The children chorused an assent and skipped merrily away. And here is where Peter's patch joins Pancho's.
They had not gone far over the silvery-green meadow—three shadow-lengths, perhaps—when they saw something coming toward them. It was coming as fast as half-legs could carry it; and it was wagging a long, stand-up tail. Everybody guessed in an instant that it was Peter's "black dorg wiv yeller spots."
"Who der thunk it? Who der thunk it?" shouted Peter, jumping up and down; and then he knelt on the grass, his arms flung wide open, while he called: "Toby, Toby! Here's me!"
Of course Toby knew Peter—that goes without saying. He barked and wagged his tail and licked Peter's face; in fact, he did every dog-thing Peter had longed for since Peter's mind had first fashioned him.
"Well," and Bridget put both arms akimbo and smiled a smile of complete satisfaction, "what was I a-tellin' ye, anyways? Faith, don't it beat all how things come thrue—when ye think 'em pleasant an' hard enough?"
Peter remembered the wonderful way their feet skimmed over the ground—"'most like flyin'." Not a blade of grass bent under their weight, not a grain of sand was dislodged; and—more marvelous than all—there was no tiredness, no aching of joint or muscle. All of which was bound to happen when feet were shod with faery shoes.
"See me walk!" cried some one.
"See me run!" cried some one else.
"See me hop and jump!"
And Bridget added, "Faith, 'tis as easy as lyin' in bed."