"But I do feel, now that I can't see either of them," he whispered to himself as he lay in the dark, "I do feel as if it must have been a dream. Was it?" And he had to put his hand under his pillow and touch the whip before he could go to sleep.
It was curious, but the first thing when he wakened in the morning he found himself sitting up in bed and rubbing his eyes and saying aloud to himself:
"Was it? Was it? Was it?"
Then he remembered the tiny whip and he darted his hand under his pillow, but he felt nothing. He lifted the pillow and looked under it, but he saw nothing. He jumped out of bed and shook the sheet and shook it, but he felt nothing. The tiny whip was gone.
He just stood and stared, and then he said rather slowly:
"Well, if it was a dream it was the nicest one I ever had and I'm glad I had it. Perhaps some night I shall have it again." And
