the same time." He bowed graciously. "My name is Fergus Greybar the Fourth, but most people call me the Mirror Man. And who would you be?"

"My name is Sarah," the girl said timidly.

"Sarah? It's a fine name, a beautiful name," the Mirror Man said.

Sarah looked warily at the strange wagon-home of the Mirror Man, with the sign that read:

Come and see yourself as no one else can

Look in the mirrors of the Mirror Man

The Mirror Man laughed. "Have you ever seen yourself six feet tall?" he asked.

Sarah shook her head.

"Or wide, like this?" the Mirror Man said, spreading his arms.

Sarah again shook her head.

"Well, now, Sarah, if you looked into my mirrors, that's what you'd see," the Mirror Man told her. "And we'll do that later, but, first, tell me all about yourself. Do you live nearby?"

Sarah lowered her head. "In Whistlestop," she said in a whisper.

"Whistlestop?" said the Mirror Man. "That's not so far away, but, then, it's not nearby, either. Were you out playing and forgot your way home?"

Sarah shook her head. "I ran away from home," she said tearfully.

"And why would you do that?" the Mirror Man asked gently.

"Because my parents are going to move far away, and I don't want to leave all my friends," Sarah answered.

"But haven't you already left them by running away?" the Mirror Man asked gently.

"I'm not running away forever," Sarah said. "When my parents have moved, I'll go back to Whistlestop."

The Mirror Man nodded. He said, "I understand. It's very hard to leave friends. Still, you can have friends anywhere."

"They won't be friends," said Sarah. "They'll be strangers."

"Do you know what I've learned with my traveling around from place to place, Sarah?" asked the Mirror Man. "I've learned that strangers are friends I haven't yet met. But enough of such talk. You must be hungry. I've just finished my evening meal. Have you eaten?"

Sarah looked longingly at the food still on the Mirror Man's table. "No, sir," she answered.

"Then permit me to prepare a plate for you," the Mirror Man told her. "It's not a king's feast, but I have good bread and cheese and fish caught from a clear stream, and some grapes given to me earlier today by a farmer."

"Thank you," Sarah said. She sat wearily in the Mirror Man's chair and watched as he quickly prepared her plate.

"Don't you think your parents are worried about you?" the Mirror Man asked as he placed the food before Sarah.

"They didn't listen to me," Sarah said in a trembling voice. "They're just doing what they want to do."

The Mirror Man stroked his beard thoughtfully. "Perhaps they're doing what they believe is best for you, and for them. I'm sure they miss you, but tonight you will be my guest. Tomorrow morning, we'll think of something to do. People always think better after they've rested."

And, so, Sarah slept through the night in the Mirror Man's pull-out bed, while the Mirror Man paced back and forth in his camp, keeping watch over her, wondering what he would do when the morning light came up out of the darkness.

He knew he must return Sarah to her family, yet if he told her that was what he must do, she very well may run away from him and become too lost to be found.

"What should I do?" he whispered to Look and See.

Look and See bobbed their heads and the tinkling of their bells rang softly over the camp.

"If only she knew what it means to have a home, no matter where that home is," the Mirror Man said.

Again Look and See bobbed their heads and, again, their bells rang softly.

The Mirror Man gazed at the sky. In the distance, he saw a brilliant silver light streak across the dark silk of night, like an arrow speeding from a bow of stars, disappearing into the cup of the Big Dipper. And the stars seemed to spin and dance gladly in the fading path of the light.

Nothing could be more magical than the night sky, he thought. Not even the Seventh Mirror.

Of course! he thought. The Seventh Mirror. There was magic about the Seventh Mirror he had never shared with anyone. Magic that only very special people could use, because it was so powerful.

Suddenly, the Mirror Man knew what he would do.

"Yes," he said quietly.

At daybreak, Sarah awoke to the scent of cooking oatmeal and bread. She sat up in the pull-out bed and saw the Mirror Man placing plates and bowls on the pull-out table.

"Ah, good morning," the Mirror Man called brightly.

"Good morning," said Sarah.

"You're awake just in time," the Mirror Man told her. "I hope you like oatmeal and fresh-baked bread with strawberry jam."

The thought of bread and strawberry jam made Sarah smile. "Oh, yes, very much," she said.

"Then, come, eat," urged the Mirror Man. "After breakfast, we'll brush Look and See, and then I have a treat for you."

"A treat?" said Sarah.

"You'll see," the Mirror Man said gleefully. "You'll see."

After she had eaten her breakfast of oatmeal and bread and jam, and after she had helped brush Look and See until their white coats were shining in the morning sun, the Mirror Man said to Sarah, "Now, sit and wait. I'll be right back," and he disappeared into the wagon of mirrors.

Sarah sat in the chair and waited. She thought about her mother and father, and about her grandmothers and grandfathers, and about her friends, and she became sad. She knew they all were searching for her. Still, she did not want to leave Whistlestop. It had always been her home. She did not want to move far away, to some strange city.

Suddenly, the door to the wagon opened and the Mirror Man stood on the steps. He was dressed in a black long-tail tuxedo and was wearing a tall, shiny top hat, and he was holding a black walking cane with a silver knob. Sarah laughed when she saw him.

The Mirror Man raised his cane to his lips and began to blow into it and Sarah realized the cane was really a flute. The music was light and merry, like the song of a bird. He did a wobbling little dance down the steps of the wagon and across the campsite, and then he bowed comically before Sarah.

"Miss Sarah," he said, extending his hand. "The mirrors await you."

Sarah took his hand and stood and curtsied politely, and the Mirror Man turned and led her up the red steps, through the red door and into the wagon.

Inside the wagon, Sarah gasped in surprise. Like everyone, she was astonished at the size of the Mirror Man's wagon-home. On one side there were tables and chairs, a bed, a piano, bookshelves filled with books, a small kitchen. On the other side, was a long curtain on a steel curtain rod. Bars of music covered the curtain. At the far end of the room, Sarah saw a door.

"How can it be so big?" asked Sarah in a whisper.

The Mirror Man smiled and touched his flute-cane to the tip of his tall, silk hat. "Magic," he said. He reached for the curtain and pulled them down the corridor of the room, along the long, steel curtain rod, until all six mirrors were exposed.

Sarah giggled.

The Mirror Man bowed again, and again lifted the flute-cane to his lips and began playing as he danced his wobbling little dance across the wagon. Then he began singing:

"Mirror, mirror on the wall,

"Am I short, or am I tall?

"Who is that, that Who I see?

"Is it It, or is it me?"

He took Sarah's hand and turned her to the first mirror. Sarah squealed in delight as she saw herself no taller than a doll. The Mirror Man tugged her a step closer to the mirror and she was suddenly as tall as the Mirror Man. Sarah again squealed and clapped her hands.

The Mirror Man did another dance step around Sarah and guided her to the second mirror. He sang:

"Funny faces here and there.

"See my eyes in my hair.

"Who is that, that Who I see?

"Is it It, or is it me?"

Sarah looked into the mirror. She could see her eyes looking out from the blond curls of her hair, and she reached to touch her face. Her hands disappeared into her hair. The Mirror Man knelt and placed his face beside her face, and his eyes disappeared into his hat. Sarah's laughter filled the wagon.

The Mirror Man put his hands on her shoulders and moved her to the third mirror. He sang:

"Thin or wide, or wide or thin?

"Oh, my goodness! Where's my chin?

"Who is that, that Who I see?

"Is it It, or is it me?"

In the mirror, Sarah became a wide, thin line, and her chin disappeared. The Mirror Man did a spinning dance step around her and sang:

"One little dot for my nose.

"Arms that dangle to my toes,

"Who is that, that Who I see?

"Is it It or is it me?"

He took Sarah by the hands and began to turn her around and around in his funny dance. Both of them sang lustily:

"Who is that, that Who I see?

"Is it It, or is it me?"

And so they went from mirror to mirror, the Mirror Man guiding Sarah, singing his merry song. Sarah laughed and danced, twirling before the mirrors, captivated by the strange, changing images that quivered in the reflections like waves of light.

"What do you think, Miss Sarah?" asked the Mirror Man.

"I think it's funny," answered Sarah.

"Yes," said the Mirror Man. "But there's one more mirror."

Sarah looked at him quizzically.

"Close your eyes," the Mirror Man told her.

Sarah closed her eyes, and the Mirror Man took the curtain and pulled it back over the steel curtain rod, covering the mirrors.

"Now, take my hands," the Mirror Man said.

Sarah offered her hands and the Mirror Man guided her down the corridor of the wagon, to the door of the Seventh Mirror.

"You may open your eyes now," the Mirror Man told her.

Sarah opened her eyes. The Mirror Man pointed above the door to the sign that read:

FOR CHILDREN ONLY

"Behind this door is another mirror," the Mirror Man said. "It's very special."

"Why?" asked Sarah.

The Mirror Man leaned very close to Sarah. He whispered, "Because it's magic."

"Magic?" said Sarah.

The Mirror Man nodded a deep, bobbing nod. He put his finger to his lips in a hushing motion. And then he said:

"Look into this mirror and you will see,

"Not who you are, but who you wish to be."

Sarah smiled. The Mirror Man was a funny person. Not at all like the other grown-ups she knew.

"Oh, but it's true," said the Mirror Man. "Open the door. Go inside. You'll see."

"Aren't you going with me?" asked Sarah.

"Oh, no," said the Mirror Man. "You must go in alone."

"Will it frighten me?" Sarah said.

"Not at all," promised the Mirror Man.

"Are you frightened when you look into it?" asked Sarah.

The Mirror Man did not answer for a moment, and then he said, "To be honest with you, Sarah, I've never looked into the Seventh Mirror."

"But, why?" Sarah wanted to know.

"Oh, I plan to one day. Yes, I do," the Mirror Man said sheepishly.

"When?" asked Sarah.

"Someday. I will look into the mirror. Someday. I promise," the Mirror Man answered.

He took a step backward. "I'll wait outside for you." He began his funny wobble dance down the corridor of the wagon. Then he winked at Sarah and opened the red door leading from the wagon and stepped outside and closed the door.

Sarah turned to the door of the Seventh Mirror. The Mirror Man's voice was like an echo:

"Look into this mirror and you will see,

"Not who you are, but who you wish to be."

She opened the door and stepped inside the room, and it seemed to Sarah that she had stepped into a cloud floating among gold and yellow stars.

The mirror was against the wall. It did not look like a mirror of magic. It looked like the mirror in her mother's bedroom, only taller.

Sarah moved cautiously to stand in front of the mirror. At first, she saw only the image of herself. And then her image began to disappear, until it became a shimmering white light, and out of the light, Sarah saw another image slowly appear. It was of a young woman with blond hair and a slender, pretty face. She was wearing the white uniform of a nurse.

Sarah stood, staring at the mirror in awe. She could hear the whisper of the Mirror Man: " . . . not who you are, but who you wish to be."

She had always dreamed of being a nurse.

And she knew that she was looking at herself, at the vision of a wish.

Outside the wagon, the Mirror Man prepared to leave his campsite. He cleaned and put away the cooking and eating utensils, and poured water over his cook fire. He was buckling the harnesses on Look and See when the door to the wagon opened and Sarah stepped outside and stood on the top step, an expression of amazement on her face.

"You saw?" said the Mirror Man.

"Yes," answered Sarah in a soft voice.

"Ah, and what did you see?" asked the Mirror Man.

"Me. I saw me," Sarah told him. "I was a -- nurse."

"But a grown-up, yes?" said the Mirror Man.

"Yes," answered Sarah. "But it was me. I knew it was."

"Is that what you wish to be -- a nurse?" the Mirror Man said.

Sarah nodded.

"And you'll make a wonderful nurse," the Mirror Man boomed happily. "But, now we have to be on our way."

Sarah moved down the steps of the wagon. "Where are we going?" she asked.

The Mirror Man put his hand on Look's back and patted it gently. He said, "Well, now, that depends on you."

"On me?" asked Sarah.

The Mirror Man turned to the road. "The road goes two ways -- to Whistlestop and away from Whistlestop. Which way do you wish to go?"

Sarah gazed longingly at the road.

"Would you like to see your family and your friends, without them knowing who you are?" the Mirror Man asked.

Sarah looked at him eagerly. "How can I do that?"

A broad smile blossomed in the Mirror Man's face. He bowed and his silk top hat tumbled from his head, down his arm and into his hand. He looked up at Sarah. "Magic," he said.

"Magic?" asked Sarah.

"Yes," the Mirror Man said in a whisper. "There's something about the Seventh Mirror I've never told anyone, Sarah. In truth, I've never seen it. But my father told me about it. He said it should only be used for very special people at very special times." He smiled warmly. "And I believe that you are a special person, and this is a special time."

"I don't understand," said Sarah.

"The person you saw in the mirror -- that person you wish to be -- you can be that person for one day," explained the Mirror Man. He lifted a finger in front of his face. "Only one day."

"How?" asked Sarah.

"First, you must tell me if that's what you really want to do," answered the Mirror Man. "If you do, we would go to Whistlestop and you can see for yourself how much your family and friends miss you."

"Oh, yes," Sarah said eagerly.

The Mirror Man knelt before Sarah and took her hands. "You must close your eyes and remember what you saw in the Seventh Mirror. See yourself again, exactly as you saw yourself in the mirror. And when you do, hold your hands above your head and clap twice, like this." He stood and closed his eyes and then slowly raised his hands above his head and clapped twice. He opened one eye and looked down at Sarah. "Do you understand?"

"Y--Yes," Sarah answered.

"Don't be afraid," the Mirror Man said gently. "In time, this will be only a memory to you, like a faraway dream."

Sarah closed her eyes and imagined being in the room of the Seventh Mirror, the room of gold and yellow stars. She saw the shimmering white light and the appearance of the young woman dressed in the uniform of a nurse. Then she raised her hands above her head and clapped twice.

She could feel a strange sensation tingling in her body, like the warmth of the sun covering her on a cool day. She heard the Mirror Man say, "Sarah."

She opened her eyes. The Mirror Man stood before her, but not so tall as he had been. A funny, startled expression was on his face.

"Oh, my," the Mirror Man whispered.

The young woman standing before him, wearing the uniform of a nurse, was beautiful, yet, still, she looked very much like Sarah, the child.

"Oh, my," the Mirror Man repeated. "You should see yourself." He reached into the inside pocket of his tuxedo coat and removed a small hand mirror. "Mirrors, mirrors everywhere," he said. "But this one is just a mirror mirror. Who you see is who you are." He held the mirror up for Sarah.

Sarah gazed into the mirror.

And then she smiled.

"Are you ready to go home?" asked the Mirror Man.

"Yes," she said softly.

From the mountain overlooking a valley of trees and fields, the Mirror Man and Sarah could see the steeple of the courthouse of Whistlestop.

The courthouse was in the exact middle of the town, surrounded by stores and shops. Streets lined with white-painted homes led away from the town.

"Look," Sarah said excitedly. "I can see my home." She tugged at the Mirror Man's arm and pointed toward the village. "It's there, not far from the school."

The Mirror Man cupped his hand over his eyes to shade the glare of the morning sun. He could not see Sarah's home, but he pretended that he did. "Oh, yes," he said. "It's very pretty."

"It's the prettiest home in the world," Sarah said. "Why would my parents want to leave it?"

"Perhaps they don't want to leave," suggested the Mirror Man. "Perhaps it's something they must do. It's one of the things that's hard to understand about grown-ups, Sarah. Even grown-ups don't understand it, but sometimes you do what you must do, rather than what you would like to do. What is your father's work?"

"He's a teacher," answered Sarah.

"He's going to teach at another school, is that it?" asked the Mirror Man.

"Yes," Sarah said. "It's far away, at the university."

"He must be a very fine teacher for such an honor," said the Mirror Man.

'Yes," Sarah replied quietly.

As they rode into Whistlestop, they saw the people of the village rushing about madly, up streets and down streets, bumping into one another like children playing a happy game of hide-and-go-seek, and a sing-song of voices filled the air:

"Go look again, look everywhere."

"If she's not here, she could be there."

"Look in the shops and all the stores."

"Up in the trees, behind the doors."

"Look to your left and to your right."

"In front of you and out of sight."

"Look everywhere there is a where."

"Then start again and go back there."

The jingling harness bells of Look and See rang merrily along the street, and the people paused in their rushing about to smile and wave to the Mirror Man and the pretty young woman seated beside him.

"What are they doing?" asked Sarah.

"Why, they're looking for you," the Mirror Man told her.

The Mirror Man stopped his wagon on the street in front of the courthouse as a group of children quickly gathered around Look and See.

"It looks as though you already have some customers," said a shopkeeper wearing a baker's hat and an apron. "I wish I could get customers so easily." He tipped his hat to Sarah and turned and went back into his bakery shop.

A great sadness fell over Sarah. The baker was one of her favorite people in Whistlestop. He made the best butter cookies in the world, and he was always happy, always glad to see her.

She turned back to look at the crowd of children who were quietly petting Look and See. She knew all of them. Tina and Jilian and Rachel and Melita and Roger and Phillip and George. All of them were her friends.

The Mirror Man patted her hand and whispered to her, "Are you all right?"

"They're -- they're my friends," Sarah answered, also in whisper.

"And they don't know who you are," the Mirror Man said. "Nor did the baker."

"No," Sarah said in a small, lonely voice.

"Oh, don't worry," the Mirror Man told her. "They're still your friends. Some things never change, even though they don't look the same as they once did."

Suddenly, the door to the courthouse opened and the Mayor, a short, plump man dressed in a dark blue suit with a high-collar shirt and a wide yellow tie, waddled briskly out of the courthouse and down to the sidewalk. He was followed by a tall man dressed in a police chief's uniform, with his police chief's hat pulled low over his eyes.

"Arrumph," the Mayor said in his official mayor's voice. "Good morning, Mirror Man."

"Good morning, Mr. Mayor, Mr. Chief of Police," replied the Mirror Man cheerfully. "It's a fine day, isn't it?"

"Indeed," said the Police Chief with a broad smile.

The Mayor frowned and squinted a glance toward the morning sun. "Arrumph," he said. "Yes, yes. Fine enough for a fine day, but there's a heavy, dark cloud hanging over Whistlestop. You can't see it, but it's there."

"And why is that?" asked the Mirror Man, climbing down from his wagon.

"One of our children is missing," the Mayor said gravely.

"Missing," said the Police Chief, shaking his head sadly.

The Mayor glared at the Police Chief and the Police Chief tucked his head in embarrassment.

"All the people of the town are looking for her," said the Mayor. "Her father and some of the other men are searching the countryside."

"And why is she missing?" asked the Mirror Man.

"Arrumph," said the Mayor. "Her father and mother plan to move to another city, and she wants to stay in Whistlestop. She left a note saying that she had run away."

"So, she's not missing, she's hiding," said the Mirror Man.

The Mayor frowned. "If she's hiding, she's missing, which is the same as missing without hiding, is it not? You didn't see a young girl along the roadside, did you?"

"Girl?" said the Mirror Man. He glanced at Sarah, sitting on the wagon seat. "A little girl?"

"Yes," said the Mayor. He leveled his hand in front of him. "About so high. Blond hair. Blue eyes."

"Well, now, you can see the only young lady around is my friend, the nurse," said the Mirror Man. "She, too, has blond hair and blue eyes, but at the moment, she's not a little girl."

The Mayor stepped closer to the wagon and looked up at Sarah. His eyebrows wiggled across his forehead. Sarah could feel a blush coloring her face. She was certain the Mayor recognized her.

"Arrumph, arrumph. A nurse, you say?" the Mayor said.

"Indeed, a fine young nurse," the Mirror Man told him.

"Well, we have need of you," the Mayor announced.

"Sir?" said Sarah.

"The mother of our missing little girl has fallen ill with grief," the Mayor explained. "She's in the courthouse, in my office. We've been waiting for one of our doctors to arrive."

"Oh, no," Sarah said urgently. "I -- can't . . . "

"And why not?" demanded the Mayor. "Arrumph. You're a nurse, aren't you?"

"But -- " Sarah said in a small voice.

"Of course she can," said the Mirror Man. He winked at Sarah, then turned to the Mayor. "She's only just become a nurse, you see. She still doesn't understand that she really knows what to do." He looked back at Sarah. "It's like magic," he added. "You cannot be who you are unless you know how to be who you are."

"Arrumph," the Mayor arrumphed in a loud voice. "Of course that's true. True enough, indeed. I've said so many times in many of my finer speeches. Come along now. Come along."

"Come along," the Police Chief echoed.

And, so, Sarah went with the Mayor and the Police Chief and the Mirror Man into the Courthouse, and there, in the Mayor's office, she found her mother huddled in a large chair, her eyes closed, a weary expression covering her face. Again, a great sadness flooded Sarah.

"I see she's finally fallen asleep," the Mayor said quietly.

"She was awake all night," said the Police Chief.

"Then she needs rest," suggested the Mirror Man.

"Arrumph," said the Mayor. "Now, young lady, we'll leave you to tend to your patient, and we'll join the others searching for our missing little girl."

Sarah looked fearfully at the Mirror Man.

"You'll be fine," the Mirror Man assured her. "You'll know what to do." He smiled. "You're a nurse. Remember that."

"Come, come," said the Mayor, waving his chubby hands. "There's work to do, no time to waste."

The Mirror Man smiled at Sarah and winked, then he followed the Mayor and the Police Chief out of the courthouse.

Sarah stood beside the chair where her mother slept. She had never seen her mother look so tired.

"I'm so sorry," she said softly.

She touched her mother's forehead. It was fever hot.

A worry fever, she thought.

She remembered that she had had a fever when she was very small, just before Christmas. Her mother had bathed her face with a cool, damp face cloth and had sung lullabies to her. "You only have a worry fever," her mother had said. "A worry fever that Christmas won't be here fast enough."

She knew that her mother's worry fever was because of her.

She looked around the Mayor's office. On a table behind the Mayor's large desk, she saw a pitcher of water and a basin, and beside the basin, she saw a hand towel.

She remembered the words of the Mirror Man: "You'll know what to do. You're a nurse."

"Yes," she whispered. She did know what to do. A worry fever only needed love.

Outside, the Mayor and the Police Chief and the Mirror Man joined the citizens of Whistlestop, searching for Sarah.

"We've looked everywhere," one of the searchers said. "She's not to be found."

"Arrumph, look again," the Mayor ordered.

"Look again," the Police Chief insisted.

"I'm sure she's close by," said the Mirror Man.

And the people of the town scurried about, the sing-song of their voices echoing along the streets:

"Search every house and every shop."

"Let no one dally, no one stop."

"She's here or there, or there or here."

"She's somewhere far or somewhere near."

"Look high and low and low and high."

"We're sure to find her by and by."

The Mayor began to pace in a circle on the lawn of the courthouse. "Arrumph, arrumph, arrumph," he muttered with each step. He stopped suddenly and looked to his left. Then he began to pace again. "Arrumph, arrumph, arrumph." He stopped again, and looked to his right. He looked up into the sky. He leaned over and picked up a leaf and looked under it.

The Police Chief also picked up a leaf and looked under it.

"I have an idea," said the Mirror Man.

"An idea?" asked the Mayor.

"Perhaps I should open my house of mirrors," answered the Mirror Man.

The Mayor frowned. "We have no time for such folly, Mirror Man," he said gruffly. "One of our children is missing."

"But what if she heard the merriment and became curious about it, and then came out of her hiding?" said the Mirror Man.

The Mayor wiggled his eyebrows in thought. Perhaps the Mirror Man was right. Indeed, there was something special about the house of mirrors. He remembered the first time he had looked into the mirrors as a young boy. There were nights he had even dreamed about it, dreamed that in one of the mirrors he had seen himself as the Mayor. But, of course, that was impossible, a foolish trick of the foolish mirrors.

"Arrumph," the Mayor said. "Odd that you would mention such an idea, Mirror Man. I was about to say the same thing. Indeed, before you spoke, I was about to make the exact same suggestion."

"It's a very fine idea, Mr. Mayor," said the Mirror Man. "I'm glad you thought of it."

"You thought of it also, Mirror Man," replied the Mayor. "Almost at the same time as I did."

"Only almost, however," said the Mirror Man.

"Well, of course," muttered the Mayor. He waved his hands over his head and called out, "Arrumph! Arrumph! Arrumph!" and the crowd scurrying around him stopped scurrying and became quiet.

"I have had a very fine idea," the Mayor announced. "As Mayor, I declare a break from the searching and I further declare the house of mirrors open."

Inside the Mayor's office, Sarah gently patted the damp hand towel over her mother's face and softly hummed a lullaby. And then her mother opened her eyes and stared curiously at Sarah.

"Who are you ?" said her mother.

"I -- I'm a nurse," Sarah said hesitantly.

"A nurse?" questioned her mother. "You look -- so familiar, but I've never seen you and I know everyone in Whistlestop."

"I'm -- just visiting," Sarah said.

Her mother sat up in the chair. "Have they found my little girl?" she asked anxiously.

"Not yet," Sarah told her. "But they will. I'm sure of it."

Her mother began to weep quietly.

"Please don't," begged Sarah. "She's fine. I promise you she is."

"Do you know why she left?" asked her mother.

Sarah wiped her mother's eyes with the damp cloth. "Yes," she answered. "They told me."

"We don't want to leave Whistlestop either, but sometimes you must do what you'd rather not do," her mother said. She looked up at Sarah. "Did you not leave your home to become a nurse?"

The question startled Sarah. She thought: Yes, to become a nurse, I would have to leave Whistlestop. And that was what the Mirror Man meant when he said, "Sometimes you do what you must do, rather than what you would like to do."

"Did you?" said her mother. "Did you have to leave home?"

"Why -- why, yes," Sarah answered.

"But if I could see her now, I would tell her that if she wanted to stay, we would never leave Whistlestop," said her mother.

"Maybe she doesn't feel that way any longer," Sarah said softly.

Her mother began to weep again. "I just want to see her," she said.

From the opened window of the Mayor's office, Sarah could hear the happy sound of the Mirror Man's flute floating on the air.

"What is that music?" asked her mother. "I've heard it before, but I don't remember where or when."

Sarah crossed to the window and looked outside. She could see her friends crowding around the Mirror Man's house of mirrors. "It's the Mirror Man," she said.

"Yes, of course," said her mother. "It's his flute. It's been many years since he was here. I remember his mirrors and how happy all the children were."

Sarah turned to her mother. "Did you ever look into his mirrors?"

Her mother smiled softly. "Yes," she answered. "Once. When I was younger."

"All of the mirrors?" asked Sarah.

"I think so," said her mother.

"What did you see?" questioned Sarah.

"Funny things," answered her mother. "All kinds of shapes. All so funny. I remember how we laughed. But there was one mirror -- "

"The Seventh Mirror?" said Sarah.

"Yes, I believe it was," replied her mother. "One mirror in a room by itself. A very common mirror in a very pretty room."

"And what did you see in the Seventh Mirror?" asked Sarah.

Her mother moved from the chair and crossed the Mayor's office to the window. She said, "I don't remember. Strange, but I don't remember."

Sarah could see the Mirror Man leading her friends to the wagon of mirrors and she could hear him singing merrily:

"Who is that, that Who I see?

"Is it It, or is it me?

"Let me lead you by the hand.

"I'm the mirrors' Mirror Man."

Sarah could feel sadness flooding over her. She turned to her mother. "I'm sorry," she said, "but I must leave now."

Her mother reached for her hand and patted it tenderly. "Thank you," she said. "I feel so much better."

"It was just a worry fever," said Sarah.

Her mother looked at her with a puzzled expression. "Why, yes, that's what it was. I used to tell my daughter that she had worry fevers when she became ill." She paused, then said, "It's strange, but you make me think of my daughter."

Sarah smiled at her mother, then turned and rushed from the Mayor's office and out of the courthouse. She no longer wanted to be Sarah the Nurse. She wanted to be Sarah. Just Sarah. She wanted to be home with her mother and father, wherever that home may be.

When Sarah arrived at the house of mirrors, she saw the Mirror Man standing at the red door, playing his flute-cane, guiding a long line of waiting children into the wagon.

"Come along," called the Mirror Man happily.

And one by one, the children entered the wagon.

"How can so many children fit into such a small wagon?" said the grown-ups in amazement.

Sarah wandered among the crowd gathered at the wagon, listening to their familiar voices. She knew everyone there, but no one recognized her. She was a stranger among them. Still, they spoke kindly to her, and she remembered what the Mirror Man said to her at the campsite: "Strangers are merely friends I haven't yet met."

She watched as the children exited the wagon laughing gleefully. She stood alone under the shade of a large tree on the lawn of the courthouse as the noonday whistle of Whistlestop blew from the top of the courthouse. And she watched families wandering off to their homes, and she longed to be in her own home. Far down the street, she saw her father and a group of other men returning from searching for her in the fields and woods surrounding the town.

"You look sad," said the Mirror Man, startling her. He had a wide smile on his face.

"Oh, Mirror Man," Sarah said desperately. "I want to be me again."

"You are you," the Mirror Man told her. "A grown-up you. For one day."

"No," replied Sarah. "I'm the me who's going to be, but I'm not the me I want to be."

The Mirror Man frowned seriously. "Ummmm," he said. "I think I know what to do. Come with me."

And Sarah followed the Mirror Man into the house of mirrors, to the door of the Seventh Mirror.

"Go look into the Seventh Mirror, Sarah," the Mirror Man said. "Think of yourself as you were as a little girl. Wish to be that girl, and when you see her, raise your hands above your head and clap twice, as you did before."

Sarah did as the Mirror Man instructed. Inside the room of the Seventh Mirror, she closed her eyes and imagined herself as a little girl. And then she opened her eyes and stared into the mirror. She saw a bright, blinding white light surround the reflection of the grown-up Sarah and the grown-up Sarah faded away into the light, leaving the image of Sarah, the young girl.

Still, she knew the person in the mirror was only who she wished to be.

She remembered the Mirror Man's instruction: "Raise your hands above your head and clap twice, as you did before."

She raised her hands and clapped twice and, again, she could feel a strange, tingling sensation warming her body.

Once again, she was Sarah, the girl.

The Mirror Man smiled when he saw Sarah step from the room of the Seventh Mirror.

"Miss Sarah," he said, bowing. "Now what shall we do?"

"I want to see my mother and father," Sarah told him.

"Indeed," said the Mirror Man. "Then go to them. They're in the Mayor's office in the courthouse."

"Go with me," pleaded Sarah.

The Mirror Man knelt before Sarah. He said, "No, Sarah, you need to go alone."

"But I need you," Sarah protested. "To tell them of the magic of the Seventh Mirror." She began to cry quietly.

"No, you only need yourself," the Mirror Man said. "They will never believe the magic of the mirror. But they will believe the magic of having you safely with them." He reached and touched away a tear on Sarah's cheek. "You're the magic, Sarah. You always have been. All children are. All children have magic."

Sarah hugged the Mirror Man.

"Oh, thank you," she said. "I'll never forget you. Never. Not matter how old I become."

"And I'll never forget you, Sarah," the Mirror Man told her. "Now, go."

The Mirror Man watched Sarah run across the lawn and disappear into the courthouse. Of all the children he had known, in all the towns and villages, for all the years that he had been the Mirror Man, he had never known anyone as wonderful as Sarah.

He turned back to his wagon-house of mirrors, and he remembered his promise to Sarah: "Someday, I will look into the mirror. Someday."

He climbed the red fold-down stairs leading into the house of mirrors, opened the red door and stepped inside. He stood for a moment, fearful of what he was about to do.

What will I see in the Seventh Mirror? he wondered.

A fisherman?

A lion tamer?

A lawyer?

A mayor?

He smiled. "Not a mayor," he said softly.

He began his funny wobble dance toward the door of the Seventh Mirror.

"Who is that , that Who I see?" he sang in a whisper.

"It is It, or is it me?"

He paused at the door and remembered what he had said to each child as they entered the room of the Seventh Mirror:

"Look into this mirror and you will see,

"Not who you are, but who you wish to be."

Then he said aloud, "It's time to know."

He opened the door and stepped inside and closed his eyes and reached out his hands until he could feel the Seventh Mirror in front of him. Then he opened his eyes and looked into the mirror.

And he saw himself.

Just as he was.

And, at last, he understood.

He had always wished to be the Mirror Man, as his father and his grandfather had been.

His father and his grandfather had brought joy to people.

And that was what he did.

Nothing could be better.