t we came here in
a car drawn by flying storks, I suppose!"

"D'you know, Mater," said Clarence, "I'm not so sure we mayn't have.
What I mean is--there's some sort of flying machine coming along now. I
grant you it isn't drawn by storks, but they're _birds_ anyhow, and
there seems to be some one in the car too."

"Nothing of the kind!" declared Mrs. Wibberley-Stimpson obstinately. "At
least one may fancy one sees anything with the sun in our eyes as it is.
Well, upon my word!" she added, still incredulously, as an iridescent
shell-shaped chariot attached to a team of snow-white doves _volplaned_
down from a dizzy height to a spot only a few yards away, "I really
could not have--who, and what can this old person be?"

The occupant of the chariot had already got out of it, and was slowly
coming towards them, supporting herself on a black crutch-handled staff.
As she drew nearer they could see that she was a woman of great age. She
wore a large ruff, a laced stomacher, wide quilted petticoats, and a
pointed hat with a broad brim. Her expression was severe, but not
unkindly, while she evidently considered herself a personage of some
importance.

"She looks exactly like the Fairy Godmother in the pictures," whispered
Ruby.

"Whoever she may be," said her Mother, scrambling to her feet with more
haste than dignity, "I suppose I shall have to go and speak to her, as I
presume I am the person she has come to meet."

However, it was Daphne who was addressed by the new-comer.

"The Court Chamberlain, Baron Treuherz von Eisenbaenden, has brought me
the glad tidings of your arrival, my child," she said in a high cracked
voice, "and, as the high official Court Godmother to the Royal Family, I
felt that I should be the first to bid you welcome."

This was more than Mrs. Wibberley-Stimpson could be expected to stand
without a protest.

"Pardon me," she said, throwing back her cloak as though she were in
need of air, "pardon me, Madam, but I think you are mistaking my
daughter's governess for _me_. I am Mrs. Wibberley-Stimpson!"

The old lady turned sharply, and as her eyes fell on the matron's
indignant face and heaving bosom, she instantly became deferential and
almost apologetic. "You must forgive me, my dear," she said, "for not
recognising you before. But at my age--I may tell you I am nearing the
end of my second century--one is apt to forget the flight of Time. Or it
may be that Time in your world flies more quickly