during joggraphy lessons."

"I'm sure it's not nicer than my home," she cried patriotically.
"Oh, you ought to see my home--it's lovely! We've got--"

"Yes it is, ever so much nicer," I interrupted. "I mean"--I went
on apologetically--"of course I know your home's beautiful and
all that. But this MUST be nicer, 'cos if you want
anything at all, you've only GOT to want it, and you can
have it!"

"That sounds jolly," she murmured. "Tell me more about it,
please. Tell me how you get there, first."

"I--don't--quite--know--exactly," I replied. "I just go. But
generally it begins by--well, you're going up a broad, clear
river in a sort of a boat. You're not rowing or anything--you're
just moving along. And there's beautiful grass meadows on both
sides, and the river's very full, quite up to the level of the
grass. And you glide along by the edge. And the people are
haymaking there, and playing games, and walking about; and they
shout to you, and you shout back to them, and they bring you
things to eat out of their baskets, and let you drink out of
their bottles; and some of 'em are the nice people you read about
in books. And so at last you come to the Palace steps--great
broad marble steps, reaching right down to the water. And there
at the steps you find every sort of boat you can imagine--
schooners, and punts, and row-boats, and little men-of-war. And
you have any sort of boating you want to--rowing, or sailing, or
shoving about in a punt!"