'Though it's rather like a girl, being so neat with your fingers,' he said disparagingly. 'I wish I'd got the proper sort of paper,' Harold said, 'then I'd make my new patent kite that I've invented; but it's a very extra sort of kind of paper. I got some once at a butter-shop in Bermondsey, but that was in a dream.' Billy stared. 'You must be off your chump,' he said; and he felt more sorry than ever that his jolly country holiday was to be spoiled by a strange cousin, who ought, perhaps, to be in a lunatic asylum rather than at a respectable farm. That night Billy was awakened from the dreamless sleep which blesses the sort of boy he was to find Harold excitedly thumping him on the back with a roll of stiff paper. 'Wake up,' he said--'wake up! I _will_ tell somebody that's awake. I dreamed that a jackdaw came in and flew off with that thin paper thing that was on the chest of drawers with the gilt button at the corner, and then I dreamed I got up and found this roll of paper up the chimney. And when I woke up I found _it_ had and _I_ had, and it's the real right kite-paper for my patent kite--just like I dreamed I bought in the butter-shop in Bermondsey. And it's five o'clock by the church clock, and it's quite light. I'm going to get up directly minute and make my patent kite.' 'Patent fiddlestick!' replied Billy, sleepy and indignant. 'You get along and leave me be; you've been dreaming, that's all. Just like a girl!' 'Yes,' repeated Harold gently, 'I _have_ been dreaming; but when I woke up I found _it_ had and _I_ had; and here's the paper, and the flimsy thing with the gold stud's _gone_. You get up and see----' Billy did. He got up with a bound, and he saw with an eye. And William turned on Harold and shook him till his teeth nearly rattled in his head and his pale eyes nearly dropped out. (I have called him William here because I really think he deserves it. It is a cowardly thing to shake a cousin, even if you do not happen to be pleased with him.) 'Wha--wha--what's the matter?' choked the wretched Harold. 'Why, you miserable little idiot, you've _not_ been dreaming at all! You've been lying like a silly log, and letting that beastly bird carry off my prize essay! That's _all_! And it took me ten days to do, and I had to get almost all of it out of books, and the worse swat I ever did in my life. And now it's all no good. And there aren't any books down here to do it again out of. Oh, bother, _bother_, BOTHER!' 'I'm very sorry for you,' said Harold, 'but I didn't lie like logs--I did dream--and I've got the kite-paper, and I'll help you write the essay again if you like.' 'I shouldn't be surprised if it was all a make-up,' said William. (I _must_ go on calling him William at present.) 'You've hidden the essay so as to be able to send it in yourself.' 'Oh, how _can_ you?' said Harold; and he turned pale just like a girl, and just like a girl he began to cry.