Manufacturer. There are heaps of signs. As soon as you get the real thing, your shoulder-blades begin to tingle. That's love's wings sprouting. And, next, you want to soar up among the stars and sit on the roof of heaven and sing to the moon. Of course, that's because I put such a lot of the moon into my dreams. I break bits off until it's nearly all gone, and then I let it grow big again. It grows very quickly, as I dare say you've noticed. After a fortnight it is ready for use once more.
Pierrot. This is most awfully fascinating. And do the swallows bring all the dreams?
Manufacturer. Not always; I have other messengers. Every night when the big clock strikes twelve, a day slips down from the calendar, and runs away to my workshop in the Land of Long Ago. I give him a touch of scarlet and a gleam of gold, and say, "Go back, little Yesterday, and be a memory in the world." But my best dreams I keep for to-day. I buy babies, and fit them up with a dream, and then send them complete and carriage paid ... in the usual manner.
Pierrot. I've been dreaming all my life, but they've always been dreams I made myself. I suppose I don't mix 'em properly.
Manufacturer. You leave out the very essence of them. You must put in a little sorrow, just to take away the over-sweetness. I found that out very soon, so I took a little of the fresh dew that made pearls in the early morning, and I sprinkled my dreams with the gift of tears.
Pierrot [ecstatically]. The gift of tears! How beautiful! You know, I should rather like to try a real one. Not one of my own making.
Manufacturer. Well, there are plenty about, if you only look for them.
Pierrot. That is all very well, but who's going to look about for stray dreams?
Manufacturer. I once made a dream that would just suit you. I slipped it inside a baby. That was twenty years ago, and the baby is now a full-grown woman, with great blue eyes and fair hair.
Pierrot. It's a lot of use merely telling me about her.