The Sandman looked the boy up and down, consulted his list again, smiled and shook his head very doubtfully.

“I’m sorry,” he said, “but I’m afraid you don’t exactly answer.  Just listen to this.”  And he read aloud:  “Number one.  Boy:  polite and gentlemanly in manner—­brown hair neatly smoothed and parted—­Eton suit, clean white collar, boots well polished—­Latin grammar under arm—­”

He stopped.  Rudolf, in his pajamas, with his ruffled locks, tin sword, and angry expression, did not answer very closely to this description.  The Cook-who-liked-living-in-the-Country, the Gardener-with-the-Generous-Disposition, and several other Good Dreams burst out laughing.  Only the False Hare kept a solemn expression, but Rudolf knew very well what that meant.

The Sandman continued:  “Number two.  Little girl:  modest and timid in her manners, not apt to address her elders until spoken to—­hair braided neatly and tied with blue ribbon—­white apron over dark dress—­doing patchwork with a pleased expression.  Has not forgotten thimble—­”

Here Sandy was interrupted by the Cook and the Gardener, who declared that if he didn’t stop they’d die a-laughin’, that they would!  The False Hare wiped away a tear, and none of the dreams seemed to consider the description correct.  Sandy shook his head again, as he glanced at Ann in her nighty, her ruffled curls tumbling over her flushed face—­Ann without patchwork, thimble, or pleased expression!

“Afraid you won’t do, miss,” said he, looking quite sorry for her.  “Let’s see what’s next.  Number three”—­he read—­“Very small boy:  clean blue sailor suit—­white socks—­looks sorry for—­”

All turned to look at Peter, but Peter was not looking sorry for anything—­Peter was not there!  Ann gave a hasty look all round the glade, then burst into tears.

“Oh, Rudolf,” she cried, “what shall we do?  He’s gone—­he’s slipped away to find those Bad Dreams all by himself—­you know how Peter is, when he says he’s going to do anything, he will do it.  Oh, oh, I ought to have watched him!”

“Don’t cry,” said Rudolf hastily.  “It’s just as much my fault.  You stay here and I’ll go fetch him back.  I have my sword, you know.”

“No, no,” sobbed Ann.  “Don’t leave me.  It was my fault—­I promised mother I would always look after Peter.  We’ll go together.  The Sandman will tell us where the Bad Dreams live, won’t you?” she added, turning to Sandy.

“There, there, of course I will,” said the little man kindly.  “I’d go along with you, if there wasn’t such a press of business just now, but you can see for yourselves what a mess things would be in if I should leave.  You must go right ahead, right into the thick of the woods.  Follow that path on the other side of the glade.  You needn’t be afraid you’ll miss those Bad Ones—­they’ll be on the lookout for you, I’m afraid.”

The children thanked Sandy for all his kindness, and turned to leave him.  “One moment,” he cried, and he ran ahead of them to draw aside the wall of prickly bushes and show them the little path he had spoken of which wound from the Good Dreams’ glade toward the heart of the wood.