ut at once to push the cloud nearer to the
earth so that Tom could see the latter going around more clearly, but
their efforts were in vain. The cloud wouldn't budge an inch.

"No use," said the Poker, panting with his exertion. "There is only one
thing to do now and that is to send for the Bellows. If he'll come and
blow in his usual style we'll have that cloud where we want it in less
than no time. I'd blow it there myself, for I am a far better blower than
the Bellows is--my, how I can blow! But I'm out of breath trying to push
the cloud."

"I'll run back and get the Bellows," said Lefty.

"And I'll go with you," said Righty. "He may not come for one, but I'm
sure he will for two."

"All right," said the Poker. "Dormy and I will wait here for you; and I'll
tell him a story while you're gone. How will that suit you Dormy?"

"First rate," said Tom. "I like stories."

"We'll be back soon," said the Righthandiron, as he and the other started
back after the Bellows. "So make your story short."

"Very good," returned the Poker amiably. "I'll make it so short that Dormy
will hardly know that it was ever begun."

And so Tom was left sitting on a big cloud way up in the sky with the
Poker--which was indeed a very novel position for a small boy like him to
be in.

CHAPTER IV.

The Poker Tells His Story

"I suppose," said the Poker, after the Andirons had passed out of hearing
distance, "I suppose you think it a very extraordinary thing that I, who
am nothing but a Poker, should be satisfied with my lot. Eh?"

"Oh, I don't know," said Tom, snuggling down on the cloud which he found
to be deliciously soft and comfortable. "If you were a Poker who could
only poke it might seem queer. But you can talk and sing and travel about.
You don't have to do any work in summer time, and in winter you have a
nice warm spot to stay in all the day long. I don't think it's very
strange."

"But I'm not different from any other Poker," said Tom's companion, "They
all do pretty much what I do except that most of them are always growling
at their hard lot, while I do very little but sing and rejoice that I am
what I am, and the story I was going to tell you was how I came to be so
well satisfied to be a Poker. Would you like to have me do that, Dormy?"

"Yes," said Tom. "Very much. Were you always a Poker?"

"Not I," said the Poker, with a shake of his head. "I've been a Poker only
two years. Before that I had been a littl