Nobody thought of going to bed.  Germaine was longing for the morrow, she was so anxious to see for herself this fairyland.

At last, midnight striking, reminded Mother Etienne that it was time for sleep.  Then they all went to bed, each head full of the wonders of tomorrow’s performance.

CHAPTER VIII

MOTHER ETIENNE’S DREAM

Mother Etienne was very restless again that night, haunted, not by a dreadful nightmare as before, but by a troublesome dream.  Everything she had just seen at Sir Booum’s appeared before her, the tiniest incidents, the least important details.

All the explanations, concerning the creatures in the menagerie given her by the trainer, came back to her, like an object lesson in a curious dream.

The principal person in it was Yollande.  Yollande as Barnum, Yollande as trainer, Yollande holding in one hairy wing a stout whip, in the other the pitchfork as a protection against claws and teeth.

“You see here,” said Yollande in a loud voice, “you see here the wild ox from Madagascar, which takes the place of the horse.  In that country he is harnessed to small, light vehicles which he draws along rapidly.  This other is a buffalo from Caffraria.  He is a Jack-of-all-trades, sometimes ridden, sometimes driven, sometimes laden, sometimes yoked to the plough.  Those big striped animals you see yonder are giraffes.  Their long necks permit them, without having recourse to a ladder, to eat the young shoots of the mimosa, of which they are very fond, as well as the fresh dates which usually grow at the tops of the palm-trees.”

In this kind of dream a strange idea was at work in the brain of the sleeper.  With these object lessons were mingled strange, quaint asides.

“If children had long necks like that, one couldn’t keep the jam-pots out of their way by putting them on the top shelves of the cupboard.”

“There,” went on Yollande, “are the elephants.  They are used for all sorts of tasks.  Their trunks, a continuation of their nostrils, serve both for breathing and holding.  It is, as it were, an extremely sensitive and powerful hand.”

“Great goodness me,” cried Mother Etienne; “imagine having a hand at the end of your nose!  Would it have a glove on it and rings on its fingers?”

All sorts of ridiculous ideas like that came into her head.  The little beaver, who builds his houses all along the Canadian streams, appeared trowel in hand, mortar-board on his head, and Mother Etienne felt most anxious to have his valuable assistance in repairing her barns and mills.  Dear little marabout, how useful you would be in the village, sweeping the streets, cleaning up the refuse, advance-guard of the street-cleaner with his, “Now then, everything into the gutter.”

“The antelopes are very silly, coquettish creatures to wear such long boas round their necks in this warm country.  But, after all, perhaps they are wise enough, for they have chosen a kind which, unlike our make of furs, is cold to the touch.”