“And so am I,” said Mary and Johnny.
“Then here is the very thing,” said the newsboy, and with that he pulled some ginger cookies out of his pockets, and gave them to the children—gave them the cookies, not his pockets, you understand.
“Don’t you want some yourself?” asked Mary, politely.
“Oh, bless you, no,” said the newsboy. “I never eat cookies. I’m too big to eat cookies. I’ll chew on a bit of paper instead. Here is a piece with a nice picture on it of a dish of ice-cream and some cake. I’ll eat that bit of paper, and I won’t be hungry for ever so long.”
And, then, what do you think? Why, that funny newsboy ate the piece of paper with the picture of the ice-cream and cake on it, and he wasn’t hungry any more. But, of course, none of you must do that, as it’s only allowed in fairy stories.
“Do you think we’ll ever get home?” asked Johnny, after a bit, when the box had floated down the street for some distance.
“Wait a minute, and I’ll take a look,” said the newsboy, and he peeked through a knot-hole in the side of the box. “Is your house a red one?” he asked the children.
“No, it’s painted green,” said Mary.
“Then the one I saw isn’t it,” spoke the newsboy. “But we may come to it pretty soon.” And then he looked out again, and asked: “Is your house a pink one?”
“Why, no,” said Mary, in surprise, “I think I told you a little while ago that it was painted green.”