“Or pick a flower or a leaf?” asked Santa Claus. She shook her head. “I sat down on a bank,” she said. “And—and yes! I picked daisies in the Idle Princess’s garden.” “But you didn’t keep them?” “Oh, no! I didn’t keep anything. Oh, wait! Yes! I have some sand!” And she laughed. “Sand!” repeated Santa Claus. “Yes,” declared Bab, putting her hand in her pocket and drawing it out. “Look! Sand from the Sand Man’s country,—the World of Sand!” “Just the thing!” cried Santa Claus and Bizzybuzz together. “Take care of that sand, Bab,” said the former. “With even a grain of that you could send anyone fast asleep if you just threw the grain at him.” “Lovely!” Bab clapped her hands after carefully returning the sand to her pocket. “Perhaps—who knows?—I can send the Wicked King to sleep for a hundred years.” “Or Grump,” said Santa Claus. “It really _would_ be nice if Grump could be sent to sleep for a hundred years!” “Now, do you know,” said Bizzybuzz, thoughtfully, “_I_ think that sleep would be far too good for Grump.” “Let’s hurry!” begged Bab, who was anxious to be on the road that led to the Red City. “Slowly, slowly!” said Santa Claus. “First, my dear, would you not like to see my house?” “Ye-es,” said Bab, doubtfully. “Only—please excuse me, dear Santa Claus, but—” “My workshop,” went on Santa Claus, “my Fairy Kitchen, my toy henyard, my reindeer—” “Oh, have you any _real_ reindeer?” asked Bab, forgetting Dick for a moment. “I’ve heard of them, you know, but I never knew that you _really truly_ had them. What are they like?” “What! Did you never read the stories of my friend Hans Christian Andersen?” asked Santa Claus. “No,” said Bab, shamefacedly. “We had them for a Christmas present one year, but we never read them. We—we thought make-believe things were silly _then_!” “Ah! very sad indeed!” declared Santa Claus, shaking his head. “But, my dear child, reindeer are not make-believe things; though, to be sure, _mine_ are not _quite_ like ordinary animals. I’m surprised, by the bye, that you did not see them when you were in the barn.” “Were they there?” cried Bab, excitedly. “No, I did not see them. It was very dark, and you see I was _so_ much interested in the Wooden Cow.” “I’ll take you down to the barn again,” said Santa Claus, “and show them to you.” Bab felt as though she could not bear to delay another moment, kind as Santa Claus had been to her, and delightful as it was in his little house. But she stifled her impatience, and said “Thank you” as politely as she knew how. But just at that moment there was a slight sound at the window,—the lightest tap-tapping, such as you hear when a June-bug bumps and buzzes against the pane in mid-summer. Santa Claus opened the window, and in flew a big green Dragon-Fly. “Is Bizzybuzz here?” he asked in a high humming voice. “Here I am,” said Bizzybuzz. “How are you, Green-Wings?”