`` Maybe that little pink cloud is a dream , getting all ready to float down into somebody 's sleep , '' suggested the Story Girl . `` I had a perfectly awful dream last night , '' said Cecily , with a shudder of remembrance . `` I dreamed I was on a desert island inhabited by tigers and natives with two heads . '' `` Oh ! '' the Story Girl looked at Cecily half reproachfully . `` Why could n't you tell it better than that ? If I had such a dream I could tell it so that everybody else would feel as if they had dreamed it , too . '' `` Well , I 'm not you , '' countered Cecily , `` and I would n't want to frighten any one as I was frightened . It was an awful dream -- but it was kind of interesting , too . '' `` I 've had some real int ` resting dreams , '' said Peter , `` but I ca n't remember them long . I wish I could . '' `` Why do n't you write them down ? '' suggested the Story Girl . `` Oh -- '' she turned upon us a face illuminated with a sudden inspiration . `` I 've an idea . Let us each get an exercise book and write down all our dreams , just as we dream them . We 'll see who 'll have the most interesting collection . And we 'll have them to read and laugh over when we 're old and gray . '' Instantly we all saw ourselves and each other by inner vision , old and gray -- all but the Story Girl . We could not picture her as old .
Always , as long as she lived , so it seemed XXXXX us , must she have sleek brown curls , a voice like the sound of a harpstring in the wind , and eyes that were stars of eternal youth .
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