"The window sill."

"It doesn't twist your neck, does it?"

"No--o--only a little bit."

"Are you hungry?"

"Yes."

"Wait half a shake. I'll let down some chocolate in my big bath towel;
it'll swing along to you--reach out."

A dim white arm reached out.

"Catch! I say, you won't get cold?"

"Rather not."

"It's too jolly to sleep, isn't it?"

"Mark!"

"Yes."

"Which star is yours? Mine is the white one over the top branch of the
big sycamore, from here."

"Mine is that twinkling red one over the summer house. Sylvia!"