the toads?"

"Is that what they are? I thought it was a fairy something. They make
nice noises! Where do they live?"

"In some marsh. They sit there and fiddle away on bramble roots and sing
about various things they like."

"What nice toads!" murmured Kirk.

"_Sh-sh!_" whispered Ken; "we're waking Phil. Good night--good morning,
I mean. Warm enough now?"

"Yes. Oh, Ken, _aren't_ we having fun?"

"Aren't we, though!" breathed his brother, pulling the end of the
Burberry over Kirk's shoulders.

* * * * *

The sun is a good thing. It clears away not only the dark shadows in the
corners of empty rooms, but also the gloom that settles in anxious
people's minds at midnight. The rising of the sun made, to be sure,
small difference to Kirk, whose mind harbored very little gloom, and was
lit principally by the spirits of those around him. Consequently, when
his brother and sister began reveling in the clear, cold dawn, Kirk
executed a joyous little _pas seul_ in the middle of the living-room
floor and set off on a tour of exploration. He returned from it with his
fingers very dusty, and a loop of cobwebs over his hair.