hand.

It was one morning as they sat on the fence waiting for the Green
Dragon, which was three and a quarter minutes late by Peter's
Waterbury watch that he had had given him on his last birthday.

"The Green Dragon's going where Father is," said Phyllis; "if it
were a really real dragon, we could stop it and ask it to take our
love to Father."

"Dragons don't carry people's love," said Peter; "they'd be above
it."

"Yes, they do, if you tame them thoroughly first. They fetch and
carry like pet spaniels," said Phyllis, "and feed out of your hand.
I wonder why Father never writes to us."

"Mother says he's been too busy," said Bobbie; "but he'll write
soon, she says."

"I say," Phyllis suggested, "let's all wave to the Green Dragon as
it goes by. If it's a magic dragon, it'll understand and take our
loves to Father. And if it isn't, three waves aren't much. We
shall never miss them."

So when the Green Dragon tore shrieking out of the mouth of its dark
lair, which was the tunnel, all three children stood on the railing
and waved their pocket-handkerchiefs without stopping to think
whether they were clean handkerchiefs or the reverse. They were, as
a matter of fact, very much the reverse.