But he was sorry not to see the stars. Somehow, while he had been at work he had counted on that last look at the clear sprinkled sky. Rather disappointed he felt his way carefully back along the porch. You always had to be careful on that porch, for the chairs had a habit of shifting themselves round in unexpected places. Also you never knew if a kiddie-car or a velocipede might not leap between your feet. You had to look out for Donny, too, who liked to sprawl in the fairway. Whenever you were groping round in the dark in any place where Donny might possibly be, it was wise to say something out loud, such as "Well, old quadruped, are you right under my feet?" If he was there, he would reply with a thumping of his flap-flap tail, and you could steer around him.
Feeling his way back along the porch—and it was very dark that night—the man bumped onto a chair that had no business there at all. He was annoyed, because he bashed his shin, and he put his hand down to find out what chair it was. On the seat was a very queer object. It was cool, queerly hard-soft, pebbly or prickly to feel, and of an odd shape with points rather like fin-
