"As much as five pennies?" "Yes, about that. Well, he said good-bye to his daughters and asked them what they'd like him to bring back for a present. And the first asked for some lovely jewels and diamonds and----" "Like Mummy's locket--is that jewels?" "That sort of idea. Well, she wanted a lot of things like that. And the second wanted some beautiful clothes." "What sort of clothes?" "Oh, frocks and--well, frocks and all sorts of--er frocks." "Did she want any lovely new stockings?" "Yes, she wanted three pairs of those." "And did she want any lovely----" "Yes," I said hastily, "she wanted lots of those, too. Lots of _everything_." Margery gave a little sob of happiness. "Go on telling me," she said under her breath. "Well, the third daughter was called Beauty. And she thought to herself, 'Poor Father won't have any money left at all, if we all go on like this!' So she didn't ask for anything very expensive, like her selfish sisters, she only asked for a rose. A simple red rose." Margery moved uneasily. "I hope," she said wistfully, "this bit isn't going to be about--_you_ know. It never did before." "About what?" "Good little girls and bad little girls, and fings like that." "My darling, no, of course not. I told it wrong. Beauty asked for a rose because she loved roses so. And it was a very particular kind of red rose that she wanted--a sort that they simply _couldn't_ get to grow in their own garden because of the soil." "Go on telling me," said Margery, with a deep sigh of content. "Well, he started off to Weymouth." "What day did he start?" "It was Monday. And when----" "Oh, well, anyhow, I told Daddy it was Tuesday." "Tuesday--now let me think. Yes, I believe you're right. Because on Monday he went to a meeting of the Vegetable Gardeners, and proposed the health of the Chairman. Yes, well he started off on Tuesday, and when he got there he found that there was no money for him at all!" "I spex somebody had taken it," said Margery breathlessly. "Well, it had all gone _somehow_." "Prehaps somebody had swallowed it," said Margery, a little carried away by the subject, "by mistake." "Anyhow, it was gone. And he had to come home again without any money. He hadn't gone far----" "How far?" asked Margery. "As far as _that_?" and she measured nine inches in the air. "About forty-four miles--when he came to a beautiful garden." "Was it a really lovely big garden? Bigger than ours?" "Oh, much bigger." "Bigger than yours?" "I haven't got a garden." Margery looked at me wonderingly. She opened her mouth to speak, and then stopped and rested her head upon her hands and thought out this new situation. At last, her face flushed with happiness, she announced her decision. "Go on telling me about Beauty and the Beast now," she said breathlessly, "and _then_ tell me why you haven't got a garden."