"Well," said Daphne, "it's another name for—for Fairyland, you know."
"Fairyland indeed!" replied Mrs. Wibberley-Stimpson with some irritation. "You will find it difficult to persuade me to believe that I am in Fairyland, Miss Heritage! To begin with, there is no such place, and if there was, perhaps you will kindly tell me how we could possibly have got to it?"
"Through the air," explained Daphne patiently. "That car was drawn by storks, you see—not ostriches."
"When you have quite woke up, Miss Heritage," said Mrs. Stimpson, "you will realise what nonsense you are talking."
"Whatever this place is," said Clarence, "it don't look English, somehow, to me. I mean to say—that town over there—what?" He pointed across the wide plain to a cluster of towers, spires, gables, and pinnacles which glittered and gleamed faintly through the shimmering morning haze.
"It certainly has rather a Continental appearance," observed his father.
"If it has," said Mrs. Wibberley-Stimpson, "it is only some buildings or scenery or something they have run up for the Pageant. So we haven't been taken in the wrong direction after all."
"I believe, Mummy," chirped Ruby, "Miss Heritage is right, and this is Fairyland."
"Don't be so ridiculous, child! You'll believe next that 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."