breaking crockery made them look round towards the table. What a
surprise! The milk-jug lay on the floor, smashed into a thousand
fragments, and from the pieces rose a charming lady, who gave little
screams of terror and clasped her hands and turned up her eyes with a
beseeching glance.

Tyltyl hastened to console her, for he at once knew that she was Milk;
and, as he was very fond of her, he gave her a good kiss. She was as
fresh and pretty as a little dairy-maid; and a delicious scent of hay
came from her white frock all covered with cream.

Meanwhile, Mytyl was watching the sugar-loaf, which also seemed to be
coming to life. Packed in its blue paper wrapper, on a shelf near the
door, it was swaying from left to right and from right to left without
any result. But at last a long thin arm was seen to come out,
followed by a peaked head, which split the paper, and by another arm
and two long legs that seemed never to end!... Oh, you should have
seen how funny Sugar looked: so funny, indeed, that the Children could
not help laughing in his face! And yet they would have liked to be
civil to him, for they heard the Fairy introducing him in these words:

"This, Tyltyl, is the soul of Sugar. His pockets are crammed with
sugar and each of his fingers is a sugar-stick."

How wonderful to have a friend all made of sugar, off whom you can
bite a piece whenever you feel inclined!

"Bow, wow, wow!... Good-morning! Good-morning, my little god!... At
last, at last we can talk!... Bark and wag my tail as I might, you
never understood!... I love you! I love you!"

Who can this extraordinary person be, who jostles everybody and fills
the house with his noisy gaiety? We know him at once. It is Tylo, the
good Dog who tries his hardest to understand mankind, the good-natured
Animal who goes with the Children to the forest, the faithful guardian
who protects the door, the staunch friend who is ever true and ever
loyal! Here he comes walking on his hind-paws, as on a pair of legs
too short for him, and beating the air with the two others, making
gestures like a clumsy little man. He has not changed: he still has
his smooth, mustard-coloured coat and his jolly bull-dog head, with
the black muzzle, but he is much bigger and then he talks! He talks as
fast as he can, as though he wanted in one moment to avenge his whole
race, which has been doomed to silence for centuries. He talks of
everything, now that he is at last able to explain