evidently a leader. They called him Wag.

I heard whispers from corners of the room, and appeals to Wag to explain what this and that unfamiliar object was, and noticed that he was never at a loss for an answer of some kind, correct or not. The fireplace, which had its summer dressing, was, it appeared, a rock garden; an old letter lying on the floor was a charm (“Better not touch it”); the waste-paper basket (not unnaturally) a prison; the pattern on the carpet was—“Oh, you wouldn't understand it if I was to tell you.”

Soon a voice—Wag's voice—came from somewhere near my foot.

“I say, could I get up on the top?” I offered to lift him, but he declined rather hastily and said my leg would be all right if I didn't mind putting it out a bit sloping: and he then ran up it on all fours—he was quite a perceptible weight—and got on to the table from my knee without any difficulty.

Once there, there was a great deal to interest him—books, papers, ink, pens, pipes, matches and cards. He was full of questions about them, and his being so much at his ease encouraged the others to follow him, so that before very long the whole lot were perambulating the table and making me very nervous lest they should fall off, while Wag was standing close up to me and putting me through a catechism.

“What do you have such little spears for?” he wanted to know, brandishing a pen at me. “Is that blood on the end? whose blood? Well then, what do you do with it? Let's see—only that?” (when I wrote a word or two). “Well, you can tell me about it another time. Now I want to know what these clubs in the chest are.”

I said, “We make fire with them; if you like I'll show you—but it makes a little noise.”

“Go on,” said Wag; and I struck a match, rather expecting a stampede. But no, they were quite unmoved, and Wag said, “Beastly row and smell—why don't you do the ordinary way?”

He brushed the palm of his left hand along the tips of the fingers on his right hand, put them to his lips and then to his eyes, and behold! his eyes began to glow from behind with a light which would have been quite bright enough for him to read by. “Quite simple,” he said; “don't you know it?” Then he did the same thing in reverse order, touching eyes, lips and hand, and the light was gone. I didn't like to confess that this was beyond me.

“Yes, that's all very well,” I said, “but how do you manage about your houses? I am sure I saw lights in the windows.”

“Course,” he said, “put as many as you want;” and he ran round the table dabbing his hand here and there on the cloth, or on anything that lay on it, and at every place a little round bud or drop of very bright but also soft light came out. “See?” he said, and darted round again, passing his hands over the lights and touching his lips; and they were gone. He came back and said, “It's a much better way; it is really,” as if it were only my native stupidity that prevented me from using it myself.

A smaller one, who looked to me rather a quieter sort than Wag, had come up and was standing by him: he now said in a low voice:

“P'raps they can't.”

It seemed a new idea to Wag: he made his eyes very round. “Can't? Oh, rot! it's quite simple.”

The other shook his head and pointed to my hand which rested on the table. Wag looked at it too, and then at my face.

“Could I see it spread out?” he said.

“Yes, if you'll promise not to spoil it.”

He laughed slightly, and then both he and the other—whom he called Slim—bent over and looked closely at the tips of my fingers. “Other side, please,” he said after a time, and they subjected my nails to a like examination. The others, who had been at the remoter parts of the table, wandered up and looked over their shoulders. After tapping my nails and lifting up one or more fingers, Wag stood upright and said:

“Well, I s'pose it's true, and you can't. I thought your sort could do anything.”

“I thought much the same about you,” I said in self-defence. “I always thought you could fly, but you——”

“So we can,” said Wag very sharply, and his face grew red.

“Oh,” I said, “then why haven't you been doing it to-night?”

He kicked one foot with the other and looked quickly at Slim. The rest said nothing and edged away, humming to themselves.

“Well, we can fly perfectly well, only——”

“Only not to-night, I suppose,” said I, rather unkindly.

“No, not to-night,” said Wag; “and you needn't laugh, either—we'll soon show you.”

“That will be nice,” I said; “and when will you show me?”

“Let's see” (he turned to Slim), “two nights more, isn't it? All right then (to me), in two nights more you'll see.”

Just then a moth which flew in caused a welcome diversion—for I could see that somehow I had touched on a sore subject, and that he was feeling awkward—and he first jumped at it and then ran after it. Slim lingered. I raised my eyebrows and pointed at Wag. Slim nodded.

“The fact is,” he said in a low voice, “he got us into rather a row yesterday and we're all stopped flying for three nights.”

“Oh,” said I. “I see: you must tell him I am very sorry for being so stupid. May I ask who stopped you?”

“Oh, just the old man, not the owls.”

“You do go to the owls for something, then?” I asked, trying to appear intelligent.

“Yes, history and geography.”

“To be sure,” I said; “of course they've seen a lot, haven't they?”

“So they say,” said Slim, “but——”

Just then the low toll of the bell was wafted through the window and there was an instant scurry to the edge of the table, then to the seat of the chair, and up to the window-sill; small arms waved caps at me, the shrubs rustled, and I was left alone.