"Two forfeits--does it make eight feet or four fore feet?" "I don't know, I'm all mixed up," said Billy, "how many?" "Well, seven times two makes twenty-four, doesn't it?" "Yes--no-no--of course not; it makes fourteen." "How can I expect you to understand if you know how to figure? Well, well, here's Night Mare after all--I thought she was never coming." And sure enough up galloped a great night mare. Now some people say that Night Mare looks just exactly like a horse, but Billy knows better, for he saw this one very, very plainly. Her body was made of a long hard bolster, her legs of the four posts of a bedstead, her neck was a pillow, her head a piano stool, her eyes were two night lamps, and her tail was mosquito netting. "Here's Billy Bounce," called a chorus of voices from her back, and down scrambled a cabbage, a carrot, a plum pudding, a mince pie, a welch rabbit, a pot of jam, and goodness knows how many other things that little boys should not eat. "Is Gammon there?" called a voice. "Yes: is that Spinach?" answered the little man on Billy's chest. "Come on, I've got Billy Bounce tied down tight and we can make a splendid spring board of him." "But where do I come in?" asked the Night Mare plaintively; "aren't you going to let me have a little horse play?" "Certainly," said Gammon, "when we're through you can take a little ride on Billy--and be sure you ride him so hard that he can never get to Never Was and Bogie Man." [Illustration: _Spinach._] "By the manes of my ancestors I'll do that," said the Night Mare. "I'll put him to the rack, never fear." [Illustration: _The Night Mare and the Dream Food Sprites._--Page 101.] "Then tie yourself to the Singing Tree while the rest of us are playing." "I don't want to be tied," said the Night Mare sulkily. "Now do as you're told," said Gammon. "Suppose you should run away from yourself and leave yourself behind, how would you ever get home?" "Well, if I must I must," said the Mare, wiping an oil tear from her eye. "Come on everyone," called Gammon. "But wait a minute," said Billy. "Who are you? You look like good things to eat." "Who are we? We're bad things to eat," and joining hands in a circle about Billy they began to dance and sing. THE SONG OF THE DREAM FOOD SPRITES. Cream food, scream food, We are the things for dream food; Moan food and groan food, Any of us alone would Fill the tummy of one small boy, And give him dreams--oh! joy, oh! joy. Puddings and pies and cakes and jam, Turkey and fish and meat and ham, Candy and carrots and plums and lamb, Boys _will_ eat and stuff and cram. We are the things, We are the things, The things that dreams are made of.