hirl of the carpet. The burglar stood
rubbing his eyes in the brilliant tropic sunlight, and gazing wildly
round him on the vivid hues of the tropic land.

'Penny plain and tuppence coloured!' he exclaimed pensively, 'and well
worth any tuppence, however hard-earned.'

The cook was seated on a grassy mound with her court of copper-coloured
savages around her. The burglar pointed a grimy finger at these.

'Are they tame?' he asked anxiously. 'Do they bite or scratch, or do
anything to yer with poisoned arrows or oyster shells or that?'

'Don't you be so timid,' said the cook. 'Look'e 'ere, this 'ere's only
a dream what you've come into, an' as it's only a dream there's no
nonsense about what a young lady like me ought to say or not, so I'll
say you're the best-looking fellow I've seen this many a day. And the
dream goes on and on, seemingly, as long as you behaves. The things what
you has to eat and drink tastes just as good as real ones, and--'

'Look 'ere,' said the burglar, 'I've come 'ere straight outer the pleece
station. These 'ere kids'll tell you it ain't no blame er mine.'

'Well, you WERE a burglar, you know,' said the truthful Anthea gently.

'Only because I was druv to it by dishonest blokes, as well you knows,
miss,' rejoined the criminal. 'Blowed if this ain't the 'ottest January
as I've known for years.'

'Wouldn't you like a bath?' asked the queen, 'and some white clothes
like me?'

'I should only look a juggins in 'em, miss, thanking you all the same,'
was the reply; 'but a bath I wouldn't resist, and my shirt was only
clean on week before last.'

Cyril and Robert led him to a rocky pool, where he bathed luxuriously.
Then, in shirt and trousers he sat on the sand and spoke.

'That cook, or queen, or whatever you call her--her with the white bokay
on her 'ed--she's my sort. Wonder if she'd keep company!'

'I should ask her.'

'I was always a quick hitter,' the man went on; 'it's a word and a blow
with me. I will.'

In shirt and trousers, and crowned with a scented flowery wreath which
Cyril hastily wove as they returned to the court of the queen, the
burglar stood before the cook and spoke.

'Look 'ere, miss,' he said. 'You an' me being' all forlorn-like, both on
us, in this 'ere dream, or whatever you calls it, I'd like to tell you
straight as I likes yer looks.'

The cook smiled and looked down bashfully.

'I'm a single man--what you might call a batcheldore. I'm mild in my
'abits,