The Sandman was gravely consulting his list. "M-hm—Cook-that-likes-living-in-the-Country! Step this way, ma'am, and don't take any more room than you can help. New Non-fadable Cheap but Elegant Parlor Curtains—One Able-bodied Intelligent Gardener, with a Generous Disposition—hurry the gentleman forward, boys, he's a curiosity! What's next? Aha! One niece, two nephews—three perfectly good children." Sandy paused, stared about him at the throng of jumping, pushing dreams—then added: "Don't see 'em."
"Why, yes you do!" Ann was pulling impatiently at the Sandman's sleeve—"Here you are." Then she turned to Rudolf and whispered excitedly: "Don't you see? We must make the Sandman believe we are Aunt Jane's Good Dreams, and then he'll send us back to her."
"I'd like a ride on that slide, all right!" returned Rudolf.
"But I doesn't want to go back to Aunt Jane yet," came the voice of Peter clearly from behind them. "I shan't go till I've seen the Bad Dreams."
"Nonsense!" Rudolf turned round on him angrily. "Of course you'll go. You're the youngest, and you've got to mind us." And then without paying any more attention to Peter, Rudolf thrust himself in front of the Sandman. "Here we are," he said. "We're all ready."
The Sandman looked the boy up and down, consulted his list again, smiled and shook his head very doubtfully.
"I'm sorry," he said, "but I'm afraid you don't exactly answer. Just listen to this." And he read aloud: "Number one. Boy: polite and gentlemanly in manner—brown hair neatly smoothed and parted—Eton suit, clean white collar, boots well polished—Latin grammar under arm—"
He stopped. Rudolf, in his pajamas, with his ruffled locks, tin sword, and angry expression, did not answer very closely to this description. The Cook-who-liked-living-in-the-Country, the Gardener-with-the-Generous-Disposition, and several other Good Dreams burst out laughing. Only the False Hare kept a solemn expression, but Rudolf knew very well what that meant.
The Sandman continued: "Number two. Little girl: modest and timid in her manners, not apt to address her elders until spoken to—hair braided neatly and tied with blue ribbon—white apron over dark dress—doing patchwork with a pleased expression. Has not forgotten thimble—"
Here Sandy was interrupted by the Cook and the Gardener, who declared that if he didn't stop they'd die a-laughin', that they would! The False Hare wiped away a tear, and none of the dreams seemed to consider the description correct. Sandy shook his head again, as he glanced at Ann in her nighty, her ruffled curls tumbling over her flushed face—Ann without patchwork, thimble, or pleased expression!