"Have you forgotten me?" she said. Then she smiled and they knew her at once. It was the corn-cob doll! Though she had grown so much larger and seemed so much grander, yet she looked just the same as when they had taken her out of Aunt Jane's sandal-wood box from which, the children now remembered, certain tin soldiers and a three-legged wooden horse had also come! The Queen still wore her flowing greeny-yellow gown, her hair was braided in two long braids that hung over her shoulders, and she carried her quaint little head high, in truly royal fashion.

Now she dismounted gracefully from her horse and came toward the children, holding out her hand. They dared not look her in the face. They were all three ashamed to speak to her, and especially Rudolf who remembered only too clearly all the unkind things he had said about the corn-cob doll, and how very, very near he had come to roasting her over the nursery fire! Whatever would happen, thought he, if any of her subjects who seemed to stand in such awe of her, should find out that attempt on their Queen's life? Captain Jinks would probably think imprisonment on bread and water entirely too good for him, probably it would be slow torture.

"Answer her majesty," muttered the captain in his ear, "or I'll have your head cut off!"

Still Rudolf, blushing fiery red, and not knowing what to say, continued to stare down at his toes. Peter put his thumb in his mouth, Ann hung down her head; neither of them was any better off.

The little tin captain stepped eagerly forward. "Shall I give orders to prepare for the execution, your Majesty?" he began, in a voice full of pleased excitement. "These suspicious persons are already under arrest. They would furnish very excellent targets for the artillery practise? If it should please your Majesty to offer a prize for the best shot? Or, if your Majesty is in a hurry, now, a nice dip in boiling oil would finish them off very neatly!"

"Be quiet, Jinks," said the Queen frowning. "You talk so much I can't think. If it wasn't for those tiresome revolutions in my capital city, I believe I'd banish you. Let me see, how many of them have you suppressed for me?"

"Exactly twelve, your Majesty," answered Jinks with a low bow, "and I beg to announce that we are at this moment on the brink of the thirteenth—baker's dozen, your Majesty."

"Oh, it's the baker this time, is it?" asked the Queen with a sigh. "What's the matter with him, Jinks?"

"Same old trouble, your Majesty. Your court, those doll ladies in particular, have become so haughty—"

"Naughty, you mean, Jinks," corrected the Queen.

"So haughty and naughty, your Majesty, that they've absolutely refused to eat their crusts. Did anybody, I ask your Majesty, ever hear the likes of that?"

There was a moment's silence. The Queen shook her head. The children tried to appear at their ease, but they were not. Ann looked particularly uncomfortable. She was not fond of her crusts.

"Well, go on, Jinks, what else?" said the Queen.

"Well, your Majesty, this keeps the baker busy day and night baking 'em bread, not to speak of the cakes and pies, and he says he feels he hadn't orter stand it any longer. He's going to strike. As for the populace, your Majesty, they only get the stale loaves or none at all, and they're wild, your Majesty, very wild indeed."

"I suppose they are, Jinks," sighed the Queen.

"And the worst of it is, your Majesty, we're very short of soldiers. The Commander-in-Chief"—both Jinks and the sergeant drew themselves up and saluted at the name—"has taken a whole company to the seaboard for to repel the cat pirates, and very fierce them pirates are, I've heard tell. We may have to send him reinforcements at any time."

"The Commander-in-Chief, Jinks," said the Queen haughtily, "is a great general. He will manage the pirates and the baker, too, if you can't do it. And if the worst should come to the worst before he gets back, why I'll just abdicate, that's all, and the baker can be king and much good may it do him." She turned to the children and smiled at them. "Now," she said, "you shall come with me and I will show you where I used to live before I was a Queen."

The corn-cob doll waved her hand, gave an order, and immediately the carriage in which sat Marie-Louise and Angelina-Elfrida was turned and driven back to where the children stood.

"These ladies will enjoy a walk," said the Queen.

Very sulkily the two elegant doll-ladies got out of their carriage, not daring to disobey, and passed by Ann, noses in the air, without so much as a nod.

"Never mind them, dears," said the Queen kindly. "They don't know any better. Now jump in!"

The children obeyed, hardly able to believe in their good luck, and in another moment, much to the surprise and indignation of Captain Jinks, they were rolling away from him, the Queen riding close beside their carriage.

"You are safe now," said she, "at least until the revolution begins. If Jinks should fire his cannon, that's a sign it's starting, but don't worry"—as she saw that the children were looking rather alarmed—"I dare say it will blow over without a battle. And now I want you to look about you, for I don't think you have ever seen anything like this before."

They had not indeed, and as their shyness wore off, the children began to ask the Queen a great many questions. Was this her capital city they were coming to? Were those the stores where all the dolls' clothes in the world came from? Was it real water in the little fountain playing in the middle of the square? All this time they were being carried swiftly through the streets of the neatest, prettiest, little, toy town any one could wish to see. Both sides of the main street were lined with little shops, and as the children leaned out of the carriage for a brief glimpse into their glittering windows, they saw sights that made them long to stop and look more closely.

There were clothing shops, shoe shops, candy shops, a very grand-looking milliner's establishment where the children were amused to catch a glimpse of Angelina-Elfrida and Marie-Louise trying on hats, and a gaily decorated doll theater where a crowd of dolls were pushing their way in to see a Punch and Judy show. There were markets where busy customers thronged to buy all sorts and kinds of doll eatables, turkeys and chickens the size of sparrows and humming-birds, yellow pumpkins as big as walnuts, red-cheeked apples like cranberries, cabbages fully as large as the end of your thumb, and freshly baked pies as big around as a penny.

Peter's eyes nearly popped out of his head as he passed all these good things without hope of sampling any of them! The last shop they passed was that of the royal baker, and they noticed that its windows were boarded up, while a crowd of common dolls stood about in front of the door, muttering angrily.

But now the business part of the town was left behind, and the children were being driven through street after street of gaily painted, neatly built, little houses with gardens full of tiny bright-colored flowers, stables, garages—everything complete that the heart of the most exacting doll in the world could desire. Ann and Peter were quite wild about it all, and even Rudolf condescended to admire. Now the houses were left behind and they entered a little park, where tiny artificial lakes glittered and stiff little trees were set about on the bright green grass. In the center of this park stood the doll palace. It was pure white, finished in gold, and had real glass windows in it, and white marble steps leading up to it, and high gilded gates where a guard of soldiers turned out to present arms, and a band was beginning to play. The rest of the procession turned in at the gates of the palace, but rather to the children's disappointment, the Queen gave their coachman orders to drive on.

"You may see my palace afterward, if we have time," she said, "but I want to take you first of all to see my dear old home where I used to live when I was a girl, when the little mother took care of me."

The children looked at one another. Then Peter said boldly: "Was that when you were Aunt Jane's doll? You weren't a Queen then, were you?"

"No, indeed," answered her majesty, smiling. "I was just an ugly little doll, the happiest, best-loved little doll in all the world, and with the dearest little mother. But here we are, and you shall see for yourself what a snug home I had."

The old doll house looked neat enough from the outside, to be sure, but I am afraid if the children had run across it in the attic at Aunt Jane's they would have taken it for a couple of large packing-boxes set one upon the other. Once inside, however, they forgot how impatient they had been to see the palace and its gorgeous furnishings, they were so interested and amused by the homely furnishings and neat little arrangements so proudly displayed to them by the Corn-cob Queen.

She led the children through one room after another, explaining each thing as they passed it. Those little muslin curtains at the windows, the little mother had hemmed them all herself. It was she who had made that wonderful cradle out of cardboard, with sheets from a pair of grandfather's old pocket-handkerchiefs, she who had pieced that tiniest of tiny patchwork quilts! In the kitchen that neat set of pots and pans made from acorns and the shells of walnuts was the work of her hands, assisted, perhaps, by the penknife of a certain little boy. That blue and white tea-set on the pantry shelves—the children recognized it at once as having come out of the sandal-wood box—why it was almost worn out from the number of cups of tea the old doll and her little mother had taken together in the good old days!

"It's just the dearest little house in the world," sighed Ann, when, after having seen and admired everything to their heart's content, they took their places in the carriage again, "and we don't wonder you love it! The things that come straight from the toy shops are not really half so nice as the things you fix yourself—we understand now. But I suppose," she added thoughtfully, "you find it much grander being a Queen?"

"Grander, perhaps," sighed the corn-cob doll, "but a great deal more of a nuisance. However—"

Just then the pop of a toy cannon interrupted the Queen's speech. They had driven back almost to the palace, and could see a crowd of common dolls of all kinds and sizes gathering on the green in front of the gilded gates. At the same moment a troop of soldiers, headed by the little tin captain, came running from the direction of the town evidently with the intention of putting a stop to the disturbance.

"The revolution," said the Queen calmly, "just as I expected. Now I am afraid I shall have to send you out of town."

"But why?" Rudolf began in his arguing voice. "We don't want to go. We want to stay and fight on your side, and I'm sure we'd be very useful! Why I'd just as lief command your army as not, and—"

"Thank you very much," said the Corn-cob Queen, "but what would Captain Jinks say to that? He is in command, you know. And if he should fail me, why the Commander-in-Chief will soon be back from capturing the cat pirates."

"Who is this fellow you call the Commander-in-Chief, anyway?" Rudolf interrupted crossly.

The Queen looked him straight in the eye. "I hope," she said, "that you may all be allowed to see him some day, if you are good. He is a great soldier. He never sulks, and always obeys without asking questions. That is more than some little boys do." Rudolf hung his head, and the Queen added hastily: "But now I see that Captain Jinks and the baker are going to hold a conference. I must go and join them. Your coachman will drive you out of town the back way. Now where would you like to go?"

"Back to our Aunt Jane, please," said Ann quickly. "Can you tell us the way?"

"No," said the Queen, "I mustn't, but I have a friend who is a dream-keeper just over the border, and I think he may be able to help you. I'll tell the coachman to drive you there. Now good-by!"

"Good-by, good-by!" called the children. The coachman touched up the horses, they were whirled away in a cloud of dust through which they looked back regretfully at the queenly figure on the little wooden horse who waved her hand again and again in kindly farewell. They saw her joined by Captain Jinks and by a stout person in a white cap and apron who handed the Queen what seemed to be some kind of document printed upon a large sheet of pie crust.

"That was the Baker, I guess," said Rudolf, "and I dare say what he was handing her was the declaration of war! Oh, what a shame it is we are going to miss all the fun!"

"And the refreshments," sighed Peter. "We always do! I never did taste a declarashun of war, but it looked awful good. The very next time I see one, I'm going to—"

But what Peter was going to do Ann and Rudolf did not hear, for at that moment they were all three nearly spilled out of the little carriage by the furious rate at which their driver turned a corner. They had left the dolls' city far behind them and were out on the long brown road that led past the little tent where the children had been arrested by Jinks and the sergeant. Now they were out in the open country hurrying past the wonderful bright-colored plains, past fields of pink and purple, blue and green and yellow, white and scarlet, faster and faster all the time, the horses rushing along with such curious irregular jerks and bounds that it was almost impossible for the children to keep their seats, and they expected at each moment to be dumped in the middle of the road.

"Look out!" shouted Rudolf to the coachman. "Don't you see you are going to upset us?"

The coachman was a very grand-looking person in a white and gold livery. He never even turned his powdered head as he shouted back:

"Didn't have no—or-ders—not—to!" And for some time they tore on faster than ever.

At last Ann leaned forward and caught hold of one of the coachman's little gold-embroidered coat tails. "Oh, do take care," she cried, "you might run somebody down!"

"That's it,"—the coachman's voice sounded faint and jerky, and the children could hardly catch the words that floated back to them: "Running—down—run-ing—down! As—fast—as—ev-er—I—can. Most—com-pli-cated—insides—in—all—the—king-dom. Can't—be —wound—up—not—by—likes—of—you—"

The horses were no longer galloping, now they were slowing up, now they stopped, but with such a sudden jerk that all three children were tumbled out into the road. They had been expecting this to happen for so long that the thing was not such a shock after all, and somehow they landed without being hurt in the slightest. They picked themselves up, and saw the little carriage standing at the side of the road, the horses perfectly motionless, each with a forefoot raised in the air, the coachman stiff and still upon his box, gazing straight in front of him.

"He'll stay like that," said Peter mournfully, rubbing the dust from his knees, "till he's wound up again. I wish we had the key!"

"I wish we did," said Rudolf crossly. "You know what Betsy says about—'If wishes were horses, beggars could ride'—well, they aren't, so we've got to walk now. I wonder where we are?"

Looking around them, the children saw that they had come to the very last of the many colored fields, where the brown road ended in a stretch of creamy-yellow grass. Just beyond a thick woods began, but was divided from the creamy field by a broad bright strip of color, like a long flower bed planted with flowers of all kinds and colors set in all sorts of different patterns—stars, triangles, diamonds, and squares.

"That's the border," shouted Ann, "and over there somewhere we'll find the person the Queen said would help us get back to Aunt Jane. Come on!" As she spoke she bounded off across the field, the two boys after her, and in less time than it takes to tell it they had run through the tall yellow grass, jumped the border, and stood upon the edge of the wood.



CHAPTER XI

THE GOOD DREAMS

A thin screen of bushes was all that hid from the children's eyes the people whose voices they could hear so plainly.

"Maybe it's some kind of picnic they're having in there," cried Peter, pushing eagerly forward. "Come on quick!"

"No, you don't, either," whispered Rudolf, catching him and holding him back. "Don't let's get caught this time, let's peep through first and see what the people are like."

"Yes, do let's be careful," pleaded Ann. "We don't want to get arrested again, it's not a bit nice—though I suppose if this is where the Queen's friend lives, it isn't likely anything so horrid will happen to us."

"Do stop talking, Ann, and listen. Whoever they are in there, they are making so much noise they can't possibly hear me, so I'm going to creep into those bushes and see what I can see."

As he spoke Rudolf carefully parted the bushes at a spot where they were thin and peeped between the leaves, Ann and Peter crowding each other to see over his shoulder. They looked into a kind of open glade not much larger than a good-sized room and walled on all sides by tall trees and thick underbrush. It had a flooring of soft green turf, and about in the middle lay a great rock as large as a playhouse. This rock was all covered over with moss and lichens, and the strange thing about it was that a neat door had been cut in its side. Before this door, talking and waving his hands to the crowd that thronged about him, stood a man—the queerest little man the children had ever seen! He looked like a collection of stout sacks stuffed very tightly and tied firmly at the necks. One sack made his head, another larger one his body, four more his arms and legs. His broad face, though rather dull, wore a good-humored expression, and he smiled as he looked about him.

A pile of empty sacking-bags lay on the ground beside him, and from time to time he caught up one of these, ran his eye over the crowd, chose one of them, and popped him, or it, as it happened to be, into the sack which he then swung on his shoulder and heaved into the open doorway in the big rock, where it disappeared from sight. He would then taken another sack and make a fresh selection, looking about him all the while with sleepy good humor, and paying little if any attention to the cries, questions, and complaints with which he was attacked on all sides.

What a funny lot they were—this crowd that surrounded the little man! The children could hardly smother their excitement at the sight of them. Not people or animals only were they, but all kinds of odd objects also, such as no one could expect to see running about loose. A Birthday Cake was there, with lighted candles; a little pile of neatly darned socks and stockings, a white-cotton Easter Rabbit with pink pasteboard ears, a Jolly Santa Claus, a smoking hot Dinner, a Nice Nurse who rocked a smiling baby, a brown-faced grinning Organ-Man, his organ strapped before him, his Monkey on his shoulder. There were too many by far for the children to take in all at once, but at the sight of one particular member of the crowd, the children gasped with astonishment; and Peter's excitement nearly betrayed them. There, lounging by the side of a mild-faced School-Mistress Person, still smoking his chocolate cigarette, was—the False Hare!

"Look alive now!" the little man was crying out. "Who's next, who's next?"

"Me, me, me—take me next, Sandy!" A dozen little voices cried this at one and the same time. There was a scramble, bursts of laughter, followed by a sharp rebuke from Sandy. "No, you don't either. Stand back, you small fry. No shoving!"

When Peter had seen and recognized the False Hare he had been so excited that it had been almost impossible for Rudolf and Ann to keep him quiet. Now, as he watched the scramble and the rush and the fuss the funny crowd was making about the little man, he laughed out so loud that it was too late even to pinch him. The children's presence was discovered, and two, tall, silver candlesticks jumped from a satin-lined box and ran to draw them into the middle of the glade. Sandy, as the little man appeared to be called, paused in his business, turned round, and smiled at the children.

"Now then," said he, "what are you doing here? Don't you know this is my busy night? Who are you, anyway? Not on my list, I'll warrant. Who's dreams are you?"

"Nobody's," began Rudolf. "The Corn-cob Queen sent us to see if you could tell us any way to get back to our Aunt Jane—"

"Nobody's?" interrupted the little man. "Did you say you were Nobody's dreams? Don't see him in the N's." And he took a printed list out of his pocket and ran his eye anxiously over it. "Are you sure—"

"Please, he means we're not dreams," said Ann, stepping forward, "at least we don't think so." She hesitated a second and then added: "It depends on what happens to them. Are these all dreams?"

"All perfectly Good Dreams, or my name's not Sandman," answered the baggy fellow briskly. "We don't handle the Bad Ones here, not us!"

Peter looked interested. "Where does the Bad Ones live?" he asked. "I wants to see them."

The Sandman shook his head at Peter. "Oh, no, you don't, little boy," he said. "No, you don't! Don't you go meddling in their direction or you'll get into trouble, take my word for it. They live way off in the woods and they're a bad lot. They've got a worse boss than old Sandy! No, no;—the good kind are trouble enough for me. What with the hurry and the flurry and the general mix-up, something a little off color will slip in now and then. Everybody makes mistakes sometimes!"

As he made this last remark Sandy cast a doubtful look at the False Hare, who grinned and tipped his silk hat to him.

"I told Sandy all about myself," said the False Hare, winking at the children. "I told him I was just as good as I could be!"

The children could not help laughing. "I'm afraid you don't know him as well as we do, Mr. Sandy," said Ann.

"Oh, I know about as much as I want to know about him," said Sandy, pretending to frown very fiercely. "I've almost made up my mind to get rid of him, but the truth is I don't really know just where he belongs."

"Doesn't matter to me whether I spend the night with a bald-headed old gentleman or a bird-dog—all the same to me," said the False Hare meekly. This speech sounded so like him that the children looked at one another and burst out laughing again, at which the False Hare gave a kind of solemn wink, sighed, and touched his eyes with a little paper handkerchief he held gracefully in one paw.

The Sandman turned his back on the silly fellow, and went on with his explanations to the children: "We have a very select set of customers," he said, "and it's our aim to supply 'em with the finest line of goods on the market. Wears me to a frazzle sometimes, this business does," he stopped to wipe from his brow a tiny stream of sand that was trickling down it, "but I've got to keep at it! All the folks, big and little, like Good Dreams, and want 'em every night, and if they get mixed up or the quality's inferior, or there's not enough to go around, I tell you what, it makes trouble for Sandy! But just step a little nearer, and you shall see for yourselves how the whole thing is managed."

The children followed Sandy, who walked back to the pile of empty sacks, picked one up, compared the label on it with a name on his list, and called out in a loud voice: "Mrs. Patrick O'Flynn, Wash Lady—excellent character—never misses on a Monday—six children—husband not altogether satisfactory. Here, now, Noddy—Blink! I'll want some help, boys."

As he called out these two names, two very fat, sleepy boys, looking like pillows with strings tied round their waists, slouched from behind the rock where they had been waiting, and stood sulkily at attention. There was a scramble and a rush and a fuss among the Good Dreams, just as there had been before when the children first peeped into the glade, each one struggling and pushing and crowding to get ahead of the next, without any regard as to whether or not it was wanted. It took a tremendous effort on the part of Sandy, together with all the help the sleepy sulky boys would give, to get the right collection of dreams into the Wash Lady's sack, and to keep the wrong ones out.

"Letter from the Old Country," Sandy cried. "That's it, boys, more lively there. Tell that Pound of Tea to step up—No, no pink silk stockings to-day, thank you. Tell that Landlord the rent's paid, I'll let him know when he's wanted. Hand over that pile of mended clothing—and the pay envelope, mind it's the right amount—all the rest of you, step aside!" Waving away a gay bonnet with a bird on it, a bottle marked "Patent Medicine," and the persistent pink stockings, the Sandman closed the mouth of Mrs. O'Flynn's sack, and swung it on his shoulder, nodding to the children to watch what would happen. Much excited, they crowded round the open door in the side of the big rock and peered down into what seemed to be a kind of dark well with a toboggan-slide descending into it. Sandy placed the Wash Lady's sack at the top of the slide, and before the children could so much as wink, it had slid off into the darkness and disappeared from sight.

"Oh, my!" cried Ann, "Is it a shoot-the-chutes? Does it bump when it gets there?"

"No, no," said the Sandman. "No bumps whatsoever, the most comfortable kind of traveling I know, in fact you're there the same time you start, and I'd like to know how you can beat that? I ought to know, for I use this route myself on my rounds a little earlier in the evening." He walked back to his pile of sacks, and picked up another of them. "Now then," said he, examining the label, "who's next? Aha—Miss Jane Mackenzie!"

The children could hardly believe their ears. "Oh, Ruddy," whispered Ann in Rudolf's ear, "what kind of dreams do you suppose Aunt Jane will get?"

"Sh! Listen, he's going to tell us," answered Rudolf.

The Sandman was gravely consulting his list. "M-hm—Cook-that-likes-living-in-the-Country! Step this way, ma'am, and don't take any more room than you can help. New Non-fadable Cheap but Elegant Parlor Curtains—One Able-bodied Intelligent Gardener, with a Generous Disposition—hurry the gentleman forward, boys, he's a curiosity! What's next? Aha! One niece, two nephews—three perfectly good children." Sandy paused, stared about him at the throng of jumping, pushing dreams—then added: "Don't see 'em."

"Why, yes you do!" Ann was pulling impatiently at the Sandman's sleeve—"Here you are." Then she turned to Rudolf and whispered excitedly: "Don't you see? We must make the Sandman believe we are Aunt Jane's Good Dreams, and then he'll send us back to her."

"I'd like a ride on that slide, all right!" returned Rudolf.

"But I doesn't want to go back to Aunt Jane yet," came the voice of Peter clearly from behind them. "I shan't go till I've seen the Bad Dreams."

"Nonsense!" Rudolf turned round on him angrily. "Of course you'll go. You're the youngest, and you've got to mind us." And then without paying any more attention to Peter, Rudolf thrust himself in front of the Sandman. "Here we are," he said. "We're all ready."

The Sandman looked the boy up and down, consulted his list again, smiled and shook his head very doubtfully.

"I'm sorry," he said, "but I'm afraid you don't exactly answer. Just listen to this." And he read aloud: "Number one. Boy: polite and gentlemanly in manner—brown hair neatly smoothed and parted—Eton suit, clean white collar, boots well polished—Latin grammar under arm—"

He stopped. Rudolf, in his pajamas, with his ruffled locks, tin sword, and angry expression, did not answer very closely to this description. The Cook-who-liked-living-in-the-Country, the Gardener-with-the-Generous-Disposition, and several other Good Dreams burst out laughing. Only the False Hare kept a solemn expression, but Rudolf knew very well what that meant.

The Sandman continued: "Number two. Little girl: modest and timid in her manners, not apt to address her elders until spoken to—hair braided neatly and tied with blue ribbon—white apron over dark dress—doing patchwork with a pleased expression. Has not forgotten thimble—"

Here Sandy was interrupted by the Cook and the Gardener, who declared that if he didn't stop they'd die a-laughin', that they would! The False Hare wiped away a tear, and none of the dreams seemed to consider the description correct. Sandy shook his head again, as he glanced at Ann in her nighty, her ruffled curls tumbling over her flushed face—Ann without patchwork, thimble, or pleased expression!

"Afraid you won't do, miss," said he, looking quite sorry for her. "Let's see what's next. Number three"—he read—"Very small boy: clean blue sailor suit—white socks—looks sorry for—"

All turned to look at Peter, but Peter was not looking sorry for anything—Peter was not there! Ann gave a hasty look all round the glade, then burst into tears.

"Oh, Rudolf," she cried, "what shall we do? He's gone—he's slipped away to find those Bad Dreams all by himself—you know how Peter is, when he says he's going to do anything, he will do it. Oh, oh, I ought to have watched him!"

"Don't cry," said Rudolf hastily. "It's just as much my fault. You stay here and I'll go fetch him back. I have my sword, you know."

"No, no," sobbed Ann. "Don't leave me. It was my fault—I promised mother I would always look after Peter. We'll go together. The Sandman will tell us where the Bad Dreams live, won't you?" she added, turning to Sandy.

"There, there, of course I will," said the little man kindly. "I'd go along with you, if there wasn't such a press of business just now, but you can see for yourselves what a mess things would be in if I should leave. You must go right ahead, right into the thick of the woods. Follow that path on the other side of the glade. You needn't be afraid you'll miss those Bad Ones—they'll be on the lookout for you, I'm afraid."

The children thanked Sandy for all his kindness, and turned to leave him. "One moment," he cried, and he ran ahead of them to draw aside the wall of prickly bushes and show them the little path he had spoken of which wound from the Good Dreams' glade toward the heart of the wood.

"Keep right on," said Sandy, "and don't be afraid. Remember—they're a queer lot, those fellows, but they can't hurt you if you are careful. Don't answer 'em back and don't ask 'em too many questions. One thing in particular—if they offer you anything to eat, don't taste a mouthful of it. If you do it'll be the worse for you!"

Rudolf and Ann thought of Peter and his passion for "refreshments", and they started hastily forward.

"Just one thing more," called Sandy after them. "About that consignment of your aunt's, you know! I'll hold that over till you get back, and we'll see what can be done. Maybe we can fit you in yet, somehow. Now good-by, and good luck to you!"

"Good-by, and thank you!" Rudolf and Ann called back to him, and then they plunged into the path. The wall of bushes sprang back again behind them, and cut them off from the shelter of the Good Dreams' glade. As the path was very narrow, Rudolf walked first, sword drawn, and Ann trotted behind him, trying not to think of what queer things might be waiting behind the trees to jump out at them, trying only to think of her naughty Peter, and how glad she would be to see him again.



CHAPTER XII

ENTER THE KNIGHT-MARE

At first it was easy enough for the children to follow the narrow winding path which the Sandman had pointed out, but soon they came to a part of the wood where the underbrush grew thicker and their path lost itself in a network of other little paths spread out as if on purpose to confuse them. Rudolf and Ann hurried along as fast as they could go, but it was hard work to make their way through the tangled undergrowth where the twisted roots set traps for their feet—and caught them, too, sometimes—while overhead the tall trees met and mingled their branches. From these hung down great masses of trailing vines and spreading creepers like long, lean, hairy arms stretched out to bar their way. Rudolf had to stop now and then to hack at these arms with his sword before he and Ann could pass through. Worst of all—the thick growth of trees made the wood so dark that they could not see more than a few feet ahead of them.

"Oh, Ruddy, I'm sure we're not on the right path any more," said Ann at last. "Peter is so little—he never, never could have pushed his way through here!"

"N-no," admitted Rudolf. "Perhaps he couldn't, but maybe he stuck to the right path, Ann, and if he did he's there by this time."

"But I don't want him to get there!" poor Ann cried. "That would be much worse for him than being lost. If he's just around the wood somewhere we can find him and bring him back and then coax Sandy to send us all home by the toboggan-slide to Aunt Jane, but if he's found the Bad Dreams or they've found him—Oh, Ruddy, how do we know what awful things they may be doing to him!"

"Don't be a goose, Ann," said Rudolf stoutly, though he was really beginning to feel worried himself. "You know they are only dreams if they are bad. What can a dream do, anyway? They're not real."

"Oh, they're real enough," sighed little Ann. "Sometimes the things in dreams are real-er than real things. I'm 'fraid enough of real cows, but they can't walk up-stairs like the dream cows can—and, oh, I remember the dream I dreamed about the Dentist-man, after I had my tooth pulled, the one father gave me the dollar for—and—"

"Bother!" said Rudolf. "I've had lots worse dreams than cows and dentists. P'licemen and Indian chiefs, and—oh, heaps of things, and I didn't really mind 'em, either, but then I'm braver than—"

"Sh!" interrupted Ann, stopping and catching at Rudolf's arm. "I hear something—something queer. Listen!"



Rudolf listened. "I don't hear anything," he said at last. "What was it like?"

"Oh, such a creepy, crawly sound, and—Oh, Ruddy—there is a face—see it? A horrid little face peeping out at us from behind that tree!"

Rudolf saw the face too, a winking, blinking, leering, little face much like the one that had grinned at Ann from the post of the big bed not so very long ago.

All at once as the children looked about them, they began to see faces everywhere, faces in the crotches of the trees, faces where the branches crossed high above their heads, faces even in the undergrowth about their feet. It reminded Rudolf of the puzzle pictures he and Ann were so fond of studying where you have to look and look before you can find the hidden people, but when once you have found them you wonder how you could have been so stupid as not to have spied them long before. He heard distinctly now the noises Ann had heard. It was as if the hidden places of the wood were full of small live things which were gathering together and coming toward the children from every direction, closing them in on every side. Then somebody laughed in a high cracked voice just behind them, one of Ann's curls was sharply pulled, and Rudolf's precious sword was plucked from his hand and tossed upon the ground. Still they could see no bodies to which the little faces could belong, and they began to feel very queer indeed.

Then came the laugh again, repeated a number of times and coming now from directly over their heads where the branches of a great beech tree swept almost to the ground. Rudolf and Ann looked up just in time to catch sight of the queer little creatures who were looking down at them from between the beech leaves. It was no wonder they had been so hard to see, for they were dressed in tight-fitting suits of fur exactly the color of the bark, and had small pointed fur hoods upon their heads which made them look very much like squirrels. Even now that the children had spied them out, it was impossible to examine them closely for they were never quiet, never in the same place more than an instant, but swung themselves restlessly from bough to bough, then to the ground and back again in two jumps, peeping, peering, racing each other along the branches, all the time without the slightest noise other than was made by their light feet among the leaves and the two laughs the children had heard.

Rudolf picked up his sword, and said in as bold a voice as he could manage—"Please, could any of you tell us the right path to—"

A burst of sharp squeals, shrill laughs, and jeering remarks interrupted his question. The whole company of queer creatures dropped to the ground at the same time, and instantly formed a circle about the children, snapping their little white teeth, and grinning and chattering like monkeys.

"Are you the Bad Dreams?" asked Rudolf. Then, as a burst of laughter contradicted this idea—"Who are you, then?"

"Who are we? Who are we?" mocked the creatures. "O-ho, hear the human! Doesn't know us—never got scolded on our account, did he, did he? Oh, no; oh, no! Bite him, snatch him, scratch him! Catch him!"

Closer and closer the horrid little things pressed about the two children. "What do you mean, anyway?" cried Rudolf, keeping them back with his foot as best he could. "Who are you? You're squirrels—that's all you are!"

"Squirrels!" The leader of the little wretches seemed furious at the idea. "No, no," he screamed, making a dash at Rudolf's leg with his sharp teeth. "We're Fidgets, Fidgets, Fidgets! Don't you know the Fidgets when you see 'em, you great blundering human, you? An old, old family, that's what we are. Guess Methuselah had the Fidgets sometimes, guess he did, did, did!" With every one of the last three words he made a snatch at Rudolf, trying his best to bite him, and at the same time dodging cleverly the blows Rudolf was now dealing on all sides with his sword.

Ann had picked up a little stick and was doing her best to help Rudolf in his battle. "I know you," she cried, turning angrily on the Fidgets, "you horrid little things! I've had you often, in school just before it's out, and in church, and when mother takes me out to make calls—you've disgraced her often—" Then she stopped, really afraid of saying too much. The Fidgets, with a wild squeal, now began a mad sort of dance round and round the two children, giving them now a nip, now a pinch, now a sharp pull till they were dizzy and frightened and weary of trying to defend themselves against such unequal numbers.

All at once, above the shrill cries of their enemies, the children heard a new sound, a crackling rustling noise in the bushes as if some large creature was making its way through the wood. The Fidgets heard it, too, and in a twinkling they had hushed their shrill voices, broken their circle, and completely hidden themselves from sight. It was all so sudden that Rudolf and Ann had no time to run, but stood perfectly still, gazing at the bushes just in front of them from which the noises came.

As they looked the bushes were parted, and a long lean head poked itself through, a large black head with a white streak down its nose, and two great mournful eyes that stared into theirs. Ann gave a little scream and shrank closer to Rudolf. The creature opened a wide mouth that showed enormous, ugly, yellow teeth, and said in a rough but not unfriendly voice: "Hullo! Oats-and-Broadswords—if it's not a couple of lost colts! Where'd you come from, youngsters?"

Without waiting for them to answer, it crashed through the bushes and stood before them, a curious sight, indeed the strangest they had yet seen in the course of their adventures. What they had thought was a horse from the sight of its head, was a horse no farther down than the shoulders, all the rest of him was a Knight, a splendid knight in full armor of shining steel. He was without weapon of any kind, and even while the children shrank from the sight of his big ugly head with its sad eyes and long yellow teeth, they saw that this was not a creature to be much afraid of.

"Well, I scared 'em away, didn't I?" he asked triumphantly, and then, hanging his head a little, he added in rather a humble tone, "It's pretty poor sport hunting Fidgets, I know, but it's about all I can get nowadays. Hope they didn't hurt you?" he added politely.

"Not a bit," said Rudolf, "but I'm sure I'm glad you came along when you did, for I don't know how we ever would have got rid of the beastly little things. Only when we first saw you, we thought—"

"Oh, I know," interrupted the stranger hastily—"you thought it was something worse. That's it, that's just my luck! I'm the gentlest creature in the world and everybody's afraid of me. My business," he explained, turning to Ann, "is to redress wrongs and to see after the ladies, but—bless you—they won't let me get near enough to do anything for 'em!" A great tear rolled down his long nose as he spoke, and he looked so silly that Ann and Rudolf could hardly help laughing at him, though they did not in the least want to be rude.

"And then," continued the creature, sobbing, "I'm so divided in my feelings. If I were only all Knight, now, or even all Mare, I'd be thankful, but a Knight-mare is an unsatisfactory sort of thing to be."

"A Knight-mare—Oh, how dreadful!" cried Ann, drawing away from him. "Is that what you are?"

"There! You see how it is!" exclaimed the Knight-mare, tossing his long black mane. "Nobody's got any sympathy for me. How would you like it? Suppose you were a little girl only as far as your shoulders and all the rest of you hippopotamus, eh?"

"I wouldn't like it at all," said Ann, after thinking a moment.

"Then no more do I," said the Knight-mare, and sighed a long sad sigh.

"Would you mind telling us how it happened?" asked Rudolf politely.

"Not at all," said the Knight-mare. "You see I was a great boy for fighting in the old days—though you mightn't think it to see me now—and I used to ride forth to battle on my coal-black steed, this very mare whose head I'm wearing now. Well, of course I was a terror to my enemies, used to scare 'em into fits, and I suppose it was one of those very fellows that got me into this fix, dreamed me into it one night, you know, only he got me and my steed mixed. We've stayed mixed ever since, and the worst of it is I oughtn't to be a Bad Dream at all. I was the nicest kind of a Good Dream once—why I belonged to a lady who lived in a castle, and she thought a lot of me, she did!"

"It's too bad," said Rudolf sympathetically; "but isn't there anything you can do about it?"

"Nothing," groaned the Knight-mare, "nothing at all. At least not till I can find a way to get rid of this ugly head of mine. If there was anybody big enough and brave enough, now, to—" He interrupted his speech to stoop down and snatch up something from the grass. It was Rudolf's sword which he had dropped from his hand in his weariness after his battle with the Fidgets. "What's this?" the Knight-mare cried. "Hurrah, a sword!"

"My sword," said Rudolf, stretching out his hand for it.

"Just the thing for cutting heads off!" cried the Knight. "Will you lend it to me, like a good fellow? Mine is lost."

"What for?" asked Rudolf suspiciously.

"Why, to cut my head off with, of course, or better yet, perhaps you'll do it for me. Come, now! Just to oblige me?"

Rudolf took back his sword, while Ann gave a little scream and seized both the Knight's mailed hands in hers. "I'm sorry not to oblige you," said Rudolf firmly, "but I can't do anything of the sort. I never cut anybody's head off in my life, and the sword's not so awful sharp, you know, and then how can you tell a new head will grow at your time of life?"

"Oh, I'd risk that," said the Knight-mare lightly. "I do wish you'd think it over. If you knew what a life mine is! All my days spent browsing round on shoots here in the wood, without a single adventure because nobody's willing to be rescued by the likes of me! And then the nights! Oh"—groaned the poor fellow—"the nights are the worst of all!"

"What do you do then?" asked Rudolf and Ann.

"Oh, I'm ridden to death," sighed the Knight-mare. "As if it wasn't bad enough to scare folks all day not meaning to, without being sent out nights to do it on purpose!" He looked over his shoulder as if he was afraid some one might be listening, and then added in a low voice, "And it's not my fault, either, I swear it's not. They actually make me do it!"

The children shivered, for they guessed at once that "they" meant the Bad Dreams. Then they suddenly recollected poor little Peter, whom their last adventure and the Knight-mare's talk had quite put out of their minds.

"I tell you what," said Rudolf suddenly, "I'll make a bargain with you. My little brother has run away to find the Bad Dreams, and we have got to find him and bring him back. If you'll lead us to him and help us all you can, why—why—I won't promise—but I'll see what I can do for you."

The Knight-mare gave a loud triumphant neigh. "Ods-bodikins and bran mash!" he cried. "You're worth rescuing for nothing, the whole lot of you! But"—he added mournfully—"I ought to warn you to keep away from that crowd—they're a bad lot. You'd do better to cut along home."

"We can't do that," cried Rudolf and Ann together.

"Then come with me," said the Knight-mare. "It's only a short way to—"

He was suddenly interrupted by a fresh commotion in the wood. Heavy bodies were parting the undergrowth back of where they stood. Before the children could think of escape, four strange figures sprang on them from behind, their arms were seized, they were tripped up, and they landed very hard upon the ground. Both knew in a moment what had happened. The Bad Dreams had caught them!



CHAPTER XIII

THE BAD DREAMS

At first the children's view was entirely shut off by the size and heaviness of the things that were sitting on their chests. They had been completely taken by surprise and they had not even breath enough left to cry out, but lay still and listened to what was going on about them. This is what they heard:

"Ye arre arristid in the name of the Law!" a gruff voice was saying. "Move on, move on, move on."

"One moment, Officer," a second voice interrupted. "Imprison these young persons, if you are so disposed, but pray allow me first my little opportunity to practise on them. This young lady—ahem! We will begin by extracting that large molar on the upper left-hand side, we will then have out two or three—"

"Ugh—ugh!" A series of hoarse grunts, and what had been sitting on Rudolf rose up and rushed at the last speaker. "No, no! Big Chief first! Big Chief Thunder-snorer take two fine scalp—ha! ha!"

There was a confused sound of struggling and voices arguing, and in another moment Ann was relieved of her burden which, with a mighty moo, got up and joined the others. Ann sat up and clung to Rudolf, while the Knight-mare who was standing close beside her, laid a protecting hand upon her shoulder. When she saw what had been holding her down, she gave a little shriek. It was a small spotted cow in a red flannel petticoat. She wore stout button boots on her hind feet, and she now reared herself upon these to flourish two angry hoofs over the sleek head of a little man in a white linen coat who held a tiny mirror in one hand and a pair of pincers in the other. Ann took a great dislike to this little man at once, and felt more afraid of him than of the Cow or of the handsome Indian Chief in full war-paint—feather head-dress and all—who was brandishing his tomahawk, sometimes in the face of the Little Dentist, again under the turned-up nose of a large fat Policeman who stood with folded arms, the only calm member of that much-excited group.

The Knight-mare stepped forward and put himself between the children and the Bad Dreams. "Look here, you fellows," he said quietly, "you may as well stop this nonsense first as last. You haven't got any business here, and well you know it. If the Boss finds you've been disposing of any prisoners without his permission—well—you know what'll happen!"

That the Bad Dreams did know was to be seen by their foolish scared expressions. The Indian Chief, with a disappointed grunt, replaced his tomahawk in his belt, and seated himself cross-legged on the grass, drawing his blanket closely about him. The Policeman stopped murmuring "Move on!" The Cow dropped clumsily on all fours and began to crop the bushes. Even the Little Dentist put his pincers back into his pocket, though he still looked wistfully at Ann, who avoided his eye as much as she could. This was a very terrifying company in which the children found themselves, and in spite of the comforting presence of the friendly Knight-mare, they felt very doubtful of their present safety, not to speak of what might be done to them when once they were in the clutches of that dreadful "Boss", whom even the Bad Dreams seemed to be afraid of.

"He has all the fun, anyway," snorted the Cow, switching her tail. "All the choice bits of torturing. Why, I've not had so much as a single toss since I've been on this job; no I haven't!" And she shook her sharp curved horns at Ann.

"Not a tooth out yet!" complained the Dentist, "not a single one." He sighed, glancing from Ann to Rudolf and from Rudolf back again to Ann, as if he expected they might be coaxed into presenting him with a full set each.

"'Tis himsilf does all the arristin'," muttered the Policeman sadly.

"Big-boss-chief take all good scalp," Thunder-snorer, the Indian, grunted.

The children began to think this "Boss" must indeed be a terror.

"Now, come, come," continued the Knight-mare soothingly, "it's not so bad as that. You all get plenty of fun, but you mustn't mix it up with business. We're in a row now, every one of us, for being out of bounds. Better move along and have it over, that's my advice."

The Policeman looked more cheerful. "That's it," cried he. "Move on!"

Ann put her little arms around the Knight-mare's neck and whispered something in his ear. He turned to the Cow and said:

"Madam, this young lady wishes to know if anything has been seen or heard of another prisoner, a small fat one called Peter?"

"Sir," said the Cow, "he was taken just a little while ago. That's why we four went off in a huff. We wanted a little fun with him, just a bit of our pretty play, you know, but the Boss wouldn't have it. He's saving him up for the Banquet, and not one of us is to be let at him till after that."

Rudolf and Ann looked at each other, both suddenly remembering the Sandman's warning that on no account were any of them to taste the Bad Dreams' food. Could Peter be expected to refuse any kind of refreshments at any time? They knew that he could not.

"Come," cried Rudolf, pulling at the Knight-mare's arm. "Take us to him, please. We've got to hurry."

The Knight-mare obligingly stepped forward, leading Ann by the hand, and the Bad Dreams—to the children's surprise—rose meekly to accompany them. It was decided that the Cow should go first, to clear a way through the forest by her simple method of trampling down everything before her. The Indian walked next, stepping softly and silently on his moccasined feet, and turning now and then to make a horrid face at the children who followed behind him, one on either side of the Knight-mare. The Dentist and Policeman, walking arm in arm, brought up the rear. The party had not gone a great distance through the wood, before Ann and Rudolf noticed that the underbrush was growing thinner and the trees beginning to be taller and farther apart. At last they could see through a veil of branches the light of a fire burning on the ground not a great distance ahead of them, and soon they came close to the enormous oak tree under which this fire was kindled. Its flames were a strange bluish color, and as they shot up into the darkness which was almost complete under the shade of that great tree, the children could plainly see strange figures showing black against the light, leaping and dancing around the fire.

"The party's begun, but not the Banquet," whispered the Knight-mare. "You can come a little closer, but you mustn't interrupt till it's over."

In silence they all moved a little nearer to the cleared space under the tree, but not so near as to be discovered. Rudolf and Ann gazed anxiously at the scene before them. First of all they noticed that the fire was not an ordinary fire, but a huge blazing plum pudding which accounted for the queer color of its flames. It was stuck full of bits of crackling holly and dripped sweet-smelling sauce in every direction. On the other side of the fire, just opposite to them, was a moss-grown log, and on this log sat Peter. His big brown eyes, shining with excitement, were fixed on the dancers passing before him, his little nose sniffed the burning plum pudding with great satisfaction. As soon as her eye fell on her little brother, Ann started toward him, but the Knight-mare held her back.

"No use," said he. "Wait a bit, and I'll tell you when the real trouble's going to begin."

The children had no choice but to obey, and their attention was soon occupied by the strange sights before them. As one odd figure after another sprang out of the dark into the firelight, capered and pranced, and then disappeared into the blackness again, Ann and Rudolf drew closer together and squeezed hands, very queer feelings creeping up and down their back-bones. The strangest part of it all was that among that crazy company were many whom the children did not see for the first time, who were old acquaintances of theirs! There—grinning and brandishing his stick—was the Little Black Man who had worried Rudolf many a night as far back as he could remember. There was the Old Witch on the Broomstick, whom Ann had often described to him. There again, were other Bad Dreams that made the children almost smile as they remembered certain exciting times. The Angry Farmer—Rudolf had seen him before; he remembered his fierce expression, yes, and his short black whip, too! Also the Cross Cook, her fat arms rolled up in her apron, and "I'm going to tell your mother," written plainly on her round red face. A great white Jam Pot danced just behind the Cook, and was followed by a dozen bright Green Apples. A Dancing-master came next, bowing and smiling at Peter as he passed him, then a Bear paddling clumsily along on its hind legs, its great red mouth wide open to show its long white teeth, then a Gooseberry Tart marked "Stolen", then an Arithmetic with a mean sort of face, rulers for legs, and compasses for arms; then a Clock that had been meddled with by somebody (Rudolf felt certain it was not by him) and kept striking all the time; then a Piano with a lot of horrid exercises waiting to be practised; then last of all a familiar clumsy figure with one red glaring eye—their old enemy, the Warming-pan!

As Rudolf was trying to take in these, and many others in that curious throng, he felt himself sharply pinched by Ann. "Look, look," she whispered, "over there where it's so dark, close to Peter. Oh, don't you know now who their Boss is?"

Rudolf looked. Clearly enough now he saw two flaming green eyes and a clumsy black figure crouching on the ground. Before this figure every one of the dancers made a low bow as he passed.

"Don't you know him?" repeated Ann, shivering with excitement. "It's Manunderthebed!"

"Oh, well, what if it is?" whispered Rudolf. "I stopped bothering about him years ago. He's only for babies."

Ann was not deceived by Rudolf's cheerful tone. Manunderthebed might not amount to much at home with nurse and mother to frighten him away, but here in his own country it was not pleasant to meet him.

"He's horrid," said she. "Oh, look, Ruddy, what is he doing now?"

Manunderthebed had stretched out a long black arm and pointed to the fire. Instantly the Bad Dreams stopped their dance and vanished into the darkness. When they came again into the firelight the children saw that the Cook, the Dancing-master, and several others carried large dishes in their hands which they now presented with low bows to Peter.

"It's the Banquet!" whispered the Knight-mare nervously. "If he touches a morsel, he's lost. He'll go to sleep and dream Bad Dreams forever and a day—which won't be pleasant, I assure you."

Ann and Rudolf had not waited for the Knight-mare to finish his speech. They rushed on Peter, just as he had helped himself to an enormous slice of mince pie, and while Ann threw her arms about his neck, Rudolf snatched the tempting morsel out of his hand and cast it in the fire. Of course Peter struggled and fussed and was not a bit grateful, but Rudolf and Ann did not care, for the Knight-mare's warning rang in their ears. Meanwhile the Bad Dreams had gathered round the three children in an angry circle, and Manunderthebed growled out:

"Seize 'em, some of you! Where's that fat Policeman?"

"Here, sorr." Very much against his will the Policeman had been pushed forward till he stood in front of the children, hanging his head and looking very uncomfortable.

"Arrest 'em, why don't you?" shouted the Boss.

"Please, sorr, Oi have," muttered the Policeman humbly, shifting from one foot to the other and looking more and more unhappy.

"Then do it all over again, and be quick about it—or—" Manunderthebed made a terrible face at the Policeman, who shivered, and edging up to Rudolf, laid a timid hand on his shoulder.

"No you don't!" cried Rudolf. "I'm not afraid of you!" And he gave the Policeman a poke with his sword, just a little one, about where his belt came. The Policeman gave a frightened yell, doubled up as if he had been shot, and ducking under the shoulders of the crowd made off into the darkness. Manunderthebed was furious. The children heard him roar out a command, and then the Bad Dreams advanced on them in a body. The leaping dancing flames of the plum-pudding fire showed their angry faces and strange figures.

Rudolf was not really afraid now, for he saw at once that the Bad Dreams were not much at fighting, yet there were so many of them that by sheer force of their numbers they were slowly but surely pushing the three children back, back, until they were crowded against the trunk of the great oak tree where Manunderthebed had been crouching. He had run to fetch a great branch of burning holly from the fire, and holding this like a torch above his head, he pressed through the crowd toward Rudolf and dashed it almost into his eyes. Rudolf shrank back, half blinded by the glare, and bumped sharply into Peter, who in turn was pushed violently against Ann, who had set her back firmly against the tree trunk. The tree, as she described it afterward, seemed to give way behind her, and she fell backward into soft smothery darkness. Peter fell after her and Rudolf on top of Peter. The little door which had opened to receive them snapped to again, as if by magic, and from the other side of it the triumphant howls of the Bad Dreams came very faintly to their ears.



CHAPTER XIV

IN THE HOLLOW TREE

At first it seemed perfectly dark inside the tree, but after the children had rubbed out of their eyes the soft powdery dust which their fall had stirred up, they made out the dull glow of a dying fire, a real one in a real fireplace this time, and no plum-pudding affair. From the amount of furniture they knocked against in moving about they knew they must be in somebody's house.

"Oh, dear," whispered Ann, "I hope the owner is not at home!"

Rudolf said nothing, for he was groping about after the poker. He found it presently and stirred the embers into quite a cheerful blaze. By this light the children were able to see dimly what the room was like. It was circular in shape and the walls and ceiling were covered with rough bark. The floor was of earth, covered with a thick carpet of dry leaves. There were several chairs and a round table all made of boughs with the bark left on and the mantel-piece was built of curiously twisted branches. On it stood a round wooden clock and a pair of wooden candlesticks. A pair of spectacles lay on the top of a pile of large fat books upon the table.

"I'd like to know whose house this is," said Rudolf.

"It's Manunderthebed's house," said Peter calmly.

"How do you know?" cried Ann and Rudolf.

"'Cause I do know," said Peter.

"Oh, Peter, you naughty boy, you are so provoking!" exclaimed Ann, hugging him. "Tell sister what you mean, and what you've been doing and why you ran away to find those horrid creatures!"

"Aren't horrid," said Peter, wriggling away from her, "and 'tis Manunderthebed's house, 'cause he came out by the little door when the Bad Dreams brought me. He came out of his little door, and he said 'Peter, will you come to my party?'"

"But there isn't any little door now," interrupted Rudolf, "anyway, I can't find it." He had taken a candle from the mantel-piece, had lighted it at the fire, and was making a careful search of the walls. No trace of a door or any opening except the fireplace could be seen.

"It's a magic door," said Peter cheerfully. "Manunderthebed touched something with his foot and that opened it and then he pushed you and you pushed me and I bumped into Ann, and here we are."

"He's shut us up on purpose!" cried Ann. "It's just like him."

"He's shut us up to starve us into submission, like they do in books," said Rudolf gloomily.

"I'm starved now," began Peter, "and that was the very nicest pie!" But the other two were much provoked with Peter for having led them into such a fix, and they would not listen to him any longer. By Rudolf's orders, Ann lighted the other candle and both searched again with the greatest care for some trace of the secret door. At last Ann's sharp eyes spied not a door, but a small opening in the wall far above their heads, like a little round window not much bigger than a knothole. Rudolf climbed upon the table, but found he was hardly tall enough to look through, so he was obliged to hoist Peter upon his shoulders and let him have first look. When the little boy got his eye to the window he gave such a shout of surprise that he nearly knocked Rudolf and himself completely off the table.

"Hush," warned his brother, "you mustn't make a noise! Can you see what the Bad Dreams are doing?"

"Yes, I can see 'em," whispered Peter.

"They're all sitting round the fire and Manunderthebed is making a speech."

"What's he saying?" asked Ann anxiously.

"I can't hear, but he's awful cross. Now the Little Black Man has gone—now he's come back again, and—oh!"

"What is it? What is it?" cried Ann and Rudolf.

"He's got three animals on a chain—a bear, an'—an'—a lion—an' a great big white wolf!"

"Oh, Peter, darling, you know they're only dream animals!" Ann hastily reminded him.

"Well, they're most as nice as real ones, they're awful fierce—"

"What's the Little Black Man doing with 'em?" interrupted Rudolf.

"He's letting them loose," said Peter, "and they're smelling round—"

"He's putting them by the tree to guard us—that's what he's doing," broke in Rudolf.

"To swallow us up if we ever do escape!" wailed Ann, now thoroughly frightened. "Oh, Rudolf, whatever shall we do?"

Rudolf hastily lowered Peter to the floor and got down off the table. "Ann," said he, "there must be another way out. In books there always are two ways out of secret rooms, and this," he added cheerfully, "is the bookiest thing that's happened to us yet. Come, let's look again for it."

He and Ann began the search once more, going over and over the walls by the light of their candles, but without any success. Peter was nosing about by himself in a little recess by the fireplace, and soon the other two heard him give a gleeful chuckle.

"What is it? Have you found the spring of the secret door?" cried Rudolf, running to him.

"Nope," said Peter. "It's nicer than that, it's a cake. I found it right here on this little shelf that you went past and never noticed."

"Oh, Peter," Ann scolded, "I think you are the very greediest little boy I ever knew!"

"That cake belongs to Manunderthebed, and you know it," said Rudolf sternly. "It's a dream cake, of course, a Bad-dream cake, so you can't eat it."

Peter clasped the small round cake tightly to his breast.

"It's a nice seed-cake like Cook makes," he said stubbornly, "and I must eat it."

"The seeds in it are poppy-seeds," explained Rudolf, "and you'll go to sleep and dream Bad Dreams forever, like the Knight-mare said, so you sha'n't eat it!" He tried to get the cake away from his naughty little brother who only grasped it the more tightly. There would have been a quarrel, and a fierce one, if it had not been for Ann.

"I tell you," said she, "let's try it on the animals!"

This seemed a really bright idea, and Rudolf agreed at once, though Peter considered it wasteful. Ann had to coax some time, but at last she persuaded him to part with his cake. Rudolf would not trust Peter with the distributing, so he piled three fat dictionaries that lay on the table one on top of another and climbed upon them himself, managing in this way to bring his eye to the level of the little window. The plum-pudding fire was burning very low by this time, and Rudolf could barely make out the forms of some of the Bad Dreams who were stretched on the ground around it.

Suddenly he gave a great start and nearly tumbled off the dictionaries, for he found himself staring down into the yellow hungry eyes of the big white wolf. Peter had described him truly, he was very fierce, wolfier-looking, Rudolf thought, than any of his kind the boy had seen in the dens at the park. Now the beast gave a low growl and opened his great red mouth. Rudolf dropped a generous bit of cake straight into it. The big jaws closed with a snap, and the white wolf looked up for more. By this time the other beasts had discovered the presence of refreshments, and came slinking forward, squatting themselves one on either side of their companion.

Rudolf could hardly help a squeal of surprise at the sight of the yellow lion and the big shambling bear. He remembered in time, though, to smother it, and hastily divided the rest of the cake between the two animals. When they had licked it up greedily, Rudolf turned his attention again to the white wolf, and this time he could not suppress an exclamation of delight.

"Oh, what is it, tell us," cried Ann, while Peter jumped up and down impatiently, begging to be allowed to see.

"He's going to sleep—the white wolf is," whispered Rudolf. "He's rocking from side to side—he can hardly stand up—his red tongue is hanging out of his mouth—he looks too silly for anything—now he's rolled over on his back—now he's snoring!"

"And the other animals—the lion and the bear?"

"They are lying down, too, they will be asleep in a moment! There, Peter, didn't I tell you it was a dream cake?"

But even then Peter did not appear grateful. He went back to the shelf where he had found the cake and stood looking at it wistfully, as if he hoped he would find another. Rudolf came up behind him and looked over his shoulder.

"It's no use," said Peter mournfully, "there isn't any more."

"There's this!" cried Rudolf triumphantly, and reaching over Peter he pressed a little round knob of wood half hidden under the shelf. Instantly the whole shelf, together with a large piece of the wall, swung aside, and the children were standing on the threshold of just such another little door as that by which they had entered, only on the other side of the tree. For a moment the three children hesitated, half afraid to believe in their good luck, and then, taking hold of hands they stepped softly out of their prison. Almost at their feet lay the great white wolf, the yellow lion, and the shaggy bear, all snoring in concert. Carefully avoiding them, the children made for the thick woods ahead, not caring where they went so long as they could escape from their enemies. The big tree was now between them and the plum-pudding fire around which the Bad Dreams lay asleep, so it really seemed as if they had a good chance of getting away unseen.

"Hurry, hurry," Rudolf whispered, dragging Ann by the hand. "If we can only get to those thick trees I am sure we shall be safe."

"If they only don't wake up!" she panted.

Just at that exciting moment Peter had to make trouble—as usual. He stumbled and fell over a twisted root, hurt his knee, and gave a loud angry squeal. Rudolf clapped a hand over his mouth and dragged him to his feet, but it was too late—they were discovered. A tall form shot up out of the grass just behind them, and instantly a loud war-whoop rang through the woods.

"It's Thunder-snorer—it's the Indian," Rudolf cried. "Run for your lives!"



CHAPTER XV

COMMANDER-IN-CHIEF

The Bad Dreams were all aroused by Thunder-snorer's war-whoop, and in an instant the whole pack of them, headed by Manunderthebed, were at the children's heels. Rudolf and Ann ran as fast as ever they could, dragging Peter after them, but it was both difficult and dangerous to run fast through that dark wood, especially as they had no idea in what direction they ought to go. Each moment they expected to be overtaken, each moment they seemed to feel Manunderthebed's long black arm stretched out to drag them back to their prison—or to something worse.

Then suddenly from just ahead of them came the sound of a great crashing and rustling among the bushes and the tramp of approaching feet. Some new danger—perhaps something worse than what was behind them—seemed to threaten the children, but they were too breathless, too bewildered even to try to avoid it. On they ran—straight into the arms of a tall figure who was hurrying to meet them, a knight dressed in shining armor wearing a plumed helmet on his handsome head. At the same moment a troop of little tin soldiers broke through the bushes and rushed past the children to attack the Bad Dreams. All of them were quickly put to flight except their leader, Manunderthebed, who at first sight of the soldiers had hidden himself behind a tree. As soon as they had passed he crept forth and made a dart at the children. But they had a protector now! The tall knight stepped in front of them and raised his glittering sword. Before he could bring it down, the cowardly King of the Bad Dreams gave a horrible yell and turned to run. He might have escaped, but as he passed Rudolf the boy put out his foot and tripped him up. There the rascal lay on his back, kicking wildly, while the Knight stood guard over him. Seen close by, Manunderthebed was not quite so dreadful as when he crouched in his dark haunt near the hollow tree, but still his shaggy fur, sharp white teeth, and gleaming green eyes were very terrifying to Ann, who gave a little shriek and turned her face away. "Don't be afraid," cried the Knight. "This is the end of Manunderthebed!" And he stooped and caught hold of the shaggy fellow by the shoulder. A crack, a rip, and the whole silly disguise came away in one piece, fur suit, teeth, claws, and green glass eyes. The terrible King of the Bad Dreams was just a big naughty boy in knickerbockers who kicked and cried and begged to be let go! The children had to laugh, they could not help it, to hear him blubber and whine and promise over and over again that he'd never, no, never frighten little girls and boys any more! So at last the Knight let him scramble to his feet and rush off through the woods as fast as he could go.

"That's the last of him" said the children's protector smiling, "but now tell me, you three, what do you think of the change in my appearance?"

For a moment the three children stared up at the tall figure, admiring yet puzzled, then Ann clapped her hands and shouted: "Oh, I know now who you are—you're the Knight-mare!"

The tall figure swept off his helmet and made Ann such a low bow that his fair curling locks brushed the ground, fluttering like yellow plumes about his ruddy face. "I'm all knight now," cried he, "and none of me mare. I'm a Good Dream now, and I've no doubt she'll be rather pleased to get me back—the lady I belong to in the castle, you know. I'm wearing her glove, as you may perceive."

"But how did it happen?" asked Ann, fingering the helmet with the greatest admiration.

"Well," said the Knight, "as soon as you children were imprisoned in the hollow tree I managed to escape from those fellows and rushed off to Sandy to get you help. I found he had already sent to the Corn-cob Queen for rescuers and just as we were talking they arrived. I agreed to guide their leader through the woods to Manunderthebed's place if he would first settle a certain little matter for me—that one your brother wasn't very anxious to tackle, you know. Well, when I asked him if he'd cut off my head, he said he'd just as lief as not!"

All three children burst out laughing.

"There's only one person we've met as fierce as that," said Ann, "and that's Captain Jinks."

"Captain Jinks—at your service," snapped a sharp voice at her elbow, and turning, Ann found the little tin captain standing beside her. "I have to report," said he, wheeling around to Rudolf and saluting him stiffly—"the enemy—routed completely!"

Never, never had the children expected to be so glad to meet the little captain again! They thanked him heartily for his part in their splendid rescue, and asked him what he thought it was best to do next.

"Sound a recall," answered the officer, "and return in good order according to commands."

"Whose commands, Captain Jinks?" Rudolf wanted to know, but Jinks would not answer any more questions just then. He recalled those of his fierce little soldiers who, with the sergeant at their head, were still chasing the last remnants of the Bad Dreams back to the depths of the wood, formed them into marching order, and taking the head of the procession himself, placed the children directly behind him under the protection of the Knight. They were anxious to have the little captain explain all the particulars of their rescue, but found it very hard indeed to make him talk while on duty. He marched so fast that they had to trot to keep up with him, and stared straight ahead without winking an eye. "Queen's orders," was all they could at first get out of him.

"But, Jinks, dear, who was it brought the message to the Queen?" Ann coaxed.

"Traveling Gentleman!" The little captain made a disgusted face. "He's a nice one! Said nobody was being shut up nowhere, nor didn't want to be rescued."

For a moment the children were puzzled, then Rudolf called out, "Oh, I know—the False Hare!"

They all laughed and Ann said: "I suppose Sandy didn't know any better than to send him, but I should think he'd make a pretty funny messenger!"

"Make a better pie," said Jinks grimly, and not another word could they get out of him after that. They were now coming to that part of the wood Ann and Rudolf remembered so well, where the kindly Knight had rescued them from the attack of the tiresome Fidgets. They looked about for signs of the little creatures' presence in the branches overhead, and listened for their chattering laughter, but the coming of so large a company must have scared the cowardly Fidgets away, for not a trace of them was to be seen.

At last the procession struck the little path Sandy had pointed out to the children, and in another moment it was being met and greeted by a whole troop of Good Dreams who had rushed to welcome the returning party and escort them back to the glade. Here they found the whole family assembled: the Cook-that-liked-living-in-the-Country, the Gardener-with-the-Generous-Disposition, the Pink Stockings, the Nice Nurse, the Good Baby, the Easter Rabbit, the Birthday Cake, the Organ Man, the Tall Candlesticks, and the Jolly Santa Claus—one and all of the Good Dreams, with Noddy and Blink, the two fat boys, and—best of all—old Sandy himself, a twinkle in his sleepy eyes, a grin on his round good-humored face.

"Well, well, well," cried he. "Glad to see you back again, my friends! Guess you've had enough of the bad 'uns—eh, young man?" And he gave Peter a kindly dig in the ribs. Peter grinned and looked rather foolish but said nothing. "And now," went on Sandy, pushing aside the excited dreams that crowded round him, "make way, all of you! Let these young people see who's come to welcome them." He led the children across the glade to where, throned on a pile of sacks, sat the Corn-cob Queen! There she was in her greeny-yellowy gown, her little head erect, her sweet face smiling, her tiny hands stretched out to greet the children. They could have hugged her, but they didn't dare, she looked, in spite of being just a doll and an old-fashioned one at that, so truly like a Queen. Back of her majesty stood a group of doll ladies-in-waiting dressed in their gayest clothes, and among them were Ann's very own children, Marie-Louise and Angelina-Elfrida! They did not look haughty or naughty or cross any more, but smiled sweetly at their little mother.

"Yes," said the Queen, "I have come to welcome you back, dears, and to say good-by, for I suppose you would like to go home to your Aunt Jane now, wouldn't you?"

"Oh, yes, indeed, please your Majesty," cried Rudolf and Ann in one breath—but Peter said nothing. He was gazing rather regretfully at the False Hare who lounged near by, smoking his chocolate cigarette and polishing the nap of his silk hat with the back of his paw. The False Hare winked at Peter and edged a little closer to him. "Mighty glad to see the last of you, old chap," he whispered. Then Peter smiled all over, he was so pleased.

"Yes, I suppose it's time for you to be going, if go you really must," sighed Sandy. "And since you're in such a hurry, I'm happy to be able to include you in that consignment of your aunt's after all. She"—and he bowed gallantly to the Queen—"says it's all right, and what she says goes, though to be sure, it's out of order, slightly out of order!" As he spoke he took his list out of his pocket and ran his eye over it once more. "Hullo," said he in a surprised tone, "there's one more item on Miss Jane Mackenzie's and it seems to be missing! Comparatively unimportant, but I like to have my things complete. 'One lost Kitten!' Now what can have become of that, I wonder?"

It was Captain Jinks' voice that broke the silence. "Prisoner of War, sir! Taken with others by the Commander-in-Chief in the recent glorious victory of the tin soldiers over the cat pirates. Here you are, sir!" He motioned to two of the soldiers who stood on guard over something in a dim corner of the glade. The soldiers hustled the object forward. It was Captain Mittens! Mittens despoiled of his scarlet sash, his turban, his sword and pistols, even of his fierce expression! Mittens, no longer a bold and bloody robber of the seas but a humble repentant kitten who let himself be cuddled into Peter's arms without so much as a single scratch.

Peter stroked the pirate—and the pirate purred!

"Now then, all ready? All aboard!" It was Sandy's voice who spoke and Sandy's were the arms that lifted the children gently into the enormous sack held open by Noddy and Blink, and placed them at the top of the toboggan-slide—but they were feeling too curiously tired and sleepy to understand exactly what was happening. Rudolf, still clasping his tin sword—that invaluable weapon—pillowed his sleepy head on the shoulder of the Generous Gardener. Ann rested comfortably on the large lap of the Cook-who-liked-living-in-the-Country, and Peter snuggled close beside her, holding Mittens tightly in his arms.



They thought the new non-fadable curtains were packed in somewhere, they thought they saw the kindly face of old Sandy peeping into the mouth of the sack at them while the whole troop of Good Dreams pushed and crowded one another to peer at them over his shoulder. Among all the familiar faces were some they had almost forgotten but were not sorry to see again: the Lady Goose, waving her spoon; the Gentleman Goose, and Squealer and Squawker, his two little duck apprentices; the cheerful grinning countenances of Prowler and Growler, the mates, with Toddles and Towser the common sea-cats. But at the last all grew dim, faded, melted into mist until two figures only stood out clearly and distinctly. One was the Corn-cob Queen smiling and waving her tiny hand in loving farewell, the other that of a little boy in long trousers and a frill collar, a merry-faced boy with a toy sword buckled round his waist and a toy ship in his hand. Though they had not seen him until now, the children recognized him at once. It was the little boy Aunt Jane had told them of—the Little Boy who Went Away to Sea. It was also the Commander-in-Chief of the tin soldiers, whom the Queen had said they might be allowed to see, if they were good.

Just then the children began to feel it impossible to keep their eyes open any longer. They heard the voices of all their friends calling "Good-by", but they could not answer. They tried to get one more glimpse of the Good Dreams, but their eyes dropped shut—they were far away.

In the morning Aunt Jane woke to find all three children in her room. Ann jumped into bed on one side of her, Peter, holding Mittens, snuggled himself on the other, and Rudolf bestrode the foot.

"Why, good morning, dears," she said. "Did you sleep well in the big bed?"

The children looked at one another thoughtfully.

"Did you have good dreams?" asked Aunt Jane politely. "I did, I dreamt about you three all night."

"We had funny dreams," said Rudolf, "at least, I suppose they were—" He stopped, looking very puzzled.

"We woke up laughing," Ann said, "and we got right out of bed to come quickly to tell you something awful funny that happened to us, but now—"

"Now we've forgotten it!" finished Rudolf sadly.

Peter said nothing at all. He looked very grave and thoughtful and squeezed Mittens just a little—only a little too hard. The kitten gave a slight squeak.

"Will you be good now?" whispered Peter in his furry ear. "Will you never run away no more—never?"

But Mittens would not answer.