"No one knows exactly, Polly, because no one ever saw a dryad. It is one of those stories that have come to us from thousands of years ago.
"Most of the stories are not true. We call them myths. And we like them very much."
"Are myths as good as 'Once upon a time' stories?" asked Peter.
"Yes, indeed, Peter. Get your mother to tell you some, and see."
"Now I shall think of this story, when I see our fire burning a dryad's house," said Polly.
"I shall play that there are dryads in our trees, too. Perhaps, if I play hard enough, one will really be there.
"When spring comes, I shall go to the woods often. I know where there is a hollow tree. That will make a good dryad's house."
"Spring is coming soon," said mother. "The cold winter is nearly over. But, first of all, bedtime is coming. It has nearly come, now. Say good night, Peter and Polly. Then off with you."
So Peter and Polly said good night and went upstairs to bed. Perhaps they dreamed of dryads. Perhaps they dreamed of spring-time. Perhaps they slept soundly and did not dream at all.