On the brink of a steep little cliff about six feet high, at the foot of which the waters of a small inlet gently lapped the rocks, there stood a grove of ten or twelve trees—short, stubby trees, all leaning landward, as trees growing on the edge of the sea always do. The shadows led the children straight to this grove of trees, and there, lo and behold! they vanished. Where had they got to?
Margaret and Frances looked all about. They looked upon the ground and they looked up into the trees, but look where they might no shadows could they see. Where had they got to?
"I wonder," said Frances, "if this isn't the place where Tommy—Tommy—what was his other name?"
"Little Tom Titmouse," replied her sister. "Perhaps it is. So let us sit down and wait. Perhaps, if we sit still and keep quiet, we may see King Coco Bolo and the Archbishop and—Are there such things as tame dragons, Frances?" she asked, suddenly remembering with some misgivings that little Tom Titmouse, besides making the desirable acquaintance of King Coco Bolo and the Archbishop, had also encountered a dragon—which was quite another thing.
"There must be," replied Frances, reflectively. "Daddy told us to try to get to that place, and if the dragon hadn't been a tame dragon he wouldn't—"
"No, of course he wouldn't," interrupted Margaret, reassured. "So we'll sit down and wait, and perhaps—Oh! Look!" pointing out over the shimmering sea. "There are some new islands! One, two, three of them, besides the old ones. Look! Oh! One of them has split in two! Now there are four! Now there are five! What funny islands!"
Sitting in the cool shade of the trees, the children watched the new islands come and go, grow large and larger, break in two, vanish and come again. It was very fascinating and also very mysterious. How did they get there? Where had they come from? And why, Oh, why did they keep shifting about like that? Were they floating islands? It seemed likely, for Daddy had once told them something about floating islands with flower gardens on them, though where they were situated Margaret could not remember.
"I shouldn't be a bit s'prised"—she began, when, turning to her sister, she noticed that an ant was running over the back of Frances' hand. Knowing very well that Frances objected to the tickling of ants and spiders and such things, Margaret glanced quickly at her face, and then smiled a superior smile.
"She's so young," said she, by way of explaining it. "She's only six and a quarter. It isn't as if she was nearly eight. I won't disturb her. I'll let her sleep just as long as she likes."
Observing that the yellow plush puppy was lying on his back with his feet in the air, she went on: