"The 'Dream' was little and thin and brown; and he wore a tight-fitting brown velvet suit, and very pointed little brown velvet slippers, and a little brown velvet cap perched jauntily on one side of his head; . . . and he had a rather uncomfortable way of giggling at things which Marjorie did not find at all funny."
OH, please," said Marjorie.
"What's the matter?" asked the Dream, from his usual place on the footboard.
"I didn't want to come back just yet," said Marjorie. "I wanted to stay a while longer. I wasn't quite through understanding."
"Suppose that you just mention what you are talking about," said the Dream.
Marjorie rubbed a bit more of the sleep out of her eyes. "U-um—" she said, "It is such a sudden jolt to open your eyes on four walls and—some windows when you have just been looking miles and miles away in every direction."
"Don't you ever notice that excepting when you just waken up?" asked the Dream.
"Yes," said Marjorie, soberly, "sometimes when I am thinking away up high, where everything is big and good and beautiful and I love everybody, and then suddenly come back to people and places and things and the little bothersome details of every-day life, that loom so tall, I get exactly the same kind of a jolt."
