"There wasn't any kind of a thing, millions of years ago, that could talk," she said calmly, "so, of course, they couldn't learn." "Then you can't talk, either," said Charlie, in triumph. And he subsided and returned to the eating of crackers, of which, as everybody knows, the saurians were extremely fond. Sally, meanwhile, was enjoying the prospect of treetops; an unbroken prospect of treetops, except for a swamp which, in historic times, became their own little valley. Sally had ceased, for the moment, her flitting lightly from bough to bough, and there was no sign of her presence; and Charlie had come to the end of his crackers and was browsing around in the grass, picking up a crumb here and there. "Hello!" said a strange voice; a strange voice, but a very pleasant one. "As I'm a living sinner, if here isn't a little pony!" Charlie looked up into the eyes of a very serious young man. The eyes were twinkling over the wall and through the gap in the trees. Charlie decided not to be frightened. But he shook his head. He wasn't a pony. "Well, well, of course not," the voice went on. "I was rather hasty, but it looked like a pony, at the first glance. I guess it's a fierce bull." Charlie shook his head again, less positively. Now that it had been suggested, he yearned to be a fierce bull. He wished that he had thought of it before he shook his head. "A camel?" asked the young man. "Can it be a camel?" Once more Charlie shook his head, and he laughed. "It sounds like a hyena," remarked the stranger solemnly, "but it can't be, for hyenas eat--" He put his hand to his forehead and seemed to be puzzling it out. "Aha!" he cried at last. "I have it. A giraffe!" "No!" Charlie shouted. "I'm _aren't_ a giraffe. I'm a saw-horse." And he straddled his legs far apart and his arms far apart, and he looked as much like a saw-horse as he could. That isn't saying much. At this last announcement of Charlie's, Sally exploded in a series of chuckles so sudden and so violent that she almost fell out of the tree. An answering titter came from the other side of the wall and a pair of hands appeared, trying for a hold on the top stones; then the head of a very pretty little girl followed, until her chin was on a level with the top of the wall and she could look over it into Charlie's eyes. The strange young man had looked up into the tree. "Hello!" he exclaimed. "If there isn't another! Is that a saw-horse, too?" Charlie had considered himself the person addressed. "Yes," he replied, "it is. It's a flying one." "Mercy on us!" cried the young man. "A flying saw-horse! What a lot of saw-horses you have about here; very interesting ones, too." "Yes," said Charlie importantly, "we like to be 'em." "It must be most exciting to be so extraordinary a thing. Do you suppose you could get that flying one to come down where we can see it? Do you know, I never have seen a flying saw-horse in all the nineteen years that I have lived."