I'LL DREAM OF YOU By Charles F. Myers Toffee was just a girl in Marc Pillsworth's dreams--until he awoke one day to find the dream a reality. [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Fantastic Adventures January 1947. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] Toffee leaned back against the tree and passed a slender hand through her red hair. As her arm relaxed, she let it fall carelessly about Marc's neck. Lazily, her green eyes traced his profile and found it, if not classic, highly satisfactory. "Kiss me," she said. "Oh, for Pete's sake," murmured Marc, continuing to stare straight ahead. Toffee followed his gaze to the scene before them. The entire countryside, apparently unaware of its inherent stateliness, was caught in a sort of informal gaiety. "It's beautiful, isn't it?" Toffee asked. "Yes," replied Marc dreamily. "You seem fascinated by beauty, almost starved for it." Marc nodded and leaned his head back further on the tree. "Then get fascinated, you dope," Toffee leaned forward to face him. "Huh?" Marc stared at the girl as though he hadn't been quite aware of her before. "I'm beautiful too and twice as much fun." It was a simple statement of fact. "Kiss me," she added. "Haven't you any restraint?" "With everything else I have, you ask for restraint!" Toffee drew nearer. "You're shameless," said Marc. "Naturally." Toffee closed her eyes and advanced her lips to his. Abruptly, Marc threw his hands to the grass before him and boosted himself to his feet, leaving Toffee's arm to fall dejectedly to her side. "Maybe next time," she murmured, shrugging her shoulders. "Even the glacial age had to come to an end eventually." * * * * * Marc caught hold of a limb just over his head and swung effortlessly to a branch above Toffee, where he settled himself comfortably and continued his studied contemplation of the landscape. Toffee reached a hand toward him and waited. "Well, don't just sit there like a stone image," she called. "Give me a hand. I want up too." Slowly, Marc looked down at her and studied the pert, upturned face with solemn gravity. Suddenly, he shook his head and returned to his attitude of sombre speculation. Toffee seemed not at all daunted. "I'll show you," she yelled. "I'll shake you out of there like a cocoanut." With that, she took hold of the tree and began to tug at it vehemently until, slowly it began to sway. As though she had pulled a bell cord, a soft, distinct tolling began to make itself heard, and as the tree swayed more violently, the sound became louder. Soon the motion of the tree became so great that Marc found himself clutching the branch to keep his balance.