DREAM DAYS
"Did you ever—just for fun—try to make up poetry—verses, you know?"
"Course I have," said the Boy. "Heaps of it. And some of it's quite good, I feel sure, only there's no one here cares about it. Mother's very kind and all that, when I read it to her, and so's father for that matter. But somehow they don't seem to—"
"Exactly," cried the dragon; "my own case exactly. They don't seem to, and you can't argue with 'em about it. Now you've got culture, you have, I could tell it on you at once, and I should just like your candid opinion about some little things I threw off lightly, when I was down there. I'm awfully pleased to have met you, and I'm hoping the other neighbours will be equally agreeable. There was a very nice old gentleman up here only last night, but he didn't seem to want to intrude."
"That was my father," said the Boy, "and he is a nice old gentleman, and I'll introduce you some day if you like."
"Can't you two come up here and dine or something to-morrow?" asked the dragon,
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