"I wonder what he'd have done if the room had had a large pattern of brown roses on it, like Mrs. Beale's," said Noel. "I say, _look_ at that angel! Isn't it poetical? It makes me feel I must write something about it." It _was_ a good angel--all drawn in grey, that was--with very wide wings going right across the room, and a whole bundle of lilies in his arms. Then there were seagulls and ravens, and butterflies, and ballet girls with butterflies' wings, and a man with artificial wings being fastened on, and you could see he was just going to jump off a rock. And there were fairies, and bats, and flying-foxes, and flying-fish. And one glorious winged horse done in red chalk--and his wings went from one side of the room to the other, and crossed the angel's. There were dozens and dozens of birds--all done in just a few lines--but exactly right. You couldn't make any mistake about what anything was meant for. And all the things, whatever they were, had wings to them. How Oswald wishes that those pictures had been done in his house! While we stood gazing, the door of the other room opened, and the gentleman stood before us, more covered with different-coloured chalks than I should have thought he could have got, even with all those drawings, and he had a thing made of wire and paper in his hand, and he said-- "Wouldn't you like to fly?" "Yes," said every one. "Well then," he said, "I've got a nice little flying-machine here. I'll fit it on to one of you, and then you jump out of the attic window. You don't know what it's like to fly." We said we would rather not. "But I insist," said the gentleman. "I have your real interest at heart, my children--I can't allow you in your ignorance to reject the chance of a lifetime." We still said "No, thank you," and we began to feel very uncomfy, for the gentleman's eyes were now rolling wildly. "Then I'll _make_ you!" he said, catching hold of Oswald. [Illustration: "THEN I'LL _MAKE_ YOU!" HE SAID, CATCHING HOLD OF OSWALD.] "You jolly well won't," cried Dicky, catching hold of the arm of the gentleman. Then Dora said very primly and speaking rather slowly, and she was very pale-- "I think it would be lovely to fly. Will you just show me how the flying-machine looks when it is unfolded?" The gentleman dropped Oswald, and Dora made "Go! go" with her lips without speaking, while he began to unfold the flying-machine. We others went, Oswald lingering last, and then in an instant Dora had nipped out of the room and banged the door and locked it. "To the Mill!" she cried, and we ran like mad, and got in and barred the big door, and went up to the first floor, and looked out of the big window to warn off Mrs. Beale. And we thumped Dora on the back, and Dicky called her a Sherlock Holmes, and Noel said she was a heroine.