“Let me think,” began the East Wind. “The Clerk of the Weather took the little sunbeam boy——”
“Kiddiwee!” corrected Tibbs.
“Yes. And dropped him into a crevice in the dome of the Taj Mahal; and there he lies asleep, in the safe keeping of an Elderly Spinster Spider.”
“A Spider!” cried Tibbs, growing white. “Why, she’ll suck his blood. Well, what about Celia?”
“Do you mean the boy with the golden fire falling from his head in two long streams, on to his shoulders?”
“Yes; but she’s a girl, not a boy,” corrected Tibbs.
“But, she was wearing——” and the East Wind paused in slight confusion.
“Pyjamas! Yes, I know,” said Tibbs; “heaps of girls do in Australia.”
“Pity I didn’t know!” sighed the East Wind, “because I hung her up by the leg of her py—py——”
“Jamas!” finished Tibbs.