Without a word the new arrival passed one hand above the part of her that presumably was the face. Something sifted downwards. There was a sound of gentle sprinkling through the air; a noise followed that was half a groan and half a sigh. Her struggles grew gradually less, then ceased. They pushed the bulk of her backwards through the door. Spread over many seats the Woman of the Haystack slept. 'Thank you,' said several voices with relief. 'She'll dream she's been in. That's just as good.' 'Every bit,' the others answered, resuming their interrupted journey towards the cavern's mouth. 'And when I come out she shall have some more,' answered the Dustman in a soft, thick voice; 'as much as ever she can use.' He flitted in his turn towards the stream of gold. His feet were already in it when he paused a moment to shift from one shoulder to the other a great sack he carried. And in that moment was heard a low voice singing dreamily the Dustman's curious little song. It seemed to come from the direction of the train where the Guard stood talking to a man the children had not noticed before. Presumably he was the engine-driver, since all the passengers were out now. But it may have been the old Dustman himself who sang it. They could not tell exactly. The voice made them quite drowsy as they listened:-- The busy Dustman flutters down the lanes, He's off to gather star-dust for our dreams. He dusts the Constellations for his sack, Finding it thickest on the Zodiac, But sweetest in the careless meteor's track; _That_ he keeps only For the old and lonely, (And is very strict about it!) Who sleep so little that they need the best; The rest,-- The common stuff,-- Is good enough For Fraulein, or for Baby, or for Mother, Or any other Who likes a bit of dust, But yet can do without it If they _must_! The busy Dustman hurries through the sky The kind old Dustman's coming to _your_ eye! By the time the song was over he had disappeared through the opening. 'I'll show 'em the real stuff!' came back a voice--this time certainly his own--far inside now. 'I simply love that man,' exclaimed Monkey. 'Songs are usually such twiddly things, but that was real.' She looked as though a somersault were imminent. 'If only Daddy knew him, he'd learn how to write unwumbled stories. Oh! we _must_ get Daddy out.' 'It's only the head that sticks,' was her brother's reply. 'We'll grease it.' They remained silent a moment, not knowing what to do next, when they became aware that the big man who had been talking to the Guard was coming towards them. 'They've seen us!' she whispered in alarm. '_He's_ seen us.' An inexplicable thrill ran over her. 'They saw us long ago,' her brother added contemptuously. His voice quavered.