faces; and do you know why they had?"

"I don't, I'm sure."

"Because they'd eaten up all their greens."

Vanquished at last, I went over to visit the eupeptic voyagers. Seven in
all, they stood in their bright boat on a blue sea beneath a round and
burning sun. Their legs were long and thin, their bodies globular (all save
one), and their faces large. They were dressed apparently in light pink
doublets and hose, and on his head each wore a huge purple turban the shape
of a cottage loaf, surmounted by a ragged plume. They varied greatly in
stature, but their countenances were all fixed in the same unmeaning stare.
Take it all in all, it was an eerie and terrible scene.

"I don't quite see how the boat moves along, Priscilla," I said; "it hasn't
any oars or sail."

It was a tactless remark and the artist made no reply. I did my best to
cover my blunder.

"I expect the wind blew very hard on their feathers," I said, "and that
drove them along."

"What colour is the wind?" inquired Priscilla.

She had me there. I confessed that I did not know.

"It was a brown wind," she decided, impatient at my lack of resource, and
slapped a wet typhoon of madder on the page. There was no more doubt about