They were silhouettes of birds and beasts, made of wood, painted and
varnished. But such ducks had never quacked, such geese had never
waddled, such dogs had never barked--fantastic as a nightmare--too
long--too broad--exaggerated out of all reality, they might have
marched with Alice from Wonderland or from behind the Looking Glass.

"I made them, Daddy."

"You--."

"Yes, do you like them?"

"Aren't they a bit--uncanny?"

"We've sold dozens; the children adore them."

"And you haven't told me you were doing it. Why?"

"I wanted you to see them first--a surprise. We call them the Lovely
Dreams, and we made the ducks green and the pussy cats pink because
that's the way the children see them in their own little minds--"

She was radiant. "And I am making money, Daddy. Emily had such a hard
time getting toys after the war began, so we thought we'd try. And we
worked out these. I get a percentage on all sales."

He frowned. "I am not sure that I like that."

"Why not?"