MY dear little readers, I have told you about dear Aunt Polly, who was so kind to Ray and Dorothy, but I have not said a word about their Uncle John Philip.  
Uncle John Philip was a very learned professor. He lived in a great, gloomy house that was filled with queer-looking specimens¹ from all parts of the world.
 
There were cabinets, the shelves of which contained stones of every variety, besides queer-looking stuffed birds and animals.
 
There were great, thick volumes on his library shelves, and strange maps and charts on the walls. It was very seldom that the children went to visit Uncle John Philip, but whenever they did they were so awed² by all the strange265 sights in the lonely house that they were always glad to go home.
 
One night there was a fire and the professor’s house with all its strange furniture was totally destroyed. Then Uncle John Philip came to live at Dorothy May’s for awhile, and she became better acquainted with the great professor.
 
Now it so happened that Uncle John Philip, though a very wise professor, was a very foolish uncle.
 
He had studied and could explain many wonderful laws of nature, but he did not understand the heart of a little child.
 
One day when dear little Dorothy was asking him about the man in the moon he said, “Tut, tut, child, uninhabitable, no water, no atmosphere.”
 
Dorothy did not understand in the least what he meant, but she said:
 
“Don’t you like Mother Goose, where the cow jumped over the moon?”
 
“Cow, sea-cow, that reminds me,” cried Uncle John Philip, and he darted³ into his study. Dorothy did not see him again until supper.
 
But she did not give up hopes, and the very next day she asked him for a fairy story.
 
“Fairies, nonsense,” said the great professor, “there are no fairies.”
 
“O uncle,” cried Dorothy in grieved surprise, “how can you say that? Aunt Polly says there are, and besides it tells all about them in my Santa Claus book.”
 
“Tut, tut, tut,” said the wise professor.
 
“But, uncle dear, don’t you love dear old Santa Claus and Mother Goose?” pleaded the wistful voice.
 
“Rubbish, romance,” muttered the learned man.
 
Dorothy waited to hear no more. She ran out of the room, and never stopped until she reached her own little playroom. She felt terribly disappointed.
 
“My uncle doesn’t believe in the lovely267 fairies,” sighed poor little Dorothy, “he’ll never have nice times, will he, Susan Ida?”
 
The doll thus addressed, stared in blank amazement⁴, and Dorothy somehow felt better for Susan Ida’s sympathy.
 
Just then from the window in her playroom Dorothy saw her uncle go down the steps and out of the house. She watched his tall, slightly bent⁵ form until it was out of sight.
 
She left the playroom and roamed all over the house. As she walked through the hall, she saw Uncle John Philip’s study door partly open. At first she just took a peek⁶, then she walked into his study.
 
The first thing she noticed was that he had left his great spectacles on the desk.
 
“He’s forgotten his glasses,” said Dorothy, and her first impulse was to run after Uncle John Philip and return them.
 
But he was probably out of sight so Dorothy decided⁷ to keep them for him.
 
“What a dear little star-fish!” said Dorothy, as her eyes fell on a small one, lying on a shelf.
 
Dorothy had gathered star-fishes and sea-urchins in the summer, among the rocks at the seashore, and she knew all about them.
 
“I’ll put on Uncle John Philip’s glasses,” said the child, “and make believe I’m a professor.”
 
I’m afraid the frolicsome⁸ fairies were playing a trick on Dorothy, because no sooner did she put on the professor’s spectacles, than the most wonderful change occurred.
 
The pretty little star-fish assumed the proportions of a gigantic octopus⁹, and Dorothy was so frightened that she quickly took off the glasses, and stared in wonder.
 
“O,” cried the child, “what a dreadful-looking thing!” and she backed away as far as possible from the harmless little star-fish.
 
“It’s only a star-fish,” cried Dorothy to reassure¹⁰ herself, and once more put on the glasses.269 Again the dreadful octopus was before her and off came the glasses with a jump.
 
Just then she spied a bottle filled with water on a table. “That’s nothing but a bottle of water,” said the little girl, “I’m not afraid of that,” and again she clapped on the professor’s spectacles.
 
But horrors! as Dorothy looked through the glasses, the bottle became as large as a tub and right in the center was a strange, black monster, with two eyes and a tail swimming around.
 
The glasses were pulled off in a second and poor little Dorothy began to cry.
 
“Now I know why uncle doesn’t believe in the beautiful fairies,” cried the child, “it’s all on account of these horrid¹¹ spectacles—they make him see dreadful things.”
 
She ran out of the study and down the steps to the garden still holding the professor’s glasses.
 
“I’m glad I’m out of that terrible room, it’s just filled with monsters, I’m not afraid out here,”270 said Dorothy seating herself on a rustic¹² bench. Now it so happened that a certain, plump caterpillar¹³ was taking a walk across that very bench and Dorothy happened to see him. On went the spectacles and up jumped Dorothy. The little caterpillar had turned into a brown, furry¹⁴ snake and Dorothy ran for her life.
 
She tried to take off the glasses, but they would not come, and she walked quickly on.
 
Some daisies that grew near by looked like immense sunflowers, and their beautiful white petals¹⁵ were swarming¹⁶ with black bugs¹⁷.
 
Suddenly she came upon a gray, maltese monster, curled u............