Then he went back for milk, but there was none to be seen so he got a white jug full of water.

The spoons he couldn't find, but he found a carving-fork and a fish-slice.

Did you ever try to eat cherry pie with a fish-slice?
'Whatever's happened,' said Philip to himself, through the cherry pie, 'and whatever happens it's as well to have had your breakfast.' And he bit a generous inch off the cold sausage which he had speared with the carving-fork.
And now, sitting out in the good sunshine, and growing less and less hungry as he plied fish-slice and carving-fork, his mind went back to his dream, which began to seem more and more real.

Suppose it really _had_ happened?
It might have; magic things did happen, it seemed.

Look how all the people had vanished out of the house--out of the world too, perhaps.
'Suppose every one's vanished,' said Philip.