the pet elephant was called fido, and the gardener's son took him away in his coat pocket. he was the dearest little elephant you ever saw about six inches long. but he was very, very wise he could not have been wiser if he had been a mile high. he lay down comfortably in tom's pocket, and when tom put in his hand, fido curled his little trunk around tom's fingers with an affectionate confidence that made the boy's heart warm to his new little pet. what with the elephant, and the princess's affection, and the knowledge that the very next day he would receive the history of rotundia, beautifully bound, with the royal arms on the cover, tom could hardly sleep a wink. and, besides, the dog did bark so terribly. there was only one dog in rotundia the kingdom could not afford to keep more than one: he was a mexican lapdog of the kind that in most parts of the world only measures seven inches from the end of his dear nose to the tip of his darling tail but in rotundia he was bigger than i can possibly expect you to believe. and when he barked, his bark was so large that it filled up all the night and left no room for sleep or dreams or polite conversation, or anything else at all. he never barked at things that went on in the island he was too large-minded for that; but when ships went blundering by in the dark, tumbling over the rocks at the end of the island, he would bark once or twice, just to let the ships know that they couldn't come playing about there just as they liked.