"Huh?" answered Sergeant McCurdle languidly. "Dust? Oh, sure, Petty, old boy. If you say so. But I don't quite see—aw-rrrm!—why. Hey, move over, willya? I'm gettin' sorta tired myself...."
Thus, planning for the morrow, slumbered Peter Pettigrew, side by side with a newfound friend. And valiant were his dreams. But one person—or was he a person?—knew that this was the only dream of Peter Pettigrew's which should not reach accomplishment. Ole Luk Oie knew that with the dawn no trace would remain of the Sands.
For they were the Sands of Slumber. Such stuff as dreams are made of....
THE END