A thin screen of bushes was all that hid from the children’s eyes the people whose voices they could hear so plainly.

“Maybe it’s some kind of picnic they’re having in there,” cried Peter, pushing eagerly forward. “Come on quick!”

“No, you don’t, either,” whispered Rudolf, catching him and holding him back. “Don’t let’s get caught this time, let’s peep through first and see what the people are like.”

“Yes, do let’s be careful,” pleaded Ann. “We don’t want to get arrested again, it’s not a bit nice though I suppose if this is where the Queen’s friend lives, it isn’t likely anything so horrid will happen to us.”

“Do stop talking, Ann, and listen. Whoever they are in there, they are making so much noise they can’t possibly hear me, so I’m going to creep into those bushes and see what I can see.”

As he spoke Rudolf carefully parted the bushes at a spot where they were thin and peeped between the leaves, Ann and Peter crowding each other to see over his shoulder. They looked into a kind of open glade not much larger than a good-sized room and walled on all sides by tall trees and thick underbrush. It had a flooring of soft green turf, and about in the middle lay a great rock as large as a playhouse. This rock was all covered over with moss and lichens, and the strange thing about it was that a neat door had been cut in its side. Before this door, talking and waving his hands to the crowd that thronged about him, stood a man the queerest little man the children had ever seen! He looked like a collection of stout sacks stuffed very tightly and tied firmly at the necks. One sack made his head, another larger one his body, four more his arms and legs. His broad face, though rather dull, wore a good-humored expression, and he smiled as he looked about him.

A pile of empty sacking-bags lay on the ground beside him, and from time to time he caught up one of these, ran his eye over the crowd, chose one of them, and popped him, or it, as it happened to be, into the sack which he then swung on his shoulder and heaved into the open doorway in the big rock, where it disappeared from sight. He would then taken another sack and make a fresh selection, looking about him all the while with sleepy good humor, and paying little if any attention to the cries, questions, and complaints with which he was attacked on all sides.

What a funny lot they were this crowd that surrounded the little man! The children could hardly smother their excitement at the sight of them. Not people or animals only were they, but all kinds of odd objects also, such as no one could expect to see running about loose. A Birthday Cake was there, with lighted candles; a little pile of neatly darned socks and stockings, a white-cotton Easter Rabbit with pink pasteboard ears, a Jolly Santa Claus, a smoking hot Dinner, a Nice Nurse who rocked a smiling baby, a brown-faced grinning Organ-Man, his organ strapped before him, his Monkey on his shoulder. There were too many by far for the children to take in all at once, but at the sight of one particular member of the crowd, the children gasped with astonishment; and Peter’s excitement nearly betrayed them. There, lounging by the side of a mild-faced School-Mistress Person, still smoking his chocolate cigarette, was the False Hare!

“Look alive now!” the little man was crying out. “Who’s next, who’s next?”

“Me, me, me take me next, Sandy!” A dozen little voices cried this at one and the same time. There was a scramble, bursts of laughter, followed by a sharp rebuke from Sandy. “No, you don’t either. Stand back, you small fry. No shoving!”

When Peter had seen and recognized the False Hare he had been so excited that it had been almost impossible for Rudolf and Ann to keep him quiet. Now, as he watched the scramble and the rush and the fuss the funny crowd was making about the little man, he laughed out so loud that it was too late even to pinch him. The children’s presence was discovered, and two, tall, silver candlesticks jumped from a satin-lined box and ran to draw them into the middle of the glade. Sandy, as the little man appeared to be called, paused in his business, turned round, and smiled at the children.

“Now then,” said he, “what are you doing here? Don’t you know this is my busy night? Who are you, anyway? Not on my list, I’ll warrant. Who’s dreams are you?”

“Nobody’s,” began Rudolf. “The Corn-cob Queen sent us to see if you could tell us any way to get back to our Aunt Jane

“Nobody’s?” interrupted the little man. “Did you say you were Nobody’s dreams? Don’t see him in the N’s.” And he took a printed list out of his pocket and ran his eye anxiously over it. “Are you sure

“Please, he means we’re not dreams,” said Ann, stepping forward, “at least we don’t think so.” She hesitated a second and then added: “It depends on what happens to them. Are these all dreams?”

“All perfectly Good Dreams, or my name’s not Sandman,” answered the baggy fellow briskly. “We don’t handle the Bad Ones here, not us!”

Peter looked interested. “Where does the Bad Ones live?” he asked. “I wants to see them.”

The Sandman shook his head at Peter. “Oh, no, you don’t, little boy,” he said. “No, you don’t! Don’t you go meddling in their direction or you’ll get into trouble, take my word for it. They live way off in the woods and they’re a bad lot. They’ve got a worse boss than old Sandy! No, no; the good kind are trouble enough for me. What with the hurry and the flurry and the general mix-up, something a little off color will slip in now and then. Everybody makes mistakes sometimes!”

As he made this last remark Sandy cast a doubtful look at the False Hare, who grinned and tipped his silk hat to him.

“I told Sandy all about myself,” said the False Hare, winking at the children. “I told him I was just as good as I could be!”

The children could not help laughing. “I’m afraid you don’t know him as well as we do, Mr. Sandy,” said Ann.

“Oh, I know about as much as I want to know about him,” said Sandy, pretending to frown very fiercely. “I’ve almost made up my mind to get rid of him, but the truth is I don’t really know just where he belongs.”

“Doesn’t matter to me whether I spend the night with a bald-headed old gentleman or a bird-dog all the same to me,” said the False Hare meekly. This speech sounded so like him that the children looked at one another and burst out laughing again, at which the False Hare gave a kind of solemn wink, sighed, and touched his eyes with a little paper handkerchief he held gracefully in one paw.

The Sandman turned his back on the silly fellow, and went on with his explanations to the children: “We have a very select set of customers,” he said, “and it’s our aim to supply ’em with the finest line of goods on the market. Wears me to a frazzle sometimes, this business does,” he stopped to wipe from his brow a tiny stream of sand that was trickling down it, “but I’ve got to keep at it! All the folks, big and little, like Good Dreams, and want ’em every night, and if they get mixed up or the quality’s inferior, or there’s not enough to go around, I tell you what, it makes trouble for Sandy! But just step a little nearer, and you shall see for yourselves how the whole thing is managed.”

The children followed Sandy, who walked back to the pile of empty sacks, picked one up, compared the label on it with a name on his list, and called out in a loud voice: “Mrs. Patrick O’Flynn, Wash Lady excellent character never misses on a Monday six children husband not altogether satisfactory. Here, now, Noddy Blink! I’ll want some help, boys.”

As he called out these two names, two very fat, sleepy boys, looking like pillows with strings tied round their waists, slouched from behind the rock where they had been waiting, and stood sulkily at attention. There was a scramble and a rush and a fuss among the Good Dreams, just as there had been before when the children first peeped into the glade, each one struggling and pushing and crowding to get ahead of the next, without any regard as to whether or not it was wanted. It took a tremendous effort on the part of Sandy, together with all the help the sleepy sulky boys would give, to get the right collection of dreams into the Wash Lady’s sack, and to keep the wrong ones out.

“Letter from the Old Country,” Sandy cried. “That’s it, boys, more lively there. Tell that Pound of Tea to step up No, no pink silk stockings to-day, thank you. Tell that Landlord the rent’s paid, I’ll let him know when he’s wanted. Hand over that pile of mended clothing and the pay envelope, mind it’s the right amount all the rest of you, step aside!” Waving away a gay bonnet with a bird on it, a bottle marked “Patent Medicine,” and the persistent pink stockings, the Sandman closed the mouth of Mrs. O’Flynn’s sack, and swung it on his shoulder, nodding to the children to watch what would happen. Much excited, they crowded round the open door in the side of the big rock and peered down into what seemed to be a kind of dark well with a toboggan-slide descending into it. Sandy placed the Wash Lady’s sack at the top of the slide, and before the children could so much as wink, it had slid off into the darkness and disappeared from sight.

“Oh, my!” cried Ann, “Is it a shoot-the-chutes? Does it bump when it gets there?”

“No, no,” said the Sandman. “No bumps whatsoever, the most comfortable kind of traveling I know, in fact you’re there the same time you start, and I’d like to know how you can beat that? I ought to know, for I use this route myself on my rounds a little earlier in the evening.” He walked back to his pile of sacks, and picked up another of them. “Now then,” said he, examining the label, “who’s next? Aha Miss Jane Mackenzie!”

The children could hardly believe their ears. “Oh, Ruddy,” whispered Ann in Rudolf’s ear, “what kind of dreams do you suppose Aunt Jane will get?”

“Sh! Listen, he’s going to tell us,” answered Rudolf.

The Sandman was gravely consulting his list. “M-hm Cook-that-likes-living-in-the-Country! Step this way, ma’am, and don’t take any more room than you can help. New Non-fadable Cheap but Elegant Parlor Curtains One Able-bodied Intelligent Gardener, with a Generous Disposition hurry the gentleman forward, boys, he’s a curiosity! What’s next? Aha! One niece, two nephews three perfectly good children.” Sandy paused, stared about him at the throng of jumping, pushing dreams then added: “Don’t see ’em.”

“Why, yes you do!” Ann was pulling impatiently at the Sandman’s sleeve “Here you are.” Then she turned to Rudolf and whispered excitedly: “Don’t you see? We must make the Sandman believe we are Aunt Jane’s Good Dreams, and then he’ll send us back to her.”

“I’d like a ride on that slide, all right!” returned Rudolf.

“But I doesn’t want to go back to Aunt Jane yet,” came the voice of Peter clearly from behind them. “I shan’t go till I’ve seen the Bad Dreams.”

“Nonsense!” Rudolf turned round on him angrily. “Of course you’ll go. You’re the youngest, and you’ve got to mind us.” And then without paying any more attention to Peter, Rudolf thrust himself in front of the Sandman. “Here we are,” he said. “We’re all ready.”

The Sandman looked the boy up and down, consulted his list again, smiled and shook his head very doubtfully.

“I’m sorry,” he said, “but I’m afraid you don’t exactly answer. Just listen to this.” And he read aloud: “Number one. Boy: polite and gentlemanly in manner brown hair neatly smoothed and parted Eton suit, clean white collar, boots well polished Latin grammar under arm

He stopped. Rudolf, in his pajamas, with his ruffled locks, tin sword, and angry expression, did not answer very closely to this description. The Cook-who-liked-living-in-the-Country, the Gardener-with-the-Generous-Disposition, and several other Good Dreams burst out laughing. Only the False Hare kept a solemn expression, but Rudolf knew very well what that meant.

The Sandman continued: “Number two. Little girl: modest and timid in her manners, not apt to address her elders until spoken to hair braided neatly and tied with blue ribbon white apron over dark dress doing patchwork with a pleased expression. Has not forgotten thimble

Here Sandy was interrupted by the Cook and the Gardener, who declared that if he didn’t stop they’d die a-laughin’, that they would! The False Hare wiped away a tear, and none of the dreams seemed to consider the description correct. Sandy shook his head again, as he glanced at Ann in her nighty, her ruffled curls tumbling over her flushed face Ann without patchwork, thimble, or pleased expression!

“Afraid you won’t do, miss,” said he, looking quite sorry for her. “Let’s see what’s next. Number three” he read “Very small boy: clean blue sailor suit white socks looks sorry for

All turned to look at Peter, but Peter was not looking sorry for anything Peter was not there! Ann gave a hasty look all round the glade, then burst into tears.

“Oh, Rudolf,” she cried, “what shall we do? He’s gone he’s slipped away to find those Bad Dreams all by himself you know how Peter is, when he says he’s going to do anything, he will do it. Oh, oh, I ought to have watched him!”

“Don’t cry,” said Rudolf hastily. “It’s just as much my fault. You stay here and I’ll go fetch him back. I have my sword, you know.”

“No, no,” sobbed Ann. “Don’t leave me. It was my fault I promised mother I would always look after Peter. We’ll go together. The Sandman will tell us where the Bad Dreams live, won’t you?” she added, turning to Sandy.

“There, there, of course I will,” said the little man kindly. “I’d go along with you, if there wasn’t such a press of business just now, but you can see for yourselves what a mess things would be in if I should leave. You must go right ahead, right into the thick of the woods. Follow that path on the other side of the glade. You needn’t be afraid you’ll miss those Bad Ones they’ll be on the lookout for you, I’m afraid.”

The children thanked Sandy for all his kindness, and turned to leave him. “One moment,” he cried, and he ran ahead of them to draw aside the wall of prickly bushes and show them the little path he had spoken of which wound from the Good Dreams’ glade toward the heart of the wood.

“Keep right on,” said Sandy, “and don’t be afraid. Remember they’re a queer lot, those fellows, but they can’t hurt you if you are careful. Don’t answer ’em back and don’t ask ’em too many questions. One thing in particular if they offer you anything to eat, don’t taste a mouthful of it. If you do it’ll be the worse for you!”

Rudolf and Ann thought of Peter and his passion for “refreshments”, and they started hastily forward.

“Just one thing more,” called Sandy after them. “About that consignment of your aunt’s, you know! I’ll hold that over till you get back, and we’ll see what can be done. Maybe we can fit you in yet, somehow. Now good-by, and good luck to you!”

“Good-by, and thank you!” Rudolf and Ann called back to him, and then they plunged into the path. The wall of bushes sprang back again behind them, and cut them off from the shelter of the Good Dreams’ glade. As the path was very narrow, Rudolf walked first, sword drawn, and Ann trotted behind him, trying not to think of what queer things might be waiting behind the trees to jump out at them, trying only to think of her naughty Peter, and how glad she would be to see him again.