It must be a grand thing to be a dog like Alexander whenever one wants a biscuit.
George was very busy just now, for he had made up his mind to be an aviator. An aviator is a man who flies up in the air on a machine which looks something like a large bird, and makes a noise like ever so many cats quarrelling. It flies straight up, and then before you can say "Knife!" it is out of sight. There are no tunnels or stations, no tickets such as you have on the railway. You just go straight ahead until you get there.
No wonder George didn't think about the fairies when his head was full of such wonderful things.
But Father said: "Time enough to fly when you are grown up."
Mother said: "An aviator? No, George, darling! You can come for a ride in the carriage with me this afternoon."
And Nurse said—of course, the same as before.
And so the months and the years went by; George grew bigger, Alexander grew fatter, Nurse grew more and more comfortable, and Puck grew crosser and crosser. At last, one day, everybody woke up and said: "George Henry is eight years old to-morrow!"
