And still Jimmieboy did not notice that the swan-heads were talking together, though I can hardly blame him for that, because, now that he was out of doors he had to keep his eyes wide open to keep from bumping his head into the snow balls the hired man was throwing at him. In a few minutes, however, he did notice the peculiar fact and he was so surprised that he sat plump down on the red back of the sled and was off for--well, where the sled took him, and of all the slides that ever were slid, that was indeed the strangest. No sooner had he sat down than with a leap that nearly threw him off his balance, the swans started. The steel runners crackled merrily over the snow, and the wind itself was soon left behind. "C-can you sus-swans tut-talk?" Jimmieboy cried, in amazement, as soon as he could get his breath. "Oh, no, of course not," said the right-hand swan. "_We_ can't talk, can we Swanny?" "No, indeed, Swayny," returned the other with a laugh. "You may think we talk, you may even hear words from our lips, we might even recite a poem, but that wouldn't be talk--oh, no, indeed. Certainly not." "It's a queer question for him to ask, eh Swanny?" said the right-hand head. "Extraordinary, Swayny," said the one on the left. "Might as well ask a locomotive if it smokes." "Well, I only wanted to know," said Jimmieboy. "He only wanted to know, Swanny," said Swayny. "I presume that was why he asked--as though we didn't know that," said Swanny. "He'd ask a pie-man with a tray full of pies, if he had any pies, I believe." "Yes, or a cat if he could miaou. Queer boy," returned Swayny. And then he added: "I think a boy, who'd waste his time In asking questions such as that, Would ask a man, who dealt in rhyme If he'd a head inside his hat." Jimmieboy laughed. "You know poetry, don't you," he said. "Well, rather," said Swayny. "That is to say, I can tell it from a church steeple." "Which reminds me," put in Swanny, as strange to say, this wonderful sled began to slide up a very steep hill, "of a conundrum I never heard before. What's the difference between writing poetry the way some people do and building a steeple as all people do?" "I can't say," said Swayny, "though if you'll tell me the answer now next time you ask that conundrum I'll be able to inform you." "Some people who write poetry run it into the ground," said Swanny, "and all people who build steeples, run 'em up into the air." "That's not bad," said Jimmieboy, with a smile. "No," said Swanny, "it is not--but you don't know why." "I don't indeed," observed Jimmieboy. "Why?" "Because my conundrums never are," said Swanny. "EUROPE!" cried Swayny. "_Five minutes for refreshments._" "What _do_ you mean?" said Jimmieboy, as the sled came to a standstill.