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.