greatest attention, for the eyes were nearly starting out of the head
with fright, and the expression was one of the greatest anxiety.

It gave way, however, to reassurance and content directly the little man
had given a hurried glance round the room, and he sank comfortably down
into "the Toad" with a sigh of relief.

"Phew!" he exclaimed, drawing out a little yellow fan from his sleeve
and fanning himself vigorously, "that _was_ a narrow squeak! I really
don't think that I've been in such a tight corner before for two hundred
years at least." And he tucked his fan away again and beamed upon me
complacently.

I was so astounded at the sudden appearance of this remarkable little
personage that for the moment I quite lost the use of my tongue; and in
the meantime my little visitor was glancing about the room with piercing
eyes that seemed to take in everything.

"H'm!--writer, I suppose?" he said, nodding his head towards my desk,
which was as usual littered with papers. "What line? You don't look very
clever," and he glanced at me critically from under his bushy eyebrows.

"I only write books for children," I answered, "and one doesn't have to
be very clever to do that."

"Oh, children!" said the little Yellow Dwarf--as I had begun to call him
in my own mind. "No, you don't have to be _clever_, but you have to
be--er--by the way, do you write fairy stories?" he interrupted himself
to ask.