“And yet,” said the younger flea, “the dough begins again to work. Surely, he’s on with his dream now.”

“Now, he’s fairly off. A while ago, and the brain was only fluttering—like a bird trying its wings—but now, yes—now it’s off. Ha! ha! A very droll dream, even so far as it goes;” and the old flea looked very wise.

“Tell it, father; tell it. You never told me a dream before: surely,” said the young one, “I’m old enough to learn now.”

“Listen, my son, and be instructed. The sleeping man is at this moment following his heart. The thing has been plucked out of his bosom by a laughing little creature, with painted wings: a strange creature, half-elfin half-angel. The elf, or angel, or whatever it is, hugs the heart in its plump arms, and[Pg 22] its eyes twinkle with mischief, and its cheeks are pitted with dimples, and its lips pout as over-full of the fun that will rise to them; and still away the child carries the heart.”

[Pg 22]

“And the man!—Where’s the man that owns it? Still following?” asked the young flea.

“Still following, and in a pretty pucker about his property. But, my son, be silent; and do not interrupt me. The elf, still flying with the heart, is now in the open country. A peaceful, quiet spot. Beautiful meadows, starred with daisies. Ha! they remind me of a scene of early youth. That green velvet quilt sprinkled with little silver flowers—the quilt of the sweet Princess of Satinskin—that sweet, beautiful quilt in the palace of”—

“Never mind the palace,” said the young flea. “You are now in the open country; keep to the meadow.”

And the elder flea, rebuked, proceeded. “There’s cattle and sheep in the meadows; and the boy, in sport, flies and flutters above them. And now he jumps from lamb’s back to lamb’s back, and the man still following, with all his eyes watching his heart, that the little elf, in the wildest fun, tosses up, like a ball in the air, catching it again, and again tossing it up, and”—

“I should guess something odd,” said the young flea: “for how the fellow here kicks; and how his face is broken into moving hills and vallies. How he moans, too, about his heart. Poor devil!”

“And now, the little imp trips across a bridge, that leads to a large wooden building—still in the open country. He runs into the building, the fellow following him, as 

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