"I think I will, too," responded Margaret, covering her mouth with both hands.
"So will I," added the Archbishop, with a yawn so tremendous that he had to hold his mitre in front of his face to hide it.
Down they sat, therefore, with their backs against the mast, and as was to be expected, in two seconds they were all sound asleep—Periwinkle and Thomas A'Becket as well.
How long they had been sailing, the children never could tell, when suddenly, "Clink-clank!" went the Court Crier's bell, somewhere close by.
Margaret woke up with a start, clutching her sister by the arm, and then for several seconds she stared about her, wondering where she was.
Nor was it surprising that she should sit and stare, for, when at length she did recognize her surroundings, she found herself beneath the trees by the sea-shore where she and Frances had lain down to rest after their vain pursuit of their shadows that morning.
Nor was it surprising that
she should sit and stare
There, too, sat Frances, bolt upright, blinking and gazing about her in a bewildered manner; and there too, lay Periwinkle, flat on his side, his beady black eyes wide open and his red worsted smile fixed and immovable—a yellow plush puppy once more.