So I took the reins, and he picked up little Joy, who came running out just then, and climbed into the back seat. It was another beautiful evening, and he was in a talkative humor. Joy pointed out a small turtle in the road, and he said:
“That is a wild turtle. Do you think you could teach it arithmetic?”
Joy was uncertain.
“Well,” he went on, “you ought to get an arithmetic—a little ten-cent arithmetic—and teach that turtle.”
We passed some swampy woods, rather dim and junglelike.
“Those,” he said, “are elephant woods.”
But Joy answered:
“They are fairy woods. The fairies are there, but you can't see them because they wear magic cloaks.”
He said: “I wish I had one of those magic cloaks, sometimes. I had one once, but it is worn out now.”
Joy looked at him reverently, as one who had once been the owner of a piece of fairyland.