ugh
for a dream.

And of course the clergyman, though misty, was really real, and able
to marry people, and he did. When the ceremony was over the clergyman
wandered about the island collecting botanical specimens, for he was a
great botanist, and the ruling passion was strong even in an insane fit.

There was a splendid wedding feast. Can you fancy Jane and Anthea,
and Robert and Cyril, dancing merrily in a ring, hand-in-hand with
copper-coloured savages, round the happy couple, the queen cook and the
burglar consort? There were more flowers gathered and thrown than you
have ever even dreamed of, and before the children took carpet for home
the now married-and-settled burglar made a speech.

'Ladies and gentlemen,' he said, 'and savages of both kinds, only I know
you can't understand what I'm a saying of, but we'll let that pass.
If this is a dream, I'm on. If it ain't, I'm onner than ever. If it's
betwixt and between--well, I'm honest, and I can't say more. I don't
want no more 'igh London society--I've got some one to put my arm around
of; and I've got the whole lot of this 'ere island for my allotment, and
if I don't grow some broccoli as'll open the judge's eye at the cottage
flower shows, well, strike me pink! All I ask is, as these young gents
and ladies'll bring some parsley seed into the dream, and a penn'orth of
radish seed, and threepenn'orth of onion, and I wouldn't mind goin' to
fourpence or fippence for mixed kale, only I ain't got a brown, so I
don't deceive you. And there's one thing more, you might take away the
parson. I don't like things what I can see 'alf through, so here's how!'
He drained a coconut-shell of palm wine.

It was now past midnight--though it was tea-time on the island.

With all good wishes the children took their leave. They also collected
the clergyman and took him back to his study and his presentation clock.

The Phoenix kindly carried the seeds next day to the burglar and his
bride, and returned with the most satisfactory news of the happy pair.

'He's made a wooden spade and started on his allotment,' it said, 'and
she is weaving him a shirt and trousers of the most radiant whiteness.'

The police never knew how the burglar got away. In Kentish Town Police
Station his escape is still spoken of with bated breath as the Persian
mystery.

As for the Reverend Septimus Blenkinsop, he felt that he had had a
very insane fit indeed, and he was sure it was due to over-study. So