diff --git a/11-0.txt b/11-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..bfca8ca --- /dev/null +++ b/11-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,3761 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook of Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland, by Lewis Carroll + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and +most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions +whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms +of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at +www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you +will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before +using this eBook. + +Title: Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland + +Author: Lewis Carroll + +Release Date: January, 1991 [eBook #11] +[Most recently updated: October 12, 2020] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +Produced by: Arthur DiBianca and David Widger + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ALICE’S ADVENTURES IN WONDERLAND *** + +[Illustration] + + + + +Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland + +by Lewis Carroll + +THE MILLENNIUM FULCRUM EDITION 3.0 + +Contents + + CHAPTER I. Down the Rabbit-Hole + CHAPTER II. The Pool of Tears + CHAPTER III. A Caucus-Race and a Long Tale + CHAPTER IV. The Rabbit Sends in a Little Bill + CHAPTER V. Advice from a Caterpillar + CHAPTER VI. Pig and Pepper + CHAPTER VII. A Mad Tea-Party + CHAPTER VIII. The Queen’s Croquet-Ground + CHAPTER IX. The Mock Turtle’s Story + CHAPTER X. The Lobster Quadrille + CHAPTER XI. Who Stole the Tarts? + CHAPTER XII. Alice’s Evidence + + + + +CHAPTER I. +Down the Rabbit-Hole + + +Alice was beginning to get very tired of sitting by her sister on the +bank, and of having nothing to do: once or twice she had peeped into +the book her sister was reading, but it had no pictures or +conversations in it, “and what is the use of a book,” thought Alice +“without pictures or conversations?” + +So she was considering in her own mind (as well as she could, for the +hot day made her feel very sleepy and stupid), whether the pleasure of +making a daisy-chain would be worth the trouble of getting up and +picking the daisies, when suddenly a White Rabbit with pink eyes ran +close by her. + +There was nothing so _very_ remarkable in that; nor did Alice think it +so _very_ much out of the way to hear the Rabbit say to itself, “Oh +dear! Oh dear! I shall be late!” (when she thought it over afterwards, +it occurred to her that she ought to have wondered at this, but at the +time it all seemed quite natural); but when the Rabbit actually _took a +watch out of its waistcoat-pocket_, and looked at it, and then hurried +on, Alice started to her feet, for it flashed across her mind that she +had never before seen a rabbit with either a waistcoat-pocket, or a +watch to take out of it, and burning with curiosity, she ran across the +field after it, and fortunately was just in time to see it pop down a +large rabbit-hole under the hedge. + +In another moment down went Alice after it, never once considering how +in the world she was to get out again. + +The rabbit-hole went straight on like a tunnel for some way, and then +dipped suddenly down, so suddenly that Alice had not a moment to think +about stopping herself before she found herself falling down a very +deep well. + +Either the well was very deep, or she fell very slowly, for she had +plenty of time as she went down to look about her and to wonder what +was going to happen next. First, she tried to look down and make out +what she was coming to, but it was too dark to see anything; then she +looked at the sides of the well, and noticed that they were filled with +cupboards and book-shelves; here and there she saw maps and pictures +hung upon pegs. She took down a jar from one of the shelves as she +passed; it was labelled “ORANGE MARMALADE”, but to her great +disappointment it was empty: she did not like to drop the jar for fear +of killing somebody underneath, so managed to put it into one of the +cupboards as she fell past it. + +“Well!” thought Alice to herself, “after such a fall as this, I shall +think nothing of tumbling down stairs! How brave they’ll all think me +at home! Why, I wouldn’t say anything about it, even if I fell off the +top of the house!” (Which was very likely true.) + +Down, down, down. Would the fall _never_ come to an end? “I wonder how +many miles I’ve fallen by this time?” she said aloud. “I must be +getting somewhere near the centre of the earth. Let me see: that would +be four thousand miles down, I think—” (for, you see, Alice had learnt +several things of this sort in her lessons in the schoolroom, and +though this was not a _very_ good opportunity for showing off her +knowledge, as there was no one to listen to her, still it was good +practice to say it over) “—yes, that’s about the right distance—but +then I wonder what Latitude or Longitude I’ve got to?” (Alice had no +idea what Latitude was, or Longitude either, but thought they were nice +grand words to say.) + +Presently she began again. “I wonder if I shall fall right _through_ +the earth! How funny it’ll seem to come out among the people that walk +with their heads downward! The Antipathies, I think—” (she was rather +glad there _was_ no one listening, this time, as it didn’t sound at all +the right word) “—but I shall have to ask them what the name of the +country is, you know. Please, Ma’am, is this New Zealand or Australia?” +(and she tried to curtsey as she spoke—fancy _curtseying_ as you’re +falling through the air! Do you think you could manage it?) “And what +an ignorant little girl she’ll think me for asking! No, it’ll never do +to ask: perhaps I shall see it written up somewhere.” + +Down, down, down. There was nothing else to do, so Alice soon began +talking again. “Dinah’ll miss me very much to-night, I should think!” +(Dinah was the cat.) “I hope they’ll remember her saucer of milk at +tea-time. Dinah my dear! I wish you were down here with me! There are +no mice in the air, I’m afraid, but you might catch a bat, and that’s +very like a mouse, you know. But do cats eat bats, I wonder?” And here +Alice began to get rather sleepy, and went on saying to herself, in a +dreamy sort of way, “Do cats eat bats? Do cats eat bats?” and +sometimes, “Do bats eat cats?” for, you see, as she couldn’t answer +either question, it didn’t much matter which way she put it. She felt +that she was dozing off, and had just begun to dream that she was +walking hand in hand with Dinah, and saying to her very earnestly, +“Now, Dinah, tell me the truth: did you ever eat a bat?” when suddenly, +thump! thump! down she came upon a heap of sticks and dry leaves, and +the fall was over. + +Alice was not a bit hurt, and she jumped up on to her feet in a moment: +she looked up, but it was all dark overhead; before her was another +long passage, and the White Rabbit was still in sight, hurrying down +it. There was not a moment to be lost: away went Alice like the wind, +and was just in time to hear it say, as it turned a corner, “Oh my ears +and whiskers, how late it’s getting!” She was close behind it when she +turned the corner, but the Rabbit was no longer to be seen: she found +herself in a long, low hall, which was lit up by a row of lamps hanging +from the roof. + +There were doors all round the hall, but they were all locked; and when +Alice had been all the way down one side and up the other, trying every +door, she walked sadly down the middle, wondering how she was ever to +get out again. + +Suddenly she came upon a little three-legged table, all made of solid +glass; there was nothing on it except a tiny golden key, and Alice’s +first thought was that it might belong to one of the doors of the hall; +but, alas! either the locks were too large, or the key was too small, +but at any rate it would not open any of them. However, on the second +time round, she came upon a low curtain she had not noticed before, and +behind it was a little door about fifteen inches high: she tried the +little golden key in the lock, and to her great delight it fitted! + +Alice opened the door and found that it led into a small passage, not +much larger than a rat-hole: she knelt down and looked along the +passage into the loveliest garden you ever saw. How she longed to get +out of that dark hall, and wander about among those beds of bright +flowers and those cool fountains, but she could not even get her head +through the doorway; “and even if my head would go through,” thought +poor Alice, “it would be of very little use without my shoulders. Oh, +how I wish I could shut up like a telescope! I think I could, if I only +knew how to begin.” For, you see, so many out-of-the-way things had +happened lately, that Alice had begun to think that very few things +indeed were really impossible. + +There seemed to be no use in waiting by the little door, so she went +back to the table, half hoping she might find another key on it, or at +any rate a book of rules for shutting people up like telescopes: this +time she found a little bottle on it, (“which certainly was not here +before,” said Alice,) and round the neck of the bottle was a paper +label, with the words “DRINK ME,” beautifully printed on it in large +letters. + +It was all very well to say “Drink me,” but the wise little Alice was +not going to do _that_ in a hurry. “No, I’ll look first,” she said, +“and see whether it’s marked ‘_poison_’ or not”; for she had read +several nice little histories about children who had got burnt, and +eaten up by wild beasts and other unpleasant things, all because they +_would_ not remember the simple rules their friends had taught them: +such as, that a red-hot poker will burn you if you hold it too long; +and that if you cut your finger _very_ deeply with a knife, it usually +bleeds; and she had never forgotten that, if you drink much from a +bottle marked “poison,” it is almost certain to disagree with you, +sooner or later. + +However, this bottle was _not_ marked “poison,” so Alice ventured to +taste it, and finding it very nice, (it had, in fact, a sort of mixed +flavour of cherry-tart, custard, pine-apple, roast turkey, toffee, and +hot buttered toast,) she very soon finished it off. + +* * * * * * * + + * * * * * * + +* * * * * * * + + +“What a curious feeling!” said Alice; “I must be shutting up like a +telescope.” + +And so it was indeed: she was now only ten inches high, and her face +brightened up at the thought that she was now the right size for going +through the little door into that lovely garden. First, however, she +waited for a few minutes to see if she was going to shrink any further: +she felt a little nervous about this; “for it might end, you know,” +said Alice to herself, “in my going out altogether, like a candle. I +wonder what I should be like then?” And she tried to fancy what the +flame of a candle is like after the candle is blown out, for she could +not remember ever having seen such a thing. + +After a while, finding that nothing more happened, she decided on going +into the garden at once; but, alas for poor Alice! when she got to the +door, she found she had forgotten the little golden key, and when she +went back to the table for it, she found she could not possibly reach +it: she could see it quite plainly through the glass, and she tried her +best to climb up one of the legs of the table, but it was too slippery; +and when she had tired herself out with trying, the poor little thing +sat down and cried. + +“Come, there’s no use in crying like that!” said Alice to herself, +rather sharply; “I advise you to leave off this minute!” She generally +gave herself very good advice, (though she very seldom followed it), +and sometimes she scolded herself so severely as to bring tears into +her eyes; and once she remembered trying to box her own ears for having +cheated herself in a game of croquet she was playing against herself, +for this curious child was very fond of pretending to be two people. +“But it’s no use now,” thought poor Alice, “to pretend to be two +people! Why, there’s hardly enough of me left to make _one_ respectable +person!” + +Soon her eye fell on a little glass box that was lying under the table: +she opened it, and found in it a very small cake, on which the words +“EAT ME” were beautifully marked in currants. “Well, I’ll eat it,” said +Alice, “and if it makes me grow larger, I can reach the key; and if it +makes me grow smaller, I can creep under the door; so either way I’ll +get into the garden, and I don’t care which happens!” + +She ate a little bit, and said anxiously to herself, “Which way? Which +way?”, holding her hand on the top of her head to feel which way it was +growing, and she was quite surprised to find that she remained the same +size: to be sure, this generally happens when one eats cake, but Alice +had got so much into the way of expecting nothing but out-of-the-way +things to happen, that it seemed quite dull and stupid for life to go +on in the common way. + +So she set to work, and very soon finished off the cake. + +* * * * * * * + + * * * * * * + +* * * * * * * + + + + +CHAPTER II. +The Pool of Tears + + +“Curiouser and curiouser!” cried Alice (she was so much surprised, that +for the moment she quite forgot how to speak good English); “now I’m +opening out like the largest telescope that ever was! Good-bye, feet!” +(for when she looked down at her feet, they seemed to be almost out of +sight, they were getting so far off). “Oh, my poor little feet, I +wonder who will put on your shoes and stockings for you now, dears? I’m +sure _I_ shan’t be able! I shall be a great deal too far off to trouble +myself about you: you must manage the best way you can;—but I must be +kind to them,” thought Alice, “or perhaps they won’t walk the way I +want to go! Let me see: I’ll give them a new pair of boots every +Christmas.” + +And she went on planning to herself how she would manage it. “They must +go by the carrier,” she thought; “and how funny it’ll seem, sending +presents to one’s own feet! And how odd the directions will look! + + _Alice’s Right Foot, Esq., Hearthrug, near the Fender,_ (_with + Alice’s love_). + +Oh dear, what nonsense I’m talking!” + +Just then her head struck against the roof of the hall: in fact she was +now more than nine feet high, and she at once took up the little golden +key and hurried off to the garden door. + +Poor Alice! It was as much as she could do, lying down on one side, to +look through into the garden with one eye; but to get through was more +hopeless than ever: she sat down and began to cry again. + +“You ought to be ashamed of yourself,” said Alice, “a great girl like +you,” (she might well say this), “to go on crying in this way! Stop +this moment, I tell you!” But she went on all the same, shedding +gallons of tears, until there was a large pool all round her, about +four inches deep and reaching half down the hall. + +After a time she heard a little pattering of feet in the distance, and +she hastily dried her eyes to see what was coming. It was the White +Rabbit returning, splendidly dressed, with a pair of white kid gloves +in one hand and a large fan in the other: he came trotting along in a +great hurry, muttering to himself as he came, “Oh! the Duchess, the +Duchess! Oh! won’t she be savage if I’ve kept her waiting!” Alice felt +so desperate that she was ready to ask help of any one; so, when the +Rabbit came near her, she began, in a low, timid voice, “If you please, +sir—” The Rabbit started violently, dropped the white kid gloves and +the fan, and skurried away into the darkness as hard as he could go. + +Alice took up the fan and gloves, and, as the hall was very hot, she +kept fanning herself all the time she went on talking: “Dear, dear! How +queer everything is to-day! And yesterday things went on just as usual. +I wonder if I’ve been changed in the night? Let me think: was I the +same when I got up this morning? I almost think I can remember feeling +a little different. But if I’m not the same, the next question is, Who +in the world am I? Ah, _that’s_ the great puzzle!” And she began +thinking over all the children she knew that were of the same age as +herself, to see if she could have been changed for any of them. + +“I’m sure I’m not Ada,” she said, “for her hair goes in such long +ringlets, and mine doesn’t go in ringlets at all; and I’m sure I can’t +be Mabel, for I know all sorts of things, and she, oh! she knows such a +very little! Besides, _she’s_ she, and _I’m_ I, and—oh dear, how +puzzling it all is! I’ll try if I know all the things I used to know. +Let me see: four times five is twelve, and four times six is thirteen, +and four times seven is—oh dear! I shall never get to twenty at that +rate! However, the Multiplication Table doesn’t signify: let’s try +Geography. London is the capital of Paris, and Paris is the capital of +Rome, and Rome—no, _that’s_ all wrong, I’m certain! I must have been +changed for Mabel! I’ll try and say ‘_How doth the little_—’” and she +crossed her hands on her lap as if she were saying lessons, and began +to repeat it, but her voice sounded hoarse and strange, and the words +did not come the same as they used to do:— + +“How doth the little crocodile + Improve his shining tail, +And pour the waters of the Nile + On every golden scale! + +“How cheerfully he seems to grin, + How neatly spread his claws, +And welcome little fishes in + With gently smiling jaws!” + + +“I’m sure those are not the right words,” said poor Alice, and her eyes +filled with tears again as she went on, “I must be Mabel after all, and +I shall have to go and live in that poky little house, and have next to +no toys to play with, and oh! ever so many lessons to learn! No, I’ve +made up my mind about it; if I’m Mabel, I’ll stay down here! It’ll be +no use their putting their heads down and saying ‘Come up again, dear!’ +I shall only look up and say ‘Who am I then? Tell me that first, and +then, if I like being that person, I’ll come up: if not, I’ll stay down +here till I’m somebody else’—but, oh dear!” cried Alice, with a sudden +burst of tears, “I do wish they _would_ put their heads down! I am so +_very_ tired of being all alone here!” + +As she said this she looked down at her hands, and was surprised to see +that she had put on one of the Rabbit’s little white kid gloves while +she was talking. “How _can_ I have done that?” she thought. “I must be +growing small again.” She got up and went to the table to measure +herself by it, and found that, as nearly as she could guess, she was +now about two feet high, and was going on shrinking rapidly: she soon +found out that the cause of this was the fan she was holding, and she +dropped it hastily, just in time to avoid shrinking away altogether. + +“That _was_ a narrow escape!” said Alice, a good deal frightened at the +sudden change, but very glad to find herself still in existence; “and +now for the garden!” and she ran with all speed back to the little +door: but, alas! the little door was shut again, and the little golden +key was lying on the glass table as before, “and things are worse than +ever,” thought the poor child, “for I never was so small as this +before, never! And I declare it’s too bad, that it is!” + +As she said these words her foot slipped, and in another moment, +splash! she was up to her chin in salt water. Her first idea was that +she had somehow fallen into the sea, “and in that case I can go back by +railway,” she said to herself. (Alice had been to the seaside once in +her life, and had come to the general conclusion, that wherever you go +to on the English coast you find a number of bathing machines in the +sea, some children digging in the sand with wooden spades, then a row +of lodging houses, and behind them a railway station.) However, she +soon made out that she was in the pool of tears which she had wept when +she was nine feet high. + +“I wish I hadn’t cried so much!” said Alice, as she swam about, trying +to find her way out. “I shall be punished for it now, I suppose, by +being drowned in my own tears! That _will_ be a queer thing, to be +sure! However, everything is queer to-day.” + +Just then she heard something splashing about in the pool a little way +off, and she swam nearer to make out what it was: at first she thought +it must be a walrus or hippopotamus, but then she remembered how small +she was now, and she soon made out that it was only a mouse that had +slipped in like herself. + +“Would it be of any use, now,” thought Alice, “to speak to this mouse? +Everything is so out-of-the-way down here, that I should think very +likely it can talk: at any rate, there’s no harm in trying.” So she +began: “O Mouse, do you know the way out of this pool? I am very tired +of swimming about here, O Mouse!” (Alice thought this must be the right +way of speaking to a mouse: she had never done such a thing before, but +she remembered having seen in her brother’s Latin Grammar, “A mouse—of +a mouse—to a mouse—a mouse—O mouse!”) The Mouse looked at her rather +inquisitively, and seemed to her to wink with one of its little eyes, +but it said nothing. + +“Perhaps it doesn’t understand English,” thought Alice; “I daresay it’s +a French mouse, come over with William the Conqueror.” (For, with all +her knowledge of history, Alice had no very clear notion how long ago +anything had happened.) So she began again: “Où est ma chatte?” which +was the first sentence in her French lesson-book. The Mouse gave a +sudden leap out of the water, and seemed to quiver all over with +fright. “Oh, I beg your pardon!” cried Alice hastily, afraid that she +had hurt the poor animal’s feelings. “I quite forgot you didn’t like +cats.” + +“Not like cats!” cried the Mouse, in a shrill, passionate voice. “Would +_you_ like cats if you were me?” + +“Well, perhaps not,” said Alice in a soothing tone: “don’t be angry +about it. And yet I wish I could show you our cat Dinah: I think you’d +take a fancy to cats if you could only see her. She is such a dear +quiet thing,” Alice went on, half to herself, as she swam lazily about +in the pool, “and she sits purring so nicely by the fire, licking her +paws and washing her face—and she is such a nice soft thing to +nurse—and she’s such a capital one for catching mice—oh, I beg your +pardon!” cried Alice again, for this time the Mouse was bristling all +over, and she felt certain it must be really offended. “We won’t talk +about her any more if you’d rather not.” + +“We indeed!” cried the Mouse, who was trembling down to the end of his +tail. “As if _I_ would talk on such a subject! Our family always +_hated_ cats: nasty, low, vulgar things! Don’t let me hear the name +again!” + +“I won’t indeed!” said Alice, in a great hurry to change the subject of +conversation. “Are you—are you fond—of—of dogs?” The Mouse did not +answer, so Alice went on eagerly: “There is such a nice little dog near +our house I should like to show you! A little bright-eyed terrier, you +know, with oh, such long curly brown hair! And it’ll fetch things when +you throw them, and it’ll sit up and beg for its dinner, and all sorts +of things—I can’t remember half of them—and it belongs to a farmer, you +know, and he says it’s so useful, it’s worth a hundred pounds! He says +it kills all the rats and—oh dear!” cried Alice in a sorrowful tone, +“I’m afraid I’ve offended it again!” For the Mouse was swimming away +from her as hard as it could go, and making quite a commotion in the +pool as it went. + +So she called softly after it, “Mouse dear! Do come back again, and we +won’t talk about cats or dogs either, if you don’t like them!” When the +Mouse heard this, it turned round and swam slowly back to her: its face +was quite pale (with passion, Alice thought), and it said in a low +trembling voice, “Let us get to the shore, and then I’ll tell you my +history, and you’ll understand why it is I hate cats and dogs.” + +It was high time to go, for the pool was getting quite crowded with the +birds and animals that had fallen into it: there were a Duck and a +Dodo, a Lory and an Eaglet, and several other curious creatures. Alice +led the way, and the whole party swam to the shore. + + + + +CHAPTER III. +A Caucus-Race and a Long Tale + + +They were indeed a queer-looking party that assembled on the bank—the +birds with draggled feathers, the animals with their fur clinging close +to them, and all dripping wet, cross, and uncomfortable. + +The first question of course was, how to get dry again: they had a +consultation about this, and after a few minutes it seemed quite +natural to Alice to find herself talking familiarly with them, as if +she had known them all her life. Indeed, she had quite a long argument +with the Lory, who at last turned sulky, and would only say, “I am +older than you, and must know better;” and this Alice would not allow +without knowing how old it was, and, as the Lory positively refused to +tell its age, there was no more to be said. + +At last the Mouse, who seemed to be a person of authority among them, +called out, “Sit down, all of you, and listen to me! _I’ll_ soon make +you dry enough!” They all sat down at once, in a large ring, with the +Mouse in the middle. Alice kept her eyes anxiously fixed on it, for she +felt sure she would catch a bad cold if she did not get dry very soon. + +“Ahem!” said the Mouse with an important air, “are you all ready? This +is the driest thing I know. Silence all round, if you please! ‘William +the Conqueror, whose cause was favoured by the pope, was soon submitted +to by the English, who wanted leaders, and had been of late much +accustomed to usurpation and conquest. Edwin and Morcar, the earls of +Mercia and Northumbria—’” + +“Ugh!” said the Lory, with a shiver. + +“I beg your pardon!” said the Mouse, frowning, but very politely: “Did +you speak?” + +“Not I!” said the Lory hastily. + +“I thought you did,” said the Mouse. “—I proceed. ‘Edwin and Morcar, +the earls of Mercia and Northumbria, declared for him: and even +Stigand, the patriotic archbishop of Canterbury, found it advisable—’” + +“Found _what_?” said the Duck. + +“Found _it_,” the Mouse replied rather crossly: “of course you know +what ‘it’ means.” + +“I know what ‘it’ means well enough, when _I_ find a thing,” said the +Duck: “it’s generally a frog or a worm. The question is, what did the +archbishop find?” + +The Mouse did not notice this question, but hurriedly went on, “‘—found +it advisable to go with Edgar Atheling to meet William and offer him +the crown. William’s conduct at first was moderate. But the insolence +of his Normans—’ How are you getting on now, my dear?” it continued, +turning to Alice as it spoke. + +“As wet as ever,” said Alice in a melancholy tone: “it doesn’t seem to +dry me at all.” + +“In that case,” said the Dodo solemnly, rising to its feet, “I move +that the meeting adjourn, for the immediate adoption of more energetic +remedies—” + +“Speak English!” said the Eaglet. “I don’t know the meaning of half +those long words, and, what’s more, I don’t believe you do either!” And +the Eaglet bent down its head to hide a smile: some of the other birds +tittered audibly. + +“What I was going to say,” said the Dodo in an offended tone, “was, +that the best thing to get us dry would be a Caucus-race.” + +“What _is_ a Caucus-race?” said Alice; not that she wanted much to +know, but the Dodo had paused as if it thought that _somebody_ ought to +speak, and no one else seemed inclined to say anything. + +“Why,” said the Dodo, “the best way to explain it is to do it.” (And, +as you might like to try the thing yourself, some winter day, I will +tell you how the Dodo managed it.) + +First it marked out a race-course, in a sort of circle, (“the exact +shape doesn’t matter,” it said,) and then all the party were placed +along the course, here and there. There was no “One, two, three, and +away,” but they began running when they liked, and left off when they +liked, so that it was not easy to know when the race was over. However, +when they had been running half an hour or so, and were quite dry +again, the Dodo suddenly called out “The race is over!” and they all +crowded round it, panting, and asking, “But who has won?” + +This question the Dodo could not answer without a great deal of +thought, and it sat for a long time with one finger pressed upon its +forehead (the position in which you usually see Shakespeare, in the +pictures of him), while the rest waited in silence. At last the Dodo +said, “_Everybody_ has won, and all must have prizes.” + +“But who is to give the prizes?” quite a chorus of voices asked. + +“Why, _she_, of course,” said the Dodo, pointing to Alice with one +finger; and the whole party at once crowded round her, calling out in a +confused way, “Prizes! Prizes!” + +Alice had no idea what to do, and in despair she put her hand in her +pocket, and pulled out a box of comfits, (luckily the salt water had +not got into it), and handed them round as prizes. There was exactly +one a-piece, all round. + +“But she must have a prize herself, you know,” said the Mouse. + +“Of course,” the Dodo replied very gravely. “What else have you got in +your pocket?” he went on, turning to Alice. + +“Only a thimble,” said Alice sadly. + +“Hand it over here,” said the Dodo. + +Then they all crowded round her once more, while the Dodo solemnly +presented the thimble, saying “We beg your acceptance of this elegant +thimble;” and, when it had finished this short speech, they all +cheered. + +Alice thought the whole thing very absurd, but they all looked so grave +that she did not dare to laugh; and, as she could not think of anything +to say, she simply bowed, and took the thimble, looking as solemn as +she could. + +The next thing was to eat the comfits: this caused some noise and +confusion, as the large birds complained that they could not taste +theirs, and the small ones choked and had to be patted on the back. +However, it was over at last, and they sat down again in a ring, and +begged the Mouse to tell them something more. + +“You promised to tell me your history, you know,” said Alice, “and why +it is you hate—C and D,” she added in a whisper, half afraid that it +would be offended again. + +“Mine is a long and a sad tale!” said the Mouse, turning to Alice, and +sighing. + +“It _is_ a long tail, certainly,” said Alice, looking down with wonder +at the Mouse’s tail; “but why do you call it sad?” And she kept on +puzzling about it while the Mouse was speaking, so that her idea of the +tale was something like this:— + + “Fury said to a mouse, That he met in the house, ‘Let us both + go to law: _I_ will prosecute _you_.—Come, I’ll take no + denial; We must have a trial: For really this morning I’ve + nothing to do.’ Said the mouse to the cur, ‘Such a trial, dear + sir, With no jury or judge, would be wasting our breath.’ + ‘I’ll be judge, I’ll be jury,’ Said cunning old Fury: ‘I’ll + try the whole cause, and condemn you to death.’” + +“You are not attending!” said the Mouse to Alice severely. “What are +you thinking of?” + +“I beg your pardon,” said Alice very humbly: “you had got to the fifth +bend, I think?” + +“I had _not!_” cried the Mouse, sharply and very angrily. + +“A knot!” said Alice, always ready to make herself useful, and looking +anxiously about her. “Oh, do let me help to undo it!” + +“I shall do nothing of the sort,” said the Mouse, getting up and +walking away. “You insult me by talking such nonsense!” + +“I didn’t mean it!” pleaded poor Alice. “But you’re so easily offended, +you know!” + +The Mouse only growled in reply. + +“Please come back and finish your story!” Alice called after it; and +the others all joined in chorus, “Yes, please do!” but the Mouse only +shook its head impatiently, and walked a little quicker. + +“What a pity it wouldn’t stay!” sighed the Lory, as soon as it was +quite out of sight; and an old Crab took the opportunity of saying to +her daughter “Ah, my dear! Let this be a lesson to you never to lose +_your_ temper!” “Hold your tongue, Ma!” said the young Crab, a little +snappishly. “You’re enough to try the patience of an oyster!” + +“I wish I had our Dinah here, I know I do!” said Alice aloud, +addressing nobody in particular. “She’d soon fetch it back!” + +“And who is Dinah, if I might venture to ask the question?” said the +Lory. + +Alice replied eagerly, for she was always ready to talk about her pet: +“Dinah’s our cat. And she’s such a capital one for catching mice you +can’t think! And oh, I wish you could see her after the birds! Why, +she’ll eat a little bird as soon as look at it!” + +This speech caused a remarkable sensation among the party. Some of the +birds hurried off at once: one old Magpie began wrapping itself up very +carefully, remarking, “I really must be getting home; the night-air +doesn’t suit my throat!” and a Canary called out in a trembling voice +to its children, “Come away, my dears! It’s high time you were all in +bed!” On various pretexts they all moved off, and Alice was soon left +alone. + +“I wish I hadn’t mentioned Dinah!” she said to herself in a melancholy +tone. “Nobody seems to like her, down here, and I’m sure she’s the best +cat in the world! Oh, my dear Dinah! I wonder if I shall ever see you +any more!” And here poor Alice began to cry again, for she felt very +lonely and low-spirited. In a little while, however, she again heard a +little pattering of footsteps in the distance, and she looked up +eagerly, half hoping that the Mouse had changed his mind, and was +coming back to finish his story. + + + + +CHAPTER IV. +The Rabbit Sends in a Little Bill + + +It was the White Rabbit, trotting slowly back again, and looking +anxiously about as it went, as if it had lost something; and she heard +it muttering to itself “The Duchess! The Duchess! Oh my dear paws! Oh +my fur and whiskers! She’ll get me executed, as sure as ferrets are +ferrets! Where _can_ I have dropped them, I wonder?” Alice guessed in a +moment that it was looking for the fan and the pair of white kid +gloves, and she very good-naturedly began hunting about for them, but +they were nowhere to be seen—everything seemed to have changed since +her swim in the pool, and the great hall, with the glass table and the +little door, had vanished completely. + +Very soon the Rabbit noticed Alice, as she went hunting about, and +called out to her in an angry tone, “Why, Mary Ann, what _are_ you +doing out here? Run home this moment, and fetch me a pair of gloves and +a fan! Quick, now!” And Alice was so much frightened that she ran off +at once in the direction it pointed to, without trying to explain the +mistake it had made. + +“He took me for his housemaid,” she said to herself as she ran. “How +surprised he’ll be when he finds out who I am! But I’d better take him +his fan and gloves—that is, if I can find them.” As she said this, she +came upon a neat little house, on the door of which was a bright brass +plate with the name “W. RABBIT,” engraved upon it. She went in without +knocking, and hurried upstairs, in great fear lest she should meet the +real Mary Ann, and be turned out of the house before she had found the +fan and gloves. + +“How queer it seems,” Alice said to herself, “to be going messages for +a rabbit! I suppose Dinah’ll be sending me on messages next!” And she +began fancying the sort of thing that would happen: “‘Miss Alice! Come +here directly, and get ready for your walk!’ ‘Coming in a minute, +nurse! But I’ve got to see that the mouse doesn’t get out.’ Only I +don’t think,” Alice went on, “that they’d let Dinah stop in the house +if it began ordering people about like that!” + +By this time she had found her way into a tidy little room with a table +in the window, and on it (as she had hoped) a fan and two or three +pairs of tiny white kid gloves: she took up the fan and a pair of the +gloves, and was just going to leave the room, when her eye fell upon a +little bottle that stood near the looking-glass. There was no label +this time with the words “DRINK ME,” but nevertheless she uncorked it +and put it to her lips. “I know _something_ interesting is sure to +happen,” she said to herself, “whenever I eat or drink anything; so +I’ll just see what this bottle does. I do hope it’ll make me grow large +again, for really I’m quite tired of being such a tiny little thing!” + +It did so indeed, and much sooner than she had expected: before she had +drunk half the bottle, she found her head pressing against the ceiling, +and had to stoop to save her neck from being broken. She hastily put +down the bottle, saying to herself “That’s quite enough—I hope I shan’t +grow any more—As it is, I can’t get out at the door—I do wish I hadn’t +drunk quite so much!” + +Alas! it was too late to wish that! She went on growing, and growing, +and very soon had to kneel down on the floor: in another minute there +was not even room for this, and she tried the effect of lying down with +one elbow against the door, and the other arm curled round her head. +Still she went on growing, and, as a last resource, she put one arm out +of the window, and one foot up the chimney, and said to herself “Now I +can do no more, whatever happens. What _will_ become of me?” + +Luckily for Alice, the little magic bottle had now had its full effect, +and she grew no larger: still it was very uncomfortable, and, as there +seemed to be no sort of chance of her ever getting out of the room +again, no wonder she felt unhappy. + +“It was much pleasanter at home,” thought poor Alice, “when one wasn’t +always growing larger and smaller, and being ordered about by mice and +rabbits. I almost wish I hadn’t gone down that rabbit-hole—and yet—and +yet—it’s rather curious, you know, this sort of life! I do wonder what +_can_ have happened to me! When I used to read fairy-tales, I fancied +that kind of thing never happened, and now here I am in the middle of +one! There ought to be a book written about me, that there ought! And +when I grow up, I’ll write one—but I’m grown up now,” she added in a +sorrowful tone; “at least there’s no room to grow up any more _here_.” + +“But then,” thought Alice, “shall I _never_ get any older than I am +now? That’ll be a comfort, one way—never to be an old woman—but +then—always to have lessons to learn! Oh, I shouldn’t like _that!_” + +“Oh, you foolish Alice!” she answered herself. “How can you learn +lessons in here? Why, there’s hardly room for _you_, and no room at all +for any lesson-books!” + +And so she went on, taking first one side and then the other, and +making quite a conversation of it altogether; but after a few minutes +she heard a voice outside, and stopped to listen. + +“Mary Ann! Mary Ann!” said the voice. “Fetch me my gloves this moment!” +Then came a little pattering of feet on the stairs. Alice knew it was +the Rabbit coming to look for her, and she trembled till she shook the +house, quite forgetting that she was now about a thousand times as +large as the Rabbit, and had no reason to be afraid of it. + +Presently the Rabbit came up to the door, and tried to open it; but, as +the door opened inwards, and Alice’s elbow was pressed hard against it, +that attempt proved a failure. Alice heard it say to itself “Then I’ll +go round and get in at the window.” + +“_That_ you won’t!” thought Alice, and, after waiting till she fancied +she heard the Rabbit just under the window, she suddenly spread out her +hand, and made a snatch in the air. She did not get hold of anything, +but she heard a little shriek and a fall, and a crash of broken glass, +from which she concluded that it was just possible it had fallen into a +cucumber-frame, or something of the sort. + +Next came an angry voice—the Rabbit’s—“Pat! Pat! Where are you?” And +then a voice she had never heard before, “Sure then I’m here! Digging +for apples, yer honour!” + +“Digging for apples, indeed!” said the Rabbit angrily. “Here! Come and +help me out of _this!_” (Sounds of more broken glass.) + +“Now tell me, Pat, what’s that in the window?” + +“Sure, it’s an arm, yer honour!” (He pronounced it “arrum.”) + +“An arm, you goose! Who ever saw one that size? Why, it fills the whole +window!” + +“Sure, it does, yer honour: but it’s an arm for all that.” + +“Well, it’s got no business there, at any rate: go and take it away!” + +There was a long silence after this, and Alice could only hear whispers +now and then; such as, “Sure, I don’t like it, yer honour, at all, at +all!” “Do as I tell you, you coward!” and at last she spread out her +hand again, and made another snatch in the air. This time there were +_two_ little shrieks, and more sounds of broken glass. “What a number +of cucumber-frames there must be!” thought Alice. “I wonder what +they’ll do next! As for pulling me out of the window, I only wish they +_could!_ I’m sure _I_ don’t want to stay in here any longer!” + +She waited for some time without hearing anything more: at last came a +rumbling of little cartwheels, and the sound of a good many voices all +talking together: she made out the words: “Where’s the other +ladder?—Why, I hadn’t to bring but one; Bill’s got the other—Bill! +fetch it here, lad!—Here, put ’em up at this corner—No, tie ’em +together first—they don’t reach half high enough yet—Oh! they’ll do +well enough; don’t be particular—Here, Bill! catch hold of this +rope—Will the roof bear?—Mind that loose slate—Oh, it’s coming down! +Heads below!” (a loud crash)—“Now, who did that?—It was Bill, I +fancy—Who’s to go down the chimney?—Nay, _I_ shan’t! _You_ do +it!—_That_ I won’t, then!—Bill’s to go down—Here, Bill! the master says +you’re to go down the chimney!” + +“Oh! So Bill’s got to come down the chimney, has he?” said Alice to +herself. “Shy, they seem to put everything upon Bill! I wouldn’t be in +Bill’s place for a good deal: this fireplace is narrow, to be sure; but +I _think_ I can kick a little!” + +She drew her foot as far down the chimney as she could, and waited till +she heard a little animal (she couldn’t guess of what sort it was) +scratching and scrambling about in the chimney close above her: then, +saying to herself “This is Bill,” she gave one sharp kick, and waited +to see what would happen next. + +The first thing she heard was a general chorus of “There goes Bill!” +then the Rabbit’s voice along—“Catch him, you by the hedge!” then +silence, and then another confusion of voices—“Hold up his head—Brandy +now—Don’t choke him—How was it, old fellow? What happened to you? Tell +us all about it!” + +Last came a little feeble, squeaking voice, (“That’s Bill,” thought +Alice,) “Well, I hardly know—No more, thank ye; I’m better now—but I’m +a deal too flustered to tell you—all I know is, something comes at me +like a Jack-in-the-box, and up I goes like a sky-rocket!” + +“So you did, old fellow!” said the others. + +“We must burn the house down!” said the Rabbit’s voice; and Alice +called out as loud as she could, “If you do, I’ll set Dinah at you!” + +There was a dead silence instantly, and Alice thought to herself, “I +wonder what they _will_ do next! If they had any sense, they’d take the +roof off.” After a minute or two, they began moving about again, and +Alice heard the Rabbit say, “A barrowful will do, to begin with.” + +“A barrowful of _what?_” thought Alice; but she had not long to doubt, +for the next moment a shower of little pebbles came rattling in at the +window, and some of them hit her in the face. “I’ll put a stop to +this,” she said to herself, and shouted out, “You’d better not do that +again!” which produced another dead silence. + +Alice noticed with some surprise that the pebbles were all turning into +little cakes as they lay on the floor, and a bright idea came into her +head. “If I eat one of these cakes,” she thought, “it’s sure to make +_some_ change in my size; and as it can’t possibly make me larger, it +must make me smaller, I suppose.” + +So she swallowed one of the cakes, and was delighted to find that she +began shrinking directly. As soon as she was small enough to get +through the door, she ran out of the house, and found quite a crowd of +little animals and birds waiting outside. The poor little Lizard, Bill, +was in the middle, being held up by two guinea-pigs, who were giving it +something out of a bottle. They all made a rush at Alice the moment she +appeared; but she ran off as hard as she could, and soon found herself +safe in a thick wood. + +“The first thing I’ve got to do,” said Alice to herself, as she +wandered about in the wood, “is to grow to my right size again; and the +second thing is to find my way into that lovely garden. I think that +will be the best plan.” + +It sounded an excellent plan, no doubt, and very neatly and simply +arranged; the only difficulty was, that she had not the smallest idea +how to set about it; and while she was peering about anxiously among +the trees, a little sharp bark just over her head made her look up in a +great hurry. + +An enormous puppy was looking down at her with large round eyes, and +feebly stretching out one paw, trying to touch her. “Poor little +thing!” said Alice, in a coaxing tone, and she tried hard to whistle to +it; but she was terribly frightened all the time at the thought that it +might be hungry, in which case it would be very likely to eat her up in +spite of all her coaxing. + +Hardly knowing what she did, she picked up a little bit of stick, and +held it out to the puppy; whereupon the puppy jumped into the air off +all its feet at once, with a yelp of delight, and rushed at the stick, +and made believe to worry it; then Alice dodged behind a great thistle, +to keep herself from being run over; and the moment she appeared on the +other side, the puppy made another rush at the stick, and tumbled head +over heels in its hurry to get hold of it; then Alice, thinking it was +very like having a game of play with a cart-horse, and expecting every +moment to be trampled under its feet, ran round the thistle again; then +the puppy began a series of short charges at the stick, running a very +little way forwards each time and a long way back, and barking hoarsely +all the while, till at last it sat down a good way off, panting, with +its tongue hanging out of its mouth, and its great eyes half shut. + +This seemed to Alice a good opportunity for making her escape; so she +set off at once, and ran till she was quite tired and out of breath, +and till the puppy’s bark sounded quite faint in the distance. + +“And yet what a dear little puppy it was!” said Alice, as she leant +against a buttercup to rest herself, and fanned herself with one of the +leaves: “I should have liked teaching it tricks very much, if—if I’d +only been the right size to do it! Oh dear! I’d nearly forgotten that +I’ve got to grow up again! Let me see—how _is_ it to be managed? I +suppose I ought to eat or drink something or other; but the great +question is, what?” + +The great question certainly was, what? Alice looked all round her at +the flowers and the blades of grass, but she did not see anything that +looked like the right thing to eat or drink under the circumstances. +There was a large mushroom growing near her, about the same height as +herself; and when she had looked under it, and on both sides of it, and +behind it, it occurred to her that she might as well look and see what +was on the top of it. + +She stretched herself up on tiptoe, and peeped over the edge of the +mushroom, and her eyes immediately met those of a large blue +caterpillar, that was sitting on the top with its arms folded, quietly +smoking a long hookah, and taking not the smallest notice of her or of +anything else. + + + + +CHAPTER V. +Advice from a Caterpillar + + +The Caterpillar and Alice looked at each other for some time in +silence: at last the Caterpillar took the hookah out of its mouth, and +addressed her in a languid, sleepy voice. + +“Who are _you?_” said the Caterpillar. + +This was not an encouraging opening for a conversation. Alice replied, +rather shyly, “I—I hardly know, sir, just at present—at least I know +who I _was_ when I got up this morning, but I think I must have been +changed several times since then.” + +“What do you mean by that?” said the Caterpillar sternly. “Explain +yourself!” + +“I can’t explain _myself_, I’m afraid, sir,” said Alice, “because I’m +not myself, you see.” + +“I don’t see,” said the Caterpillar. + +“I’m afraid I can’t put it more clearly,” Alice replied very politely, +“for I can’t understand it myself to begin with; and being so many +different sizes in a day is very confusing.” + +“It isn’t,” said the Caterpillar. + +“Well, perhaps you haven’t found it so yet,” said Alice; “but when you +have to turn into a chrysalis—you will some day, you know—and then +after that into a butterfly, I should think you’ll feel it a little +queer, won’t you?” + +“Not a bit,” said the Caterpillar. + +“Well, perhaps your feelings may be different,” said Alice; “all I know +is, it would feel very queer to _me_.” + +“You!” said the Caterpillar contemptuously. “Who are _you?_” + +Which brought them back again to the beginning of the conversation. +Alice felt a little irritated at the Caterpillar’s making such _very_ +short remarks, and she drew herself up and said, very gravely, “I +think, you ought to tell me who _you_ are, first.” + +“Why?” said the Caterpillar. + +Here was another puzzling question; and as Alice could not think of any +good reason, and as the Caterpillar seemed to be in a _very_ unpleasant +state of mind, she turned away. + +“Come back!” the Caterpillar called after her. “I’ve something +important to say!” + +This sounded promising, certainly: Alice turned and came back again. + +“Keep your temper,” said the Caterpillar. + +“Is that all?” said Alice, swallowing down her anger as well as she +could. + +“No,” said the Caterpillar. + +Alice thought she might as well wait, as she had nothing else to do, +and perhaps after all it might tell her something worth hearing. For +some minutes it puffed away without speaking, but at last it unfolded +its arms, took the hookah out of its mouth again, and said, “So you +think you’re changed, do you?” + +“I’m afraid I am, sir,” said Alice; “I can’t remember things as I +used—and I don’t keep the same size for ten minutes together!” + +“Can’t remember _what_ things?” said the Caterpillar. + +“Well, I’ve tried to say “How doth the little busy bee,” but it all +came different!” Alice replied in a very melancholy voice. + +“Repeat, “_You are old, Father William_,’” said the Caterpillar. + +Alice folded her hands, and began:— + +“You are old, Father William,” the young man said, + “And your hair has become very white; +And yet you incessantly stand on your head— + Do you think, at your age, it is right?” + +“In my youth,” Father William replied to his son, + “I feared it might injure the brain; +But, now that I’m perfectly sure I have none, + Why, I do it again and again.” + +“You are old,” said the youth, “as I mentioned before, + And have grown most uncommonly fat; +Yet you turned a back-somersault in at the door— + Pray, what is the reason of that?” + +“In my youth,” said the sage, as he shook his grey locks, + “I kept all my limbs very supple +By the use of this ointment—one shilling the box— + Allow me to sell you a couple?” + +“You are old,” said the youth, “and your jaws are too weak + For anything tougher than suet; +Yet you finished the goose, with the bones and the beak— + Pray, how did you manage to do it?” + +“In my youth,” said his father, “I took to the law, + And argued each case with my wife; +And the muscular strength, which it gave to my jaw, + Has lasted the rest of my life.” + +“You are old,” said the youth, “one would hardly suppose + That your eye was as steady as ever; +Yet you balanced an eel on the end of your nose— + What made you so awfully clever?” + +“I have answered three questions, and that is enough,” + Said his father; “don’t give yourself airs! +Do you think I can listen all day to such stuff? + Be off, or I’ll kick you down stairs!” + + +“That is not said right,” said the Caterpillar. + +“Not _quite_ right, I’m afraid,” said Alice, timidly; “some of the +words have got altered.” + +“It is wrong from beginning to end,” said the Caterpillar decidedly, +and there was silence for some minutes. + +The Caterpillar was the first to speak. + +“What size do you want to be?” it asked. + +“Oh, I’m not particular as to size,” Alice hastily replied; “only one +doesn’t like changing so often, you know.” + +“I _don’t_ know,” said the Caterpillar. + +Alice said nothing: she had never been so much contradicted in her life +before, and she felt that she was losing her temper. + +“Are you content now?” said the Caterpillar. + +“Well, I should like to be a _little_ larger, sir, if you wouldn’t +mind,” said Alice: “three inches is such a wretched height to be.” + +“It is a very good height indeed!” said the Caterpillar angrily, +rearing itself upright as it spoke (it was exactly three inches high). + +“But I’m not used to it!” pleaded poor Alice in a piteous tone. And she +thought of herself, “I wish the creatures wouldn’t be so easily +offended!” + +“You’ll get used to it in time,” said the Caterpillar; and it put the +hookah into its mouth and began smoking again. + +This time Alice waited patiently until it chose to speak again. In a +minute or two the Caterpillar took the hookah out of its mouth and +yawned once or twice, and shook itself. Then it got down off the +mushroom, and crawled away in the grass, merely remarking as it went, +“One side will make you grow taller, and the other side will make you +grow shorter.” + +“One side of _what?_ The other side of _what?_” thought Alice to +herself. + +“Of the mushroom,” said the Caterpillar, just as if she had asked it +aloud; and in another moment it was out of sight. + +Alice remained looking thoughtfully at the mushroom for a minute, +trying to make out which were the two sides of it; and as it was +perfectly round, she found this a very difficult question. However, at +last she stretched her arms round it as far as they would go, and broke +off a bit of the edge with each hand. + +“And now which is which?” she said to herself, and nibbled a little of +the right-hand bit to try the effect: the next moment she felt a +violent blow underneath her chin: it had struck her foot! + +She was a good deal frightened by this very sudden change, but she felt +that there was no time to be lost, as she was shrinking rapidly; so she +set to work at once to eat some of the other bit. Her chin was pressed +so closely against her foot, that there was hardly room to open her +mouth; but she did it at last, and managed to swallow a morsel of the +lefthand bit. + +* * * * * * * + + * * * * * * + +* * * * * * * + + +“Come, my head’s free at last!” said Alice in a tone of delight, which +changed into alarm in another moment, when she found that her shoulders +were nowhere to be found: all she could see, when she looked down, was +an immense length of neck, which seemed to rise like a stalk out of a +sea of green leaves that lay far below her. + +“What _can_ all that green stuff be?” said Alice. “And where _have_ my +shoulders got to? And oh, my poor hands, how is it I can’t see you?” +She was moving them about as she spoke, but no result seemed to follow, +except a little shaking among the distant green leaves. + +As there seemed to be no chance of getting her hands up to her head, +she tried to get her head down to them, and was delighted to find that +her neck would bend about easily in any direction, like a serpent. She +had just succeeded in curving it down into a graceful zigzag, and was +going to dive in among the leaves, which she found to be nothing but +the tops of the trees under which she had been wandering, when a sharp +hiss made her draw back in a hurry: a large pigeon had flown into her +face, and was beating her violently with its wings. + +“Serpent!” screamed the Pigeon. + +“I’m _not_ a serpent!” said Alice indignantly. “Let me alone!” + +“Serpent, I say again!” repeated the Pigeon, but in a more subdued +tone, and added with a kind of sob, “I’ve tried every way, and nothing +seems to suit them!” + +“I haven’t the least idea what you’re talking about,” said Alice. + +“I’ve tried the roots of trees, and I’ve tried banks, and I’ve tried +hedges,” the Pigeon went on, without attending to her; “but those +serpents! There’s no pleasing them!” + +Alice was more and more puzzled, but she thought there was no use in +saying anything more till the Pigeon had finished. + +“As if it wasn’t trouble enough hatching the eggs,” said the Pigeon; +“but I must be on the look-out for serpents night and day! Why, I +haven’t had a wink of sleep these three weeks!” + +“I’m very sorry you’ve been annoyed,” said Alice, who was beginning to +see its meaning. + +“And just as I’d taken the highest tree in the wood,” continued the +Pigeon, raising its voice to a shriek, “and just as I was thinking I +should be free of them at last, they must needs come wriggling down +from the sky! Ugh, Serpent!” + +“But I’m _not_ a serpent, I tell you!” said Alice. “I’m a—I’m a—” + +“Well! _What_ are you?” said the Pigeon. “I can see you’re trying to +invent something!” + +“I—I’m a little girl,” said Alice, rather doubtfully, as she remembered +the number of changes she had gone through that day. + +“A likely story indeed!” said the Pigeon in a tone of the deepest +contempt. “I’ve seen a good many little girls in my time, but never +_one_ with such a neck as that! No, no! You’re a serpent; and there’s +no use denying it. I suppose you’ll be telling me next that you never +tasted an egg!” + +“I _have_ tasted eggs, certainly,” said Alice, who was a very truthful +child; “but little girls eat eggs quite as much as serpents do, you +know.” + +“I don’t believe it,” said the Pigeon; “but if they do, why then +they’re a kind of serpent, that’s all I can say.” + +This was such a new idea to Alice, that she was quite silent for a +minute or two, which gave the Pigeon the opportunity of adding, “You’re +looking for eggs, I know _that_ well enough; and what does it matter to +me whether you’re a little girl or a serpent?” + +“It matters a good deal to _me_,” said Alice hastily; “but I’m not +looking for eggs, as it happens; and if I was, I shouldn’t want +_yours_: I don’t like them raw.” + +“Well, be off, then!” said the Pigeon in a sulky tone, as it settled +down again into its nest. Alice crouched down among the trees as well +as she could, for her neck kept getting entangled among the branches, +and every now and then she had to stop and untwist it. After a while +she remembered that she still held the pieces of mushroom in her hands, +and she set to work very carefully, nibbling first at one and then at +the other, and growing sometimes taller and sometimes shorter, until +she had succeeded in bringing herself down to her usual height. + +It was so long since she had been anything near the right size, that it +felt quite strange at first; but she got used to it in a few minutes, +and began talking to herself, as usual. “Come, there’s half my plan +done now! How puzzling all these changes are! I’m never sure what I’m +going to be, from one minute to another! However, I’ve got back to my +right size: the next thing is, to get into that beautiful garden—how +_is_ that to be done, I wonder?” As she said this, she came suddenly +upon an open place, with a little house in it about four feet high. +“Whoever lives there,” thought Alice, “it’ll never do to come upon them +_this_ size: why, I should frighten them out of their wits!” So she +began nibbling at the righthand bit again, and did not venture to go +near the house till she had brought herself down to nine inches high. + + + + +CHAPTER VI. +Pig and Pepper + + +For a minute or two she stood looking at the house, and wondering what +to do next, when suddenly a footman in livery came running out of the +wood—(she considered him to be a footman because he was in livery: +otherwise, judging by his face only, she would have called him a +fish)—and rapped loudly at the door with his knuckles. It was opened by +another footman in livery, with a round face, and large eyes like a +frog; and both footmen, Alice noticed, had powdered hair that curled +all over their heads. She felt very curious to know what it was all +about, and crept a little way out of the wood to listen. + +The Fish-Footman began by producing from under his arm a great letter, +nearly as large as himself, and this he handed over to the other, +saying, in a solemn tone, “For the Duchess. An invitation from the +Queen to play croquet.” The Frog-Footman repeated, in the same solemn +tone, only changing the order of the words a little, “From the Queen. +An invitation for the Duchess to play croquet.” + +Then they both bowed low, and their curls got entangled together. + +Alice laughed so much at this, that she had to run back into the wood +for fear of their hearing her; and when she next peeped out the +Fish-Footman was gone, and the other was sitting on the ground near the +door, staring stupidly up into the sky. + +Alice went timidly up to the door, and knocked. + +“There’s no sort of use in knocking,” said the Footman, “and that for +two reasons. First, because I’m on the same side of the door as you +are; secondly, because they’re making such a noise inside, no one could +possibly hear you.” And certainly there _was_ a most extraordinary +noise going on within—a constant howling and sneezing, and every now +and then a great crash, as if a dish or kettle had been broken to +pieces. + +“Please, then,” said Alice, “how am I to get in?” + +“There might be some sense in your knocking,” the Footman went on +without attending to her, “if we had the door between us. For instance, +if you were _inside_, you might knock, and I could let you out, you +know.” He was looking up into the sky all the time he was speaking, and +this Alice thought decidedly uncivil. “But perhaps he can’t help it,” +she said to herself; “his eyes are so _very_ nearly at the top of his +head. But at any rate he might answer questions.—How am I to get in?” +she repeated, aloud. + +“I shall sit here,” the Footman remarked, “till tomorrow—” + +At this moment the door of the house opened, and a large plate came +skimming out, straight at the Footman’s head: it just grazed his nose, +and broke to pieces against one of the trees behind him. + +“—or next day, maybe,” the Footman continued in the same tone, exactly +as if nothing had happened. + +“How am I to get in?” asked Alice again, in a louder tone. + +“_Are_ you to get in at all?” said the Footman. “That’s the first +question, you know.” + +It was, no doubt: only Alice did not like to be told so. “It’s really +dreadful,” she muttered to herself, “the way all the creatures argue. +It’s enough to drive one crazy!” + +The Footman seemed to think this a good opportunity for repeating his +remark, with variations. “I shall sit here,” he said, “on and off, for +days and days.” + +“But what am _I_ to do?” said Alice. + +“Anything you like,” said the Footman, and began whistling. + +“Oh, there’s no use in talking to him,” said Alice desperately: “he’s +perfectly idiotic!” And she opened the door and went in. + +The door led right into a large kitchen, which was full of smoke from +one end to the other: the Duchess was sitting on a three-legged stool +in the middle, nursing a baby; the cook was leaning over the fire, +stirring a large cauldron which seemed to be full of soup. + +“There’s certainly too much pepper in that soup!” Alice said to +herself, as well as she could for sneezing. + +There was certainly too much of it in the air. Even the Duchess sneezed +occasionally; and as for the baby, it was sneezing and howling +alternately without a moment’s pause. The only things in the kitchen +that did not sneeze, were the cook, and a large cat which was sitting +on the hearth and grinning from ear to ear. + +“Please would you tell me,” said Alice, a little timidly, for she was +not quite sure whether it was good manners for her to speak first, “why +your cat grins like that?” + +“It’s a Cheshire cat,” said the Duchess, “and that’s why. Pig!” + +She said the last word with such sudden violence that Alice quite +jumped; but she saw in another moment that it was addressed to the +baby, and not to her, so she took courage, and went on again:— + +“I didn’t know that Cheshire cats always grinned; in fact, I didn’t +know that cats _could_ grin.” + +“They all can,” said the Duchess; “and most of ’em do.” + +“I don’t know of any that do,” Alice said very politely, feeling quite +pleased to have got into a conversation. + +“You don’t know much,” said the Duchess; “and that’s a fact.” + +Alice did not at all like the tone of this remark, and thought it would +be as well to introduce some other subject of conversation. While she +was trying to fix on one, the cook took the cauldron of soup off the +fire, and at once set to work throwing everything within her reach at +the Duchess and the baby—the fire-irons came first; then followed a +shower of saucepans, plates, and dishes. The Duchess took no notice of +them even when they hit her; and the baby was howling so much already, +that it was quite impossible to say whether the blows hurt it or not. + +“Oh, _please_ mind what you’re doing!” cried Alice, jumping up and down +in an agony of terror. “Oh, there goes his _precious_ nose!” as an +unusually large saucepan flew close by it, and very nearly carried it +off. + +“If everybody minded their own business,” the Duchess said in a hoarse +growl, “the world would go round a deal faster than it does.” + +“Which would _not_ be an advantage,” said Alice, who felt very glad to +get an opportunity of showing off a little of her knowledge. “Just +think of what work it would make with the day and night! You see the +earth takes twenty-four hours to turn round on its axis—” + +“Talking of axes,” said the Duchess, “chop off her head!” + +Alice glanced rather anxiously at the cook, to see if she meant to take +the hint; but the cook was busily stirring the soup, and seemed not to +be listening, so she went on again: “Twenty-four hours, I _think_; or +is it twelve? I—” + +“Oh, don’t bother _me_,” said the Duchess; “I never could abide +figures!” And with that she began nursing her child again, singing a +sort of lullaby to it as she did so, and giving it a violent shake at +the end of every line: + +“Speak roughly to your little boy, + And beat him when he sneezes: +He only does it to annoy, + Because he knows it teases.” + + +CHORUS. +(In which the cook and the baby joined): + + +“Wow! wow! wow!” + + +While the Duchess sang the second verse of the song, she kept tossing +the baby violently up and down, and the poor little thing howled so, +that Alice could hardly hear the words:— + +“I speak severely to my boy, + I beat him when he sneezes; +For he can thoroughly enjoy + The pepper when he pleases!” + + +CHORUS. + + +“Wow! wow! wow!” + + +“Here! you may nurse it a bit, if you like!” the Duchess said to Alice, +flinging the baby at her as she spoke. “I must go and get ready to play +croquet with the Queen,” and she hurried out of the room. The cook +threw a frying-pan after her as she went out, but it just missed her. + +Alice caught the baby with some difficulty, as it was a queer-shaped +little creature, and held out its arms and legs in all directions, +“just like a star-fish,” thought Alice. The poor little thing was +snorting like a steam-engine when she caught it, and kept doubling +itself up and straightening itself out again, so that altogether, for +the first minute or two, it was as much as she could do to hold it. + +As soon as she had made out the proper way of nursing it, (which was to +twist it up into a sort of knot, and then keep tight hold of its right +ear and left foot, so as to prevent its undoing itself,) she carried it +out into the open air. “If I don’t take this child away with me,” +thought Alice, “they’re sure to kill it in a day or two: wouldn’t it be +murder to leave it behind?” She said the last words out loud, and the +little thing grunted in reply (it had left off sneezing by this time). +“Don’t grunt,” said Alice; “that’s not at all a proper way of +expressing yourself.” + +The baby grunted again, and Alice looked very anxiously into its face +to see what was the matter with it. There could be no doubt that it had +a _very_ turn-up nose, much more like a snout than a real nose; also +its eyes were getting extremely small for a baby: altogether Alice did +not like the look of the thing at all. “But perhaps it was only +sobbing,” she thought, and looked into its eyes again, to see if there +were any tears. + +No, there were no tears. “If you’re going to turn into a pig, my dear,” +said Alice, seriously, “I’ll have nothing more to do with you. Mind +now!” The poor little thing sobbed again (or grunted, it was impossible +to say which), and they went on for some while in silence. + +Alice was just beginning to think to herself, “Now, what am I to do +with this creature when I get it home?” when it grunted again, so +violently, that she looked down into its face in some alarm. This time +there could be _no_ mistake about it: it was neither more nor less than +a pig, and she felt that it would be quite absurd for her to carry it +further. + +So she set the little creature down, and felt quite relieved to see it +trot away quietly into the wood. “If it had grown up,” she said to +herself, “it would have made a dreadfully ugly child: but it makes +rather a handsome pig, I think.” And she began thinking over other +children she knew, who might do very well as pigs, and was just saying +to herself, “if one only knew the right way to change them—” when she +was a little startled by seeing the Cheshire Cat sitting on a bough of +a tree a few yards off. + +The Cat only grinned when it saw Alice. It looked good-natured, she +thought: still it had _very_ long claws and a great many teeth, so she +felt that it ought to be treated with respect. + +“Cheshire Puss,” she began, rather timidly, as she did not at all know +whether it would like the name: however, it only grinned a little +wider. “Come, it’s pleased so far,” thought Alice, and she went on. +“Would you tell me, please, which way I ought to go from here?” + +“That depends a good deal on where you want to get to,” said the Cat. + +“I don’t much care where—” said Alice. + +“Then it doesn’t matter which way you go,” said the Cat. + +“—so long as I get _somewhere_,” Alice added as an explanation. + +“Oh, you’re sure to do that,” said the Cat, “if you only walk long +enough.” + +Alice felt that this could not be denied, so she tried another +question. “What sort of people live about here?” + +“In _that_ direction,” the Cat said, waving its right paw round, “lives +a Hatter: and in _that_ direction,” waving the other paw, “lives a +March Hare. Visit either you like: they’re both mad.” + +“But I don’t want to go among mad people,” Alice remarked. + +“Oh, you can’t help that,” said the Cat: “we’re all mad here. I’m mad. +You’re mad.” + +“How do you know I’m mad?” said Alice. + +“You must be,” said the Cat, “or you wouldn’t have come here.” + +Alice didn’t think that proved it at all; however, she went on “And how +do you know that you’re mad?” + +“To begin with,” said the Cat, “a dog’s not mad. You grant that?” + +“I suppose so,” said Alice. + +“Well, then,” the Cat went on, “you see, a dog growls when it’s angry, +and wags its tail when it’s pleased. Now _I_ growl when I’m pleased, +and wag my tail when I’m angry. Therefore I’m mad.” + +“_I_ call it purring, not growling,” said Alice. + +“Call it what you like,” said the Cat. “Do you play croquet with the +Queen to-day?” + +“I should like it very much,” said Alice, “but I haven’t been invited +yet.” + +“You’ll see me there,” said the Cat, and vanished. + +Alice was not much surprised at this, she was getting so used to queer +things happening. While she was looking at the place where it had been, +it suddenly appeared again. + +“By-the-bye, what became of the baby?” said the Cat. “I’d nearly +forgotten to ask.” + +“It turned into a pig,” Alice quietly said, just as if it had come back +in a natural way. + +“I thought it would,” said the Cat, and vanished again. + +Alice waited a little, half expecting to see it again, but it did not +appear, and after a minute or two she walked on in the direction in +which the March Hare was said to live. “I’ve seen hatters before,” she +said to herself; “the March Hare will be much the most interesting, and +perhaps as this is May it won’t be raving mad—at least not so mad as it +was in March.” As she said this, she looked up, and there was the Cat +again, sitting on a branch of a tree. + +“Did you say pig, or fig?” said the Cat. + +“I said pig,” replied Alice; “and I wish you wouldn’t keep appearing +and vanishing so suddenly: you make one quite giddy.” + +“All right,” said the Cat; and this time it vanished quite slowly, +beginning with the end of the tail, and ending with the grin, which +remained some time after the rest of it had gone. + +“Well! I’ve often seen a cat without a grin,” thought Alice; “but a +grin without a cat! It’s the most curious thing I ever saw in my life!” + +She had not gone much farther before she came in sight of the house of +the March Hare: she thought it must be the right house, because the +chimneys were shaped like ears and the roof was thatched with fur. It +was so large a house, that she did not like to go nearer till she had +nibbled some more of the lefthand bit of mushroom, and raised herself +to about two feet high: even then she walked up towards it rather +timidly, saying to herself “Suppose it should be raving mad after all! +I almost wish I’d gone to see the Hatter instead!” + + + + +CHAPTER VII. +A Mad Tea-Party + + +There was a table set out under a tree in front of the house, and the +March Hare and the Hatter were having tea at it: a Dormouse was sitting +between them, fast asleep, and the other two were using it as a +cushion, resting their elbows on it, and talking over its head. “Very +uncomfortable for the Dormouse,” thought Alice; “only, as it’s asleep, +I suppose it doesn’t mind.” + +The table was a large one, but the three were all crowded together at +one corner of it: “No room! No room!” they cried out when they saw +Alice coming. “There’s _plenty_ of room!” said Alice indignantly, and +she sat down in a large arm-chair at one end of the table. + +“Have some wine,” the March Hare said in an encouraging tone. + +Alice looked all round the table, but there was nothing on it but tea. +“I don’t see any wine,” she remarked. + +“There isn’t any,” said the March Hare. + +“Then it wasn’t very civil of you to offer it,” said Alice angrily. + +“It wasn’t very civil of you to sit down without being invited,” said +the March Hare. + +“I didn’t know it was _your_ table,” said Alice; “it’s laid for a great +many more than three.” + +“Your hair wants cutting,” said the Hatter. He had been looking at +Alice for some time with great curiosity, and this was his first +speech. + +“You should learn not to make personal remarks,” Alice said with some +severity; “it’s very rude.” + +The Hatter opened his eyes very wide on hearing this; but all he _said_ +was, “Why is a raven like a writing-desk?” + +“Come, we shall have some fun now!” thought Alice. “I’m glad they’ve +begun asking riddles.—I believe I can guess that,” she added aloud. + +“Do you mean that you think you can find out the answer to it?” said +the March Hare. + +“Exactly so,” said Alice. + +“Then you should say what you mean,” the March Hare went on. + +“I do,” Alice hastily replied; “at least—at least I mean what I +say—that’s the same thing, you know.” + +“Not the same thing a bit!” said the Hatter. “You might just as well +say that ‘I see what I eat’ is the same thing as ‘I eat what I see’!” + +“You might just as well say,” added the March Hare, “that ‘I like what +I get’ is the same thing as ‘I get what I like’!” + +“You might just as well say,” added the Dormouse, who seemed to be +talking in his sleep, “that ‘I breathe when I sleep’ is the same thing +as ‘I sleep when I breathe’!” + +“It _is_ the same thing with you,” said the Hatter, and here the +conversation dropped, and the party sat silent for a minute, while +Alice thought over all she could remember about ravens and +writing-desks, which wasn’t much. + +The Hatter was the first to break the silence. “What day of the month +is it?” he said, turning to Alice: he had taken his watch out of his +pocket, and was looking at it uneasily, shaking it every now and then, +and holding it to his ear. + +Alice considered a little, and then said “The fourth.” + +“Two days wrong!” sighed the Hatter. “I told you butter wouldn’t suit +the works!” he added looking angrily at the March Hare. + +“It was the _best_ butter,” the March Hare meekly replied. + +“Yes, but some crumbs must have got in as well,” the Hatter grumbled: +“you shouldn’t have put it in with the bread-knife.” + +The March Hare took the watch and looked at it gloomily: then he dipped +it into his cup of tea, and looked at it again: but he could think of +nothing better to say than his first remark, “It was the _best_ butter, +you know.” + +Alice had been looking over his shoulder with some curiosity. “What a +funny watch!” she remarked. “It tells the day of the month, and doesn’t +tell what o’clock it is!” + +“Why should it?” muttered the Hatter. “Does _your_ watch tell you what +year it is?” + +“Of course not,” Alice replied very readily: “but that’s because it +stays the same year for such a long time together.” + +“Which is just the case with _mine_,” said the Hatter. + +Alice felt dreadfully puzzled. The Hatter’s remark seemed to have no +sort of meaning in it, and yet it was certainly English. “I don’t quite +understand you,” she said, as politely as she could. + +“The Dormouse is asleep again,” said the Hatter, and he poured a little +hot tea upon its nose. + +The Dormouse shook its head impatiently, and said, without opening its +eyes, “Of course, of course; just what I was going to remark myself.” + +“Have you guessed the riddle yet?” the Hatter said, turning to Alice +again. + +“No, I give it up,” Alice replied: “what’s the answer?” + +“I haven’t the slightest idea,” said the Hatter. + +“Nor I,” said the March Hare. + +Alice sighed wearily. “I think you might do something better with the +time,” she said, “than waste it in asking riddles that have no +answers.” + +“If you knew Time as well as I do,” said the Hatter, “you wouldn’t talk +about wasting _it_. It’s _him_.” + +“I don’t know what you mean,” said Alice. + +“Of course you don’t!” the Hatter said, tossing his head +contemptuously. “I dare say you never even spoke to Time!” + +“Perhaps not,” Alice cautiously replied: “but I know I have to beat +time when I learn music.” + +“Ah! that accounts for it,” said the Hatter. “He won’t stand beating. +Now, if you only kept on good terms with him, he’d do almost anything +you liked with the clock. For instance, suppose it were nine o’clock in +the morning, just time to begin lessons: you’d only have to whisper a +hint to Time, and round goes the clock in a twinkling! Half-past one, +time for dinner!” + +(“I only wish it was,” the March Hare said to itself in a whisper.) + +“That would be grand, certainly,” said Alice thoughtfully: “but then—I +shouldn’t be hungry for it, you know.” + +“Not at first, perhaps,” said the Hatter: “but you could keep it to +half-past one as long as you liked.” + +“Is that the way _you_ manage?” Alice asked. + +The Hatter shook his head mournfully. “Not I!” he replied. “We +quarrelled last March—just before _he_ went mad, you know—” (pointing +with his tea spoon at the March Hare,) “—it was at the great concert +given by the Queen of Hearts, and I had to sing + +‘Twinkle, twinkle, little bat! +How I wonder what you’re at!’ + + +You know the song, perhaps?” + +“I’ve heard something like it,” said Alice. + +“It goes on, you know,” the Hatter continued, “in this way:— + +‘Up above the world you fly, +Like a tea-tray in the sky. + Twinkle, twinkle—’” + + +Here the Dormouse shook itself, and began singing in its sleep +“_Twinkle, twinkle, twinkle, twinkle_—” and went on so long that they +had to pinch it to make it stop. + +“Well, I’d hardly finished the first verse,” said the Hatter, “when the +Queen jumped up and bawled out, ‘He’s murdering the time! Off with his +head!’” + +“How dreadfully savage!” exclaimed Alice. + +“And ever since that,” the Hatter went on in a mournful tone, “he won’t +do a thing I ask! It’s always six o’clock now.” + +A bright idea came into Alice’s head. “Is that the reason so many +tea-things are put out here?” she asked. + +“Yes, that’s it,” said the Hatter with a sigh: “it’s always tea-time, +and we’ve no time to wash the things between whiles.” + +“Then you keep moving round, I suppose?” said Alice. + +“Exactly so,” said the Hatter: “as the things get used up.” + +“But what happens when you come to the beginning again?” Alice ventured +to ask. + +“Suppose we change the subject,” the March Hare interrupted, yawning. +“I’m getting tired of this. I vote the young lady tells us a story.” + +“I’m afraid I don’t know one,” said Alice, rather alarmed at the +proposal. + +“Then the Dormouse shall!” they both cried. “Wake up, Dormouse!” And +they pinched it on both sides at once. + +The Dormouse slowly opened his eyes. “I wasn’t asleep,” he said in a +hoarse, feeble voice: “I heard every word you fellows were saying.” + +“Tell us a story!” said the March Hare. + +“Yes, please do!” pleaded Alice. + +“And be quick about it,” added the Hatter, “or you’ll be asleep again +before it’s done.” + +“Once upon a time there were three little sisters,” the Dormouse began +in a great hurry; “and their names were Elsie, Lacie, and Tillie; and +they lived at the bottom of a well—” + +“What did they live on?” said Alice, who always took a great interest +in questions of eating and drinking. + +“They lived on treacle,” said the Dormouse, after thinking a minute or +two. + +“They couldn’t have done that, you know,” Alice gently remarked; +“they’d have been ill.” + +“So they were,” said the Dormouse; “_very_ ill.” + +Alice tried to fancy to herself what such an extraordinary ways of +living would be like, but it puzzled her too much, so she went on: “But +why did they live at the bottom of a well?” + +“Take some more tea,” the March Hare said to Alice, very earnestly. + +“I’ve had nothing yet,” Alice replied in an offended tone, “so I can’t +take more.” + +“You mean you can’t take _less_,” said the Hatter: “it’s very easy to +take _more_ than nothing.” + +“Nobody asked _your_ opinion,” said Alice. + +“Who’s making personal remarks now?” the Hatter asked triumphantly. + +Alice did not quite know what to say to this: so she helped herself to +some tea and bread-and-butter, and then turned to the Dormouse, and +repeated her question. “Why did they live at the bottom of a well?” + +The Dormouse again took a minute or two to think about it, and then +said, “It was a treacle-well.” + +“There’s no such thing!” Alice was beginning very angrily, but the +Hatter and the March Hare went “Sh! sh!” and the Dormouse sulkily +remarked, “If you can’t be civil, you’d better finish the story for +yourself.” + +“No, please go on!” Alice said very humbly; “I won’t interrupt again. I +dare say there may be _one_.” + +“One, indeed!” said the Dormouse indignantly. However, he consented to +go on. “And so these three little sisters—they were learning to draw, +you know—” + +“What did they draw?” said Alice, quite forgetting her promise. + +“Treacle,” said the Dormouse, without considering at all this time. + +“I want a clean cup,” interrupted the Hatter: “let’s all move one place +on.” + +He moved on as he spoke, and the Dormouse followed him: the March Hare +moved into the Dormouse’s place, and Alice rather unwillingly took the +place of the March Hare. The Hatter was the only one who got any +advantage from the change: and Alice was a good deal worse off than +before, as the March Hare had just upset the milk-jug into his plate. + +Alice did not wish to offend the Dormouse again, so she began very +cautiously: “But I don’t understand. Where did they draw the treacle +from?” + +“You can draw water out of a water-well,” said the Hatter; “so I should +think you could draw treacle out of a treacle-well—eh, stupid?” + +“But they were _in_ the well,” Alice said to the Dormouse, not choosing +to notice this last remark. + +“Of course they were,” said the Dormouse; “—well in.” + +This answer so confused poor Alice, that she let the Dormouse go on for +some time without interrupting it. + +“They were learning to draw,” the Dormouse went on, yawning and rubbing +its eyes, for it was getting very sleepy; “and they drew all manner of +things—everything that begins with an M—” + +“Why with an M?” said Alice. + +“Why not?” said the March Hare. + +Alice was silent. + +The Dormouse had closed its eyes by this time, and was going off into a +doze; but, on being pinched by the Hatter, it woke up again with a +little shriek, and went on: “—that begins with an M, such as +mouse-traps, and the moon, and memory, and muchness—you know you say +things are “much of a muchness”—did you ever see such a thing as a +drawing of a muchness?” + +“Really, now you ask me,” said Alice, very much confused, “I don’t +think—” + +“Then you shouldn’t talk,” said the Hatter. + +This piece of rudeness was more than Alice could bear: she got up in +great disgust, and walked off; the Dormouse fell asleep instantly, and +neither of the others took the least notice of her going, though she +looked back once or twice, half hoping that they would call after her: +the last time she saw them, they were trying to put the Dormouse into +the teapot. + +“At any rate I’ll never go _there_ again!” said Alice as she picked her +way through the wood. “It’s the stupidest tea-party I ever was at in +all my life!” + +Just as she said this, she noticed that one of the trees had a door +leading right into it. “That’s very curious!” she thought. “But +everything’s curious today. I think I may as well go in at once.” And +in she went. + +Once more she found herself in the long hall, and close to the little +glass table. “Now, I’ll manage better this time,” she said to herself, +and began by taking the little golden key, and unlocking the door that +led into the garden. Then she went to work nibbling at the mushroom +(she had kept a piece of it in her pocket) till she was about a foot +high: then she walked down the little passage: and _then_—she found +herself at last in the beautiful garden, among the bright flower-beds +and the cool fountains. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII. +The Queen’s Croquet-Ground + + +A large rose-tree stood near the entrance of the garden: the roses +growing on it were white, but there were three gardeners at it, busily +painting them red. Alice thought this a very curious thing, and she +went nearer to watch them, and just as she came up to them she heard +one of them say, “Look out now, Five! Don’t go splashing paint over me +like that!” + +“I couldn’t help it,” said Five, in a sulky tone; “Seven jogged my +elbow.” + +On which Seven looked up and said, “That’s right, Five! Always lay the +blame on others!” + +“_You’d_ better not talk!” said Five. “I heard the Queen say only +yesterday you deserved to be beheaded!” + +“What for?” said the one who had spoken first. + +“That’s none of _your_ business, Two!” said Seven. + +“Yes, it _is_ his business!” said Five, “and I’ll tell him—it was for +bringing the cook tulip-roots instead of onions.” + +Seven flung down his brush, and had just begun “Well, of all the unjust +things—” when his eye chanced to fall upon Alice, as she stood watching +them, and he checked himself suddenly: the others looked round also, +and all of them bowed low. + +“Would you tell me,” said Alice, a little timidly, “why you are +painting those roses?” + +Five and Seven said nothing, but looked at Two. Two began in a low +voice, “Why the fact is, you see, Miss, this here ought to have been a +_red_ rose-tree, and we put a white one in by mistake; and if the Queen +was to find it out, we should all have our heads cut off, you know. So +you see, Miss, we’re doing our best, afore she comes, to—” At this +moment Five, who had been anxiously looking across the garden, called +out “The Queen! The Queen!” and the three gardeners instantly threw +themselves flat upon their faces. There was a sound of many footsteps, +and Alice looked round, eager to see the Queen. + +First came ten soldiers carrying clubs; these were all shaped like the +three gardeners, oblong and flat, with their hands and feet at the +corners: next the ten courtiers; these were ornamented all over with +diamonds, and walked two and two, as the soldiers did. After these came +the royal children; there were ten of them, and the little dears came +jumping merrily along hand in hand, in couples: they were all +ornamented with hearts. Next came the guests, mostly Kings and Queens, +and among them Alice recognised the White Rabbit: it was talking in a +hurried nervous manner, smiling at everything that was said, and went +by without noticing her. Then followed the Knave of Hearts, carrying +the King’s crown on a crimson velvet cushion; and, last of all this +grand procession, came THE KING AND QUEEN OF HEARTS. + +Alice was rather doubtful whether she ought not to lie down on her face +like the three gardeners, but she could not remember ever having heard +of such a rule at processions; “and besides, what would be the use of a +procession,” thought she, “if people had all to lie down upon their +faces, so that they couldn’t see it?” So she stood still where she was, +and waited. + +When the procession came opposite to Alice, they all stopped and looked +at her, and the Queen said severely “Who is this?” She said it to the +Knave of Hearts, who only bowed and smiled in reply. + +“Idiot!” said the Queen, tossing her head impatiently; and, turning to +Alice, she went on, “What’s your name, child?” + +“My name is Alice, so please your Majesty,” said Alice very politely; +but she added, to herself, “Why, they’re only a pack of cards, after +all. I needn’t be afraid of them!” + +“And who are _these?_” said the Queen, pointing to the three gardeners +who were lying round the rose-tree; for, you see, as they were lying on +their faces, and the pattern on their backs was the same as the rest of +the pack, she could not tell whether they were gardeners, or soldiers, +or courtiers, or three of her own children. + +“How should _I_ know?” said Alice, surprised at her own courage. “It’s +no business of _mine_.” + +The Queen turned crimson with fury, and, after glaring at her for a +moment like a wild beast, screamed “Off with her head! Off—” + +“Nonsense!” said Alice, very loudly and decidedly, and the Queen was +silent. + +The King laid his hand upon her arm, and timidly said “Consider, my +dear: she is only a child!” + +The Queen turned angrily away from him, and said to the Knave “Turn +them over!” + +The Knave did so, very carefully, with one foot. + +“Get up!” said the Queen, in a shrill, loud voice, and the three +gardeners instantly jumped up, and began bowing to the King, the Queen, +the royal children, and everybody else. + +“Leave off that!” screamed the Queen. “You make me giddy.” And then, +turning to the rose-tree, she went on, “What _have_ you been doing +here?” + +“May it please your Majesty,” said Two, in a very humble tone, going +down on one knee as he spoke, “we were trying—” + +“_I_ see!” said the Queen, who had meanwhile been examining the roses. +“Off with their heads!” and the procession moved on, three of the +soldiers remaining behind to execute the unfortunate gardeners, who ran +to Alice for protection. + +“You shan’t be beheaded!” said Alice, and she put them into a large +flower-pot that stood near. The three soldiers wandered about for a +minute or two, looking for them, and then quietly marched off after the +others. + +“Are their heads off?” shouted the Queen. + +“Their heads are gone, if it please your Majesty!” the soldiers shouted +in reply. + +“That’s right!” shouted the Queen. “Can you play croquet?” + +The soldiers were silent, and looked at Alice, as the question was +evidently meant for her. + +“Yes!” shouted Alice. + +“Come on, then!” roared the Queen, and Alice joined the procession, +wondering very much what would happen next. + +“It’s—it’s a very fine day!” said a timid voice at her side. She was +walking by the White Rabbit, who was peeping anxiously into her face. + +“Very,” said Alice: “—where’s the Duchess?” + +“Hush! Hush!” said the Rabbit in a low, hurried tone. He looked +anxiously over his shoulder as he spoke, and then raised himself upon +tiptoe, put his mouth close to her ear, and whispered “She’s under +sentence of execution.” + +“What for?” said Alice. + +“Did you say ‘What a pity!’?” the Rabbit asked. + +“No, I didn’t,” said Alice: “I don’t think it’s at all a pity. I said +‘What for?’” + +“She boxed the Queen’s ears—” the Rabbit began. Alice gave a little +scream of laughter. “Oh, hush!” the Rabbit whispered in a frightened +tone. “The Queen will hear you! You see, she came rather late, and the +Queen said—” + +“Get to your places!” shouted the Queen in a voice of thunder, and +people began running about in all directions, tumbling up against each +other; however, they got settled down in a minute or two, and the game +began. Alice thought she had never seen such a curious croquet-ground +in her life; it was all ridges and furrows; the balls were live +hedgehogs, the mallets live flamingoes, and the soldiers had to double +themselves up and to stand on their hands and feet, to make the arches. + +The chief difficulty Alice found at first was in managing her flamingo: +she succeeded in getting its body tucked away, comfortably enough, +under her arm, with its legs hanging down, but generally, just as she +had got its neck nicely straightened out, and was going to give the +hedgehog a blow with its head, it _would_ twist itself round and look +up in her face, with such a puzzled expression that she could not help +bursting out laughing: and when she had got its head down, and was +going to begin again, it was very provoking to find that the hedgehog +had unrolled itself, and was in the act of crawling away: besides all +this, there was generally a ridge or furrow in the way wherever she +wanted to send the hedgehog to, and, as the doubled-up soldiers were +always getting up and walking off to other parts of the ground, Alice +soon came to the conclusion that it was a very difficult game indeed. + +The players all played at once without waiting for turns, quarrelling +all the while, and fighting for the hedgehogs; and in a very short time +the Queen was in a furious passion, and went stamping about, and +shouting “Off with his head!” or “Off with her head!” about once in a +minute. + +Alice began to feel very uneasy: to be sure, she had not as yet had any +dispute with the Queen, but she knew that it might happen any minute, +“and then,” thought she, “what would become of me? They’re dreadfully +fond of beheading people here; the great wonder is, that there’s any +one left alive!” + +She was looking about for some way of escape, and wondering whether she +could get away without being seen, when she noticed a curious +appearance in the air: it puzzled her very much at first, but, after +watching it a minute or two, she made it out to be a grin, and she said +to herself “It’s the Cheshire Cat: now I shall have somebody to talk +to.” + +“How are you getting on?” said the Cat, as soon as there was mouth +enough for it to speak with. + +Alice waited till the eyes appeared, and then nodded. “It’s no use +speaking to it,” she thought, “till its ears have come, or at least one +of them.” In another minute the whole head appeared, and then Alice put +down her flamingo, and began an account of the game, feeling very glad +she had someone to listen to her. The Cat seemed to think that there +was enough of it now in sight, and no more of it appeared. + +“I don’t think they play at all fairly,” Alice began, in rather a +complaining tone, “and they all quarrel so dreadfully one can’t hear +oneself speak—and they don’t seem to have any rules in particular; at +least, if there are, nobody attends to them—and you’ve no idea how +confusing it is all the things being alive; for instance, there’s the +arch I’ve got to go through next walking about at the other end of the +ground—and I should have croqueted the Queen’s hedgehog just now, only +it ran away when it saw mine coming!” + +“How do you like the Queen?” said the Cat in a low voice. + +“Not at all,” said Alice: “she’s so extremely—” Just then she noticed +that the Queen was close behind her, listening: so she went on, +“—likely to win, that it’s hardly worth while finishing the game.” + +The Queen smiled and passed on. + +“Who _are_ you talking to?” said the King, going up to Alice, and +looking at the Cat’s head with great curiosity. + +“It’s a friend of mine—a Cheshire Cat,” said Alice: “allow me to +introduce it.” + +“I don’t like the look of it at all,” said the King: “however, it may +kiss my hand if it likes.” + +“I’d rather not,” the Cat remarked. + +“Don’t be impertinent,” said the King, “and don’t look at me like +that!” He got behind Alice as he spoke. + +“A cat may look at a king,” said Alice. “I’ve read that in some book, +but I don’t remember where.” + +“Well, it must be removed,” said the King very decidedly, and he called +the Queen, who was passing at the moment, “My dear! I wish you would +have this cat removed!” + +The Queen had only one way of settling all difficulties, great or +small. “Off with his head!” she said, without even looking round. + +“I’ll fetch the executioner myself,” said the King eagerly, and he +hurried off. + +Alice thought she might as well go back, and see how the game was going +on, as she heard the Queen’s voice in the distance, screaming with +passion. She had already heard her sentence three of the players to be +executed for having missed their turns, and she did not like the look +of things at all, as the game was in such confusion that she never knew +whether it was her turn or not. So she went in search of her hedgehog. + +The hedgehog was engaged in a fight with another hedgehog, which seemed +to Alice an excellent opportunity for croqueting one of them with the +other: the only difficulty was, that her flamingo was gone across to +the other side of the garden, where Alice could see it trying in a +helpless sort of way to fly up into a tree. + +By the time she had caught the flamingo and brought it back, the fight +was over, and both the hedgehogs were out of sight: “but it doesn’t +matter much,” thought Alice, “as all the arches are gone from this side +of the ground.” So she tucked it away under her arm, that it might not +escape again, and went back for a little more conversation with her +friend. + +When she got back to the Cheshire Cat, she was surprised to find quite +a large crowd collected round it: there was a dispute going on between +the executioner, the King, and the Queen, who were all talking at once, +while all the rest were quite silent, and looked very uncomfortable. + +The moment Alice appeared, she was appealed to by all three to settle +the question, and they repeated their arguments to her, though, as they +all spoke at once, she found it very hard indeed to make out exactly +what they said. + +The executioner’s argument was, that you couldn’t cut off a head unless +there was a body to cut it off from: that he had never had to do such a +thing before, and he wasn’t going to begin at _his_ time of life. + +The King’s argument was, that anything that had a head could be +beheaded, and that you weren’t to talk nonsense. + +The Queen’s argument was, that if something wasn’t done about it in +less than no time she’d have everybody executed, all round. (It was +this last remark that had made the whole party look so grave and +anxious.) + +Alice could think of nothing else to say but “It belongs to the +Duchess: you’d better ask _her_ about it.” + +“She’s in prison,” the Queen said to the executioner: “fetch her here.” +And the executioner went off like an arrow. + +The Cat’s head began fading away the moment he was gone, and, by the +time he had come back with the Duchess, it had entirely disappeared; so +the King and the executioner ran wildly up and down looking for it, +while the rest of the party went back to the game. + + + + +CHAPTER IX. +The Mock Turtle’s Story + + +“You can’t think how glad I am to see you again, you dear old thing!” +said the Duchess, as she tucked her arm affectionately into Alice’s, +and they walked off together. + +Alice was very glad to find her in such a pleasant temper, and thought +to herself that perhaps it was only the pepper that had made her so +savage when they met in the kitchen. + +“When _I’m_ a Duchess,” she said to herself, (not in a very hopeful +tone though), “I won’t have any pepper in my kitchen _at all_. Soup +does very well without—Maybe it’s always pepper that makes people +hot-tempered,” she went on, very much pleased at having found out a new +kind of rule, “and vinegar that makes them sour—and camomile that makes +them bitter—and—and barley-sugar and such things that make children +sweet-tempered. I only wish people knew _that_: then they wouldn’t be +so stingy about it, you know—” + +She had quite forgotten the Duchess by this time, and was a little +startled when she heard her voice close to her ear. “You’re thinking +about something, my dear, and that makes you forget to talk. I can’t +tell you just now what the moral of that is, but I shall remember it in +a bit.” + +“Perhaps it hasn’t one,” Alice ventured to remark. + +“Tut, tut, child!” said the Duchess. “Everything’s got a moral, if only +you can find it.” And she squeezed herself up closer to Alice’s side as +she spoke. + +Alice did not much like keeping so close to her: first, because the +Duchess was _very_ ugly; and secondly, because she was exactly the +right height to rest her chin upon Alice’s shoulder, and it was an +uncomfortably sharp chin. However, she did not like to be rude, so she +bore it as well as she could. + +“The game’s going on rather better now,” she said, by way of keeping up +the conversation a little. + +“’Tis so,” said the Duchess: “and the moral of that is—‘Oh, ’tis love, +’tis love, that makes the world go round!’” + +“Somebody said,” Alice whispered, “that it’s done by everybody minding +their own business!” + +“Ah, well! It means much the same thing,” said the Duchess, digging her +sharp little chin into Alice’s shoulder as she added, “and the moral of +_that_ is—‘Take care of the sense, and the sounds will take care of +themselves.’” + +“How fond she is of finding morals in things!” Alice thought to +herself. + +“I dare say you’re wondering why I don’t put my arm round your waist,” +the Duchess said after a pause: “the reason is, that I’m doubtful about +the temper of your flamingo. Shall I try the experiment?” + +“He might bite,” Alice cautiously replied, not feeling at all anxious +to have the experiment tried. + +“Very true,” said the Duchess: “flamingoes and mustard both bite. And +the moral of that is—‘Birds of a feather flock together.’” + +“Only mustard isn’t a bird,” Alice remarked. + +“Right, as usual,” said the Duchess: “what a clear way you have of +putting things!” + +“It’s a mineral, I _think_,” said Alice. + +“Of course it is,” said the Duchess, who seemed ready to agree to +everything that Alice said; “there’s a large mustard-mine near here. +And the moral of that is—‘The more there is of mine, the less there is +of yours.’” + +“Oh, I know!” exclaimed Alice, who had not attended to this last +remark, “it’s a vegetable. It doesn’t look like one, but it is.” + +“I quite agree with you,” said the Duchess; “and the moral of that +is—‘Be what you would seem to be’—or if you’d like it put more +simply—‘Never imagine yourself not to be otherwise than what it might +appear to others that what you were or might have been was not +otherwise than what you had been would have appeared to them to be +otherwise.’” + +“I think I should understand that better,” Alice said very politely, +“if I had it written down: but I can’t quite follow it as you say it.” + +“That’s nothing to what I could say if I chose,” the Duchess replied, +in a pleased tone. + +“Pray don’t trouble yourself to say it any longer than that,” said +Alice. + +“Oh, don’t talk about trouble!” said the Duchess. “I make you a present +of everything I’ve said as yet.” + +“A cheap sort of present!” thought Alice. “I’m glad they don’t give +birthday presents like that!” But she did not venture to say it out +loud. + +“Thinking again?” the Duchess asked, with another dig of her sharp +little chin. + +“I’ve a right to think,” said Alice sharply, for she was beginning to +feel a little worried. + +“Just about as much right,” said the Duchess, “as pigs have to fly; and +the m—” + +But here, to Alice’s great surprise, the Duchess’s voice died away, +even in the middle of her favourite word ‘moral,’ and the arm that was +linked into hers began to tremble. Alice looked up, and there stood the +Queen in front of them, with her arms folded, frowning like a +thunderstorm. + +“A fine day, your Majesty!” the Duchess began in a low, weak voice. + +“Now, I give you fair warning,” shouted the Queen, stamping on the +ground as she spoke; “either you or your head must be off, and that in +about half no time! Take your choice!” + +The Duchess took her choice, and was gone in a moment. + +“Let’s go on with the game,” the Queen said to Alice; and Alice was too +much frightened to say a word, but slowly followed her back to the +croquet-ground. + +The other guests had taken advantage of the Queen’s absence, and were +resting in the shade: however, the moment they saw her, they hurried +back to the game, the Queen merely remarking that a moment’s delay +would cost them their lives. + +All the time they were playing the Queen never left off quarrelling +with the other players, and shouting “Off with his head!” or “Off with +her head!” Those whom she sentenced were taken into custody by the +soldiers, who of course had to leave off being arches to do this, so +that by the end of half an hour or so there were no arches left, and +all the players, except the King, the Queen, and Alice, were in custody +and under sentence of execution. + +Then the Queen left off, quite out of breath, and said to Alice, “Have +you seen the Mock Turtle yet?” + +“No,” said Alice. “I don’t even know what a Mock Turtle is.” + +“It’s the thing Mock Turtle Soup is made from,” said the Queen. + +“I never saw one, or heard of one,” said Alice. + +“Come on, then,” said the Queen, “and he shall tell you his history,” + +As they walked off together, Alice heard the King say in a low voice, +to the company generally, “You are all pardoned.” “Come, _that’s_ a +good thing!” she said to herself, for she had felt quite unhappy at the +number of executions the Queen had ordered. + +They very soon came upon a Gryphon, lying fast asleep in the sun. (If +you don’t know what a Gryphon is, look at the picture.) “Up, lazy +thing!” said the Queen, “and take this young lady to see the Mock +Turtle, and to hear his history. I must go back and see after some +executions I have ordered;” and she walked off, leaving Alice alone +with the Gryphon. Alice did not quite like the look of the creature, +but on the whole she thought it would be quite as safe to stay with it +as to go after that savage Queen: so she waited. + +The Gryphon sat up and rubbed its eyes: then it watched the Queen till +she was out of sight: then it chuckled. “What fun!” said the Gryphon, +half to itself, half to Alice. + +“What _is_ the fun?” said Alice. + +“Why, _she_,” said the Gryphon. “It’s all her fancy, that: they never +executes nobody, you know. Come on!” + +“Everybody says ‘come on!’ here,” thought Alice, as she went slowly +after it: “I never was so ordered about in all my life, never!” + +They had not gone far before they saw the Mock Turtle in the distance, +sitting sad and lonely on a little ledge of rock, and, as they came +nearer, Alice could hear him sighing as if his heart would break. She +pitied him deeply. “What is his sorrow?” she asked the Gryphon, and the +Gryphon answered, very nearly in the same words as before, “It’s all +his fancy, that: he hasn’t got no sorrow, you know. Come on!” + +So they went up to the Mock Turtle, who looked at them with large eyes +full of tears, but said nothing. + +“This here young lady,” said the Gryphon, “she wants for to know your +history, she do.” + +“I’ll tell it her,” said the Mock Turtle in a deep, hollow tone: “sit +down, both of you, and don’t speak a word till I’ve finished.” + +So they sat down, and nobody spoke for some minutes. Alice thought to +herself, “I don’t see how he can _ever_ finish, if he doesn’t begin.” +But she waited patiently. + +“Once,” said the Mock Turtle at last, with a deep sigh, “I was a real +Turtle.” + +These words were followed by a very long silence, broken only by an +occasional exclamation of “Hjckrrh!” from the Gryphon, and the constant +heavy sobbing of the Mock Turtle. Alice was very nearly getting up and +saying, “Thank you, sir, for your interesting story,” but she could not +help thinking there _must_ be more to come, so she sat still and said +nothing. + +“When we were little,” the Mock Turtle went on at last, more calmly, +though still sobbing a little now and then, “we went to school in the +sea. The master was an old Turtle—we used to call him Tortoise—” + +“Why did you call him Tortoise, if he wasn’t one?” Alice asked. + +“We called him Tortoise because he taught us,” said the Mock Turtle +angrily: “really you are very dull!” + +“You ought to be ashamed of yourself for asking such a simple +question,” added the Gryphon; and then they both sat silent and looked +at poor Alice, who felt ready to sink into the earth. At last the +Gryphon said to the Mock Turtle, “Drive on, old fellow! Don’t be all +day about it!” and he went on in these words: + +“Yes, we went to school in the sea, though you mayn’t believe it—” + +“I never said I didn’t!” interrupted Alice. + +“You did,” said the Mock Turtle. + +“Hold your tongue!” added the Gryphon, before Alice could speak again. +The Mock Turtle went on. + +“We had the best of educations—in fact, we went to school every day—” + +“_I’ve_ been to a day-school, too,” said Alice; “you needn’t be so +proud as all that.” + +“With extras?” asked the Mock Turtle a little anxiously. + +“Yes,” said Alice, “we learned French and music.” + +“And washing?” said the Mock Turtle. + +“Certainly not!” said Alice indignantly. + +“Ah! then yours wasn’t a really good school,” said the Mock Turtle in a +tone of great relief. “Now at _ours_ they had at the end of the bill, +‘French, music, _and washing_—extra.’” + +“You couldn’t have wanted it much,” said Alice; “living at the bottom +of the sea.” + +“I couldn’t afford to learn it.” said the Mock Turtle with a sigh. “I +only took the regular course.” + +“What was that?” inquired Alice. + +“Reeling and Writhing, of course, to begin with,” the Mock Turtle +replied; “and then the different branches of Arithmetic—Ambition, +Distraction, Uglification, and Derision.” + +“I never heard of ‘Uglification,’” Alice ventured to say. “What is it?” + +The Gryphon lifted up both its paws in surprise. “What! Never heard of +uglifying!” it exclaimed. “You know what to beautify is, I suppose?” + +“Yes,” said Alice doubtfully: “it means—to—make—anything—prettier.” + +“Well, then,” the Gryphon went on, “if you don’t know what to uglify +is, you _are_ a simpleton.” + +Alice did not feel encouraged to ask any more questions about it, so +she turned to the Mock Turtle, and said “What else had you to learn?” + +“Well, there was Mystery,” the Mock Turtle replied, counting off the +subjects on his flappers, “—Mystery, ancient and modern, with +Seaography: then Drawling—the Drawling-master was an old conger-eel, +that used to come once a week: _he_ taught us Drawling, Stretching, and +Fainting in Coils.” + +“What was _that_ like?” said Alice. + +“Well, I can’t show it you myself,” the Mock Turtle said: “I’m too +stiff. And the Gryphon never learnt it.” + +“Hadn’t time,” said the Gryphon: “I went to the Classics master, +though. He was an old crab, _he_ was.” + +“I never went to him,” the Mock Turtle said with a sigh: “he taught +Laughing and Grief, they used to say.” + +“So he did, so he did,” said the Gryphon, sighing in his turn; and both +creatures hid their faces in their paws. + +“And how many hours a day did you do lessons?” said Alice, in a hurry +to change the subject. + +“Ten hours the first day,” said the Mock Turtle: “nine the next, and so +on.” + +“What a curious plan!” exclaimed Alice. + +“That’s the reason they’re called lessons,” the Gryphon remarked: +“because they lessen from day to day.” + +This was quite a new idea to Alice, and she thought it over a little +before she made her next remark. “Then the eleventh day must have been +a holiday?” + +“Of course it was,” said the Mock Turtle. + +“And how did you manage on the twelfth?” Alice went on eagerly. + +“That’s enough about lessons,” the Gryphon interrupted in a very +decided tone: “tell her something about the games now.” + + + + +CHAPTER X. +The Lobster Quadrille + + +The Mock Turtle sighed deeply, and drew the back of one flapper across +his eyes. He looked at Alice, and tried to speak, but for a minute or +two sobs choked his voice. “Same as if he had a bone in his throat,” +said the Gryphon: and it set to work shaking him and punching him in +the back. At last the Mock Turtle recovered his voice, and, with tears +running down his cheeks, he went on again:— + +“You may not have lived much under the sea—” (“I haven’t,” said +Alice)—“and perhaps you were never even introduced to a lobster—” +(Alice began to say “I once tasted—” but checked herself hastily, and +said “No, never”) “—so you can have no idea what a delightful thing a +Lobster Quadrille is!” + +“No, indeed,” said Alice. “What sort of a dance is it?” + +“Why,” said the Gryphon, “you first form into a line along the +sea-shore—” + +“Two lines!” cried the Mock Turtle. “Seals, turtles, salmon, and so on; +then, when you’ve cleared all the jelly-fish out of the way—” + +“_That_ generally takes some time,” interrupted the Gryphon. + +“—you advance twice—” + +“Each with a lobster as a partner!” cried the Gryphon. + +“Of course,” the Mock Turtle said: “advance twice, set to partners—” + +“—change lobsters, and retire in same order,” continued the Gryphon. + +“Then, you know,” the Mock Turtle went on, “you throw the—” + +“The lobsters!” shouted the Gryphon, with a bound into the air. + +“—as far out to sea as you can—” + +“Swim after them!” screamed the Gryphon. + +“Turn a somersault in the sea!” cried the Mock Turtle, capering wildly +about. + +“Change lobsters again!” yelled the Gryphon at the top of its voice. + +“Back to land again, and that’s all the first figure,” said the Mock +Turtle, suddenly dropping his voice; and the two creatures, who had +been jumping about like mad things all this time, sat down again very +sadly and quietly, and looked at Alice. + +“It must be a very pretty dance,” said Alice timidly. + +“Would you like to see a little of it?” said the Mock Turtle. + +“Very much indeed,” said Alice. + +“Come, let’s try the first figure!” said the Mock Turtle to the +Gryphon. “We can do without lobsters, you know. Which shall sing?” + +“Oh, _you_ sing,” said the Gryphon. “I’ve forgotten the words.” + +So they began solemnly dancing round and round Alice, every now and +then treading on her toes when they passed too close, and waving their +forepaws to mark the time, while the Mock Turtle sang this, very slowly +and sadly:— + +“Will you walk a little faster?” said a whiting to a snail. +“There’s a porpoise close behind us, and he’s treading on my tail. +See how eagerly the lobsters and the turtles all advance! +They are waiting on the shingle—will you come and join the dance? +Will you, won’t you, will you, won’t you, will you join the dance? +Will you, won’t you, will you, won’t you, won’t you join the dance? + +“You can really have no notion how delightful it will be +When they take us up and throw us, with the lobsters, out to sea!” +But the snail replied “Too far, too far!” and gave a look askance— +Said he thanked the whiting kindly, but he would not join the dance. +Would not, could not, would not, could not, would not join the dance. +Would not, could not, would not, could not, could not join the dance. + +“What matters it how far we go?” his scaly friend replied. +“There is another shore, you know, upon the other side. +The further off from England the nearer is to France— +Then turn not pale, beloved snail, but come and join the dance. +Will you, won’t you, will you, won’t you, will you join the dance? +Will you, won’t you, will you, won’t you, won’t you join the dance?” + + +“Thank you, it’s a very interesting dance to watch,” said Alice, +feeling very glad that it was over at last: “and I do so like that +curious song about the whiting!” + +“Oh, as to the whiting,” said the Mock Turtle, “they—you’ve seen them, +of course?” + +“Yes,” said Alice, “I’ve often seen them at dinn—” she checked herself +hastily. + +“I don’t know where Dinn may be,” said the Mock Turtle, “but if you’ve +seen them so often, of course you know what they’re like.” + +“I believe so,” Alice replied thoughtfully. “They have their tails in +their mouths—and they’re all over crumbs.” + +“You’re wrong about the crumbs,” said the Mock Turtle: “crumbs would +all wash off in the sea. But they _have_ their tails in their mouths; +and the reason is—” here the Mock Turtle yawned and shut his +eyes.—“Tell her about the reason and all that,” he said to the Gryphon. + +“The reason is,” said the Gryphon, “that they _would_ go with the +lobsters to the dance. So they got thrown out to sea. So they had to +fall a long way. So they got their tails fast in their mouths. So they +couldn’t get them out again. That’s all.” + +“Thank you,” said Alice, “it’s very interesting. I never knew so much +about a whiting before.” + +“I can tell you more than that, if you like,” said the Gryphon. “Do you +know why it’s called a whiting?” + +“I never thought about it,” said Alice. “Why?” + +“_It does the boots and shoes_,” the Gryphon replied very solemnly. + +Alice was thoroughly puzzled. “Does the boots and shoes!” she repeated +in a wondering tone. + +“Why, what are _your_ shoes done with?” said the Gryphon. “I mean, what +makes them so shiny?” + +Alice looked down at them, and considered a little before she gave her +answer. “They’re done with blacking, I believe.” + +“Boots and shoes under the sea,” the Gryphon went on in a deep voice, +“are done with a whiting. Now you know.” + +“And what are they made of?” Alice asked in a tone of great curiosity. + +“Soles and eels, of course,” the Gryphon replied rather impatiently: +“any shrimp could have told you that.” + +“If I’d been the whiting,” said Alice, whose thoughts were still +running on the song, “I’d have said to the porpoise, ‘Keep back, +please: we don’t want _you_ with us!’” + +“They were obliged to have him with them,” the Mock Turtle said: “no +wise fish would go anywhere without a porpoise.” + +“Wouldn’t it really?” said Alice in a tone of great surprise. + +“Of course not,” said the Mock Turtle: “why, if a fish came to _me_, +and told me he was going a journey, I should say ‘With what porpoise?’” + +“Don’t you mean ‘purpose’?” said Alice. + +“I mean what I say,” the Mock Turtle replied in an offended tone. And +the Gryphon added “Come, let’s hear some of _your_ adventures.” + +“I could tell you my adventures—beginning from this morning,” said +Alice a little timidly: “but it’s no use going back to yesterday, +because I was a different person then.” + +“Explain all that,” said the Mock Turtle. + +“No, no! The adventures first,” said the Gryphon in an impatient tone: +“explanations take such a dreadful time.” + +So Alice began telling them her adventures from the time when she first +saw the White Rabbit. She was a little nervous about it just at first, +the two creatures got so close to her, one on each side, and opened +their eyes and mouths so _very_ wide, but she gained courage as she +went on. Her listeners were perfectly quiet till she got to the part +about her repeating “_You are old, Father William_,” to the +Caterpillar, and the words all coming different, and then the Mock +Turtle drew a long breath, and said “That’s very curious.” + +“It’s all about as curious as it can be,” said the Gryphon. + +“It all came different!” the Mock Turtle repeated thoughtfully. “I +should like to hear her try and repeat something now. Tell her to +begin.” He looked at the Gryphon as if he thought it had some kind of +authority over Alice. + +“Stand up and repeat ‘’_Tis the voice of the sluggard_,’” said the +Gryphon. + +“How the creatures order one about, and make one repeat lessons!” +thought Alice; “I might as well be at school at once.” However, she got +up, and began to repeat it, but her head was so full of the Lobster +Quadrille, that she hardly knew what she was saying, and the words came +very queer indeed:— + +“’Tis the voice of the Lobster; I heard him declare, +“You have baked me too brown, I must sugar my hair.” +As a duck with its eyelids, so he with his nose +Trims his belt and his buttons, and turns out his toes.” + +[later editions continued as follows +When the sands are all dry, he is gay as a lark, +And will talk in contemptuous tones of the Shark, +But, when the tide rises and sharks are around, +His voice has a timid and tremulous sound.] + + +“That’s different from what _I_ used to say when I was a child,” said +the Gryphon. + +“Well, I never heard it before,” said the Mock Turtle; “but it sounds +uncommon nonsense.” + +Alice said nothing; she had sat down with her face in her hands, +wondering if anything would _ever_ happen in a natural way again. + +“I should like to have it explained,” said the Mock Turtle. + +“She can’t explain it,” said the Gryphon hastily. “Go on with the next +verse.” + +“But about his toes?” the Mock Turtle persisted. “How _could_ he turn +them out with his nose, you know?” + +“It’s the first position in dancing.” Alice said; but was dreadfully +puzzled by the whole thing, and longed to change the subject. + +“Go on with the next verse,” the Gryphon repeated impatiently: “it +begins ‘_I passed by his garden_.’” + +Alice did not dare to disobey, though she felt sure it would all come +wrong, and she went on in a trembling voice:— + +“I passed by his garden, and marked, with one eye, +How the Owl and the Panther were sharing a pie—” + +[later editions continued as follows +The Panther took pie-crust, and gravy, and meat, +While the Owl had the dish as its share of the treat. +When the pie was all finished, the Owl, as a boon, +Was kindly permitted to pocket the spoon: +While the Panther received knife and fork with a growl, +And concluded the banquet—] + + +“What _is_ the use of repeating all that stuff,” the Mock Turtle +interrupted, “if you don’t explain it as you go on? It’s by far the +most confusing thing _I_ ever heard!” + +“Yes, I think you’d better leave off,” said the Gryphon: and Alice was +only too glad to do so. + +“Shall we try another figure of the Lobster Quadrille?” the Gryphon +went on. “Or would you like the Mock Turtle to sing you a song?” + +“Oh, a song, please, if the Mock Turtle would be so kind,” Alice +replied, so eagerly that the Gryphon said, in a rather offended tone, +“Hm! No accounting for tastes! Sing her ‘_Turtle Soup_,’ will you, old +fellow?” + +The Mock Turtle sighed deeply, and began, in a voice sometimes choked +with sobs, to sing this:— + +“Beautiful Soup, so rich and green, +Waiting in a hot tureen! +Who for such dainties would not stoop? +Soup of the evening, beautiful Soup! +Soup of the evening, beautiful Soup! + Beau—ootiful Soo—oop! + Beau—ootiful Soo—oop! +Soo—oop of the e—e—evening, + Beautiful, beautiful Soup! + +“Beautiful Soup! Who cares for fish, +Game, or any other dish? +Who would not give all else for two p +ennyworth only of beautiful Soup? +Pennyworth only of beautiful Soup? + Beau—ootiful Soo—oop! + Beau—ootiful Soo—oop! +Soo—oop of the e—e—evening, + Beautiful, beauti—FUL SOUP!” + + +“Chorus again!” cried the Gryphon, and the Mock Turtle had just begun +to repeat it, when a cry of “The trial’s beginning!” was heard in the +distance. + +“Come on!” cried the Gryphon, and, taking Alice by the hand, it hurried +off, without waiting for the end of the song. + +“What trial is it?” Alice panted as she ran; but the Gryphon only +answered “Come on!” and ran the faster, while more and more faintly +came, carried on the breeze that followed them, the melancholy words:— + +“Soo—oop of the e—e—evening, + Beautiful, beautiful Soup!” + + + + +CHAPTER XI. +Who Stole the Tarts? + + +The King and Queen of Hearts were seated on their throne when they +arrived, with a great crowd assembled about them—all sorts of little +birds and beasts, as well as the whole pack of cards: the Knave was +standing before them, in chains, with a soldier on each side to guard +him; and near the King was the White Rabbit, with a trumpet in one +hand, and a scroll of parchment in the other. In the very middle of the +court was a table, with a large dish of tarts upon it: they looked so +good, that it made Alice quite hungry to look at them—“I wish they’d +get the trial done,” she thought, “and hand round the refreshments!” +But there seemed to be no chance of this, so she began looking at +everything about her, to pass away the time. + +Alice had never been in a court of justice before, but she had read +about them in books, and she was quite pleased to find that she knew +the name of nearly everything there. “That’s the judge,” she said to +herself, “because of his great wig.” + +The judge, by the way, was the King; and as he wore his crown over the +wig, (look at the frontispiece if you want to see how he did it,) he +did not look at all comfortable, and it was certainly not becoming. + +“And that’s the jury-box,” thought Alice, “and those twelve creatures,” +(she was obliged to say “creatures,” you see, because some of them were +animals, and some were birds,) “I suppose they are the jurors.” She +said this last word two or three times over to herself, being rather +proud of it: for she thought, and rightly too, that very few little +girls of her age knew the meaning of it at all. However, “jury-men” +would have done just as well. + +The twelve jurors were all writing very busily on slates. “What are +they doing?” Alice whispered to the Gryphon. “They can’t have anything +to put down yet, before the trial’s begun.” + +“They’re putting down their names,” the Gryphon whispered in reply, +“for fear they should forget them before the end of the trial.” + +“Stupid things!” Alice began in a loud, indignant voice, but she +stopped hastily, for the White Rabbit cried out, “Silence in the +court!” and the King put on his spectacles and looked anxiously round, +to make out who was talking. + +Alice could see, as well as if she were looking over their shoulders, +that all the jurors were writing down “stupid things!” on their slates, +and she could even make out that one of them didn’t know how to spell +“stupid,” and that he had to ask his neighbour to tell him. “A nice +muddle their slates’ll be in before the trial’s over!” thought Alice. + +One of the jurors had a pencil that squeaked. This of course, Alice +could _not_ stand, and she went round the court and got behind him, and +very soon found an opportunity of taking it away. She did it so quickly +that the poor little juror (it was Bill, the Lizard) could not make out +at all what had become of it; so, after hunting all about for it, he +was obliged to write with one finger for the rest of the day; and this +was of very little use, as it left no mark on the slate. + +“Herald, read the accusation!” said the King. + +On this the White Rabbit blew three blasts on the trumpet, and then +unrolled the parchment scroll, and read as follows:— + +“The Queen of Hearts, she made some tarts, + All on a summer day: +The Knave of Hearts, he stole those tarts, + And took them quite away!” + + +“Consider your verdict,” the King said to the jury. + +“Not yet, not yet!” the Rabbit hastily interrupted. “There’s a great +deal to come before that!” + +“Call the first witness,” said the King; and the White Rabbit blew +three blasts on the trumpet, and called out, “First witness!” + +The first witness was the Hatter. He came in with a teacup in one hand +and a piece of bread-and-butter in the other. “I beg pardon, your +Majesty,” he began, “for bringing these in: but I hadn’t quite finished +my tea when I was sent for.” + +“You ought to have finished,” said the King. “When did you begin?” + +The Hatter looked at the March Hare, who had followed him into the +court, arm-in-arm with the Dormouse. “Fourteenth of March, I _think_ it +was,” he said. + +“Fifteenth,” said the March Hare. + +“Sixteenth,” added the Dormouse. + +“Write that down,” the King said to the jury, and the jury eagerly +wrote down all three dates on their slates, and then added them up, and +reduced the answer to shillings and pence. + +“Take off your hat,” the King said to the Hatter. + +“It isn’t mine,” said the Hatter. + +“_Stolen!_” the King exclaimed, turning to the jury, who instantly made +a memorandum of the fact. + +“I keep them to sell,” the Hatter added as an explanation; “I’ve none +of my own. I’m a hatter.” + +Here the Queen put on her spectacles, and began staring at the Hatter, +who turned pale and fidgeted. + +“Give your evidence,” said the King; “and don’t be nervous, or I’ll +have you executed on the spot.” + +This did not seem to encourage the witness at all: he kept shifting +from one foot to the other, looking uneasily at the Queen, and in his +confusion he bit a large piece out of his teacup instead of the +bread-and-butter. + +Just at this moment Alice felt a very curious sensation, which puzzled +her a good deal until she made out what it was: she was beginning to +grow larger again, and she thought at first she would get up and leave +the court; but on second thoughts she decided to remain where she was +as long as there was room for her. + +“I wish you wouldn’t squeeze so.” said the Dormouse, who was sitting +next to her. “I can hardly breathe.” + +“I can’t help it,” said Alice very meekly: “I’m growing.” + +“You’ve no right to grow _here_,” said the Dormouse. + +“Don’t talk nonsense,” said Alice more boldly: “you know you’re growing +too.” + +“Yes, but _I_ grow at a reasonable pace,” said the Dormouse: “not in +that ridiculous fashion.” And he got up very sulkily and crossed over +to the other side of the court. + +All this time the Queen had never left off staring at the Hatter, and, +just as the Dormouse crossed the court, she said to one of the officers +of the court, “Bring me the list of the singers in the last concert!” +on which the wretched Hatter trembled so, that he shook both his shoes +off. + +“Give your evidence,” the King repeated angrily, “or I’ll have you +executed, whether you’re nervous or not.” + +“I’m a poor man, your Majesty,” the Hatter began, in a trembling voice, +“—and I hadn’t begun my tea—not above a week or so—and what with the +bread-and-butter getting so thin—and the twinkling of the tea—” + +“The twinkling of the _what?_” said the King. + +“It _began_ with the tea,” the Hatter replied. + +“Of course twinkling begins with a T!” said the King sharply. “Do you +take me for a dunce? Go on!” + +“I’m a poor man,” the Hatter went on, “and most things twinkled after +that—only the March Hare said—” + +“I didn’t!” the March Hare interrupted in a great hurry. + +“You did!” said the Hatter. + +“I deny it!” said the March Hare. + +“He denies it,” said the King: “leave out that part.” + +“Well, at any rate, the Dormouse said—” the Hatter went on, looking +anxiously round to see if he would deny it too: but the Dormouse denied +nothing, being fast asleep. + +“After that,” continued the Hatter, “I cut some more bread-and-butter—” + +“But what did the Dormouse say?” one of the jury asked. + +“That I can’t remember,” said the Hatter. + +“You _must_ remember,” remarked the King, “or I’ll have you executed.” + +The miserable Hatter dropped his teacup and bread-and-butter, and went +down on one knee. “I’m a poor man, your Majesty,” he began. + +“You’re a _very_ poor _speaker_,” said the King. + +Here one of the guinea-pigs cheered, and was immediately suppressed by +the officers of the court. (As that is rather a hard word, I will just +explain to you how it was done. They had a large canvas bag, which tied +up at the mouth with strings: into this they slipped the guinea-pig, +head first, and then sat upon it.) + +“I’m glad I’ve seen that done,” thought Alice. “I’ve so often read in +the newspapers, at the end of trials, “There was some attempts at +applause, which was immediately suppressed by the officers of the +court,” and I never understood what it meant till now.” + +“If that’s all you know about it, you may stand down,” continued the +King. + +“I can’t go no lower,” said the Hatter: “I’m on the floor, as it is.” + +“Then you may _sit_ down,” the King replied. + +Here the other guinea-pig cheered, and was suppressed. + +“Come, that finished the guinea-pigs!” thought Alice. “Now we shall get +on better.” + +“I’d rather finish my tea,” said the Hatter, with an anxious look at +the Queen, who was reading the list of singers. + +“You may go,” said the King, and the Hatter hurriedly left the court, +without even waiting to put his shoes on. + +“—and just take his head off outside,” the Queen added to one of the +officers: but the Hatter was out of sight before the officer could get +to the door. + +“Call the next witness!” said the King. + +The next witness was the Duchess’s cook. She carried the pepper-box in +her hand, and Alice guessed who it was, even before she got into the +court, by the way the people near the door began sneezing all at once. + +“Give your evidence,” said the King. + +“Shan’t,” said the cook. + +The King looked anxiously at the White Rabbit, who said in a low voice, +“Your Majesty must cross-examine _this_ witness.” + +“Well, if I must, I must,” the King said, with a melancholy air, and, +after folding his arms and frowning at the cook till his eyes were +nearly out of sight, he said in a deep voice, “What are tarts made of?” + +“Pepper, mostly,” said the cook. + +“Treacle,” said a sleepy voice behind her. + +“Collar that Dormouse,” the Queen shrieked out. “Behead that Dormouse! +Turn that Dormouse out of court! Suppress him! Pinch him! Off with his +whiskers!” + +For some minutes the whole court was in confusion, getting the Dormouse +turned out, and, by the time they had settled down again, the cook had +disappeared. + +“Never mind!” said the King, with an air of great relief. “Call the +next witness.” And he added in an undertone to the Queen, “Really, my +dear, _you_ must cross-examine the next witness. It quite makes my +forehead ache!” + +Alice watched the White Rabbit as he fumbled over the list, feeling +very curious to see what the next witness would be like, “—for they +haven’t got much evidence _yet_,” she said to herself. Imagine her +surprise, when the White Rabbit read out, at the top of his shrill +little voice, the name “Alice!” + + + + +CHAPTER XII. +Alice’s Evidence + + +“Here!” cried Alice, quite forgetting in the flurry of the moment how +large she had grown in the last few minutes, and she jumped up in such +a hurry that she tipped over the jury-box with the edge of her skirt, +upsetting all the jurymen on to the heads of the crowd below, and there +they lay sprawling about, reminding her very much of a globe of +goldfish she had accidentally upset the week before. + +“Oh, I _beg_ your pardon!” she exclaimed in a tone of great dismay, and +began picking them up again as quickly as she could, for the accident +of the goldfish kept running in her head, and she had a vague sort of +idea that they must be collected at once and put back into the +jury-box, or they would die. + +“The trial cannot proceed,” said the King in a very grave voice, “until +all the jurymen are back in their proper places—_all_,” he repeated +with great emphasis, looking hard at Alice as he said so. + +Alice looked at the jury-box, and saw that, in her haste, she had put +the Lizard in head downwards, and the poor little thing was waving its +tail about in a melancholy way, being quite unable to move. She soon +got it out again, and put it right; “not that it signifies much,” she +said to herself; “I should think it would be _quite_ as much use in the +trial one way up as the other.” + +As soon as the jury had a little recovered from the shock of being +upset, and their slates and pencils had been found and handed back to +them, they set to work very diligently to write out a history of the +accident, all except the Lizard, who seemed too much overcome to do +anything but sit with its mouth open, gazing up into the roof of the +court. + +“What do you know about this business?” the King said to Alice. + +“Nothing,” said Alice. + +“Nothing _whatever?_” persisted the King. + +“Nothing whatever,” said Alice. + +“That’s very important,” the King said, turning to the jury. They were +just beginning to write this down on their slates, when the White +Rabbit interrupted: “_Un_important, your Majesty means, of course,” he +said in a very respectful tone, but frowning and making faces at him as +he spoke. + +“_Un_important, of course, I meant,” the King hastily said, and went on +to himself in an undertone, + +“important—unimportant—unimportant—important—” as if he were trying +which word sounded best. + +Some of the jury wrote it down “important,” and some “unimportant.” +Alice could see this, as she was near enough to look over their slates; +“but it doesn’t matter a bit,” she thought to herself. + +At this moment the King, who had been for some time busily writing in +his note-book, cackled out “Silence!” and read out from his book, “Rule +Forty-two. _All persons more than a mile high to leave the court_.” + +Everybody looked at Alice. + +“_I’m_ not a mile high,” said Alice. + +“You are,” said the King. + +“Nearly two miles high,” added the Queen. + +“Well, I shan’t go, at any rate,” said Alice: “besides, that’s not a +regular rule: you invented it just now.” + +“It’s the oldest rule in the book,” said the King. + +“Then it ought to be Number One,” said Alice. + +The King turned pale, and shut his note-book hastily. “Consider your +verdict,” he said to the jury, in a low, trembling voice. + +“There’s more evidence to come yet, please your Majesty,” said the +White Rabbit, jumping up in a great hurry; “this paper has just been +picked up.” + +“What’s in it?” said the Queen. + +“I haven’t opened it yet,” said the White Rabbit, “but it seems to be a +letter, written by the prisoner to—to somebody.” + +“It must have been that,” said the King, “unless it was written to +nobody, which isn’t usual, you know.” + +“Who is it directed to?” said one of the jurymen. + +“It isn’t directed at all,” said the White Rabbit; “in fact, there’s +nothing written on the _outside_.” He unfolded the paper as he spoke, +and added “It isn’t a letter, after all: it’s a set of verses.” + +“Are they in the prisoner’s handwriting?” asked another of the jurymen. + +“No, they’re not,” said the White Rabbit, “and that’s the queerest +thing about it.” (The jury all looked puzzled.) + +“He must have imitated somebody else’s hand,” said the King. (The jury +all brightened up again.) + +“Please your Majesty,” said the Knave, “I didn’t write it, and they +can’t prove I did: there’s no name signed at the end.” + +“If you didn’t sign it,” said the King, “that only makes the matter +worse. You _must_ have meant some mischief, or else you’d have signed +your name like an honest man.” + +There was a general clapping of hands at this: it was the first really +clever thing the King had said that day. + +“That _proves_ his guilt,” said the Queen. + +“It proves nothing of the sort!” said Alice. “Why, you don’t even know +what they’re about!” + +“Read them,” said the King. + +The White Rabbit put on his spectacles. “Where shall I begin, please +your Majesty?” he asked. + +“Begin at the beginning,” the King said gravely, “and go on till you +come to the end: then stop.” + +These were the verses the White Rabbit read:— + +“They told me you had been to her, + And mentioned me to him: +She gave me a good character, + But said I could not swim. + +He sent them word I had not gone + (We know it to be true): +If she should push the matter on, + What would become of you? + +I gave her one, they gave him two, + You gave us three or more; +They all returned from him to you, + Though they were mine before. + +If I or she should chance to be + Involved in this affair, +He trusts to you to set them free, + Exactly as we were. + +My notion was that you had been + (Before she had this fit) +An obstacle that came between + Him, and ourselves, and it. + +Don’t let him know she liked them best, + For this must ever be +A secret, kept from all the rest, + Between yourself and me.” + + +“That’s the most important piece of evidence we’ve heard yet,” said the +King, rubbing his hands; “so now let the jury—” + +“If any one of them can explain it,” said Alice, (she had grown so +large in the last few minutes that she wasn’t a bit afraid of +interrupting him,) “I’ll give him sixpence. _I_ don’t believe there’s +an atom of meaning in it.” + +The jury all wrote down on their slates, “_She_ doesn’t believe there’s +an atom of meaning in it,” but none of them attempted to explain the +paper. + +“If there’s no meaning in it,” said the King, “that saves a world of +trouble, you know, as we needn’t try to find any. And yet I don’t +know,” he went on, spreading out the verses on his knee, and looking at +them with one eye; “I seem to see some meaning in them, after all. +“—_said I could not swim_—” you can’t swim, can you?” he added, turning +to the Knave. + +The Knave shook his head sadly. “Do I look like it?” he said. (Which he +certainly did _not_, being made entirely of cardboard.) + +“All right, so far,” said the King, and he went on muttering over the +verses to himself: “‘_We know it to be true_—’ that’s the jury, of +course—‘_I gave her one, they gave him two_—’ why, that must be what he +did with the tarts, you know—” + +“But, it goes on ‘_they all returned from him to you_,’” said Alice. + +“Why, there they are!” said the King triumphantly, pointing to the +tarts on the table. “Nothing can be clearer than _that_. Then +again—‘_before she had this fit_—’ you never had fits, my dear, I +think?” he said to the Queen. + +“Never!” said the Queen furiously, throwing an inkstand at the Lizard +as she spoke. (The unfortunate little Bill had left off writing on his +slate with one finger, as he found it made no mark; but he now hastily +began again, using the ink, that was trickling down his face, as long +as it lasted.) + +“Then the words don’t _fit_ you,” said the King, looking round the +court with a smile. There was a dead silence. + +“It’s a pun!” the King added in an offended tone, and everybody +laughed, “Let the jury consider their verdict,” the King said, for +about the twentieth time that day. + +“No, no!” said the Queen. “Sentence first—verdict afterwards.” + +“Stuff and nonsense!” said Alice loudly. “The idea of having the +sentence first!” + +“Hold your tongue!” said the Queen, turning purple. + +“I won’t!” said Alice. + +“Off with her head!” the Queen shouted at the top of her voice. Nobody +moved. + +“Who cares for you?” said Alice, (she had grown to her full size by +this time.) “You’re nothing but a pack of cards!” + +At this the whole pack rose up into the air, and came flying down upon +her: she gave a little scream, half of fright and half of anger, and +tried to beat them off, and found herself lying on the bank, with her +head in the lap of her sister, who was gently brushing away some dead +leaves that had fluttered down from the trees upon her face. + +“Wake up, Alice dear!” said her sister; “Why, what a long sleep you’ve +had!” + +“Oh, I’ve had such a curious dream!” said Alice, and she told her +sister, as well as she could remember them, all these strange +Adventures of hers that you have just been reading about; and when she +had finished, her sister kissed her, and said, “It _was_ a curious +dream, dear, certainly: but now run in to your tea; it’s getting late.” +So Alice got up and ran off, thinking while she ran, as well she might, +what a wonderful dream it had been. + + +But her sister sat still just as she left her, leaning her head on her +hand, watching the setting sun, and thinking of little Alice and all +her wonderful Adventures, till she too began dreaming after a fashion, +and this was her dream:— + +First, she dreamed of little Alice herself, and once again the tiny +hands were clasped upon her knee, and the bright eager eyes were +looking up into hers—she could hear the very tones of her voice, and +see that queer little toss of her head to keep back the wandering hair +that _would_ always get into her eyes—and still as she listened, or +seemed to listen, the whole place around her became alive with the +strange creatures of her little sister’s dream. + +The long grass rustled at her feet as the White Rabbit hurried by—the +frightened Mouse splashed his way through the neighbouring pool—she +could hear the rattle of the teacups as the March Hare and his friends +shared their never-ending meal, and the shrill voice of the Queen +ordering off her unfortunate guests to execution—once more the pig-baby +was sneezing on the Duchess’s knee, while plates and dishes crashed +around it—once more the shriek of the Gryphon, the squeaking of the +Lizard’s slate-pencil, and the choking of the suppressed guinea-pigs, +filled the air, mixed up with the distant sobs of the miserable Mock +Turtle. + +So she sat on, with closed eyes, and half believed herself in +Wonderland, though she knew she had but to open them again, and all +would change to dull reality—the grass would be only rustling in the +wind, and the pool rippling to the waving of the reeds—the rattling +teacups would change to tinkling sheep-bells, and the Queen’s shrill +cries to the voice of the shepherd boy—and the sneeze of the baby, the +shriek of the Gryphon, and all the other queer noises, would change +(she knew) to the confused clamour of the busy farm-yard—while the +lowing of the cattle in the distance would take the place of the Mock +Turtle’s heavy sobs. + +Lastly, she pictured to herself how this same little sister of hers +would, in the after-time, be herself a grown woman; and how she would +keep, through all her riper years, the simple and loving heart of her +childhood: and how she would gather about her other little children, +and make _their_ eyes bright and eager with many a strange tale, +perhaps even with the dream of Wonderland of long ago: and how she +would feel with all their simple sorrows, and find a pleasure in all +their simple joys, remembering her own child-life, and the happy summer +days. + +THE END + + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ALICE’S ADVENTURES IN WONDERLAND *** + +***** This file should be named 11-0.txt or 11-0.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/1/11/ + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will +be renamed. + +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, +so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the +United States without permission and without paying copyright +royalties. 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If you are not located in the United States, you'll have +to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. + + + +Title: Sylvie and Bruno Concluded (Illustrated) + +Author: Lewis Carroll + +Illustrator: Harry Furniss + +Release Date: April 26, 2015 [EBook #48795] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SYLVIE AND BRUNO CONCLUDED *** + + + + +Produced by MWS, Stephen Hutcheson, Carol Spears, and the +Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net +(This file was produced from images generously made +available by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.) + + + + + + + + + + SYLVIE AND BRUNO + CONCLUDED + + + BY + LEWIS CARROLL + + _WITH FORTY-SIX ILLUSTRATIONS + BY + HARRY FURNISS_ + + + _New York_ + MACMILLAN AND CO. + AND LONDON + 1894 + _The Right of Translation and Reproduction is Reserved_ + + + Dreams, that elude the Waker’s frenzied grasp— + Hands, stark and still, on a dead Mother’s breast, + Which nevermore shall render clasp for clasp, + Or deftly soothe a weeping Child to rest— + In suchlike forms me listeth to portray + My Tale, here ended. Thou delicious Fay— + The guardian of a Sprite that lives to tease thee— + Loving in earnest, chiding but in play + The merry mocking Bruno! Who, that sees thee, + Can fail to love thee, Darling, even as I?— + My sweetest Sylvie, we must say ‘Good-bye!’ + + + + + PREFACE. + + +I must begin with the same announcement as in the previous Volume (which +I shall henceforward refer to as “Vol. I.,” calling the present Volume +“Vol. II.”), viz. that the Locket, at p. 405, was drawn by ‘Miss Alice +Havers.’ And my reason, for not stating this on the title-page—that it +seems only due, to the artist of these wonderful pictures, that his name +should stand there alone—has, I think, even greater weight in Vol. II. +than it had in Vol. I. Let me call especial attention to the three +“Little Birds” borders, at pp. 365, 371, 377. The way, in which he has +managed to introduce the most minute details of the stanzas to be +illustrated, seems to me a triumph of artistic ingenuity. + + +Let me here express my sincere gratitude to the many Reviewers who have +noticed, whether favorably or unfavorably, the previous Volume. Their +unfavorable remarks were, most probably, well-deserved; the favorable +ones less probably so. Both kinds have no doubt served to make the book +known, and have helped the reading Public to form their opinions of it. +Let me also here assure them that it is not from any want of respect for +their criticisms, that I have carefully forborne from reading _any_ of +them. I am strongly of opinion that an author had far better _not_ read +any reviews of his books: the unfavorable ones are almost certain to +make him cross, and the favorable ones conceited; and _neither_ of these +results is desirable. + +Criticisms have, however, reached me from private sources, to some of +which I propose to offer a reply. + +One such critic complains that Arthur’s strictures, on sermons and on +choristers, are too severe. Let me say, in reply, that I do _not_ hold +myself responsible for _any_ of the opinions expressed by the characters +in my book. They are simply opinions which, it seemed to me, might +probably be held by the persons into whose mouths I put them, and which +were worth consideration. + +Other critics have objected to certain innovations in spelling, such as +“ca’n’t,” “wo’n’t,” “traveler.” In reply, I can only plead my firm +conviction that the popular usage is _wrong_. As to “ca’n’t,” it will +not be disputed that, in all _other_ words ending in “n’t,” these +letters are an abbreviation of “not”; and it is surely absurd to suppose +that, in this solitary instance, “not” is represented by “’t”! In fact +“can’t” is the _proper_ abbreviation for “can it,” just as “is’t” is for +“is it.” Again, in “wo’n’t,” the first apostrophe is needed, because the +word “would” is here _abridged_ into “wo”: but I hold it proper to spell +“don’t” with only _one_ apostrophe, because the word “do” is here +_complete_. As to such words as “traveler,” I hold the correct principle +to be, to _double_ the consonant when the accent falls on that syllable; +otherwise to leave it _single_. This rule is observed in most cases +(e.g. we double the “r” in “preferred,” but leave it single in +“offered”), so that I am only extending, to other cases, an existing +rule. I admit, however, that I do not spell “parallel,” as the rule +would have it; but here we are constrained, by the etymology, to insert +the double “l”. + + +In the Preface to Vol. I. were two puzzles, on which my readers might +exercise their ingenuity. One was, to detect the 3 lines of “padding,” +which I had found it necessary to supply in the passage extending from +the top of p. 35 to the middle of p. 38. They are the 14th, 15th, and +16th lines of p. 37. The other puzzle was, to determine which (if any) +of the 8 stanzas of the Gardener’s Song (see pp. 65, 78, 83, 90, 106, +116, 164, 168) were adapted to the context, and which (if any) had the +context adapted to them. The last of them is the only one that was +adapted to the context, the “Garden-Door that opened with a key” having +been substituted for some creature (a Cormorant, I think) “that nestled +in a tree.” At pp. 78, 106, and 164, the context was adapted to the +stanza. At p. 90, neither stanza nor context was altered: the connection +between them was simply a piece of good luck. + +In the Preface to Vol. I., at pp. ix., x., I gave an account of the +making-up of the story of “Sylvie and Bruno.” A few more details may +perhaps be acceptable to my Readers. + +It was in 1873, as I _now_ believe, that the idea first occurred to me +that a little fairy-tale (written, in 1867, for “Aunt Judy’s Magazine,” +under the title “Bruno’s Revenge”) might serve as the nucleus of a +longer story. This I surmise, from having found the original draft of +the last paragraph of Vol. II., dated 1873. So that this paragraph has +been waiting 20 years for its chance of emerging into print—more than +twice the period so cautiously recommended by Horace for ‘repressing’ +one’s literary efforts! + +It was in February, 1885, that I entered into negotiations, with Mr. +Harry Furniss, for illustrating the book. Most of the substance of +_both_ Volumes was then in existence in manuscript: and my original +intention was to publish the _whole_ story at once. In September, 1885, +I received from Mr. Furniss the first set of drawings—the four which +illustrate “Peter and Paul” (see I. pp. 144, 147, 150, 154): in +November, 1886, I received the second set—the three which illustrate the +Professor’s song about the “little man” who had “a little gun” (Vol. II. +pp. 265, 266, 267): and in January, 1887, I received the third set—the +four which illustrate the “Pig-Tale.” + +So we went on, illustrating first one bit of the story, and then +another, without any idea of sequence. And it was not till March, 1889, +that, having calculated the number of pages the story would occupy, I +decided on dividing it into _two_ portions, and publishing it half at a +time. This necessitated the writing of a _sort_ of conclusion for the +first Volume: and _most_ of my Readers, I fancy, regarded this as the +_actual_ conclusion, when that Volume appeared in December, 1889. At any +rate, among all the letters I received about it, there was only _one_ +which expressed _any_ suspicion that it was not a _final_ conclusion. +This letter was from a child. She wrote “we were so glad, when we came +to the end of the book, to find that there was no ending-up, for that +shows us that you are going to write a sequel.” + +It may interest some of my Readers to know the _theory_ on which this +story is constructed. It is an attempt to show what might _possibly_ +happen, supposing that Fairies really existed; and that they were +sometimes visible to us, and we to them; and that they were sometimes +able to assume human form: and supposing, also, that human beings might +sometimes become conscious of what goes on in the Fairy-world—by actual +transference of their immaterial essence, such as we meet with in +‘Esoteric Buddhism.’ + +I have supposed a Human being to be capable of various psychical states, +with varying degrees of consciousness, as follows:— + +(_a_) the ordinary state, with no consciousness of the presence of +Fairies; + +(_b_) the ‘eerie’ state, in which, while conscious of actual +surroundings, he is _also_ conscious of the presence of Fairies; + +(_c_) a form of trance, in which, while _un_conscious of actual +surroundings, and apparently asleep, he (i.e. his immaterial essence) +migrates to other scenes, in the actual world, or in Fairyland, and is +conscious of the presence of Fairies. + +I have also supposed a Fairy to be capable of migrating from Fairyland +into the actual world, and of assuming, at pleasure, a Human form; and +also to be capable of various psychical states, viz. + +(_a_) the ordinary state, with no consciousness of the presence of Human +beings; + +(_b_) a sort of ‘eerie’ state, in which he is conscious, if in the +actual world, of the presence of actual Human beings; if in Fairyland, +of the presence of the immaterial essences of Human beings. + +I will here tabulate the passages, in both Volumes, where abnormal +states occur. + + Historian’s Locality and State. Other characters. + Vol. I. + pp. 1-16 In train _c_ Chancellor (_b_) p. 2. + 33-55 do. _c_ + 65-79 do. _c_ + 83-99 At lodgings _c_ + 105-117 On beach _c_ + 119-183 At lodgings _c_ S. and B. (_b_) pp. 158-163. + Professor (_b_) p. 169. + 190-221 In wood _b_ Bruno (_b_) pp. 198-220. + 225-233 do. sleep-walking _c_ S. and B. (_b_). + 247-253 Among ruins _c_ do. (_b_). + 262, 263 do. dreaming _a_ + 263-269 do. sleep-walking _c_ S. B. and Professor in Human + form. + 270 In street _b_ + 279-294 At station, &c. _b_ S. and B. (_b_). + 304-323 In garden _c_ S. B. and Professor (_b_). + 329-344 On road, &c. _a_ S. and B. in Human form. + 345-356 In street, &c. _a_ + 361-382 In wood _b_ S. and B. (_b_). + Vol. II. + pp. 4-18 In garden _b_ S. and B (_b_). + 47-52 On road _b_ do. (_b_). + 53-78 do. _b_ do. in Human form. + 79-92 do _b_ do. (_b_). + 152-211 In drawing-room _a_ do. in Human form. + 212-246 do. _c_ do. (_b_). + 262-270 In smoking-room _c_ do. (_b_). + 304-309 In wood _b_ do. (_a_); Lady Muriel (_b_). + 311-345 At lodgings _c_ + 351-399 do. _c_ + 407-end. do. _b_ + +In the Preface to Vol. I., at p. x., I gave an account of the +_origination_ of some of the ideas embodied in the book. A few more such +details may perhaps interest my Readers:— + +I. p. 203. The very peculiar use, here made of a dead mouse, comes from +real life. I once found two very small boys, in a garden, playing a +microscopic game of ‘Single-Wicket.’ The bat was, I think, about the +size of a table-spoon; and the utmost distance attained by the ball, in +its most daring flights, was some 4 or 5 yards. The _exact_ length was +of course a matter of _supreme_ importance; and it was always carefully +measured out (the batsman and the bowler amicably sharing the toil) with +a dead mouse! + +I. p. 259. The two quasi-mathematical Axioms, quoted by Arthur at p. 259 +of Vol. I., (“Things that are greater than the same are greater than one +another,” and “All angles are equal”) were actually enunciated, in all +seriousness, by undergraduates at a University situated not 100 miles +from Ely. + +II. p. 10. Bruno’s remark (“I can, if I like, &c.”) was actually made by +a little boy. + +II. p. 12. So also was his remark (“I know what it _doesn’t_ spell.”) +And his remark (“I just twiddled my eyes, &c.”) I heard from the lips of +a little girl, who had just solved a puzzle I had set her. + +II. p. 57. Bruno’s soliloquy (“For its father, &c.”) was actually spoken +by a little girl, looking out of the window of a railway-carriage. + +II. p. 138. The remark, made by a guest at the dinner-party, when asking +for a dish of fruit (“I’ve been wishing for them, &c.”) I heard made by +the great Poet-Laureate, whose loss the whole reading-world has so +lately had to deplore. + +II. p. 163. Bruno’s speech, on the subject of the age of ‘Mein Herr,’ +embodies the reply of a little girl to the question “Is your grandmother +an _old_ lady?” “I don’t know if she’s an _old_ lady,” said this +cautious young person; “she’s _eighty-three_.” + +II. p. 203. The speech about ‘Obstruction’ is no mere creature of my +imagination! It is copied _verbatim_ from the columns of the Standard, +and was spoken by Sir William Harcourt, who was, at the time, a member +of the ‘Opposition,’ at the ‘National Liberal Club,’ on July the 16th, +1890. + +II. p. 329. The Professor’s remark, about a dog’s tail, that “it doesn’t +bite at _that_ end,” was actually made by a child, when warned of the +danger he was incurring by pulling the dog’s tail. + +II. p. 374. The dialogue between Sylvie and Bruno, which occupies lines +6 to 15, is a _verbatim_ report (merely substituting “cake” for “penny”) +of a dialogue overheard between two children. + + +One story in this Volume—‘Bruno’s Picnic’—I can vouch for as suitable +for telling to children, having tested it again and again; and, whether +my audience has been a dozen little girls in a village-school, or some +thirty or forty in a London drawing-room, or a hundred in a High School, +I have always found them earnestly attentive, and keenly appreciative of +such fun as the story supplied. + +May I take this opportunity of calling attention to what I flatter +myself was a successful piece of name-coining, at p. 42 of Vol. I. Does +not the name ‘Sibimet’ fairly embody the character of the Sub-Warden? +The gentle Reader has no doubt observed what a singularly useless +article in a house a brazen trumpet is, if you simply leave it lying +about, and never blow it! + +Readers of the first Volume, who have amused themselves by trying to +solve the two puzzles propounded at pp. xi., xii. of the Preface, may +perhaps like to exercise their ingenuity in discovering which (if any) +of the following parallelisms were intentional, and which (if any) +accidental. + + “Little Birds.” Events, and Persons. + Stanza 1. Banquet. + 2. Chancellor. + 3. Empress and Spinach (II. 325). + 4. Warden’s Return. + 5. Professor’s Lecture (II. 339). + 6. Other Professor’s song (I. 138). + 7. Petting of Uggug. + 8. Baron Doppelgeist. + 9. Jester and Bear (I. 119). Little Foxes. + 10. Bruno’s Dinner-Bell; Little Foxes. + +I will publish the answer to this puzzle in the Preface to a little book +of “Original Games and Puzzles,” now in course of preparation. + +I have reserved, for the last, one or two rather more serious topics. + + +I had intended, in this Preface, to discuss more fully, than I had done +in the previous Volume, the ‘Morality of Sport’, with special reference +to letters I have received from lovers of Sport, in which they point out +the many great advantages which men get from it, and try to prove that +the suffering, which it inflicts on animals, is too trivial to be +regarded. + +But, when I came to think the subject out, and to arrange the whole of +the arguments ‘pro’ and ‘con’, I found it much too large for treatment +here. Some day, I hope to publish an essay on this subject. At present, +I will content myself with stating the net result I have arrived at. + +It is, that God has given to Man an absolute right to take the _lives_ +of other animals, for _any_ reasonable cause, such as the supply of +food: but that He has _not_ given to Man the right to inflict _pain_, +unless when _necessary_: that mere pleasure, or advantage, does not +constitute such a necessity: and, consequently, that pain, inflicted for +the purposes of _Sport_, is cruel, and therefore wrong. But I find it a +far more complex question than I had supposed; and that the ‘case’, on +the side of the Sportsman, is a much stronger one than I had supposed. +So, for the present, I say no more about it. + + +Objections have been raised to the severe language I have put into the +mouth of ‘Arthur’, at p. 277, on the subject of ‘Sermons,’ and at pp. +273, 274, on the subjects of Choral Services and ‘Choristers.’ + +I have already protested against the assumption that I am ready to +endorse the opinions of characters in my story. But, in these two +instances, I admit that I am much in sympathy with ‘Arthur.’ In my +opinion, far too many sermons are expected from our preachers; and, as a +consequence, a great many are preached, which are not worth listening +to; and, as a consequence of _that_, we are very apt _not_ to listen. +The reader of this paragraph probably heard a sermon last Sunday +morning? Well, let him, if he can, name the text, and state how the +preacher treated it! + +Then, as to ‘Choristers,’ and all the other accessories—of music, +vestments, processions, &c.,—which have come, along with them, into +fashion—while freely admitting that the ‘Ritual’ movement was sorely +needed, and that it has effected a vast improvement in our +Church-Services, which had become dead and dry to the last degree, I +hold that, like many other desirable movements, it has gone too far in +the opposite direction, and has introduced many new dangers. + +For the Congregation this new movement involves the danger of learning +to think that the Services are done _for_ them; and that their bodily +_presence_ is all they need contribute. And, for Clergy and Congregation +alike, it involves the danger of regarding these elaborate Services as +_ends in themselves_, and of forgetting that they are simply _means_, +and the very hollowest of mockeries, unless they bear fruit in our +_lives_. + +For the Choristers it seems to involve the danger of self-conceit, as +described at p. 274, the danger of regarding those parts of the Service, +where their help is not required, as not worth attending to, the danger +of coming to regard the Service as a mere outward form—a series of +postures to be assumed, and of words to be said or sung, while the +_thoughts_ are elsewhere—and the danger of ‘familiarity’ breeding +‘contempt’ for sacred things. + +Let me illustrate these last two forms of danger, from my own +experience. Not long ago, I attended a Cathedral-Service, and was placed +immediately behind a row of men, members of the Choir; and I could not +help noticing that they treated the _Lessons_ as a part of the Service +to which they needed not to give _any_ attention, and as affording them +a convenient opportunity for arranging music-books, &c., &c. Also I have +frequently seen a row of little choristers, after marching in procession +to their places, kneel down, as if about to pray, and rise from their +knees after a minute spent in looking about them, it being but too +evident that the attitude was a mere mockery. Surely it is very +dangerous, for these children, to thus accustom them to _pretend_ to +pray? As an instance of irreverent treatment of holy things, I will +mention a custom, which no doubt many of my readers have noticed in +Churches where the Clergy and Choir enter in procession, viz. that, at +the end of the private devotions, which are carried on in the vestry, +and which are of course inaudible to the Congregation, the final “Amen” +is _shouted_, loud enough to be heard all through the Church. This +serves as a signal, to the Congregation, to prepare to rise when the +procession appears: and it admits of no dispute that it is for this +purpose that it is thus shouted. When we remember to Whom that “Amen” is +_really_ addressed, and consider that it is here _used_ for the same +purpose as one of the Church-bells, we must surely admit that it is a +piece of gross irreverence? To _me_ it is much as if I were to see a +Bible used as a footstool. + +As an instance of the dangers, for the Clergy themselves, introduced by +this new movement, let me mention the fact that, according to _my_ +experience, Clergymen of this school are _specially_ apt to retail comic +anecdotes, in which the most sacred names and words—sometimes actual +texts from the Bible—are used as themes for jesting. Many such things +are repeated as having been originally said by _children_, whose utter +ignorance of evil must no doubt acquit _them_, in the sight of God, of +all blame; but it must be otherwise for those who _consciously_ use such +innocent utterances as material for their unholy mirth. + +Let me add, however, _most_ earnestly, that I fully believe that this +profanity is, in many cases, _un_conscious: the ‘environment’ (as I have +tried to explain at p. 123) makes all the difference between man and +man; and I rejoice to think that many of these profane stories—which _I_ +find so painful to listen to, and should feel it a sin to repeat—give to +_their_ ears no pain, and to _their_ consciences no shock; and that +_they_ can utter, not less sincerely than myself, the two prayers, +“_Hallowed be Thy Name_” and “_from hardness of heart, and contempt of +Thy Word and Commandment, Good Lord, deliver us!_” To which I would +desire to add, for their sake and for my own, Keble’s beautiful +petition, “_help us, this and every day, To live more nearly as we +pray!_” It is, in fact, for its _consequences_—for the grave dangers, +both to speaker and to hearer, which it involves—rather than for what it +is _in itself_, that I mourn over this clerical habit of profanity in +social talk. To the _believing_ hearer it brings the danger of loss of +reverence for holy things, by the mere act of listening to, and +enjoying, such jests; and also the temptation to retail them for the +amusement of others. To the _unbelieving_ hearer it brings a welcome +confirmation of his theory that religion is a fable, in the spectacle of +its accredited champions thus betraying their trust. And to the speaker +himself it must surely bring the danger of _loss of faith_. For surely +such jests, if uttered with no consciousness of harm, must necessarily +be also uttered with no consciousness, at the moment, of the _reality_ +of God, as a _living being_, who hears all we say. And he, who allows +himself the habit of thus uttering holy words, with no thought of their +meaning, is but too likely to find that, for him, God has become a myth, +and heaven a poetic fancy—that, for him, the light of life is gone, and +that he is at heart an atheist, lost in “_a darkness that may be felt_.” + +There is, I fear, at the present time, an increasing tendency to +irreverent treatment of the name of God and of subjects connected with +religion. Some of our theatres are helping this downward movement by the +gross caricatures of clergymen which they put upon the stage: some of +our clergy are themselves helping it, by showing that they can lay aside +the spirit of reverence, along with their surplices, and can treat as +jests, when _outside_ their churches, names and things to which they pay +an almost superstitious veneration when _inside_: the “Salvation Army” +has, I fear, with the best intentions, done much to help it, by the +coarse familiarity with which they treat holy things: and surely every +one, who desires to _live_ in the spirit of the prayer “_Hallowed be thy +Name_,” ought to do what he can, however little that may be, to check +it. So I have gladly taken this unique opportunity, however unfit the +topic may seem for the Preface to a book of this kind, to express some +thoughts which have weighed on my mind for a long time. I did not +expect, when I wrote the Preface to Vol. I, that it would be read to any +appreciable extent: but I rejoice to believe, from evidence that has +reached me, that it _has_ been read by many, and to hope that this +Preface will also be so: and I think that, among them, some will be +found ready to sympathise with the views I have put forwards, and ready +to help, with their prayers and their example, the revival, in Society, +of the waning spirit of reverence. + + _Christmas_, 1893. + + + + + CONTENTS. + + + CHAPTER PAGE + I. BRUNO’S LESSONS 1 + II. LOVE’S CURFEW 20 + III. STREAKS OF DAWN 36 + IV. THE DOG-KING 52 + V. MATILDA JANE 67 + VI. WILLIE’S WIFE 82 + VII. FORTUNATUS’ PURSE 96 + VIII. IN A SHADY PLACE 110 + IX. THE FAREWELL-PARTY 128 + X. JABBERING AND JAM 147 + XI. THE MAN IN THE MOON 162 + XII. FAIRY-MUSIC 175 + XIII. WHAT TOTTLES MEANT 194 + XIV. BRUNO’S PICNIC 212 + XV. THE LITTLE FOXES 233 + XVI. BEYOND THESE VOICES 247 + XVII. TO THE RESCUE! 262 + XVIII. A NEWSPAPER-CUTTING 282 + XIX. A FAIRY-DUET 287 + XX. GAMMON AND SPINACH 310 + XXI. THE PROFESSOR’S LECTURE 329 + XXII. THE BANQUET 346 + XXIII. THE PIG-TALE 363 + XXIV. THE BEGGAR’S RETURN 381 + XXV. LIFE OUT OF DEATH 400 + General Index 413 + List of Works 426 + + + + + ILLUSTRATIONS TO VOL. I. + + + PAGE + THE MARCH-UP 3 + VISITING THE PROFESSOR 11 + BOOTS FOR HORIZONTAL WEATHER 15 + A PORTABLE PLUNGE-BATH 24 + REMOVAL OF UGGUG 41 + ‘WHAT A GAME!’ 48 + ‘DRINK THIS!’ 53 + ‘COME, YOU BE OFF!’ 62 + THE GARDENER 66 + A BEGGAR’S PALACE 72 + THE CRIMSON LOCKET 77 + ‘HE THOUGHT HE SAW A BUFFALO’ 79 + ‘IT WAS A HIPPOPOTAMUS’ 91 + THE MAP OF FAIRYLAND 96 + ‘HE THOUGHT HE SAW A KANGAROO’ 106 + THE MOUSE-LION 108 + ‘HAMMER IT IN!’ 115 + A BEAR WITHOUT A HEAD 117 + ‘COME UP, BRUIN!’ 123 + THE OTHER PROFESSOR 135 + ‘HOW CHEERFULLY THE BOND HE SIGNED!’ 144 + ‘POOR PETER SHUDDERED IN DESPAIR’ 147 + ‘SUCH BOOTS AS THESE YOU SELDOM SEE’ 150 + ‘I WILL LEND YOU FIFTY MORE!’ 154 + ‘HE THOUGHT HE SAW AN ALBATROSS’ 165 + THE MASTIFF-SENTINEL 172 + THE DOG-KING 176 + FAIRY-SYLVIE 193 + BRUNO’S REVENGE 213 + FAIRIES RESTING 226 + A CHANGED CROCODILE 229 + A LECTURE ON ART 240 + ‘THREE BADGERS ON A MOSSY STONE’ 247 + ‘THE FATHER-BADGER, WRITHING IN A CAVE’ 249 + ‘THOSE AGED ONES WAXED GAY’ 252 + ‘HOW PERFECTLY ISOCHRONOUS!’ 268 + THE LAME CHILD 280 + ‘IT WENT IN TWO HALVES’ 285 + FIVE O’CLOCK TEA 296 + ‘WHAT’S THE MATTER, DARLING?’ 307 + THE DEAD HARE 321 + CROSSING THE LINE 341 + ‘THE PUG-DOG SAT UP’ 351 + THE QUEEN’S BABY 363 + THE FROGS’ BIRTHDAY-TREAT 373 + ‘HE WRENCHED OUT THAT CROCODILE’S TOOF!’ 380 + ‘LOOK EASTWARD!’ 395 + + + + + ILLUSTRATIONS TO VOL. II. + + + PAGE + SYLVIE’S TRUANT-PUPIL 8 + KING FISHER’S WOOING 15 + ‘SPEND IT ALL FOR MINNIE’ 22 + ‘ARE NOT THOSE ORCHISES?’ 50 + A ROYAL THIEF-TAKER 62 + ‘SUMMAT WRONG WI’ MY SPECTACLES!’ 64 + BESSIE’S SONG 75 + THE RESCUE OF WILLIE 83 + WILLIE’S WIFE 88 + FORTUNATUS’ PURSE 103 + ‘I AM SITTING AT YOUR FEET’ 119 + MEIN HERR’S FAIRY-FRIENDS 163 + ‘HOW CALL YOU THE OPERA?’ 178 + SCHOLAR-HUNTING: THE PURSUED 188 + SCHOLAR-HUNTING: THE PURSUERS 189 + THE EGG-MERCHANT 197 + STARTING FOR BRUNO’S PICNIC 230 + ‘ENTER THE LION’ 236 + ‘WHIHUAUCH! WHIHUAUCH!’ 242 + ‘NEVER!’ YELLED TOTTLES 248 + BRUNO’S BED-TIME 265 + ‘LONG CEREMONIOUS CALLS’ 266 + THE VOICES 267 + ‘HIS SOUL SHALL BE SAD FOR THE SPIDER’ 268 + LORDS OF THE CREATION 271 + ‘WILL YOU NOT SPARE ME?’ 277 + IN THE CHURCH-YARD 291 + A FAIRY-DUET 304 + THE OTHER PROFESSOR FOUND 317 + ‘HER IMPERIAL HIGHNESS IS SURPRISED!’ 326 + ‘HE THOUGHT HE SAW AN ELEPHANT’ 335 + AN EXPLOSION 345 + ‘A CANNOT SHAK’ HANDS WI’ THEE!’ 350 + THE OTHER PROFESSOR’S FALL 352 + ‘TEACHING TIGRESSES TO SMILE’ 365 + ‘HORRID WAS THAT PIG’S DESPAIR!’ 367 + THE FATAL JUMP 369 + ‘BATHING CROCODILES IN CREAM’ 371 + ‘THAT PIG LAY STILL AS ANY STONE’ 372 + ‘STILL HE SITS IN MISERIE’ 373 + ‘BLESSED BY HAPPY STAGS’ 377 + THE OLD BEGGAR’S RETURN 382 + ‘PORCUPINE!’ 388 + ‘GOOD-NIGHT, PROFESSOR!’ 398 + ‘HIS WIFE KNELT DOWN AT HIS SIDE’ 404 + THE BLUE LOCKET 409 + ‘IT IS LOVE!’ 411 + + + + + SYLVIE AND BRUNO + CONCLUDED. + + + + + CHAPTER I. + BRUNO’S LESSONS. + + +During the next month or two my solitary town-life seemed, by contrast, +unusually dull and tedious. I missed the pleasant friends I had left +behind at Elveston—the genial interchange of thought—the sympathy which +gave to one’s ideas a new and vivid reality: but, perhaps more than all, +I missed the companionship of the two Fairies—or Dream-Children, for I +had not yet solved the problem as to who or what they were—whose sweet +playfulness had shed a magic radiance over my life. + +In office-hours—which I suppose reduce most men to the mental condition +of a coffee-mill or a mangle—time sped along much as usual: it was in +the pauses of life, the desolate hours when books and newspapers palled +on the sated appetite, and when, thrown back upon one’s own dreary +musings, one strove—all in vain—to people the vacant air with the dear +faces of absent friends, that the real bitterness of solitude made +itself felt. + +One evening, feeling my life a little more wearisome than usual, I +strolled down to my Club, not so much with the hope of meeting any +friend there, for London was now ‘out of town,’ as with the feeling that +here, at least, I should hear ‘sweet words of human speech,’ and come +into contact with human thought. + +However, almost the first face I saw there _was_ that of a friend. Eric +Lindon was lounging, with rather a ‘bored’ expression of face, over a +newspaper; and we fell into conversation with a mutual satisfaction +which neither of us tried to conceal. + +After a while I ventured to introduce what was just then the main +subject of my thoughts. “And so the Doctor” (a name we had adopted by a +tacit agreement, as a convenient compromise between the formality of +‘Doctor Forester’ and the intimacy—to which Eric Lindon hardly seemed +entitled—of ‘Arthur’) “has gone abroad by this time, I suppose? Can you +give me his present address?” + +“He is still at Elveston—I believe,” was the reply. “But I have not been +there since I last met you.” + +I did not know which part of this intelligence to wonder at most. “And +might I ask—if it isn’t taking too much of a liberty—when your +wedding-bells are to—or perhaps they _have_ rung, already?” + +“No,” said Eric, in a steady voice, which betrayed scarcely a trace of +emotion: “_that_ engagement is at an end. I am still ‘Benedick the +_un_married man.’” + +After this, the thick-coming fancies—all radiant with new possibilities +of happiness for Arthur—were far too bewildering to admit of any further +conversation, and I was only too glad to avail myself of the first +decent excuse, that offered itself, for retiring into silence. + +The next day I wrote to Arthur, with as much of a reprimand for his long +silence as I could bring myself to put into words, begging him to tell +me how the world went with him. + +Needs must that three or four days—possibly more—should elapse before I +could receive his reply; and never had I known days drag their slow +length along with a more tedious indolence. + +To while away the time, I strolled, one afternoon, into Kensington +Gardens, and, wandering aimlessly along any path that presented itself, +I soon became aware that I had somehow strayed into one that was wholly +new to me. Still, my elfish experiences seemed to have so completely +faded out of my life that nothing was further from my thoughts than the +idea of again meeting my fairy-friends, when I chanced to notice a small +creature, moving among the grass that fringed the path, that did not +seem to be an insect, or a frog, or any other living thing that I could +think of. Cautiously kneeling down, and making an _ex tempore_ cage of +my two hands, I imprisoned the little wanderer, and felt a sudden thrill +of surprise and delight on discovering that my prisoner was no other +than _Bruno_ himself! + +Bruno took the matter _very_ coolly, and, when I had replaced him on the +ground, where he would be within easy conversational distance, he began +talking, just as if it were only a few minutes since last we had met. + +“Doos oo know what the _Rule_ is,” he enquired, “when oo catches a +Fairy, withouten its having tolded oo where it was?” (Bruno’s notions of +English Grammar had certainly _not_ improved since our last meeting.) + +“No,” I said. “I didn’t know there was any Rule about it.” + +“I _think_ oo’ve got a right to _eat_ me,” said the little fellow, +looking up into my face with a winning smile. “But I’m not pruffickly +sure. Oo’d better not do it wizout asking.” + +It did indeed seem reasonable not to take so irrevocable a step as +_that_, without due enquiry. “I’ll certainly _ask_ about it, first,” I +said. “Besides, I don’t know yet whether you would be _worth_ eating!” + +“I guess I’m _deliciously_ good to eat,” Bruno remarked in a satisfied +tone, as if it were something to be rather proud of. + +“And what are you doing here, Bruno?” + +“_That’s_ not my name!” said my cunning little friend. “Don’t oo know my +name’s ‘Oh Bruno!’? That’s what Sylvie always calls me, when I says mine +lessons.” + +“Well then, what are you doing here, oh Bruno?” + +“Doing mine lessons, a-course!” With that roguish twinkle in his eye, +that always came when he knew he was talking nonsense. + +“Oh, _that’s_ the way you do your lessons, is it? And do you remember +them well?” + +“Always can ’member _mine_ lessons,” said Bruno. “It’s _Sylvie’s_ +lessons that’s so _dreffully_ hard to ’member!” He frowned, as if in +agonies of thought, and tapped his forehead with his knuckles. “I +_ca’n’t_ think enough to understand them!” he said despairingly. “It +wants _double_ thinking, I believe!” + +“But where’s Sylvie gone?” + +“That’s just what _I_ want to know!” said Bruno disconsolately. “What +ever’s the good of setting me lessons, when she isn’t here to ’splain +the hard bits?” + +“_I’ll_ find her for you!” I volunteered; and, getting up, I wandered +round the tree under whose shade I had been reclining, looking on all +sides for Sylvie. In another minute I _again_ noticed some strange thing +moving among the grass, and, kneeling down, was immediately confronted +with Sylvie’s innocent face, lighted up with a joyful surprise at seeing +me, and was accosted, in the sweet voice I knew so well, with what +seemed to be the _end_ of a sentence whose beginning I had failed to +catch. + +“—and I think he ought to have _finished_ them by this time. So I’m +going back to him. Will you come too? It’s only just round at the other +side of this tree.” + +It was but a few steps for _me_; but it was a great many for Sylvie; and +I had to be very careful to walk slowly, in order not to leave the +little creature so far behind as to lose sight of her. + +To find Bruno’s _lessons_ was easy enough: they appeared to be neatly +written out on large smooth ivy-leaves, which were scattered in some +confusion over a little patch of ground where the grass had been worn +away; but the pale student, who ought by rights to have been bending +over them, was nowhere to be seen: we looked in all directions, for some +time, in vain; but at last Sylvie’s sharp eyes detected him, swinging on +a tendril of ivy, and Sylvie’s stern voice commanded his instant return +to _terra firma_ and to the business of Life. + +[Illustration: SYLVIE’S TRUANT-PUPIL] + +“Pleasure first and business afterwards” seemed to be the motto of these +tiny folk, so many hugs and kisses had to be interchanged before +anything else could be done. + +“Now, Bruno,” Sylvie said reproachfully, “didn’t I tell you you were to +go on with your lessons, unless you heard to the contrary?” + +“But I _did_ heard to the contrary!” Bruno insisted, with a mischievous +twinkle in his eye. + +“_What_ did you hear, you wicked boy?” + +“It were a sort of noise in the air,” said Bruno: “a sort of a +scrambling noise. Didn’t _oo_ hear it, Mister Sir?” + +“Well, anyhow, you needn’t go to _sleep_ over them, you lazy-lazy!” For +Bruno had curled himself up, on the largest ‘lesson,’ and was arranging +another as a pillow. + +“I _wasn’t_ asleep!” said Bruno, in a deeply-injured tone. “When I shuts +mine eyes, it’s to show that I’m _awake_!” + +“Well, how much have you learned, then?” + +“I’ve learned a little tiny bit,” said Bruno, modestly, being evidently +afraid of overstating his achievement. “_Ca’n’t_ learn no more!” + +“Oh Bruno! You know you _can_, if you like.” + +“Course I can, if I _like_,” the pale student replied; “but I ca’n’t if +I _don’t_ like!” + +Sylvie had a way—which I could not too highly admire—of evading Bruno’s +logical perplexities by suddenly striking into a new line of thought; +and this masterly stratagem she now adopted. + +“Well, I must say _one_ thing——” + +“Did oo know, Mister Sir,” Bruno thoughtfully remarked, “that Sylvie +ca’n’t count? Whenever she says ‘I must say _one_ thing,’ I _know_ quite +well she’ll say _two_ things! And she always doos.” + +“Two heads are better than one, Bruno,” I said, but with no very +distinct idea as to what I meant by it. + +“I shouldn’t mind having two _heads_,” Bruno said softly to himself: +“one head to eat mine dinner, and one head to argue wiz Sylvie—doos oo +think oo’d look prettier if oo’d got _two_ heads, Mister Sir?” + +The case did not, I assured him, admit of a doubt. + +“The reason why Sylvie’s so cross——” Bruno went on very seriously, +almost sadly. + +Sylvie’s eyes grew large and round with surprise at this new line of +enquiry—her rosy face being perfectly radiant with good humour. But she +said nothing. + +“Wouldn’t it be better to tell me after the lessons are over?” I +suggested. + +“Very well,” Bruno said with a resigned air: “only she wo’n’t be cross +then.” + +“There’s only three lessons to do,” said Sylvie. “Spelling, and +Geography, and Singing.” + +“Not _Arithmetic_?” I said. + +“No, he hasn’t a head for Arithmetic——” + +“Course I haven’t!” said Bruno. “Mine head’s for _hair_. I haven’t got a +_lot_ of heads!” + +“—and he ca’n’t learn his Multiplication-table——” + +“I like _History_ ever so much better,” Bruno remarked. “Oo has to +_repeat_ that Muddlecome table——” + +“Well, and you have to repeat——” + +“No, oo hasn’t!” Bruno interrupted. “History repeats itself. The +Professor said so!” + +Sylvie was arranging some letters on a board——E—V—I—L. “Now, Bruno,” she +said, “what does _that_ spell?” + +Bruno looked at it, in solemn silence, for a minute. “I knows what it +_doosn’t_ spell!” he said at last. + +“That’s no good,” said Sylvie. “What _does_ it spell?” + +Bruno took another look at the mysterious letters. “Why, it’s ‘LIVE,’ +backwards!” he exclaimed. (I thought it was, indeed.) + +“How _did_ you manage to see that?” said Sylvie. + +“I just twiddled my eyes,” said Bruno, “and then I saw it directly. Now +may I sing the King-fisher Song?” + +“Geography next,” said Sylvie. “Don’t you know the Rules?” + +“I thinks there oughtn’t to be such a lot of Rules, Sylvie! I thinks——” + +“Yes, there _ought_ to be such a lot of Rules, you wicked, wicked boy! +And how dare you _think_ at all about it? And shut up that mouth +directly!” + +So, as ‘that mouth’ didn’t seem inclined to shut up of itself, Sylvie +shut it for him—with both hands—and sealed it with a kiss, just as you +would fasten up a letter. + +“Now that Bruno is fastened up from talking,” she went on, turning to +me, “I’ll show you the Map he does his lessons on.” + +And there it was, a large Map of the World, spread out on the ground. It +was so large that Bruno had to crawl about on it, to point out the +places named in the ‘King-fisher Lesson.’ + +“When a King-fisher sees a Lady-bird flying away, he says ‘_Ceylon_, if +you _Candia_!’ And when he catches it, he says ‘Come to _Media_! And if +you’re _Hungary_ or thirsty, I’ll give you some _Nubia_!’ When he takes +it in his claws, he says ‘_Europe!_’ When he puts it into his beak, he +says ‘_India!_’ When he’s swallowed it, he says ‘_Eton!_’ That’s all.” + +“That’s _quite_ perfect,” said Sylvie. “Now you may sing the King-fisher +Song.” + +“Will _oo_ sing the chorus?” Bruno said to me. + +I was just beginning to say “I’m afraid I don’t know the _words_,” when +Sylvie silently turned the map over, and I found the words were all +written on the back. In one respect it was a _very_ peculiar song: the +chorus to each verse came in the _middle_, instead of at the _end_ of +it. However, the tune was so easy that I soon picked it up, and managed +the chorus as well, perhaps, as it is possible for _one_ person to +manage such a thing. It was in vain that I signed to Sylvie to help me: +she only smiled sweetly and shook her head. + + “King Fisher courted Lady Bird— + _Sing Beans, sing Bones, sing Butterflies!_ + ‘Find me my match,’ he said, + ‘With such a noble head— + With such a beard, as white as curd— + With such expressive eyes!’ + + “‘Yet pins have heads,’ said Lady Bird— + _Sing Prunes, sing Prawns, sing Primrose-Hill!_ + ‘And, where you stick them in, + They stay, and thus a pin + Is very much to be preferred + To one that’s never still!’ + + “‘Oysters have beards,’ said Lady Bird— + _Sing Flies, sing Frogs, sing Fiddle-strings!_ + ‘I love them, for I know + _They_ never chatter so: + They would not say one single word— + Not if you crowned them Kings!’ + + “‘Needles have eyes,’ said Lady Bird— + _Sing Cats, sing Corks, sing Cowslip-tea!_ + ‘And they are sharp—just what + Your Majesty is _not:_ + So get you gone—’tis too absurd + To come a-courting _me_!’” + +[Illustration: KING FISHER’S WOOING] + +“So he went away,” Bruno added as a kind of postscript, when the last +note of the song had died away. “Just like he always did.” + +“Oh, my _dear_ Bruno!” Sylvie exclaimed, with her hands over her ears. +“You shouldn’t say ‘like’: you should say ‘_what_.’” + +To which Bruno replied, doggedly, “I only says ‘what!’ when oo doosn’t +speak loud, so as I can hear oo.” + +“Where did he go to?” I asked, hoping to prevent an argument. + +“He went more far than he’d never been before,” said Bruno. + +“You should never say ‘more far,’” Sylvie corrected him: “you should say +‘_farther_.’” + +“Then _oo_ shouldn’t say ‘more broth,’ when we’re at dinner,” Bruno +retorted: “oo should say ‘_brother_’!” + +This time Sylvie evaded an argument by turning away, and beginning to +roll up the Map. “Lessons are over!” she proclaimed in her sweetest +tones. + +“And has there been no _crying_ over them?” I enquired. “Little boys +_always_ cry over their lessons, don’t they?” + +“I never cries after twelve o’clock,” said Bruno: “’cause then it’s +getting so near to dinner-time.” + +“Sometimes, in the morning,” Sylvie said in a low voice; “when it’s +Geography-day, and when he’s been disobe——” + +“_What_ a fellow you are to talk, Sylvie!” Bruno hastily interposed. +“Doos oo think the world was _made_ for oo to talk in?” + +“Why, where would you _have_ me talk, then?” Sylvie said, evidently +quite ready for an argument. + +But Bruno answered resolutely. “I’m not going to argue about it, ’cause +it’s getting late, and there wo’n’t be time—but oo’s as ’ong as ever oo +can be!” And he rubbed the back of his hand across his eyes, in which +tears were beginning to glitter. + +_Sylvie’s_ eyes filled with tears in a moment. “I didn’t mean it, Bruno, +_darling_!” she whispered; and the rest of the argument was lost ‘amid +the tangles of Neæra’s hair,’ while the two disputants hugged and kissed +each other. + +But this new form of argument was brought to a sudden end by a flash of +lightning, which was closely followed by a peal of thunder, and by a +torrent of rain-drops, which came hissing and spitting, almost like live +creatures, through the leaves of the tree that sheltered us. + +“Why, it’s raining cats and dogs!” I said. + +“And all the _dogs_ has come down _first_,” said Bruno: “there’s nothing +but _cats_ coming down now!” + +In another minute the pattering ceased, as suddenly as it had begun. I +stepped out from under the tree, and found that the storm was over; but +I looked in vain, on my return, for my tiny companions. They had +vanished with the storm, and there was nothing for it but to make the +best of my way home. + +On the table lay, awaiting my return, an envelope of that peculiar +yellow tint which always announces a telegram, and which must be, in the +memories of so many of us, inseparably linked with some great and sudden +sorrow—something that has cast a shadow, never in this world to be +wholly lifted off, on the brightness of Life. No doubt it has _also_ +heralded—for many of us—some sudden news of joy; but this, I think, is +less common: human life seems, on the whole, to contain more of sorrow +than of joy. And yet the world goes on. Who knows why? + +This time, however, there was no shock of sorrow to be faced: in fact, +the few words it contained (“Could not bring myself to write. Come soon. +Always welcome. A letter follows this. Arthur.”) seemed so like Arthur +himself speaking, that it gave me quite a thrill of pleasure, and I at +once began the preparations needed for the journey. + + + + + CHAPTER II. + LOVE’S CURFEW. + + +“Fayfield Junction! Change for Elveston!” + +What subtle memory could there be, linked to these commonplace words, +that caused such a flood of happy thoughts to fill my brain? I +dismounted from the carriage in a state of joyful excitement for which I +could not at first account. True, I had taken this very journey, and at +the same hour of the day, six months ago; but many things had happened +since then, and an old man’s memory has but a slender hold on recent +events: I sought ‘the missing link’ in vain. Suddenly I caught sight of +a bench—the only one provided on the cheerless platform—with a lady +seated on it, and the whole forgotten scene flashed upon me as vividly +as if it were happening over again. + +“Yes,” I thought. “This bare platform is, for me, rich with the memory +of a dear friend! She was sitting on that very bench, and invited me to +share it, with some quotation from Shakespeare—I forget what. I’ll try +the Earl’s plan for the Dramatisation of Life, and fancy that figure to +be Lady Muriel; and I won’t undeceive myself too soon!” + +So I strolled along the platform, resolutely ‘making-believe’ (as +children say) that the casual passenger, seated on that bench, was the +Lady Muriel I remembered so well. She was facing away from me, which +aided the elaborate cheatery I was practising on myself: but, though I +was careful, in passing the spot, to look the other way, in order to +prolong the pleasant illusion, it was inevitable that, when I turned to +walk back again, I should see who it was. It was Lady Muriel herself! + +[Illustration: ‘SPEND IT ALL FOR MINNIE’] + +The whole scene now returned vividly to my memory; and, to make this +repetition of it stranger still, there was the same old man, whom I +remembered seeing so roughly ordered off, by the Station-Master, to make +room for his titled passenger. The same, but ‘with a difference’: no +longer tottering feebly along the platform, but actually seated at Lady +Muriel’s side, and in conversation with her! “Yes, put it in your +purse,” she was saying, “and remember you’re to spend it all for +_Minnie_. And mind you bring her something nice, that’ll do her real +good! And give her my love!” So intent was she on saying these words, +that, although the sound of my footstep had made her lift her head and +look at me, she did not at first recognise me. + +I raised my hat as I approached, and then there flashed across her face +a genuine look of joy, which so exactly recalled the sweet face of +Sylvie, when last we met in Kensington Gardens, that I felt quite +bewildered. + +Rather than disturb the poor old man at her side, she rose from her +seat, and joined me in my walk up and down the platform, and for a +minute or two our conversation was as utterly trivial and commonplace as +if we were merely two casual guests in a London drawing-room. Each of us +seemed to shrink, just at first, from touching on the deeper interests +which linked our lives together. + +The Elveston train had drawn up at the platform, while we talked; and, +in obedience to the Station-Master’s obsequious hint of “This way, my +Lady! Time’s up!”, we were making the best of our way towards the end +which contained the sole first-class carriage, and were just passing the +now-empty bench, when Lady Muriel noticed, lying on it, the purse in +which her gift had just been so carefully bestowed, the owner of which, +all unconscious of his loss, was being helped into a carriage at the +other end of the train. She pounced on it instantly. “Poor old man!” she +cried. “He mustn’t go off, and think he’s lost it!” + +“Let _me_ run with it! I can go quicker than you!” I said. But she was +already half-way down the platform, flying (‘running’ is much too +mundane a word for such fairy-like motion) at a pace that left all +possible efforts of _mine_ hopelessly in the rear. + +She was back again before I had well completed my audacious boast of +speed in running, and was saying, quite demurely, as we entered our +carriage, “and you really think _you_ could have done it quicker?” + +“No indeed!” I replied. “I plead ‘Guilty’ of gross exaggeration, and +throw myself on the mercy of the Court!” + +“The Court will overlook it—for this once!” Then her manner suddenly +changed from playfulness to an anxious gravity. + +“You are not looking your best!” she said with an anxious glance. “In +fact, I think you look _more_ of an invalid than when you left us. I +very much doubt if London agrees with you?” + +“It _may_ be the London air,” I said, “or it may be the hard work—or my +rather lonely life: anyhow, I’ve _not_ been feeling very well, lately. +But Elveston will soon set me up again. Arthur’s prescription—he’s my +doctor, you know, and I heard from him this morning—is ‘plenty of ozone, +and new milk, and _pleasant society_’!” + +“Pleasant society?” said Lady Muriel, with a pretty make-believe of +considering the question. “Well, really I don’t know where we can find +_that_ for you! We have so few neighbours. But new milk we _can_ manage. +Do get it of my old friend Mrs. Hunter, up there, on the hill-side. You +may rely upon the _quality_. And her little Bessie comes to school every +day, and passes your lodgings. So it would be very easy to send it.” + +“I’ll follow your advice, with pleasure,” I said; “and I’ll go and +arrange about it tomorrow. I know Arthur will want a walk.” + +“You’ll find it quite an easy walk—under three miles, I think.” + +“Well, now that we’ve settled that point, let me retort your own remark +upon yourself. I don’t think _you’re_ looking quite your best!” + +“I daresay not,” she replied in a low voice; and a sudden shadow seemed +to overspread her face. “I’ve had some troubles lately. It’s a matter +about which I’ve been long wishing to consult you, but I couldn’t easily +write about it. I’m _so_ glad to have this opportunity!” + +“Do you think,” she began again, after a minute’s silence, and with a +visible embarrassment of manner most unusual in her, “that a promise, +deliberately and solemnly given, is _always_ binding—except, of course, +where its fulfilment would involve some actual _sin_?” + +“I ca’n’t think of any other exception at this moment,” I said. “That +branch of casuistry is usually, I believe, treated as a question of +truth and untruth——” + +“Surely that _is_ the principle?” she eagerly interrupted. “I always +thought the Bible-teaching about it consisted of such texts as ‘_lie not +one to another_’?” + +“I have thought about that point,” I replied; “and it seems to me that +the essence of _lying_ is the intention of _deceiving_. If you give a +promise, fully _intending_ to fulfil it, you are certainly acting +truthfully _then_; and, if you afterwards break it, that does not +involve any _deception_. I cannot call it _untruthful_.” + +Another pause of silence ensued. Lady Muriel’s face was hard to read: +she looked pleased, I thought, but also puzzled; and I felt curious to +know whether her question had, as I began to suspect, some bearing on +the breaking off of her engagement with Captain (now Major) Lindon. + +“You have relieved me from a great fear,” she said; “but the thing is of +course _wrong_, somehow. What texts would _you_ quote, to prove it +wrong?” + +“Any that enforce the payment of _debts_. If _A_ promises something to +_B_, _B_ has a claim upon _A_. And _A_’s sin, if he breaks his promise, +seems to me more analogous to _stealing_ than to _lying_.” + +“It’s a new way of looking at it—to me,” she said; “but it seems a +_true_ way, also. However, I won’t deal in generalities, with an old +friend like you! For we _are_ old friends, somehow. Do you know, I think +we _began_ as old friends?” she said with a playfulness of tone that ill +accorded with the tears that glistened in her eyes. + +“Thank you very much for saying so,” I replied. “I like to think of you +as an _old_ friend,” (“—though you don’t look it!” would have been the +almost necessary sequence, with any other lady; but she and I seemed to +have long passed out of the time when compliments, or any such +trivialities, were possible.) + +Here the train paused at a station, where two or three passengers +entered the carriage; so no more was said till we had reached our +journey’s end. + +On our arrival at Elveston, she readily adopted my suggestion that we +should walk up together; so, as soon as our luggage had been duly taken +charge of—hers by the servant who met her at the station, and mine by +one of the porters—we set out together along the familiar lanes, now +linked in my memory with so many delightful associations. Lady Muriel at +once recommenced the conversation at the point where it had been +interrupted. + +“You knew of my engagement to my cousin Eric. Did you also hear——” + +“Yes,” I interrupted, anxious to spare her the pain of giving any +details. “I heard it had all come to an end.” + +“I would like to tell you how it happened,” she said; “as that is the +very point I want your advice about. I had long realised that we were +not in sympathy in religious belief. His ideas of Christianity are very +shadowy; and even as to the existence of a God he lives in a sort of +dreamland. But it has not affected his life! I feel sure, now, that the +most absolute Atheist _may_ be leading, though walking blindfold, a pure +and noble life. And if you knew half the good deeds——” she broke off +suddenly, and turned away her head. + +“I entirely agree with you,” I said. “And have we not our Saviour’s own +promise that such a life shall surely lead to the light?” + +“Yes, I know it,” she said in a broken voice, still keeping her head +turned away. “And so I told him. He said he would believe, for _my_ +sake, if he could. And he wished, for _my_ sake, he could see things as +I did. But that is all wrong!” she went on passionately. “God _cannot_ +approve such low motives as that! Still it was not _I_ that broke it +off. I knew he loved me; and I had _promised_; and——” + +“Then it was _he_ that broke it off?” + +“He released me unconditionally.” She faced me again now, having quite +recovered her usual calmness of manner. + +“Then what difficulty remains?” + +“It is _this_, that I don’t believe he did it of his own free will. Now, +supposing he did it _against_ his will, merely to satisfy my scruples, +would not his claim on me remain just as strong as ever? And would not +my promise be as binding as ever? My father says ‘no’; but I ca’n’t help +fearing he is biased by his love for me. And I’ve asked no one else. I +have many friends—friends for the bright sunny weather; not friends for +the clouds and storms of life; not _old_ friends like you!” + +“Let me think a little,” I said: and for some minutes we walked on in +silence, while, pained to the heart at seeing the bitter trial that had +come upon this pure and gentle soul, I strove in vain to see my way +through the tangled skein of conflicting motives. + +“If she loves him truly,” (I seemed at last to grasp the clue to the +problem) “is not _that_, for her, the voice of God? May she not hope +that she is sent to him, even as Ananias was sent to Saul in his +blindness, that he may receive his sight?” Once more I seemed to hear +Arthur whispering “_What knowest thou, O wife, whether thou shalt save +thy husband?_” and I broke the silence with the words “If you still love +him truly——” + +“I do _not_!” she hastily interrupted. “At least—not in _that_ way. I +_believe_ I loved him when I promised; but I was very young: it is hard +to know. But, whatever the feeling was, it is dead _now_. The motive on +_his_ side is Love: on _mine_ it is—Duty!” + +Again there was a long silence. The whole skein of thought was tangled +worse than ever. This time _she_ broke the silence. “Don’t misunderstand +me!” she said. “When I said my heart was not _his_, I did not mean it +was any one else’s! At present I feel bound to _him_; and, till I know I +am absolutely free, in the sight of God, to love any other than him, +I’ll never even _think_ of any one else—in _that_ way, I mean. I would +die sooner!” I had never imagined my gentle friend capable of such +passionate utterances. + +I ventured on no further remark until we had nearly arrived at the +Hall-gate; but, the longer I reflected, the clearer it became to me that +no call of Duty demanded the sacrifice—possibly of the happiness of a +life—which she seemed ready to make. I tried to make this clear to _her_ +also, adding some warnings on the dangers that surely awaited a union in +which mutual love was wanting. “The only argument for it, worth +considering,” I said in conclusion, “seems to be his supposed +_reluctance_ in releasing you from your promise. I have tried to give to +that argument its _full_ weight, and my conclusion is that it does _not_ +affect the rights of the case, or invalidate the release he has given +you. My belief is that you are _entirely_ free to act as _now_ seems +right.” + +“I am _very_ grateful to you,” she said earnestly. “Believe it, please! +I ca’n’t put it into proper words!” and the subject was dropped by +mutual consent: and I only learned, long afterwards, that our discussion +had really served to dispel the doubts that had harassed her so long. + +We parted at the Hall-gate, and I found Arthur eagerly awaiting my +arrival; and, before we parted for the night, I had heard the whole +story—how he had put off his journey from day to day, feeling that he +_could_ not go away from the place till his fate had been irrevocably +settled by the wedding taking place: how the preparations for the +wedding, and the excitement in the neighbourhood, had suddenly come to +an end, and he had learned (from Major Lindon, who called to wish him +good-bye) that the engagement had been broken off by mutual consent: how +he had instantly abandoned all his plans for going abroad, and had +decided to stay on at Elveston, for a year or two at any rate, till his +newly-awakened hopes should prove true or false; and how, since that +memorable day, he had avoided all meetings with Lady Muriel, fearing to +betray his feelings before he had had any sufficient evidence as to how +she regarded him. “But it is nearly six weeks since all that happened,” +he said in conclusion, “and we can meet in the ordinary way, now, with +no need for any painful allusions. I would have written to tell you all +this: only I kept hoping from day to day, that—that there would be +_more_ to tell!” + +“And how should there be _more_, you foolish fellow,” I fondly urged, +“if you never even go near her? Do you expect the offer to come from +_her_?” + +Arthur was betrayed into a smile. “No,” he said, “I hardly expect +_that_. But I’m a desperate coward. There’s no doubt about it!” + +“And what _reasons_ have you heard of for breaking off the engagement?” + +“A good many,” Arthur replied, and proceeded to count them on his +fingers. “First, it was found that she was dying of—something; so _he_ +broke it off. Then it was found that _he_ was dying of—some other thing; +so _she_ broke it off. Then the Major turned out to be a confirmed +gamester; so the _Earl_ broke it off. Then the Earl insulted him; so the +_Major_ broke it off. It got a good deal broken off, all things +considered!” + +“You have all this on the very best authority, of course?” + +“Oh, certainly! And communicated in the strictest confidence! Whatever +defects Elveston society suffers from, _want of information_ isn’t one +of them!” + +“Nor _reticence_, either, it seems. But, seriously, do you know the real +reason?” + +“No, I’m quite in the dark.” + +I did not feel that I had any right to enlighten him; so I changed the +subject, to the less engrossing one of “new milk,” and we agreed that I +should walk over, next day, to Hunter’s farm, Arthur undertaking to set +me part of the way, after which he had to return to keep a +business-engagement. + + + + + CHAPTER III. + STREAKS OF DAWN. + + +Next day proved warm and sunny, and we started early, to enjoy the +luxury of a good long chat before he would be obliged to leave me. + +“This neighbourhood has more than its due proportion of the _very_ +poor,” I remarked, as we passed a group of hovels, too dilapidated to +deserve the name of “cottages.” + +“But the few rich,” Arthur replied, “give more than their due proportion +of help in charity. So the balance is kept.” + +“I suppose the _Earl_ does a good deal?” + +“He _gives_ liberally; but he has not the health or strength to do more. +Lady Muriel does more in the way of school-teaching and cottage-visiting +than she would like me to reveal.” + +“Then _she_, at least, is not one of the ‘idle mouths’ one so often +meets with among the upper classes. I have sometimes thought they would +have a hard time of it, if suddenly called on to give their _raison +d’être_, and to show cause why they should be allowed to live any +longer!” + +“The whole subject,” said Arthur, “of what we may call ‘idle mouths’ (I +mean persons who absorb some of the material _wealth_ of a community—in +the form of food, clothes, and so on—without contributing its equivalent +in the form of productive _labour_) is a complicated one, no doubt. I’ve +tried to think it out. And it seemed to me that the simplest form of the +problem, to start with, is a community without _money_, who buy and sell +by _barter_ only; and it makes it yet simpler to suppose the food and +other things to be capable of _keeping_ for many years without +spoiling.” + +“Yours is an excellent plan,” I said. “What is your solution of the +problem?” + +“The commonest type of ‘idle mouths,’” said Arthur, “is no doubt due to +money being left by parents to their own children. So I imagined a +man—either exceptionally clever, or exceptionally strong and +industrious—who had contributed so much valuable labour to the needs of +the community that its equivalent, in clothes, &c., was (say) five times +as much as he needed for himself. We cannot deny his _absolute_ right to +give the superfluous wealth as he chooses. So, if he leaves _four_ +children behind him (say two sons and two daughters), with enough of all +the necessaries of life to last them a life-time, I cannot see that the +_community_ is in any way wronged if they choose to do nothing in life +but to ‘eat, drink, and be merry.’ Most certainly, the community could +not fairly say, in reference to _them_, ‘_if a man will not work, +neither let him eat_.’ Their reply would be crushing. ‘The labour has +already been _done_, which is a fair equivalent for the food we are +eating; and you have had the benefit of it. On what principle of justice +can you demand _two_ quotas of work for _one_ quota of food?’” + +“Yet surely,” I said, “there is something wrong _somewhere_, if these +four people are well able to do useful work, and if that work is +actually _needed_ by the community, and they elect to sit idle?” + +“I think there _is_,” said Arthur: “but it seems to me to arise from a +Law of God—that every one shall do as much as he can to help others—and +not from any _rights_, on the part of the community, to exact labour as +an equivalent for food that has already been fairly earned.” + +“I suppose the _second_ form of the problem is where the ‘idle mouths’ +possess _money_ instead of _material_ wealth?” + +“Yes,” replied Arthur: “and I think the simplest case is that of +_paper_-money. _Gold_ is itself a form of material wealth; but a +bank-note is merely a _promise_ to hand over so much _material_ wealth +when called upon to do so. The father of these four ‘idle mouths,’ had +done (let us say) five thousand pounds’ worth of useful work for the +community. In return for this, the community had given him what amounted +to a written promise to hand over, whenever called upon to do so, five +thousand pounds’ worth of food, &c. Then, if he only uses _one_ thousand +pounds’ worth himself, and leaves the rest of the notes to his children, +surely they have a full right to _present_ these written promises, and +to say ‘hand over the food, for which the equivalent labour has been +already done.’ Now I think _this_ case well worth stating, publicly and +clearly. I should like to drive it into the heads of those Socialists +who are priming our ignorant paupers with such sentiments as ‘Look at +them bloated haristocrats! Doing not a stroke o’ work for theirselves, +and living on the sweat of _our_ brows!’ I should like to _force_ them +to see that the _money_, which those ‘haristocrats’ are spending, +represents so much labour _already done_ for the community, and whose +equivalent, in _material_ wealth, is _due from the community_.” + +“Might not the Socialists reply ‘Much of this money does not represent +_honest_ labour _at all_. If you could trace it back, from owner to +owner, though you might begin with several legitimate steps, such as +gift, or bequeathing by will, or ‘value received,’ you would soon reach +an owner who had no moral right to it, but had got it by fraud or other +crimes; and of course his successors in the line would have no better +right to it than _he_ had.” + +“No doubt, no doubt,” Arthur replied. “But surely that involves the +logical fallacy of _proving too much_? It is _quite_ as applicable to +_material_ wealth, as it is to _money_. If we once begin to go back +beyond the fact that the _present_ owner of certain property came by it +honestly, and to ask whether any previous owner, in past ages, got it by +fraud, would _any_ property be secure?” + +After a minute’s thought, I felt obliged to admit the truth of this. + +“My general conclusion,” Arthur continued, “from the mere standpoint of +human _rights_, man against man, was this—that if some wealthy ‘idle +mouth,’ who has come by his money in a lawful way, even though not one +atom of the labour it represents has been his own doing, chooses to +spend it on his own needs, without contributing any labour to the +community from whom he buys his food and clothes, that community has no +_right_ to interfere with him. But it’s quite another thing, when we +come to consider the _divine_ law. Measured by _that_ standard, such a +man is undoubtedly doing wrong, if he fails to use, for the good of +those in need, the strength or the skill, that God has given him. That +strength and skill do _not_ belong to the community, to be paid to +_them_ as a _debt_: they do _not_ belong to the man _himself_, to be +used for his _own_ enjoyment: they _do_ belong to God, to be used +according to _His_ will; and we are not left in doubt as to what that +will is. ‘_Do good, and lend, hoping for nothing again._’” + +“Anyhow,” I said, “an ‘idle mouth’ very often gives away a great deal in +charity.” + +“In _so-called_ ‘charity,’” he corrected me. “Excuse me if I seem to +speak _un_charitably. I would not dream of _applying_ the term to any +_individual_. But I would say, _generally_, that a man who gratifies +every fancy that occurs to him—denying himself in _nothing_—and merely +gives to the poor some part, or even _all_, of his _superfluous_ wealth, +is only deceiving himself if he calls it _charity_.” + +“But, even in giving away _superfluous_ wealth, he _may_ be denying +himself the miser’s pleasure in hoarding?” + +“I grant you that, gladly,” said Arthur. “Given that he _has_ that +morbid craving, he is doing a good deed in restraining it.” + +“But, even in spending on _himself_,” I persisted, “our typical rich man +often does good, by employing people who would otherwise be out of work: +and that is often better than pauperising them by _giving_ the money.” + +“I’m glad you’ve said that!” said Arthur. “I would not like to quit the +subject without exposing the _two_ fallacies of that statement—which +have gone so long uncontradicted that Society now accepts it as an +axiom!” + +“What are they?” I said. “I don’t even see _one_, myself.” + +“One is merely the fallacy of _ambiguity_—the assumption that ‘_doing +good_’ (that is, benefiting somebody) is necessarily _a good thing to +do_ (that is, a _right_ thing). The other is the assumption that, if one +of two specified acts is _better_ than another, it is necessarily a +_good_ act in itself. I should like to call this the fallacy of +_comparison_—meaning that it assumes that what is _comparatively_ good +is therefore _positively_ good.” + +“Then what is _your_ test of a good act?” + +“That it shall be _our best_,” Arthur confidently replied. “And even +_then_ ‘_we are unprofitable servants_.’ But let me illustrate the two +fallacies. Nothing illustrates a fallacy so well as an extreme case, +which fairly comes under it. Suppose I find two children drowning in a +pond. I rush in, and save one of the children, and then walk away, +leaving the other to drown. Clearly I have ‘_done good_,’ in saving a +child’s life? But——. Again, supposing I meet an inoffensive stranger, +and knock him down, and walk on. Clearly that is ‘_better_’ than if I +had proceeded to jump upon him and break his ribs? But——” + +“Those ‘buts’ are quite unanswerable,” I said. “But I should like an +instance from _real_ life.” + +“Well, let us take one of those abominations of modern Society, a +Charity-Bazaar. It’s an interesting question to think out—how much of +the money, that reaches the object in view, is _genuine_ charity; and +whether even _that_ is spent in the _best_ way. But the subject needs +regular classification, and analysis, to understand it properly.” + +“I should be glad to _have_ it analysed,” I said: “it has often puzzled +me.” + +“Well, if I am really not boring you. Let us suppose our Charity-Bazaar +to have been organised to aid the funds of some Hospital: and that A, B, +C _give_ their services in making articles to sell, and in acting as +salesmen, while X, Y, Z buy the articles, and the money so paid goes to +the Hospital. + +“There are two distinct species of such Bazaars: one, where the payment +exacted is merely the _market-value_ of the goods supplied, that is, +exactly what you would have to pay at a shop: the other, where +_fancy-prices_ are asked. We must take these separately. + +“First, the ‘market-value’ case. Here A, B, C are exactly in the same +position as ordinary shopkeepers; the only difference being that they +give the proceeds to the Hospital. Practically, they are _giving their +skilled labour_ for the benefit of the Hospital. This seems to me to be +genuine charity. And I don’t see how they could use it better. But X, Y, +Z, are exactly in the same position as any ordinary purchasers of goods. +To talk of ‘charity’ in connection with _their_ share of the business, +is sheer nonsense. Yet they are very likely to do so. + +“Secondly, the case of ‘fancy-prices.’ Here I think the simplest plan is +to divide the payment into two parts, the ‘market-value’ and the excess +over that. The ‘market-value’ part is on the same footing as in the +first case: the _excess_ is all we have to consider. Well, A, B, C do +not _earn_ it; so we may put _them_ out of the question: it is a _gift_, +from X, Y, Z, to the Hospital. And my opinion is that it is not given in +the best way: far better buy what they choose to _buy_, and give what +they choose to _give_, as two _separate_ transactions: then there is +_some_ chance that their motive in giving may be real charity, instead +of a mixed motive—half charity, half self-pleasing. ‘The trail of the +serpent is over it all.’ And _therefore_ it is that I hold all such +spurious ‘Charities’ in _utter_ abomination!” He ended with unusual +energy, and savagely beheaded, with his stick, a tall thistle at the +road-side, behind which I was startled to see Sylvie and Bruno standing. +I caught at his arm, but too late to stop him. Whether the stick reached +them, or not, I could not feel sure: at any rate they took not the +smallest notice of it, but smiled gaily, and nodded to me; and I saw at +once that they were only visible to _me_: the ‘eerie’ influence had not +reached to _Arthur_. + +“Why did you try to save it?” he said. “_That’s_ not the wheedling +Secretary of a Charity-Bazaar! I only wish it were!” he added grimly. + +“Doos oo know, that stick went right froo my head!” said Bruno. (They +had run round to me by this time, and each had secured a hand.) “Just +under my chin! I _are_ glad I aren’t a thistle!” + +“Well, we’ve threshed _that_ subject out, anyhow!” Arthur resumed. “I’m +afraid I’ve been talking too much, for _your_ patience and for my +strength. I must be turning soon. This is about the end of my tether.” + + “Take, O boatman, thrice thy fee; + Take, I give it willingly; + For, invisible to thee, + Spirits twain have crossed with me!” + +I quoted, involuntarily. + +“For utterly inappropriate and irrelevant quotations,” laughed Arthur, +“you are ‘ekalled by few, and excelled by none’!” And we strolled on. + +As we passed the head of the lane that led down to the beach, I noticed +a single figure, moving slowly along it, seawards. She was a good way +off, and had her back to us: but it was Lady Muriel, unmistakably. +Knowing that Arthur had not seen her, as he had been looking, in the +other direction, at a gathering rain-cloud, I made no remark, but tried +to think of some plausible pretext for sending him back by the sea. + +The opportunity instantly presented itself. “I’m getting tired,” he +said. “I don’t think it would be prudent to go further. I had better +turn here.” + +I turned with him, for a few steps, and as we again approached the head +of the lane, I said, as carelessly as I could, “Don’t go back by the +road. It’s too hot and dusty. Down this lane, and along the beach, is +nearly as short; and you’ll get a breeze off the sea.” + +“Yes, I think I will,” Arthur began; but at that moment we came into +sight of Lady Muriel, and he checked himself. “No, it’s too far round. +Yet it certainly _would_ be cooler——” He stood, hesitating, looking +first one way and then the other—a melancholy picture of utter infirmity +of purpose! + +How long this humiliating scene would have continued, if _I_ had been +the only external influence, it is impossible to say; for at this moment +Sylvie, with a swift decision worthy of Napoleon himself, took the +matter into her own hands. “You go and drive _her_, up this way,” she +said to Bruno. “I’ll get _him_ along!” And she took hold of the stick +that Arthur was carrying, and gently pulled him down the lane. + +He was totally unconscious that any will but his own was acting on the +stick, and appeared to think it had taken a horizontal position simply +because he was pointing with it. “Are not those _orchises_ under the +hedge there?” he said. “I think that decides me. I’ll gather some as I +go along.” + +[Illustration: ‘ARE NOT THOSE ORCHISES?’] + +Meanwhile Bruno had run on beyond Lady Muriel, and, with much jumping +about and shouting (shouts audible to no one but Sylvie and myself), +much as if he were driving sheep, he managed to turn her round and make +her walk, with eyes demurely cast upon the ground, in our direction. + +The victory was ours! And, since it was evident that the lovers, thus +urged together, _must_ meet in another minute, I turned and walked on, +hoping that Sylvie and Bruno would follow my example, as I felt sure +that the fewer the spectators the better it would be for Arthur and his +good angel. + +“And what sort of meeting was it?” I wondered, as I paced dreamily on. + + + + + CHAPTER IV. + THE DOG-KING. + + +“They shooked hands,” said Bruno, who was trotting at my side, in answer +to the unspoken question. + +“And they looked _ever_ so pleased!” Sylvie added from the other side. + +“Well, we must get on, now, as quick as we can,” I said. “If only I knew +the best way to Hunter’s farm!” + +“They’ll be sure to know in this cottage,” said Sylvie. + +“Yes, I suppose they will. Bruno, would you run in and ask?” + +Sylvie stopped him, laughingly, as he ran off. “Wait a minute,” she +said. “I must make you _visible_ first, you know.” + +“And _audible_ too, I suppose?” I said, as she took the jewel, that hung +round her neck, and waved it over his head, and touched his eyes and +lips with it. + +“Yes,” said Sylvie: “and _once_, do you know, I made him _audible_, and +forgot to make him _visible_! And he went to buy some sweeties in a +shop. And the man _was_ so frightened! A voice seemed to come out of the +air, ‘Please, I want two ounces of barley-sugar drops!’ And a shilling +came _bang_ down upon the counter! And the man said ‘I ca’n’t _see_ +you!’ And Bruno said ‘It doosn’t sinnify seeing _me_, so long as oo can +see the _shilling_!’ But the man said he never sold barley-sugar drops +to people he couldn’t _see_. So we had to—_Now_, Bruno, you’re ready!” +And away he trotted. + +Sylvie spent the time, while we were waiting for him, in making +_herself_ visible also. “It’s rather awkward, you know,” she explained +to me, “when we meet people, and they can see _one_ of us, and ca’n’t +see the _other_!” + +In a minute or two Bruno returned, looking rather disconsolate. “He’d +got friends with him, and he were _cross_!” he said. “He asked me who I +were. And I said ‘I’m Bruno: who is _these_ peoples?’ And he said ‘One’s +my half-brother, and t’other’s my half-sister: and I don’t want no more +company! Go along with yer!’ And I said ‘I ca’n’t go along _wizout_ mine +self!’ And I said ‘Oo shouldn’t have _bits_ of peoples lying about like +that! It’s welly untidy!’ And he said ‘Oh, don’t talk to _me_!’ And he +pushted me outside! And he shutted the door!” + +“And you never asked where Hunter’s farm was?” queried Sylvie. + +“Hadn’t room for any questions,” said Bruno. “The room were so crowded.” + +“Three people _couldn’t_ crowd a room,” said Sylvie. + +“They _did_, though,” Bruno persisted. “_He_ crowded it most. He’s such +a welly _thick_ man—so as oo couldn’t knock him down.” + +I failed to see the drift of Bruno’s argument. “Surely _anybody_ could +be knocked down,” I said: “thick or thin wouldn’t matter.” + +“Oo couldn’t knock _him_ down,” said Bruno. “He’s more wider than he’s +high: so, when he’s lying down, he’s more higher than when he’s +standing: so a-course oo couldn’t knock him _down_!” + +“Here’s another cottage,” I said: “_I’ll_ ask the way, _this_ time.” + +There was no need to go in, this time, as the woman was standing in the +doorway, with a baby in her arms, talking to a respectably dressed man—a +farmer, as I guessed—who seemed to be on his way to the town. + +“—and when there’s _drink_ to be had,” he was saying, “he’s just the +worst o’ the lot, is your Willie. So they tell me. He gets fairly mad +wi’ it!” + +“I’d have given ’em the lie to their faces, a twelvemonth back!” the +woman said in a broken voice. “But a’ canna noo! A’ canna noo!” She +checked herself, on catching sight of us, and hastily retreated into the +house, shutting the door after her. + +“Perhaps you can tell me where Hunter’s farm is?” I said to the man, as +he turned away from the house. + +“I can _that_, Sir!” he replied with a smile. “I’m John Hunter hissel, +at your sarvice. It’s nobbut half a mile further—the only house in +sight, when you get round bend o’ the road yonder. You’ll find my good +woman within, if so be you’ve business wi’ _her_. Or mebbe I’ll do as +well?” + +“Thanks,” I said. “I want to order some milk. Perhaps I had better +arrange it with your wife?” + +“Aye,” said the man. “_She_ minds all _that_. Good day t’ye, Master—and +to your bonnie childer, as well!” And he trudged on. + +“He should have said ‘_child_,’ not ‘_childer_’,” said Bruno. “Sylvie’s +not a _childer_!” + +“He meant _both_ of us,” said Sylvie. + +“No, he didn’t!” Bruno persisted. “’cause he said ‘bonnie’, oo know!” + +“Well, at any rate he _looked_ at us both,” Sylvie maintained. + +“Well, then he _must_ have seen we’re not _both_ bonnie!” Bruno +retorted. “A-_course_ I’m much uglier than _oo_! Didn’t he mean +_Sylvie_, Mister Sir?” he shouted over his shoulder, as he ran off. + +But there was no use in replying, as he had already vanished round the +bend of the road. When we overtook him he was climbing a gate, and was +gazing earnestly into the field, where a horse, a cow, and a kid were +browsing amicably together. “For its father, a _Horse_,” he murmured to +himself. “For its mother, a _Cow_. For their dear little child, a +_little_ Goat, is the most curiousest thing I ever seen in my world!” + +“Bruno’s World!” I pondered. “Yes, I suppose every child has a world of +his own—and every man, too, for the matter of that. I wonder if _that’s_ +the cause for all the misunderstanding there is in Life?” + +“That _must_ be Hunter’s farm!” said Sylvie, pointing to a house on the +brow of the hill, led up to by a cart-road. “There’s no other farm in +sight, _this_ way; and you _said_ we must be nearly there by this time.” + +I had _thought_ it, while Bruno was climbing the gate, but I couldn’t +remember having _said_ it. However, Sylvie was evidently in the right. +“Get down, Bruno,” I said, “and open the gate for us.” + +“It’s a good thing we’s with oo, _isn’t_ it, Mister Sir?” said Bruno, as +we entered the field. “That big dog might have bited oo, if oo’d been +alone! Oo needn’t be _flightened_ of it!” he whispered, clinging tight +to my hand to encourage me. “It aren’t fierce!” + +“Fierce!” Sylvie scornfully echoed, as the dog—a magnificent +Newfoundland—that had come galloping down the field to meet us, began +curveting round us, in gambols full of graceful beauty, and welcoming us +with short joyful barks. “Fierce! Why, it’s as gentle as a lamb! +It’s—why, Bruno, don’t you know it? It’s——” + +“So it _are_!” cried Bruno, rushing forwards and throwing his arms round +its neck. “Oh, you _dear_ dog!” And it seemed as if the two children +would never have done hugging and stroking it. + +“And how _ever_ did he get _here_?” said Bruno. “Ask him, Sylvie. I +doosn’t know how.” + +And then began an eager talk in Doggee, which of course was lost upon +_me_; and I could only _guess_, when the beautiful creature, with a sly +glance at me, whispered something in Sylvie’s ear, that _I_ was now the +subject of conversation. Sylvie looked round laughingly. + +“He asked me who you are,” she explained. “And I said ‘He’s our +_friend_.’ And he said ‘What’s his name?’ And I said ‘It’s _Mister +Sir_.’ And he said ‘Bosh!’” + +“What is ‘Bosh!’ in Doggee?” I enquired. + +“It’s the same as in English,” said Sylvie. “Only, when a _dog_ says it, +it’s a sort of a whisper, that’s half a _cough_ and half a _bark_. Nero, +say ‘_Bosh!_’” + +And Nero, who had now begun gamboling round us again, said “_Bosh!_” +several times; and I found that Sylvie’s description of the sound was +perfectly accurate. + +“I wonder what’s behind this long wall?” I said, as we walked on. + +“It’s the _Orchard_,” Sylvie replied, after a consultation with Nero. +“See, there’s a boy getting down off the wall, at that far corner. And +now he’s running away across the field. I do believe he’s been stealing +the apples!” + +Bruno set off after him, but returned to us in a few moments, as he had +evidently no chance of overtaking the young rascal. + +“I couldn’t catch him!” he said. “I wiss I’d started a little sooner. +His pockets _was_ full of apples!” + +The Dog-King looked up at Sylvie, and said something in Doggee. + +“Why, of _course_ you can!” Sylvie exclaimed. “How stupid not to think +of it! _Nero_’ll hold him for us, Bruno! But I’d better make him +invisible, first.” And she hastily got out the Magic Jewel, and began +waving it over Nero’s head, and down along his back. + +“That’ll do!” cried Bruno, impatiently. “After him, good Doggie!” + +“Oh, Bruno!” Sylvie exclaimed reproachfully. “You shouldn’t have sent +him off so quick! I hadn’t done the tail!” + +Meanwhile Nero was coursing like a greyhound down the field: so at least +I concluded from all _I_ could see of him—the long feathery tail, which +floated like a meteor through the air—and in a very few seconds he had +come up with the little thief. + +“He’s got him safe, by one foot!” cried Sylvie, who was eagerly watching +the chase. “Now there’s no hurry, Bruno!” + +So we walked, quite leisurely, down the field, to where the frightened +lad stood. A more curious sight I had seldom seen, in all my ‘eerie’ +experiences. Every bit of him was in violent action, except the left +foot, which was apparently glued to the ground—there being nothing +visibly holding it: while, at some little distance, the long feathery +tail was waving gracefully from side to side, showing that Nero, at +least, regarded the whole affair as nothing but a magnificent game of +play. + +“What’s the matter with you?” I said, as gravely as I could. + +“Got the crahmp in me ahnkle!” the thief groaned in reply. “An’ me fut’s +gone to sleep!” And he began to blubber aloud. + +“Now, look here!” Bruno said in a commanding tone, getting in front of +him. “Oo’ve got to give up those apples!” + +The lad glanced at me, but didn’t seem to reckon _my_ interference as +worth anything. Then he glanced at Sylvie: _she_ clearly didn’t count +for very much, either. Then he took courage. “It’ll take a better man +than any of _yer_ to get ’em!” he retorted defiantly. + +[Illustration: A ROYAL THIEF-TAKER] + +Sylvie stooped and patted the invisible Nero. “A _little_ tighter!” she +whispered. And a sharp yell from the ragged boy showed how promptly the +Dog-King had taken the hint. + +“What’s the matter _now_?” I said. “Is your ankle worse?” + +“And it’ll get worse, and worse, and worse,” Bruno solemnly assured him, +“till oo gives up those apples!” + +Apparently the thief was convinced of this at last, and he sulkily began +emptying his pockets of the apples. The children watched from a little +distance, Bruno dancing with delight at every fresh yell extracted from +Nero’s terrified prisoner. + +“That’s all,” the boy said at last. + +“It _isn’t_ all!” cried Bruno. “There’s three more in that pocket!” + +Another hint from Sylvie to the Dog-King—another sharp yell from the +thief, now convicted of lying also—and the remaining three apples were +surrendered. + +“Let him go, please,” Sylvie said in Doggee, and the lad limped away at +a great pace, stooping now and then to rub the ailing ankle, in fear, +seemingly, that the ‘crahmp’ might attack it again. + +[Illustration: ‘SUMMAT WRONG WI’ MY SPECTACLES!’] + +Bruno ran back, with his booty, to the orchard wall, and pitched the +apples over it one by one. “I’s welly afraid _some_ of them’s gone under +the wrong trees!” he panted, on overtaking us again. + +“The _wrong_ trees!” laughed Sylvie. “Trees _ca’n’t_ do wrong! There’s +no such things as _wrong_ trees!” + +“Then there’s no such things as _right_ trees, neither!” cried Bruno. +And Sylvie gave up the point. + +“Wait a minute, please!” she said to me. “I must make Nero _visible_, +you know!” + +“No, _please_ don’t!” cried Bruno, who had by this time mounted on the +Royal back, and was twisting the Royal hair into a bridle. “It’ll be +_such_ fun to have him like this!” + +“Well, it _does_ look funny,” Sylvie admitted, and led the way to the +farm-house, where the farmer’s wife stood, evidently much perplexed at +the weird procession now approaching her. “It’s summat gone wrong wi’ my +spectacles, I doubt!” she murmured, as she took them off, and began +diligently rubbing them with a corner of her apron. + +Meanwhile Sylvie had hastily pulled Bruno down from his steed, and had +just time to make His Majesty wholly visible before the spectacles were +resumed. + +All was natural, now; but the good woman still looked a little uneasy +about it. “My eyesight’s getting bad,” she said, “but I see you _now_, +my darlings! You’ll give me a kiss, wo’n’t you?” + +Bruno got behind me, in a moment: however Sylvie put up _her_ face, to +be kissed, as representative of _both_, and we all went in together. + + + + + CHAPTER V. + MATILDA JANE. + + +“Come to me, my little gentleman,” said our hostess, lifting Bruno into +her lap, “and tell me everything.” + +“I ca’n’t,” said Bruno. “There wouldn’t be time. Besides, I don’t _know_ +everything.” + +The good woman looked a little puzzled, and turned to Sylvie for help. +“Does he like _riding_?” she asked. + +“Yes, I _think_ so,” Sylvie gently replied. “He’s just had a ride on +_Nero_.” + +“Ah, Nero’s a grand dog, isn’t he? Were you ever outside a _horse_, my +little man?” + +“_Always!_” Bruno said with great decision. “Never was _inside_ one. Was +_oo_?” + +Here I thought it well to interpose, and to mention the business on +which we had come, and so relieved her, for a few minutes, from Bruno’s +perplexing questions. + +“And those dear children will like a bit of cake, _I’ll_ warrant!” said +the farmer’s hospitable wife, when the business was concluded, as she +opened her cupboard, and brought out a cake. “And don’t you waste the +crust, little gentleman!” she added, as she handed a good slice of it to +Bruno. “You know what the poetry-book says about wilful waste?” + +“No, I don’t,” said Bruno. “What doos he say about it?” + +“Tell him, Bessie!” And the mother looked down, proudly and lovingly, on +a rosy little maiden, who had just crept shyly into the room, and was +leaning against her knee. “What’s that your poetry-book says about +wilful waste?” + +“_For wilful waste makes woeful want_,” Bessie recited, in an almost +inaudible whisper: “_and you may live to say ‘How much I wish I had the +crust that then I threw away!’_” + +“Now try if _you_ can say it, my dear! _For wilful_——” + +“_For wifful_—sumfinoruvver—” Bruno began, readily enough; and then +there came a dead pause. “Ca’n’t remember no more!” + +“Well, what do you _learn_ from it, then? You can tell us _that_, at any +rate?” + +Bruno ate a little more cake, and considered: but the moral did not seem +to him to be a very obvious one. + +“Always to——” Sylvie prompted him in a whisper. + +“Always to——” Bruno softly repeated: and then, with sudden inspiration, +“always to look where it goes to!” + +“Where _what_ goes to, darling?” + +“Why the _crust_, a course!” said Bruno. “Then, if I lived to say ‘_How +much I wiss I had the crust_—’ (and all that), I’d know where I frew it +to!” + +This new interpretation quite puzzled the good woman. She returned to +the subject of ‘Bessie.’ “Wouldn’t you like to see Bessie’s doll, my +dears! Bessie, take the little lady and gentleman to see Matilda Jane!” + +Bessie’s shyness thawed away in a moment. “Matilda Jane has just woke +up,” she stated, confidentially, to Sylvie. “Wo’n’t you help me on with +her frock? Them strings _is_ such a bother to tie!” + +“I can tie _strings_,” we heard, in Sylvie’s gentle voice, as the two +little girls left the room together. Bruno ignored the whole proceeding, +and strolled to the window, quite with the air of a fashionable +gentleman. Little girls, and dolls, were not at all in his line. + +And forthwith the fond mother proceeded to tell me (as what mother is +not ready to do?) of all Bessie’s virtues (and vices too, for the matter +of that) and of the many fearful maladies which, notwithstanding those +ruddy cheeks and that plump little figure, had nearly, time and again, +swept her from the face of the earth. + +When the full stream of loving memories had nearly run itself out, I +began to question her about the working men of that neighbourhood, and +specially the ‘Willie,’ whom we had heard of at his cottage. “He was a +good fellow once,” said my kind hostess: “but it’s the drink has ruined +him! Not that I’d rob them of the drink—it’s good for the most of +them—but there’s some as is too weak to stand agin’ temptations: it’s a +thousand pities, for _them_, as they ever built the Golden Lion at the +corner there!” + +“The Golden Lion?” I repeated. + +“It’s the new Public,” my hostess explained. “And it stands right in the +way, and handy for the workmen, as they come back from the brickfields, +as it might be to-day, with their week’s wages. A deal of money gets +wasted that way. And some of ’em gets drunk.” + +“If only they could have it in their own houses—” I mused, hardly +knowing I had said the words out loud. + +“That’s it!” she eagerly exclaimed. It was evidently a solution, of the +problem, that she had already thought out. “If only you could manage, +so’s each man to have his own little barrel in his own house—there’d +hardly be a drunken man in the length and breadth of the land!” + +And then I told her the old story—about a certain cottager who bought +himself a little barrel of beer, and installed his wife as bar-keeper: +and how, every time he wanted his mug of beer, he regularly paid her +over the counter for it: and how she never would let him go on ‘tick,’ +and was a perfectly inflexible bar-keeper in never letting him have more +than his proper allowance: and how, every time the barrel needed +refilling, she had plenty to do it with, and something over for her +money-box: and how, at the end of the year, he not only found himself in +first-rate health and spirits, with that undefinable but quite +unmistakeable air which always distinguishes the sober man from the one +who takes ‘a drop too much,’ but had quite a box full of money, all +saved out of his own pence! + +“If only they’d all do like that!” said the good woman, wiping her eyes, +which were overflowing with kindly sympathy. “Drink hadn’t need to be +the curse it is to some——” + +“Only a _curse_,” I said, “when it is used wrongly. Any of God’s gifts +may be turned into a curse, unless we use it wisely. But we must be +getting home. Would you call the little girls? Matilda Jane has seen +enough of company, for _one_ day, I’m sure!” + +“I’ll find ’em in a minute,” said my hostess, as she rose to leave the +room. “Maybe that young gentleman saw which way they went?” + +“Where are they, Bruno?” I said. + +“They ain’t in the field,” was Bruno’s rather evasive reply, “’cause +there’s nothing but _pigs_ there, and Sylvie isn’t a pig. Now don’t +imperrupt me any more, ’cause I’m telling a story to this fly; and it +won’t attend!” + +“They’re among the apples, I’ll warrant ’em!” said the Farmer’s wife. So +we left Bruno to finish his story, and went out into the orchard, where +we soon came upon the children, walking sedately side by side, Sylvie +carrying the doll, while little Bess carefully shaded its face, with a +large cabbage-leaf for a parasol. + +As soon as they caught sight of us, little Bess dropped her cabbage-leaf +and came running to meet us, Sylvie following more slowly, as her +precious charge evidently needed great care and attention. + +“I’m its Mamma, and Sylvie’s the Head-Nurse,” Bessie explained: “and +Sylvie’s taught me ever such a pretty song, for me to sing to Matilda +Jane!” + +“Let’s hear it once more, Sylvie,” I said, delighted at getting the +chance I had long wished for, of hearing her sing. But Sylvie turned shy +and frightened in a moment. “No, _please_ not!” she said, in an earnest +‘aside’ to me. “Bessie knows it quite perfect now. Bessie can sing it!” + +“Aye, aye! Let Bessie sing it!” said the proud mother. “Bessie has a +bonny voice of her own,” (this again was an ‘aside’ to me) “though I say +it as shouldn’t!” + +Bessie was only too happy to accept the ‘encore.’ So the plump little +Mamma sat down at our feet, with her hideous daughter reclining stiffly +across her lap (it was one of a kind that wo’n’t sit down, under _any_ +amount of persuasion), and, with a face simply beaming with delight, +began the lullaby, in a shout that _ought_ to have frightened the poor +baby into fits. The Head-Nurse crouched down behind her, keeping herself +respectfully in the back-ground, with her hands on the shoulders of her +little mistress, so as to be ready to act as Prompter, if required, and +to supply ‘_each gap in faithless memory void_.’ + +[Illustration: BESSIE’S SONG] + +The shout, with which she began, proved to be only a momentary effort. +After a very few notes, Bessie toned down, and sang on in a small but +very sweet voice. At first her great black eyes were fixed on her +mother, but soon her gaze wandered upwards, among the apples, and she +seemed to have quite forgotten that she had any other audience than her +Baby, and her Head-Nurse, who once or twice supplied, almost inaudibly, +the right note, when the singer was getting a little ‘flat.’ + + “Matilda Jane, you never look + At any toy or picture-book: + I show you pretty things in vain— + You must be blind, Matilda Jane! + + “I ask you riddles, tell you tales, + But _all_ our conversation fails: + You _never_ answer me again— + I fear you’re dumb, Matilda Jane! + + “Matilda, darling, when I call, + You never seem to hear at all: + I shout with all my might and main— + But you’re _so_ deaf, Matilda Jane! + + “Matilda Jane, you needn’t mind; + For, though you’re deaf, and dumb, and blind, + There’s _some one_ loves you, it is plain— + And that is _me,_ Matilda Jane!” + +She sang three of the verses in a rather perfunctory style, but the last +stanza evidently excited the little maiden. Her voice rose, ever clearer +and louder: she had a rapt look on her face, as if suddenly inspired, +and, as she sang the last few words, she clasped to her heart the +inattentive Matilda Jane. + +“Kiss it now!” prompted the Head-Nurse. And in a moment the simpering +meaningless face of the Baby was covered with a shower of passionate +kisses. + +“What a bonny song!” cried the Farmer’s wife. “Who made the words, +dearie?” + +“I—I think I’ll look for Bruno,” Sylvie said demurely, and left us +hastily. The curious child seemed always afraid of being praised, or +even noticed. + +“Sylvie planned the words,” Bessie informed us, proud of her superior +information: “and Bruno planned the music—and _I_ sang it!” (this last +circumstance, by the way, we did not need to be told). + +So we followed Sylvie, and all entered the parlour together. Bruno was +still standing at the window, with his elbows on the sill. He had, +apparently, finished the story that he was telling to the fly, and had +found a new occupation. “Don’t imperrupt!” he said as we came in. “I’m +counting the Pigs in the field!” + +“How many are there?” I enquired. + +“About a thousand and four,” said Bruno. + +“You mean ‘about a thousand,’” Sylvie corrected him. “There’s no good +saying ‘_and four_’: you _ca’n’t_ be sure about the four!” + +“And you’re as wrong as ever!” Bruno exclaimed triumphantly. “It’s just +the _four_ I _can_ be sure about; ’cause they’re here, grubbling under +the window! It’s the _thousand_ I isn’t pruffickly sure about!” + +“But some of them have gone into the sty,” Sylvie said, leaning over him +to look out of the window. + +“Yes,” said Bruno; “but they went so slowly and so fewly, I didn’t care +to count _them_.” + +“We must be going, children,” I said. “Wish Bessie good-bye.” Sylvie +flung her arms round the little maiden’s neck, and kissed her: but Bruno +stood aloof, looking unusually shy. (“I never kiss _nobody_ but Sylvie!” +he explained to me afterwards.) The farmer’s wife showed us out: and we +were soon on our way back to Elveston. + +“And that’s the new public-house that we were talking about, I suppose?” +I said, as we came in sight of a long low building, with the words ‘The +Golden Lion’ over the door. + +“Yes, that’s it,” said Sylvie. “I wonder if _her_ Willie’s inside? Run +in, Bruno, and see if he’s there.” + +I interposed, feeling that Bruno was, in a sort of way, in _my_ care. +“That’s not a place to send a child into.” For already the revelers were +getting noisy: and a wild discord of singing, shouting, and meaningless +laughter came to us through the open windows. + +“They wo’n’t _see_ him, you know,” Sylvie explained. “Wait a minute, +Bruno!” She clasped the jewel, that always hung round her neck, between +the palms of her hands, and muttered a few words to herself. What they +were I could not at all make out, but some mysterious change seemed +instantly to pass over us. My feet seemed to me no longer to press the +ground, and the dream-like feeling came upon me, that I was suddenly +endowed with the power of floating in the air. I could still just _see_ +the children: but their forms were shadowy and unsubstantial, and their +voices sounded as if they came from some distant place and time, they +were so unreal. However, I offered no further opposition to Bruno’s +going into the house. He was back again in a few moments. “No, he isn’t +come yet,” he said. “They’re talking about him inside, and saying how +drunk he was last week.” + +While he was speaking, one of the men lounged out through the door, a +pipe in one hand and a mug of beer in the other, and crossed to where we +were standing, so as to get a better view along the road. Two or three +others leaned out through the open window, each holding his mug of beer, +with red faces and sleepy eyes. “Canst see him, lad?” one of them asked. + +“I dunnot know,” the man said, taking a step forwards, which brought us +nearly face to face. Sylvie hastily pulled me out of his way. “Thanks, +child,” I said. “I had forgotten he couldn’t see us. What would have +happened if I had staid in his way?” + +“I don’t know,” Sylvie said gravely. “It wouldn’t matter to _us_; but +_you_ may be different.” She said this in her usual voice, but the man +took no sort of notice, though she was standing close in front of him, +and looking up into his face as she spoke. + +“He’s coming now!” cried Bruno, pointing down the road. + +“He be a-coomin noo!” echoed the man, stretching out his arm exactly +over Bruno’s head, and pointing with his pipe. + +“Then _chorus_ agin!” was shouted out by one of the red-faced men in the +window: and forthwith a dozen voices yelled, to a harsh discordant +melody, the refrain:— + + “There’s him, an’ yo’ an’ me, + Roarin’ laddies! + We loves a bit o spree, + Roarin’ laddies we, + Roarin’ laddies + Roarin’ laddies!” + +The man lounged back again to the house, joining lustily in the chorus +as he went: so that only the children and I were in the road when +‘Willie’ came up. + + + + + CHAPTER VI. + WILLIE’S WIFE. + + +He made for the door of the public-house, but the children intercepted +him. Sylvie clung to one arm; while Bruno, on the opposite side, was +pushing him with all his strength, with many inarticulate cries of +“Gee-up! Gee-back! Woah then!” which he had picked up from the +waggoners. + +‘Willie’ took not the least notice of them: he was simply conscious that +_something_ had checked him: and, for want of any other way of +accounting for it, he seemed to regard it as his own act. + +[Illustration: THE RESCUE OF WILLIE] + +“I wunnut coom in,” he said: “not to-day.” + +“A mug o’ beer wunnut hurt ’ee!” his friends shouted in chorus. “_Two_ +mugs wunnut hurt ’ee! Nor a dozen mugs!” + +“Nay,” said Willie. “I’m agoan whoam.” + +“What, withouten thy drink, Willie man?” shouted the others. But ‘Willie +man’ would have no more discussion, and turned doggedly away, the +children keeping one on each side of him, to guard him against any +change in his sudden resolution. + +For a while he walked on stoutly enough, keeping his hands in his +pockets, and softly whistling a tune, in time to his heavy tread: his +success, in appearing entirely at his ease, was _almost_ complete; but a +careful observer would have noted that he had forgotten the second part +of the air, and that, when it broke down, he instantly began it again, +being too nervous to think of another, and too restless to endure +silence. + +It was not the old fear that possessed him now—the old fear, that had +been his dreary companion every Saturday night he could remember, as he +had reeled along, steadying himself against gates and garden-palings, +and when the shrill reproaches of his wife had seemed to his dazed brain +only the echo of a yet more piercing voice within, the intolerable wail +of a hopeless remorse: it was a wholly new fear that had come to him +now: life had taken on itself a new set of colours, and was lighted up +with a new and dazzling radiance, and he did not see, as yet, how his +home-life, and his wife and child, would fit into the new order of +things: the very novelty of it all was, to his simple mind, a perplexity +and an overwhelming terror. + +And now the tune died into sudden silence on the trembling lips, as he +turned a sharp corner, and came in sight of his own cottage, where his +wife stood, leaning with folded arms on the wicket-gate, and looking up +the road with a pale face, that had in it no glimmer of the light of +hope—only the heavy shadow of a deep stony despair. + +“Fine an’ early, lad! Fine an’ early!” The words might have been words +of welcoming, but oh, the bitterness of the tone in which she said it! +“What brings thee from thy merry mates, and all the fiddling and the +jigging? Pockets empty, I doubt? Or thou’st come, mebbe, for to see thy +little one die? The bairnie’s clemmed, and I’ve nor bite nor sup to gie +her. But what does _thou_ care?” She flung the gate open, and met him +with blazing eyes of fury. + +The man said no word. Slowly, and with downcast eyes, he passed into the +house, while she, half terrified at his strange silence, followed him in +without another word; and it was not till he had sunk into a chair, with +his arms crossed on the table and with drooping head, that she found her +voice again. + +It seemed entirely natural for us to go in with them: at another time +one would have asked leave for this, but I felt, I knew not why, that we +were in some mysterious way invisible, and as free to come and to go as +disembodied spirits. + +The child in the cradle woke up, and raised a piteous cry, which in a +moment brought the children to its side: Bruno rocked the cradle, while +Sylvie tenderly replaced the little head on the pillow from which it had +slipped. But the mother took no heed of the cry, nor yet of the +satisfied ‘coo’ that it set up when Sylvie had made it happy again: she +only stood gazing at her husband, and vainly trying, with white +quivering lips (I believe she thought he was mad), to speak in the old +tones of shrill upbraiding that he knew so well. + +“And thou’st spent all thy wages—I’ll swear thou hast—on the devil’s own +drink—and thou’st been and made thysen a beast again—as thou allus +dost——” + +“Hasna!” the man muttered, his voice hardly rising above a whisper, as +he slowly emptied his pockets on the table. “There’s th’ wage, Missus, +every penny on’t.” + +The woman gasped, and put one hand to her heart, as if under some great +shock of surprise. “Then _how_’s thee gotten th’ drink?” + +“_Hasna_ gotten it,” he answered her, in a tone more sad than sullen. “I +hanna touched a drop this blessed day. No!” he cried aloud, bringing his +clenched fist heavily down upon the table, and looking up at her with +gleaming eyes, “nor I’ll never touch another drop o’ the cursed +drink—till I die—so help me God my Maker!” His voice, which had suddenly +risen to a hoarse shout, dropped again as suddenly: and once more he +bowed his head, and buried his face in his folded arms. + +[Illustration: WILLIE’S WIFE] + +The woman had dropped upon her knees by the cradle, while he was +speaking. She neither looked at him nor seemed to hear him. With hands +clasped above her head, she rocked herself wildly to and fro. “Oh my +God! Oh my God!” was all she said, over and over again. + +Sylvie and Bruno gently unclasped her hands and drew them down—till she +had an arm round each of them, though she took no notice of them, but +knelt on with eyes gazing upwards, and lips that moved as if in silent +thanksgiving. The man kept his face hidden, and uttered no sound: but +one could _see_ the sobs that shook him from head to foot. + +After a while he raised his head—his face all wet with tears. “Polly!” +he said softly; and then, louder, “Old Poll!” + +Then she rose from her knees and came to him, with a dazed look, as if +she were walking in her sleep. “Who was it called me old Poll?” she +asked: her voice took on it a tender playfulness: her eyes sparkled; and +the rosy light of Youth flushed her pale cheeks, till she looked more +like a happy girl of seventeen than a worn woman of forty. “Was that my +own lad, my Willie, a-waiting for me at the stile?” + +His face too was transformed, in the same magic light, to the likeness +of a bashful boy: and boy and girl they seemed, as he wound an arm about +her, and drew her to his side, while with the other hand he thrust from +him the heap of money, as though it were something hateful to the touch. +“Tak it, lass,” he said, “tak it all! An’ fetch us summat to eat: but +get a sup o’ milk, first, for t’ bairn.” + +“My _little_ bairn!” she murmured as she gathered up the coins. “My own +little lassie!” Then she moved to the door, and was passing out, but a +sudden thought seemed to arrest her: she hastily returned—first to kneel +down and kiss the sleeping child, and then to throw herself into her +husband’s arms and be strained to his heart. The next moment she was on +her way, taking with her a jug that hung on a peg near the door: we +followed close behind. + +We had not gone far before we came in sight of a swinging sign-board +bearing the word ‘DAIRY’ on it, and here she went in, welcomed by a +little curly white dog, who, not being under the ‘eerie’ influence, saw +the children, and received them with the most effusive affection. When I +got inside, the dairyman was in the act of taking the money. “Is’t for +thysen, Missus, or for t’ bairn?” he asked, when he had filled the jug, +pausing with it in his hand. + +“For t’ _bairn_!” she said, almost reproachfully. “Think’st tha I’d +touch a drop _mysen_, while as _she_ hadna got her fill?” + +“All right, Missus,” the man replied, turning away with the jug in his +hand. “Let’s just mak sure it’s good measure.” He went back among his +shelves of milk-bowls, carefully keeping his back towards her while he +emptied a little measure of cream into the jug, muttering to himself +“mebbe it’ll hearten her up a bit, the little lassie!” + +The woman never noticed the kind deed, but took back the jug with a +simple “Good evening, Master,” and went her way: but the children had +been more observant, and, as we followed her out, Bruno remarked “That +were _welly_ kind: and I loves that man: and if I was welly rich I’d +give him a hundred pounds—and a bun. That little grummeling dog doosn’t +know its business!” He referred to the dairyman’s little dog, who had +apparently quite forgotten the affectionate welcome he had given us on +our arrival, and was now following at a respectful distance, doing his +best to ‘_speed the parting guest_’ with a shower of little shrill +barks, that seemed to tread on one another’s heels. + +“What _is_ a dog’s business?” laughed Sylvie. “Dogs ca’n’t keep shops +and give change!” + +“Sisters’ businesses _isn’t_ to laugh at their brothers,” Bruno replied +with perfect gravity. “And dogs’ businesses is to _bark_—not like that: +it should finish one bark before it begins another: and it should—Oh +Sylvie, there’s some dindledums!” + +And in another moment the happy children were flying across the common, +racing for the patch of dandelions. + +While I stood watching them, a strange dreamy feeling came upon me: a +railway-platform seemed to take the place of the green sward, and, +instead of the light figure of Sylvie bounding along, I seemed to see +the flying form of Lady Muriel; but whether Bruno had also undergone a +transformation, and had become the old man whom she was running to +overtake, I was unable to judge, so instantaneously did the feeling come +and go. + +When I re-entered the little sitting-room which I shared with Arthur, he +was standing with his back to me, looking out of the open window, and +evidently had not heard me enter. A cup of tea, apparently just tasted +and pushed aside, stood on the table, on the opposite side of which was +a letter, just begun, with the pen lying across it: an open book lay on +the sofa: the London paper occupied the easy chair; and on the little +table, which stood by it, I noticed an unlighted cigar and an open box +of cigar-lights: all things betokened that the Doctor, usually so +methodical and so self-contained, had been trying every form of +occupation, and could settle to none! + +“This is very unlike _you_, Doctor!” I was beginning, but checked +myself, as he turned at the sound of my voice, in sheer amazement at the +wonderful change that had taken place in his appearance. Never had I +seen a face so radiant with happiness, or eyes that sparkled with such +unearthly light! “Even thus,” I thought, “must the herald-angel have +looked, who brought to the shepherds, watching over their flocks by +night, that sweet message of ‘_peace on earth, good-will to men_’!” + +“Yes, dear friend!” he said, as if in answer to the question that I +suppose he read in my face. “It is true! It is true!” + +No need to ask _what_ was true. “God bless you both!” I said, as I felt +the happy tears brimming to my eyes. “You were made for each other!” + +“Yes,” he said, simply, “I believe we were. And _what_ a change it makes +in one’s Life! This isn’t the same world! That isn’t the sky I saw +yesterday! Those clouds—I never saw such clouds in all my life before! +They look like troops of hovering angels!” + +To _me_ they looked very ordinary clouds indeed: but then _I_ had not +fed ‘_on honey-dew, And drunk the milk of Paradise_’! + +“She wants to see you—at once,” he continued, descending suddenly to the +things of earth. “She says _that_ is the _one_ drop yet wanting in her +cup of happiness!” + +“I’ll go at once,” I said, as I turned to leave the room. “Wo’n’t you +come with me?” + +“No, Sir!” said the Doctor, with a sudden effort—which proved an utter +failure—to resume his professional manner. “Do I _look_ like coming with +you? Have you never heard that two is company, and——” + +“Yes,” I said, “I _have_ heard it: and I’m painfully aware that_ I_ am +_Number Three_! But, _when_ shall we three meet again?” + +“_When the hurly-burly’s done!_” he answered with a happy laugh, such as +I had not heard from him for many a year. + + + + + CHAPTER VII. + MEIN HERR. + + +So I went on my lonely way, and, on reaching the Hall, I found Lady +Muriel standing at the garden-gate waiting for me. + +“No need to _give_ you joy, or to _wish_ you joy?” I began. + +“None _whatever_!” she replied, with the joyous laugh of a child. “We +_give_ people what they haven’t got: we _wish_ for something that is yet +to come. For _me_, it’s all _here_! It’s all _mine_! Dear friend,” she +suddenly broke off, “do you think Heaven ever begins on _Earth_, for any +of us?” + +“For _some_,” I said. “For some, perhaps, who are simple and childlike. +You know He said ‘of such is the Kingdom of Heaven.’” + +Lady Muriel clasped her hands, and gazed up into the cloudless sky, with +a look I had often seen in Sylvie’s eyes. “I feel as if it had begun for +_me_,” she almost whispered. “I feel as if _I_ were one of the happy +children, whom He bid them bring near to Him, though the people would +have kept them back. Yes, He has seen me in the throng. He has read the +wistful longing in my eyes. He has beckoned me to Him. They have _had_ +to make way for me. He has taken me up in His arms. He has put His hands +upon me and blessed me!” She paused, breathless in her perfect +happiness. + +“Yes,” I said. “I think He has!” + +“You must come and speak to my father,” she went on, as we stood side by +side at the gate, looking down the shady lane. But, even as she said the +words, the ‘eerie’ sensation came over me like a flood: I saw the dear +old Professor approaching us, and also saw, what was stranger still, +that he was visible to _Lady Muriel_! + +What was to be done? Had the fairy-life been merged in the real life? Or +was Lady Muriel ‘eerie’ also, and thus able to enter into the +fairy-world along with me? The words were on my lips (“I see an old +friend of mine in the lane: if you don’t know him, may I introduce him +to you?”) when the strangest thing of all happened: Lady Muriel spoke. + +“I see an old friend of mine in the lane,” she said: “if you don’t know +him, may I introduce him to you?” + +I seemed to wake out of a dream: for the ‘eerie’ feeling was still +strong upon me, and the figure outside seemed to be changing at every +moment, like one of the shapes in a kaleidoscope: now he was the +_Professor_, and now he was somebody else! By the time he had reached +the gate, he certainly was somebody else: and I felt that the proper +course was for _Lady Muriel_, not for _me_, to introduce him. She +greeted him kindly, and, opening the gate, admitted the venerable old +man—a German, obviously—who looked about him with dazed eyes, as if +_he_, too, had but just awaked from a dream! + +No, it was certainly _not_ the Professor! My old friend _could_ not have +grown that magnificent beard since last we met: moreover, he would have +recognised _me_, for I was certain that _I_ had not changed much in the +time. + +As it was, he simply looked at me vaguely, and took off his hat in +response to Lady Muriel’s words “Let me introduce Mein Herr to you”; +while in the words, spoken in a strong German accent, “proud to make +your acquaintance, Sir!” I could detect no trace of an idea that we had +ever met before. + +Lady Muriel led us to the well-known shady nook, where preparations for +afternoon tea had already been made, and, while she went in to look for +the Earl, we seated ourselves in two easy-chairs, and ‘Mein Herr’ took +up Lady Muriel’s work, and examined it through his large spectacles (one +of the adjuncts that made him so provokingly like the Professor). +“Hemming pocket-handkerchiefs?” he said, musingly. “So _that_ is what +the English miladies occupy themselves with, is it?” + +“It is the one accomplishment,” I said, “in which Man has never yet +rivaled Woman!” + +Here Lady Muriel returned with her father; and, after he had exchanged +some friendly words with ‘Mein Herr,’ and we had all been supplied with +the needful ‘creature-comforts,’ the newcomer returned to the suggestive +subject of Pocket-handkerchiefs. + +“You have heard of Fortunatus’s Purse, Miladi? Ah, so! Would you be +surprised to hear that, with three of these leetle handkerchiefs, you +shall make the Purse of Fortunatus, quite soon, quite easily?” + +“Shall I indeed?” Lady Muriel eagerly replied, as she took a heap of +them into her lap, and threaded her needle. “_Please_ tell me how, Mein +Herr! I’ll make one before I touch another drop of tea!” + +“You shall first,” said Mein Herr, possessing himself of two of the +handkerchiefs, spreading one upon the other, and holding them up by two +corners, “you shall first join together these upper corners, the right +to the right, the left to the left; and the opening between them shall +be the _mouth_ of the Purse.” + +A very few stitches sufficed to carry out _this_ direction. “Now, if I +sew the other three edges together,” she suggested, “the bag is +complete?” + +“Not so, Miladi: the _lower_ edges shall _first_ be joined—ah, not so!” +(as she was beginning to sew them together). “Turn one of them over, and +join the _right_ lower corner of the one to the _left_ lower corner of +the other, and sew the lower edges together in what you would call _the +wrong way_.” + +“_I_ see!” said Lady Muriel, as she deftly executed the order. “And a +very twisted, uncomfortable, uncanny-looking bag it makes! But the +_moral_ is a lovely one. Unlimited wealth can only be attained by doing +things _in the wrong way_! And how are we to join up these +mysterious—no, I mean _this_ mysterious opening?” (twisting the thing +round and round with a puzzled air.) “Yes, it _is_ one opening. I +thought it was _two_, at first.” + +“You have seen the puzzle of the Paper Ring?” Mein Herr said, addressing +the Earl. “Where you take a slip of paper, and join its ends together, +first twisting one, so as to join the _upper_ corner of _one_ end to the +_lower_ corner of the _other_?” + +“I saw one made, only yesterday,” the Earl replied. “Muriel, my child, +were you not making one, to amuse those children you had to tea?” + +“Yes, I know that Puzzle,” said Lady Muriel. “The Ring has only _one_ +surface, and only _one_ edge. It’s very mysterious!” + +“The _bag_ is just like that, isn’t it?” I suggested. “Is not the +_outer_ surface of one side of it continuous with the _inner_ surface of +the other side?” + +“So it is!” she exclaimed. “Only it _isn’t_ a bag, just yet. How shall +we fill up this opening, Mein Herr?” + +“Thus!” said the old man impressively, taking the bag from her, and +rising to his feet in the excitement of the explanation. “The edge of +the opening consists of _four_ handkerchief-edges, and you can trace it +continuously, round and round the opening: down the right edge of _one_ +handkerchief, up the left edge of the _other_, and then down the left +edge of the _one_, and up the right edge of the _other_!” + +“So you can!” Lady Muriel murmured thoughtfully, leaning her head on her +hand, and earnestly watching the old man. “And that _proves_ it to be +only _one_ opening!” + +[Illustration: FORTUNATUS’ PURSE] + +She looked so strangely like a child, puzzling over a difficult lesson, +and Mein Herr had become, for the moment, so strangely like the old +Professor, that I felt utterly bewildered: the ‘eerie’ feeling was on me +in its full force, and I felt almost _impelled_ to say “Do you +understand it, Sylvie?” However I checked myself by a great effort, and +let the dream (if indeed it _was_ a dream) go on to its end. + +“Now, this _third_ handkerchief,” Mein Herr proceeded, “has _also_ four +edges, which you can trace continuously round and round: all you need do +is to join its four edges to the four edges of the opening. The Purse is +then complete, and its outer surface——” + +“_I_ see!” Lady Muriel eagerly interrupted. “Its _outer_ surface will be +continuous with its _inner_ surface! But it will take time. I’ll sew it +up after tea.” She laid aside the bag and resumed her cup of tea. “But +why do you call it Fortunatus’s Purse, Mein Herr?” + +The dear old man beamed upon her, with a jolly smile, looking more +exactly like the Professor than ever. “Don’t you see, my child—I should +say Miladi? Whatever is _inside_ that Purse, is _outside_ it; and +whatever is _outside_ it, is _inside_ it. So you have all the wealth of +the world in that leetle Purse!” + +His pupil clapped her hands, in unrestrained delight. “I’ll certainly +sew the third handkerchief in—_some_ time,” she said: “but I wo’n’t take +up your time by trying it now. Tell us some more wonderful things, +please!” And her face and her voice so _exactly_ recalled Sylvie, that I +could not help glancing round, half-expecting to see _Bruno_ also! + +Mein Herr began thoughtfully balancing his spoon on the edge of his +teacup, while he pondered over this request. “Something wonderful—like + Fortunatus’s Purse? _That_ will give you—when it is made—wealth beyond +your wildest dreams: but it will not give you _Time_!” + +A pause of silence ensued—utilised by Lady Muriel for the very practical +purpose of refilling the teacups. + +“In _your_ country,” Mein Herr began with a startling abruptness, “what +becomes of all the wasted Time?” + +Lady Muriel looked grave. “Who can tell?” she half-whispered to herself. +“All one knows is that it is gone—past recall!” + +“Well, in _my_—I mean in a country _I_ have visited,” said the old man, +“they store it up: and it comes in _very_ useful, years afterwards! For +example, suppose you have a long tedious evening before you: nobody to +talk to: nothing you care to do: and yet hours too soon to go to bed. +How do _you_ behave then?” + +“I get _very_ cross,” she frankly admitted: “and I want to throw things +about the room!” + +“When that happens to—to the people I have visited, they never act _so_. +By a short and simple process—which I cannot explain to you—they store +up the useless hours: and, on some _other_ occasion, when they happen to +_need_ extra time, they get them out again!” + +The Earl was listening with a slightly incredulous smile. “Why cannot +you _explain_ the process?” he enquired. + +Mein Herr was ready with a quite unanswerable reason. “Because you have +no _words_, in _your_ language, to convey the ideas which are needed. I +could explain it in—in—but you would not understand it!” + +“No indeed!” said Lady Muriel, graciously dispensing with the _name_ of +the unknown language. “I never learnt it—at least, not to speak it +_fluently_, you know. _Please_ tell us some more wonderful things!” + +“They run their railway-trains without any engines—nothing is needed but +machinery to _stop_ them with. Is _that_ wonderful enough, Miladi?” + +“But where does the _force_ come from?” I ventured to ask. + +Mein Herr turned quickly round, to look at the new speaker. Then he took +off his spectacles, and polished them, and looked at me again, in +evident bewilderment. I could see he was thinking—as indeed _I_ was +also—that we _must_ have met before. + +“They use the force of _gravity_,” he said. “It is a force known also in +_your_ country, I believe?” + +“But that would need a railway going _down-hill_,” the Earl remarked. +“You ca’n’t have _all_ your railways going down-hill?” + +“They _all_ do,” said Mein Herr. + +“Not from _both_ ends?” + +“From _both_ ends.” + +“Then I give it up!” said the Earl. + +“Can you explain the process?” said Lady Muriel. “Without using that +language, that I ca’n’t speak fluently?” + +“Easily,” said Mein Herr. “Each railway is in a long tunnel, perfectly +straight: so of course the _middle_ of it is nearer the centre of the +globe than the two ends: so every train runs half-way _down_-hill, and +that gives it force enough to run the _other_ half _up_-hill.” + +“Thank you. I understand that perfectly,” said Lady Muriel. “But the +velocity, in the _middle_ of the tunnel, must be something _fearful_!” + +‘Mein Herr’ was evidently much gratified at the intelligent interest +Lady Muriel took in his remarks. At every moment the old man seemed to +grow more chatty and more fluent. “You would like to know our methods of +_driving_?” he smilingly enquired. “To us, a run-away horse is of no +import at all!” + +Lady Muriel slightly shuddered. “To _us_ it is a very real danger,” she +said. + +“That is because your carriage is wholly _behind_ your horse. Your horse +runs. Your carriage follows. Perhaps your horse has the bit in his +teeth. Who shall stop him? You fly, ever faster and faster! Finally +comes the inevitable upset!” + +“But suppose _your_ horse manages to get the bit in his teeth?” + +“No matter! We would not concern ourselves. Our horse is harnessed in +the very centre of our carriage. Two wheels are in front of him, and two +behind. To the roof is attached one end of a broad belt. This goes under +the horse’s body, and the other end is attached to a leetle—what you +call a ‘windlass,’ I think. The horse takes the bit in his teeth. He +runs away. We are flying at ten miles an hour! We turn our little +windlass, five turns, six turns, seven turns, and—poof! Our horse is off +the ground! _Now_ let him gallop in the air, as much as he pleases: our +_carriage_ stands still. We sit round him, and watch him till he is +tired. Then we let him down. Our horse is glad, very much glad, when his +feet once more touch the ground!” + +“Capital!” said the Earl, who had been listening attentively. “Are there +any other peculiarities in your carriages?” + +“In the _wheels_, sometimes, my Lord. For your health, _you_ go to sea: +to be pitched, to be rolled, occasionally to be drowned. _We_ do all +that on land: we are pitched, as you; we are rolled, as you; but +_drowned_, no! There is no water!” + +“What are the wheels like, then?” + +“They are _oval_, my Lord. Therefore the carriages rise and fall.” + +“Yes, and pitch the carriage backwards and forwards: but how do they +make it _roll_?” + +“They do not match, my Lord. The _end_ of one wheel answers to the +_side_ of the opposite wheel. So first one side of the carriage rises, +then the other. And it pitches all the while. Ah, you must be a good +sailor, to drive in our boat-carriages!” + +“I can easily believe it,” said the Earl. + +Mein Herr rose to his feet. “I must leave you now, Miladi,” he said, +consulting his watch. “I have another engagement.” + +“I only wish we had stored up some extra time!” Lady Muriel said, as she +shook hands with him. “Then we could have kept you a little longer!” + +“In _that_ case I would gladly stay,” replied Mein Herr. “As it is—I +fear I must say good-bye!” + +“Where did you first meet him?” I asked Lady Muriel, when Mein Herr had +left us. “And where does he live? And what is his real name?” + +“We first—met—him——” she musingly replied, “really, I ca’n’t remember +_where_! And I’ve no idea where he lives! And I never heard any other +name! It’s very curious. It never occurred to me before to consider what +a mystery he is!” + +“I hope we shall meet again,” I said: “he interests me very much.” + +“He will be at our farewell-party, this day fortnight,” said the Earl. +“Of course you will come? Muriel is anxious to gather all our friends +around us once more, before we leave the place.” + +And then he explained to me—as Lady Muriel had left us together—that he +was so anxious to get his daughter away from a place full of so many +painful memories connected with the now-canceled engagement with Major +Lindon, that they had arranged to have the wedding in a months time, +after which Arthur and his wife were to go on a foreign tour. + +“Don’t forget Tuesday week!” he said as we shook hands at parting. “I +only wish you could bring with you those charming children, that you +introduced to us in the summer. Talk of the mystery of Mein Herr! That’s +_nothing_ to the mystery that seems to attend _them_! I shall never +forget those marvellous flowers!” + +“I will bring them if I possibly can,” I said. But how to _fulfil_ such +a promise, I mused to myself on my way back to our lodgings, was a +problem entirely beyond my skill! + + + + + CHAPTER VIII. + IN A SHADY PLACE. + + +The ten days glided swiftly away: and, the day before the great party +was to take place, Arthur proposed that we should stroll down to the +Hall, in time for afternoon-tea. + +“Hadn’t you better go _alone_?” I suggested. “Surely _I_ shall be very +much _de trop_?” + +“Well, it’ll be a kind of _experiment_,” he said. “_Fiat experimentum in +corpore vili!_” he added, with a graceful bow of mock politeness towards +the unfortunate victim. “You see I shall have to bear the sight, +to-morrow night, of my lady-love making herself agreable to everybody +_except_ the right person, and I shall bear the agony all the better if +we have a dress-rehearsal beforehand!” + +“_My_ part in the play being, apparently, that of the sample _wrong_ +person?” + +“Well, no,” Arthur said musingly, as we set forth: “there’s no such part +in a regular company. ‘Heavy Father’? _That_ won’t do: that’s filled +already. ‘Singing Chambermaid’? Well, the ‘First Lady’ doubles _that_ +part. ‘Comic Old Man’? You’re not comic enough. After all, I’m afraid +there’s no part for you but the ‘Well-dressed Villain’: only,” with a +critical side-glance, “I’m a _leetle_ uncertain about the dress!” + +We found Lady Muriel alone, the Earl having gone out to make a call, and +at once resumed old terms of intimacy, in the shady arbour where the +tea-things seemed to be always waiting. The only novelty in the +arrangements (one which Lady Muriel seemed to regard as _entirely_ a +matter of course), was that two of the chairs were placed _quite_ close +together, side by side. Strange to say, _I_ was not invited to occupy +_either_ of them! + +“We have been arranging, as we came along, about letter-writing,” Arthur +began. “He will want to know how we’re enjoying our Swiss tour: and of +course we must pretend we _are_?” + +“Of course,” she meekly assented. + +“And the skeleton-in-the-cupboard——” I suggested. + +“—is always a difficulty,” she quickly put in, “when you’re traveling +about, and when there are no cupboards in the hotels. However, _ours_ is +a _very_ portable one; and will be neatly packed, in a nice leather +case——” + +“But please don’t think about _writing_,” I said, “when you’ve anything +more attractive on hand. I delight in _reading_ letters, but I know well +how tiring it is to _write_ them.” + +“It _is_, sometimes,” Arthur assented. “For instance, when you’re very +shy of the person you have to write to.” + +“Does that show itself in the _letter_?” Lady Muriel enquired. “Of +course, when I hear any one _talking_—_you_, for instance—I can see how +_desperately_ shy he is! But can you see that in a _letter_?” + +“Well, of course, when you hear any one talk _fluently_—_you_, for +instance—you can see how desperately _un_-shy she is—not to say saucy! +But the shyest and most intermittent talker must _seem_ fluent in +letter-writing. He may have taken half-an-hour to _compose_ his second +sentence; but there it is, close after the first!” + +“Then letters don’t express all that they _might_ express?” + +“That’s merely because our system of letter-writing is incomplete. A shy +writer _ought_ to be able to show that he is so. Why shouldn’t he make +_pauses_ in writing, just as he would do in speaking? He might leave +blank spaces—say half a page at a time. And a _very_ shy girl—if there +_is_ such a thing—might write a sentence on the _first_ sheet of her +letter—then put in a couple of _blank_ sheets—then a sentence on the +_fourth_ sheet: and so on.” + +“I quite foresee that _we_—I mean this clever little boy and myself—” +Lady Muriel said to me, evidently with the kind wish to bring me into +the conversation, “—are going to become famous—of course all our +inventions are common property now—for a new Code of Rules for +Letter-writing! Please invent some more, little boy!” + +“Well, another thing _greatly_ needed, little girl, is some way of +expressing that we _don’t_ mean anything.” + +“Explain yourself, little boy! Surely _you_ can find no difficulty in +expressing a _total_ absence of meaning?” + +“I mean that you should be able, when you _don’t_ mean a thing to be +taken seriously, to express that wish. For human nature is so +constituted that whatever you write seriously is taken as a joke, and +whatever you mean as a joke is taken seriously! At any rate, it is so in +writing to a _lady_!” + +“Ah! you’re not used to writing to ladies!” Lady Muriel remarked, +leaning back in her chair, and gazing thoughtfully into the sky. “You +should try.” + +“Very good,” said Arthur. “How many ladies may I begin writing to? As +many as I can count on the fingers of both hands?” + +“As many as you can count on the _thumbs_ of _one_ hand!” his lady-love +replied with much severity. “What a _very_ naughty little boy he is! +_Isn’t_ he?” (with an appealing glance at me). + +“He’s a little fractious,” I said. “Perhaps he’s cutting a tooth.” While +to myself I said “How _exactly_ like Sylvie talking to Bruno!” + +“He wants his tea.” (The naughty little boy volunteered the +information.) “He’s getting very tired, at the mere _prospect_ of the +great party to-morrow!” + +“Then he shall have a good rest beforehand!” she soothingly replied. +“The tea isn’t made yet. Come, little boy, lean well back in your chair, +and think about nothing—or about _me_, whichever you prefer!” + +“All the same, all the same!” Arthur sleepily murmured, watching her +with loving eyes, as she moved her chair away to the tea table, and +began to make the tea. “Then he’ll wait for his tea, like a good, +patient little boy!” + +“Shall I bring you the London Papers?” said Lady Muriel. “I saw them +lying on the table as I came out, but my father said there was nothing +in them, except that horrid murder-trial.” (Society was just then +enjoying its daily thrill of excitement in studying the details of a +specially sensational murder in a thieves’ den in the East of London.) + +“I have no appetite for horrors,” Arthur replied. “But I hope we have +learned the lesson they should teach us—though we are very apt to read +it backwards!” + +[Illustration: ‘I AM SITTING AT YOUR FEET’] + +“You speak in riddles,” said Lady Muriel. “Please explain yourself. See +now,” suiting the action to the word, “I am sitting at your feet, just +as if you were a second Gamaliel! Thanks, no.” (This was to me, who had +risen to bring her chair back to its former place.) “Pray don’t disturb +yourself. This tree and the grass make a very nice easy-chair. _What_ is +the lesson that one always reads wrong?” + +Arthur was silent for a minute. “I would like to be clear what it _is_ I +mean,” he said, slowly and thoughtfully, “before I say anything to +_you_—because you _think_ about it.” + +Anything approaching to a compliment was so unusual an utterance for +Arthur, that it brought a flush of pleasure to her cheek, as she replied +“It is _you_, that give me the ideas to think about.” + +“One’s first thought,” Arthur proceeded, “in reading of anything +specially vile or barbarous, as done by a fellow-creature, is apt to be +that we see a new depth of Sin revealed _beneath_ us: and we seem to +gaze down into that abyss from some higher ground, far apart from it.” + +“I think I understand you now. You mean that one ought to think—not +‘God, I thank Thee that I am not as other men are’—but ‘God, be merciful +to me also, who might be, but for Thy grace, a sinner as vile as he!’” + +“No,” said Arthur. “I meant a great deal more than that.” + +She looked up quickly, but checked herself, and waited in silence. + +“One must begin further back, I think. Think of some other man, the same +age as this poor wretch. Look back to the time when they both began +life—before they had sense enough to know Right from Wrong. _Then_, at +any rate, they were equal in God’s sight?” + +She nodded assent. + +“We have, then, two distinct epochs at which we may contemplate the two +men whose lives we are comparing. At the first epoch they are, so far as +moral responsibility is concerned, on precisely the same footing: they +are alike incapable of doing right or wrong. At the second epoch the one +man—I am taking an extreme case, for contrast—has won the esteem and +love of all around him: his character is stainless, and his name will be +held in honour hereafter: the other man’s history is one unvaried record +of crime, and his life is at last forfeited to the outraged laws of his +country. Now what have been the causes, in each case, of each man’s +condition being what it is at the second epoch? They are of two +kinds—one acting from within, the other from without. These two kinds +need to be discussed separately—that is, if I have not already tired you +with my prosing?” + +“On the contrary,” said Lady Muriel, “it is a special delight to me to +have a question discussed in this way—analysed and arranged, so that one +can understand it. Some books, that profess to argue out a question, are +to me intolerably wearisome, simply because the ideas are all arranged +hap-hazard—a sort of ‘first come, first served.’” + +“You are very encouraging,” Arthur replied, with a pleased look. “The +causes, acting from _within_, which make a man’s character what it is at +any given moment, are his successive acts of volition—that is, his acts +of choosing whether he will do this or that.” + +“We are to assume the existence of Free-Will?” I said, in order to have +that point made quite clear. + +“If not,” was the quiet reply, “_cadit quaestio_: and I have no more to +say.” + +“We _will_ assume it!” the rest of the audience—the majority, I may say, +looking at it from Arthur’s point of view—imperiously proclaimed. The +orator proceeded. + +“The causes, acting from _without_, are his surroundings—what Mr. +Herbert Spencer calls his ‘environment.’ Now the point I want to make +clear is this, that a man is responsible for his acts of choosing, but +_not_ responsible for his environment. Hence, if these two men make, on +some given occasion, when they are exposed to equal temptation, equal +efforts to resist and to choose the right, their condition, in the sight +of God, must be the same. If He is pleased in the one case, so will He +be in the other; if displeased in the one case, so also in the other.” + +“That is so, no doubt: I see it quite clearly,” Lady Muriel put in. + +“And yet, owing to their different environments, the one may win a great +victory over the temptation, while the other falls into some black abyss +of crime.” + +“But surely you would not say those men were equally guilty in the sight +of God?” + +“Either that,” said Arthur, “or else I must give up my belief in God’s +perfect justice. But let me put one more case, which will show my +meaning even more forcibly. Let the one man be in a high social +position—the other, say, a common thief. Let the one be tempted to some +trivial act of unfair dealing—something which he can do with the +absolute certainty that it will never be discovered—something which he +can with perfect ease forbear from doing—and which he distinctly knows +to be a sin. Let the other be tempted to some terrible crime—as men +would consider it—but under an almost overwhelming pressure of +motives—of course not _quite_ overwhelming, as that would destroy all +responsibility. Now, in this case, let the second man make a _greater_ +effort at resistance than the first. Also suppose _both_ to fall under +the temptation—I say that the second man is, in God’s sight, _less_ +guilty than the other.” + +Lady Muriel drew a long breath. “It upsets all one’s ideas of Right and +Wrong—just at first! Why, in that dreadful murder-trial, you would say, +I suppose, that it was possible that the least guilty man in the Court +was the murderer, and that possibly the judge who tried him, by yielding +to the temptation of making one unfair remark, had committed a crime +outweighing the criminal’s whole career!” + +“Certainly I should,” Arthur firmly replied. “It sounds like a paradox, +I admit. But just think what a grievous sin it must be, in God’s sight, +to yield to some very slight temptation, which we could have resisted +with perfect ease, and to do it deliberately, and in the full light of +God’s Law. What penance can atone for a sin like _that_?” + +“I ca’n’t reject your theory,” I said. “But how it seems to widen the +possible area of Sin in the world!” + +“Is that so?” Lady Muriel anxiously enquired. + +“Oh, not so, not so!” was the eager reply. “To me it seems to clear away +much of the cloud that hangs over the world’s history. When this view +first made itself clear to me, I remember walking out into the fields, +repeating to myself that line of Tennyson ‘_There seemed no room for +sense of wrong!_’ The thought, that perhaps the real guilt of the human +race was infinitely less than I fancied it—that the millions, whom I had +thought of as sunk in hopeless depths of sin, were perhaps, in God’s +sight, scarcely sinning at all—was more sweet than words can tell! Life +seemed more bright and beautiful, when once that thought had come! ‘_A +livelier emerald twinkles in the grass, A purer sapphire melts into the +sea!_’” His voice trembled as he concluded, and the tears stood in his +eyes. + +Lady Muriel shaded her face with her hand, and was silent for a minute. +“It is a beautiful thought,” she said, looking up at last. “Thank +you—Arthur, for putting it into my head!” + +The Earl returned in time to join us at tea, and to give us the very +unwelcome tidings that a fever had broken out in the little harbour-town +that lay below us—a fever of so malignant a type that, though it had +only appeared a day or two ago, there were already more than a dozen +down in it, two or three of whom were reported to be in imminent danger. + +In answer to the eager questions of Arthur—who of course took a deep +scientific interest in the matter—he could give very few _technical_ +details, though he had met the local doctor. It appeared, however, that +it was an almost _new_ disease—at least in _this_ century, though it +_might_ prove to be identical with the ‘Plague’ recorded in +History—_very_ infectious, and frightfully rapid in its action. “It will +not, however, prevent our party to-morrow,” he said in conclusion. “None +of the guests belong to the infected district, which is, as you know, +exclusively peopled by fishermen: so you may come without any fear.” + +Arthur was very silent, all the way back, and, on reaching our lodgings, +immediately plunged into medical studies, connected with the alarming +malady of whose arrival we had just heard. + + + + + CHAPTER IX. + THE FAREWELL-PARTY. + + +On the following day, Arthur and I reached the Hall in good time, as +only a few of the guests—it was to be a party of eighteen—had as yet +arrived; and these were talking with the Earl, leaving us the +opportunity of a few words apart with our hostess. + +“Who is that _very_ learned-looking man with the large spectacles?” +Arthur enquired. “I haven’t met him here before, have I?” + +“No, he’s a new friend of ours,” said Lady Muriel: “a German, I believe. +He _is_ such a dear old thing! And quite the most learned man I ever +met—with _one_ exception, of course!” she added humbly, as Arthur drew +himself up with an air of offended dignity. + +“And the young lady in blue, just beyond him, talking to that +foreign-looking man. Is _she_ learned, too?” + +“I don’t know,” said Lady Muriel. “But I’m told she’s a wonderful +piano-forte-player. I hope you’ll hear her to-night. I asked that +foreigner to take her in, because _he’s_ very musical, too. He’s a +French Count, I believe; and he sings _splendidly_!” + +“Science—music—singing—you have indeed got a complete party!” said +Arthur. “I feel quite a privileged person, meeting all these stars. I +_do_ love music!” + +“But the party isn’t _quite_ complete!” said Lady Muriel. “You haven’t +brought us those two beautiful children,” she went on, turning to me. +“He brought them here to tea, you know, one day last summer,” again +addressing Arthur; “and they _are_ such darlings!” + +“They are, _indeed_,” I assented. + +“But why haven’t you brought them with you? You promised my father you +_would_.” + +“I’m very sorry,” I said; “but really it was impossible to bring them +with me.” Here I most certainly _meant_ to conclude the sentence: and it +was with a feeling of utter amazement, which I cannot adequately +describe, that I heard myself _going on speaking_. “—but they are to +join me here in the course of the evening” were the words, uttered in +_my_ voice, and seeming to come from _my_ lips. + +“I’m _so_ glad!” Lady Muriel joyfully replied. “I _shall_ enjoy +introducing them to some of my friends here! When do you expect them?” + +I took refuge in silence. The only _honest_ reply would have been “That +was not _my_ remark. _I_ didn’t say it, and _it isn’t true_!” But I had +not the moral courage to make such a confession. The character of a +‘lunatic’ is not, I believe, very difficult to _acquire_: but it is +amazingly difficult to _get rid of_: and it seemed quite certain that +any such speech as _that_ would _quite_ justify the issue of a writ ‘_de +lunatico inquirendo_.’ + +Lady Muriel evidently thought I had failed to hear her question, and +turned to Arthur with a remark on some other subject; and I had time to +recover from my shock of surprise—or to awake out of my momentary +‘eerie’ condition, whichever it was. + +When things around me seemed once more to be real, Arthur was saying +“I’m afraid there’s no help for it: they _must_ be finite in number.” + +“I should be sorry to have to believe it,” said Lady Muriel. “Yet, when +one comes to think of it, there _are_ no new melodies, now-a-days. What +people talk of as ‘the last new song’ always recalls to _me_ some tune +I’ve known as a child!” + +“The day must come—if the world lasts long enough——” said Arthur, “when +every possible tune will have been composed—every possible pun +perpetrated——” (Lady Muriel wrung her hands, like a tragedy-queen) “and, +worse than that, every possible _book_ written! For the number of +_words_ is finite.” + +“It’ll make very little difference to the _authors_,” I suggested. +“Instead of saying ‘_what_ book shall I write?’ an author will ask +himself ‘_which_ book shall I write?’ A mere verbal distinction!” + +Lady Muriel gave me an approving smile. “But _lunatics_ would always +write new books, surely?” she went on. “They _couldn’t_ write the sane +books over again!” + +“True,” said Arthur. “But _their_ books would come to an end, also. The +number of lunatic _books_ is as finite as the number of lunatics.” + +“And _that_ number is becoming greater every year,” said a pompous man, +whom I recognised as the self-appointed showman on the day of the +picnic. + +“So they say,” replied Arthur. “And, when ninety per cent. of us are +lunatics,” (he seemed to be in a wildly nonsensical mood) “the asylums +will be put to their proper use.” + +“And that is——?” the pompous man gravely enquired. + +“_To shelter the sane!_” said Arthur. “_We_ shall bar ourselves in. The +lunatics will have it all their own way, _outside_. They’ll do it a +little queerly, no doubt. Railway-collisions will be always happening: +steamers always blowing up: most of the towns will be burnt down: most +of the ships sunk——” + +“And most of the men _killed_!” murmured the pompous man, who was +evidently hopelessly bewildered. + +“Certainly,” Arthur assented. “Till at last there will be _fewer_ +lunatics than sane men. Then _we_ come out: _they_ go in: and things +return to their normal condition!” + +The pompous man frowned darkly, and bit his lip, and folded his arms, +vainly trying to think it out. “He is _jesting_!” he muttered to himself +at last, in a tone of withering contempt, as he stalked away. + +By this time the other guests had arrived; and dinner was announced. +Arthur of course took down Lady Muriel: and _I_ was pleased to find +myself seated at her other side, with a severe-looking old lady (whom I +had not met before, and whose name I had, as is usual in introductions, +entirely failed to catch, merely gathering that it sounded like a +compound-name) as my partner for the banquet. + +She appeared, however, to be acquainted with Arthur, and confided to me +in a low voice her opinion that he was “a very argumentative young man.” +Arthur, for his part, seemed well inclined to show himself worthy of the +character she had given him, and, hearing her say “I never take wine +with my soup!” (this was _not_ a confidence to me, but was launched upon +Society, as a matter of general interest), he at once challenged a +combat by asking her “_when_ would you say that property _commence_ in a +plate of soup?” + +“This is _my_ soup,” she sternly replied: “and what is before you is +_yours_.” + +“No doubt,” said Arthur: “but _when_ did I begin to own it? Up to the +moment of its being put into the plate, it was the property of our host: +while being offered round the table, it was, let us say, held in trust +by the waiter: did it become mine when I accepted it? Or when it was +placed before me? Or when I took the first spoonful?” + +“He is a _very_ argumentative young man!” was all the old lady would +say: but she said it audibly, this time, feeling that Society had a +right to know it. + +Arthur smiled mischievously. “I shouldn’t mind betting you a shilling,” +he said, “that the Eminent Barrister next you” (It certainly _is_ +possible to say words so as to make them begin with capitals!) “ca’n’t +answer me!” + +“I _never_ bet,” she sternly replied. + +“Not even sixpenny points at _whist_?” + +“_Never!_” she repeated. “_Whist_ is innocent enough: but whist played +for _money_!” She shuddered. + +Arthur became serious again. “I’m afraid I ca’n’t take that view,” he +said. “I consider that the introduction of small stakes for card-playing +was one of the most _moral_ acts Society ever did, _as_ Society.” + +“How was it so?” said Lady Muriel. + +“Because it took Cards, once for all, out of the category of games at +which _cheating_ is possible. Look at the way Croquet is demoralising +Society. Ladies are beginning to cheat at it, terribly: and, if they’re +found out, they only laugh, and call it fun. But when there’s _money_ at +stake, that is out of the question. The swindler is _not_ accepted as a +wit. When a man sits down to cards, and cheats his friends out of their +money, he doesn’t get much _fun_ out of it—unless he thinks it fun to be +kicked down stairs!” + +“If all gentlemen thought as badly of ladies as _you_ do,” my neighbour +remarked with some bitterness, “there would be very few—very few——.” She +seemed doubtful how to end her sentence, but at last took “honeymoons” +as a safe word. + +“On the contrary,” said Arthur, the mischievous smile returning to his +face, “if only people would adopt _my_ theory, the number of +honeymoons—quite of a new kind—would be greatly increased!” + +“May we hear about this new kind of honeymoon?” said Lady Muriel. + +“Let _X_ be the gentleman,” Arthur began, in a slightly raised voice, as +he now found himself with an audience of _six_, including ‘Mein Herr,’ +who was seated at the other side of my polynomial partner. “Let _X_ be +the gentleman, and _Y_ the lady to whom he thinks of proposing. He +applies for an Experimental Honeymoon. It is granted. Forthwith the +young couple—accompanied by the great-aunt of _Y_, to act as +chaperone—start for a month’s tour, during which they have many a +moonlight-walk, and many a _tête-à-tête_ conversation, and each can form +a more correct estimate of the other’s character, in four _weeks_, than +would have been possible in as many _years_, when meeting under the +ordinary restrictions of Society. And it is only after their _return_ +that _X_ finally decides whether he will, or will not, put the momentous +question to _Y_!” + +“In nine cases out of ten,” the pompous man proclaimed, “he would decide +to break it off!” + +“Then, in nine cases out of ten,” Arthur rejoined, “an unsuitable match +would be prevented, and _both_ parties saved from misery!” + +“The only really _unsuitable_ matches,” the old lady remarked, “are +those made without sufficient _Money_. Love may come _afterwards_. Money +is needed _to begin with_!” + +This remark was cast loose upon Society, as a sort of general challenge; +and, as such, it was at once accepted by several of those within +hearing: _Money_ became the key-note of the conversation for some time; +and a fitful echo of it was again heard, when the dessert had been +placed upon the table, the servants had left the room, and the Earl had +started the wine in its welcome progress round the table. + +“I’m very glad to see you keep up the old customs,” I said to Lady +Muriel as I filled her glass. “It’s really delightful to experience, +once more, the peaceful feeling that comes over one when the waiters +have left the room—when one can converse without the feeling of being +overheard, and without having dishes constantly thrust over one’s +shoulder. How much more sociable it is to be able to pour out the wine +for the ladies, and to hand the dishes to those who wish for them!” + +“In that case, kindly send those peaches down here,” said a fat +red-faced man, who was seated beyond our pompous friend. “I’ve been +wishing for them—diagonally—for some time!” + +“Yes, it _is_ a ghastly innovation,” Lady Muriel replied, “letting the +waiters carry round the wine at dessert. For one thing, they _always_ +take it the wrong way round—which of course brings bad luck to +_everybody_ present!” + +“Better go the _wrong_ way than not go _at all_!” said our host. “Would +you kindly help yourself?” (This was to the fat red-faced man.) “You are +not a teetotaler, I think?” + +“Indeed but I _am_!” he replied, as he pushed on the bottles. “Nearly +twice as much money is spent in England on _Drink_, as on any other +article of food. Read this card.” (What faddist ever goes about without +a pocketful of the appropriate literature?) “The stripes of different +colours represent the amounts spent on various articles of food. Look at +the highest three. Money spent on butter and on cheese, thirty-five +millions: on bread, seventy millions: on _intoxicating liquors_, one +hundred and thirty-six millions! If I had my way, I would close every +public-house in the land! Look at that card, and read the motto. _That’s +where all the money goes to!_” + +“Have you seen the _Anti-Teetotal Card_?” Arthur innocently enquired. + +“No, Sir, I have not!” the orator savagely replied. “What is it like?” + +“Almost exactly like this one. The coloured stripes are the same. Only, +instead of the words ‘Money spent on,’ it has ‘Incomes derived from sale +of’; and, instead of ‘That’s where all the money goes to,’ its motto is +‘_That’s where all the money comes from!_’” + +The red-faced man scowled, but evidently considered Arthur beneath his +notice. So Lady Muriel took up the cudgels. “Do you hold the theory,” +she enquired, “that people can preach teetotalism more effectually by +being teetotalers themselves?” + +“Certainly I do!” replied the red-faced man. “Now, here is a case in +point,” unfolding a newspaper-cutting: “let me read you this letter from +a teetotaler. _To the Editor. Sir, I was once a moderate drinker, and +knew a man who drank to excess. I went to him. ‘Give up this drink,’ I +said. ‘It will ruin your health!’ ‘You drink,’ he said: ‘why shouldn’t +I?’ ‘Yes,’ I said, ‘but I know when to leave off.’ He turned away from +me. ‘You drink in your way,’ he said: ‘let me drink in mine. Be off!’ +Then I saw that, to do any good with him, I must forswear drink. From +that hour I haven’t touched a drop!_” + +“There! What do you say to _that_?” He looked round triumphantly, while +the cutting was handed round for inspection. + +“How very curious!” exclaimed Arthur, when it had reached him. “Did you +happen to see a letter, last week, about early rising? It was strangely +like this one.” + +The red-faced man’s curiosity was roused. “Where did it appear?” he +asked. + +“Let me read it to you,” said Arthur. He took some papers from his +pocket, opened one of them, and read as follows. “_To the Editor. Sir, I +was once a moderate sleeper, and knew a man who slept to excess. I +pleaded with him. ‘Give up this lying in bed,’ I said, ‘It will ruin +your health!’ ‘You go to bed,’ he said: ‘why shouldn’t I?’ ‘Yes,’ I +said, ‘but I know when to get up in the morning.’ He turned away from +me. ‘You sleep in your way,’ he said: ‘let me sleep in mine. Be off!’ +Then I saw that to do any good with him, I must forswear sleep. From +that hour I haven’t been to bed!_” + +Arthur folded and pocketed his paper, and passed on the +newspaper-cutting. None of us dared to laugh, the red-faced man was +evidently so angry. “Your parallel doesn’t run on all fours!” he +snarled. + +“_Moderate_ drinkers never do so!” Arthur quietly replied. Even the +stern old lady laughed at this. + +“But it needs many other things to make a _perfect_ dinner!” said Lady +Muriel, evidently anxious to change the subject. “Mein Herr! What is +_your_ idea of a perfect dinner-party?” + +The old man looked round smilingly, and his gigantic spectacles seemed +more gigantic than ever. “A _perfect_ dinner-party?” he repeated. +“First, it must be presided over by our present hostess!” + +“That, of _course_!” she gaily interposed. “But what _else_, Mein Herr?” + +“I can but tell you what I have seen,” said Mein Herr, “in mine own—in +the country I have traveled in.” + +He paused for a full minute, and gazed steadily at the ceiling—with so +dreamy an expression on his face, that I feared he was going off into a +reverie, which seemed to be his normal state. However, after a minute, +he suddenly began again. + +“That which chiefly causes the failure of a dinner-party, is the +running-short—not of meat, nor yet of drink, but of _conversation_.” + +“In an _English_ dinner-party,” I remarked, “I have never known +_small-talk_ run short!” + +“Pardon me,” Mein Herr respectfully replied, “I did not say +‘small-talk.’ I said ‘conversation.’ All such topics as the weather, or +politics, or local gossip, are unknown among us. They are either vapid +or controversial. What we need for _conversation_ is a topic of +_interest_ and of _novelty_. To secure these things we have tried +various plans—Moving-Pictures, Wild-Creatures, Moving-Guests, and a +Revolving-Humorist. But this last is only adapted to _small_ parties.” + +“Let us have it in four separate Chapters, please!” said Lady Muriel, +who was evidently deeply interested—as, indeed, most of the party were, +by this time: and, all down the table, talk had ceased, and heads were +leaning forwards, eager to catch fragments of Mein Herr’s oration. + +“Chapter One! Moving-Pictures!” was proclaimed in the silvery voice of +our hostess. + +“The dining-table is shaped like a circular ring,” Mein Herr began, in +low dreamy tones, which, however, were perfectly audible in the silence. +“The guests are seated at the inner side as well as the outer, having +ascended to their places by a winding-staircase, from the room below. +Along the middle of the table runs a little railway; and there is an +endless train of trucks, worked round by machinery; and on each truck +there are two pictures, leaning back to back. The train makes two +circuits during dinner; and, when it has been _once_ round, the waiters +turn the pictures round in each truck, making them face the other way. +Thus _every_ guest sees _every_ picture!” + +He paused, and the silence seemed deader than ever. Lady Muriel looked +aghast. “Really, if this goes on,” she exclaimed, “I shall have to drop +a pin! Oh, it’s _my_ fault, is it?” (In answer to an appealing look from +Mein Herr.) “I was forgetting my duty. Chapter Two! Wild-Creatures!” + +“We found the Moving-Pictures a _little_ monotonous,” said Mein Herr. +“People didn’t care to talk Art through a whole dinner; so we tried +Wild-Creatures. Among the flowers, which we laid (just as _you_ do) +about the table, were to be seen, here a mouse, there a beetle; here a +spider,” (Lady Muriel shuddered) “there a wasp; here a toad, there a +snake;” (“Father!” said Lady Muriel, plaintively. “Did you hear +_that_?”) “so we had plenty to talk about!” + +“And when you got stung——” the old lady began. + +“They were all chained-up, dear Madam!” + +And the old lady gave a satisfied nod. + +There was no silence to follow, _this_ time. “Third Chapter!” Lady +Muriel proclaimed at once, “Moving-Guests!” + +“Even the Wild-Creatures proved monotonous,” the orator proceeded. “So +we left the guests to choose their own subjects; and, to avoid monotony, +we changed _them_. We made the table of _two_ rings; and the inner ring +moved slowly round, all the time, along with the floor in the middle and +the inner row of guests. Thus _every_ inner guest was brought +face-to-face with _every_ outer guest. It was a little confusing, +sometimes, to have to _begin_ a story to one friend and _finish_ it to +another; but _every_ plan has its faults, you know.” + +“Fourth Chapter!” Lady Muriel hastened to announce. “The +Revolving-Humorist!” + +“For a _small_ party we found it an excellent plan to have a round +table, with a hole cut in the middle large enough to hold _one_ guest. +Here we placed our _best_ talker. He revolved slowly, facing every other +guest in turn: and he told lively anecdotes the whole time!” + +“I shouldn’t like it!” murmured the pompous man. “It would make me +giddy, revolving like that! I should decline to——” here it appeared to +dawn upon him that perhaps the assumption he was making was not +warranted by the circumstances: he took a hasty gulp of wine, and choked +himself. + +But Mein Herr had relapsed into reverie, and made no further remark. +Lady Muriel gave the signal, and the ladies left the room. + + + + + CHAPTER X. + JABBERING AND JAM. + + +When the last lady had disappeared, and the Earl, taking his place at +the head of the table, had issued the military order “Gentlemen! Close +up the ranks, if you please!”, and when, in obedience to his command, we +had gathered ourselves compactly round him, the pompous man gave a deep +sigh of relief, filled his glass to the brim, pushed on the wine, and +began one of his favorite orations. “They are charming, no doubt! +Charming, but very frivolous. They drag us down, so to speak, to a lower +level. They——” + +“Do not all pronouns require antecedent _nouns_?” the Earl gently +enquired. + +“Pardon me,” said the pompous man, with lofty condescension. “I had +overlooked the noun. The ladies. We regret their absence. Yet we console +ourselves. _Thought is free._ With them, we are limited to _trivial_ +topics—Art, Literature, Politics, and so forth. One can bear to discuss +_such_ paltry matters with a lady. But no man, in his senses—” (he +looked sternly round the table, as if defying contradiction) “—ever yet +discussed _WINE_ with a lady!” He sipped his glass of port, leaned back +in his chair, and slowly raised it up to his eye, so as to look through +it at the lamp. “The vintage, my Lord?” he enquired, glancing at his +host. + +The Earl named the date. + +“So I had supposed. But one likes to be certain. The _tint_ is, perhaps, +slightly pale. But the _body_ is unquestionable. And as for the +_bouquet_——” + +Ah, that magic Bouquet! How vividly that single word recalled the scene! +The little beggar-boy turning his somersault in the road—the sweet +little crippled maiden in my arms—the mysterious evanescent +nurse-maid—all rushed tumultuously into my mind, like the creatures of a +dream: and through this mental haze there still boomed on, like the +tolling of a bell, the solemn voice of the great connoisseur of _WINE_! + +Even _his_ utterances had taken on themselves a strange and dream-like +form. “No,” he resumed—and _why_ is it, I pause to ask, that, in taking +up the broken thread of a dialogue, one _always_ begins with this +cheerless monosyllable? After much anxious thought, I have come to the +conclusion that the object in view is the same as that of the schoolboy, +when the sum he is working has got into a hopeless muddle, and when in +despair he takes the sponge, washes it all out, and begins again. Just +in the same way the bewildered orator, by the simple process of denying +_everything_ that has been hitherto asserted, makes a clean sweep of the +whole discussion, and can ‘start fair’ with a fresh theory. “No,” he +resumed: “there’s nothing like cherry-jam, after all. That’s what _I_ +say!” + +“Not for _all_ qualities!” an eager little man shrilly interposed. “For +_richness_ of general tone I don’t say that it _has_ a rival. But for +_delicacy_ of modulation—for what one may call the ‘_harmonics_’ of +flavour—give _me_ good old _raspberry_-jam!” + +“Allow me one word!” The fat red-faced man, quite hoarse with +excitement, broke into the dialogue. “It’s too important a question to +be settled by Amateurs! I can give you the views of a +_Professional_—perhaps the most experienced jam-taster now living. Why, +I’ve known him fix the age of strawberry-jam, to a _day_—and we all know +what a difficult jam it is to give a date to—on a single tasting! Well, +I put to him the _very_ question you are discussing. His words were +‘_cherry_-jam is best, for mere _chiaroscuro_ of flavour: +_raspberry_-jam lends itself best to those resolved discords that linger +so lovingly on the tongue: but, for rapturous _utterness_ of saccharine +perfection, it’s _apricot-jam first and the rest nowhere_!’ That was +well put, _wasn’t_ it?” + +“Consummately put!” shrieked the eager little man. + +“I know your friend well,” said the pompous man. “As a jam-taster, he +has no rival! Yet I scarcely think——” + +But here the discussion became general: and his words were lost in a +confused medley of names, every guest sounding the praises of his own +favorite jam. At length, through the din, our host’s voice made itself +heard. “Let us join the ladies!” These words seemed to recall me to +waking life; and I felt sure that, for the last few minutes, I had +relapsed into the ‘eerie’ state. + +“A strange dream!” I said to myself as we trooped upstairs. “Grown men +discussing, as seriously as if they were matters of life and death, the +hopelessly trivial details of mere _delicacies_, that appeal to no +higher human function than the nerves of the tongue and palate! What a +humiliating spectacle such a discussion would be in waking life!” + +When, on our way to the drawing-room, I received from the housekeeper my +little friends, clad in the daintiest of evening costumes, and looking, +in the flush of expectant delight, more radiantly beautiful than I had +ever seen them before, I felt no shock of surprise, but accepted the +fact with the same unreasoning apathy with which one meets the events of +a dream, and was merely conscious of a vague anxiety as to how they +would acquit themselves in so novel a scene—forgetting that Court-life +in Outland was as good training as they could need for Society in the +more substantial world. + +It would be best, I thought, to introduce them as soon as possible to +some good-natured lady-guest, and I selected the young lady whose +piano-forte-playing had been so much talked of. “I am sure you like +children,” I said. “May I introduce two little friends of mine? This is +Sylvie—and this is Bruno.” + +The young lady kissed Sylvie very graciously. She would have done the +same for _Bruno_, but he hastily drew back out of reach. “Their faces +are new to me,” she said. “Where do you come from, my dear?” + +I had not anticipated so inconvenient a question; and, fearing that it +might embarrass Sylvie, I answered for her. “They come from some +distance. They are only here just for this one evening.” + +“How far have you come, dear?” the young lady persisted. + +Sylvie looked puzzled. “A mile or two, I _think_,” she said doubtfully. + +“A mile or _three_,” said Bruno. + +“You shouldn’t say ‘a mile or _three_,’” Sylvie corrected him. + +The young lady nodded approval. “Sylvie’s quite right. It isn’t usual to +say ‘a mile or _three_.’” + +“It would be usual—if we said it often enough,” said Bruno. + +It was the young lady’s turn to look puzzled now. “He’s very quick, for +his age!” she murmured. “You’re not more than seven, are you, dear?” she +added aloud. + +“I’m not so many as _that_,” said Bruno. “I’m _one_. Sylvie’s _one_. +Sylvie and me is _two_. _Sylvie_ taught me to count.” + +“Oh, I wasn’t _counting_ you, you know!” the young lady laughingly +replied. + +“Hasn’t oo _learnt_ to count?” said Bruno. + +The young lady bit her lip. “Dear! What embarrassing questions he _does_ +ask!” she said in a half-audible ‘aside.’ + +“Bruno, you shouldn’t!” Sylvie said reprovingly. + +“Shouldn’t _what_?” said Bruno. + +“You shouldn’t ask—that sort of questions.” + +“_What_ sort of questions?” Bruno mischievously persisted. + +“What _she_ told you not,” Sylvie replied, with a shy glance at the +young lady, and losing all sense of grammar in her confusion. + +“Oo ca’n’t pronounce it!” Bruno triumphantly cried. And he turned to the +young lady, for sympathy in his victory. “I _knewed_ she couldn’t +pronounce ‘umbrella-sting’!” + +The young lady thought it best to return to the arithmetical problem. +“When I asked if you were _seven_, you know, I didn’t mean ‘how many +_children_?’ I meant ‘how many _years_——’” + +“Only got _two_ ears,” said Bruno. “Nobody’s got _seven_ ears.” + +“And you belong to this little girl?” the young lady continued, +skilfully evading the anatomical problem. + +“No, I doosn’t belong to _her_!” said Bruno. “Sylvie belongs to _me_!” +And he clasped his arms round her as he added “She are my very mine!” + +“And, do you know,” said the young lady, “I’ve a little sister at home, +exactly like _your_ sister? I’m sure they’d love each other.” + +“They’d be very extremely useful to each other,” Bruno said, +thoughtfully. “And they wouldn’t want no looking-glasses to brush their +hair wiz.” + +“Why not, my child?” + +“Why, each one would do for the other one’s looking-glass, a-course!” +cried Bruno. + +But here Lady Muriel, who had been standing by, listening to this +bewildering dialogue, interrupted it to ask if the young lady would +favour us with some music; and the children followed their new friend to +the piano. + +Arthur came and sat down by me. “If rumour speaks truly,” he whispered, +“we are to have a real treat!” And then, amid a breathless silence, the +performance began. + +She was one of those players whom Society talks of as ‘brilliant,’ and +she dashed into the loveliest of Haydn’s Symphonies in a style that was +clearly the outcome of years of patient study under the best masters. At +first it seemed to be the perfection of piano-forte-playing; but in a +few minutes I began to ask myself, wearily, “_What_ is it that is +wanting? _Why_ does one get no pleasure from it?” + +Then I set myself to listen intently to every note; and the mystery +explained itself. There _was_ an almost-perfect mechanical +_correctness_—and there was nothing else! False notes, of course, did +not occur: she knew the piece too well for _that_; but there was just +enough irregularity of _time_ to betray that the player had no real +‘ear’ for music—just enough inarticulateness in the more elaborate +passages to show that she did not think her audience worth taking real +pains for—just enough mechanical monotony of accent to take all _soul_ +out of the heavenly modulations she was profaning—in short, it was +simply irritating; and, when she had rattled off the finale and had +struck the final chord as if, the instrument being now done with, it +didn’t matter how many wires she broke, I could not even _affect_ to +join in the stereotyped “Oh, _thank_ you!” which was chorused around me. + +Lady Muriel joined us for a moment. “Isn’t it _beautiful_?” she +whispered, to Arthur, with a mischievous smile. + +“No, it isn’t!” said Arthur. But the gentle sweetness of his face quite +neutralised the apparent rudeness of the reply. + +“Such execution, you know!” she persisted. + +“That’s what she _deserves_,” Arthur doggedly replied: “but people are +so prejudiced against capital——” + +“Now you’re beginning to talk nonsense!” Lady Muriel cried. “But you +_do_ like Music, don’t you? You said so just now.” + +“Do I like _Music_?” the Doctor repeated softly to himself. “My dear +Lady Muriel, there is Music and Music. Your question is painfully vague. +You might as well ask ‘Do you like _People_?’” + +Lady Muriel bit her lip, frowned, and stamped with one tiny foot. As a +dramatic representation of ill-temper, it was distinctly _not_ a +success. However, it took in _one_ of her audience, and Bruno hastened +to interpose, as peacemaker in a rising quarrel, with the remark “_I_ +likes Peoples!” + +Arthur laid a loving hand on the little curly head. “What? _All_ +Peoples?” he enquired. + +“Not _all_ Peoples,” Bruno explained. “Only but Sylvie—and Lady +Muriel—and him—” (pointing to the Earl) “and oo—and oo!” + +“You shouldn’t point at people,” said Sylvie. “It’s very rude.” + +“In Bruno’s World,” I said, “there are only _four_ People—worth +mentioning!” + +“In Bruno’s World!” Lady Muriel repeated thoughtfully. “A bright and +flowery world. Where the grass is always green, where the breezes always +blow softly, and the rain-clouds never gather; where there are no wild +beasts, and no deserts——” + +“There _must_ be deserts,” Arthur decisively remarked. “At least if it +was _my_ ideal world.” + +“But what possible use is there in a _desert_?” said Lady Muriel. +“_Surely_ you would have no wilderness in your ideal world?” + +Arthur smiled. “But indeed I _would_!” he said. “A wilderness would be +more necessary than a railway; and _far_ more conducive to general +happiness than church-bells!” + +“But what would you use it for?” + +“_To practise music in_,” he replied. “All the young ladies, that have +no ear for music, but insist on learning it, should be conveyed, every +morning, two or three miles into the wilderness. There each would find a +comfortable room provided for her, and also a cheap second-hand +piano-forte, on which she might play for hours, without adding one +needless pang to the sum of human misery!” + +Lady Muriel glanced round in alarm, lest these barbarous sentiments +should be overheard. But the fair musician was at a safe distance. “At +any rate you must allow that she’s a sweet girl?” she resumed. + +“Oh, certainly. As sweet as _eau sucrée_, if you choose—and nearly as +interesting!” + +“You are incorrigible!” said Lady Muriel, and turned to me. “I hope you +found Mrs. Mills an interesting companion?” + +“Oh, _that’s_ her name, is it?” I said. “I fancied there was _more_ of +it.” + +“So there is: and it will be ‘at your proper peril’ (whatever that may +mean) if you ever presume to address her as ‘Mrs. Mills.’ She is ‘Mrs. +Ernest—Atkinson—Mills’!” + +“She is one of those would-be grandees,” said Arthur, “who think that, +by tacking on to their surname all their spare Christian-names, with +hyphens between, they can give it an aristocratic flavour. As if it +wasn’t trouble enough to remember _one_ surname!” + +By this time the room was getting crowded, as the guests, invited for +the evening-party, were beginning to arrive, and Lady Muriel had to +devote herself to the task of welcoming them, which she did with the +sweetest grace imaginable. Sylvie and Bruno stood by her, deeply +interested in the process. + +“I hope you like my friends?” she said to them. “Specially my dear old +friend, Mein Herr (What’s become of him, I wonder? Oh, there he is!), +that old gentleman in spectacles, with a long beard?” + +“He’s a grand old gentleman!” Sylvie said, gazing admiringly at ‘Mein +Herr,’ who had settled down in a corner, from which his mild eyes beamed +on us through a gigantic pair of spectacles. “And what a lovely beard!” + +“What does he call his-self?” Bruno whispered. + +“He calls himself ‘Mein Herr,’” Sylvie whispered in reply. + +Bruno shook his head impatiently. “That’s what he calls his _hair_, not +his _self_, oo silly!” He appealed to me. “What doos he call his _self_, +Mister Sir?” + +“That’s the only name _I_ know of,” I said. “But he looks very lonely. +Don’t you pity his grey hairs?” + +“I pities his _self_,” said Bruno, still harping on the misnomer; “but I +doosn’t pity his _hair_, one bit. His _hair_ ca’n’t feel!” + +“We met him this afternoon,” said Sylvie. “We’d been to see Nero, and +we’d had _such_ fun with him, making him invisible again! And we saw +that nice old gentleman as we came back.” + +“Well, let’s go and talk to him, and cheer him up a little,” I said: +“and perhaps we shall find out what he calls himself.” + + + + + CHAPTER XI. + THE MAN IN THE MOON. + + +The children came willingly. With one of them on each side of me, I +approached the corner occupied by ‘Mein Herr.’ “You don’t object to +_children_, I hope?” I began. + +“_Crabbed age and youth cannot live together!_” the old man cheerfully +replied, with a most genial smile. “Now take a good look at me, my +children! You would guess me to be an _old_ man, wouldn’t you?” + +At first sight, though his face had reminded me so mysteriously of “the +Professor,” he had seemed to be decidedly a _younger_ man: but, when I +came to look into the wonderful depth of those large dreamy eyes, I +felt, with a strange sense of awe, that he was incalculably _older_: he +seemed to gaze at us out of some by-gone age, centuries away. + +[Illustration: MEIN HERR’S FAIRY-FRIENDS] + +“I don’t know if oo’re an _old_ man,” Bruno answered, as the children, +won over by the gentle voice, crept a little closer to him. “I thinks +oo’re _eighty-three_.” + +“He is very exact!” said Mein Herr. + +“Is he anything like right?” I said. + +“There are reasons,” Mein Herr gently replied, “reasons which I am not +at liberty to explain, for not mentioning _definitely_ any Persons, +Places, or Dates. One remark only I will permit myself to make—that the +period of life, between the ages of a hundred-and-sixty-five and a +hundred-and-seventy-five, is a specially _safe_ one.” + +“How do you make that out?” I said. + +“Thus. You would consider swimming to be a very safe amusement, if you +scarcely ever heard of any one dying of it. Am I not right in thinking +that you never heard of any one dying between those two ages?” + +“I see what you mean,” I said: “but I’m afraid you ca’n’t prove +_swimming_ to be safe, on the same principle. It is no uncommon thing to +hear of some one being _drowned_.” + +“In _my_ country,” said Mein Herr, “no one is _ever_ drowned.” + +“Is there no water deep enough?” + +“Plenty! But we ca’n’t _sink_. We are all _lighter than water_. Let me +explain,” he added, seeing my look of surprise. “Suppose you desire a +race of _pigeons_ of a particular shape or colour, do you not select, +from year to year, those that are nearest to the shape or colour you +want, and keep those, and part with the others?” + +“We do,” I replied. “We call it ‘Artificial Selection.’” + +“Exactly so,” said Mein Herr. “Well, _we_ have practised that for some +centuries—constantly selecting the _lightest_ people: so that, now, +_everybody_ is lighter than water.” + +“Then you never can be drowned at _sea_?” + +“Never! It is only on the _land_—for instance, when attending a play in +a theatre—that we are in such a danger.” + +“How can that happen at a _theatre_?” + +“Our theatres are all _underground_. Large tanks of water are placed +above. If a fire breaks out, the taps are turned, and in one minute the +theatre is flooded, up to the very roof! Thus the fire is extinguished.” + +“_And_ the audience, I presume?” + +“That is a minor matter,” Mein Herr carelessly replied. “But they have +the comfort of knowing that, whether drowned or not, they are all +_lighter than water_. We have not yet reached the standard of making +people lighter than _air_: but we are _aiming_ at it; and, in another +thousand years or so——” + +“What doos oo do wiz the peoples that’s too heavy?” Bruno solemnly +enquired. + +“We have applied the same process,” Mein Herr continued, not noticing +Bruno’s question, “to many other purposes. We have gone on selecting +_walking-sticks_—always keeping those that walked _best_—till we have +obtained some, that can walk by themselves! We have gone on selecting +_cotton-wool_, till we have got some lighter than air! You’ve no idea +what a useful material it is! We call it ‘Imponderal.’” + +“What do you use it for?” + +“Well, chiefly for _packing_ articles, to go by Parcel-Post. It makes +them weigh _less than nothing_, you know.” + +“And how do the Post-Office people know what you have to pay?” + +“That’s the beauty of the new system!” Mein Herr cried exultingly. “They +pay _us_: we don’t pay _them_! I’ve often got as much as five shillings +for sending a parcel.” + +“But doesn’t your Government object?” + +“Well, they _do_ object, a little. They say it comes so expensive, in +the long run. But the thing’s as clear as daylight, by their own rules. +If I send a parcel, that weighs a pound _more_ than nothing, I _pay_ +three-pence: so, of course, if it weighs a pound _less_ than nothing, I +ought to _receive_ three-pence.” + +“It is _indeed_ a useful article!” I said. + +“Yet even ‘Imponderal’ has its disadvantages,” he resumed. “I bought +some, a few days ago, and put it into my _hat_, to carry it home, and +the hat simply floated away!” + +“Had oo some of that funny stuff in oor hat _today_?” Bruno enquired. +“Sylvie and me saw oo in the road, and oor hat were ever so high up! +Weren’t it, Sylvie?” + +“No, that was quite another thing.” said Mein Herr. “There was a drop or +two of rain falling: so I put my hat on the top of my stick—as an +umbrella, you know. As I came along the road,” he continued, turning to +me, “I was overtaken by——” + +“——a shower of rain?” said Bruno. + +“Well, it _looked_ more like the tail of a dog,” Mein Herr replied. “It +was the most curious thing! Something rubbed affectionately against my +knee. And I looked down. And I could see _nothing_! Only, about a yard +off, there was a dog’s tail, wagging, all by itself!” + +“Oh, _Sylvie_!” Bruno murmured reproachfully. “Oo didn’t finish making +him visible!” + +“I’m _so_ sorry!” Sylvie said, looking very penitent. “I meant to rub it +along his back, but we were in such a hurry. We’ll go and finish him +tomorrow. Poor thing! Perhaps he’ll get no supper tonight!” + +“_Course_ he won’t!” said Bruno. “Nobody never gives bones to a dog’s +tail!” + +Mein Herr looked from one to the other in blank astonishment. “I do not +understand you,” he said. “I had lost my way, and I was consulting a +pocket-map, and somehow I had dropped one of my gloves, and this +invisible _Something_, that had rubbed against my knee, actually brought +it back to me!” + +“Course he did!” said Bruno. “He’s _welly_ fond of fetching things.” + +Mein Herr looked so thoroughly bewildered that I thought it best to +change the subject. “What a useful thing a pocket-map is!” I remarked. + +“That’s another thing we’ve learned from _your_ Nation,” said Mein Herr, +“map-making. But we’ve carried it much further than _you_. What do you +consider the _largest_ map that would be really useful?” + +“About six inches to the mile.” + +“Only _six inches_!” exclaimed Mein Herr. “We very soon got to six +_yards_ to the mile. Then we tried a _hundred_ yards to the mile. And +then came the grandest idea of all! We actually made a map of the +country, on the scale of _a mile to the mile_!” + +“Have you used it much?” I enquired. + +“It has never been spread out, yet,” said Mein Herr: “the farmers +objected: they said it would cover the whole country, and shut out the +sunlight! So we now use the country itself, as its own map, and I assure +you it does nearly as well. Now let me ask you _another_ question. What +is the smallest _world_ you would care to inhabit?” + +“_I_ know!” cried Bruno, who was listening intently. “I’d like a little +teeny-tiny world, just big enough for Sylvie and me!” + +“Then you would have to stand on opposite sides of it,” said Mein Herr. +“And so you would never see your sister _at all_!” + +“And I’d have no _lessons_,” said Bruno. + +“You don’t mean to say you’ve been trying experiments in _that_ +direction!” I said. + +“Well, not _experiments_ exactly. We do not profess to _construct_ +planets. But a scientific friend of mine, who has made several +balloon-voyages, assures me he has visited a planet so small that he +could walk right round it in twenty minutes! There had been a great +battle, just before his visit, which had ended rather oddly: the +vanquished army ran away at full speed, and in a very few minutes found +themselves face-to-face with the victorious army, who were marching home +again, and who were so frightened at finding themselves between _two_ +armies, that they surrendered at once! Of course that lost them the +battle, though, as a matter of fact, they had killed _all_ the soldiers +on the other side.” + +“Killed soldiers _ca’n’t_ run away,” Bruno thoughtfully remarked. + +“‘Killed’ is a technical word,” replied Mein Herr. “In the little planet +I speak of, the bullets were made of soft black stuff, which marked +everything it touched. So, after a battle, all you had to do was to +count how many soldiers on each side were ‘killed’—that means ‘marked on +the _back_,’ for marks in _front_ didn’t count.” + +“Then you couldn’t ‘kill’ any, unless they ran away?” I said. + +“My scientific friend found out a better plan than _that_. He pointed +out that, if only the bullets were sent _the other way round the world_, +they would hit the enemy in the _back_. After that, the _worst_ marksmen +were considered the _best_ soldiers; and _the very worst of all_ always +got First Prize.” + +“And how did you decide which was _the very worst of all_?” + +“Easily. The _best_ possible shooting is, you know, to hit what is +exactly in _front_ of you: so of course the _worst_ possible is to hit +what is exactly _behind_ you.” + +“They were strange people in that little planet!” I said. + +“They were indeed! Perhaps their method of _government_ was the +strangest of all. In _this_ planet, I am told, a Nation consists of a +number of Subjects, and one King: but, in the little planet I speak of, +it consisted of a number of _Kings_, and one _Subject_!” + +“You say you are ‘told’ what happens in _this_ planet,” I said. “May I +venture to guess that you yourself are a visitor from some _other_ +planet?” + +Bruno clapped his hands in his excitement. “Is oo the Man-in-the-Moon?” +he cried. + +Mein Herr looked uneasy. “I am _not_ in the Moon, my child,” he said +evasively. “To return to what I was saying. I think _that_ method of +government ought to answer _well_. You see, the Kings would be sure to +make Laws contradicting each other: so the Subject could never be +punished, because, _whatever_ he did, he’d be obeying _some_ Law.” + +“And, whatever he did, he’d be _dis_obeying _some_ Law!” cried Bruno. +“So he’d _always_ be punished!” + +Lady Muriel was passing at the moment, and caught the last word. +“Nobody’s going to be punished _here_!” she said, taking Bruno in her +arms. “This is Liberty-Hall! Would you lend me the children for a +minute?” + +“The children desert us, you see,” I said to Mein Herr, as she carried +them off: “so we old folk must keep each other company!” + +The old man sighed. “Ah, well! We’re old folk _now_; and yet I was a +child myself, once—at least I fancy so.” + +It _did_ seem a rather unlikely fancy, I could not help owning to +myself—looking at the shaggy white hair, and the long beard—that he +could _ever_ have been a child. “You are fond of young people?” I said. + +“Young _men_,” he replied. “Not of _children_ exactly. I used to teach +young men—many a year ago—in my dear old University!” + +“I didn’t quite catch its _name_?” I hinted. + +“I did not name it,” the old man replied mildly. “Nor would you know the +name if I did. Strange tales I could tell you of all the changes I have +witnessed there! But it would weary you, I fear.” + +“No, _indeed_!” I said. “Pray go on. What kind of changes?” + +But the old man seemed to be more in a humour for questions than for +answers. “Tell me,” he said, laying his hand impressively on my arm, +“tell me something. For I am a stranger in your land, and I know little +of _your_ modes of education: yet something tells me _we_ are further on +than _you_ in the eternal cycle of change—and that many a theory _we_ +have tried and found to fail, _you_ also will try, with a wilder +enthusiasm: you also will find to fail, with a bitterer despair!” + +It was strange to see how, as he talked, and his words flowed more and +more freely, with a certain rhythmic eloquence, his features seemed to +glow with an inner light, and the whole man seemed to be transformed, as +if he had grown fifty years younger in a moment of time. + + + + + CHAPTER XII. + FAIRY-MUSIC. + + +The silence that ensued was broken by the voice of the musical young +lady, who had seated herself near us, and was conversing with one of the +newly-arrived guests. “Well!” she said in a tone of scornful surprise. +“We _are_ to have something new in the way of music, it appears!” + +I looked round for an explanation, and was nearly as much astonished as +the speaker herself: it was _Sylvie_ whom Lady Muriel was leading to the +piano! + +“Do try it, my darling!” she was saying. “I’m sure you can play very +nicely!” + +Sylvie looked round at me, with tears in her eyes. I tried to give her +an encouraging smile, but it was evidently a great strain on the nerves +of a child so wholly unused to be made an exhibition of, and she was +frightened and unhappy. Yet here came out the perfect sweetness of her +disposition: I could see that she was resolved to forget herself, and do +her best to give pleasure to Lady Muriel and her friends. She seated +herself at the instrument, and began instantly. Time and expression, so +far as one could judge, were perfect: but her touch was one of such +extraordinary lightness that it was at first scarcely possible, through +the hum of conversation which still continued, to catch a note of what +she was playing. + +But in a minute the hum had died away into absolute silence, and we all +sat, entranced and breathless, to listen to such heavenly music as none +then present could ever forget. + +Hardly touching the notes at first, she played a sort of introduction in +a minor key—like an embodied twilight; one felt as though the lights +were growing dim, and a mist were creeping through the room. Then there +flashed through the gathering gloom the first few notes of a melody so +lovely, so delicate, that one held one’s breath, fearful to lose a +single note of it. Ever and again the music dropped into the pathetic +minor key with which it had begun, and, each time that the melody forced +its way, so to speak, through the enshrouding gloom into the light of +day, it was more entrancing, more magically sweet. Under the airy touch +of the child, the instrument actually seemed to _warble_, like a bird. +“_Rise up, my love, my fair one_,” it seemed to sing, “_and come away! +For lo, the winter is past, the rain is over and gone; the flowers +appear on the earth; the time of the singing of birds is come!_” One +could fancy one heard the tinkle of the last few drops, shaken from the +trees by a passing gust—that one saw the first glittering rays of the +sun, breaking through the clouds. + +The Count hurried across the room in great excitement. “I _cannot_ +remember myself,” he exclaimed, “of the name of this so charming an air! +It is of an opera, most surely. Yet not even will the _opera_ remind his +name to me! What you call him, dear child?” + +[Illustration: ‘HOW CALL YOU THE OPERA?’] + +Sylvie looked round at him with a rapt expression of face. She had +ceased playing, but her fingers still wandered fitfully over the keys. +All fear and shyness had quite passed away now, and nothing remained but +the pure joy of the music that had thrilled our hearts. + +“The title of it!” the Count repeated impatiently. “How call you the +opera?” + +“I don’t know what an opera _is_,” Sylvie half-whispered. + +“How, then, call you the _air_?” + +“I don’t know any name for it,” Sylvie replied, as she rose from the +instrument. + +“But this is marvellous!” exclaimed the Count, following the child, and +addressing himself to me, as if I were the proprietor of this musical +prodigy, and so _must_ know the origin of her music. “You have heard her +play this, sooner—I would say ‘before this occasion’? How call you the +air?” + +I shook my head; but was saved from more questions by Lady Muriel, who +came up to petition the Count for a song. + +The Count spread out his hands apologetically, and ducked his head. +“But, Milady, I have already respected—I would say prospected—all your +songs; and there shall be none fitted to my voice! They are not for +basso voices!” + +“Wo’n’t you look at them again?” Lady Muriel implored. + +“Let’s help him!” Bruno whispered to Sylvie. “Let’s get him—_you_ know!” + +Sylvie nodded. “Shall _we_ look for a song for you?” she said sweetly to +the Count. + +“Mais _oui_!” the little man exclaimed. + +“Of course we may!” said Bruno, while, each taking a hand of the +delighted Count, they led him to the music-stand. + +“There is still hope!” said Lady Muriel over her shoulder, as she +followed them. + +I turned to ‘Mein Herr,’ hoping to resume our interrupted conversation. +“You were remarking——” I began: but at this moment Sylvie came to call +Bruno, who had returned to my side, looking unusually serious. “_Do_ +come, Bruno!” she entreated. “You know we’ve nearly found it!” Then, in +a whisper, “The locket’s in my _hand_, now. I couldn’t get it out while +they were looking!” + +But Bruno drew back. “The man called me names,” he said with dignity. + +“What names?” I enquired with some curiosity. + +“I asked him,” said Bruno, “which sort of song he liked. And he said +‘_A_ song of _a_ man, not of _a_ lady.’ And I said ‘Shall Sylvie and me +find you the song of Mister Tottles?’ And he said ‘Wait, eel!’ And I’m +_not_ an eel, oo know!” + +“I’m _sure_ he didn’t mean it!” Sylvie said earnestly. “It’s something +French—you know he ca’n’t talk English so well as——” + +Bruno relented visibly. “Course he knows no better, if he’s Flench! +Flenchmen _never_ can speak English so goodly as _us_!” And Sylvie led +him away, a willing captive. + +“Nice children!” said the old man, taking off his spectacles and rubbing +them carefully. Then he put them on again, and watched with an approving +smile, while the children tossed over the heap of music, and we just +caught Sylvie’s reproving words, “We’re _not_ making hay, Bruno!” + +“This has been a long interruption to our conversation,” I said. “Pray +let us go on!” + +“Willingly!” replied the gentle old man. + +“I was much interested in what you——” He paused a moment, and passed his +hand uneasily across his brow. “One forgets,” he murmured. “What was I +saying? Oh! Something you were to tell me. Yes. Which of your teachers +do you value the most highly, those whose words are easily understood, +or those who puzzle you at every turn?” + +I felt obliged to admit that we generally admired most the teachers we +couldn’t quite understand. + +“Just so,” said Mein Herr. “That’s the way it begins. Well, _we_ were at +that stage some eighty years ago—or was it ninety? Our favourite teacher +got more obscure every year; and every year we admired him more—just as +_your_ Art-fanciers call _mist_ the fairest feature in a landscape, and +admire a view with frantic delight when they can see nothing! Now I’ll +tell you how it ended. It was Moral Philosophy that our idol lectured +on. Well, his pupils couldn’t make head or tail of it, but they got it +all by heart; and, when Examination-time came, they wrote it down; and +the Examiners said ‘Beautiful! What depth!’” + +“But what good was it to the young men _afterwards_?” + +“Why, don’t you see?” replied Mein Herr. “_They_ became teachers in +their turn, and _they_ said all these things over again; and _their_ +pupils wrote it all down; and the Examiners accepted it; and nobody had +the ghost of an idea what it all meant!” + +“And how did it end?” + +“It ended this way. We woke up one fine day, and found there was no one +in the place that knew _anything_ about Moral Philosophy. So we +abolished it, teachers, classes, examiners, and all. And if any one +wanted to learn anything about it, he had to make it out for himself; +and after another twenty years or so there were several men that really +knew something about it! Now tell me another thing. How long do you +teach a youth before you examine him, in your Universities?” + +I told him, three or four years. + +“Just so, just what _we_ did!” he exclaimed. “We taught ’em a bit, and, +just as they were beginning to take it in, we took it all out again! We +pumped our wells dry before they were a quarter full—we stripped our +orchards while the apples were still in blossom—we applied the severe +logic of arithmetic to our chickens, while peacefully slumbering in +their shells! Doubtless it’s the early bird that picks up the worm—but +if the bird gets up so outrageously early that the worm is still deep +underground, what _then_ is its chance of a breakfast?” + +Not much, I admitted. + +“Now see how that works!” he went on eagerly. “If you want to pump your +wells so soon—and I suppose you tell me that is what you _must_ do?” + +“We must,” I said. “In an over-crowded country like this, nothing but +Competitive Examinations——” + +Mein Herr threw up his hands wildly. “What, _again_?” he cried. “I +thought it was dead, fifty years ago! Oh this Upas tree of Competitive +Examinations! Beneath whose deadly shade all the original genius, all +the exhaustive research, all the untiring life-long diligence by which +our fore-fathers have so advanced human knowledge, must slowly but +surely wither away, and give place to a system of Cookery, in which the +human mind is a sausage, and all we ask is, how much indigestible stuff +can be crammed into it!” + +Always, after these bursts of eloquence, he seemed to forget himself for +a moment, and only to hold on to the thread of thought by some single +word. “Yes, _crammed_,” he repeated. “We went through all that stage of +the disease—had it bad, I warrant you! Of course, as the Examination was +all in all, we tried to put in just what was wanted—and the _great_ +thing to aim at was, that the Candidate should know absolutely _nothing_ +beyond the needs of the Examination! I don’t say it was ever _quite_ +achieved: but one of my own pupils (pardon an old man’s egotism) came +very near it. After the Examination, he mentioned to me the few facts +which he knew but had _not_ been able to bring in, and I can assure you +they were trivial, Sir, absolutely trivial!” + +I feebly expressed my surprise and delight. + +The old man bowed, with a gratified smile, and proceeded. “At that time, +no one had hit on the much more rational plan of watching for the +individual scintillations of genius, and rewarding them as they +occurred. As it was, we made our unfortunate pupil into a Leyden-jar, +charged him up to the eyelids—then applied the knob of a Competitive +Examination, and drew off one magnificent spark, which very often +cracked the jar! What mattered _that_? We labeled it ‘First Class +Spark,’ and put it away on the shelf.” + +“But the more rational system——?” I suggested. + +“Ah, yes! _that_ came next. Instead of giving the whole reward of +learning in one lump, we used to pay for every good answer as it +occurred. How well I remember lecturing in those days, with a heap of +small coins at my elbow! It was ‘A _very_ good answer, Mr. Jones!’ (that +meant a shilling, mostly). ‘Bravo, Mr. Robinson!’ (that meant +half-a-crown). Now I’ll tell you how _that_ worked. Not one single fact +would any of them take in, without a fee! And when a clever boy came up +from school, he got paid more for learning than we got paid for teaching +him! Then came the wildest craze of all.” + +“What, _another_ craze?” I said. + +“It’s the last one,” said the old man. “I must have tired you out with +my long story. Each College wanted to get the clever boys: so we adopted +a system which we had heard was very popular in England: the Colleges +competed against each other, and the boys let themselves out to the +highest bidder! What geese we were! Why, they were bound to come to the +University _somehow_. We needn’t have paid ’em! And all our money went +in getting clever boys to come to one College rather than another! The +competition was so keen, that at last mere money-payments were not +enough. Any College, that wished to secure some specially clever young +man, had to waylay him at the Station, and hunt him through the streets. +The first who touched him was allowed to have him.” + +“That hunting-down of the scholars, as they arrived, must have been a +curious business,” I said. “Could you give me some idea of what it was +like?” + +“Willingly!” said the old man. “I will describe to you the very last +Hunt that took place, before that form of Sport (for it was actually +reckoned among the _Sports_ of the day: we called it ‘Cub-Hunting’) was +finally abandoned. I witnessed it myself, as I happened to be passing by +at the moment, and was what we called ‘in at the death.’ I can see it +now!” he went on in an excited tone, gazing into vacancy with those +large dreamy eyes of his. “It seems like yesterday; and yet it +happened——” He checked himself hastily, and the remaining words died +away into a whisper. + +[Illustration: SCHOLAR-HUNTING: THE PURSUED] + +“_How_ many years ago did you say?” I asked, much interested in the +prospect of at last learning _some_ definite fact in his history. + +[Illustration: SCHOLAR-HUNTING: THE PURSUERS] + +“_Many_ years ago,” he replied. “The scene at the Railway-Station had +been (so they told me) one of wild excitement. Eight or nine Heads of +Colleges had assembled at the gates (no one was allowed inside), and the +Station-Master had drawn a line on the pavement, and insisted on their +all standing behind it. The gates were flung open! The young man darted +through them, and fled like lightning down the street, while the Heads +of Colleges actually _yelled_ with excitement on catching sight of him! +The Proctor gave the word, in the old statutory form, ‘_Semel!_ _Bis!_ +_Ter!_ _Currite!_’, and the Hunt began! Oh, it was a fine sight, believe +me! At the first corner he dropped his Greek Lexicon: further on, his +railway-rug: then various small articles: then his umbrella: lastly, +what I suppose he prized most, his hand-bag: but the game was up: the +spherical Principal of—of——” + +“Of _which_ College?” I said. + +“—of _one_ of the Colleges,” he resumed, “had put into operation the +Theory—his own discovery—of Accelerated Velocity, and captured him just +opposite to where I stood. I shall never forget that wild breathless +struggle! But it was soon over. Once in those great bony hands, escape +was impossible!” + +“May I ask why you speak of him as the ‘_spherical_’ Principal?” I said. + +“The epithet referred to his _shape_, which was a perfect _sphere_. You +are aware that a bullet, another instance of a perfect sphere, when +falling in a perfectly straight line, moves with Accelerated Velocity?” + +I bowed assent. + +“Well, my spherical friend (as I am proud to call him) set himself to +investigate the _causes_ of this. He found them to be _three_. One; that +it is a perfect _sphere_. Two; that it moves in a _straight line_. +Three; that its direction is _not upwards_. When these three conditions +are fulfilled, you get Accelerated Velocity.” + +“Hardly,” I said: “if you will excuse my differing from you. Suppose we +apply the theory to _horizontal_ motion. If a bullet is fired +_horizontally_, it——” + +“—it does _not_ move in a _straight line_,” he quietly finished my +sentence for me. + +“I yield the point,” I said. “What did your friend do next?” + +“The next thing was to apply the theory, as you rightly suggest, to +_horizontal_ motion. But the moving body, ever tending to _fall_, needs +_constant support_, if it is to move in a true horizontal line. ‘What, +then,’ he asked himself, ‘will _give constant support to a moving +body_?’ And his answer was ‘_Human legs!_’ _That_ was the discovery that +immortalised his name!” + +“His name being——?” I suggested. + +“I had not mentioned it,” was the gentle reply of my most unsatisfactory +informant. “His next step was an obvious one. He took to a diet of +suet-dumplings, until his body had become a perfect sphere. _Then_ he +went out for his first experimental run—which nearly cost him his life!” + +“How was _that_?” + +“Well, you see, he had no idea of the _tremendous_ new Force in Nature +that he was calling into play. He began too fast. In a very few minutes +he found himself moving at a hundred miles an hour! And, if he had not +had the presence of mind to charge into the middle of a haystack (which +he scattered to the four winds) there can be no doubt that he would have +left the Planet he belonged to, and gone right away into Space!” + +“And how came that to be the _last_ of the Cub-Hunts?” I enquired. + +“Well, you see, it led to a rather scandalous dispute between two of the +Colleges. _Another_ Principal had laid his hand on the young man, so +nearly at the same moment as the _spherical_ one, that there was no +knowing which had touched him first. The dispute got into print, and did +us no credit, and, in short, Cub-Hunts came to an end. Now I’ll tell you +what cured us of that wild craze of ours, the bidding against each +other, for the clever scholars, just as if they were articles to be sold +by auction! Just when the craze had reached its highest point, and when +one of the Colleges had actually advertised a Scholarship of one +thousand pounds _per annum_, one of our tourists brought us the +manuscript of an old African legend—I happen to have a copy of it in my +pocket. Shall I translate it for you?” + +“Pray go on,” I said, though I felt I was getting _very_ sleepy. + + + + + CHAPTER XIII. + WHAT TOTTLES MEANT. + + +Mein Herr unrolled the manuscript, but, to my great surprise, instead of +_reading_ it, he began to _sing_ it, in a rich mellow voice that seemed +to ring through the room. + + “One thousand pounds per annuum + Is not so bad a figure, come!” + Cried Tottles. “And I tell you, flat, + A man may marry well on that! + To say ‘the Husband needs the Wife’ + Is not the way to represent it. + The crowning joy of Woman’s life + Is _Man_!” said Tottles (and he meant it). + + The blissful Honey-moon is past: + The Pair have settled down at last: + Mamma-in-law their home will share, + And make their happiness her care. + “Your income is an ample one; + Go it, my children!” (And they went it). + “I rayther think this kind of fun + Won’t last!” said Tottles (and he meant it). + + They took a little country-box— + A box at Covent Garden also: + They lived a life of double-knocks, + Acquaintances began to call so: + Their London house was much the same + (It took three hundred, clear, to rent it): + “Life is a very jolly game!” + Cried happy Tottles (and he meant it). + + ‘Contented with a frugal lot’ + (He always used that phrase at Gunter’s), + He bought a handy little yacht— + A dozen serviceable hunters— + The fishing of a Highland Loch— + A sailing-boat to circumvent it— + “The sounding of that Gaelic ‘och’ + Beats _me_!” said Tottles (and he meant it). + +Here, with one of those convulsive starts that wake one up in the very +act of dropping off to sleep, I became conscious that the deep musical +tones that thrilled me did _not_ belong to Mein Herr, but to the French +Count. The old man was still conning the manuscript. + +“I _beg_ your pardon for keeping you waiting!” he said. “I was just +making sure that I knew the English for all the words. I am quite ready +now.” And he read me the following Legend:— + +“In a city that stands in the very centre of Africa, and is rarely +visited by the casual tourist, the people had always bought eggs—a daily +necessary in a climate where egg-flip was the usual diet—from a Merchant +who came to their gates once a week. And the people always bid wildly +against each other: so there was quite a lively auction every time the +Merchant came, and the last egg in his basket used to fetch the value of +two or three camels, or thereabouts. And eggs got dearer every week. And +still they drank their egg-flip, and wondered where all their money went +to. + +[Illustration: THE EGG-MERCHANT] + +“And there came a day when they put their heads together. And they +understood what donkeys they had been. + +“And next day, when the Merchant came, only _one_ Man went forth. And he +said ‘Oh, thou of the hook-nose and the goggle-eyes, thou of the +measureless beard, how much for that lot of eggs?’ + +“And the Merchant answered him ‘I _could_ let thee have that lot at ten +thousand piastres the dozen.’ + +“And the Man chuckled inwardly, and said ‘_Ten_ piastres the dozen I +offer thee, and no more, oh descendant of a distinguished grandfather!’ + +“And the Merchant stroked his beard, and said ‘Hum! I will await the +coming of thy friends,’ So he waited. And the Man waited with him. And +they waited both together.” + +“The manuscript breaks off here,” said Mein Herr, as he rolled it up +again; “but it was enough to open our eyes. We saw what simpletons we +had been—buying our Scholars much as those ignorant savages bought their +eggs—and the ruinous system was abandoned. If only we could have +abandoned, along with it, all the _other_ fashions we had borrowed from +you, instead of carrying them to their logical results! But it was not +to be. What ruined my country, and drove me from my home, was the +introduction—into the _Army_, of all places—of your theory of Political +Dichotomy!” + +“Shall I trouble you too much,” I said, “if I ask you to explain what +you mean by ‘the Theory of Political Dichotomy’?” + +“No trouble at all!” was Mein Herr’s most courteous reply. “I quite +enjoy talking, when I get so good a listener. What started the thing, +with us, was the report brought to us, by one of our most eminent +statesmen, who had stayed some time in England, of the way affairs were +managed there. It was a political necessity (so he assured us, and we +believed him, though we had never discovered it till that moment) that +there should be _two_ Parties, in every affair and on every subject. In +_Politics_, the two Parties, which you had found it necessary to +institute, were called, he told us, ‘Whigs’ and ‘Tories’.” + +“That must have been some time ago?” I remarked. + +“It _was_ some time ago,” he admitted. “And this was the way the affairs +of the British Nation were managed. (You will correct me if I +misrepresent it. I do but repeat what our traveler told us.) These two +Parties—which were in chronic hostility to each other—took turns in +conducting the Government; and the Party, that happened _not_ to be in +power, was called the ‘Opposition’, I believe?” + +“That is the right name,” I said. “There have always been, so long as we +have had a Parliament at all, _two_ Parties, one ‘in’, and one ‘out’.” + +“Well, the function of the ‘Ins’ (if I may so call them) was to do the +best they could for the national welfare—in such things as making war or +peace, commercial treaties, and so forth?” + +“Undoubtedly,” I said. + +“And the function of the ‘Outs’ was (so our traveller assured us, though +we were very incredulous at first) to _prevent_ the ‘Ins’ from +succeeding in any of these things?” + +“To _criticize_ and to _amend_ their proceedings,” I corrected him. “It +would be _unpatriotic_ to _hinder_ the Government in doing what was for +the good of the Nation! We have always held a _Patriot_ to be the +greatest of heroes, and an _unpatriotic_ spirit to be one of the worst +of human ills!” + +“Excuse me for a moment,” the old gentleman courteously replied, taking +out his pocket-book. “I have a few memoranda here, of a correspondence I +had with our tourist, and, if you will allow me, I’ll just refresh my +memory—although I quite agree with you—it is, as you say, one of the +worst of human ills—” And, here Mein Herr began singing again:— + + But oh, the worst of human ills + (Poor Tottles found) are ‘little bills’! + And, with no balance in the Bank, + What wonder that his spirits sank? + Still, as the money flowed away, + He wondered how on earth she spent it. + “You cost me twenty pounds a day, + _At least_!” cried Tottles (and he meant it). + + She sighed. “Those Drawing Rooms, you know! + I really never thought about it: + Mamma declared we ought to go— + We should be Nobodies without it. + That diamond-circlet for my brow— + I quite believed that _she_ had sent it, + Until the Bill came in just now——” + “_Viper_!” cried Tottles (and he meant it). + + Poor Mrs. T. could bear no more, + But fainted flat upon the floor. + Mamma-in-law, with anguish wild, + Seeks, all in vain, to rouse her child. + “Quick! Take this box of smelling-salts! + Don’t scold her, James, or you’ll repent it, + She’s a _dear_ girl, with all her faults——” + “She _is_!” groaned Tottles (and he meant it). + + “I was a donkey,” Tottles cried, + “To choose your daughter for my bride! + ’Twas _you_ that bid us cut a dash! + ’Tis _you_ have brought us to this smash! + You don’t suggest one single thing + That can in any way prevent it—— + Then what’s the use of arguing? + _Shut up!_” cried Tottles (and he meant it). + +Once more I started into wakefulness, and realised that Mein Herr was +not the singer. He was still consulting his memoranda. + +“It is exactly what my friend told me,” he resumed, after conning over +various papers. “‘_Unpatriotic_’ is the very word I had used, in writing +to him, and ‘_hinder_’ is the very word he used in his reply! Allow me +to read you a portion of his letter:—— + + “‘_I can assure you_,’ he writes, ‘_that, unpatriotic as you may think + it, the recognised function of the ‘Opposition’ is to hinder, in every + manner not forbidden by the Law, the action of the Government. This + process is called ‘Legitimate Obstruction’: and the greatest triumph + the ‘Opposition’ can ever enjoy, is when they are able to point out + that, owing to their ‘Obstruction’, the Government have failed in + everything they have tried to do for the good of the Nation!_’” + +“Your friend has not put it _quite_ correctly,” I said. “The Opposition +would no doubt be glad to point out that the Government had failed +_through their own fault_; but _not_ that they had failed on account of +_Obstruction_!” + +“You think so?” he gently replied. “Allow me now to read to you this +newspaper-cutting, which my friend enclosed in his letter. It is part of +the report of a public speech, made by a Statesman who was at the time a +member of the ‘Opposition’:— + + “‘_At the close of the Session, he thought they had no reason to be + discontented with the fortunes of the campaign. They had routed the + enemy at every point. But the pursuit must be continued. They had only + to follow up a disordered and dispirited foe._’” + +“Now to what portion of your national history would you guess that the +speaker was referring?” + +“Really, the number of _successful_ wars we have waged during the last +century,” I replied, with a glow of British pride, “is _far_ too great +for me to guess, with any chance of success, _which_ it was we were then +engaged in. However, I will name ‘_India_’ as the most probable. The +Mutiny was no doubt, all but crushed, at the time that speech was made. +What a fine, manly, _patriotic_ speech it must have been!” I exclaimed +in an outburst of enthusiasm. + +“You think so?” he replied, in a tone of gentle pity. “Yet my friend +tells me that the ‘_disordered and dispirited foe_’ simply meant the +Statesmen who happened to be in power at the moment; that the +‘_pursuit_’ simply meant ‘Obstruction’; and that the words ‘_they had +routed the enemy_’ simply meant that the ‘Opposition’ had succeeded in +hindering the Government from doing any of the work which the Nation had +empowered them to do!” + +I thought it best to say nothing. + +“It seemed queer to _us_, just at first,” he resumed, after courteously +waiting a minute for me to speak: “but, when once we had mastered the +idea, our respect for your Nation was so great that we carried it into +every department of life! It was ‘_the beginning of the end_’ with us. +My country never held up its head again!” And the poor old gentleman +sighed deeply. + +“Let us change the subject,” I said. “Do not distress yourself, I beg!” + +“No, no!” he said, with an effort to recover himself. “I had rather +finish my story! The next step (after reducing our Government to +impotence, and putting a stop to all useful legislation, which did not +take us long to do) was to introduce what we called ‘the glorious +British Principle of Dichotomy’ into _Agriculture_. We persuaded many of +the well-to-do farmers to divide their staff of labourers into two +Parties, and to set them one against the other. They were called, like +our political Parties, the ‘Ins’ and the ‘Outs’: the business of the +‘Ins’ was to do as much of ploughing, sowing, or whatever might be +needed, as they could manage in a day, and at night they were paid +according to the amount they had _done_: the business of the ‘Outs’ was +to hinder them, and _they_ were paid for the amount they had _hindered_. +The farmers found they had to pay only _half_ as much wages as they did +before, and they didn’t observe that the amount of work done was only a +_quarter_ as much as was done before: so they took it up quite +enthusiastically, _at first_.” + +“And _afterwards_——?” I enquired. + +“Well, _afterwards_ they didn’t like it quite so well. In a very short +time, things settled down into a regular routine. No work _at all_ was +done. So the ‘Ins’ got no wages, and the ‘Outs’ got full pay. And the +farmers never discovered, till most of them were ruined, that the +rascals had agreed to manage it so, and had shared the pay between them! +While the thing lasted, there were funny sights to be seen! Why, I’ve +often watched a ploughman, with two horses harnessed to the plough, +doing his best to get it _forwards_; while the opposition-ploughman, +with three donkeys harnessed at the _other_ end, was doing _his_ best to +get it _backwards_! And the plough never moving an inch, _either_ way!” + +“But _we_ never did anything like _that_!” I exclaimed. + +“Simply because you were less _logical_ than we were,” replied Mein +Herr. “There is _sometimes_ an advantage in being a donk—Excuse me! No +_personal_ allusion intended. All this happened _long ago_, you know!” + +“Did the Dichotomy-Principle succeed in _any_ direction?” I enquired. + +“In _none_,” Mein Herr candidly confessed. “It had a _very_ short trial +in _Commerce_. The shop-keepers _wouldn’t_ take it up, after once trying +the plan of having half the attendants busy in folding up and carrying +away the goods which the other half were trying to spread out upon the +counters. They said the Public didn’t like it!” + +“I don’t wonder at it,” I remarked. + +“Well, we tried ‘the British Principle’ for some years. And the end of +it all was—” His voice suddenly dropped, almost to a whisper; and large +tears began to roll down his cheeks. “—the end was that we got involved +in a war; and there was a great battle, in which we far out-numbered the +enemy. But what could one expect, when only _half_ of our soldiers were +fighting, and the other half pulling them back? It ended in a crushing +defeat—an utter rout. This caused a Revolution; and most of the +Government were banished. I myself was accused of Treason, for having so +strongly advocated ‘the British Principle.’ My property was all +forfeited, and—and—I was driven into exile! ‘Now the mischief’s done,’ +they said, ‘perhaps you’ll kindly leave the country?’ It nearly broke my +heart, but I had to go!” + +The melancholy tone became a wail: the wail became a chant: the chant +became a song—though whether it was _Mein Herr_ that was singing, this +time, or somebody else, I could not feel certain. + + “And, now the mischief’s done, perhaps + You’ll kindly go and pack your traps? + Since _two_ (your daughter and your son) + Are Company, but _three_ are none. + A course of saving we’ll begin: + When change is needed, _I’ll_ invent it: + Don’t think to put _your_ finger in + _This_ pie!” cried Tottles (and he meant it). + +The music seemed to die away. Mein Herr was again speaking in his +ordinary voice. “Now tell me one thing more,” he said. “Am I right in +thinking that in _your_ Universities, though a man may reside some +thirty or forty years, you examine him, once for all, at the end of the +first three or four?” + +“That is so, undoubtedly,” I admitted. + +“Practically, then, you examine a man at the _beginning_ of his career!” +the old man said to himself rather than to me. “And what guarantee have +you that he _retains_ the knowledge for which you have rewarded +him—beforehand, as _we_ should say?” + +“None,” I admitted, feeling a little puzzled at the drift of his +remarks. “How do _you_ secure that object?” + +“By examining him at the _end_ of his thirty or forty years—not at the +beginning,” he gently replied. “On an average, the knowledge then found +is about one-fifth of what it was at first—the process of forgetting +going on at a very steady uniform rate—and he, who forgets _least_, gets +_most_ honour, and most rewards.” + +“Then you give him the money when he needs it no longer? And you make +him live most of his life on _nothing_!” + +“Hardly that. He gives his orders to the tradesmen: they supply him, for +forty, sometimes fifty, years, at their own risk: then he gets his +Fellowship—which pays him in _one_ year as much as _your_ Fellowships +pay in fifty—and then he can easily pay all his bills, with interest.” + +“But suppose he fails to get his Fellowship? That must occasionally +happen.” + +“That occasionally happens.” It was Mein Herr’s turn, now, to make +admissions. + +“And what becomes of the tradesmen?” + +“They calculate accordingly. When a man appears to be getting alarmingly +ignorant, or stupid, they will sometimes refuse to supply him any +longer. You have no idea with what enthusiasm a man will begin to rub up +his forgotten sciences or languages, when his butcher has cut off the +supply of beef and mutton!” + +“And who are the Examiners?” + +“The young men who have just come, brimming over with knowledge. You +would think it a curious sight,” he went on, “to see mere boys examining +such old men. I have known a man set to examine his own grandfather. It +was a little painful for both of them, no doubt. The old gentleman was +as bald as a coot——” + +“How bald would that be?” I’ve no idea why I asked this question. I felt +I was getting foolish. + + + + + CHAPTER XIV. + BRUNO’S PICNIC. + + +“As bald as bald,” was the bewildering reply. “Now, Bruno, I’ll tell you +a story.” + +“And I’ll tell _oo_ a story,” said Bruno, beginning in a great hurry for +fear of Sylvie getting the start of him: “once there were a Mouse—a +little tiny Mouse—such a tiny little Mouse! Oo never saw such a tiny +Mouse——” + +“Did nothing ever happen to it, Bruno?” I asked. “Haven’t you anything +more to tell us, besides its being so tiny?” + +“Nothing never happened to it,” Bruno solemnly replied. + +“Why did nothing never happen to it?” said Sylvie, who was sitting, with +her head on Bruno’s shoulder, patiently waiting for a chance of +beginning _her_ story. + +“It were too tiny,” Bruno explained. + +“_That’s_ no reason!” I said. “However tiny it was, things might happen +to it.” + +Bruno looked pityingly at me, as if he thought me very stupid. “It were +too tiny,” he repeated. “If anything happened to it, it would die—it +were so _very_ tiny!” + +“Really that’s enough about its being tiny!” Sylvie put in. “Haven’t you +invented any more about it?” + +“Haven’t invented no more yet.” + +“Well then, you shouldn’t begin a story till you’ve invented more! Now +be quiet, there’s a good boy, and listen to _my_ story.” + +And Bruno, having quite exhausted all his inventive faculty, by +beginning in too great a hurry, quietly resigned himself to listening. +“Tell about the other Bruno, please,” he said coaxingly. + +Sylvie put her arms round his neck, and began:—— + +“The wind was whispering among the trees,” (“That wasn’t good manners!” +Bruno interrupted. “Never mind about manners,” said Sylvie) “and it was +evening—a nice moony evening, and the Owls were hooting——” + +“Pretend they weren’t Owls!” Bruno pleaded, stroking her cheek with his +fat little hand. “I don’t like Owls. Owls have such great big eyes. +Pretend they were Chickens!” + +“Are you afraid of their great big eyes, Bruno?” I said. + +“Aren’t _’fraid_ of nothing,” Bruno answered in as careless a tone as he +could manage: “they’re ugly with their great big eyes. I think if they +cried, the tears would be as big—oh, as big as the moon!” And he laughed +merrily. “Doos Owls cry ever, Mister Sir?” + +“Owls cry never,” I said gravely, trying to copy Bruno’s way of +speaking: “they’ve got nothing to be sorry for, you know.” + +“Oh, but they have!” Bruno exclaimed. “They’re ever so sorry, ’cause +they killed the poor little Mouses!” + +“But they’re not sorry when they’re _hungry_, I suppose?” + +“Oo don’t know nothing about Owls!” Bruno scornfully remarked. “When +they’re hungry, they’re very, _very_ sorry they killed the little +Mouses, ’cause if they _hadn’t_ killed them there’d be sumfin for +supper, oo know!” + +Bruno was evidently getting into a dangerously inventive state of mind, +so Sylvie broke in with “Now I’m going on with the story. So the +Owls—the Chickens, I mean—were looking to see if they could find a nice +fat Mouse for their supper——” + +“Pretend it was a nice ’abbit!” said Bruno. + +“But it _wasn’t_ a nice habit, to kill Mouses,” Sylvie argued. “I can’t +pretend _that_!” + +“I didn’t say ‘_habit_,’ oo silly fellow!” Bruno replied with a merry +twinkle in his eye. “’_abbits_—that runs about in the fields!” + +“Rabbit? Well it can be a Rabbit, if you like. But you mustn’t alter my +story so much, Bruno. A Chicken _couldn’t_ eat a Rabbit!” + +“But it might have wished to see if it could try to eat it.” + +“Well, it wished to see if it could try—oh, really, Bruno, that’s +nonsense! I shall go back to the Owls.” + +“Well then, pretend they hadn’t great eyes!” + +“And they saw a little Boy,” Sylvie went on, disdaining to make any +further corrections. “And he asked them to tell him a story. And the +Owls hooted and flew away——” (“Oo shouldn’t say ‘_flewed_;’ oo should +say ‘_flied_,’” Bruno whispered. But Sylvie wouldn’t hear.) “And he met +a Lion. And he asked the Lion to tell him a story. And the Lion said +‘yes,’ it would. And, while the Lion was telling him the story, it +nibbled some of his head off——” + +“Don’t say ‘nibbled’!” Bruno entreated. “Only little things +nibble—little thin sharp things, with edges——” + +“Well then, it ‘_nubbled_,’” said Sylvie. “And when it had nubbled _all_ +his head off, he went away, and he never said ‘thank you’!” + +“That were very rude,” said Bruno. “If he couldn’t speak, he might have +nodded—no, he couldn’t nod. Well, he might have shaked _hands_ with the +Lion!” + +“Oh, I’d forgotten that part!” said Sylvie. “He _did_ shake hands with +it. He came back again, you know, and he thanked the Lion very much, for +telling him the story.” + +“Then his head had growed up again?” said Bruno. + +“Oh yes, it grew up in a minute. And the Lion begged pardon, and said it +wouldn’t nubble off little boys’ heads—not never no more!” + +Bruno looked much pleased at this change of events. “Now that are a +_really_ nice story!” he said. “_Aren’t_ it a nice story, Mister Sir?” + +“Very,” I said. “I would like to hear another story about that Boy.” + +“So would _I_,” said Bruno, stroking Sylvie’s cheek again. “_Please_ +tell about Bruno’s Picnic; and don’t talk about _nubbly_ Lions!” + +“I won’t, if it frightens you,” said Sylvie. + +“_Flightens_ me!” Bruno exclaimed indignantly. “It isn’t _that_! It’s +’cause ‘nubbly’ ’s such a grumbly word to say—when one person’s got her +head on another person’s shoulder. When she talks like that,” he +explained to me, “the talking goes down bofe sides of my face—all the +way to my chin—and it _doos_ tickle so! It’s enough to make a beard +grow, that it is!” + +He said this with great severity, but it was evidently meant for a joke: +so Sylvie laughed—a delicious musical little laugh, and laid her soft +cheek on the top of her brother’s curly head, as if it were a pillow, +while she went on with the story. “So this Boy——” + +“But it wasn’t _me_, oo know!” Bruno interrupted. “And oo needn’t try to +look as if it was, Mister Sir!” + +I represented, respectfully, that I was trying to look as if it wasn’t. + +“—he was a middling good Boy——” + +“He were a _welly_ good Boy!” Bruno corrected her. “And he never did +nothing he wasn’t told to do——” + +“_That_ doesn’t make a good Boy!” Sylvie said contemptuously. + +“That _do_ make a good Boy!” Bruno insisted. + +Sylvie gave up the point. “Well, he was a _very_ good Boy, and he always +kept his promises, and he had a big cupboard——” + +“—for to keep all his promises in!” cried Bruno. + +“If he kept _all_ his promises,” Sylvie said, with a mischievous look in +her eyes, “he wasn’t like _some_ Boys I know of!” + +“He had to put _salt_ with them, a-course,” Bruno said gravely: “oo +ca’n’t keep promises when there isn’t any salt. And he kept his birthday +on the second shelf.” + +“How long did he keep his birthday?” I asked. “I never can keep _mine_ +more than twenty-four hours.” + +“Why, a birthday _stays_ that long by itself!” cried Bruno. “Oo doosn’t +know how to keep birthdays! This Boy kept _his_ a whole year!” + +“And then the next birthday would begin,” said Sylvie. “So it would be +his birthday _always_.” + +“So it were,” said Bruno. “Doos _oo_ have treats on _oor_ birthday, +Mister Sir?” + +“Sometimes,” I said. + +“When oo’re _good_, I suppose?” + +“Why, it _is_ a sort of treat, being good, isn’t it?” I said. + +“A sort of _treat_!” Bruno repeated. “It’s a sort of _punishment_, _I_ +think!” + +“Oh, Bruno!” Sylvie interrupted, almost sadly. “How _can_ you?” + +“Well, but it _is_,” Bruno persisted. “Why, look here, Mister Sir! +_This_ is being good!” And he sat bolt upright, and put on an absurdly +solemn face. “First oo must sit up as straight as pokers——” + +“—as _a_ poker,” Sylvie corrected him. + +“—as straight as _pokers_,” Bruno firmly repeated. “Then oo must clasp +oor hands—_so_. Then—‘Why hasn’t oo brushed oor hair? Go and brush it +_toreckly_!’ Then—‘Oh, Bruno, oo mustn’t dog’s-ear the daisies!’ Did oo +learn _oor_ spelling wiz daisies, Mister Sir?” + +“I want to hear about that Boy’s _Birthday_,” I said. + +Bruno returned to the story instantly. “Well, so this Boy said ‘Now it’s +my Birthday!’ And so—I’m tired!” he suddenly broke off, laying his head +in Sylvie’s lap. “Sylvie knows it best. Sylvie’s grown-upper than me. Go +on, Sylvie!” + +Sylvie patiently took up the thread of the story again. “So he said ‘Now +it’s my Birthday. Whatever shall I do to keep my Birthday? All _good_ +little Boys——” (Sylvie turned away from Bruno, and made a great pretence +of whispering to _me_) “—all _good_ little Boys—Boys that learn their +lessons quite perfect—they always keep their birthdays, you know. So of +course _this_ little Boy kept _his_ Birthday.” + +“Oo may call him Bruno, if oo like,” the little fellow carelessly +remarked. “It weren’t _me_, but it makes it more interesting.” + +“So Bruno said to himself ‘The properest thing to do is to have a +Picnic, all by myself, on the top of the hill. And I’ll take some Milk, +and some Bread, and some Apples: and first and foremost, I want some +_Milk_!’ So, first and foremost, Bruno took a milk-pail——” + +“And he went and milkted the Cow!” Bruno put in. + +“Yes,” said Sylvie, meekly accepting the new verb. “And the Cow said +‘Moo! What are you going to do with all that Milk?’ And Bruno said +‘Please’m, I want it for my Picnic.’ And the Cow said ‘Moo! But I hope +you wo’n’t _boil_ any of it?’ And Bruno said ‘No, _indeed_ I won’t! New +Milk’s so nice and so warm, it wants no boiling!’” + +“It doesn’t want no boiling,” Bruno offered as an amended version. + +“So Bruno put the Milk in a bottle. And then Bruno said ‘Now I want some +Bread!’ So he went to the Oven, and he took out a delicious new Loaf. +And the Oven——” + +“—ever so light and so puffy!” Bruno impatiently corrected her. “Oo +shouldn’t leave out so many words!” + +Sylvie humbly apologised. “—a delicious new Loaf, ever so light and so +puffy. And the Oven said——” Here Sylvie made a long pause. “Really I +don’t know _what_ an Oven begins with, when it wants to speak!” + +Both children looked appealingly at me; but I could only say, +helplessly, “I haven’t the least idea! _I_ never heard an Oven speak!” + +For a minute or two we all sat silent; and then Bruno said, very softly, +“Oven begins wiz ‘O’.” + +“_Good_ little boy!” Sylvie exclaimed. “He does his spelling _very_ +nicely. _He’s cleverer than he knows!_” she added, aside, to _me_. “So +the Oven said ‘O! What are you going to do with all that Bread?’ And +Bruno said ‘Please——’ Is an Oven ‘Sir’ or ‘’m,’ would you say?” She +looked to me for a reply. + +“_Both_, I think,” seemed to me the safest thing to say. + +Sylvie adopted the suggestion instantly. “So Bruno said ‘Please, Sirm, I +want it for my Picnic.’ And the Oven said ‘O! But I hope you wo’n’t +_toast_ any of it?’ And Bruno said ‘No, _indeed_ I wo’n’t! New Bread’s +so light and so puffy, it wants no toasting!’” + +“It never doesn’t want no toasting,” said Bruno. “I _wiss_ oo wouldn’t +say it so short!” + +“So Bruno put the Bread in the hamper. Then Bruno said ‘Now I want some +Apples!’ So he took the hamper, and he went to the Apple-Tree, and he +picked some lovely ripe Apples. And the Apple-Tree said——” Here followed +another long pause. + +Bruno adopted his favourite expedient of tapping his forehead; while +Sylvie gazed earnestly upwards, as if she hoped for some suggestion from +the birds, who were singing merrily among the branches overhead. But no +result followed. + +“What _does_ an Apple-tree begin with, when it wants to speak?” Sylvie +murmured despairingly, to the irresponsive birds. + +At last, taking a leaf out of Bruno’s book, I ventured on a remark. +“Doesn’t ‘Apple-tree’ always begin with ‘Eh!’?” + +“Why, of _course_ it does! How _clever_ of you!” Sylvie cried +delightedly. + +Bruno jumped up, and patted me on the head. I tried not to feel +conceited. + +“So the Apple Tree said ‘Eh! What are you going to do with all those +Apples?’ And Bruno said ‘Please, Sir, I want them for my Picnic,’ And +the Apple-Tree said ‘Eh! But I hope you wo’n’t _bake_ any of them?’ And +Bruno said ‘No, _indeed_ I wo’n’t! Ripe Apples are so nice and so sweet, +they want no baking!’” + +“They never doesn’t——” Bruno was beginning, but Sylvie corrected herself +before he could get the words out. + +“‘They never doesn’t nonow want no baking.’ So Bruno put the Apples in +the hamper, along with the Bread, and the bottle of Milk. And he set off +to have a Picnic, on the top of the hill, all by himself——” + +“He wasn’t greedy, oo know, to have it all by himself,” Bruno said, +patting me on the cheek to call my attention; “’cause he hadn’t got no +brothers and sisters.” + +“It was very sad to have no _sisters_, wasn’t it?” I said. + +“Well, I don’t know,” Bruno said thoughtfully; “’cause he hadn’t no +lessons to do. So he didn’t mind.” + +Sylvie went on. “So, as he was walking along the road, he heard behind +him such a curious sort of noise—a sort of a Thump! Thump! Thump! +‘Whatever _is_ that?’ said Bruno. ‘Oh, I know!’ said Bruno. ‘Why, it’s +only my Watch a-ticking!’” + +“_Were_ it his Watch a-ticking?” Bruno asked me, with eyes that fairly +sparkled with mischievous delight. + +“No doubt of it!” I replied. And Bruno laughed exultingly. + +“Then Bruno thought a little harder. And he said ‘No! It _ca’n’t_ be my +Watch a-ticking; because I haven’t _got_ a Watch!’” + +Bruno peered up anxiously into my face, to see how I took it. I hung my +head, and put a thumb into my mouth, to the evident delight of the +little fellow. + +“So Bruno went a little further along the road. And then he heard it +again, that queer noise—Thump! Thump! Thump! ‘What ever _is_ that?’ said +Bruno. ‘Oh, I know!’ said Bruno. ‘Why, it’s only the Carpenter a-mending +my Wheelbarrow!’” + +“_Were_ it the Carterpenter a-mending his Wheelbarrow?” Bruno asked me. + +I brightened up, and said “It _must_ have been!” in a tone of absolute +conviction. + +Bruno threw his arms round Sylvie’s neck. “Sylvie!” he said, in a +perfectly audible whisper. “He says it _must_ have been!” + +“Then Bruno thought a little harder. And he said ‘No! It _ca’n’t_ be the +Carpenter amending my Wheelbarrow, because I haven’t _got_ a +Wheelbarrow!’” + +This time I hid my face in my hands, quite unable to meet Bruno’s look +of triumph. + +“So Bruno went a little further along the road. And then he heard that +queer noise again—Thump! Thump! Thump! So he thought he’d look round, +_this_ time, just to _see_ what it was. And what should it be but a +great Lion!” + +“A great big Lion,” Bruno corrected her. + +“A great big Lion. And Bruno was ever so frightened, and he ran——” + +“No, he wasn’t _flightened_ a bit!” Bruno interrupted. (He was evidently +anxious for the reputation of his namesake.) “He runned away to get a +good look at the Lion; ’cause he wanted to see if it were the same Lion +what used to nubble little Boys’ heads off; and he wanted to know how +big it was!” + +“Well, he ran away, to get a good look at the Lion. And the Lion trotted +slowly after him. And the Lion called after him, in a very gentle voice, +‘Little Boy, little Boy! You needn’t be afraid of _me_! I’m a very +_gentle_ old Lion now. I _never_ nubble little Boys’ heads off, as I +used to do.’ And so Bruno said ‘Don’t you _really_, Sir? Then what do +you live on?’ And the Lion——” + +“Oo _see_ he weren’t a bit flightened!” Bruno said to me, patting my +cheek again. “’cause he remembered to call it ‘Sir,’ oo know.” + +I said that no doubt that was the _real_ test whether a person was +frightened or not. + +“And the Lion said ‘Oh, I live on bread-and-butter, and cherries, and +marmalade, and plum-cake———’” + +“—and _apples_!” Bruno put in. + +“Yes, ‘and apples.’ And Bruno said ‘Won’t you come with me to my +Picnic?’ And the Lion said ‘Oh, I should like it _very much indeed_!’ +And Bruno and the Lion went away together.” Sylvie stopped suddenly. + +“Is that _all_?” I asked, despondingly. + +“Not _quite_ all,” Sylvie slily replied. “There’s a sentence or two +more. Isn’t there, Bruno?” + +“Yes,” with a carelessness that was evidently put on: “just a sentence +or two more.” + +“And, as they were walking along, they looked over a hedge, and who +should they see but a little black Lamb! And the Lamb was ever so +frightened. And it ran——” + +“It were _really_ flightened!” Bruno put in. + +“It ran away. And Bruno ran after it. And he called ‘Little Lamb! You +needn’t be afraid of _this_ Lion! It _never_ kills things! It lives on +cherries, and marmalade——’” + +“—and _apples_!” said Bruno. “Oo _always_ forgets the apples!” + +“And Bruno said ‘Wo’n’t you come with us to my Picnic?’ And the Lamb +said ‘Oh, I should like it _very much indeed_, if my Ma will let me!’ +And Bruno said ‘Let’s go and ask your Ma!’ And they went to the old +Sheep. And Bruno said ‘Please, may your little Lamb come to my Picnic?’ +And the Sheep said ‘Yes, if it’s learnt all its lessons.’ And the Lamb +said ‘Oh yes, Ma! I’ve learnt _all_ my lessons!’” + +“Pretend it hadn’t any lessons!” Bruno earnestly pleaded. + +“Oh, that would never do!” said Sylvie. “I ca’n’t leave out all about +the lessons! And the old Sheep said ‘Do you know your A B C yet? Have +you learnt A?’ And the Lamb said ‘Oh yes, Ma! I went to the A-field, and +I helped them to make A!’ ‘Very good, my child! And have you learnt B?’ +‘Oh yes, Ma! I went to the B-hive, and the B gave me some honey!’ ‘Very +good, my child! And have you learnt C?’ ‘Oh yes, Ma! I went to the +C-side, and I saw the ships sailing on the C!’ ‘Very good, my child! You +may go to Bruno’s Picnic.’ + +[Illustration: STARTING FOR BRUNO’S PICNIC] + +“So they set off. And Bruno walked in the middle, so that the Lamb +mightn’t see the Lion——” + +“It were _flightened_,” Bruno explained. + +“Yes, and it trembled so; and it got paler and paler; and, before they’d +got to the top of the hill, it was a _white_ little Lamb—as white as +snow!” + +“But _Bruno_ weren’t flightened!” said the owner of that name. “So _he_ +staid black!” + +“No, he _didn’t_ stay black! He staid _pink_!” laughed Sylvie. “I +shouldn’t kiss you like this, you know, if you were _black_!” + +“Oo’d _have_ to!” Bruno said with great decision. “Besides, Bruno wasn’t +_Bruno_, oo know—I mean, Bruno wasn’t _me_—I mean—don’t talk nonsense, +Sylvie!” + +“I won’t do it again!” Sylvie said very humbly. “And so, as they went +along, the Lion said ‘Oh, I’ll tell you what I used to do when I was a +young Lion. I used to hide behind trees, to watch for little Boys.’” +(Bruno cuddled a little closer to her.) “‘And, if a little thin scraggy +Boy came by, why, I used to let him go. But, if a little fat juicy——’” + +Bruno could bear no more. “Pretend he wasn’t juicy!” he pleaded, +half-sobbing. + +“Nonsense, Bruno!” Sylvie briskly replied. “It’ll be done in a moment! +‘—if a little fat juicy Boy came by, why, I used to spring out and +gobble him up! Oh, you’ve no _idea_ what a delicious thing it is—a +little juicy Boy!’ And Bruno said ‘Oh, if you please, Sir, _don’t_ talk +about eating little boys! It makes me so _shivery_!’” + +The real Bruno shivered, in sympathy with the hero. + +“And the Lion said ‘Oh, well, we won’t talk about it, then! I’ll tell +you what happened on my wedding-day——’” + +“I like _this_ part better,” said Bruno, patting my cheek to keep me +awake. + +“‘There was, oh, such a lovely wedding-breakfast! At _one_ end of the +table there was a large plum-pudding. And at the other end there was a +nice roasted _Lamb_! Oh, you’ve no _idea_ what a delicious thing it is—a +nice roasted Lamb!’ And the Lamb said ‘Oh, if you please, Sir, _don’t_ +talk about eating Lambs! It makes me so _shivery_!’ And the Lion said +‘Oh, well, we won’t talk about it, then!’” + + + + + CHAPTER XV. + THE LITTLE FOXES. + + +“So, when they got to the top of the hill, Bruno opened the hamper: and +he took out the Bread, and the Apples, and the Milk: and they ate, and +they drank. And when they’d finished the Milk, and eaten half the Bread +and half the Apples, the Lamb said ‘Oh, my paws is so sticky! I want to +wash my paws!’ And the Lion said ‘Well, go down the hill, and wash them +in the brook, yonder. We’ll wait for you!’” + +“It never comed back!” Bruno solemnly whispered to me. + +But Sylvie overheard him. “You’re not to whisper, Bruno! It spoils the +story! And when the Lamb had been gone a long time, the Lion said to +Bruno ‘Do go and see after that silly little Lamb! It must have lost its +way.’ And Bruno went down the hill. And when he got to the brook, he saw +the Lamb sitting on the bank: and who should be sitting by it but an old +Fox!” + +“Don’t know who _should_ be sitting by it,” Bruno said thoughtfully to +himself. “A old Fox _were_ sitting by it.” + +“And the old Fox were saying,” Sylvie went on, for once conceding the +grammatical point, “‘Yes, my dear, you’ll be ever so happy with us, if +you’ll only come and see us! I’ve got three little Foxes there, and we +do love little Lambs so dearly!’ And the Lamb said ‘But you never _eat_ +them, do you, Sir?’ And the Fox said ‘Oh, no! What, _eat_ a Lamb? We +never _dream_ of doing such a thing!’ So the Lamb said ‘Then I’ll come +with you.’ And off they went, hand in hand.” + +“That Fox were welly extremely wicked, _weren’t_ it?” said Bruno. + +“No, no!” said Sylvie, rather shocked at such violent language. “It +wasn’t quite so bad as that!” + +“Well, I mean, it wasn’t nice,” the little fellow corrected himself. + +“And so Bruno went back to the Lion. ‘Oh, come quick!’ he said. ‘The Fox +has taken the Lamb to his house with him! I’m _sure_ he means to eat +it!’ And the Lion said ‘I’ll come as quick as ever I can!’ And they +trotted down the hill.” + +“Do oo think he caught the Fox, Mister Sir?” said Bruno. I shook my +head, not liking to speak: and Sylvie went on. + +“And when they got to the house, Bruno looked in at the window. And +there he saw the three little Foxes sitting round the table, with their +clean pinafores on, and spoons in their hands——” + +“Spoons in their hands!” Bruno repeated in an ecstasy of delight. + +“And the Fox had got a great big knife—all ready to kill the poor little +Lamb——” (“Oo needn’t be flightened, Mister Sir!” Bruno put in, in a +hasty whisper.) + +[Illustration: ‘ENTER THE LION’] + +“And just as he was going to do it, Bruno heard a great ROAR——” (The +real Bruno put his hand into mine, and held tight), “and the Lion came +_bang_ through the door, and the next moment it had bitten off the old +Fox’s head! And Bruno jumped in at the window, and went leaping round +the room, and crying out ‘Hooray! Hooray! The old Fox is dead! The old +Fox is dead!’” + +Bruno got up in some excitement. “May I do it now?” he enquired. + +Sylvie was quite decided on this point. “Wait till afterwards,” she +said. “The speeches come next, don’t you know? You always love the +speeches, _don’t_ you?” + +“Yes, I doos,” said Bruno: and sat down again. + +“The Lion’s speech. ‘Now, you silly little Lamb, go home to your mother, +and never listen to old Foxes again. And be very good and obedient.’ + +“The Lamb’s speech. ‘Oh, indeed, Sir, I will, Sir!’ and the Lamb went +away.” (“But _oo_ needn’t go away!” Bruno explained. “It’s quite the +nicest part—what’s coming now!” Sylvie smiled. She liked having an +appreciative audience.) + +“The Lion’s speech to Bruno. ‘Now, Bruno, take those little Foxes home +with you, and teach them to be good obedient little Foxes! Not like that +wicked old thing there, that’s got no head!’” (“That hasn’t got no +head,” Bruno repeated.) + +“Bruno’s speech to the Lion. ‘Oh, indeed, Sir, I will, Sir!’ And the +Lion went away.” (“It gets betterer and betterer, now,” Bruno whispered +to me, “right away to the end!”) + +“Bruno’s speech to the little Foxes. ‘Now, little Foxes, you’re going to +have your first lesson in being good. I’m going to put you into the +hamper, along with the Apples and the Bread: and you’re not to eat the +Apples: and you’re not to eat the Bread: and you’re not to eat +_anything_——till we get to my house: and then you’ll have your supper.’ + +“The little Foxes’ speech to Bruno. The little Foxes said nothing. + +“So Bruno put the Apples into the hamper—and the little Foxes—and the +Bread——” (“They had picnicked all the Milk,” Bruno explained in a +whisper) “—and he set off to go to his house.” (“We’re getting near the +end now,” said Bruno.) + +“And, when he had got a little way, he thought he would look into the +hamper, and see how the little Foxes were getting on.” + +“So he opened the door——” said Bruno. + +“Oh, Bruno!” Sylvie exclaimed, “_you’re_ not telling the story! So he +opened the door, and behold, there were no Apples! So Bruno said ‘Eldest +little Fox, have _you_ been eating the Apples?’ And the eldest little +Fox said ‘No no no!’” (It is impossible to give the tone in which Sylvie +repeated this rapid little ‘No no no!’ The nearest I can come to it is +to say that it was much as if a young and excited duck had tried to +quack the words. It was too quick for a quack, and yet too harsh to be +anything else.) “Then he said ‘Second little Fox, have _you_ been eating +the Apples?’ And the second little Fox said ‘No no no!’ Then he said +‘Youngest little Fox, have _you_ been eating the Apples?’ And the +youngest little Fox _tried_ to say ‘No no no!’ but its mouth was so +full, it couldn’t, and it only said ‘Wauch! Wauch! Wauch!’ And Bruno +looked into its mouth. And its mouth was full of Apples! And Bruno shook +his head, and he said ‘Oh dear, oh dear! What bad creatures these Foxes +are!’” + +Bruno was listening intently: and, when Sylvie paused to take breath, he +could only just gasp out the words “About the Bread?” + +“Yes,” said Sylvie, “the Bread comes next. So he shut the door again; +and he went a little further; and then he thought he’d just peep in once +more. And behold, there was no Bread!” (“What do ‘behold’ _mean_?” said +Bruno. “Hush!” said Sylvie.) “And he said ‘Eldest little Fox, have _you_ +been eating the Bread?’ And the eldest little Fox said ‘No no no!’ +‘Second little Fox, have _you_ been eating the Bread?’ And the second +little Fox only said ‘Wauch! Wauch! Wauch!’ And Bruno looked into its +mouth, and its mouth was full of Bread!” (“It might have chokeded it,” +said Bruno.) “So he said ‘Oh dear, oh dear! What _shall_ I do with these +Foxes?’ And he went a little further.” (“Now comes the most interesting +part,” Bruno whispered.) + +“And when Bruno opened the hamper again, what do you think he saw?” +(“Only _two_ Foxes!” Bruno cried in a great hurry.) “You shouldn’t tell +it so quick. However, he _did_ see only _two_ Foxes. And he said ‘Eldest +little Fox, have you been eating the youngest little Fox?’ And the +eldest little Fox said ‘No no no!’ ‘Second little Fox, have _you_ been +eating the youngest little Fox?’ And the second little Fox did its very +best to say ‘No no no!’ but it could only say ‘Weuchk! Weuchk! Weuchk!’ +And when Bruno looked into its mouth, it was half full of Bread, and +half full of Fox!” (Bruno said nothing in the pause this time. He was +beginning to pant a little, as he knew the crisis was coming.) + +“And when he’d got nearly home, he looked once more into the hamper, and +he saw——” + +“Only——” Bruno began, but a generous thought struck him, and he looked +at me. “_Oo_ may say it, _this_ time, Mister Sir!” he whispered. It was +a noble offer, but I wouldn’t rob him of the treat. “Go on, Bruno,” I +said, “you say it much the best.” “Only—but—_one_—Fox!” Bruno said with +great solemnity. + +[Illustration: ‘WHIHUAUCH! WHIHUAUCH!’] + +“‘Eldest little Fox,’” Sylvie said, dropping the narrative-form in her +eagerness, “‘you’ve been _so_ good that I can hardly believe _you’ve_ +been disobedient: but I’m _afraid_ you’ve been eating your little +sister?’ And the eldest little Fox said ‘Whihuauch! Whihuauch!’ and then +it choked. And Bruno looked into its mouth, and it _was_ full!” (Sylvie +paused to take breath, and Bruno lay back among the daisies, and looked +at me triumphantly. “Isn’t it _grand_, Mister Sir?” said he. I tried +hard to assume a critical tone. “It’s grand,” I said: “but it frightens +one so!” “Oo may sit a little closer to _me_, if oo like,” said Bruno.) + +“And so Bruno went home: and took the hamper into the kitchen, and +opened it. And he saw——” Sylvie looked at _me_, this time, as if she +thought I had been rather neglected and ought to be allowed _one_ guess, +at any rate. + +“He ca’n’t guess!” Bruno cried eagerly. “I ’fraid I _must_ tell him! +There weren’t—_nuffin_ in the hamper!” I shivered in terror, and Bruno +clapped his hands with delight. “He _is_ flightened, Sylvie! Tell the +rest!” + +“So Bruno said ‘Eldest little Fox, have you been eating _yourself_, you +wicked little Fox?’ And the eldest little Fox said ‘Whihuauch!’ And then +Bruno saw there was only its _mouth_ in the hamper! So he took the +mouth, and he opened it, and shook, and shook! And at last he shook the +little Fox out of its own mouth! And then he said ‘Open your mouth +again, you wicked little thing!’ And he shook, and shook! And he shook +out the second little Fox! And he said ‘Now open _your_ mouth!’ And he +shook, and shook! And he shook out the youngest little Fox, and all the +Apples, and all the Bread! + +“And then Bruno stood the little Foxes up against the wall: and he made +them a little speech. ‘Now, little Foxes, you’ve begun very wickedly—and +you’ll have to be punished. First you’ll go up to the nursery, and wash +your faces, and put on clean pinafores. Then you’ll hear the bell ring +for supper. Then you’ll come down: and _you won’t have any supper_: but +you’ll have a good _whipping_! Then you’ll go to bed. Then in the +morning you’ll hear the bell ring for breakfast. _But you won’t have any +breakfast!_ You’ll have a good _whipping_! Then you’ll have your +lessons. And, perhaps, if you’re _very_ good, when dinner-time comes, +you’ll have a little dinner, and no more whipping!’” (“How _very_ kind +he was!” I whispered to Bruno. “_Middling_ kind,” Bruno corrected me +gravely.) + +“So the little Foxes ran up to the nursery. And soon Bruno went into the +hall, and rang the big bell. ‘Tingle, tingle, tingle! Supper, supper, +supper!’ Down came the little Foxes, in such a hurry for their supper! +Clean pinafores! Spoons in their hands! And, when they got into the +dining-room, there was ever such a white table-cloth on the table! But +there was nothing on it but a big whip. And they had _such_ a whipping!” +(I put my handkerchief to my eyes, and Bruno hastily climbed upon my +knee and stroked my face. “Only _one_ more whipping, Mister Sir!” he +whispered. “Don’t cry more than oo ca’n’t help!”) + +“And the next morning early, Bruno rang the big bell again. ‘Tingle, +tingle, tingle! Breakfast, breakfast, breakfast!’ Down came the little +Foxes! Clean pinafores! Spoons in their hands! No breakfast! Only the +big whip! Then came lessons,” Sylvie hurried on, for I still had my +handkerchief to my eyes. “And the little Foxes were ever so good! And +they learned their lessons backwards, and forwards, and upside-down. And +at last Bruno rang the big bell again. ‘Tingle, tingle, tingle! Dinner, +dinner, dinner!’ And when the little Foxes came down——” (“Had they clean +pinafores on?” Bruno enquired. “Of course!” said Sylvie. “And spoons?” +“Why, you _know_ they had!” “Couldn’t be _certain_,” said Bruno.) “—they +came as slow as slow! And they said ‘Oh! There’ll be no dinner! There’ll +only be the big whip!’ But, when they got into the room, they saw the +most _lovely_ dinner!” (“Buns?” cried Bruno, clapping his hands.) “Buns, +and cake, and——” (“—and jam?” said Bruno.) “Yes, jam—and soup—and——” +(“—and _sugar plums_!” Bruno put in once more; and Sylvie seemed +satisfied.) + +“And ever after that, they _were_ such good little Foxes! They did their +lessons as good as gold—and they never did what Bruno told them not +to—and they never ate each other any more—and _they never ate +themselves_!” + +The story came to an end so suddenly, it almost took my breath away; +however I did my best to make a pretty speech of thanks. “I’m sure it’s +very—very—very much so, I’m sure!” I seemed to hear myself say. + + + + + CHAPTER XVI. + BEYOND THESE VOICES. + + +“I didn’t quite catch what you said!” were the next words that reached +my ear, but certainly _not_ in the voice either of Sylvie or of Bruno, +whom I could just see, through the crowd of guests, standing by the +piano, and listening to the Count’s song. Mein Herr was the speaker. “I +didn’t quite catch what you said!” he repeated. “But I’ve no doubt you +take _my_ view of it. Thank you _very_ much for your kind attention. +There is only but _one_ verse left to be sung!” These last words were +not in the gentle voice of Mein Herr, but in the deep bass of the French +Count. And, in the silence that followed, the final stanza of ‘Tottles’ +rang through the room. + +[Illustration: ‘NEVER!’ YELLED TOTTLES] + + See now this couple settled down + In quiet lodgings, out of town: + Submissively the tearful wife + Accepts a plain and humble life: + Yet begs one boon on bended knee: + ‘My ducky-darling, don’t resent it! + Mamma might come for two or three——’ + ‘NEVER!’ yelled Tottles. And he meant it. + +The conclusion of the song was followed by quite a chorus of thanks and +compliments from all parts of the room, which the gratified singer +responded to by bowing low in all directions. “It is to me a great +privilege,” he said to Lady Muriel, “to have met with this so marvellous +a song. The accompaniment to him is so strange, so mysterious: it is as +if a new music were to be invented! I will play him once again so as +that to show you what I mean.” He returned to the piano, but the song +had vanished. + +The bewildered singer searched through the heap of music lying on an +adjoining table, but it was not there, either. Lady Muriel helped in the +search: others soon joined: the excitement grew. “What _can_ have become +of it?” exclaimed Lady Muriel. Nobody knew: one thing only was certain, +that no one had been near the piano since the Count had sung the last +verse of the song. + +“Nevare mind him!” he said, most good-naturedly. “I shall give it you +with memory alone!” He sat down, and began vaguely fingering the notes; +but nothing resembling the tune came out. Then he, too, grew excited. +“But what oddness! How much of singularity! That I might lose, not the +words alone, but the tune also—that is quite curious, I suppose?” + +We all supposed it, heartily. + +“It was that sweet little boy, who found it for me,” the Count +suggested. “Quite perhaps _he_ is the thief?” + +“Of course he is!” cried Lady Muriel. “Bruno! Where are you, my +darling?” + +But no Bruno replied: it seemed that the two children had vanished as +suddenly, and as mysteriously, as the song. + +“They are playing us a trick!” Lady Muriel gaily exclaimed. “This is +only an _ex tempore_ game of Hide-and-Seek! That little Bruno is an +embodied Mischief!” + +The suggestion was a welcome one to most of us, for some of the guests +were beginning to look decidedly uneasy. A general search was set on +foot with much enthusiasm: curtains were thrown back and shaken, +cupboards opened, and ottomans turned over; but the number of possible +hiding-places proved to be strictly limited; and the search came to an +end almost as soon as it had begun. + +“They must have run out, while we were wrapped up in the song,” Lady +Muriel said, addressing herself to the Count, who seemed more agitated +than the others; “and no doubt they’ve found their way back to the +housekeeper’s room.” + +“Not by _this_ door!” was the earnest protest of a knot of two or three +gentlemen, who had been grouped round the door (one of them actually +leaning against it) for the last half-hour, as they declared. “_This_ +door has not been opened since the song began!” + +An uncomfortable silence followed this announcement. Lady Muriel +ventured no further conjectures, but quietly examined the fastenings of +the windows, which opened as doors. They all proved to be well fastened, +_inside_. + +Not yet at the end of her resources, Lady Muriel rang the bell. “Ask the +housekeeper to step here,” she said, “and to bring the children’s +walking-things with her.” + +“I’ve brought them, my Lady,” said the obsequious housekeeper, entering +after another minute of silence. “I thought the young lady would have +come to my room to put on her boots. Here’s your boots, my love!” she +added cheerfully, looking in all directions for the children. There was +no answer, and she turned to Lady Muriel with a puzzled smile. “Have the +little darlings hid themselves?” + +“I don’t see them, just now,” Lady Muriel replied, rather evasively. +“You can leave their things here, Wilson. _I’ll_ dress them, when +they’re ready to go.” + +The two little hats, and Sylvie’s walking-jacket, were handed round +among the ladies, with many exclamations of delight. There certainly was +a sort of witchery of beauty about them. Even the little boots did not +miss their share of favorable criticism. “Such natty little things!” the +musical young lady exclaimed, almost fondling them as she spoke. “And +what tiny tiny feet they must have!” + +Finally, the things were piled together on the centre-ottoman, and the +guests, despairing of seeing the children again, began to wish +good-night and leave the house. + +There were only some eight or nine left—to whom the Count was +explaining, for the twentieth time, how he had had his eye on the +children during the last verse of the song; how he had then glanced +round the room, to see what effect “de great chest-note” had had upon +his audience; and how, when he looked back again, they had both +disappeared—when exclamations of dismay began to be heard on all sides, +the Count hastily bringing his story to an end to join in the outcry. + +The walking-things had all disappeared! + +After the utter failure of the search for the _children_, there was a +very half-hearted search made for their _apparel_. The remaining guests +seemed only too glad to get away, leaving only the Count and our four +selves. + +The Count sank into an easy-chair, and panted a little. + +“Who then _are_ these dear children, I pray you?” he said. “Why come +they, why go they, in this so little ordinary a fashion? That the music +should make itself to vanish—that the hats, the boots, should make +themselves to vanish—how is it, I pray you?” + +“I’ve no idea where they are!” was all I could say, on finding myself +appealed to, by general consent, for an explanation. + +The Count seemed about to ask further questions, but checked himself. + +“The hour makes himself to become late,” he said. “I wish to you a very +good night, my Lady. I betake myself to my bed—to dream—if that indeed I +be not dreaming now!” And he hastily left the room. + +“Stay awhile, stay awhile!” said the Earl, as I was about to follow the +Count. “_You_ are not a guest, you know! Arthur’s friend is at _home_ +here!” + +“Thanks!” I said, as, with true English instincts, we drew our chairs +together round the fire-place, though no fire was burning—Lady Muriel +having taken the heap of music on her knee, to have one more search for +the strangely-vanished song. + +“Don’t you sometimes feel a wild longing,” she said, addressing herself +to me, “to have something more to do with your hands, while you talk, +than just holding a cigar, and now and then knocking off the ash? Oh, I +know all that you’re going to say!” (This was to Arthur, who appeared +about to interrupt her.) “The Majesty of Thought supersedes the work of +the fingers. A Man’s severe thinking, _plus_ the shaking-off a +cigar-ash, comes to the same total as a Woman’s trivial fancies, _plus_ +the most elaborate embroidery. _That’s_ your sentiment, isn’t it, only +better expressed?” + +Arthur looked into the radiant, mischievous face, with a grave and very +tender smile. “Yes,” he said resignedly: “that is my sentiment, +exactly.” + +“Rest of body, and activity of mind,” I put in. “Some writer tells us +_that_ is the acme of human happiness.” + +“Plenty of _bodily_ rest, at any rate!” Lady Muriel replied, glancing at +the three recumbent figures around her. “But what you call activity of +_mind_——” + +“—is the privilege of young Physicians _only_,” said the Earl. “We old +men have no claim to be active! _What can an old man do but die?_” + +“A good many other things, I should _hope_,” Arthur said earnestly. + +“Well, maybe. Still you have the advantage of me in many ways, dear boy! +Not only that _your_ day is dawning while _mine_ is setting, but your +_interest_ in Life—somehow I ca’n’t help envying you _that_. It will be +many a year before you lose your hold of _that_.” + +“Yet surely many human interests _survive_ human Life?” I said. + +“Many do, no doubt. And _some_ forms of Science; but only _some_, I +think. Mathematics, for instance: _that_ seems to possess an endless +interest: one ca’n’t imagine _any_ form of Life, or _any_ race of +intelligent beings, where Mathematical truth would lose its meaning. But +I fear _Medicine_ stands on a different footing. Suppose you discover a +remedy for some disease hitherto supposed to be incurable. Well, it is +delightful for the moment, no doubt—full of interest—perhaps it brings +you fame and fortune. But what then? Look on, a few years, into a life +where disease has no existence. What is your discovery worth, _then_? +Milton makes Jove promise too much. ‘_Of so much fame in heaven expect +thy meed._’ Poor comfort, when one’s ‘fame’ concerns matters that will +have ceased to have a meaning!” + +“At any rate, one wouldn’t care to make any _fresh_ medical +discoveries,” said Arthur. “I see no help for _that_—though I shall be +sorry to give up my favorite studies. Still, medicine, disease, pain, +sorrow, sin—I fear they’re all linked together. Banish sin, and you +banish them all!” + +“_Military_ science is a yet stronger instance,” said the Earl. “Without +sin, _war_ would surely be impossible. Still any mind, that has had in +this life any keen interest, not in _itself_ sinful, will surely find +itself _some_ congenial line of work hereafter. Wellington may have no +more _battles_ to fight—and yet— + + ‘We doubt not that, for one so true, + There must be other, nobler work to do, + Than when he fought at Waterloo, + And Victor he must ever be!’” + +He lingered over the beautiful words, as if he loved them: and his +voice, like distant music, died away into silence. + +After a minute or two he began again. “If I’m not wearying you, I would +like to tell you an idea of the future Life which has haunted me for +years, like a sort of waking nightmare—I ca’n’t reason myself out of +it.” + +“Pray do,” Arthur and I replied, almost in a breath. Lady Muriel put +aside the heap of music, and folded her hands together. + +“The one idea,” the Earl resumed, “that has seemed to me to overshadow +all the rest, is that of _Eternity_—involving, as it seems to do, the +necessary _exhaustion_ of all subjects of human interest. Take Pure +Mathematics, for instance—a Science independent of our present +surroundings. I have studied it, myself, a little. Take the subject of +circles and ellipses—what we call ‘curves of the second degree.’ In a +future Life, it would only be a question of so many years (or _hundreds_ +of years, if you like), for a man to work out _all_ their properties. +Then he _might_ go to curves of the third degree. Say _that_ took ten +times as long (you see we have _unlimited_ time to deal with). I can +hardly imagine his _interest_ in the subject holding out even for those; +and, though there is no limit to the _degree_ of the curves he might +study, yet surely the time, needed to exhaust _all_ the novelty and +interest of the subject, would be absolutely _finite_? And so of all +other branches of Science. And, when I transport myself, in thought, +through some thousands or millions of years, and fancy myself possessed +of as much Science as one created reason can carry, I ask myself ‘What +then? With nothing more to learn, can one rest content on _knowledge_, +for the eternity yet to be lived through?’ It has been a very wearying +thought to me. I have sometimes fancied one _might_, in that event, say +‘It is better _not_ to be,’ and pray for personal _annihilation_—the +Nirvana of the Buddhists.” + +“But that is only half the picture,” I said. “Besides working for +_oneself_, may there not be the helping of _others_?” + +“Surely, surely!” Lady Muriel exclaimed in a tone of relief, looking at +her father with sparkling eyes. + +“Yes,” said the Earl, “so long as there _were_ any others needing help. +But, given ages and ages more, surely all created reasons would at +length reach the same dead level of _satiety_. And _then_ what is there +to look forward to?” + +“I know that weary feeling,” said the young Doctor. “I have gone through +it all, more than once. Now let me tell you how I have put it to myself. +I have imagined a little child, playing with toys on his nursery-floor, +and yet able to _reason_, and to look on, thirty years ahead. Might he +not say to himself ‘By that time I shall have had enough of bricks and +ninepins. How weary Life will be!’ Yet, if we look forward through those +thirty years, we find him a great statesman, full of interests and joys +far more intense than his baby-life could give—joys wholly inconceivable +to his baby-mind—joys such as no baby-language could in the faintest +degree describe. Now, may not our life, a million years hence, have the +same relation, to our life now, that the man’s life has to the child’s? +And, just as one might try, all in vain, to express to that child, in +the language of bricks and ninepins, the meaning of ‘politics,’ so +perhaps all those descriptions of Heaven, with its music, and its +feasts, and its streets of gold, may be only attempts to describe, in +_our_ words, things for which we _really_ have no words at all. Don’t +you think that, in _your_ picture of another life, you are in fact +transplanting that child into political life, without making any +allowance for his growing up?” + +“I think I understand you,” said the Earl. “The music of Heaven _may_ be +something beyond our powers of thought. Yet the music of Earth is sweet! +Muriel, my child, sing us something before we go to bed!” + +“Do,” said Arthur, as he rose and lit the candles on the cottage-piano, +lately banished from the drawing-room to make room for a ‘semi-grand.’ +“There is a song here, that I have never heard you sing. + + ‘Hail to thee, blithe spirit! + Bird thou never wert, + That from Heaven, or near it, + Pourest thy full heart!’” + +he read from the page he had spread open before her. + +“And our little life here,” the Earl went on, “is, to that grand time, +like a child’s summer-day! One gets tired as night draws on,” he added, +with a touch of sadness in his voice, “and one gets to long for bed! For +those welcome words ‘Come, child, ’tis bed-time!’” + + + + + CHAPTER XVII. + TO THE RESCUE! + + +“It _isn’t_ bed-time!” said a sleepy little voice. “The owls hasn’t gone +to bed, and I s’a’n’t go to seep wizout oo sings to me!” + +“Oh, Bruno!” cried Sylvie. “Don’t you know the owls have only just got +up? But the _frogs_ have gone to bed, ages ago.” + +“Well, _I_ aren’t a frog,” said Bruno. + +“What shall I sing?” said Sylvie, skilfully avoiding the argument. + +“Ask Mister Sir,” Bruno lazily replied, clasping his hands behind his +curly head, and lying back on his fern-leaf, till it almost bent over +with his weight. “This aren’t a comfable leaf, Sylvie. Find me a +comfabler—please!” he added, as an after-thought, in obedience to a +warning finger held up by Sylvie. “I doosn’t like being feet-upwards!” + +It was a pretty sight to see—the motherly way in which the fairy-child +gathered up her little brother in her arms, and laid him on a stronger +leaf. She gave it just a touch to set it rocking, and it went on +vigorously by itself, as if it contained some hidden machinery. It +certainly wasn’t the wind, for the evening-breeze had quite died away +again, and not a leaf was stirring over our heads. + +“Why does that one leaf rock so, without the others?” I asked Sylvie. +She only smiled sweetly and shook her head. “I don’t know _why_,” she +said. “It always does, if it’s got a fairy-child on it. It _has_ to, you +know.” + +“And can people see the leaf rock, who ca’n’t see the Fairy on it?” + +“Why, of course!” cried Sylvie. “A leaf’s a leaf, and everybody can see +it; but Bruno’s Bruno, and they ca’n’t see _him_, unless they’re eerie, +like you.” + +Then I understood how it was that one sometimes sees—going through the +woods in a still evening—one fern-leaf rocking steadily on, all by +itself. Haven’t you ever seen that? Try if you can see the fairy-sleeper +on it, next time; but don’t _pick_ the leaf, whatever you do; let the +little one sleep on! + +But all this time Bruno was getting sleepier and sleepier. “Sing, sing!” +he murmured fretfully. Sylvie looked to me for instructions. “What shall +it be?” she said. + +“Could you sing him the nursery-song you once told me of?” I suggested. +“The one that had been put through the mind-mangle, you know. ‘_The +little man that had a little gun_,’ I think it was.” + +“Why, that are one of the _Professor’s_ songs!” cried Bruno. “I likes +the little man; and I likes the way they spinned him——like a +teetle-totle-tum.” And he turned a loving look on the gentle old man who +was sitting at the other side of his leaf-bed, and who instantly began +to sing, accompanying himself on his Outlandish guitar, while the snail, +on which he sat, waved its horns in time to the music. + +[Illustration: BRUNO’S BED-TIME] + + In stature the Manlet was dwarfish—— + No burly big Blunderbore he: + And he wearily gazed on the crawfish + His Wifelet had dressed for his tea. + “Now reach me, sweet Atom, my gunlet, + And hurl the old shoelet for luck: + Let me hie to the bank of the runlet, + And shoot thee a Duck!” + + She has reached him his minikin gunlet: + She has hurled the old shoelet for luck: + She is busily baking a bunlet, + To welcome him home with his Duck. + On he speeds, never wasting a wordlet, + Though thoughtlets cling, closely as wax, + To the spot where the beautiful birdlet + So quietly quacks. + +[Illustration: ‘LONG CEREMONIOUS CALLS’] + + Where the Lobsterlet lurks, and the Crablet + So slowly and sleepily crawls: + Where the Dolphin’s at home, and the Dablet + Pays long ceremonious calls: + Where the Grublet is sought by the Froglet: + Where the Frog is pursued by the Duck: + Where the Ducklet is chased by the Doglet—— + So runs the world’s luck! + +[Illustration: THE VOICES] + + He has loaded with bullet and powder: + His footfall is noiseless as air: + But the Voices grow louder and louder, + And bellow, and bluster, and blare. + They bristle before him and after, + They flutter above and below, + Shrill shriekings of lubberly laughter, + Weird wailings of woe! + + They echo without him, within him: + They thrill through his whiskers and beard: + Like a teetotum seeming to spin him, + With sneers never hitherto sneered. + “Avengement,” they cry, “on our Foelet! + Let the Manikin weep for our wrongs! + Let us drench him, from toplet to toelet, + With Nursery-Songs! + +[Illustration: ‘HIS SOUL SHALL BE SAD FOR THE SPIDER’] + + “He shall muse upon ‘Hey! Diddle! Diddle!’ + On the Cow that surmounted the Moon: + He shall rave of the Cat and the Fiddle, + And the Dish that eloped with the Spoon: + And his soul shall be sad for the Spider, + When Miss Muffet was sipping her whey, + That so tenderly sat down beside her, + And scared her away! + + “The music of Midsummer-madness + Shall sting him with many a bite, + Till, in rapture of rollicking sadness, + He shall groan with a gloomy delight: + He shall swathe him, like mists of the morning, + In platitudes luscious and limp, + Such as deck, with a deathless adorning, + The Song of the Shrimp! + + “When the Ducklet’s dark doom is decided, + We will trundle him home in a trice: + And the banquet, so plainly provided, + Shall round into rose-buds and rice: + In a blaze of pragmatic invention + He shall wrestle with Fate, and shall reign: + But he has not a friend fit to mention, + So hit him again!” + + He has shot it, the delicate darling! + And the Voices have ceased from their strife: + Not a whisper of sneering or snarling; + As he carries it home to his wife: + Then, cheerily champing the bunlet + His spouse was so skilful to bake, + He hies him once more to the runlet, + To fetch her the Drake! + +“He’s sound asleep now,” said Sylvie, carefully tucking in the edge of a +violet-leaf, which she had been spreading over him as a sort of blanket: +“good night!” + +“Good night!” I echoed. + +“You may well say ‘good night’!” laughed Lady Muriel, rising and +shutting up the piano as she spoke. “When you’ve been nid—nid—nodding +all the time I’ve been singing for your benefit! What was it all about, +now?” she demanded imperiously. + +“Something about a duck?” I hazarded. “Well, a bird of some kind?” I +corrected myself, perceiving at once that _that_ guess was wrong, at any +rate. + +“_Something about a bird of some kind!_” Lady Muriel repeated, with as +much withering scorn as her sweet face was capable of conveying. “And +that’s the way he speaks of Shelley’s Sky-Lark, is it? When the Poet +particularly says ‘_Hail to thee, blithe spirit!_ Bird _thou never +wert_!’” + +[Illustration: LORDS OF THE CREATION] + +She led the way to the smoking-room, where, ignoring all the usages of +Society and all the instincts of Chivalry, the three Lords of the +Creation reposed at their ease in low rocking-chairs, and permitted the +one lady who was present to glide gracefully about among us, supplying +our wants in the form of cooling drinks, cigarettes, and lights. Nay, it +was only _one_ of the three who had the chivalry to go beyond the +common-place “thank you,” and to quote the Poet’s exquisite description +of how Geraint, when waited on by Enid, was moved + + “To stoop and kiss the tender little thumb + That crossed the platter as she laid it down,” + +and to suit the action to the word—an audacious liberty for which, I +feel bound to report, he was _not_ duly reprimanded. + +As no topic of conversation seemed to occur to any one, and as we were, +all four, on those delightful terms with one another (the only terms, I +think, on which any friendship, that deserves the name of _intimacy_, +can be maintained) which involve no sort of necessity for _speaking_ for +mere speaking’s sake, we sat in silence for some minutes. + +At length I broke the silence by asking “Is there any fresh news from +the harbour about the Fever?” + +“None since this morning,” the Earl said, looking very grave. “But that +was alarming enough. The Fever is spreading fast: the London doctor has +taken fright and left the place, and the only one now available isn’t a +regular doctor at all: he is apothecary, and doctor, and dentist, and I +don’t know what other trades, all in one. It’s a bad outlook for those +poor fishermen—and a worse one for all the women and children.” + +“How many are there of them altogether?” Arthur asked. + +“There were nearly one hundred, a week ago.” said the Earl: “but there +have been twenty or thirty deaths since then.” + +“And what religious ministrations are there to be had?” + +“There are three brave men down there,” the Earl replied, his voice +trembling with emotion, “gallant heroes as ever won the Victoria Cross! +I am certain that no one of the three will ever leave the place merely +to save his own life. There’s the Curate: his wife is with him: they +have no children. Then there’s the Roman Catholic Priest. And there’s +the Wesleyan Minister. They go amongst their own flocks, mostly; but I’m +told that those who are dying like to have _any_ of the three with them. +How slight the barriers seem to be that part Christian from Christian, +when one has to deal with the great facts of Life and the reality of +Death!” + +“So it must be, and so it should be——” Arthur was beginning, when the +front-door bell rang, suddenly and violently. + +We heard the front-door hastily opened, and voices outside: then a knock +at the door of the smoking-room, and the old house-keeper appeared, +looking a little scared. + +“Two persons, my Lord, to speak with Dr. Forester.” + +Arthur stepped outside at once, and we heard his cheery “Well, my men?” +but the answer was less audible, the only words I could distinctly catch +being “ten since morning, and two more just——” + +“But there _is_ a doctor there?” we heard Arthur say: and a deep voice, +that we had not heard before, replied “Dead, Sir. Died three hours ago.” + +Lady Muriel shuddered, and hid her face in her hands: but at this moment +the front-door was quietly closed, and we heard no more. + +For a few minutes we sat quite silent: then the Earl left the room, and +soon returned to tell us that Arthur had gone away with the two +fishermen, leaving word that he would be back in about an hour. And, +true enough, at the end of that interval—during which very little was +said, none of us seeming to have the heart to talk—the front-door once +more creaked on its rusty hinges, and a step was heard in the passage, +hardly to be recognised as Arthur’s, so slow and uncertain was it, like +a blind man feeling his way. + +He came in, and stood before Lady Muriel, resting one hand heavily on +the table, and with a strange look in his eyes, as if he were walking in +his sleep. + +“Muriel—my love——” he paused, and his lips quivered: but after a minute +he went on more steadily. “Muriel—my darling—they—_want_ me—down in the +harbour.” + +“_Must_ you go?” she pleaded, rising and laying her hands on his +shoulders, and looking up into his face with her great eyes brimming +over with tears. “Must _you_ go, Arthur? It may mean—death!” + +He met her gaze without flinching. “It _does_ mean death,” he said, in a +husky whisper: “but—darling—I am _called_. And even my life itself——” +His voice failed him, and he said no more. + +For a minute she stood quite silent, looking upwards with a helpless +gaze, as if even prayer were now useless, while her features worked and +quivered with the great agony she was enduring. Then a sudden +inspiration seemed to come upon her and light up her face with a strange +sweet smile. “_Your_ life?” she repeated. “It is not _yours_ to give!” + +Arthur had recovered himself by this time, and could reply quite firmly, +“That is true,” he said. “It is not _mine_ to give. It is _yours_, now, +my—wife that is to be! And you—do _you_ forbid me to go? Will you not +spare me, my own beloved one?” + +Still clinging to him, she laid her head softly on his breast. She had +never done such a thing in my presence before, and I knew how deeply she +must be moved. “I _will_ spare you,” she said, calmly and quietly, “to +God.” + +“And to God’s poor,” he whispered. + +“And to God’s poor,” she added. “When must it be, sweet love?” + +[Illustration: ‘WILL YOU NOT SPARE ME?’] + +“To-morrow morning,” he replied. “And I have much to do before then.” + +And then he told us how he had spent his hour of absence. He had been to +the Vicarage, and had arranged for the wedding to take place at eight +the next morning (there was no legal obstacle, as he had, some time +before this, obtained a Special License) in the little church we knew so +well. “My old friend here,” indicating me, “will act as ‘Best Man,’ I +know: your father will be there to give you away: and—and—you will +dispense with bride’s-maids, my darling?” + +She nodded: no words came. + +“And then I can go with a willing heart—to do God’s work—knowing that we +are _one_—and that we are together in _spirit_, though not in bodily +presence—and are most of all together when we pray! Our _prayers_ will +go up together——” + +“Yes, yes!” sobbed Lady Muriel. “But you must not stay longer now, my +darling! Go home and take some rest. You will need all your strength +to-morrow——” + +“Well, I will go,” said Arthur. “We will be here in good time to-morrow. +Good night, my own own darling!” + +I followed his example, and we two left the house together. As we walked +back to our lodgings, Arthur sighed deeply once or twice, and seemed +about to speak—but no words came, till we had entered the house, and had +lit our candles, and were at our bedroom-doors. Then Arthur said “Good +night, old fellow! God bless you!” + +“God bless you!” I echoed, from the very depths of my heart. + +We were back again at the Hall by eight in the morning, and found Lady +Muriel and the Earl, and the old Vicar, waiting for us. It was a +strangely sad and silent party that walked up to the little church and +back; and I could not help feeling that it was much more like a funeral +than a wedding: to Lady Muriel it _was_ in fact, a funeral rather than a +wedding, so heavily did the presentiment weigh upon her (as she told us +afterwards) that her newly-won husband was going forth to his death. + +Then we had breakfast; and, all too soon, the vehicle was at the door, +which was to convey Arthur, first to his lodgings, to pick up the things +he was taking with him, and then as far towards the death-stricken +hamlet as it was considered safe to go. One or two of the fishermen were +to meet him on the road, to carry his things the rest of the way. + +“And are you quite sure you are taking all that you will need?” Lady +Muriel asked. + +“All that I shall need as a _doctor_, certainly. And my own personal +needs are few: I shall not even take any of my own wardrobe—there is a +fisherman’s suit, ready-made, that is waiting for me at my lodgings. I +shall only take my watch, and a few books, and—stay—there _is_ one book +I should like to add, a pocket-Testament—to use at the bedsides of the +sick and dying——” + +“Take mine!” said Lady Muriel: and she ran upstairs to fetch it. “It has +nothing written in it but ‘Muriel,’” she said as she returned with it: +“shall I inscribe——” + +“No, my own one,” said Arthur, taking it from her. “What _could_ you +inscribe better than that? Could any human name mark it more clearly as +my own individual property? Are _you_ not mine? Are you not,” (with all +the old playfulness of manner) “as Bruno would say, ‘my _very mine_’?” + +He bade a long and loving adieu to the Earl and to me, and left the +room, accompanied only by his wife, who was bearing up bravely, and +was—_outwardly_, at least—less overcome than her old father. We waited +in the room a minute or two, till the sound of wheels had told us that +Arthur had driven away; and even then we waited still, for the step of +Lady Muriel, going upstairs to her room, to die away in the distance. +Her step, usually so light and joyous, now sounded slow and weary, like +one who plods on under a load of hopeless misery; and I felt almost as +hopeless, and almost as wretched, as she. “Are we four destined _ever_ +to meet again, on this side the grave?” I asked myself, as I walked to +my home. And the tolling of a distant bell seemed to answer me, “No! No! +No!” + + + + + CHAPTER XVIII. + A NEWSPAPER-CUTTING. + + + _EXTRACT FROM THE “FAYFIELD CHRONICLE.”_ + +_Our readers will have followed with painful interest, the accounts we +have from time to time published of the terrible epidemic which has, +during the last two months, carried off most of the inhabitants of the +little fishing-harbour adjoining the village of Elveston. The last +survivors, numbering twenty-three only, out of a population which, three +short months ago, exceeded one hundred and twenty, were removed on +Wednesday last, under the authority of the Local Board, and safely +lodged in the County Hospital: and the place is now veritably ‘a city of +the dead,’ without a single human voice to break its silence._ + +_The rescuing party consisted of six sturdy fellows—fishermen from the +neighbourhood—directed by the resident Physician of the Hospital, who +came over for that purpose, heading a train of hospital-ambulances. The +six men had been selected—from a much larger number who had volunteered +for this peaceful ‘forlorn hope’—for their strength and robust health, +as the expedition was considered to be, even now, when the malady has +expended its chief force, not unattended with danger._ + +_Every precaution that science could suggest, against the risk of +infection, was adopted: and the sufferers were tenderly carried on +litters, one by one, up the steep hill, and placed in the ambulances +which, each provided with a hospital nurse, were waiting on the level +road. The fifteen miles, to the Hospital, were done at a walking-pace, +as some of the patients were in too prostrate a condition to bear +jolting, and the journey occupied the whole afternoon._ + +_The twenty-three patients consist of nine men, six women, and eight +children. It has not been found possible to identify them all, as some +of the children—left with no surviving relatives—are infants; and two +men and one woman are not yet able to make rational replies, the +brain-powers being entirely in abeyance. Among a more well-to-do-race, +there would no doubt have been names marked on the clothes; but here no +such evidence is forthcoming._ + +_Besides the poor fishermen and their families, there were but five +persons to be accounted for: and it was ascertained, beyond a doubt, +that all five are numbered with the dead. It is a melancholy pleasure to +place on record the names of these genuine martyrs—than whom none, +surely, are more worthy to be entered on the glory-roll of England’s +heroes! They are as follows:—_ + +_The Rev. James Burgess, M.A., and Emma his wife. He was the Curate at +the Harbour, not thirty years old, and had been married only two years. +A written record was found in their house, of the dates of their +deaths._ + +_Next to theirs we will place the honoured name of Dr. Arthur Forester, +who, on the death of the local physician, nobly faced the imminent peril +of death, rather than leave these poor folk uncared for in their last +extremity. No record of his name, or of the date of his death, was +found: but the corpse was easily identified, although dressed in the +ordinary fisherman’s suit (which he was known to have adopted when he +went down there), by a copy of the New Testament, the gift of his wife, +which was found, placed next his heart, with his hands crossed over it. +It was not thought prudent to remove the body, for burial elsewhere: and +accordingly it was at once committed to the ground, along with four +others found in different houses, with all due reverence. His wife, +whose maiden name was Lady Muriel Orme, had been married to him on the +very morning on which he undertook his self-sacrificing mission._ + +_Next we record the Rev. Walter Saunders, Wesleyan Minister. His death +is believed to have taken place two or three weeks ago, as the words +‘Died October 5’ were found written on the wall of the room which he is +known to have occupied—the house being shut up, and apparently not +having been entered for some time._ + +_Last—though not a whit behind the other four in glorious self-denial +and devotion to duty—let us record the name of Father Francis, a young +Jesuit Priest who had been only a few months in the place. He had not +been dead many hours when the exploring party came upon the body, which +was identified, beyond the possibility of doubt, by the dress, and by +the crucifix which was, like the young Doctor’s Testament, clasped +closely to his heart._ + +_Since reaching the hospital, two of the men and one of the children +have died. Hope is entertained for all the others: though there are two +or three cases where the vital powers seem to be so entirely exhausted +that it is but ‘hoping against hope’ to regard ultimate recovery as even +possible._ + + + + + CHAPTER XIX. + A FAIRY-DUET. + + +The year—what an eventful year it had been for me!—was drawing to a +close, and the brief wintry day hardly gave light enough to recognise +the old familiar objects, bound up with so many happy memories, as the +train glided round the last bend into the station, and the hoarse cry of +“Elveston! Elveston!” resounded along the platform. + +It was sad to return to the place, and to feel that I should never again +see the glad smile of welcome, that had awaited me here so few months +ago. “And yet, if I were to find him here,” I muttered, as in solitary +state I followed the porter, who was wheeling my luggage on a barrow, +“and if he _were_ to ‘_strike a sudden hand in mine, And ask a thousand +things of home_,’ I should not—no, ‘_I should not feel it to be +strange_’!” + +Having given directions to have my luggage taken to my old lodgings, I +strolled off alone, to pay a visit, before settling down in my own +quarters, to my dear old friends—for such I indeed felt them to be, +though it was barely half a year since first we met—the Earl and his +widowed daughter. + +The shortest way, as I well remembered, was to cross through the +churchyard. I pushed open the little wicket-gate and slowly took my way +among the solemn memorials of the quiet dead, thinking of the many who +had, during the past year, disappeared from the place, and had gone to +‘join the majority.’ A very few steps brought me in sight of the object +of my search. Lady Muriel, dressed in the deepest mourning, her face +hidden by a long crape veil, was kneeling before a little marble cross, +round which she was fastening a wreath of flowers. + +The cross stood on a piece of level turf, unbroken by any mound, and I +knew that it was simply a memorial-cross, for one whose dust reposed +elsewhere, even before reading the simple inscription:— + + _In loving Memory of_ + ARTHUR FORESTER, M.D. + _whose mortal remains lie buried by the sea: + whose spirit has returned to God who gave it_. + + _“Greater love hath no man than this, that + a man lay down his life for his friends.”_ + +She threw back her veil on seeing me approach, and came forwards to meet +me, with a quiet smile, and far more self-possessed than I could have +expected. + +“It is quite like old times, seeing _you_ here again!” she said, in +tones of genuine pleasure. “Have you been to see my father?” + +“No,” I said: “I was on my way there, and came through here as the +shortest way. I hope he is well, and you also?” + +“Thanks, we are both quite well. And you? Are you any better yet?” + +“Not much better, I fear: but no worse, I am thankful to say.” + +“Let us sit here awhile, and have a quiet chat,” she said. The +calmness—almost indifference—of her manner quite took me by surprise. I +little guessed what a fierce restraint she was putting upon herself. + +“One can be so quiet here,” she resumed. “I come here every—every day.” + +“It is very peaceful,” I said. + +“You got my letter?” + +“Yes, but I delayed writing. It is so hard to say—on _paper_—” + +“I know. It was kind of you. You were with us when we saw the last of——” +She paused a moment, and went on more hurriedly. “I went down to the +harbour several times, but no one knows which of those vast graves it +is. However, they showed me the house he died in: that was some comfort. +I stood in the very room where—where——.” She struggled in vain to go on. +The flood-gates had given way at last, and the outburst of grief was the +most terrible I had ever witnessed. Totally regardless of my presence, +she flung herself down on the turf, burying her face in the grass, and +with her hands clasped round the little marble cross, “Oh, my darling, +my darling!” she sobbed. “And God meant your life to be so beautiful!” + +[Illustration: IN THE CHURCH-YARD] + +I was startled to hear, thus repeated by Lady Muriel, the very words of +the darling child whom I had seen weeping so bitterly over the dead +hare. Had some mysterious influence passed, from that sweet +fairy-spirit, ere she went back to Fairyland, into the human spirit that +loved her so dearly? The idea seemed too wild for belief. And yet, are +there not ‘_more things in heaven and earth than are dreamt of in our +philosophy_’? + +“God _meant_ it to be beautiful,” I whispered, “and surely it _was_ +beautiful? God’s purpose never fails!” I dared say no more, but rose and +left her. At the entrance-gate to the Earl’s house I waited, leaning on +the gate and watching the sun set, revolving many memories—some happy, +some sorrowful—until Lady Muriel joined me. + +She was quite calm again now. “Do come in,” she said. “My father will be +so pleased to see you!” + +The old man rose from his chair, with a smile, to welcome me; but his +self-command was far less than his daughter’s, and the tears coursed +down his face as he grasped both my hands in his, and pressed them +warmly. + +My heart was too full to speak; and we all sat silent for a minute or +two. Then Lady Muriel rang the bell for tea. “You _do_ take five o’clock +tea, I know!” she said to me, with the sweet playfulness of manner I +remembered so well, “even though you _ca’n’t_ work your wicked will on +the Law of Gravity, and make the teacups descend into Infinite Space, a +little faster than the tea!” + +This remark gave the tone to our conversation. By a tacit mutual +consent, we avoided, during this our first meeting after her great +sorrow, the painful topics that filled our thoughts, and talked like +light-hearted children who had never known a care. + +“Did you ever ask yourself the question,” Lady Muriel began, _à propos_ +of nothing, “what is the _chief_ advantage of being a Man instead of a +Dog?” + +“No, indeed,” I said: “but I think there are advantages on the _Dog’s_ +side of the question, as well.” + +“No doubt,” she replied, with that pretty mock-gravity that became her +so well: “but, on _Man’s_ side, the chief advantage seems to me to +consist in _having pockets_! It was borne in upon me—upon _us_, I should +say; for my father and I were returning from a walk—only yesterday. We +met a dog carrying home a bone. What it wanted it for, I’ve no idea: +certainly there was no _meat_ on it——” + +A strange sensation came over me, that I had heard all this, or +something exactly like it, before: and I almost expected her next words +to be “perhaps he meant to make a cloak for the winter?” However what +she really said was “and my father tried to account for it by some +wretched joke about _pro bono publico_. Well, the dog laid down the +bone—_not_ in disgust with the pun, which would have shown it to be a +dog of taste—but simply to rest its jaws, poor thing! I _did_ pity it +so! Won’t you join my _Charitable Association for supplying dogs with +pockets_? How would _you_ like to have to carry your walking-stick in +your mouth?” + +Ignoring the difficult question as to the _raison d’être_ of a +walking-stick, supposing one had no _hands_, I mentioned a curious +instance, I had once witnessed, of reasoning by a dog. A gentleman, with +a lady, and child, and a large dog, were down at the end of a pier on +which I was walking. To amuse his child, I suppose, the gentleman put +down on the ground his umbrella and the lady’s parasol, and then led the +way to the other end of the pier, from which he sent the dog back for +the deserted articles. I was watching with some curiosity. The dog came +racing back to where I stood, but found an unexpected difficulty in +picking up the things it had come for. With the umbrella in its mouth, +its jaws were so far apart that it could get no firm grip on the +parasol. After two or three failures, it paused and considered the +matter. + +Then it put down the umbrella and began with the parasol. Of course that +didn’t open its jaws nearly so wide, and it was able to get a good hold +of the umbrella, and galloped off in triumph. One couldn’t doubt that it +had gone through a real train of logical thought. + +“I entirely agree with you,” said Lady Muriel: “but don’t orthodox +writers condemn that view, as putting Man on the level of the lower +animals? Don’t they draw a sharp boundary-line between Reason and +Instinct?” + +“That certainly _was_ the orthodox view, a generation ago,” said the +Earl. “The truth of Religion seemed ready to stand or fall with the +assertion that Man was the only reasoning animal. But that is at an end +now. Man can still claim _certain_ monopolies—for instance, such a use +of _language_ as enables us to utilise the work of many, by ‘division of +labour.’ But the belief, that we have a monopoly of _Reason_, has long +been swept away. Yet no catastrophe has followed. As some old poet says, +‘_God is where he was_.’” + +“Most religious believers would _now_ agree with Bishop Butler,” said I, +“and not reject a line of argument, even if it led straight to the +conclusion that animals have some kind of _soul_, which survives their +bodily death.” + +“I _would_ like to know _that_ to be true!” Lady Muriel exclaimed. “If +only for the sake of the poor horses. Sometimes I’ve thought that, if +anything _could_ make me cease to believe in a God of perfect justice, +it would be the sufferings of horses—without guilt to deserve it, and +without any compensation!” + +“It is only part of the great Riddle,” said the Earl, “why innocent +beings _ever_ suffer. It _is_ a great strain on Faith—but not a +_breaking_ strain, I think.” + +“The sufferings of _horses_,” I said, “are chiefly caused by _Man’s_ +cruelty. So _that_ is merely one of the many instances of Sin causing +suffering to others than the Sinner himself. But don’t you find a +_greater_ difficulty in sufferings inflicted by animals upon each other? +For instance, a cat playing with a mouse. Assuming it to have no _moral_ +responsibility, isn’t that a greater mystery than a man over-driving a +horse?” + +“I think it _is_,” said Lady Muriel, looking a mute appeal to her +father. + +“What right have we to make that assumption?” said the Earl. “_Many_ of +our religious difficulties are merely deductions from unwarranted +assumptions. The wisest answer to most of them, is, I think, ‘_behold, +we know not anything_.’” + +“You mentioned ‘division of labour,’ just now,” I said. “Surely it is +carried to a wonderful perfection in a hive of bees?” + +“So wonderful—so entirely super-human—” said the Earl, “and so entirely +inconsistent with the intelligence they show in other ways—that I feel +no doubt at all that it is _pure_ Instinct, and _not_, as some hold, a +very high order of Reason. Look at the utter stupidity of a bee, trying +to find its way out of an open window! It _doesn’t_ try, in any +reasonable sense of the word: it simply bangs itself about! We should +call a puppy _imbecile_, that behaved so. And yet we are asked to +believe that its intellectual level is above Sir Isaac Newton!” + +“Then you hold that _pure_ Instinct contains no _Reason_ at all?” + +“On the contrary,” said the Earl, “I hold that the work of a bee-hive +involves Reason of the _highest_ order. But none of it is done by the +_Bee_. _God_ has reasoned it all out, and has put into the mind of the +Bee the _conclusions_, only, of the reasoning process.” + +“But how do their minds come to work _together_?” I asked. + +“What right have we to assume that they _have_ minds?” + +“Special pleading, special pleading!” Lady Muriel cried, in a most +unfilial tone of triumph. “Why, you yourself said, just now, ‘the mind +of the Bee’!” + +“But I did _not_ say ‘_minds_,’ my child,” the Earl gently replied. “It +has occurred to me, as the most probable solution of the ‘Bee’-mystery, +that a swarm of Bees _have only one mind among them_. We often see one +mind animating a most complex collection of limbs and organs, _when +joined together_. How do we know that any material connection is +necessary? May not mere neighbourhood be enough? If so, a swarm of bees +is simply a single animal whose many limbs are not quite close +together!” + +“It is a bewildering thought,” I said, “and needs a night’s rest to +grasp it properly. Reason and Instinct _both_ tell me I ought to go +home. So, good-night!” + +“I’ll ‘set’ you part of the way,” said Lady Muriel. “I’ve had no walk +to-day. It will do me good, and I have more to say to you. Shall we go +through the wood? It will be pleasanter than over the common, even +though it _is_ getting a little dark.” + +We turned aside into the shade of interlacing boughs, which formed an +architecture of almost perfect symmetry, grouped into lovely groined +arches, or running out, far as the eye could follow, into endless +aisles, and chancels, and naves, like some ghostly cathedral, fashioned +out of the dream of a moon-struck poet. + +“Always, in this wood,” she began after a pause (silence seemed natural +in this dim solitude), “I begin thinking of Fairies! May I ask you a +question?” she added hesitatingly. “Do you believe in Fairies?” + +The momentary impulse was so strong to tell her of my experiences in +this very wood, that I had to make a real effort to keep back the words +that rushed to my lips. “If you mean, by ‘believe,’ ‘believe in their +_possible_ existence,’ I say ‘Yes.’ For their _actual_ existence, of +course, one would need _evidence_.” + +“You were saying, the other day,” she went on, “that you would accept +_anything_, on good evidence, that was not _à priori_ impossible. And I +think you named _Ghosts_ as an instance of a _provable_ phenomenon. +Would _Fairies_ be another instance?” + +“Yes, I think so.” And again it was hard to check the wish to say more: +but I was not yet sure of a sympathetic listener. + +“And have you any theory as to what sort of place they would occupy in +Creation? Do tell me what you think about them! Would they, for instance +(supposing such beings to exist), would they have any moral +responsibility? I mean” (and the light bantering tone suddenly changed +to one of deep seriousness) “would they be capable of _sin_?” + +“They can reason—on a lower level, perhaps, than men and women—never +rising, I think, above the faculties of a child; and they have a moral +sense, most surely. Such a being, without _free will_, would be an +absurdity. So I am driven to the conclusion that they _are_ capable of +sin.” + +“You believe in them?” she cried delightedly, with a sudden motion as if +about to clap her hands. “Now tell me, have you any reason for it?” + +And still I strove to keep back the revelation I felt sure was coming. +“I believe that there is _life_ everywhere—not _material_ only, not +merely what is palpable to our senses—but immaterial and invisible as +well. We believe in our own immaterial essence—call it ‘soul,’ or +‘spirit,’ or what you will. Why should not other similar essences exist +around us, _not_ linked on to a visible and _material_ body? Did not God +make this swarm of happy insects, to dance in this sunbeam for one hour +of bliss, for no other object, that we can imagine, than to swell the +sum of conscious happiness? And where shall we dare to draw the line, +and say ‘He has made all these and no more’?” + +“Yes, yes!” she assented, watching me with sparkling eyes. “But these +are only reasons for not _denying_. You have more reasons than this, +have you not?” + +“Well, yes,” I said, feeling I might safely tell all now. “And I could +not find a fitter time or place to say it. I have _seen_ them—and in +this very wood!” + +Lady Muriel asked no more questions. Silently she paced at my side, with +head bowed down and hands clasped tightly together. Only, as my tale +went on, she drew a little short quick breath now and then, like a child +panting with delight. And I told her what I had never yet breathed to +any other listener, of my double life, and, more than that (for _mine_ +might have been but a noonday-dream), of the double life of those two +dear children. + +And when I told her of Bruno’s wild gambols, she laughed merrily; and +when I spoke of Sylvie’s sweetness and her utter unselfishness and +trustful love, she drew a deep breath, like one who hears at last some +precious tidings for which the heart has ached for a long while; and the +happy tears chased one another down her cheeks. + +“I have often longed to meet an angel,” she whispered, so low that I +could hardly catch the words. “I’m _so_ glad I’ve seen Sylvie! My heart +went out to the child the first moment that I saw her—— Listen!” she +broke off suddenly. “That’s Sylvie singing! I’m sure of it! Don’t you +know her voice?” + +“I have heard _Bruno_ sing, more than once,” I said: “but I never heard +Sylvie.” + +“I have only heard her _once_,” said Lady Muriel. “It was that day when +you brought us those mysterious flowers. The children had run out into +the garden; and I saw Eric coming in that way, and went to the window to +meet him: and Sylvie was singing, under the trees, a song I had never +heard before. The words were something like ‘I think it is Love, I feel +it is Love.’ Her voice sounded far away, like a dream, but it was +beautiful beyond all words—as sweet as an infant’s first smile, or the +first gleam of the white cliffs when one is coming _home_ after weary +years—a voice that seemed to fill one’s whole being with peace and +heavenly thoughts—— Listen!” she cried, breaking off again in her +excitement. “That _is_ her voice, and that’s the very song!” + +I could distinguish no words, but there was a dreamy sense of music in +the air that seemed to grow ever louder and louder, as if coming nearer +to us. We stood quite silent, and in another minute the two children +appeared, coming straight towards us through an arched opening among the +trees. Each had an arm round the other, and the setting sun shed a +golden halo round their heads, like what one sees in pictures of saints. +They were looking in our direction, but evidently did not see us, and I +soon made out that Lady Muriel had for once passed into a condition +familiar to _me_, that we were both of us ‘eerie,’ and that, though we +could see the children so plainly, we were quite invisible to _them_. + +[Illustration: A FAIRY-DUET] + +The song ceased just as they came into sight: but, to my delight, Bruno +instantly said “Let’s sing it all again, Sylvie! It _did_ sound so +pretty!” And Sylvie replied “Very well. It’s _you_ to begin, you know.” + +So Bruno began, in the sweet childish treble I knew so well:— + + “Say, what is the spell, when her fledgelings are cheeping, + That lures the bird home to her nest? + Or wakes the tired mother, whose infant is weeping, + To cuddle and croon it to rest? + What’s the magic that charms the glad babe in her arms, + Till it cooes with the voice of the dove?” + +And now ensued quite the strangest of all the strange experiences that +marked the wonderful year whose history I am writing—the experience of +_first_ hearing Sylvie’s voice in song. Her part was a very short +one—only a few words—and she sang it timidly, and very low indeed, +scarcely audibly, but the _sweetness_ of her voice was simply +indescribable; I have never heard any earthly music like it. + + “’Tis a secret, and so let us whisper it low— + And the name of the secret is Love!” + +On me the first effect of her voice was a sudden sharp pang that seemed +to pierce through one’s very heart. (I had felt such a pang only once +before in my life, and it had been from _seeing_ what, at the moment, +realised one’s idea of perfect beauty—it was in a London exhibition, +where, in making my way through a crowd, I suddenly met, face to face, a +child of quite unearthly beauty.) Then came a rush of burning tears to +the eyes, as though one could weep one’s soul away for pure delight. And +lastly there fell on me a sense of awe that was almost terror—some such +feeling as Moses must have had when he heard the words “_Put off thy +shoes from off thy feet, for the place whereon thou standest is holy +ground_.” The figures of the children became vague and shadowy, like +glimmering meteors: while their voices rang together in exquisite +harmony as they sang:— + + “For I think it is Love, + For I feel it is Love, + For I’m sure it is nothing but Love!” + +By this time I could see them clearly once more. Bruno again sang by +himself:— + + “Say, whence is the voice that, when anger is burning, + Bids the whirl of the tempest to cease? + That stirs the vexed soul with an aching—a yearning + For the brotherly hand-grip of peace? + Whence the music that fills all our being—that thrills + Around us, beneath, and above?” + +Sylvie sang more courageously, this time: the words seemed to carry her +away, out of herself:— + + “’Tis a secret: none knows how it comes, how it goes: + But the name of the secret is Love!” + +And clear and strong the chorus rang out:— + + “For I think it is Love, + For I feel it is Love, + For I’m sure it is nothing but Love!” + +Once more we heard Bruno’s delicate little voice alone:— + + “Say whose is the skill that paints valley and hill, + Like a picture so fair to the sight? + That flecks the green meadow with sunshine and shadow, + Till the little lambs leap with delight?” + +And again uprose that silvery voice, whose angelic sweetness I could +hardly bear:— + + “’Tis a secret untold to hearts cruel and cold, + Though ’tis sung, by the angels above, + In notes that ring clear for the ears that can hear— + And the name of the secret is Love!” + +And then Bruno joined in again with + + “For I think it is Love, + For I feel it is Love, + For I’m sure it is nothing but Love!” + +“That _are_ pretty!” the little fellow exclaimed, as the children passed +us—so closely that we drew back a little to make room for them, and it +seemed we had only to reach out a hand to touch them: but this we did +not attempt. + +“No use to try and stop them!” I said, as they passed away into the +shadows. “Why, they could not even _see_ us!” + +“No use at all,” Lady Muriel echoed with a sigh. “One would _like_ to +meet them again, in living form! But I feel, somehow, _that_ can never +be. They have passed out of _our_ lives!” She sighed again; and no more +was said, till we came out into the main road, at a point near my +lodgings. + +“Well, I will leave you here,” she said. “I want to get back before +dark: and I have a cottage-friend to visit, first. Good night, dear +friend! Let us see you soon—and often!” she added, with an affectionate +warmth that went to my very heart. “_For those are few we hold as +dear!_” + +“Good night!” I answered. “Tennyson said that of a worthier friend than +me.” + +“Tennyson didn’t know what he was talking about!” she saucily rejoined, +with a touch of her old childish gaiety; and we parted. + + + + + CHAPTER XX. + GAMMON AND SPINACH. + + +My landlady’s welcome had an extra heartiness about it: and though, with +a rare delicacy of feeling, she made no direct allusion to the friend +whose companionship had done so much to brighten life for me, I felt +sure that it was a kindly sympathy with my solitary state that made her +so specially anxious to do all she could think of to ensure my comfort, +and make me feel at home. + +The lonely evening seemed long and tedious: yet I lingered on, watching +the dying fire, and letting Fancy mould the red embers into the forms +and faces belonging to bygone scenes. Now it seemed to be Bruno’s +roguish smile that sparkled for a moment, and died away: now it was +Sylvie’s rosy cheek: and now the Professor’s jolly round face, beaming +with delight. “You’re welcome, my little ones!” he seemed to say. And +then the red coal, which for the moment embodied the dear old Professor, +began to wax dim, and with its dying lustre the words seemed to die away +into silence. I seized the poker, and with an artful touch or two +revived the waning glow, while Fancy—no coy minstrel she—sang me once +again the magic strain I loved to hear. + +“You’re welcome, little ones!” the cheery voice repeated. “I told them +you were coming. Your rooms are all ready for you. And the Emperor and +the Empress—well, I think they’re rather pleased than otherwise! In +fact, Her Highness said ‘I hope they’ll be in time for the Banquet!’ +Those were her very words, I assure you!” + +“Will Uggug be at the Banquet?” Bruno asked. And both children looked +uneasy at the dismal suggestion. + +“Why, of course he will!” chuckled the Professor. “Why, it’s his +_birthday_, don’t you know? And his health will be drunk, and all that +sort of thing. What would the Banquet be without _him_?” + +“Ever so much nicer,” said Bruno. But he said it in a _very_ low voice, +and nobody but Sylvie heard him. + +The Professor chuckled again. “It’ll be a jolly Banquet, now _you’ve_ +come, my little man! I _am_ so glad to see you again!” + +“I ’fraid we’ve been very long in coming,” Bruno politely remarked. + +“Well, yes,” the Professor assented. “However, you’re very short now +you’re come: that’s _some_ comfort.” And he went on to enumerate the +plans for the day. “The Lecture comes first,” he said. “_That_ the +Empress _insists_ on. She says people will eat so much at the Banquet, +they’ll be too sleepy to attend to the Lecture afterwards—and perhaps +she’s right. There’ll just be a little _refreshment_, when the people +first arrive—as a kind of surprise for the Empress, you know. Ever since +she’s been—well, not _quite_ so clever as she once was—we’ve found it +desirable to concoct little surprises for her. _Then_ comes the +Lecture——” + +“What? The Lecture you were getting ready—ever so long ago?” Sylvie +enquired. + +“Yes—that’s the one,” the Professor rather reluctantly admitted. “It +_has_ taken a goodish time to prepare. I’ve got so many other things to +attend to. For instance, I’m Court-Physician. I have to keep all the +Royal Servants in good health—and that reminds me!” he cried, ringing +the bell in a great hurry. “This is Medicine-Day! We only give Medicine +once a week. If we were to begin giving it every day, the bottles would +_soon_ be empty!” + +“But if they were ill on the _other_ days?” Sylvie suggested. + +“What, ill on the wrong _day_!” exclaimed the Professor. “Oh, that would +never do! A Servant would be dismissed _at once_, who was ill on the +wrong day! This is the Medicine for _today_,” he went on, taking down a +large jug from a shelf. “I mixed it, myself, first thing this morning. +Taste it!” he said, holding out the jug to Bruno. “Dip in your finger, +and taste it!” + +Bruno did so, and made such an excruciatingly wry face that Sylvie +exclaimed, in alarm, “Oh, Bruno, you mustn’t!” + +“It’s welly extremely nasty!” Bruno said, as his face resumed its +natural shape. + +“Nasty?” said the Professor. “Why, of _course_ it is! What would +Medicine be, if it wasn’t _nasty_?” + +“Nice,” said Bruno. + +“I was going to say—” the Professor faltered, rather taken aback by the +promptness of Bruno’s reply, “—that _that_ would never do! Medicine +_has_ to be nasty, you know. Be good enough to take this jug, down into +the Servants’ Hall,” he said to the footman who answered the bell: “and +tell them it’s their Medicine for _today_.” + +“Which of them is to drink it?” the footman asked, as he carried off the +jug. + +“Oh, I’ve not settled _that_ yet!” the Professor briskly replied. “I’ll +come and settle that, soon. Tell them not to begin, on any account, till +I come! It’s really _wonderful_,” he said, turning to the children, “the +success I’ve had in curing Diseases! Here are some of my memoranda.” He +took down from the shelf a heap of little bits of paper, pinned together +in twos and threes. “Just look at _this_ set, now. ‘_Under-Cook Number +Thirteen recovered from Common Fever—Febris Communis_.’ And now see +what’s pinned to it. ‘_Gave Under-Cook Number Thirteen a Double Dose of +Medicine_.’ _That’s_ something to be proud of, _isn’t_ it?” + +“But which happened _first_?” said Sylvie, looking very much puzzled. + +The Professor examined the papers carefully. “They are not _dated_, I +find,” he said with a slightly dejected air: “so I fear I ca’n’t tell +you. But they _both_ happened: there’s no doubt of _that_. The +_Medicine’s_ the great thing, you know. The _Diseases_ are much less +important. You can keep a _Medicine_, for years and years: but nobody +ever wants to keep a _Disease_! By the way, come and look at the +platform. The Gardener asked me to come and see if it would do. We may +as well go before it gets dark.” + +“We’d like to, very much!” Sylvie replied. “Come, Bruno, put on your +hat. Don’t keep the dear Professor waiting!” + +“Ca’n’t find my hat!” the little fellow sadly replied. “I were rolling +it about. And it’s rolled itself away!” + +“Maybe it’s rolled in _there_,” Sylvie suggested, pointing to a dark +recess, the door of which stood half open: and Bruno ran in to look. +After a minute he came slowly out again, looking very grave, and +carefully shut the cupboard-door after him. + +“It aren’t in there,” he said, with such unusual solemnity, that +Sylvie’s curiosity was roused. + +“What _is_ in there, Bruno?” + +“There’s cobwebs—and two spiders—” Bruno thoughtfully replied, checking +off the catalogue on his fingers, “—and the cover of a picture-book—and +a tortoise—and a dish of nuts—and an old man.” + +“An old man!” cried the Professor, trotting across the room in great +excitement. “Why, it must be the Other Professor, that’s been lost for +ever so long!” + +[Illustration: THE OTHER PROFESSOR FOUND] + +He opened the door of the cupboard wide: and there he was, the Other +Professor, sitting in a chair, with a book on his knee, and in the act +of helping himself to a nut from a dish, which he had taken down off a +shelf just within his reach. He looked round at us, but said nothing +till he had cracked and eaten the nut. Then he asked the old question. +“Is the Lecture all ready?” + +“It’ll begin in an hour,” the Professor said, evading the question. +“First, we must have something to surprise the Empress. And then comes +the Banquet——” + +“The Banquet!” cried the Other Professor, springing up, and filling the +room with a cloud of dust. “Then I’d better go and—and brush myself a +little. What a state I’m in!” + +“He _does_ want brushing!” the Professor said, with a critical air, +“Here’s your hat, little man! I had put it on by mistake. I’d quite +forgotten I had _one_ on, already. Let’s go and look at the platform.” + +“And there’s that nice old Gardener singing still!” Bruno exclaimed in +delight, as we went out into the garden. “I do believe he’s been singing +that very song ever since we went away!” + +“Why, of course he has!” replied the Professor. “It wouldn’t be the +thing to leave off, you know.” + +“Wouldn’t be _what_ thing?” said Bruno: but the Professor thought it +best not to hear the question. “What are you doing with that hedgehog?” +he shouted at the Gardener, whom they found standing upon one foot, +singing softly to himself, and rolling a hedgehog up and down with the +other foot. + +“Well, I wanted fur to know what hedgehogs lives on: so I be a-keeping +this here hedgehog—fur to see if it eats potatoes——” + +“Much better keep a potato,” said the Professor; “and see if hedgehogs +eat it!” + +“That be the roight way, sure-ly!” the delighted Gardener exclaimed. “Be +you come to see the platform?” + +“Aye, aye!” the Professor cheerily replied. “And the children have come +back, you see!” + +The Gardener looked round at them with a grin. Then he led the way to +the Pavilion; and as he went he sang:— + + “He looked again, and found it was + A Double Rule of Three: + ‘And all its Mystery,’ he said, + ‘Is clear as day to me!’” + +“You’ve been _months_ over that song,” said the Professor. “Isn’t it +finished yet?” + +“There be only one verse more,” the Gardener sadly replied. And, with +tears streaming down his cheeks, he sang the last verse:— + + “He thought he saw an Argument + That proved he was the Pope: + He looked again, and found it was + A Bar of Mottled Soap. + ‘A fact so dread,’ he faintly said, + ‘Extinguishes all hope!’” + +Choking with sobs, the Gardener hastily stepped on a few yards ahead of +the party, to conceal his emotion. + +“Did _he_ see the Bar of Mottled Soap?” Sylvie enquired, as we followed. + +“Oh, certainly!” said the Professor. “That song is his own history, you +know.” + +Tears of an ever-ready sympathy glittered in Bruno’s eyes. “I’s _welly_ +sorry he isn’t the Pope!” he said. “Aren’t _you_ sorry, Sylvie?” + +“Well—I hardly know,” Sylvie replied in the vaguest manner. “Would it +make him any happier?” she asked the Professor. + +“It wouldn’t make the _Pope_ any happier,” said the Professor. “Isn’t +the platform _lovely_?” he asked, as we entered the Pavilion. + +“I’ve put an extra beam under it!” said the Gardener, patting it +affectionately as he spoke. “And now it’s that strong, as—as a mad +elephant might dance upon it!” + +“Thank you _very_ much!” the Professor heartily rejoined. “I don’t know +that we shall exactly require—but it’s convenient to know.” And he led +the children upon the platform, to explain the arrangements to them. +“Here are three seats, you see, for the Emperor and the Empress and +Prince Uggug. But there must be two more chairs here!” he said, looking +down at the Gardener. “One for Lady Sylvie, and one for the smaller +animal!” + +“And may I help in the Lecture?” said Bruno. “I can do some +conjuring-tricks.” + +“Well, it’s not exactly a _conjuring_ lecture,” the Professor said, as +he arranged some curious-looking machines on the table. “However, what +can you do? Did you ever go through a table, for instance?” + +“Often!” said Bruno. “_Haven’t_ I, Sylvie?” + +The Professor was evidently surprised, though he tried not to show it. +“This must be looked into,” he muttered to himself, taking out a +note-book. “And first—what kind of table?” + +“Tell him!” Bruno whispered to Sylvie, putting his arms round her neck. + +“Tell him yourself,” said Sylvie. + +“Ca’n’t,” said Bruno. “It’s a _bony_ word.” + +“Nonsense!” laughed Sylvie. “You can say it well enough, if you only +try. Come!” + +“Muddle—” said Bruno. “That’s a bit of it.” + +“_What_ does he say?” cried the bewildered Professor. + +“He means the multiplication-table,” Sylvie explained. + +The Professor looked annoyed, and shut up his note-book again. “Oh, +that’s _quite_ another thing,” he said. + +“It are ever so many other things,” said Bruno. “_Aren’t_ it, Sylvie?” + +A loud blast of trumpets interrupted this conversation. “Why, the +entertainment has _begun_!” the Professor exclaimed, as he hurried the +children into the Reception-Saloon. “I had no idea it was so late!” + +A small table, containing cake and wine, stood in a corner of the +Saloon; and here we found the Emperor and Empress waiting for us. The +rest of the Saloon had been cleared of furniture, to make room for the +guests. I was much struck by the great change a few months had made in +the faces of the Imperial Pair. A vacant stare was now the _Emperor’s_ +usual expression; while over the face of the _Empress_ there flitted, +ever and anon, a meaningless smile. + +“So you’re come at last!” the Emperor sulkily remarked, as the Professor +and the children took their places. It was evident that he was _very_ +much out of temper: and we were not long in learning the cause of this. +He did not consider the preparations, made for the Imperial party, to be +such as suited their rank. “A common mahogany table!” he growled, +pointing to it contemptuously with his thumb. “Why wasn’t it made of +gold, I should like to know?” + +“It would have taken a very long——” the Professor began, but the Emperor +cut the sentence short. + +“Then the cake! Ordinary plum! Why wasn’t it made of—of——” He broke off +again. “Then the wine! Merely old Madeira! Why wasn’t it——? Then this +chair! That’s worst of all. Why wasn’t it a throne? One _might_ excuse +the other omissions, but I _ca’n’t_ get over the chair!” + +“What _I_ ca’n’t get over,” said the Empress, in eager sympathy with her +angry husband, “is the _table_!” + +“Pooh!” said the Emperor. + +“It is much to be regretted!” the Professor mildly replied, as soon as +he had a chance of speaking. After a moment’s thought he strengthened +the remark. “_Everything_,” he said, addressing Society in general, “is +_very much_ to be regretted!” + +A murmur of “Hear, hear!” rose from the crowded Saloon. + +There was a rather awkward pause: the Professor evidently didn’t know +how to begin. The Empress leant forwards, and whispered to him. “A few +jokes, you know, Professor—just to put people at their ease!” + +“True, true, Madam!” the Professor meekly replied. “This little boy——” + +“_Please_ don’t make any jokes about _me_!” Bruno exclaimed, his eyes +filling with tears. + +“I won’t if you’d rather I didn’t,” said the kind-hearted Professor. “It +was only something about a Ship’s Buoy: a harmless pun—but it doesn’t +matter.” Here he turned to the crowd and addressed them in a loud voice. +“Learn your A’s!” he shouted. “Your B’s! Your C’s! And your D’s! _Then_ +you’ll be at your ease!” + +There was a roar of laughter from all the assembly, and then a great +deal of confused whispering. “_What_ was it he said? Something about +bees, I fancy——.” + +The Empress smiled in her meaningless way, and fanned herself. The poor +Professor looked at her timidly: he was clearly at his wits’ end again, +and hoping for another hint. The Empress whispered again. + +“Some spinach, you know, Professor, as a surprise.” + +The Professor beckoned to the Head-Cook, and said something to him in a +low voice. Then the Head-Cook left the room, followed by all the other +cooks. + +“It’s difficult to get things started,” the Professor remarked to Bruno. +“When once we get started, it’ll go on all right, you’ll see.” + +“If oo want to startle people,” said Bruno, “oo should put live frogs on +their backs.” + +Here the cooks all came in again, in a procession, the Head-Cook coming +last and carrying something, which the others tried to hide by waving +flags all round it. “Nothing but flags, Your Imperial Highness! Nothing +but flags!” he kept repeating, as he set it before her. Then all the +flags were dropped in a moment, as the Head-Cook raised the cover from +an enormous dish. + +[Illustration: ‘HER IMPERIAL HIGHNESS IS SURPRISED!’] + +“What is it?” the Empress said faintly, as she put her spy-glass to her +eye. “Why, it’s _Spinach_, I declare!” + +“Her Imperial Highness is surprised,” the Professor explained to the +attendants: and some of them clapped their hands. The Head-Cook made a +low bow, and in doing so dropped a spoon on the table, as if by +accident, just within reach of the Empress, who looked the other way and +pretended not to see it. + +“I _am_ surprised!” the Empress said to Bruno. “Aren’t you?” + +“Not a bit,” said Bruno. “I heard——” but Sylvie put her hand over his +mouth, and spoke for him. “He’s rather tired, I think. He wants the +Lecture to begin.” + +“I want the _supper_ to begin,” Bruno corrected her. + +The Empress took up the spoon in an absent manner, and tried to balance +it across the back of her hand, and in doing this she dropped it into +the dish: and, when she took it out again, it was full of spinach. “How +curious!” she said, and put it into her mouth. “It tastes just like +_real_ spinach! I thought it was an imitation—but I do believe it’s +real!” And she took another spoonful. + +“It wo’n’t be real much longer,” said Bruno. + +But the Empress had had enough spinach by this time, and somehow—I +failed to notice the exact process—we all found ourselves in the +Pavilion, and the Professor in the act of beginning the long-expected +Lecture. + + + + + CHAPTER XXI. + THE PROFESSOR’S LECTURE. + + +“In Science—in fact, in most things—it is usually best _to begin at the +beginning_. In _some_ things, of course, it’s better to begin at the +_other_ end. For instance, if you wanted to paint a dog green, it +_might_ be best to begin with the _tail_, as it doesn’t bite at _that_ +end. And so——” + +“May _I_ help oo?” Bruno interrupted. + +“Help me to do _what_?” said the puzzled Professor, looking up for a +moment, but keeping his finger on the book he was reading from, so as +not to lose his place. + +“To paint a dog green!” cried Bruno. “_Oo_ can begin wiz its _mouf_, and +I’ll——” + +“No, no!” said the Professor. “We haven’t got to the _Experiments_ yet. +And so,” returning to his note-book, “I’ll give you the Axioms of +Science. After that I shall exhibit some Specimens. Then I shall explain +a Process or two. And I shall conclude with a few Experiments. An +_Axiom_, you know, is a thing that you accept without contradiction. For +instance, if I were to say ‘Here we are!’, that would be accepted +without any contradiction, and it’s a nice sort of remark to _begin_ a +conversation with. So it would be an _Axiom_. Or again, supposing I were +to say ‘Here we are not!’ _that_ would be——” + +“—a fib!” cried Bruno. + +“Oh, _Bruno_!” said Sylvie in a warning whisper. “Of course it would be +an _Axiom_, if the Professor said it!” + +“—that would be accepted, if people were civil,” continued the +Professor; “so it would be _another_ Axiom.” + +“It _might_ be an Axledum,” Bruno said: “but it wouldn’t be _true_!” + +“Ignorance of Axioms,” the Lecturer continued, “is a great drawback in +life. It wastes so much time to have to say them over and over again. +For instance, take the Axiom ‘_Nothing is greater than itself_’; that +is, ‘_Nothing can contain itself_.’ How often you hear people say ‘He +was so excited, he was quite unable to contain himself,’ Why, _of +course_ he was unable! The _excitement_ had nothing to do with it!” + +“I say, look here, you know!” said the Emperor, who was getting a little +restless. “How many Axioms are you going to give us? At _this_ rate, we +sha’n’t get to the _Experiments_ till to-morrow-week!” + +“Oh, sooner than _that_, I assure you!” the Professor replied, looking +up in alarm. “There are only,” (he referred to his notes again) “only +_two_ more, that are really _necessary_.” + +“Read ’em out, and get on to the _Specimens_,” grumbled the Emperor. + +“The _First_ Axiom,” the Professor read out in a great hurry, “consists +of these words, ‘_Whatever is, is_.’ And the Second consists of _these_ +words, ‘_Whatever isn’t, isn’t_.’ We will now go on to the _Specimens_. +The first tray contains Crystals and other Things.” He drew it towards +him, and again referred to his note-book. “Some of the labels—owing to +insufficient adhesion——” Here he stopped again, and carefully examined +the page with his eyeglass. “I ca’n’t quite read the rest of the +sentence,” he said at last, “but it _means_ that the labels have come +loose, and the Things have got mixed——” + +“Let _me_ stick ’em on again!” cried Bruno eagerly, and began licking +them, like postage-stamps, and dabbing them down upon the Crystals and +the other Things. But the Professor hastily moved the tray out of his +reach. “They _might_ get fixed to the _wrong_ Specimens, you know!” he +said. + +“Oo shouldn’t have any _wrong_ peppermints in the tray!” Bruno boldly +replied. “_Should_ he, Sylvie?” + +But Sylvie only shook her head. + +The Professor heard him not. He had taken up one of the bottles, and was +carefully reading the label through his eye-glass. “Our first +Specimen——” he announced, as he placed the bottle in front of the other +Things, “is—that is, it is called——” here he took it up, and examined +the label again, as if he thought it might have changed since he last +saw it, “is called Aqua Pura—common water—the fluid that cheers——” + +“Hip! Hip! Hip!” the Head-Cook began enthusiastically. + +“—but _not_ inebriates!” the Professor went on quickly, but only just in +time to check the “Hooroar!” which was beginning. + +“Our second Specimen,” he went on, carefully opening a small jar, “is——” +here he removed the lid, and a large beetle instantly darted out, and +with an angry buzz went straight out of the Pavilion, “—is—or rather, I +should say,” looking sadly into the empty jar, “it _was_—a curious kind +of Blue Beetle. Did any one happen to remark—as it went past—three blue +spots under each wing?” + +Nobody had remarked them. + +“Ah, well!” the Professor said with a sigh. “It’s a pity. Unless you +remark that kind of thing _at the moment_, it’s very apt to get +overlooked! The _next_ Specimen, at any rate, will not fly away! It +is—in short, or perhaps, more correctly, at _length_—an _Elephant_. You +will observe——.” Here he beckoned to the Gardener to come up on the +platform, and with his help began putting together what looked like an +enormous dog-kennel, with short tubes projecting out of it on both +sides. + +“But we’ve seen _Elephants_ before,” the Emperor grumbled. + +“Yes, but not through a _Megaloscope_!” the Professor eagerly replied. +“You know you can’t see a _Flea_, properly, without a +_magnifying_-glass—what we call a _Microscope_. Well, just in the same +way, you ca’n’t see an _Elephant_, properly, without a +_minimifying_-glass. There’s one in each of these little tubes. And +_this_ is a _Megaloscope_! The Gardener will now bring in the next +Specimen. Please open _both_ curtains, down at the end there, and make +way for the Elephant!” + +There was a general rush to the sides of the Pavilion, and all eyes were +turned to the open end, watching for the return of the Gardener, who had +gone away singing “_He thought he saw an Elephant That practised on a +Fife!_” There was silence for a minute: and then his harsh voice was +heard again in the distance. “_He looked again_—come up, then! _He +looked again, and found it was_—woa back! _and, found it was A letter +from his_—make way there! He’s a-coming!” + +[Illustration: ‘HE THOUGHT HE SAW AN ELEPHANT’] + +And in marched, or waddled—it is hard to say which is the right word—an +Elephant, on its hind-legs, and playing on an enormous fife which it +held with its fore-feet. + +The Professor hastily threw open a large door at the end of the +Megaloscope, and the huge animal, at a signal from the Gardener, dropped +the fife, and obediently trotted into the machine, the door of which was +at once shut by the Professor. “The Specimen is now ready for +observation!” he proclaimed. “It is exactly the size of the Common +Mouse—_Mus Communis_!” + +There was a general rush to the tubes, and the spectators watched with +delight the minikin creature, as it playfully coiled its trunk round the +Professor’s extended finger, finally taking its stand upon the palm of +his hand, while he carefully lifted it out, and carried it off to +exhibit to the Imperial party. + +“Isn’t it a _darling_?” cried Bruno. “May I stroke it, please? I’ll +touch it _welly_ gently!” + +The Empress inspected it solemnly with her eye-glass. “It is very +small,” she said in a deep voice. “Smaller than elephants usually are, I +believe?” + +The Professor gave a start of delighted surprise. “Why, that’s _true_!” +he murmured to himself. Then louder, turning to the audience, “Her +Imperial Highness has made a remark which is perfectly sensible!” And a +wild cheer arose from that vast multitude. + +“The next Specimen,” the Professor proclaimed, after carefully placing +the little Elephant in the tray, among the Crystals and other Things, +“is a _Flea_, which we will enlarge for the purposes of observation.” +Taking a small pill-box from the tray, he advanced to the Megaloscope, +and reversed all the tubes. “The Specimen is ready!” he cried, with his +eye at one of the tubes, while he carefully emptied the pill-box through +a little hole at the side. “It is now the size of the Common +Horse—_Equus Communis_!” + +There was another general rush, to look through the tubes, and the +Pavilion rang with shouts of delight, through which the Professor’s +anxious tones could scarcely be heard. “Keep the door of the Microscope +_shut_!” he cried. “If the creature were to escape, _this size_, it +would——” But the mischief was done. The door had swung open, and in +another moment the Monster had got out, and was trampling down the +terrified, shrieking spectators. + +But the Professor’s presence of mind did not desert him. “Undraw those +curtains!” he shouted. It was done. The Monster gathered its legs +together, and in one tremendous bound vanished into the sky. + +“Where _is_ it?” said the Emperor, rubbing his eyes. + +“In the next Province, I fancy,” the Professor replied. “That jump would +take it at _least_ five miles! The next thing is to explain a Process or +two. But I find there is hardly room enough to operate—the smaller +animal is rather in my way——” + +“Who does he mean?” Bruno whispered to Sylvie. + +“He means _you_!” Sylvie whispered back. “Hush!” + +“Be kind enough to move—angularly—to _this_ corner,” the Professor said, +addressing himself to Bruno. + +Bruno hastily moved his chair in the direction indicated. “Did I move +angrily enough?” he inquired. But the Professor was once more absorbed +in his Lecture, which he was reading from his note-book. + +“I will now explain the Process of—the name is blotted, I’m sorry to +say. It will be illustrated by a number of—of——” here he examined the +page for some time, and at last said “It seems to be either +‘Experiments’ or ‘Specimens’——” + +“Let it be _Experiments_,” said the Emperor. “We’ve seen plenty of +_Specimens_.” + +“Certainly, certainly!” the Professor assented. “We will have some +Experiments.” + +“May _I_ do them?” Bruno eagerly asked. + +“Oh dear no!” The Professor looked dismayed. “I really don’t know what +would happen if _you_ did them!” + +“Nor nobody doosn’t know what’ll happen if _oo_ doos them!” Bruno +retorted. + +“Our First Experiment requires a Machine. It has two knobs—only +_two_—you can count them, if you like.” + +The Head-Cook stepped forwards, counted them, and retired satisfied. + +“Now you _might_ press those two knobs together—but that’s not the way +to do it. Or you _might_ turn the Machine upside-down—but _that’s_ not +the way to do it!” + +“What _are_ the way to do it?” said Bruno, who was listening very +attentively. + +The Professor smiled benignantly. “Ah, yes!” he said, in a voice like +the heading of a chapter. “The Way To Do It! Permit me!” and in a moment +he had whisked Bruno upon the table. “I divide my subject,” he began, +“into three parts——” + +“I think I’ll get down!” Bruno whispered to Sylvie. “It aren’t nice to +be divided!” + +“He hasn’t got a knife, silly boy!” Sylvie whispered in reply. “Stand +still! You’ll break all the bottles!” + +“The first part is to take hold of the knobs,” putting them into Bruno’s +hands. “The second part is——” Here he turned the handle, and, with a +loud “Oh!”, Bruno dropped both the knobs, and began rubbing his elbows. + +The Professor chuckled in delight. “It had a sensible effect. _Hadn’t_ +it?” he enquired. + +“No, it hadn’t a _sensible_ effect!” Bruno said indignantly. “It were +very silly indeed. It jingled my elbows, and it banged my back, and it +crinkled my hair, and it buzzed among my bones!” + +“I’m sure it _didn’t_!” said Sylvie. “You’re only inventing!” + +“Oo doosn’t know nuffin about it!” Bruno replied. “Oo wasn’t there to +see. Nobody ca’n’t go among my bones. There isn’t room!” + +“Our Second Experiment,” the Professor announced, as Bruno returned to +his place, still thoughtfully rubbing his elbows, “is the production of +that seldom-seen-but-greatly-to-be-admired phenomenon, Black Light! You +have seen White Light, Red Light, Green Light, and so on: but never, +till this wonderful day, have any eyes but mine seen _Black Light_! This +box,” carefully lifting it upon the table, and covering it with a heap +of blankets, “is quite full of it. The way I made it was this—I took a +lighted candle into a dark cupboard and shut the door. Of course the +cupboard was then full of _Yellow_ Light. Then I took a bottle of Black +ink, and poured it over the candle: and, to my delight, every atom of +the Yellow Light turned _Black_! That was indeed the proudest moment of +my life! Then I filled a box with it. And now—would any one like to get +under the blankets and see it?” + +Dead silence followed this appeal: but at last Bruno said “_I’ll_ get +under, if it won’t jingle my elbows.” + +Satisfied on this point, Bruno crawled under the blankets, and, after a +minute or two, crawled out again, very hot and dusty, and with his hair +in the wildest confusion. + +“What did you see in the box?” Sylvie eagerly enquired. + +“I saw _nuffin_!” Bruno sadly replied. “It were too dark!” + +“He has described the appearance of the thing exactly!” the Professor +exclaimed with enthusiasm. “Black Light, and Nothing, look so extremely +alike, at first sight, that I don’t wonder he failed to distinguish +them! We will now proceed to the Third Experiment.” + +The Professor came down, and led the way to where a post had been driven +firmly into the ground. To one side of the post was fastened a chain, +with an iron weight hooked on to the end of it, and from the other side +projected a piece of whalebone, with a ring at the end of it. “This is a +_most_ interesting Experiment!” the Professor announced. “It will need +_time_, I’m afraid: but that is a trifling disadvantage. Now observe. If +I were to unhook this weight, and let go, it would fall to the ground. +You do not deny _that_?” + +Nobody denied it. + +“And in the same way, if I were to bend this piece of whalebone round +the post—thus—and put the ring over this hook—thus—it stays bent: but, +if I unhook it, it straightens itself again. You do not deny _that_?” + +Again, nobody denied it. + +“Well, now, suppose we left things just as they are, for a long time. +The force of the _whalebone_ would get exhausted, you know, and it would +stay bent, even when you unhooked it. Now, _why_ shouldn’t the same +thing happen with the _weight_? The _whalebone_ gets so used to being +bent, that it ca’n’t _straighten_ itself any more. Why shouldn’t the +_weight_ get so used to being held up, that it ca’n’t _fall_ any more? +That’s what _I_ want to know!” + +“That’s what _we_ want to know!” echoed the crowd. + +“How long must we wait?” grumbled the Emperor. + +The Professor looked at his watch. “Well, I _think_ a thousand years +will do to _begin_ with,” he said. “Then we will cautiously unhook the +weight: and, if it _still_ shows (as perhaps it will) a _slight_ +tendency to fall, we will hook it on to the chain again, and leave it +for _another_ thousand years.” + +Here the Empress experienced one of those flashes of Common Sense which +were the surprise of all around her. “Meanwhile there’ll be time for +another Experiment,” she said. + +“There will _indeed_!” cried the delighted Professor. “Let us return to +the platform, and proceed to the _Fourth_ Experiment!” + +“For this concluding Experiment, I will take a certain Alkali, or Acid—I +forget which. Now you’ll see what will happen when I mix it with Some——” +here he took up a bottle, and looked at it doubtfully, “—when I mix it +with—with Something——” + +Here the Emperor interrupted. “What’s the _name_ of the stuff?” he +asked. + +“I don’t remember the _name_,” said the Professor: “and the label has +come off.” He emptied it quickly into the other bottle, and, with a +tremendous bang, both bottles flew to pieces, upsetting all the +machines, and filling the Pavilion with thick black smoke. I sprang to +my feet in terror, and—and found myself standing before my solitary +hearth, where the poker, dropping at last from the hand of the sleeper, +had knocked over the tongs and the shovel, and had upset the kettle, +filling the air with clouds of steam. With a weary sigh, I betook myself +to bed. + +[Illustration: AN EXPLOSION] + + + + + CHAPTER XXII. + THE BANQUET. + + +“_Heaviness may endure for a night: but joy cometh in the morning._” The +next day found me quite another being. Even the memories of my lost +friend and companion were sunny as the genial weather that smiled around +me. I did not venture to trouble Lady Muriel, or her father, with +another call so soon: but took a walk into the country, and only turned +homewards when the low sunbeams warned me that day would soon be over. + +On my way home, I passed the cottage where the old man lived, whose face +always recalled to me the day when I first met Lady Muriel; and I +glanced in as I passed, half-curious to see if he were still living +there. + +Yes: the old man was still alive. He was sitting out in the porch, +looking just as he did when I first saw him at Fayfield Junction—it +seemed only a few days ago! + +“Good evening!” I said, pausing. + +“Good evening, Maister!” he cheerfully responded. “Wo’n’t ee step in?” + +I stepped in, and took a seat on the bench in the porch. “I’m glad to +see you looking so hearty,” I began. “Last time, I remember, I chanced +to pass just as Lady Muriel was coming away from the house. Does she +still come to see you?” + +“Ees,” he answered slowly. “She has na forgotten me. I don’t lose her +bonny face for many days together. Well I mind the very first time she +come, after we’d met at Railway Station. She told me as she come to mak’ +amends. Dear child! Only think o’ that! To mak’ amends!” + +“To make amends for what?” I enquired. “What could _she_ have done to +need it?” + +“Well, it were loike this, you see? We were both on us a-waiting fur t’ +train at t’ Junction. And I had setten mysen down upat t’ bench. And +Station-Maister, _he_ comes and he orders me off—fur t’ mak’ room for +her Ladyship, you understand?” + +“I remember it all,” I said. “I was there myself, that day.” + +“_Was_ you, now? Well, an’ she axes my pardon fur’t. Think o’ that, now! +_My_ pardon! An owd ne’er-do-weel like me! Ah! She’s been here many a +time, sin’ then. Why, she were in here only yestere’en, as it were, +asittin’, as it might be, where you’re a-sitting now, an’ lookin’ +sweeter and kinder nor an angel! An’ she says ‘You’ve not got your +Minnie, now,’ she says, ‘to fettle for ye.’ Minnie was my +grand-daughter, Sir, as lived wi’ me. She died, a matter of two months +ago—or it may be three. She was a bonny lass—and a good lass, too. Eh, +but life has been rare an’ lonely without her!” + +He covered his face in his hands: and I waited a minute or two, in +silence, for him to recover himself. + +“So she says ‘Just tak’ _me_ fur your Minnie!’ she says. ‘Didna Minnie +mak’ your tea fur you?’ says she. ‘Ay,’ says I. An she mak’s the tea. +‘An’ didna Minnie light your pipe?’ says she. ‘Ay,’ says I. An’ she +lights the pipe for me. ‘An’ didna Minnie set out your tea in t’ porch?’ +An’ I says ‘My dear,’ I says, ‘I’m thinking you’re Minnie hersen!’ An’ +she cries a bit. We both on us cries a bit——.” + +Again I kept silence for a while. + +“An’ while I smokes my pipe, she sits an’ talks to me—as loving an’ as +pleasant! I’ll be bound I thowt it were Minnie come again! An’ when she +gets up to go, I says ‘Winnot ye shak’ hands wi’ me?’ says I. An’ she +says ‘Na,’ she says: ‘a cannot _shak’ hands_ wi’ thee!’ she says.” + +“I’m sorry she said _that_,” I put in, thinking it was the only instance +I had ever known of pride of rank showing itself in Lady Muriel. + +“Bless you, it werena _pride_!” said the old man, reading my thoughts. +“She says ‘_Your_ Minnie never _shook hands_ wi’ you!’ she says. ‘An’ +_I’m_ your Minnie now,’ she says. An’ she just puts her dear arms about +my neck—and she kisses me on t’ cheek—an’ may God in Heaven bless her!” +And here the poor old man broke down entirely, and could say no more. + +[Illustration: ‘A CANNOT SHAK’ HANDS WI’ THEE!’] + +“God bless her!” I echoed. “And good night to you!” I pressed his hand, +and left him. “Lady Muriel,” I said softly to myself as I went +homewards, “truly you know how to ‘mak’ amends’!” + +Seated once more by my lonely fireside, I tried to recall the strange +vision of the night before, and to conjure up the face of the dear old +Professor among the blazing coals. “That black one—with just a touch of +red—would suit him well,” I thought. “After such a catastrophe, it would +be sure to be covered with black stains—and he would say:— + +“The result of _that_ combination—you may have noticed?—was an +_Explosion_! Shall I repeat the Experiment?” + +“No, no! Don’t trouble yourself!” was the general cry. And we all +trooped off, in hot haste, to the Banqueting-Hall, where the feast had +already begun. + +No time was lost in helping the dishes, and very speedily every guest +found his plate filled with good things. + +“I have always maintained the principle,” the Professor began, “that it +is a good rule to take some food—occasionally. The great advantage of +dinner-parties——” he broke off suddenly. “Why, actually here’s the Other +Professor!” he cried. “And there’s no place left for him!” + +[Illustration: THE OTHER PROFESSOR’S FALL] + +The Other Professor came in reading a large book, which he held close to +his eyes. One result of his not looking where he was going was that he +tripped up, as he crossed the Saloon, flew up into the air, and fell +heavily on his face in the middle of the table. + +“_What_ a pity!” cried the kind-hearted Professor, as he helped him up. + +“It wouldn’t be _me_, if I didn’t trip,” said the Other Professor. + +The Professor looked much shocked. “Almost _anything_ would be better +than _that_!” he exclaimed. “It never does,” he added, aside to Bruno, +“to be anybody else, does it?” + +To which Bruno gravely replied “I’s got nuffin on my plate.” + +The Professor hastily put on his spectacles, to make sure that the +_facts_ were all right, to begin with: then he turned his jolly round +face upon the unfortunate owner of the empty plate. “And what would you +like next, my little man?” + +“Well,” Bruno said, a little doubtfully, “I think I’ll take some +plum-pudding, please—while I think of it.” + +“Oh, Bruno!” (This was a whisper from Sylvie.) “It isn’t good manners to +ask for a dish before it comes!” + +And Bruno whispered back “But I might forget to ask for some, when it +comes, oo know—I _do_ forget things, sometimes,” he added, seeing Sylvie +about to whisper more. + +And _this_ assertion Sylvie did not venture to contradict. + +Meanwhile a chair had been placed for the Other Professor, between the +Empress and Sylvie. Sylvie found him a rather uninteresting neighbour: +in fact, she couldn’t afterwards remember that he had made more than +_one_ remark to her during the whole banquet, and that was “What a +comfort a Dictionary is!” (She told Bruno, afterwards, that she had been +too much afraid of him to say more than “Yes, Sir,” in reply; and that +had been the end of their conversation. On which Bruno expressed a very +decided opinion that _that_ wasn’t worth calling a ‘conversation’ at +all. “Oo should have asked him a riddle!” he added triumphantly. “Why, +_I_ asked the Professor _three_ riddles! One was that one you asked me +in the morning, ‘How many pennies is there in two shillings?’ And +another was——” “Oh, Bruno!” Sylvie interrupted. “_That_ wasn’t a +riddle!” “It _were_!” Bruno fiercely replied.) + +By this time a waiter had supplied Bruno with a plateful of _something_, +which drove the plum-pudding out of his head. + +“Another advantage of dinner-parties,” the Professor cheerfully +explained, for the benefit of any one that would listen, “is that it +helps you to _see_ your friends. If you want to _see_ a man, offer him +something to eat. It’s the same rule with a mouse.” + +“This Cat’s very kind to the Mouses,” Bruno said, stooping to stroke a +remarkably fat specimen of the race, that had just waddled into the +room, and was rubbing itself affectionately against the leg of his +chair. “Please, Sylvie, pour some milk in your saucer. Pussie’s ever so +thirsty!” + +“Why do you want _my_ saucer?” said Sylvie. “You’ve got one yourself!” + +“Yes, I know,” said Bruno: “but I wanted _mine_ for to give it some +_more_ milk in.” + +Sylvie looked unconvinced: however it seemed quite impossible for her +_ever_ to refuse what her brother asked: so she quietly filled her +saucer with milk, and handed it to Bruno, who got down off his chair to +administer it to the cat. + +“The room’s very hot, with all this crowd,” the Professor said to +Sylvie. “I wonder why they don’t put some lumps of ice in the grate? You +fill it with lumps of coal in the winter, you know, and you sit round it +and enjoy the warmth. How jolly it would be to fill it now with lumps of +ice, and sit round it and enjoy the coolth!” + +Hot as it was, Sylvie shivered a little at the idea. “It’s very cold +_outside_,” she said. “My feet got almost frozen to-day.” + +“That’s the _shoemaker’s_ fault!” the Professor cheerfully replied. “How +often I’ve explained to him that he _ought_ to make boots with little +iron frames under the soles, to hold lamps! But he never _thinks_. No +one would suffer from cold, if only they would _think_ of those little +things. I always use hot ink, myself, in the winter. Very few people +ever think of _that_! Yet how simple it is!” + +“Yes, it’s very simple,” Sylvie said politely. “Has the cat had enough?” +This was to Bruno, who had brought back the saucer only half-emptied. + +But Bruno did not hear the question. “There’s somebody scratching at the +door and wanting to come in,” he said. And he scrambled down off his +chair, and went and cautiously peeped out through the door-way. + +“Who was it wanted to come in?” Sylvie asked, as he returned to his +place. + +“It were a Mouse,” said Bruno. “And it peepted in. And it saw the Cat. +And it said ‘I’ll come in another day.’ And I said ‘Oo needn’t be +flightened. The Cat’s _welly_ kind to Mouses.’ And it said ‘But I’s got +some imporkant business, what I _must_ attend to.’ And it said ‘I’ll +call again to-morrow.’ And it said ‘Give my love to the Cat.’” + +“What a fat cat it is!” said the Lord Chancellor, leaning across the +Professor to address his small neighbour. “It’s quite a wonder!” + +“It was awfully fat when it camed in,” said Bruno: “so it would be more +wonderfuller if it got thin all in a minute.” + +“And that was the reason, I suppose,” the Lord Chancellor suggested, +“why you didn’t give it the rest of the milk?” + +“No,” said Bruno. “It were a betterer reason. I tooked the saucer up +’cause it were so discontented!” + +“It doesn’t look so to _me_,” said the Lord Chancellor. “What made you +think it was discontented?” + +“’Cause it grumbled in its throat.” + +“Oh, Bruno!” cried Sylvie. “Why, that’s the way cats show they’re +_pleased_!” + +Bruno looked doubtful. “It’s not a good way,” he objected. “Oo wouldn’t +say _I_ were pleased, if I made that noise in my throat!” + +“What a singular boy!” the Lord Chancellor whispered to himself: but +Bruno had caught the words. + +“What do it mean to say ‘a _singular_ boy’?” he whispered to Sylvie. + +“It means _one_ boy,” Sylvie whispered in return. “And _plural_ means +two or three.” + +“Then I’s welly glad I _is_ a singular boy!” Bruno said with great +emphasis. “It would be _horrid_ to be two or three boys! P’raps they +wouldn’t play with me!” + +“Why _should_ they?” said the Other Professor, suddenly waking up out of +a deep reverie. “They might be asleep, you know.” + +“Couldn’t, if _I_ was awake,” Bruno said cunningly. + +“Oh, but they might indeed!” the Other Professor protested. “Boys don’t +all go to sleep at once, you know. So these boys—but who are you talking +about?” + +“He _never_ remembers to ask that first!” the Professor whispered to the +children. + +“Why, the rest of _me_, a-course!” Bruno exclaimed triumphantly. +“Supposing I was two or three boys!” + +The Other Professor sighed, and seemed to be sinking back into his +reverie; but suddenly brightened up again, and addressed the Professor. +“There’s nothing more to be done _now_, is there?” + +“Well, there’s the dinner to finish,” the Professor said with a +bewildered smile: “and the heat to bear. I hope you’ll enjoy the +dinner—such as it is; and that you won’t mind the heat—such as it +isn’t.” + +The sentence _sounded_ well, but somehow I couldn’t quite understand it; +and the Other Professor seemed to be no better off. “Such as it isn’t +_what_?” he peevishly enquired. + +“It isn’t as hot as it might be,” the Professor replied, catching at the +first idea that came to hand. + +“Ah, I see what you mean _now_!” the Other Professor graciously +remarked. “It’s very badly expressed, but I quite see it _now_! Thirteen +minutes and a half ago,” he went on, looking first at Bruno and then at +his watch as he spoke, “you said ‘this Cat’s very kind to the Mouses.’ +It must be a singular animal!” + +“So it _are_,” said Bruno, after carefully examining the Cat, to make +sure how many there were of it. + +“But how do you know it’s kind to the Mouses—or, more correctly +speaking, the _Mice_?” + +“’Cause it _plays_ with the Mouses,” said Bruno; “for to amuse them, oo +know.” + +“But that is just what I _don’t_ know,” the Other Professor rejoined. +“My belief is, it plays with them to _kill_ them!” + +“Oh, that’s quite a _accident_!” Bruno began, so eagerly, that it was +evident he had already propounded this very difficulty to the Cat. “It +’splained all that to me, while it were drinking the milk. It said ‘I +teaches the Mouses new games: the Mouses likes it ever so much.’ It said +‘Sometimes little accidents happens: sometimes the Mouses kills +theirselves.’ It said ‘I’s always _welly_ sorry, when the Mouses kills +theirselves.’ It said——” + +“If it was so _very_ sorry,” Sylvie said, rather disdainfully, “it +wouldn’t _eat_ the Mouses after they’d killed themselves!” + +But this difficulty, also, had evidently not been lost sight of in the +exhaustive ethical discussion just concluded. “It said——” (the orator +constantly omitted, as superfluous, his own share in the dialogue, and +merely gave us the replies of the Cat) “It said ‘Dead Mouses _never_ +objecks to be eaten.’ It said ‘There’s no use wasting good Mouses.’ It +said ‘Wifful—’ sumfinoruvver. It said ‘And oo may live to say ‘How much +I wiss I had the Mouse that then I frew away!’ It said——.” + +“It hadn’t _time_ to say such a lot of things!” Sylvie interrupted +indignantly. + +“Oo doosn’t know how Cats speaks!” Bruno rejoined contemptuously. “Cats +speaks _welly_ quick!” + + + + + CHAPTER XXIII. + THE PIG-TALE. + + +By this time the appetites of the guests seemed to be nearly satisfied, +and even _Bruno_ had the resolution to say, when the Professor offered +him a fourth slice of plum-pudding, “I thinks three helpings is enough!” + +Suddenly the Professor started as if he had been electrified. “Why, I +had nearly forgotten the most important part of the entertainment! The +Other Professor is to recite a Tale of a Pig—I mean a Pig-Tale,” he +corrected himself. “It has Introductory Verses at the beginning, and at +the end.” + +“It ca’n’t have Introductory Verses at the _end_, can it?” said Sylvie. + +“Wait till you hear it,” said the Professor: “then you’ll see. I’m not +sure it hasn’t some in the _middle_, as well.” Here he rose to his feet, +and there was an instant silence through the Banqueting-Hall: they +evidently expected a speech. + +“Ladies, and gentlemen,” the Professor began, “the Other Professor is so +kind as to recite a Poem. The title of it is ‘The Pig-Tale.’ He never +recited it before!” (General cheering among the guests.) “He will never +recite it again!” (Frantic excitement, and wild cheering all down the +hall, the Professor himself mounting the table in hot haste, to lead the +cheering, and waving his spectacles in one hand and a spoon in the +other.) + +Then the Other Professor got up, and began:— + + Little Birds are dining + Warily and well, + Hid in mossy cell: + Hid, I say, by waiters + Gorgeous in their gaiters— + I’ve a Tale to tell. + +[Illustration: ‘TEACHING TIGRESSES TO SMILE’] + + Little Birds are feeding + Justices with jam, + Rich in frizzled ham: + Rich, I say, in oysters + Haunting shady cloisters— + That is what I am. + + Little Birds are teaching + Tigresses to smile, + Innocent of guile: + Smile, I say, not smirkle— + Mouth a semicircle, + That’s the proper style. + + Little Birds are sleeping + All among the pins, + Where the loser wins: + Where, I say, he sneezes + When and how he pleases— + So the Tale begins. + + There was a Pig that sat alone + Beside a ruined Pump: + By day and night he made his moan— + It would have stirred a heart of stone + To see him wring his hoofs and groan, + Because he could not jump. + + A certain Camel heard him shout— + A Camel with a hump. + “Oh, is it Grief, or is it Gout? + What is this bellowing about?” + That Pig replied, with quivering snout, + “Because I cannot jump!” + + That Camel scanned him, dreamy-eyed. + “Methinks you are too plump. + I never knew a Pig so wide— + That wobbled so from side to side— + Who could, however much he tried, + Do such a thing as _jump_! + + “Yet mark those trees, two miles away, + All clustered in a clump: + If you could trot there twice a day, + Nor ever pause for rest or play, + In the far future—Who can say?— + You may be fit to jump.” + +[Illustration: ‘HORRID WAS THAT PIG’S DESPAIR!’] + + That Camel passed, and left him there, + Beside the ruined Pump. + Oh, horrid was that Pig’s despair! + His shrieks of anguish filled the air. + He wrung his hoofs, he rent his hair, + Because he could not jump. + + There was a Frog that wandered by— + A sleek and shining lump: + Inspected him with fishy eye, + And said “O Pig, what makes you cry?” + And bitter was that Pig’s reply, + “Because I cannot jump!” + + That Frog he grinned a grin of glee, + And hit his chest a thump + “O Pig,” said, “be ruled by me, + And you shall see what you shall see. + This minute, for a trifling fee, + I’ll teach you how to jump! + + “You may be faint from many a fall, + And bruised by many a bump: + But, if you persevere through all, + And practise first on something small, + Concluding with a ten-foot wall, + You’ll find that you can jump!” + + That Pig looked up with joyful start: + “Oh Frog, you _are_ a trump! + Your words have healed my inward smart— + Come, name your fee and do your part: + Bring comfort to a broken heart, + By teaching me to jump!” + + “My fee shall be a mutton-chop, + My goal this ruined Pump. + Observe with what an airy flop + I plant myself upon the top! + Now bend your knees and take a hop, + For that’s the way to jump!” + +[Illustration: THE FATAL JUMP] + + Uprose that Pig, and rushed, full whack, + Against the ruined Pump: + Rolled over like an empty sack, + And settled down upon his back, + While all his bones at once went ‘Crack!’ + It was a fatal jump. + +When the Other Professor had recited this Verse, he went across to the +fire-place, and put his head up the chimney. In doing this, he lost his +balance, and fell head-first into the empty grate, and got so firmly +fixed there that it was some time before he could be dragged out again. + +Bruno had had time to say “I thought he wanted to see how many peoples +was up the chimbley.” + +And Sylvie had said “_Chimney_—not chimbley.” + +And Bruno had said “Don’t talk ’ubbish!” + +All this, while the Other Professor was being extracted. + +“You must have blacked your face!” the Empress said anxiously. “Let me +send for some soap?” + +“Thanks, no,” said the Other Professor, keeping his face turned away. +“Black’s quite a respectable colour. Besides, soap would be no use +without water.” + +Keeping his back well turned away from the audience, he went on with the +Introductory Verses:— + +[Illustration: ‘BATHING CROCODILES IN CREAM’] + + Little Birds are writing + Interesting books, + To be read by cooks: + Read, I say, not roasted— + Letterpress, when toasted, + Loses its good looks. + + Little Birds are playing + Bagpipes on the shore, + Where the tourists snore: + “Thanks!” they cry. “’Tis thrilling! + Take, oh take this shilling! + Let us have no more!” + + Little Birds are bathing + Crocodiles in cream, + Like a happy dream: + Like, but not so lasting— + Crocodiles, when fasting, + Are not all they seem! + +[Illustration: ‘THAT PIG LAY STILL AS ANY STONE’] + + That Camel passed, as Day grew dim + Around the ruined Pump. + “O broken heart! O broken limb! + It needs,” that Camel said to him, + “Something more fairy-like and slim, + To execute a jump!” + + That Pig lay still as any stone, + And could not stir a stump: + Nor ever, if the truth were known, + Was he again observed to moan, + Nor ever wring his hoofs and groan, + Because he could not jump. + + That Frog made no remark, for he + Was dismal as a dump: + He knew the consequence must be + That he would never get his fee— + And still he sits, in miserie, + Upon that ruined Pump! + +[Illustration: ‘STILL HE SITS IN MISERIE’] + +“It’s a miserable story!” said Bruno. “It begins miserably, and it ends +miserablier. I think I shall cry. Sylvie, please lend me your +handkerchief.” + +“I haven’t got it with me,” Sylvie whispered. + +“Then I won’t cry,” said Bruno manfully. + +“There are more Introductory Verses to come,” said the Other Professor, +“but I’m hungry.” He sat down, cut a large slice of cake, put it on +Bruno’s plate, and gazed at his own empty plate in astonishment. + +“Where did you get that cake?” Sylvie whispered to Bruno. + +“He gived it me,” said Bruno. + +“But you shouldn’t ask for things! You _know_ you shouldn’t!” + +“I _didn’t_ ask,” said Bruno, taking a fresh mouthful: “he _gived_ it +me.” + +Sylvie considered this for a moment: then she saw her way out of it. +“Well, then, ask him to give _me_ some!” + +“You seem to enjoy that cake?” the Professor remarked. + +“Doos that mean ‘munch’?” Bruno whispered to Sylvie. + +Sylvie nodded. “It means ‘to munch’ and ‘to _like_ to munch.’” + +Bruno smiled at the Professor. “I _doos_ enjoy it,” he said. + +The Other Professor caught the word. “And I hope you’re enjoying +_yourself_, little Man?” he enquired. + +Bruno’s look of horror quite startled him. “No, _indeed_ I aren’t!” he +said. + +The Other Professor looked thoroughly puzzled. “Well, well!” he said. +“Try some cowslip wine!” And he filled a glass and handed it to Bruno. +“Drink this, my dear, and you’ll be quite another man!” + +“Who shall I be?” said Bruno, pausing in the act of putting it to his +lips. + +“Don’t ask so many questions!” Sylvie interposed, anxious to save the +poor old man from further bewilderment. “Suppose we get the Professor to +tell us a story.” + +Bruno adopted the idea with enthusiasm. “_Please_ do!” he cried eagerly. +“Sumfin about tigers—and bumble-bees—and robin-redbreasts, oo knows!” + +“Why should you always have _live_ things in stories?” said the +Professor. “Why don’t you have events, or circumstances?” + +“Oh, _please_ invent a story like that!” cried Bruno. + +The Professor began fluently enough. “Once a coincidence was taking a +walk with a little accident, and they met an explanation—a _very_ old +explanation—so old that it was quite doubled up, and looked more like a +conundrum——” he broke off suddenly. + +“_Please_ go on!” both children exclaimed. + +The Professor made a candid confession. “It’s a very difficult sort to +invent, I find. Suppose Bruno tells one, first.” + +Bruno was only too happy to adopt the suggestion. + +“Once there were a Pig, and a Accordion, and two Jars of +Orange-marmalade——” + +“The _dramatis personæ_,” murmured the Professor. “Well, what then?” + +“So, when the Pig played on the Accordion,” Bruno went on, “one of the +Jars of Orange-marmalade didn’t like the tune, and the other Jar of +Orange-marmalade did like the tune—I _know_ I shall get confused among +those Jars of Orange-marmalade, Sylvie!” he whispered anxiously. + +“I will now recite the other Introductory Verses,” said the Other +Professor. + +[Illustration: ‘BLESSED BY HAPPY STAGS’] + + Little Birds are choking + Baronets with bun, + Taught to fire a gun: + Taught, I say, to splinter + Salmon in the winter— + Merely for the fun. + + Little Birds are hiding + Crimes in carpet-bags, + Blessed by happy stags: + Blessed, I say, though beaten— + Since our friends are eaten + When the memory flags. + + Little Birds are tasting + Gratitude and gold, + Pale with sudden cold + Pale, I say, and wrinkled— + When the bells have tinkled + And the Tale is told. + +“The next thing to be done,” the Professor cheerfully remarked to the +Lord Chancellor, as soon as the applause, caused by the recital of the +Pig-Tale, had come to an end, “is to drink the Emperor’s health, is it +not?” + +“Undoubtedly!” the Lord Chancellor replied with much solemnity, as he +rose to his feet to give the necessary directions for the ceremony. +“Fill your glasses!” he thundered. All did so, instantly. “Drink the +Emperor’s health!” A general gurgling resounded all through the Hall. +“Three cheers for the Emperor!” The faintest possible sound followed +_this_ announcement: and the Chancellor, with admirable presence of +mind, instantly proclaimed “A speech from the Emperor!” + +The Emperor had begun his speech almost before the words were uttered. +“However unwilling to be Emperor—since you all wish me to be Emperor—you +know how badly the late Warden managed things—with such enthusiasm as +you have shown—he persecuted you—he taxed you too heavily—you know who +is fittest man to be Emperor—my brother had no sense——.” + +How long this curious speech might have lasted it is impossible to say, +for just at this moment a hurricane shook the palace to its foundations, +bursting open the windows, extinguishing some of the lamps, and filling +the air with clouds of dust, which took strange shapes in the air, and +seemed to form words. + +But the storm subsided as suddenly as it had risen—the casements swung +into their places again: the dust vanished: all was as it had been a +minute ago—with the exception of the Emperor and Empress, over whom had +come a wondrous change. The vacant stare, the meaningless smile, had +passed away: all could see that these two strange beings had returned to +their senses. + +The Emperor continued his speech as if there had been no interruption. +“And we have behaved—my wife and I—like two arrant Knaves. We deserve no +better name. When my brother went away, you lost the best Warden you +ever had. And I’ve been doing my best, wretched hypocrite that I am, to +cheat you into making me an Emperor. Me! One that has hardly got the +wits to be a shoe-black!” + +The Lord Chancellor wrung his hands in despair. “He is mad, good +people!” he was beginning. But both speeches stopped suddenly—and, in +the dead silence that followed, a knocking was heard at the outer door. + +“What is it?” was the general cry. People began running in and out. The +excitement increased every moment. The Lord Chancellor, forgetting all +the rules of Court-ceremony, ran full speed down the hall, and in a +minute returned, pale and gasping for breath. + + + + + CHAPTER XXIV. + THE BEGGAR’S RETURN. + + +“Your Imperial Highnesses!” he began. “It’s the old Beggar again! Shall +we set the dogs at him?” + +“Bring him here!” said the Emperor. + +The Chancellor could scarcely believe his ears. “_Here_, your Imperial +Highness? Did I rightly understand——.” + +“Bring him here!” the Emperor thundered once more. The Chancellor +tottered down the hall—and in another minute the crowd divided, and the +poor old Beggar was seen entering the Banqueting-Hall. + +[Illustration: THE OLD BEGGAR’S RETURN] + +He was indeed a pitiable object: the rags, that hung about him, were all +splashed with mud: his white hair and his long beard were tossed about +in wild disorder. Yet he walked upright, with a stately tread, as if +used to command: and—strangest sight of all—Sylvie and Bruno came with +him, clinging to his hands, and gazing at him with looks of silent love. + +Men looked eagerly to see how the Emperor would receive the bold +intruder. Would he hurl him from the steps of the daïs? But no. To their +utter astonishment, the Emperor knelt as the beggar approached, and with +bowed head murmured “Forgive us!” + +“Forgive us!” the Empress, kneeling at her husband’s side, meekly +repeated. + +The Outcast smiled. “Rise up!” he said. “I forgive you!” And men saw +with wonder that a change had passed over the old beggar, even as he +spoke. What had seemed, but now, to be vile rags and splashes of mud, +were seen to be in truth kingly trappings, broidered with gold, and +sparkling with gems. All knew him now, and bent low before the Elder +Brother, the true Warden. + +“Brother mine, and Sister mine!” the Warden began, in a clear voice that +was heard all through that vast hall. “I come not to disturb you. Rule +on, as Emperor, and rule wisely. For I am chosen King of Elfland. +To-morrow I return there, taking nought from hence, save only—save +only——” his voice trembled, and with a look of ineffable tenderness, he +laid his hands in silence on the heads of the two little ones who clung +around him. + +But he recovered himself in a moment, and beckoned to the Emperor to +resume his place at the table. The company seated themselves again—room +being found for the Elfin-King between his two children—and the Lord +Chancellor rose once more, to propose the next toast. + +“The next toast—the hero of the day—why, he isn’t here!” he broke off in +wild confusion. + +Good gracious! Everybody had forgotten Prince Uggug! + +“He was told of the Banquet, of course?” said the Emperor. + +“Undoubtedly!” replied the Chancellor. “_That_ would be the duty of the +Gold Stick in Waiting.” + +“Let the Gold Stick come forwards!” the Emperor gravely said. + +The Gold Stick came forwards. “I attended on His Imperial Fatness,” was +the statement made by the trembling official. “I told him of the Lecture +and the Banquet——.” + +“What followed?” said the Emperor: for the unhappy man seemed almost too +frightened to go on. + +“His Imperial Fatness was graciously pleased to be sulky. His Imperial +Fatness was graciously pleased to box my ears. His Imperial Fatness was +graciously pleased to say ‘I don’t care!’” + +“‘Don’t-care’ came to a bad end,” Sylvie whispered to Bruno. “I’m not +sure, but I _believe_ he was hanged.” + +The Professor overheard her. “_That_ result,” he blandly remarked, “was +merely a case of mistaken identity.” + +Both children looked puzzled. + +“Permit me to explain. ‘Don’t-care’ and ‘Care’ were twin-brothers. +‘Care,’ you know, killed the Cat. And they caught ‘Don’t-care’ by +mistake, and hanged him instead. And so ‘Care’ is alive still. But he’s +very unhappy without his brother. That’s why they say ‘Begone, dull +Care!’” + +“Thank you!” Sylvie said, heartily. “It’s very extremely interesting. +Why, it seems to explain _everything_!” + +“Well, not quite _everything_,” the Professor modestly rejoined. “There +are two or three scientific difficulties——” + +“What was your general impression as to His Imperial Fatness?” the +Emperor asked the Gold Stick. + +“My impression was that His Imperial Fatness was getting more——” + +“More _what_?” + +All listened breathlessly for the next word. + +“More PRICKLY!” + +“He must be sent for _at once_!” the Emperor exclaimed. And the Gold +Stick went off like a shot. The Elfin-King sadly shook his head. “No +use, no use!” he murmured to himself. “Loveless, loveless!” + +Pale, trembling, speechless, the Gold Stick came slowly back again. + +“Well?” said the Emperor. “Why does not the Prince appear?” + +“One can easily guess,” said the Professor. “His Imperial Fatness is, +without doubt, a little preoccupied.” + +Bruno turned a look of solemn enquiry on his old friend. “What do that +word mean?” + +But the Professor took no notice of the question. He was eagerly +listening to the Gold Stick’s reply. + +“Please your Highness! His Imperial Fatness is——” Not a word more could +he utter. + +The Empress rose in an agony of alarm. “Let us go to him!” she cried. +And there was a general rush for the door. + +Bruno slipped off his chair in a moment. “May we go too?” he eagerly +asked. But the King did not hear the question, as the Professor was +speaking to him. “_Preoccupied_, your Majesty!” he was saying. “That is +what he is, no doubt!” + +“May we go and see him?” Bruno repeated. The King nodded assent, and the +children ran off. In a minute or two they returned, slowly and gravely. +“Well?” said the King. “What’s the matter with the Prince?” + +“He’s—what _you_ said,” Bruno replied, looking at the Professor. “That +hard word.” And he looked to Sylvie for assistance. + +“Porcupine,” said Sylvie. + +“No, no!” the Professor corrected her. “‘_Pre-occupied_,’ you mean.” + +[Illustration: ‘PORCUPINE!’] + +“No, it’s _porcupine_,” persisted Sylvie. “Not that other word at all. +And please will you come? The house is all in an uproar.” (“And oo’d +better bring an uproar-glass wiz oo!” added Bruno.) + +We got up in great haste, and followed the children upstairs. No one +took the least notice of _me_, but I wasn’t at all surprised at this, as +I had long realised that I was quite invisible to them all—even to +Sylvie and Bruno. + +All along the gallery, that led to the Prince’s apartment, an excited +crowd was surging to and fro, and the Babel of voices was deafening: +against the door of the room three strong men were leaning, vainly +trying to shut it—for some great animal inside was constantly bursting +it half open, and we had a glimpse, before the men could push it back +again, of the head of a furious wild beast, with great fiery eyes and +gnashing teeth. Its voice was a sort of mixture—there was the roaring of +a lion, and the bellowing of a bull, and now and then a scream like a +gigantic parrot. “There is no judging by the voice!” the Professor cried +in great excitement. “What is it?” he shouted to the men at the door. +And a general chorus of voices answered him “Porcupine! Prince Uggug has +turned into a Porcupine!” + +“A new Specimen!” exclaimed the delighted Professor. “Pray let me go in. +It should be labeled at once!” + +But the strong men only pushed him back. “Label it, indeed! Do you want +to be eaten up?” they cried. + +“Never mind about Specimens, Professor!” said the Emperor, pushing his +way through the crowd. “Tell us how to keep him safe!” + +“A large cage!” the Professor promptly replied. “Bring a large cage,” he +said to the people generally, “with strong bars of steel, and a +portcullis made to go up and down like a mouse-trap! Does any one happen +to have such a thing about him?” + +It didn’t sound a likely sort of thing for any one to have about him; +however, they brought him one directly: curiously enough, there happened +to be one standing in the gallery. + +“Put it facing the opening of the door, and draw up the portcullis!” +This was done in a moment. + +“Blankets now!” cried the Professor. “This is a most interesting +Experiment!” + +There happened to be a pile of blankets close by: and the Professor had +hardly said the word, when they were all unfolded and held up like +curtains all around. The Professor rapidly arranged them in two rows, so +as to make a dark passage, leading straight from the door to the mouth +of the cage. + +“Now fling the door open!” This did not need to be done: the three men +had only to leap out of the way, and the fearful monster flung the door +open for itself, and, with a yell like the whistle of a steam-engine, +rushed into the cage. + +“Down with the portcullis!” No sooner said than done: and all breathed +freely once more, on seeing the Porcupine safely caged. + +The Professor rubbed his hands in childish delight. “The Experiment has +succeeded!” he proclaimed. “All that is needed now is to feed it three +times a day, on chopped carrots and——.” + +“Never mind about its food, just now!” the Emperor interrupted. “Let us +return to the Banquet. Brother, will you lead the way?” And the old man, +attended by his children, headed the procession down stairs. “See the +fate of a loveless life!” he said to Bruno, as they returned to their +places. To which Bruno made reply, “I always loved Sylvie, so I’ll never +get prickly like that!” + +“He _is_ prickly, certainly,” said the Professor, who had caught the +last words, “but we must remember that, however porcupiny, he is royal +still! After this feast is over, I’m going to take a little present to +Prince Uggug—just to soothe him, you know: it isn’t pleasant living in a +cage.” + +“What’ll you give him for a birthday-present?” Bruno enquired. + +“A small saucer of chopped carrots,” replied the Professor. “In giving +birthday-presents, _my_ motto is—cheapness! I should think I save forty +pounds a year by giving—oh, _what_ a twinge of pain!” + +“What is it?” said Sylvie anxiously. + +“My old enemy!” groaned the Professor. “Lumbago—rheumatism—that sort of +thing. I think I’ll go and lie down a bit.” And he hobbled out of the +Saloon, watched by the pitying eyes of the two children. + +“He’ll be better soon!” the Elfin-King said cheerily. “Brother!” turning +to the Emperor, “I have some business to arrange with you to-night. The +Empress will take care of the children.” And the two Brothers went away +together, arm-in-arm. + +The Empress found the children rather sad company. They could talk of +nothing but “the dear Professor,” and “what a pity he’s so ill!”, till +at last she made the welcome proposal “Let’s go and see him!” + +The children eagerly grasped the hands she offered them: and we went off +to the Professor’s study, and found him lying on the sofa, covered up +with blankets, and reading a little manuscript-book. “Notes on Vol. +Three!” he murmured, looking up at us. And there, on a table near him, +lay the book he was seeking when first I saw him. + +“And how are you now, Professor?” the Empress asked, bending over the +invalid. + +The Professor looked up, and smiled feebly. “As devoted to your Imperial +Highness as ever!” he said in a weak voice. “All of me, that is not +Lumbago, is Loyalty!” + +“A sweet sentiment!” the Empress exclaimed with tears in her eyes. “You +seldom hear anything so beautiful as that—even in a Valentine!” + +“We must take you to stay at the seaside,” Sylvie said, tenderly. “It’ll +do you ever so much good! And the Sea’s so grand!” + +“But a Mountain’s grander!” said Bruno. + +“What is there grand about the Sea?” said the Professor. “Why, you could +put it all into a teacup!” + +“_Some_ of it,” Sylvie corrected him. + +“Well, you’d only want a certain number of tea-cups to hold it _all_. +And _then_ where’s the grandeur? Then as to a Mountain—why, you could +carry it all away in a wheel-barrow, in a certain number of years!” + +“It wouldn’t look grand—the bits of it in the wheel-barrow,” Sylvie +candidly admitted. + +“But when oo put it together again——” Bruno began. + +“When you’re older,” said the Professor, “you’ll know that you _ca’n’t_ +put Mountains together again so easily! One lives and one learns, you +know!” + +“But it needn’t be the _same_ one, need it?” said Bruno. “Won’t it do, +if _I_ live, and if _Sylvie_ learns?” + +“I _ca’n’t_ learn without living!” said Sylvie. + +“But I _can_ live without learning!” Bruno retorted. “Oo just try me!” + +“What I meant, was—” the Professor began, looking much puzzled, +“—was—that you don’t know _everything_, you know.” + +“But I _do_ know everything I know!” persisted the little fellow. “I +know ever so many things! Everything, ’cept the things I _don’t_ know. +And Sylvie knows all the rest.” + +The Professor sighed, and gave it up. “Do you know what a Boojum is?” + +“_I_ know!” cried Bruno. “It’s the thing what wrenches people out of +their boots!” + +“He means ‘bootjack,’” Sylvie explained in a whisper. + +“You ca’n’t wrench people out of _boots_,” the Professor mildly +observed. + +Bruno laughed saucily. “Oo _can_, though! Unless they’re _welly_ tight +in.” + +“Once upon a time there was a Boojum——” the Professor began, but stopped +suddenly. “I forget the rest of the Fable,” he said. “And there was a +lesson to be learned from it. I’m afraid I forget _that_, too.” + +“_I’ll_ tell oo a Fable!” Bruno began in a great hurry. “Once there were +a Locust, and a Magpie, and a Engine-driver. And the Lesson is, to learn +to get up early——” + +“It isn’t a bit interesting!” Sylvie said contemptuously. “You shouldn’t +put the Lesson so soon.” + +“When did you invent that Fable?” said the Professor. “Last week?” + +“No!” said Bruno. “A deal shorter ago than that. Guess again!” + +“I ca’n’t guess,” said the Professor. “How long ago?” + +“Why, it isn’t invented yet!” Bruno exclaimed triumphantly. “But I +_have_ invented a lovely one! Shall I say it?” + +“If you’ve _finished_ inventing it,” said Sylvie. “And let the Lesson be +‘to try again’!” + +“No,” said Bruno with great decision. “The Lesson are ‘_not_ to try +again’!” “Once there were a lovely china man, what stood on the +chimbley-piece. And he stood, and he stood. And one day he tumbleded +off, and he didn’t hurt his self one bit. Only he _would_ try again. And +the next time he tumbleded off, he hurted his self welly much, and +breaked off ever so much varnish.” + +“But how did he come back on the chimney-piece after his first tumble?” +said the Empress. (It was the first sensible question she had asked in +all her life.) + +“_I_ put him there!” cried Bruno. + +“Then I’m afraid you know something about his tumbling,” said the +Professor. “Perhaps you pushed him?” + +To which Bruno replied, very seriously, “Didn’t pushed him _much_—he +were a _lovely_ china man,” he added hastily, evidently very anxious to +change the subject. + +“Come, my children!” said the Elfin-King, who had just entered the room. +“We must have a little chat together, before you go to bed.” And he was +leading them away, but at the door they let go his hands, and ran back +again to wish the Professor good night. + +[Illustration: ‘GOOD-NIGHT, PROFESSOR!’] + +“Good night, Professor, good night!” And Bruno solemnly shook hands with +the old man, who gazed at him with a loving smile, while Sylvie bent +down to press her sweet lips upon his forehead. + +“Good night, little ones!” said the Professor. “You may leave me now—to +ruminate. I’m as jolly as the day is long, except when it’s necessary to +ruminate on some very difficult subject. All of me,” he murmured +sleepily as we left the room, “all of me, that isn’t _Bonhommie_, is +Rumination!” + +“_What_ did he say, Bruno?” Sylvie enquired, as soon as we were safely +out of hearing. + +“I _think_ he said ‘All of me that isn’t Bone-disease is Rheumatism.’ +Whatever _are_ that knocking, Sylvie?” + +Sylvie stopped, and listened anxiously. It sounded like some one kicking +at a door. “I _hope_ it isn’t that Porcupine breaking loose!” she +exclaimed. + +“Let’s go on!” Bruno said hastily. “There’s nuffin to wait for, oo +know!“ + + + + + CHAPTER XXV + LIFE OUT OF DEATH. + + +The sound of kicking, or knocking, grew louder every moment: and at last +a door opened somewhere near us. “Did you say ‘come in!’ Sir?” my +landlady asked timidly. + +“Oh yes, come in!” I replied. “What’s the matter?” + +“A note has just been left for you, Sir, by the baker’s boy. He said he +was passing the Hall, and they asked him to come round and leave it +here.” + +The note contained five words only. “Please come at once. Muriel.” + +A sudden terror seemed to chill my very heart. “The Earl is ill!” I said +to myself. “Dying, perhaps!” And I hastily prepared to leave the house. + +“No bad news, Sir, I hope?” my landlady said, as she saw me out. “The +boy said as some one had arrived unexpectedly——.” + +“I hope that is it!” I said. But my feelings were those of fear rather +than of hope: though, on entering the house, I was somewhat reassured by +finding luggage lying in the entrance, bearing the initials “E. L.” + +“It’s only Eric Lindon after all!” I thought, half relieved and half +annoyed. “Surely she need not have sent for me for _that_!” + +Lady Muriel met me in the passage. Her eyes were gleaming—but it was the +excitement of joy, rather than of grief. “I have a surprise for you!” +she whispered. + +“You mean that Eric Lindon is here?” I said, vainly trying to disguise +the involuntary bitterness of my tone. “‘_The funeral baked meats did +coldly furnish forth the marriage-tables_,’” I could not help repeating +to myself. How cruelly I was misjudging her! + +“No, no!” she eagerly replied. “At least—Eric _is_ here. But——,” her +voice quivered, “but there is _another_!” + +No need for further question. I eagerly followed her in. There on the +bed, he lay—pale and worn—the mere shadow of his old self—my old friend +come back again from the dead! + +“Arthur!” I exclaimed. I could not say another word. + +“Yes, back again, old boy!” he murmured, smiling as I grasped his hand. +“_He_,” indicating Eric, who stood near, “saved my life—_He_ brought me +back. Next to God, we must thank _him_, Muriel, my wife!” + +Silently I shook hands with Eric and with the Earl: and with one consent +we moved into the shaded side of the room, where we could talk without +disturbing the invalid, who lay, silent and happy, holding his wife’s +hand in his, and watching her with eyes that shone with the deep steady +light of Love. + +“He has been delirious till to-day,” Eric explained in a low voice: “and +even to-day he has been wandering more than once. But the sight of _her_ +has been new life to him.” And then he went on to tell us, in would-be +careless tones—I knew how he hated any display of feeling—how he had +insisted on going back to the plague-stricken town, to bring away a man +whom the doctor had abandoned as dying, but who _might_, he fancied, +recover if brought to the hospital: how he had seen nothing in the +wasted features to remind him of Arthur, and only recognised him when he +visited the hospital a month after: how the doctor had forbidden him to +announce the discovery, saying that any shock to the over taxed brain +might kill him at once: how he had staid on at the hospital, and nursed +the sick man by night and day—all this with the studied indifference of +one who is relating the commonplace acts of some chance acquaintance! + +“And this was his _rival_!” I thought. “The man who had won from him the +heart of the woman he loved!” + +[Illustration: ‘HIS WIFE KNELT DOWN AT HIS SIDE’] + +“The sun is setting,” said Lady Muriel, rising and leading the way to +the open window. “Just look at the western sky! What lovely crimson +tints! We shall have a glorious day to-morrow——” We had followed her +across the room, and were standing in a little group, talking in low +tones in the gathering gloom, when we were startled by the voice of the +sick man, murmuring words too indistinct for the ear to catch. + +“He is wandering again,” Lady Muriel whispered, and returned to the +bedside. We drew a little nearer also: but no, this had none of the +incoherence of delirium. “_What reward shall I give unto the Lord_,” the +tremulous lips were saying, “_for all the benefits that He hath done +unto me? I will receive the cup of salvation, and call—and call_——” but +here the poor weakened memory failed, and the feeble voice died into +silence. + +His wife knelt down at the bedside, raised one of his arms, and drew it +across her own, fondly kissing the thin white hand that lay so +listlessly in her loving grasp. It seemed to me a good opportunity for +stealing away without making her go through any form of parting: so, +nodding to the Earl and Eric, I silently left the room. Eric followed me +down the stairs, and out into the night. + +“Is it Life or Death?” I asked him, as soon as we were far enough from +the house for me to speak in ordinary tones. + +“It is _Life_!” he replied with eager emphasis. “The doctors are quite +agreed as to _that_. All he needs now, they say, is rest, and perfect +quiet, and good nursing. He’s quite sure to get rest and quiet, here: +and, as for the nursing why, I think it’s just _possible_——” (he tried +hard to make his trembling voice assume a playful tone) “he may even get +fairly well nursed, in his present quarters!” + +“I’m sure of it!” I said. “Thank you so much for coming out to tell me!” +And, thinking he had now said all he had come to say, I held out my hand +to bid him good night. He grasped it warmly, and added, turning his face +away as he spoke, “By the way, there is one other thing I wanted to say. +I thought you’d like to know that—that I’m not—not in the mind I was in +when last we met. It isn’t—that I can accept Christian belief—at least, +not yet. But all this came about so strangely. And she had prayed, you +know. And I had prayed. And—and—” his voice broke, and I could only just +catch the concluding words, “_there is a God that answers prayer!_ I +know it for certain now.” He wrung my hand once more, and left me +suddenly. Never before had I seen him so deeply moved. + +So, in the gathering twilight, I paced slowly homewards, in a tumultuous +whirl of happy thoughts: my heart seemed full, and running over, with +joy and thankfulness: all that I had so fervently longed for, and prayed +for, seemed now to have come to pass. And, though I reproached myself, +bitterly, for the unworthy suspicion I had for one moment harboured +against the true-hearted Lady Muriel, I took comfort in knowing it had +been but a passing thought. + +Not Bruno himself could have mounted the stairs with so buoyant a step, +as I felt my way up in the dark, not pausing to strike a light in the +entry, as I knew I had left the lamp burning in my sitting-room. + +But it was no common _lamplight_ into which I now stepped, with a +strange, new, dreamy sensation of some subtle witchery that had come +over the place. Light, richer and more golden than any lamp could give, +flooded the room, streaming in from a window I had somehow never noticed +before, and lighting up a group of three shadowy figures, that grew +momently more distinct—a grave old man in royal robes, leaning back in +an easy chair, and two children, a girl and a boy, standing at his side. + +“Have you the Jewel still, my child?” the old man was saying. + +“Oh, _yes_!” Sylvie exclaimed with unusual eagerness. “Do you think I’d +_ever_ lose it or forget it?” She undid the ribbon round her neck, as +she spoke, and laid the Jewel in her father’s hand. + +Bruno looked at it admiringly. “What a lovely brightness!” he said. +“It’s just like a little red star! May I take it in my hand?” + +Sylvie nodded: and Bruno carried it off to the window, and held it aloft +against the sky, whose deepening blue was already spangled with stars. +Soon he came running back in some excitement. “Sylvie! Look here!” he +cried. “I can see right through it when I hold it up to the sky. And it +isn’t red a bit: it’s, oh such a lovely blue! And the words are all +different! Do look at it!” + +Sylvie was quite excited, too, by this time; and the two children +eagerly held up the Jewel to the light, and spelled out the legend +between them, “ALL WILL LOVE SYLVIE.” + +[Illustration: THE BLUE LOCKET] + +“Why, this is the _other_ Jewel!” cried Bruno. “Don’t you remember, +Sylvie? The one you _didn’t_ choose!” + +Sylvie took it from him, with a puzzled look, and held it, now up to the +light, now down. “It’s blue, _one_ way,” she said softly to herself, +“and it’s red, the _other_ way! Why, I thought there were _two_ of +them—Father!” she suddenly exclaimed, laying the Jewel once more in his +hand, “I do believe it was the _same_ Jewel all the time!” + +“Then you choosed it from _itself_,” Bruno thoughtfully remarked. +“Father, _could_ Sylvie choose a thing from itself?” + +“Yes, my own one,” the old man replied to Sylvie, not noticing Bruno’s +embarrassing question, “it _was_ the same Jewel—but you chose quite +right.” And he fastened the ribbon round her neck again. + +“SYLVIE WILL LOVE ALL—ALL WILL LOVE SYLVIE,” Bruno murmured, raising +himself on tiptoe to kiss the ‘little red star.’ “And, when you look +_at_ it, it’s red and fierce like the sun—and, when you look _through_ +it, it’s gentle and blue like the sky!” + +“God’s own sky,” Sylvie said, dreamily. + +“God’s own sky,” the little fellow repeated, as they stood, lovingly +clinging together, and looking out into the night. “But oh, Sylvie, what +makes the sky such a _darling_ blue?” + +Sylvie’s sweet lips shaped themselves to reply, but her voice sounded +faint and very far away. The vision was fast slipping from my eager +gaze: but it seemed to me, in that last bewildering moment, that not +Sylvie but an angel was looking out through those trustful brown eyes, +and that not Sylvie’s but an angel’s voice was whispering + + “It is love.” + +[Illustration: ‘IT IS LOVE!’] + + + THE END. + + + + + GENERAL INDEX. + + +[N.B. ‘I’ refers to “Sylvie and Bruno,” ‘II’ to “Sylvie and Bruno +Concluded.”] + + A + Accelerated Velocity, causes of; II. 190 + Air, Cotton-wool lighter than, how to obtain; II. 166 + Animal-Suffering, mystery of; II. 296 + Anti-Teetotal Card; II. 139 + Artistic effect said to require Indistinctness; I. 241 + Asylums, Lunatic-, future use for; II. 132 + Axioms of Science; II. 330 + + B + Badgers, the Three (Poem); I. 247 + Barometer, sideways motion of; I. 13 + Baron Doppelgeist; I. 85 + Bath, Portable, for Tourists; I. 25 + Bazaars, Charity-; II. 44 + Beauty, Pain of realising; II. 337 + Bed, reason for never going to; II. 141 + Bees, Mind of; II. 29 + Bessie’s Song; II. 76 + Bible-Selections for Children; I. xiii + ” ” learning by heart; I. xiv + Black Light, how to produce; II. 341 + Boat, motion of, how to imitate on land; II. 108 + Books, or Minds. Which contain most Science? I. 21 + Boots for Horizontal Weather; I. 14 + Brain, inverted position of; I. 243 + Bread-sauce appropriate for Weltering; I. 58 + Breaking promises. Why is it wrong? II. 27 + Bruno’s Song: I. 215 + Burden of Proof misplaced by Crocodiles; I. 230 + ” ” ” Ladies; I. 235 + ” ” ” Watts, Dr.; do. + + C + ‘Care’ and ‘Don’t-Care,’ history of; II. 385 + Carrying one’s self. Why is it not fatiguing? I. 169 + Charity-Bazaars; II. 44 + ” fallacies as to; II. 43 + ” Pseudo-; II. 42 + Child’s Bible; I. xiii + ” Sunday, in last generation; I. 387 + ” view of Adult Life; II. 260 + ” ” Present Life; I. 330 + Choral Services, effect of; I. 273. II. xix + Chorister’s life, dangers of; I. 274. II. xix + Church-going, true principle of; I. 272 + Competition for Scholars; II. 187 + Competitive Examination; II. 184 + Conceited Critic always depreciates; I. 237 + Content, opportunity for cultivating; I. 152 + ‘Convenient’ and ‘Inconvenient,’ difference in meaning; I. 140 + Conversation at Dinner-parties, how to promote: (_see_ + “Dinner-parties”) + Cotton-wool lighter than air, how to obtain; II. 166 + Critic, conceited, always depreciates; I. 237 + ” how to gain character of; I. 238 + Crocodiles, Logic of; I. 230 + Croquet. Why is it demoralising? II. 135 + + D + Darwinism reversed; I. 64 + Day, length and shortness of, compared; I. 159 + ” true length of; I. 159 + Death, certainty of, effect of realising; I. xix + Debts, how to avoid Payment of; I. 131 + Deserts, use for; II. 158 + Dichotomy, Political, in common life; II. 198, 205, 207 + Dinner-parties, how to promote Conversation at:— + Moving-Guests; II. 145 + ” Pictures; II. 143 + Revolving-Humorist; II. 145 + Wild-Creatures; II. 144 + Dog-King, the, (‘Nero’); I. 175. II. 58 + Dog, Man’s advantage over; II. 293 + ” reasoning power of; II. 294 + ‘Doing good,’ ambiguity of phrase; II. 43 + Doppelgeist, Baron; I. 85 + Dramatization of Life; I. 333 + Dreaminess, certain cure for; I. 136 + Drunkenness, how to prevent; II. 71 + + E + Eggs, how to purchase; II. 196 + Electricity, influence of, on Literature; I. 64 + Enjoyment of Life; I. 335 + ” Novel-reading; I. 336 + Eternity, contemplation of. Why is it wearisome? II. 258 + Events in reverse order; I. 350 + Examination, Competitive; II. 184 + Experimental Honeymoons; II. 136 + Eye, images inverted in the; I. 242 + + F + Fairies, captured, how to treat; II. 5 + ” character of, how to improve; I. 190 + ” existence of, possible; II. 300 + ” presence of, how to recognise; I. 191. II. 264 + ” moral responsibility of; II. 301 + Falling Houses, Life in; I. 100 + Final Causes, problem in; I. 297 + Fires in Theatres, how to prevent; II. 165 + Fortunatus’ Purse, how to make; II. 100 + Free-Will and Nerve-Force; I. 390 + Frog, young, how to amuse; I. 364 + Future Life. What interests will survive in it? II. 256 + + G + Gardener’s Song:— + Albatross; I. 164 + Argument; II. 319. + Banker’s Clerk; I. 90. + Bar of Mottled Soap; II. 319. + Bear without a head; I. 116. + Buffalo; I. 78. + Coach-and-Four; I. 116. + Double Rule of Three; I. 168. + Elephant; I. 65; II. 334. + Garden-Door; I. 168. + Hippopotamus; I. 90. + Kangaroo; I. 106. + Letter from his Wife; I. 65. + Middle of Next Week; I. 83. + Penny-Postage-Stamp; I. 164. + Rattlesnake; I. 83. + Sister’s Husband’s Niece; I. 78. + Vegetable-Pill; I. 106 + Ghosts, treatment of, by Shakespeare; I. 60 + ” ” in Railway-Literature; I. 58 + ” Weltering, Bread-sauce appropriate for; I. 58 + Girls’ Shakespeare; I. xv + Government with many Kings and one Subject; II. 172 + Graduated races of Man; I. 299 + Guests, Moving-; II. 145 + + H + Happiness, excessive, how to moderate; I. 159 + Heaven inconceivable to those on Earth; II. 260 + Honesty, Dr. Watts’ argument for; I. 235 + Honeymoons, Experimental; II. 136 + Horizontal Weather, Boots for; I. 14 + Horses, Runaway, how to control; II. 108 + Hot Ink, use of; II. 357 + Houses, Falling, Life in; I. 100 + Humorist, Revolving; II. 145 + Hunting, Morality of; I. xx, 318; II. xviii + Hymns appealing to Selfishness; I. 276 + + I + ‘Idle Mouths’; II. 37 + ‘Imponderal’; II. 166 + ‘Inconvenient’ and ‘Convenient,’ difference in meaning of; I. 140 + Indistinctness said to be necessary for Artistic effect; I. 241 + Ink, Hot, use of; II. 357 + Instinct and Reason; II. 295 + Inversion of Brain; I. 243 + “ images on Retina; I. 242 + + J + Jam-tasting; II. 150 + Jesting in Letter-writing, how to indicate; II. 117 + + K + ‘King Fisher’ Song; II. 14 + Knocking-down, some persons not liable to; II. 54 + + L + Ladies, Logic of; I. 235 + Least Common Multiple, rule of, applied to Literature; I. 22 + Letter-writing, how to indicate Jesting in; II. 117 + ” ” ” Shyness in; II. 115 + Life, adult, Child’s view of; II. 260 + ” Dramatization of; I. 133 + ” Future, What interests will survive in it? II. 256 + ” how to enjoy; I. 335 + ” in Falling Houses; I. 100 + ” ” reverse order; I. 350 + ” Present, Child’s view of; I. 330 + Light, Black, how to produce; II. 341 + Literature as influenced by Electricity; I. 64 + ” ” Steam; I. 64 + ” for Railway; I. 58 + ” treated by rule of Least Common Multiple; I. 22 + ‘Little Birds’ (Poem); II. 364, 371, 377 + ‘Little Man’ (Poem); II. 265 + ” privilege of being; I. 299 + Liturgy, Choral, effect of; I. 273 + Logic of Crocodiles; I. 230 + ” of Ladies; I. 235 + ” of Dr. Watts; do. + ” requisites for complete Argument in; I. 259 + Loving or being loved. Which is best? I. 77 + Lunatic-Asylums, future use for; II. 132 + Lunatics out-numbering the Sane, result of; II. 133 + + M + Man, advantages of, over the Dog; II. 293 + ” graduated races of; I. 299 + ” Little, privilege of being; I. 299 + Maps, best size for; II. 169 + ‘Matilda Jane’ (Poem); II. 76 + ‘Megaloscope’; II. 334 + Minds, or Books. Which contain most Science? I. 21 + Money, effect of increasing value of; I. 312 + ” playing for, a moral act; II. 135 + Morality of Sport; I. xx, 318. II. xviii + Moral Philosophy, teachers of. Which are most esteemed? II. 181 + Moving-Guests; II. 145 + ” Pictures; II. 143 + Music, how to get largest amount of in given time; I. 338 + “ Why is it sometimes not pleasing? II. 156 + + N + ‘Nero’ the Dog-King; I. 175. II. 58 + Nerve-Force and Free-Will; I. 390 + Nerves, slow action of; I. 158 + Novel-reading, how to enjoy; I. 336 + + O + ‘Obstruction,’ Political, in common life; II. 203 + ‘Onus probandi’ misplaced by Crocodiles; I. 230 + ” ” Ladies; I. 235 + ” ” Dr. Watts; do. + ‘Opposition,’ Political, in common life; II. 200 + + P + Pain, how to minimise; I. 337 + Paley’s definition of Virtue; I. 273 + Parentheses in Conversation, how to indicate; I. 251 + Passages, Selected, for learning by heart; I. xv + Payment of Debts, how to avoid; I. 131 + ‘Peter and Paul’ (Poem); I. 143 + Philosophy, Moral. What kind is most esteemed? II. 181 + Phlizz, a visionary flower; I. 282 + ” ” fruit; I. 75 + ” ” nurse-maid; I. 283 + Pictures, how to criticize; I. 238 + ” Moving; II. 143 + ‘Pig Tale’ (Poem); I. 138; II. 366, 372 + Planets, small; II. 170 + Playing for money, a moral act; II. 135 + Pleasure, how to maximise; I. 335 + Plunge-Bath, portable, for Tourists; I. 25 + Poems, first lines of:— + ‘He stept so lightly to the land’; I. 291 + ‘He thought he saw an Albatross’; I. 164 + ” ” an Argument’; II. 319 + ” ” a Banker’s Clerk’; I. 90 + ” ” a Buffalo’; I. 78 + ” ” a Coach-and-Four’; I. 116 + ” ” an Elephant’; I. 65; II. 334 + ” ” a Garden-Door’; I. 168 + ” ” a Kangaroo’; I. 106 + ” ” a Rattlesnake’; I. 83 + ‘In Stature the Manlet was dwarfish’; II. 265 + ‘King Fisher courted Lady Bird’; II. 14 + ‘Little Birds are &c.’; II. 364, 371, 377 + ‘Matilda Jane, you never look’; II. 76 + ‘One thousand pounds per annuum’; II. 194 + ‘Peter is poor, said noble Paul’; I. 143 + ‘Rise, oh rise! The daylight dies’; I. 215 + ‘Say, what is the spell, when her fledgelings are cheeping’; + II. 305 + ‘There be three Badgers on a mossy stone’; I. 247 + ‘There was a Pig, that sat alone’; I. 138; II. 366, 372 + Political Dichotomy in common life; II. 198, 205, 207 + ” ‘Opposition’ in common life; II. 200 + Poor people, method for enriching; I. 312 + Poverty, blessings of; I. 152 + Prayer for temporal blessings, efficacy of; I. 391 + Preachers appealing to Selfishness; I. 276 + ” exceptional privileges of; I. 277 + Promises. When are they binding? II. 26 + ” breaking of. Why is it wrong? II. 27 + Proof, Burden of; (_see_ ‘Burden of Proof’) + Property, inherited, duties of owner of; II. 39 + Pseudo-Charity; II. 43 + Purse of Fortunatus, how to make; II. 100 + + Q + Questions in Conversation, how to indicate; I. 251 + + R + Railway Literature; I. 58 + ” Scenes, Dramatization of; I. 333 + Rain, Horizontal, Boots for; I. 14 + Reason and Instinct; II. 295 + ” power of, in Dog; II. 294 + Retina, images inverted on; I. 242 + Reversed order of Events; I. 350 + Revolving-Humorist; II. 145 + Runaway Horses, how to control; II. 108 + + S + Scenery enjoyed most by Little Men; I. 299 + Scholars, Competition for; II. 187 + Science, Axioms of; II. 330 + “ Do Books, or Minds, contain most? I. 21 + Selections from Bible, for Children; I. xiii + ” ” for learning by heart; I. xiv + ” Prose and Verse, ” ”; I. xv + ” from Shakespeare, for Girls; I. xv + Selfishness appealed to in Hymns; I. 276 + ” ” religious teaching; do. + ” ” Sermons; do. + Sermons appealing to Selfishness; do. + ” faults of; I. 277. II. xix + Services, Choral, effect of; I. 273 + Shakespeare, passages of, discussed:— + ‘All the world’s a stage’; I. 335 + ‘Aye, every inch a king!’; I. 373 + ‘Is this a dagger that I see before me?’; I. 371 + ‘Rest, rest, perturbed Spirit!’; I. 60 + ‘To be, or not to be’; I. 370 + ” Selections from, for Girls; I. xv + ” treatment of Ghosts by; I. 60 + Shyness, how to indicate in Letter-writing; II. 115 + ‘Sillygism,’ requisites for; I. 259 + Sinfulness, amount of, in World; II. 125 + ” of an act differs with environment; II. 123 + Sobriety, extreme, inconvenience of; I. 140 + Spencer, Herbert, difficulties in; I. 258 + Spherical, advantage of being; II. 190 + Sport, Morality of; I. xx, 318. II. xviii + Steam, influence of, on Literature; I. 64 + Sufferings of Animals, mystery of; II. 296 + Sunday, as spent by children of last generation; I. 387 + ” observance of; I. 385 + Sylvie and Bruno’s Song; II. 305 + + T + Teetotal-Card; II. 139 + Theatres, Fires in, how to prevent; II. 165 + ‘Three Badgers’ (Poem); I. 247 + Time, how to put back; I. 314, 347 + ” ” reverse; I. 350 + ” storage of; II. 105 + ‘Tottles’ (Poem); II. 194, 201, 209, 248 + Tourists’ Portable Bath; I. 25 + Trains running without engines; II. 106 + + V + Velocity, Accelerated, causes of; II. 190 + Virtue, Paley’s definition of; I. 274 + Voyages on Land; II. 109 + + W + Walking-sticks that walk alone, how to obtain; II. 166 + Water, people lighter than, how to obtain; II. 165 + Watts, Dr., Argument for Honesty; I. 235 + ” Logic of; do. + Weather, Horizontal, Boots for; I. 14 + Weight, force of, how to exhaust; II. 343 + ” relative, conceivable non-existence of; I. 100 + Weltering, Bread-sauce appropriate for; I. 58 + ‘What Tottles meant’ (Poem); II. 194, 201, 209, 248 + Wild-Creatures; II. 144 + Wilderness, use for; II. 158 + ‘Wilful waste, &c.,’ lesson to be learnt from; II. 69 + + + + + Works by Lewis Carroll. + + + SYLVIE AND BRUNO. First Part. + +With forty-six Illustrations by Harry Furniss. 12mo, cloth extra, gilt, + $1.50. + +“A charming book for children. The illustrations are very +happy.”—_Boston Traveller._ + +“Alice was a delightful little girl, but hardly more pleasing than are +the hero and heroine of this latest book from a writer in whose nonsense +there is far more sense than in the serious works of many contemporary +authors.”—_Morning Post._ + +“Mr. Furniss’s illustrations, which are numerous, are at once graceful +and full of humor. We pay him a high compliment when we say he proves +himself a worthy successor to Mr. Tenniel in illustrating Mr. Lewis +Carroll’s books.”—_St. James’s Gazette._ + +“Bruno and Sylvie are wholly delightful creations, the Professor is +worthy to rank with the immortal Pickwick, and there is an endless fund +of enjoyment in the Gardener and his wonderful songs.... The pictures by +Harry Furniss are incomparably good.”—_Boston Beacon._ + +“_Sylvie and Bruno_ is characterized by his peculiar and whimsical +humor, his extravagant conceits, and the grotesqueness and inconsistency +of plot, characters, and incidents in his stories.... It is a charming +piece of work.”—_New York Sun._ + + + ALICE’S ADVENTURES IN WONDERLAND. + + _One Hundredth Thousand._ With forty-two Illustrations by Tenniel. + 12mo, cloth, gilt, $1.00. + Also a German Translation. 12mo, $2.00. + A French Translation. 12mo, $2.00. + An Italian Translation. 12mo, $2.00. + +“An excellent piece of nonsense.”—_Times._ + +“That most delightful of children’s stories.”—_Saturday Review._ + +“That delectable and truly imaginative work.”—_New York Sun._ + +“Probably no other book has ever filled just the place that _Alice in +Wonderland_ has held in the hearts of children and grown people during +the last twenty years.”—_Every Thursday._ + +“_Alice in Wonderland_ and its sequel _Through the Looking-Glass_ are +known wherever the English tongue is spoken. They are classics of their +kind and could in no wise be improved upon.”—_St. Louis Republic._ + +“_Alice in Wonderland_ is the most delightful imaginative composition of +late years for boys and girls.”—_The Boston Globe._ + +“Love for children and keen sympathy with them in the delightfully +primitive views they take of life is one of the distinctive +characteristics of Lewis Carroll.”—_The Churchman._ + + + THROUGH THE LOOKING-GLASS, AND WHAT ALICE FOUND THERE. + + _Sixtieth Thousand._ With fifty Illustrations by Tenniel. 12mo, cloth, + gilt, $1.00. + +“Will fairly rank with the tale of her previous experience.”—_Daily +Telegraph._ + +“Many of Mr. Tenniel’s designs are masterpieces of wise +absurdity.”—_Athenæum._ + +“Whether as regarding author or illustrator, this book is a jewel rarely +to be found nowadays.”—_Echo._ + + + ALICE’S ADVENTURES IN WONDERLAND, and THROUGH THE LOOKING-GLASS, AND + WHAT ALICE FOUND THERE. + + With all the Illustrations. Printed in one volume, on thinner paper, + cloth, $1.25. + +“We know of no books in the whole range of juvenile literature so full +of genuine and boundless fun as these.”—_Boston Evening Transcript._ + + + THE NURSERY ALICE. + + Containing twenty colored enlargements from Tenniel’s Illustrations to + _Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland_, with text adapted to Nursery + Readers by Lewis Carroll. 4to, colored cover, $1.50. + +“Let the little people rejoice!—the most charming book in the world has +appeared for them. _The Nursery Alice_, with its wealth of colored +illustrations from Tenniel’s pictures, is certainly the most artistic +juvenile that has been seen for many and many a day.”—_Boston Budget._ + +“This is a charming book, both in pictures and in text, for the little +ones of the nursery. It is a sort of miniature of _Alice in Wonderland_, +and will no doubt have a circulation and become as great a favorite +among the wee ones as the larger volume has among the older +children.”—_Christian at Work._ + + + ALICE’S ADVENTURES UNDER GROUND. + + Being a Fac-simile of the original MS. Book afterward developed into + _Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland_. With twenty-seven Illustrations. + 12mo, $1.50. + + + THE HUNTING OF THE SNARK. + + An Agony in Eight Fits. With nine Illustrations by Henry Holiday. _New + Edition._ Cloth, gilt, $1.00. + +“This is a very pretty edition of the verses which should have made +their author famous, even if he had never written _Alice in Wonderland_. +The Snark, like the Jabberwock, for some reason or other, has no place +in the natural histories, yet it is a very charming creature. The book +contains nine quaint illustrations by Henry Holiday.”—_America._ + + + RHYME? AND REASON? + + With sixty-five Illustrations by Arthur B. Frost and nine by Henry + Holiday. 12mo, $1.50. + +This book is a reprint, with additions, of the comic portions of +_Phantasmagoria, and other Poems_, and of _The Hunting of the Snark_. + +“_Rhyme? and Reason?_ by Lewis Carroll, author of _Alice in Wonderland_ +shows the same quaintness of fancy and the same originality of humor +that mark his prose works. The versification is smooth and flowing, and +the rhyming exceedingly ingenious.”—_Boston Saturday Evening Gazette._ + +“_Rhyme? and Reason?_ with its clever illustrations, will be sure of +great popularity.”—_Philadelphia Press._ + + + A TANGLED TALE. + + Reprinted from the _Monthly Packet_. With Illustrations. 12mo, cloth, + $1.50. + +“To people mathematically inclined, who are fond of odd style and odd +illustrations, and who like to travel so many (Gordian) knots an hour, +Mr. Lewis Carroll’s new ‘wonderland’—_A Tangled Tale_—will prove a +delightful treat.”—_The Critic._ + + + THE GAME OF LOGIC. + + With an Envelope containing a Card Diagram and Nine Counters—four + red and five gray. 12mo, cloth, $1.00. + + + + + A NEW UNIFORM EDITION + OF + MRS. MOLESWORTH’S + STORIES FOR CHILDREN + WITH + ILLUSTRATIONS BY WALTER CRANE AND LESLIE BROOKE. + + + In Ten Volumes. 12mo. Cloth. One Dollar a Volume. + + Tell Me a Story, and Herr Baby. + “Carrots,” and A Christmas Child. + Grandmother Dear, and Two Little Waifs. + The Cuckoo Clock, and The Tapestry Room. + Christmas-Tree Land, and A Christmas Posy. + The Children of the Castle, and Four Winds Farm. + Little Miss Peggy, and Nurse Heatherdale’s Story. + “Us,” and The Rectory Children. + Rosy, and The Girls and I. + Mary. + + THE SET, TEN VOLUMES, IN BOX, $10.00. + +“It seems to me not at all easier to draw a lifelike child than to draw +a lifelike man or woman: Shakespeare and Webster were the only two men +of their age who could do it with perfect delicacy and success; at +least, it there was another who could, I must crave pardon of his happy +memory for my forgetfulness or ignorance of his name. Our own age is +more fortunate, on this single score at least, having a larger and far +nobler proportion of female writers; among whom, since the death of +George Eliot, there is none left whose touch is so exquisite and +masterly, whose love is so thoroughly according to knowledge, whose +bright and sweet invention is so fruitful, so truthful, or so delightful +as Mrs. Molesworth’s. Any chapter of _The Cuckoo Clock_ or the +enchanting _Adventures of Herr Baby_ is worth a shoal of the very best +novels dealing with the characters and fortunes of mere adults.”—Mrs. A. +C. Swinburne, in _The Nineteenth Century_. + + + MRS. MOLESWORTH’S + Stories for Children. + +“There is hardly a better author to put into the hands of children than +Mrs. Molesworth. I cannot easily speak too highly of her work. It is a +curious art she has, not wholly English in its spirit, but a cross of +the old English with the Italian. Indeed, I should say Mrs. Molesworth +had also been a close student of the German and Russian, and had some +way, catching and holding the spirit of all, created a method and tone +quite her own.... Her characters are admirable and real.”—_St. Louis +Globe-Democrat._ + +“Mrs. Molesworth has a rare gift for composing stories for children. +With a light yet forcible touch, she paints sweet and artless, yet +natural and strong, characters.”—_Congregationalist._ + +“Mrs. Molesworth always has in her books those charming touches of +nature that are sure to charm small people. Her stories are so likely to +have been true that men ‘grown up’ do not disdain them.”—_Home Journal._ + +“No English writer of childish stories has a better reputation than Mrs. +Molesworth, and none with whose stories we are familiar deserves it +better. She has a motherly knowledge of the child nature, a clear sense +of character, the power of inventing simple incidents that interest, and +the ease which comes of continuous practice.”—_Mail and Express._ + +“Christmas would hardly be Christmas without one of Mrs. Molesworth’s +stories. No one has quite the same power of throwing a charm and an +interest about the most commonplace every-day doings as she has, and no +one has ever blended fairy-land and reality with the same +skill.”—_Educational Times._ + +“Mrs. Molesworth is justly a great favorite with children; her stories +for them are always charmingly interesting and healthful in +tone.”—_Boston Home Journal._ + +“Mrs. Molesworth’s books are cheery, wholesome, and particularly well +adapted to refined life. It is safe to add that Mrs. Molesworth is the +best English prose writer for children.... A new volume from Mrs. +Molesworth is always a treat.”—_The Beacon._ + +“No holiday season would be complete for a host of young readers without +a volume from the hand of Mrs. Molesworth.... It is one of the +peculiarities of Mrs. Molesworth’s stories that older readers can no +more escape their charm than younger ones.”—_Christian Union._ + +“Mrs. Molesworth ranks with George Macdonald and Mrs. Ewing as a writer +of children’s stories that possess real literary merit.”—_Milwaukee +Sentinel._ + + THE SET, TEN VOLUMES, IN BOX, $10.00. + + + TELL ME A STORY, and HERR BABY. + +“So delightful that we are inclined to join in the petition, and we hope +she may soon tell us more stories.”—_Athenæum._ + + + “CARROTS”; Just a Little Boy. + +“One of the cleverest and most pleasing stories it has been our good +fortune to meet with for some time. Carrots and his sister are +delightful little beings, whom to read about is at once to become very +fond of.”—_Examiner._ + + + A CHRISTMAS CHILD; A Sketch of a Boy’s Life. + +“A very sweet and tenderly drawn sketch, with life and reality manifest +throughout.”—_Pall Mall Gazette._ + +“This is a capital story, well illustrated. Mrs. Molesworth is one of +those sunny, genial writers who has genius for writing acceptably for +the young. She has the happy faculty of blending enough real with +romance to make her stories very practical for good without robbing them +of any of their exciting interest.”—_Chicago Inter-Ocean._ + +“Mrs. Molesworth is one of the few writers of tales for children whose +sentiment though of the sweetest kind is never sickly; whose religious +feeling is never concealed yet never obtruded; whose books are always +good but never ‘goody.’ Little Ted with his soft heart, clever head, and +brave spirit is no morbid presentment of the angelic child ‘too good to +live,’ and who is certainly a nuisance on earth, but a charming +creature, if not a portrait, whom it is a privilege to meet even in +fiction.”—_The Academy._ + + + THE CUCKOO CLOCK. + +“A beautiful little story.... It will be read with delight by every +child into whose hands it is placed.”—_Pall Mall Gazette._ + + + GRANDMOTHER DEAR. + +“The author’s concern is with the development of character, and seldom +does one meet with the wisdom, tact, and good breeding which pervade +this little book.”—_Nation._ + + + TWO LITTLE WAIFS. + +“Mrs. Molesworth’s delightful story of _Two Little Waifs_ will charm all +the small people who find it in their stockings. It relates the +adventures of two lovable English children lost in Paris, and is just +wonderful enough to pleasantly wring the youthful heart.”—_New York +Tribune._ + +“It is, in its way, indeed, a little classic, of which the real beauty +and pathos can hardly be appreciated by young people.... It is not too +much to say of the story that it is perfect of its kind.”—_Critic and +Good Literature._ + +“This is a charming little juvenile story from the pen of Mrs. +Molesworth, detailing the various adventures of a couple of motherless +children in searching for their father, whom they had missed in Paris, +where they had gone to meet him.”—_Montreal Star._ + + + THE TAPESTRY ROOM. + +“Mrs. Molesworth is the queen of children’s fairy-land. She knows how to +make use of the vague, fresh, wondering instincts of childhood, and to +invest familiar things with fairy glamour.”—_Athenæum._ + +“The story told is a charming one of what may be called the neo-fairy +sort.... There has been nothing better of its kind done anywhere for +children, whether we consider its capacity to awaken interest or its +wholesomeness.”—_Evening Post._ + + + CHRISTMAS-TREE LAND. + +“It is conceived after a happy fancy, as it relates the supposititious +journey of a party of little ones through that part of fairy-land where +Christmas-trees are supposed to most abound. There is just enough of the +old-fashioned fancy about fairies mingled with the ‘modern improvements’ +to incite and stimulate the youthful imagination to healthful action. +The pictures by Walter Crane are, of course, not only well executed in +themselves, but in charming consonance with the spirit of the +tale.”—_Troy Times._ + +“_Christmas-Tree Land_, by Mrs. Molesworth, is a book to make younger +readers open their eyes wide with delight. A little boy and a little +girl, domiciled in a great white castle, wander on their holidays +through the surrounding fir-forests, and meet with the most delightful +pleasures. There is a fascinating, mysterious character in their +adventures and enough of the fairylike and wonderful to puzzle and +enchant all the little ones.”—_Boston Home Journal._ + + + A CHRISTMAS POSY. + +“This is a collection of eight of those inimitable stories for children +which none could write better than Mrs. Molesworth. Her books are prime +favorites with children of all ages, and they are as good and wholesome +as they are interesting and popular. This makes a very handsome book, +and its illustrations are excellent.”—_Christian at Work._ + +“_A Christmas Posy_, by Mrs. Molesworth, is lovely and fragrant. Mrs. +Molesworth succeeds by right to the place occupied with so much honor by +the late Mrs. Ewing, as a writer of charming stories for children. The +present volume is a cluster of delightful short stories. Mr. Crane’s +illustrations are in harmony with the text.”—_Christian Intelligencer._ + + + THE CHILDREN OF THE CASTLE. + +“_The Children of the Castle_, by Mrs. Molesworth, is another of those +delightful juvenile stories of which this author has written so many. It +is a fascinating little book, with a charming plot, a sweet, pure +atmosphere, and teaches a wholesome moral in the most winning +manner.”—_B. S. E. Gazette._ + +“_The Children of the Castle_ are delightful creations, actual little +girls, living in an actual castle, but often led by their fancies into a +shadowy fairy-land. There is a charming refinement of style and spirit +about the story from beginning to end; an imaginative child will find +endless pleasure in it, and the lesson of gentleness and unselfishness +is so artistically managed that it does not seem like a lesson, but only +a part of the story.”—_Milwaukee Sentinel._ + + + FOUR WINDS FARM. + +“Mrs. Molesworth’s books are always delightful, but of all none is more +charming than the volume with which she greets the holidays this season. +_Four Winds Farm_ is one of the most delicate and pleasing books for a +child that has seen the light this many a day. It is full of fancy and +of that instinctive sympathy with childhood which makes this author’s +books so attractive and so individual.”—_Boston Courier._ + +“Still more delicately fanciful is Mrs. Molesworth’s lovely little tale +of the _Four Winds Farm_. It is neither a dream nor a fairy story, but +concerns the fortune of a real little boy, named Gratian; yet the dream +and the fairy tale seem to enter into his life, and make part of it. The +farmhouse in which the child lives is set exactly at the meeting-place +of the four winds, and they, from the moment of his birth, have acted as +his self-elected godmothers.... All the winds love the boy, and, held in +the balance of their influence, he grows up as a boy should, simply and +truly, with a tender heart and firm mind. The idea of this little book +is essentially poetical.”—_Literary World._ + + + NURSE HEATHERDALE’S STORY. + +“_Nurse Heatherdale’s Story_ is all about a small boy, who was good +enough, yet was always getting into some trouble through complications +in which he was not to blame. The same sort of things happens to men and +women. He is an orphan, though he is cared for in a way by relations, +who are not so very rich, yet are looked on as well fixed. After many +youthful trials and disappointments he falls into a big stroke of good +luck, which lifts him and goes to make others happy. Those who want a +child’s book will find nothing to harm and something to interest in this +simple story.”—_Commercial Advertiser._ + + + “US.” + +“Mrs. Molesworth’s _Us, an Old-Fashioned Story_, is very charming. A +dear little six-year-old ‘bruvver’ and sister constitute the ‘us,’ whose +adventures with gypsies form the theme of the story. Mrs. Molesworth’s +style is graceful, and she pictures the little ones with brightness and +tenderness.”—_Evening Post._ + +“A pretty and wholesome story.”—_Literary World._ + +“_Us, an Old-Fashioned Story_, is a sweet and quaint story of two little +children who lived long ago, in an old-fashioned way, with their +grandparents. The story is delightfully told.”—_Philadelphia News._ + +“_Us_ is one of Mrs. Molesworth’s charming little stories for young +children. The narrative ... is full of interest for its real grace and +delicacy, and the exquisiteness and purity of the English in which it is +written.”—_Boston Advertiser._ + + + THE RECTORY CHILDREN. + +“In _The Rectory Children_ Mrs. Molesworth has written one of those +delightful volumes which we always look for at Christmas +time.”—_Athenæum._ + +“Quiet, sunny, interesting, and thoroughly winning and +wholesome.”—_Boston Journal._ + +_The Rectory Children_—“There is no writer of children’s books more +worthy of their admiration and love than Mrs. Molesworth. Her bright and +sweet invention is so truthful, her characters so faithfully drawn, and +the teaching of her stories so tender and noble, that while they please +and charm they insensibly distil into the youthful mind the most +valuable lessons. In _The Rectory Children_ we have a fresh, bright +story that will be sure to please all her young admirers.”—_Christian at +Work._ + +“_The Rectory Children_, by Mrs. Molesworth, is a very pretty story of +English life. Mrs. Molesworth is one of the most popular and charming of +English story-writers for children. Her child characters are true to +life, always natural and attractive, and her stories are wholesome and +interesting.”—_Indianapolis Journal._ + + + ROSY. + +“_Rosy_, like all the rest of her stories, is bright and pure and +utterly free from cant,—a book that children will read with pleasure and +lasting profit.”—_Boston Traveller._ + +“There is no one who has a genius better adapted for entertaining +children than Mrs. Molesworth, and her latest story, _Rosy_, is one of +her best. It is illustrated with eight woodcuts from designs by Walter +Crane.”—_Philadelphia Press._ + +“... Mrs. Molesworth’s clever _Rosy_, a story showing in a charming way +how one little girl’s jealousy and bad temper were conquered; one of the +best, most suggestive and improving of the Christmas juveniles.”—_New +York Tribune._ + +“_Rosy_ is an exceedingly graceful and interesting story by Mrs. +Molesworth, one of the best and most popular writers of juvenile +fiction. This little story is full of tenderness, is fragrant in +sentiment, and points with great delicacy and genuine feeling a charming +moral.”—_Boston Gazette._ + + + THE GIRLS AND I. + +“Perhaps the most striking feature of this pleasant story is the natural +manner in which it is written. It is just like the conversation of a +bright boy—consistently like it from beginning to end. It is a boy who +is the hero of the tale, and he tells the adventures of himself and +those nearest him. He is, by the way, in many respects an example for +most young persons. It is a story characterized by sweetness and +purity—a desirable one to put into the hands of youthful +readers.”—_Gettysburg Monthly._ + +“... A delightful and purposeful story which no one can read without +being benefited.”—_New York Observer._ + + + MARY. + + Mrs. Molesworth’s last story. _Just Ready._ + +“Mrs. Molesworth’s reputation as a writer of story-books is so well +established that any new book of hers scarce needs a word of +introduction.”—_Home Journal._ + + MACMILLAN & CO., + 66 FIFTH AVENUE, NEW YORK. + +[Illustration: Book back cover.] + + + + + Transcriber’s Notes + + +--Copyright notice provided as in the original—this e-text is public + domain in the country of publication. + +--Silently corrected palpable typos; left non-standard spellings and + dialect unchanged. + +--Moved the frontispiece illustration to the corresponding place in the + text, and adjusted the table of illustration accordingly. + +--Collated table of illustrations, checked page numbers, and added its + captions to the illustrations. + +--Only in the text versions, delimited italicized text (or + non-italicized text within poetry) in _underscores_ (the HTML version + reproduces the font form of the printed book.) + +--The HTML version contains relative links to pages and illustrations in + the companion volume: Gutenberg #48630: Sylvie and Bruno, Illustrated + +--Removed the note (N.B. “stagy-entrances” is a misprint for + “stage-entrances”) because the typo was corrected in the companion + volume + + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Sylvie and Bruno Concluded +(Illustrated), by Lewis Carroll + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SYLVIE AND BRUNO CONCLUDED *** + +***** This file should be named 48795-0.txt or 48795-0.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/4/8/7/9/48795/ + +Produced by MWS, Stephen Hutcheson, Carol Spears, and the +Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net +(This file was produced from images generously made +available by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.) + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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If you are not located in the United States, you +will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before +using this eBook. + +Title: The Wonderful Wizard of Oz + +Author: L. Frank Baum + +Release Date: February, 1993 [eBook #55] +[Most recently updated: October 19, 2020] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE WONDERFUL WIZARD OF OZ *** + +[Illustration] + + + + +The Wonderful Wizard of Oz + +by L. Frank Baum + + +This book is dedicated to my good friend & comrade +My Wife +L.F.B. + + +Contents + + Introduction + Chapter I. The Cyclone + Chapter II. The Council with the Munchkins + Chapter III. How Dorothy Saved the Scarecrow + Chapter IV. The Road Through the Forest + Chapter V. The Rescue of the Tin Woodman + Chapter VI. The Cowardly Lion + Chapter VII. The Journey to the Great Oz + Chapter VIII. The Deadly Poppy Field + Chapter IX. The Queen of the Field Mice + Chapter X. The Guardian of the Gates + Chapter XI. The Emerald City of Oz + Chapter XII. The Search for the Wicked Witch + Chapter XIII. The Rescue + Chapter XIV. The Winged Monkeys + Chapter XV. The Discovery of Oz, the Terrible + Chapter XVI. The Magic Art of the Great Humbug + Chapter XVII. How the Balloon Was Launched + Chapter XVIII. Away to the South + Chapter XIX. Attacked by the Fighting Trees + Chapter XX. The Dainty China Country + Chapter XXI. The Lion Becomes the King of Beasts + Chapter XXII. The Country of the Quadlings + Chapter XXIII. Glinda The Good Witch Grants Dorothy’s Wish + Chapter XXIV. Home Again + + + + +Introduction + + +Folklore, legends, myths and fairy tales have followed childhood +through the ages, for every healthy youngster has a wholesome and +instinctive love for stories fantastic, marvelous and manifestly +unreal. The winged fairies of Grimm and Andersen have brought more +happiness to childish hearts than all other human creations. + +Yet the old time fairy tale, having served for generations, may now be +classed as “historical” in the children’s library; for the time has +come for a series of newer “wonder tales” in which the stereotyped +genie, dwarf and fairy are eliminated, together with all the horrible +and blood-curdling incidents devised by their authors to point a +fearsome moral to each tale. Modern education includes morality; +therefore the modern child seeks only entertainment in its wonder tales +and gladly dispenses with all disagreeable incident. + +Having this thought in mind, the story of “The Wonderful Wizard of Oz” +was written solely to please children of today. It aspires to being a +modernized fairy tale, in which the wonderment and joy are retained and +the heartaches and nightmares are left out. + +L. Frank Baum +Chicago, April, 1900. + + + +The Wonderful Wizard of Oz + + + + +Chapter I +The Cyclone + + +Dorothy lived in the midst of the great Kansas prairies, with Uncle +Henry, who was a farmer, and Aunt Em, who was the farmer’s wife. Their +house was small, for the lumber to build it had to be carried by wagon +many miles. There were four walls, a floor and a roof, which made one +room; and this room contained a rusty looking cookstove, a cupboard for +the dishes, a table, three or four chairs, and the beds. Uncle Henry +and Aunt Em had a big bed in one corner, and Dorothy a little bed in +another corner. There was no garret at all, and no cellar—except a +small hole dug in the ground, called a cyclone cellar, where the family +could go in case one of those great whirlwinds arose, mighty enough to +crush any building in its path. It was reached by a trap door in the +middle of the floor, from which a ladder led down into the small, dark +hole. + +When Dorothy stood in the doorway and looked around, she could see +nothing but the great gray prairie on every side. Not a tree nor a +house broke the broad sweep of flat country that reached to the edge of +the sky in all directions. The sun had baked the plowed land into a +gray mass, with little cracks running through it. Even the grass was +not green, for the sun had burned the tops of the long blades until +they were the same gray color to be seen everywhere. Once the house had +been painted, but the sun blistered the paint and the rains washed it +away, and now the house was as dull and gray as everything else. + +When Aunt Em came there to live she was a young, pretty wife. The sun +and wind had changed her, too. They had taken the sparkle from her eyes +and left them a sober gray; they had taken the red from her cheeks and +lips, and they were gray also. She was thin and gaunt, and never smiled +now. When Dorothy, who was an orphan, first came to her, Aunt Em had +been so startled by the child’s laughter that she would scream and +press her hand upon her heart whenever Dorothy’s merry voice reached +her ears; and she still looked at the little girl with wonder that she +could find anything to laugh at. + +Uncle Henry never laughed. He worked hard from morning till night and +did not know what joy was. He was gray also, from his long beard to his +rough boots, and he looked stern and solemn, and rarely spoke. + +It was Toto that made Dorothy laugh, and saved her from growing as gray +as her other surroundings. Toto was not gray; he was a little black +dog, with long silky hair and small black eyes that twinkled merrily on +either side of his funny, wee nose. Toto played all day long, and +Dorothy played with him, and loved him dearly. + +Today, however, they were not playing. Uncle Henry sat upon the +doorstep and looked anxiously at the sky, which was even grayer than +usual. Dorothy stood in the door with Toto in her arms, and looked at +the sky too. Aunt Em was washing the dishes. + +From the far north they heard a low wail of the wind, and Uncle Henry +and Dorothy could see where the long grass bowed in waves before the +coming storm. There now came a sharp whistling in the air from the +south, and as they turned their eyes that way they saw ripples in the +grass coming from that direction also. + +Suddenly Uncle Henry stood up. + +“There’s a cyclone coming, Em,” he called to his wife. “I’ll go look +after the stock.” Then he ran toward the sheds where the cows and +horses were kept. + +Aunt Em dropped her work and came to the door. One glance told her of +the danger close at hand. + +“Quick, Dorothy!” she screamed. “Run for the cellar!” + +Toto jumped out of Dorothy’s arms and hid under the bed, and the girl +started to get him. Aunt Em, badly frightened, threw open the trap door +in the floor and climbed down the ladder into the small, dark hole. +Dorothy caught Toto at last and started to follow her aunt. When she +was halfway across the room there came a great shriek from the wind, +and the house shook so hard that she lost her footing and sat down +suddenly upon the floor. + +Then a strange thing happened. + +The house whirled around two or three times and rose slowly through the +air. Dorothy felt as if she were going up in a balloon. + +The north and south winds met where the house stood, and made it the +exact center of the cyclone. In the middle of a cyclone the air is +generally still, but the great pressure of the wind on every side of +the house raised it up higher and higher, until it was at the very top +of the cyclone; and there it remained and was carried miles and miles +away as easily as you could carry a feather. + +It was very dark, and the wind howled horribly around her, but Dorothy +found she was riding quite easily. After the first few whirls around, +and one other time when the house tipped badly, she felt as if she were +being rocked gently, like a baby in a cradle. + +Toto did not like it. He ran about the room, now here, now there, +barking loudly; but Dorothy sat quite still on the floor and waited to +see what would happen. + +Once Toto got too near the open trap door, and fell in; and at first +the little girl thought she had lost him. But soon she saw one of his +ears sticking up through the hole, for the strong pressure of the air +was keeping him up so that he could not fall. She crept to the hole, +caught Toto by the ear, and dragged him into the room again, afterward +closing the trap door so that no more accidents could happen. + +Hour after hour passed away, and slowly Dorothy got over her fright; +but she felt quite lonely, and the wind shrieked so loudly all about +her that she nearly became deaf. At first she had wondered if she would +be dashed to pieces when the house fell again; but as the hours passed +and nothing terrible happened, she stopped worrying and resolved to +wait calmly and see what the future would bring. At last she crawled +over the swaying floor to her bed, and lay down upon it; and Toto +followed and lay down beside her. + +In spite of the swaying of the house and the wailing of the wind, +Dorothy soon closed her eyes and fell fast asleep. + + + + +Chapter II +The Council with the Munchkins + + +She was awakened by a shock, so sudden and severe that if Dorothy had +not been lying on the soft bed she might have been hurt. As it was, the +jar made her catch her breath and wonder what had happened; and Toto +put his cold little nose into her face and whined dismally. Dorothy sat +up and noticed that the house was not moving; nor was it dark, for the +bright sunshine came in at the window, flooding the little room. She +sprang from her bed and with Toto at her heels ran and opened the door. + +The little girl gave a cry of amazement and looked about her, her eyes +growing bigger and bigger at the wonderful sights she saw. + +The cyclone had set the house down very gently—for a cyclone—in the +midst of a country of marvelous beauty. There were lovely patches of +greensward all about, with stately trees bearing rich and luscious +fruits. Banks of gorgeous flowers were on every hand, and birds with +rare and brilliant plumage sang and fluttered in the trees and bushes. +A little way off was a small brook, rushing and sparkling along between +green banks, and murmuring in a voice very grateful to a little girl +who had lived so long on the dry, gray prairies. + +While she stood looking eagerly at the strange and beautiful sights, +she noticed coming toward her a group of the queerest people she had +ever seen. They were not as big as the grown folk she had always been +used to; but neither were they very small. In fact, they seemed about +as tall as Dorothy, who was a well-grown child for her age, although +they were, so far as looks go, many years older. + +Three were men and one a woman, and all were oddly dressed. They wore +round hats that rose to a small point a foot above their heads, with +little bells around the brims that tinkled sweetly as they moved. The +hats of the men were blue; the little woman’s hat was white, and she +wore a white gown that hung in pleats from her shoulders. Over it were +sprinkled little stars that glistened in the sun like diamonds. The men +were dressed in blue, of the same shade as their hats, and wore +well-polished boots with a deep roll of blue at the tops. The men, +Dorothy thought, were about as old as Uncle Henry, for two of them had +beards. But the little woman was doubtless much older. Her face was +covered with wrinkles, her hair was nearly white, and she walked rather +stiffly. + +When these people drew near the house where Dorothy was standing in the +doorway, they paused and whispered among themselves, as if afraid to +come farther. But the little old woman walked up to Dorothy, made a low +bow and said, in a sweet voice: + +“You are welcome, most noble Sorceress, to the land of the Munchkins. +We are so grateful to you for having killed the Wicked Witch of the +East, and for setting our people free from bondage.” + +Dorothy listened to this speech with wonder. What could the little +woman possibly mean by calling her a sorceress, and saying she had +killed the Wicked Witch of the East? Dorothy was an innocent, harmless +little girl, who had been carried by a cyclone many miles from home; +and she had never killed anything in all her life. + +But the little woman evidently expected her to answer; so Dorothy said, +with hesitation, “You are very kind, but there must be some mistake. I +have not killed anything.” + +“Your house did, anyway,” replied the little old woman, with a laugh, +“and that is the same thing. See!” she continued, pointing to the +corner of the house. “There are her two feet, still sticking out from +under a block of wood.” + +Dorothy looked, and gave a little cry of fright. There, indeed, just +under the corner of the great beam the house rested on, two feet were +sticking out, shod in silver shoes with pointed toes. + +“Oh, dear! Oh, dear!” cried Dorothy, clasping her hands together in +dismay. “The house must have fallen on her. Whatever shall we do?” + +“There is nothing to be done,” said the little woman calmly. + +“But who was she?” asked Dorothy. + +“She was the Wicked Witch of the East, as I said,” answered the little +woman. “She has held all the Munchkins in bondage for many years, +making them slave for her night and day. Now they are all set free, and +are grateful to you for the favor.” + +“Who are the Munchkins?” inquired Dorothy. + +“They are the people who live in this land of the East where the Wicked +Witch ruled.” + +“Are you a Munchkin?” asked Dorothy. + +“No, but I am their friend, although I live in the land of the North. +When they saw the Witch of the East was dead the Munchkins sent a swift +messenger to me, and I came at once. I am the Witch of the North.” + +“Oh, gracious!” cried Dorothy. “Are you a real witch?” + +“Yes, indeed,” answered the little woman. “But I am a good witch, and +the people love me. I am not as powerful as the Wicked Witch was who +ruled here, or I should have set the people free myself.” + +“But I thought all witches were wicked,” said the girl, who was half +frightened at facing a real witch. “Oh, no, that is a great mistake. +There were only four witches in all the Land of Oz, and two of them, +those who live in the North and the South, are good witches. I know +this is true, for I am one of them myself, and cannot be mistaken. +Those who dwelt in the East and the West were, indeed, wicked witches; +but now that you have killed one of them, there is but one Wicked Witch +in all the Land of Oz—the one who lives in the West.” + +“But,” said Dorothy, after a moment’s thought, “Aunt Em has told me +that the witches were all dead—years and years ago.” + +“Who is Aunt Em?” inquired the little old woman. + +“She is my aunt who lives in Kansas, where I came from.” + +The Witch of the North seemed to think for a time, with her head bowed +and her eyes upon the ground. Then she looked up and said, “I do not +know where Kansas is, for I have never heard that country mentioned +before. But tell me, is it a civilized country?” + +“Oh, yes,” replied Dorothy. + +“Then that accounts for it. In the civilized countries I believe there +are no witches left, nor wizards, nor sorceresses, nor magicians. But, +you see, the Land of Oz has never been civilized, for we are cut off +from all the rest of the world. Therefore we still have witches and +wizards amongst us.” + +“Who are the wizards?” asked Dorothy. + +“Oz himself is the Great Wizard,” answered the Witch, sinking her voice +to a whisper. “He is more powerful than all the rest of us together. He +lives in the City of Emeralds.” + +Dorothy was going to ask another question, but just then the Munchkins, +who had been standing silently by, gave a loud shout and pointed to the +corner of the house where the Wicked Witch had been lying. + +“What is it?” asked the little old woman, and looked, and began to +laugh. The feet of the dead Witch had disappeared entirely, and nothing +was left but the silver shoes. + +“She was so old,” explained the Witch of the North, “that she dried up +quickly in the sun. That is the end of her. But the silver shoes are +yours, and you shall have them to wear.” She reached down and picked up +the shoes, and after shaking the dust out of them handed them to +Dorothy. + +“The Witch of the East was proud of those silver shoes,” said one of +the Munchkins, “and there is some charm connected with them; but what +it is we never knew.” + +Dorothy carried the shoes into the house and placed them on the table. +Then she came out again to the Munchkins and said: + +“I am anxious to get back to my aunt and uncle, for I am sure they will +worry about me. Can you help me find my way?” + +The Munchkins and the Witch first looked at one another, and then at +Dorothy, and then shook their heads. + +“At the East, not far from here,” said one, “there is a great desert, +and none could live to cross it.” + +“It is the same at the South,” said another, “for I have been there and +seen it. The South is the country of the Quadlings.” + +“I am told,” said the third man, “that it is the same at the West. And +that country, where the Winkies live, is ruled by the Wicked Witch of +the West, who would make you her slave if you passed her way.” + +“The North is my home,” said the old lady, “and at its edge is the same +great desert that surrounds this Land of Oz. I’m afraid, my dear, you +will have to live with us.” + +Dorothy began to sob at this, for she felt lonely among all these +strange people. Her tears seemed to grieve the kind-hearted Munchkins, +for they immediately took out their handkerchiefs and began to weep +also. As for the little old woman, she took off her cap and balanced +the point on the end of her nose, while she counted “One, two, three” +in a solemn voice. At once the cap changed to a slate, on which was +written in big, white chalk marks: + +“LET DOROTHY GO TO THE CITY OF EMERALDS” + + +The little old woman took the slate from her nose, and having read the +words on it, asked, “Is your name Dorothy, my dear?” + +“Yes,” answered the child, looking up and drying her tears. + +“Then you must go to the City of Emeralds. Perhaps Oz will help you.” + +“Where is this city?” asked Dorothy. + +“It is exactly in the center of the country, and is ruled by Oz, the +Great Wizard I told you of.” + +“Is he a good man?” inquired the girl anxiously. + +“He is a good Wizard. Whether he is a man or not I cannot tell, for I +have never seen him.” + +“How can I get there?” asked Dorothy. + +“You must walk. It is a long journey, through a country that is +sometimes pleasant and sometimes dark and terrible. However, I will use +all the magic arts I know of to keep you from harm.” + +“Won’t you go with me?” pleaded the girl, who had begun to look upon +the little old woman as her only friend. + +“No, I cannot do that,” she replied, “but I will give you my kiss, and +no one will dare injure a person who has been kissed by the Witch of +the North.” + +She came close to Dorothy and kissed her gently on the forehead. Where +her lips touched the girl they left a round, shining mark, as Dorothy +found out soon after. + +“The road to the City of Emeralds is paved with yellow brick,” said the +Witch, “so you cannot miss it. When you get to Oz do not be afraid of +him, but tell your story and ask him to help you. Good-bye, my dear.” + +The three Munchkins bowed low to her and wished her a pleasant journey, +after which they walked away through the trees. The Witch gave Dorothy +a friendly little nod, whirled around on her left heel three times, and +straightway disappeared, much to the surprise of little Toto, who +barked after her loudly enough when she had gone, because he had been +afraid even to growl while she stood by. + +But Dorothy, knowing her to be a witch, had expected her to disappear +in just that way, and was not surprised in the least. + + + + +Chapter III +How Dorothy Saved the Scarecrow + + +When Dorothy was left alone she began to feel hungry. So she went to +the cupboard and cut herself some bread, which she spread with butter. +She gave some to Toto, and taking a pail from the shelf she carried it +down to the little brook and filled it with clear, sparkling water. +Toto ran over to the trees and began to bark at the birds sitting +there. Dorothy went to get him, and saw such delicious fruit hanging +from the branches that she gathered some of it, finding it just what +she wanted to help out her breakfast. + +Then she went back to the house, and having helped herself and Toto to +a good drink of the cool, clear water, she set about making ready for +the journey to the City of Emeralds. + +Dorothy had only one other dress, but that happened to be clean and was +hanging on a peg beside her bed. It was gingham, with checks of white +and blue; and although the blue was somewhat faded with many washings, +it was still a pretty frock. The girl washed herself carefully, dressed +herself in the clean gingham, and tied her pink sunbonnet on her head. +She took a little basket and filled it with bread from the cupboard, +laying a white cloth over the top. Then she looked down at her feet and +noticed how old and worn her shoes were. + +“They surely will never do for a long journey, Toto,” she said. And +Toto looked up into her face with his little black eyes and wagged his +tail to show he knew what she meant. + +At that moment Dorothy saw lying on the table the silver shoes that had +belonged to the Witch of the East. + +“I wonder if they will fit me,” she said to Toto. “They would be just +the thing to take a long walk in, for they could not wear out.” + +She took off her old leather shoes and tried on the silver ones, which +fitted her as well as if they had been made for her. + +Finally she picked up her basket. + +“Come along, Toto,” she said. “We will go to the Emerald City and ask +the Great Oz how to get back to Kansas again.” + +She closed the door, locked it, and put the key carefully in the pocket +of her dress. And so, with Toto trotting along soberly behind her, she +started on her journey. + +There were several roads nearby, but it did not take her long to find +the one paved with yellow bricks. Within a short time she was walking +briskly toward the Emerald City, her silver shoes tinkling merrily on +the hard, yellow road-bed. The sun shone bright and the birds sang +sweetly, and Dorothy did not feel nearly so bad as you might think a +little girl would who had been suddenly whisked away from her own +country and set down in the midst of a strange land. + +She was surprised, as she walked along, to see how pretty the country +was about her. There were neat fences at the sides of the road, painted +a dainty blue color, and beyond them were fields of grain and +vegetables in abundance. Evidently the Munchkins were good farmers and +able to raise large crops. Once in a while she would pass a house, and +the people came out to look at her and bow low as she went by; for +everyone knew she had been the means of destroying the Wicked Witch and +setting them free from bondage. The houses of the Munchkins were +odd-looking dwellings, for each was round, with a big dome for a roof. +All were painted blue, for in this country of the East blue was the +favorite color. + +Toward evening, when Dorothy was tired with her long walk and began to +wonder where she should pass the night, she came to a house rather +larger than the rest. On the green lawn before it many men and women +were dancing. Five little fiddlers played as loudly as possible, and +the people were laughing and singing, while a big table near by was +loaded with delicious fruits and nuts, pies and cakes, and many other +good things to eat. + +The people greeted Dorothy kindly, and invited her to supper and to +pass the night with them; for this was the home of one of the richest +Munchkins in the land, and his friends were gathered with him to +celebrate their freedom from the bondage of the Wicked Witch. + +Dorothy ate a hearty supper and was waited upon by the rich Munchkin +himself, whose name was Boq. Then she sat upon a settee and watched the +people dance. + +When Boq saw her silver shoes he said, “You must be a great sorceress.” + +“Why?” asked the girl. + +“Because you wear silver shoes and have killed the Wicked Witch. +Besides, you have white in your frock, and only witches and sorceresses +wear white.” + +“My dress is blue and white checked,” said Dorothy, smoothing out the +wrinkles in it. + +“It is kind of you to wear that,” said Boq. “Blue is the color of the +Munchkins, and white is the witch color. So we know you are a friendly +witch.” + +Dorothy did not know what to say to this, for all the people seemed to +think her a witch, and she knew very well she was only an ordinary +little girl who had come by the chance of a cyclone into a strange +land. + +When she had tired watching the dancing, Boq led her into the house, +where he gave her a room with a pretty bed in it. The sheets were made +of blue cloth, and Dorothy slept soundly in them till morning, with +Toto curled up on the blue rug beside her. + +She ate a hearty breakfast, and watched a wee Munchkin baby, who played +with Toto and pulled his tail and crowed and laughed in a way that +greatly amused Dorothy. Toto was a fine curiosity to all the people, +for they had never seen a dog before. + +“How far is it to the Emerald City?” the girl asked. + +“I do not know,” answered Boq gravely, “for I have never been there. It +is better for people to keep away from Oz, unless they have business +with him. But it is a long way to the Emerald City, and it will take +you many days. The country here is rich and pleasant, but you must pass +through rough and dangerous places before you reach the end of your +journey.” + +This worried Dorothy a little, but she knew that only the Great Oz +could help her get to Kansas again, so she bravely resolved not to turn +back. + +She bade her friends good-bye, and again started along the road of +yellow brick. When she had gone several miles she thought she would +stop to rest, and so climbed to the top of the fence beside the road +and sat down. There was a great cornfield beyond the fence, and not far +away she saw a Scarecrow, placed high on a pole to keep the birds from +the ripe corn. + +Dorothy leaned her chin upon her hand and gazed thoughtfully at the +Scarecrow. Its head was a small sack stuffed with straw, with eyes, +nose, and mouth painted on it to represent a face. An old, pointed blue +hat, that had belonged to some Munchkin, was perched on his head, and +the rest of the figure was a blue suit of clothes, worn and faded, +which had also been stuffed with straw. On the feet were some old boots +with blue tops, such as every man wore in this country, and the figure +was raised above the stalks of corn by means of the pole stuck up its +back. + +While Dorothy was looking earnestly into the queer, painted face of the +Scarecrow, she was surprised to see one of the eyes slowly wink at her. +She thought she must have been mistaken at first, for none of the +scarecrows in Kansas ever wink; but presently the figure nodded its +head to her in a friendly way. Then she climbed down from the fence and +walked up to it, while Toto ran around the pole and barked. + +“Good day,” said the Scarecrow, in a rather husky voice. + +“Did you speak?” asked the girl, in wonder. + +“Certainly,” answered the Scarecrow. “How do you do?” + +“I’m pretty well, thank you,” replied Dorothy politely. “How do you +do?” + +“I’m not feeling well,” said the Scarecrow, with a smile, “for it is +very tedious being perched up here night and day to scare away crows.” + +“Can’t you get down?” asked Dorothy. + +“No, for this pole is stuck up my back. If you will please take away +the pole I shall be greatly obliged to you.” + +Dorothy reached up both arms and lifted the figure off the pole, for, +being stuffed with straw, it was quite light. + +“Thank you very much,” said the Scarecrow, when he had been set down on +the ground. “I feel like a new man.” + +Dorothy was puzzled at this, for it sounded queer to hear a stuffed man +speak, and to see him bow and walk along beside her. + +“Who are you?” asked the Scarecrow when he had stretched himself and +yawned. “And where are you going?” + +“My name is Dorothy,” said the girl, “and I am going to the Emerald +City, to ask the Great Oz to send me back to Kansas.” + +“Where is the Emerald City?” he inquired. “And who is Oz?” + +“Why, don’t you know?” she returned, in surprise. + +“No, indeed. I don’t know anything. You see, I am stuffed, so I have no +brains at all,” he answered sadly. + +“Oh,” said Dorothy, “I’m awfully sorry for you.” + +“Do you think,” he asked, “if I go to the Emerald City with you, that +Oz would give me some brains?” + +“I cannot tell,” she returned, “but you may come with me, if you like. +If Oz will not give you any brains you will be no worse off than you +are now.” + +“That is true,” said the Scarecrow. “You see,” he continued +confidentially, “I don’t mind my legs and arms and body being stuffed, +because I cannot get hurt. If anyone treads on my toes or sticks a pin +into me, it doesn’t matter, for I can’t feel it. But I do not want +people to call me a fool, and if my head stays stuffed with straw +instead of with brains, as yours is, how am I ever to know anything?” + +“I understand how you feel,” said the little girl, who was truly sorry +for him. “If you will come with me I’ll ask Oz to do all he can for +you.” + +“Thank you,” he answered gratefully. + +They walked back to the road. Dorothy helped him over the fence, and +they started along the path of yellow brick for the Emerald City. + +Toto did not like this addition to the party at first. He smelled +around the stuffed man as if he suspected there might be a nest of rats +in the straw, and he often growled in an unfriendly way at the +Scarecrow. + +“Don’t mind Toto,” said Dorothy to her new friend. “He never bites.” + +“Oh, I’m not afraid,” replied the Scarecrow. “He can’t hurt the straw. +Do let me carry that basket for you. I shall not mind it, for I can’t +get tired. I’ll tell you a secret,” he continued, as he walked along. +“There is only one thing in the world I am afraid of.” + +“What is that?” asked Dorothy; “the Munchkin farmer who made you?” + +“No,” answered the Scarecrow; “it’s a lighted match.” + + + + +Chapter IV +The Road Through the Forest + + +After a few hours the road began to be rough, and the walking grew so +difficult that the Scarecrow often stumbled over the yellow bricks, +which were here very uneven. Sometimes, indeed, they were broken or +missing altogether, leaving holes that Toto jumped across and Dorothy +walked around. As for the Scarecrow, having no brains, he walked +straight ahead, and so stepped into the holes and fell at full length +on the hard bricks. It never hurt him, however, and Dorothy would pick +him up and set him upon his feet again, while he joined her in laughing +merrily at his own mishap. + +The farms were not nearly so well cared for here as they were farther +back. There were fewer houses and fewer fruit trees, and the farther +they went the more dismal and lonesome the country became. + +At noon they sat down by the roadside, near a little brook, and Dorothy +opened her basket and got out some bread. She offered a piece to the +Scarecrow, but he refused. + +“I am never hungry,” he said, “and it is a lucky thing I am not, for my +mouth is only painted, and if I should cut a hole in it so I could eat, +the straw I am stuffed with would come out, and that would spoil the +shape of my head.” + +Dorothy saw at once that this was true, so she only nodded and went on +eating her bread. + +“Tell me something about yourself and the country you came from,” said +the Scarecrow, when she had finished her dinner. So she told him all +about Kansas, and how gray everything was there, and how the cyclone +had carried her to this queer Land of Oz. + +The Scarecrow listened carefully, and said, “I cannot understand why +you should wish to leave this beautiful country and go back to the dry, +gray place you call Kansas.” + +“That is because you have no brains” answered the girl. “No matter how +dreary and gray our homes are, we people of flesh and blood would +rather live there than in any other country, be it ever so beautiful. +There is no place like home.” + +The Scarecrow sighed. + +“Of course I cannot understand it,” he said. “If your heads were +stuffed with straw, like mine, you would probably all live in the +beautiful places, and then Kansas would have no people at all. It is +fortunate for Kansas that you have brains.” + +“Won’t you tell me a story, while we are resting?” asked the child. + +The Scarecrow looked at her reproachfully, and answered: + +“My life has been so short that I really know nothing whatever. I was +only made day before yesterday. What happened in the world before that +time is all unknown to me. Luckily, when the farmer made my head, one +of the first things he did was to paint my ears, so that I heard what +was going on. There was another Munchkin with him, and the first thing +I heard was the farmer saying, ‘How do you like those ears?’ + +“‘They aren’t straight,’” answered the other. + +“‘Never mind,’” said the farmer. “‘They are ears just the same,’” which +was true enough. + +“‘Now I’ll make the eyes,’” said the farmer. So he painted my right +eye, and as soon as it was finished I found myself looking at him and +at everything around me with a great deal of curiosity, for this was my +first glimpse of the world. + +“‘That’s a rather pretty eye,’” remarked the Munchkin who was watching +the farmer. “‘Blue paint is just the color for eyes.’ + +“‘I think I’ll make the other a little bigger,’” said the farmer. And +when the second eye was done I could see much better than before. Then +he made my nose and my mouth. But I did not speak, because at that time +I didn’t know what a mouth was for. I had the fun of watching them make +my body and my arms and legs; and when they fastened on my head, at +last, I felt very proud, for I thought I was just as good a man as +anyone. + +“‘This fellow will scare the crows fast enough,’ said the farmer. ‘He +looks just like a man.’ + +“‘Why, he is a man,’ said the other, and I quite agreed with him. The +farmer carried me under his arm to the cornfield, and set me up on a +tall stick, where you found me. He and his friend soon after walked +away and left me alone. + +“I did not like to be deserted this way. So I tried to walk after them. +But my feet would not touch the ground, and I was forced to stay on +that pole. It was a lonely life to lead, for I had nothing to think of, +having been made such a little while before. Many crows and other birds +flew into the cornfield, but as soon as they saw me they flew away +again, thinking I was a Munchkin; and this pleased me and made me feel +that I was quite an important person. By and by an old crow flew near +me, and after looking at me carefully he perched upon my shoulder and +said: + +“‘I wonder if that farmer thought to fool me in this clumsy manner. Any +crow of sense could see that you are only stuffed with straw.’ Then he +hopped down at my feet and ate all the corn he wanted. The other birds, +seeing he was not harmed by me, came to eat the corn too, so in a short +time there was a great flock of them about me. + +“I felt sad at this, for it showed I was not such a good Scarecrow +after all; but the old crow comforted me, saying, ‘If you only had +brains in your head you would be as good a man as any of them, and a +better man than some of them. Brains are the only things worth having +in this world, no matter whether one is a crow or a man.’ + +“After the crows had gone I thought this over, and decided I would try +hard to get some brains. By good luck you came along and pulled me off +the stake, and from what you say I am sure the Great Oz will give me +brains as soon as we get to the Emerald City.” + +“I hope so,” said Dorothy earnestly, “since you seem anxious to have +them.” + +“Oh, yes; I am anxious,” returned the Scarecrow. “It is such an +uncomfortable feeling to know one is a fool.” + +“Well,” said the girl, “let us go.” And she handed the basket to the +Scarecrow. + +There were no fences at all by the roadside now, and the land was rough +and untilled. Toward evening they came to a great forest, where the +trees grew so big and close together that their branches met over the +road of yellow brick. It was almost dark under the trees, for the +branches shut out the daylight; but the travelers did not stop, and +went on into the forest. + +“If this road goes in, it must come out,” said the Scarecrow, “and as +the Emerald City is at the other end of the road, we must go wherever +it leads us.” + +“Anyone would know that,” said Dorothy. + +“Certainly; that is why I know it,” returned the Scarecrow. “If it +required brains to figure it out, I never should have said it.” + +After an hour or so the light faded away, and they found themselves +stumbling along in the darkness. Dorothy could not see at all, but Toto +could, for some dogs see very well in the dark; and the Scarecrow +declared he could see as well as by day. So she took hold of his arm +and managed to get along fairly well. + +“If you see any house, or any place where we can pass the night,” she +said, “you must tell me; for it is very uncomfortable walking in the +dark.” + +Soon after the Scarecrow stopped. + +“I see a little cottage at the right of us,” he said, “built of logs +and branches. Shall we go there?” + +“Yes, indeed,” answered the child. “I am all tired out.” + +So the Scarecrow led her through the trees until they reached the +cottage, and Dorothy entered and found a bed of dried leaves in one +corner. She lay down at once, and with Toto beside her soon fell into a +sound sleep. The Scarecrow, who was never tired, stood up in another +corner and waited patiently until morning came. + + + + +Chapter V +The Rescue of the Tin Woodman + + +When Dorothy awoke the sun was shining through the trees and Toto had +long been out chasing birds around him and squirrels. She sat up and +looked around her. There was the Scarecrow, still standing patiently in +his corner, waiting for her. + +“We must go and search for water,” she said to him. + +“Why do you want water?” he asked. + +“To wash my face clean after the dust of the road, and to drink, so the +dry bread will not stick in my throat.” + +“It must be inconvenient to be made of flesh,” said the Scarecrow +thoughtfully, “for you must sleep, and eat and drink. However, you have +brains, and it is worth a lot of bother to be able to think properly.” + +They left the cottage and walked through the trees until they found a +little spring of clear water, where Dorothy drank and bathed and ate +her breakfast. She saw there was not much bread left in the basket, and +the girl was thankful the Scarecrow did not have to eat anything, for +there was scarcely enough for herself and Toto for the day. + +When she had finished her meal, and was about to go back to the road of +yellow brick, she was startled to hear a deep groan near by. + +“What was that?” she asked timidly. + +“I cannot imagine,” replied the Scarecrow; “but we can go and see.” + +Just then another groan reached their ears, and the sound seemed to +come from behind them. They turned and walked through the forest a few +steps, when Dorothy discovered something shining in a ray of sunshine +that fell between the trees. She ran to the place and then stopped +short, with a little cry of surprise. + +One of the big trees had been partly chopped through, and standing +beside it, with an uplifted axe in his hands, was a man made entirely +of tin. His head and arms and legs were jointed upon his body, but he +stood perfectly motionless, as if he could not stir at all. + +Dorothy looked at him in amazement, and so did the Scarecrow, while +Toto barked sharply and made a snap at the tin legs, which hurt his +teeth. + +“Did you groan?” asked Dorothy. + +“Yes,” answered the tin man, “I did. I’ve been groaning for more than a +year, and no one has ever heard me before or come to help me.” + +“What can I do for you?” she inquired softly, for she was moved by the +sad voice in which the man spoke. + +“Get an oil-can and oil my joints,” he answered. “They are rusted so +badly that I cannot move them at all; if I am well oiled I shall soon +be all right again. You will find an oil-can on a shelf in my cottage.” + +Dorothy at once ran back to the cottage and found the oil-can, and then +she returned and asked anxiously, “Where are your joints?” + +“Oil my neck, first,” replied the Tin Woodman. So she oiled it, and as +it was quite badly rusted the Scarecrow took hold of the tin head and +moved it gently from side to side until it worked freely, and then the +man could turn it himself. + +“Now oil the joints in my arms,” he said. And Dorothy oiled them and +the Scarecrow bent them carefully until they were quite free from rust +and as good as new. + +The Tin Woodman gave a sigh of satisfaction and lowered his axe, which +he leaned against the tree. + +“This is a great comfort,” he said. “I have been holding that axe in +the air ever since I rusted, and I’m glad to be able to put it down at +last. Now, if you will oil the joints of my legs, I shall be all right +once more.” + +So they oiled his legs until he could move them freely; and he thanked +them again and again for his release, for he seemed a very polite +creature, and very grateful. + +“I might have stood there always if you had not come along,” he said; +“so you have certainly saved my life. How did you happen to be here?” + +“We are on our way to the Emerald City to see the Great Oz,” she +answered, “and we stopped at your cottage to pass the night.” + +“Why do you wish to see Oz?” he asked. + +“I want him to send me back to Kansas, and the Scarecrow wants him to +put a few brains into his head,” she replied. + +The Tin Woodman appeared to think deeply for a moment. Then he said: + +“Do you suppose Oz could give me a heart?” + +“Why, I guess so,” Dorothy answered. “It would be as easy as to give +the Scarecrow brains.” + +“True,” the Tin Woodman returned. “So, if you will allow me to join +your party, I will also go to the Emerald City and ask Oz to help me.” + +“Come along,” said the Scarecrow heartily, and Dorothy added that she +would be pleased to have his company. So the Tin Woodman shouldered his +axe and they all passed through the forest until they came to the road +that was paved with yellow brick. + +The Tin Woodman had asked Dorothy to put the oil-can in her basket. +“For,” he said, “if I should get caught in the rain, and rust again, I +would need the oil-can badly.” + +It was a bit of good luck to have their new comrade join the party, for +soon after they had begun their journey again they came to a place +where the trees and branches grew so thick over the road that the +travelers could not pass. But the Tin Woodman set to work with his axe +and chopped so well that soon he cleared a passage for the entire +party. + +Dorothy was thinking so earnestly as they walked along that she did not +notice when the Scarecrow stumbled into a hole and rolled over to the +side of the road. Indeed he was obliged to call to her to help him up +again. + +“Why didn’t you walk around the hole?” asked the Tin Woodman. + +“I don’t know enough,” replied the Scarecrow cheerfully. “My head is +stuffed with straw, you know, and that is why I am going to Oz to ask +him for some brains.” + +“Oh, I see,” said the Tin Woodman. “But, after all, brains are not the +best things in the world.” + +“Have you any?” inquired the Scarecrow. + +“No, my head is quite empty,” answered the Woodman. “But once I had +brains, and a heart also; so, having tried them both, I should much +rather have a heart.” + +“And why is that?” asked the Scarecrow. + +“I will tell you my story, and then you will know.” + +So, while they were walking through the forest, the Tin Woodman told +the following story: + +“I was born the son of a woodman who chopped down trees in the forest +and sold the wood for a living. When I grew up, I too became a +woodchopper, and after my father died I took care of my old mother as +long as she lived. Then I made up my mind that instead of living alone +I would marry, so that I might not become lonely. + +“There was one of the Munchkin girls who was so beautiful that I soon +grew to love her with all my heart. She, on her part, promised to marry +me as soon as I could earn enough money to build a better house for +her; so I set to work harder than ever. But the girl lived with an old +woman who did not want her to marry anyone, for she was so lazy she +wished the girl to remain with her and do the cooking and the +housework. So the old woman went to the Wicked Witch of the East, and +promised her two sheep and a cow if she would prevent the marriage. +Thereupon the Wicked Witch enchanted my axe, and when I was chopping +away at my best one day, for I was anxious to get the new house and my +wife as soon as possible, the axe slipped all at once and cut off my +left leg. + +“This at first seemed a great misfortune, for I knew a one-legged man +could not do very well as a wood-chopper. So I went to a tinsmith and +had him make me a new leg out of tin. The leg worked very well, once I +was used to it. But my action angered the Wicked Witch of the East, for +she had promised the old woman I should not marry the pretty Munchkin +girl. When I began chopping again, my axe slipped and cut off my right +leg. Again I went to the tinsmith, and again he made me a leg out of +tin. After this the enchanted axe cut off my arms, one after the other; +but, nothing daunted, I had them replaced with tin ones. The Wicked +Witch then made the axe slip and cut off my head, and at first I +thought that was the end of me. But the tinsmith happened to come +along, and he made me a new head out of tin. + +“I thought I had beaten the Wicked Witch then, and I worked harder than +ever; but I little knew how cruel my enemy could be. She thought of a +new way to kill my love for the beautiful Munchkin maiden, and made my +axe slip again, so that it cut right through my body, splitting me into +two halves. Once more the tinsmith came to my help and made me a body +of tin, fastening my tin arms and legs and head to it, by means of +joints, so that I could move around as well as ever. But, alas! I had +now no heart, so that I lost all my love for the Munchkin girl, and did +not care whether I married her or not. I suppose she is still living +with the old woman, waiting for me to come after her. + +“My body shone so brightly in the sun that I felt very proud of it and +it did not matter now if my axe slipped, for it could not cut me. There +was only one danger—that my joints would rust; but I kept an oil-can in +my cottage and took care to oil myself whenever I needed it. However, +there came a day when I forgot to do this, and, being caught in a +rainstorm, before I thought of the danger my joints had rusted, and I +was left to stand in the woods until you came to help me. It was a +terrible thing to undergo, but during the year I stood there I had time +to think that the greatest loss I had known was the loss of my heart. +While I was in love I was the happiest man on earth; but no one can +love who has not a heart, and so I am resolved to ask Oz to give me +one. If he does, I will go back to the Munchkin maiden and marry her.” + +Both Dorothy and the Scarecrow had been greatly interested in the story +of the Tin Woodman, and now they knew why he was so anxious to get a +new heart. + +“All the same,” said the Scarecrow, “I shall ask for brains instead of +a heart; for a fool would not know what to do with a heart if he had +one.” + +“I shall take the heart,” returned the Tin Woodman; “for brains do not +make one happy, and happiness is the best thing in the world.” + +Dorothy did not say anything, for she was puzzled to know which of her +two friends was right, and she decided if she could only get back to +Kansas and Aunt Em, it did not matter so much whether the Woodman had +no brains and the Scarecrow no heart, or each got what he wanted. + +What worried her most was that the bread was nearly gone, and another +meal for herself and Toto would empty the basket. To be sure, neither +the Woodman nor the Scarecrow ever ate anything, but she was not made +of tin nor straw, and could not live unless she was fed. + + + + +Chapter VI +The Cowardly Lion + + +All this time Dorothy and her companions had been walking through the +thick woods. The road was still paved with yellow brick, but these were +much covered by dried branches and dead leaves from the trees, and the +walking was not at all good. + +There were few birds in this part of the forest, for birds love the +open country where there is plenty of sunshine. But now and then there +came a deep growl from some wild animal hidden among the trees. These +sounds made the little girl’s heart beat fast, for she did not know +what made them; but Toto knew, and he walked close to Dorothy’s side, +and did not even bark in return. + +“How long will it be,” the child asked of the Tin Woodman, “before we +are out of the forest?” + +“I cannot tell,” was the answer, “for I have never been to the Emerald +City. But my father went there once, when I was a boy, and he said it +was a long journey through a dangerous country, although nearer to the +city where Oz dwells the country is beautiful. But I am not afraid so +long as I have my oil-can, and nothing can hurt the Scarecrow, while +you bear upon your forehead the mark of the Good Witch’s kiss, and that +will protect you from harm.” + +“But Toto!” said the girl anxiously. “What will protect him?” + +“We must protect him ourselves if he is in danger,” replied the Tin +Woodman. + +Just as he spoke there came from the forest a terrible roar, and the +next moment a great Lion bounded into the road. With one blow of his +paw he sent the Scarecrow spinning over and over to the edge of the +road, and then he struck at the Tin Woodman with his sharp claws. But, +to the Lion’s surprise, he could make no impression on the tin, +although the Woodman fell over in the road and lay still. + +Little Toto, now that he had an enemy to face, ran barking toward the +Lion, and the great beast had opened his mouth to bite the dog, when +Dorothy, fearing Toto would be killed, and heedless of danger, rushed +forward and slapped the Lion upon his nose as hard as she could, while +she cried out: + +“Don’t you dare to bite Toto! You ought to be ashamed of yourself, a +big beast like you, to bite a poor little dog!” + +“I didn’t bite him,” said the Lion, as he rubbed his nose with his paw +where Dorothy had hit it. + +“No, but you tried to,” she retorted. “You are nothing but a big +coward.” + +“I know it,” said the Lion, hanging his head in shame. “I’ve always +known it. But how can I help it?” + +“I don’t know, I’m sure. To think of your striking a stuffed man, like +the poor Scarecrow!” + +“Is he stuffed?” asked the Lion in surprise, as he watched her pick up +the Scarecrow and set him upon his feet, while she patted him into +shape again. + +“Of course he’s stuffed,” replied Dorothy, who was still angry. + +“That’s why he went over so easily,” remarked the Lion. “It astonished +me to see him whirl around so. Is the other one stuffed also?” + +“No,” said Dorothy, “he’s made of tin.” And she helped the Woodman up +again. + +“That’s why he nearly blunted my claws,” said the Lion. “When they +scratched against the tin it made a cold shiver run down my back. What +is that little animal you are so tender of?” + +“He is my dog, Toto,” answered Dorothy. + +“Is he made of tin, or stuffed?” asked the Lion. + +“Neither. He’s a—a—a meat dog,” said the girl. + +“Oh! He’s a curious animal and seems remarkably small, now that I look +at him. No one would think of biting such a little thing, except a +coward like me,” continued the Lion sadly. + +“What makes you a coward?” asked Dorothy, looking at the great beast in +wonder, for he was as big as a small horse. + +“It’s a mystery,” replied the Lion. “I suppose I was born that way. All +the other animals in the forest naturally expect me to be brave, for +the Lion is everywhere thought to be the King of Beasts. I learned that +if I roared very loudly every living thing was frightened and got out +of my way. Whenever I’ve met a man I’ve been awfully scared; but I just +roared at him, and he has always run away as fast as he could go. If +the elephants and the tigers and the bears had ever tried to fight me, +I should have run myself—I’m such a coward; but just as soon as they +hear me roar they all try to get away from me, and of course I let them +go.” + +“But that isn’t right. The King of Beasts shouldn’t be a coward,” said +the Scarecrow. + +“I know it,” returned the Lion, wiping a tear from his eye with the tip +of his tail. “It is my great sorrow, and makes my life very unhappy. +But whenever there is danger, my heart begins to beat fast.” + +“Perhaps you have heart disease,” said the Tin Woodman. + +“It may be,” said the Lion. + +“If you have,” continued the Tin Woodman, “you ought to be glad, for it +proves you have a heart. For my part, I have no heart; so I cannot have +heart disease.” + +“Perhaps,” said the Lion thoughtfully, “if I had no heart I should not +be a coward.” + +“Have you brains?” asked the Scarecrow. + +“I suppose so. I’ve never looked to see,” replied the Lion. + +“I am going to the Great Oz to ask him to give me some,” remarked the +Scarecrow, “for my head is stuffed with straw.” + +“And I am going to ask him to give me a heart,” said the Woodman. + +“And I am going to ask him to send Toto and me back to Kansas,” added +Dorothy. + +“Do you think Oz could give me courage?” asked the Cowardly Lion. + +“Just as easily as he could give me brains,” said the Scarecrow. + +“Or give me a heart,” said the Tin Woodman. + +“Or send me back to Kansas,” said Dorothy. + +“Then, if you don’t mind, I’ll go with you,” said the Lion, “for my +life is simply unbearable without a bit of courage.” + +“You will be very welcome,” answered Dorothy, “for you will help to +keep away the other wild beasts. It seems to me they must be more +cowardly than you are if they allow you to scare them so easily.” + +“They really are,” said the Lion, “but that doesn’t make me any braver, +and as long as I know myself to be a coward I shall be unhappy.” + +So once more the little company set off upon the journey, the Lion +walking with stately strides at Dorothy’s side. Toto did not approve of +this new comrade at first, for he could not forget how nearly he had +been crushed between the Lion’s great jaws. But after a time he became +more at ease, and presently Toto and the Cowardly Lion had grown to be +good friends. + +During the rest of that day there was no other adventure to mar the +peace of their journey. Once, indeed, the Tin Woodman stepped upon a +beetle that was crawling along the road, and killed the poor little +thing. This made the Tin Woodman very unhappy, for he was always +careful not to hurt any living creature; and as he walked along he wept +several tears of sorrow and regret. These tears ran slowly down his +face and over the hinges of his jaw, and there they rusted. When +Dorothy presently asked him a question the Tin Woodman could not open +his mouth, for his jaws were tightly rusted together. He became greatly +frightened at this and made many motions to Dorothy to relieve him, but +she could not understand. The Lion was also puzzled to know what was +wrong. But the Scarecrow seized the oil-can from Dorothy’s basket and +oiled the Woodman’s jaws, so that after a few moments he could talk as +well as before. + +“This will serve me a lesson,” said he, “to look where I step. For if I +should kill another bug or beetle I should surely cry again, and crying +rusts my jaws so that I cannot speak.” + +Thereafter he walked very carefully, with his eyes on the road, and +when he saw a tiny ant toiling by he would step over it, so as not to +harm it. The Tin Woodman knew very well he had no heart, and therefore +he took great care never to be cruel or unkind to anything. + +“You people with hearts,” he said, “have something to guide you, and +need never do wrong; but I have no heart, and so I must be very +careful. When Oz gives me a heart of course I needn’t mind so much.” + + + + +Chapter VII +The Journey to the Great Oz + + +They were obliged to camp out that night under a large tree in the +forest, for there were no houses near. The tree made a good, thick +covering to protect them from the dew, and the Tin Woodman chopped a +great pile of wood with his axe and Dorothy built a splendid fire that +warmed her and made her feel less lonely. She and Toto ate the last of +their bread, and now she did not know what they would do for breakfast. + +“If you wish,” said the Lion, “I will go into the forest and kill a +deer for you. You can roast it by the fire, since your tastes are so +peculiar that you prefer cooked food, and then you will have a very +good breakfast.” + +“Don’t! Please don’t,” begged the Tin Woodman. “I should certainly weep +if you killed a poor deer, and then my jaws would rust again.” + +But the Lion went away into the forest and found his own supper, and no +one ever knew what it was, for he didn’t mention it. And the Scarecrow +found a tree full of nuts and filled Dorothy’s basket with them, so +that she would not be hungry for a long time. She thought this was very +kind and thoughtful of the Scarecrow, but she laughed heartily at the +awkward way in which the poor creature picked up the nuts. His padded +hands were so clumsy and the nuts were so small that he dropped almost +as many as he put in the basket. But the Scarecrow did not mind how +long it took him to fill the basket, for it enabled him to keep away +from the fire, as he feared a spark might get into his straw and burn +him up. So he kept a good distance away from the flames, and only came +near to cover Dorothy with dry leaves when she lay down to sleep. These +kept her very snug and warm, and she slept soundly until morning. + +When it was daylight, the girl bathed her face in a little rippling +brook, and soon after they all started toward the Emerald City. + +This was to be an eventful day for the travelers. They had hardly been +walking an hour when they saw before them a great ditch that crossed +the road and divided the forest as far as they could see on either +side. It was a very wide ditch, and when they crept up to the edge and +looked into it they could see it was also very deep, and there were +many big, jagged rocks at the bottom. The sides were so steep that none +of them could climb down, and for a moment it seemed that their journey +must end. + +“What shall we do?” asked Dorothy despairingly. + +“I haven’t the faintest idea,” said the Tin Woodman, and the Lion shook +his shaggy mane and looked thoughtful. + +But the Scarecrow said, “We cannot fly, that is certain. Neither can we +climb down into this great ditch. Therefore, if we cannot jump over it, +we must stop where we are.” + +“I think I could jump over it,” said the Cowardly Lion, after measuring +the distance carefully in his mind. + +“Then we are all right,” answered the Scarecrow, “for you can carry us +all over on your back, one at a time.” + +“Well, I’ll try it,” said the Lion. “Who will go first?” + +“I will,” declared the Scarecrow, “for, if you found that you could not +jump over the gulf, Dorothy would be killed, or the Tin Woodman badly +dented on the rocks below. But if I am on your back it will not matter +so much, for the fall would not hurt me at all.” + +“I am terribly afraid of falling, myself,” said the Cowardly Lion, “but +I suppose there is nothing to do but try it. So get on my back and we +will make the attempt.” + +The Scarecrow sat upon the Lion’s back, and the big beast walked to the +edge of the gulf and crouched down. + +“Why don’t you run and jump?” asked the Scarecrow. + +“Because that isn’t the way we Lions do these things,” he replied. Then +giving a great spring, he shot through the air and landed safely on the +other side. They were all greatly pleased to see how easily he did it, +and after the Scarecrow had got down from his back the Lion sprang +across the ditch again. + +Dorothy thought she would go next; so she took Toto in her arms and +climbed on the Lion’s back, holding tightly to his mane with one hand. +The next moment it seemed as if she were flying through the air; and +then, before she had time to think about it, she was safe on the other +side. The Lion went back a third time and got the Tin Woodman, and then +they all sat down for a few moments to give the beast a chance to rest, +for his great leaps had made his breath short, and he panted like a big +dog that has been running too long. + +They found the forest very thick on this side, and it looked dark and +gloomy. After the Lion had rested they started along the road of yellow +brick, silently wondering, each in his own mind, if ever they would +come to the end of the woods and reach the bright sunshine again. To +add to their discomfort, they soon heard strange noises in the depths +of the forest, and the Lion whispered to them that it was in this part +of the country that the Kalidahs lived. + +“What are the Kalidahs?” asked the girl. + +“They are monstrous beasts with bodies like bears and heads like +tigers,” replied the Lion, “and with claws so long and sharp that they +could tear me in two as easily as I could kill Toto. I’m terribly +afraid of the Kalidahs.” + +“I’m not surprised that you are,” returned Dorothy. “They must be +dreadful beasts.” + +The Lion was about to reply when suddenly they came to another gulf +across the road. But this one was so broad and deep that the Lion knew +at once he could not leap across it. + +So they sat down to consider what they should do, and after serious +thought the Scarecrow said: + +“Here is a great tree, standing close to the ditch. If the Tin Woodman +can chop it down, so that it will fall to the other side, we can walk +across it easily.” + +“That is a first-rate idea,” said the Lion. “One would almost suspect +you had brains in your head, instead of straw.” + +The Woodman set to work at once, and so sharp was his axe that the tree +was soon chopped nearly through. Then the Lion put his strong front +legs against the tree and pushed with all his might, and slowly the big +tree tipped and fell with a crash across the ditch, with its top +branches on the other side. + +They had just started to cross this queer bridge when a sharp growl +made them all look up, and to their horror they saw running toward them +two great beasts with bodies like bears and heads like tigers. + +“They are the Kalidahs!” said the Cowardly Lion, beginning to tremble. + +“Quick!” cried the Scarecrow. “Let us cross over.” + +So Dorothy went first, holding Toto in her arms, the Tin Woodman +followed, and the Scarecrow came next. The Lion, although he was +certainly afraid, turned to face the Kalidahs, and then he gave so loud +and terrible a roar that Dorothy screamed and the Scarecrow fell over +backward, while even the fierce beasts stopped short and looked at him +in surprise. + +But, seeing they were bigger than the Lion, and remembering that there +were two of them and only one of him, the Kalidahs again rushed +forward, and the Lion crossed over the tree and turned to see what they +would do next. Without stopping an instant the fierce beasts also began +to cross the tree. And the Lion said to Dorothy: + +“We are lost, for they will surely tear us to pieces with their sharp +claws. But stand close behind me, and I will fight them as long as I am +alive.” + +“Wait a minute!” called the Scarecrow. He had been thinking what was +best to be done, and now he asked the Woodman to chop away the end of +the tree that rested on their side of the ditch. The Tin Woodman began +to use his axe at once, and, just as the two Kalidahs were nearly +across, the tree fell with a crash into the gulf, carrying the ugly, +snarling brutes with it, and both were dashed to pieces on the sharp +rocks at the bottom. + +“Well,” said the Cowardly Lion, drawing a long breath of relief, “I see +we are going to live a little while longer, and I am glad of it, for it +must be a very uncomfortable thing not to be alive. Those creatures +frightened me so badly that my heart is beating yet.” + +“Ah,” said the Tin Woodman sadly, “I wish I had a heart to beat.” + +This adventure made the travelers more anxious than ever to get out of +the forest, and they walked so fast that Dorothy became tired, and had +to ride on the Lion’s back. To their great joy the trees became thinner +the farther they advanced, and in the afternoon they suddenly came upon +a broad river, flowing swiftly just before them. On the other side of +the water they could see the road of yellow brick running through a +beautiful country, with green meadows dotted with bright flowers and +all the road bordered with trees hanging full of delicious fruits. They +were greatly pleased to see this delightful country before them. + +“How shall we cross the river?” asked Dorothy. + +“That is easily done,” replied the Scarecrow. “The Tin Woodman must +build us a raft, so we can float to the other side.” + +So the Woodman took his axe and began to chop down small trees to make +a raft, and while he was busy at this the Scarecrow found on the +riverbank a tree full of fine fruit. This pleased Dorothy, who had +eaten nothing but nuts all day, and she made a hearty meal of the ripe +fruit. + +But it takes time to make a raft, even when one is as industrious and +untiring as the Tin Woodman, and when night came the work was not done. +So they found a cozy place under the trees where they slept well until +the morning; and Dorothy dreamed of the Emerald City, and of the good +Wizard Oz, who would soon send her back to her own home again. + + + + +Chapter VIII +The Deadly Poppy Field + + +Our little party of travelers awakened the next morning refreshed and +full of hope, and Dorothy breakfasted like a princess off peaches and +plums from the trees beside the river. Behind them was the dark forest +they had passed safely through, although they had suffered many +discouragements; but before them was a lovely, sunny country that +seemed to beckon them on to the Emerald City. + +To be sure, the broad river now cut them off from this beautiful land. +But the raft was nearly done, and after the Tin Woodman had cut a few +more logs and fastened them together with wooden pins, they were ready +to start. Dorothy sat down in the middle of the raft and held Toto in +her arms. When the Cowardly Lion stepped upon the raft it tipped badly, +for he was big and heavy; but the Scarecrow and the Tin Woodman stood +upon the other end to steady it, and they had long poles in their hands +to push the raft through the water. + +They got along quite well at first, but when they reached the middle of +the river the swift current swept the raft downstream, farther and +farther away from the road of yellow brick. And the water grew so deep +that the long poles would not touch the bottom. + +“This is bad,” said the Tin Woodman, “for if we cannot get to the land +we shall be carried into the country of the Wicked Witch of the West, +and she will enchant us and make us her slaves.” + +“And then I should get no brains,” said the Scarecrow. + +“And I should get no courage,” said the Cowardly Lion. + +“And I should get no heart,” said the Tin Woodman. + +“And I should never get back to Kansas,” said Dorothy. + +“We must certainly get to the Emerald City if we can,” the Scarecrow +continued, and he pushed so hard on his long pole that it stuck fast in +the mud at the bottom of the river. Then, before he could pull it out +again—or let go—the raft was swept away, and the poor Scarecrow was +left clinging to the pole in the middle of the river. + +“Good-bye!” he called after them, and they were very sorry to leave +him. Indeed, the Tin Woodman began to cry, but fortunately remembered +that he might rust, and so dried his tears on Dorothy’s apron. + +Of course this was a bad thing for the Scarecrow. + +“I am now worse off than when I first met Dorothy,” he thought. “Then, +I was stuck on a pole in a cornfield, where I could make-believe scare +the crows, at any rate. But surely there is no use for a Scarecrow +stuck on a pole in the middle of a river. I am afraid I shall never +have any brains, after all!” + +Down the stream the raft floated, and the poor Scarecrow was left far +behind. Then the Lion said: + +“Something must be done to save us. I think I can swim to the shore and +pull the raft after me, if you will only hold fast to the tip of my +tail.” + +So he sprang into the water, and the Tin Woodman caught fast hold of +his tail. Then the Lion began to swim with all his might toward the +shore. It was hard work, although he was so big; but by and by they +were drawn out of the current, and then Dorothy took the Tin Woodman’s +long pole and helped push the raft to the land. + +They were all tired out when they reached the shore at last and stepped +off upon the pretty green grass, and they also knew that the stream had +carried them a long way past the road of yellow brick that led to the +Emerald City. + +“What shall we do now?” asked the Tin Woodman, as the Lion lay down on +the grass to let the sun dry him. + +“We must get back to the road, in some way,” said Dorothy. + +“The best plan will be to walk along the riverbank until we come to the +road again,” remarked the Lion. + +So, when they were rested, Dorothy picked up her basket and they +started along the grassy bank, to the road from which the river had +carried them. It was a lovely country, with plenty of flowers and fruit +trees and sunshine to cheer them, and had they not felt so sorry for +the poor Scarecrow, they could have been very happy. + +They walked along as fast as they could, Dorothy only stopping once to +pick a beautiful flower; and after a time the Tin Woodman cried out: +“Look!” + +Then they all looked at the river and saw the Scarecrow perched upon +his pole in the middle of the water, looking very lonely and sad. + +“What can we do to save him?” asked Dorothy. + +The Lion and the Woodman both shook their heads, for they did not know. +So they sat down upon the bank and gazed wistfully at the Scarecrow +until a Stork flew by, who, upon seeing them, stopped to rest at the +water’s edge. + +“Who are you and where are you going?” asked the Stork. + +“I am Dorothy,” answered the girl, “and these are my friends, the Tin +Woodman and the Cowardly Lion; and we are going to the Emerald City.” + +“This isn’t the road,” said the Stork, as she twisted her long neck and +looked sharply at the queer party. + +“I know it,” returned Dorothy, “but we have lost the Scarecrow, and are +wondering how we shall get him again.” + +“Where is he?” asked the Stork. + +“Over there in the river,” answered the little girl. + +“If he wasn’t so big and heavy I would get him for you,” remarked the +Stork. + +“He isn’t heavy a bit,” said Dorothy eagerly, “for he is stuffed with +straw; and if you will bring him back to us, we shall thank you ever +and ever so much.” + +“Well, I’ll try,” said the Stork, “but if I find he is too heavy to +carry I shall have to drop him in the river again.” + +So the big bird flew into the air and over the water till she came to +where the Scarecrow was perched upon his pole. Then the Stork with her +great claws grabbed the Scarecrow by the arm and carried him up into +the air and back to the bank, where Dorothy and the Lion and the Tin +Woodman and Toto were sitting. + +When the Scarecrow found himself among his friends again, he was so +happy that he hugged them all, even the Lion and Toto; and as they +walked along he sang “Tol-de-ri-de-oh!” at every step, he felt so gay. + +“I was afraid I should have to stay in the river forever,” he said, +“but the kind Stork saved me, and if I ever get any brains I shall find +the Stork again and do her some kindness in return.” + +“That’s all right,” said the Stork, who was flying along beside them. +“I always like to help anyone in trouble. But I must go now, for my +babies are waiting in the nest for me. I hope you will find the Emerald +City and that Oz will help you.” + +“Thank you,” replied Dorothy, and then the kind Stork flew into the air +and was soon out of sight. + +They walked along listening to the singing of the brightly colored +birds and looking at the lovely flowers which now became so thick that +the ground was carpeted with them. There were big yellow and white and +blue and purple blossoms, besides great clusters of scarlet poppies, +which were so brilliant in color they almost dazzled Dorothy’s eyes. + +“Aren’t they beautiful?” the girl asked, as she breathed in the spicy +scent of the bright flowers. + +“I suppose so,” answered the Scarecrow. “When I have brains, I shall +probably like them better.” + +“If I only had a heart, I should love them,” added the Tin Woodman. + +“I always did like flowers,” said the Lion. “They seem so helpless and +frail. But there are none in the forest so bright as these.” + +They now came upon more and more of the big scarlet poppies, and fewer +and fewer of the other flowers; and soon they found themselves in the +midst of a great meadow of poppies. Now it is well known that when +there are many of these flowers together their odor is so powerful that +anyone who breathes it falls asleep, and if the sleeper is not carried +away from the scent of the flowers, he sleeps on and on forever. But +Dorothy did not know this, nor could she get away from the bright red +flowers that were everywhere about; so presently her eyes grew heavy +and she felt she must sit down to rest and to sleep. + +But the Tin Woodman would not let her do this. + +“We must hurry and get back to the road of yellow brick before dark,” +he said; and the Scarecrow agreed with him. So they kept walking until +Dorothy could stand no longer. Her eyes closed in spite of herself and +she forgot where she was and fell among the poppies, fast asleep. + +“What shall we do?” asked the Tin Woodman. + +“If we leave her here she will die,” said the Lion. “The smell of the +flowers is killing us all. I myself can scarcely keep my eyes open, and +the dog is asleep already.” + +It was true; Toto had fallen down beside his little mistress. But the +Scarecrow and the Tin Woodman, not being made of flesh, were not +troubled by the scent of the flowers. + +“Run fast,” said the Scarecrow to the Lion, “and get out of this deadly +flower bed as soon as you can. We will bring the little girl with us, +but if you should fall asleep you are too big to be carried.” + +So the Lion aroused himself and bounded forward as fast as he could go. +In a moment he was out of sight. + +“Let us make a chair with our hands and carry her,” said the Scarecrow. +So they picked up Toto and put the dog in Dorothy’s lap, and then they +made a chair with their hands for the seat and their arms for the arms +and carried the sleeping girl between them through the flowers. + +On and on they walked, and it seemed that the great carpet of deadly +flowers that surrounded them would never end. They followed the bend of +the river, and at last came upon their friend the Lion, lying fast +asleep among the poppies. The flowers had been too strong for the huge +beast and he had given up at last, and fallen only a short distance +from the end of the poppy bed, where the sweet grass spread in +beautiful green fields before them. + +“We can do nothing for him,” said the Tin Woodman, sadly; “for he is +much too heavy to lift. We must leave him here to sleep on forever, and +perhaps he will dream that he has found courage at last.” + +“I’m sorry,” said the Scarecrow. “The Lion was a very good comrade for +one so cowardly. But let us go on.” + +They carried the sleeping girl to a pretty spot beside the river, far +enough from the poppy field to prevent her breathing any more of the +poison of the flowers, and here they laid her gently on the soft grass +and waited for the fresh breeze to waken her. + + + + +Chapter IX +The Queen of the Field Mice + + +“We cannot be far from the road of yellow brick, now,” remarked the +Scarecrow, as he stood beside the girl, “for we have come nearly as far +as the river carried us away.” + +The Tin Woodman was about to reply when he heard a low growl, and +turning his head (which worked beautifully on hinges) he saw a strange +beast come bounding over the grass toward them. It was, indeed, a great +yellow Wildcat, and the Woodman thought it must be chasing something, +for its ears were lying close to its head and its mouth was wide open, +showing two rows of ugly teeth, while its red eyes glowed like balls of +fire. As it came nearer the Tin Woodman saw that running before the +beast was a little gray field mouse, and although he had no heart he +knew it was wrong for the Wildcat to try to kill such a pretty, +harmless creature. + +So the Woodman raised his axe, and as the Wildcat ran by he gave it a +quick blow that cut the beast’s head clean off from its body, and it +rolled over at his feet in two pieces. + +The field mouse, now that it was freed from its enemy, stopped short; +and coming slowly up to the Woodman it said, in a squeaky little voice: + +“Oh, thank you! Thank you ever so much for saving my life.” + +“Don’t speak of it, I beg of you,” replied the Woodman. “I have no +heart, you know, so I am careful to help all those who may need a +friend, even if it happens to be only a mouse.” + +“Only a mouse!” cried the little animal, indignantly. “Why, I am a +Queen—the Queen of all the Field Mice!” + +“Oh, indeed,” said the Woodman, making a bow. + +“Therefore you have done a great deed, as well as a brave one, in +saving my life,” added the Queen. + +At that moment several mice were seen running up as fast as their +little legs could carry them, and when they saw their Queen they +exclaimed: + +“Oh, your Majesty, we thought you would be killed! How did you manage +to escape the great Wildcat?” They all bowed so low to the little Queen +that they almost stood upon their heads. + +“This funny tin man,” she answered, “killed the Wildcat and saved my +life. So hereafter you must all serve him, and obey his slightest +wish.” + +“We will!” cried all the mice, in a shrill chorus. And then they +scampered in all directions, for Toto had awakened from his sleep, and +seeing all these mice around him he gave one bark of delight and jumped +right into the middle of the group. Toto had always loved to chase mice +when he lived in Kansas, and he saw no harm in it. + +But the Tin Woodman caught the dog in his arms and held him tight, +while he called to the mice, “Come back! Come back! Toto shall not hurt +you.” + +At this the Queen of the Mice stuck her head out from underneath a +clump of grass and asked, in a timid voice, “Are you sure he will not +bite us?” + +“I will not let him,” said the Woodman; “so do not be afraid.” + +One by one the mice came creeping back, and Toto did not bark again, +although he tried to get out of the Woodman’s arms, and would have +bitten him had he not known very well he was made of tin. Finally one +of the biggest mice spoke. + +“Is there anything we can do,” it asked, “to repay you for saving the +life of our Queen?” + +“Nothing that I know of,” answered the Woodman; but the Scarecrow, who +had been trying to think, but could not because his head was stuffed +with straw, said, quickly, “Oh, yes; you can save our friend, the +Cowardly Lion, who is asleep in the poppy bed.” + +“A Lion!” cried the little Queen. “Why, he would eat us all up.” + +“Oh, no,” declared the Scarecrow; “this Lion is a coward.” + +“Really?” asked the Mouse. + +“He says so himself,” answered the Scarecrow, “and he would never hurt +anyone who is our friend. If you will help us to save him I promise +that he shall treat you all with kindness.” + +“Very well,” said the Queen, “we trust you. But what shall we do?” + +“Are there many of these mice which call you Queen and are willing to +obey you?” + +“Oh, yes; there are thousands,” she replied. + +“Then send for them all to come here as soon as possible, and let each +one bring a long piece of string.” + +The Queen turned to the mice that attended her and told them to go at +once and get all her people. As soon as they heard her orders they ran +away in every direction as fast as possible. + +“Now,” said the Scarecrow to the Tin Woodman, “you must go to those +trees by the riverside and make a truck that will carry the Lion.” + +So the Woodman went at once to the trees and began to work; and he soon +made a truck out of the limbs of trees, from which he chopped away all +the leaves and branches. He fastened it together with wooden pegs and +made the four wheels out of short pieces of a big tree trunk. So fast +and so well did he work that by the time the mice began to arrive the +truck was all ready for them. + +They came from all directions, and there were thousands of them: big +mice and little mice and middle-sized mice; and each one brought a +piece of string in his mouth. It was about this time that Dorothy woke +from her long sleep and opened her eyes. She was greatly astonished to +find herself lying upon the grass, with thousands of mice standing +around and looking at her timidly. But the Scarecrow told her about +everything, and turning to the dignified little Mouse, he said: + +“Permit me to introduce to you her Majesty, the Queen.” + +Dorothy nodded gravely and the Queen made a curtsy, after which she +became quite friendly with the little girl. + +The Scarecrow and the Woodman now began to fasten the mice to the +truck, using the strings they had brought. One end of a string was tied +around the neck of each mouse and the other end to the truck. Of course +the truck was a thousand times bigger than any of the mice who were to +draw it; but when all the mice had been harnessed, they were able to +pull it quite easily. Even the Scarecrow and the Tin Woodman could sit +on it, and were drawn swiftly by their queer little horses to the place +where the Lion lay asleep. + +After a great deal of hard work, for the Lion was heavy, they managed +to get him up on the truck. Then the Queen hurriedly gave her people +the order to start, for she feared if the mice stayed among the poppies +too long they also would fall asleep. + +At first the little creatures, many though they were, could hardly stir +the heavily loaded truck; but the Woodman and the Scarecrow both pushed +from behind, and they got along better. Soon they rolled the Lion out +of the poppy bed to the green fields, where he could breathe the sweet, +fresh air again, instead of the poisonous scent of the flowers. + +Dorothy came to meet them and thanked the little mice warmly for saving +her companion from death. She had grown so fond of the big Lion she was +glad he had been rescued. + +Then the mice were unharnessed from the truck and scampered away +through the grass to their homes. The Queen of the Mice was the last to +leave. + +“If ever you need us again,” she said, “come out into the field and +call, and we shall hear you and come to your assistance. Good-bye!” + +“Good-bye!” they all answered, and away the Queen ran, while Dorothy +held Toto tightly lest he should run after her and frighten her. + +After this they sat down beside the Lion until he should awaken; and +the Scarecrow brought Dorothy some fruit from a tree near by, which she +ate for her dinner. + + + + +Chapter X +The Guardian of the Gate + + +It was some time before the Cowardly Lion awakened, for he had lain +among the poppies a long while, breathing in their deadly fragrance; +but when he did open his eyes and roll off the truck he was very glad +to find himself still alive. + +“I ran as fast as I could,” he said, sitting down and yawning, “but the +flowers were too strong for me. How did you get me out?” + +Then they told him of the field mice, and how they had generously saved +him from death; and the Cowardly Lion laughed, and said: + +“I have always thought myself very big and terrible; yet such little +things as flowers came near to killing me, and such small animals as +mice have saved my life. How strange it all is! But, comrades, what +shall we do now?” + +“We must journey on until we find the road of yellow brick again,” said +Dorothy, “and then we can keep on to the Emerald City.” + +So, the Lion being fully refreshed, and feeling quite himself again, +they all started upon the journey, greatly enjoying the walk through +the soft, fresh grass; and it was not long before they reached the road +of yellow brick and turned again toward the Emerald City where the +Great Oz dwelt. + +The road was smooth and well paved, now, and the country about was +beautiful, so that the travelers rejoiced in leaving the forest far +behind, and with it the many dangers they had met in its gloomy shades. +Once more they could see fences built beside the road; but these were +painted green, and when they came to a small house, in which a farmer +evidently lived, that also was painted green. They passed by several of +these houses during the afternoon, and sometimes people came to the +doors and looked at them as if they would like to ask questions; but no +one came near them nor spoke to them because of the great Lion, of +which they were very much afraid. The people were all dressed in +clothing of a lovely emerald-green color and wore peaked hats like +those of the Munchkins. + +“This must be the Land of Oz,” said Dorothy, “and we are surely getting +near the Emerald City.” + +“Yes,” answered the Scarecrow. “Everything is green here, while in the +country of the Munchkins blue was the favorite color. But the people do +not seem to be as friendly as the Munchkins, and I’m afraid we shall be +unable to find a place to pass the night.” + +“I should like something to eat besides fruit,” said the girl, “and I’m +sure Toto is nearly starved. Let us stop at the next house and talk to +the people.” + +So, when they came to a good-sized farmhouse, Dorothy walked boldly up +to the door and knocked. + +A woman opened it just far enough to look out, and said, “What do you +want, child, and why is that great Lion with you?” + +“We wish to pass the night with you, if you will allow us,” answered +Dorothy; “and the Lion is my friend and comrade, and would not hurt you +for the world.” + +“Is he tame?” asked the woman, opening the door a little wider. + +“Oh, yes,” said the girl, “and he is a great coward, too. He will be +more afraid of you than you are of him.” + +“Well,” said the woman, after thinking it over and taking another peep +at the Lion, “if that is the case you may come in, and I will give you +some supper and a place to sleep.” + +So they all entered the house, where there were, besides the woman, two +children and a man. The man had hurt his leg, and was lying on the +couch in a corner. They seemed greatly surprised to see so strange a +company, and while the woman was busy laying the table the man asked: + +“Where are you all going?” + +“To the Emerald City,” said Dorothy, “to see the Great Oz.” + +“Oh, indeed!” exclaimed the man. “Are you sure that Oz will see you?” + +“Why not?” she replied. + +“Why, it is said that he never lets anyone come into his presence. I +have been to the Emerald City many times, and it is a beautiful and +wonderful place; but I have never been permitted to see the Great Oz, +nor do I know of any living person who has seen him.” + +“Does he never go out?” asked the Scarecrow. + +“Never. He sits day after day in the great Throne Room of his Palace, +and even those who wait upon him do not see him face to face.” + +“What is he like?” asked the girl. + +“That is hard to tell,” said the man thoughtfully. “You see, Oz is a +Great Wizard, and can take on any form he wishes. So that some say he +looks like a bird; and some say he looks like an elephant; and some say +he looks like a cat. To others he appears as a beautiful fairy, or a +brownie, or in any other form that pleases him. But who the real Oz is, +when he is in his own form, no living person can tell.” + +“That is very strange,” said Dorothy, “but we must try, in some way, to +see him, or we shall have made our journey for nothing.” + +“Why do you wish to see the terrible Oz?” asked the man. + +“I want him to give me some brains,” said the Scarecrow eagerly. + +“Oh, Oz could do that easily enough,” declared the man. “He has more +brains than he needs.” + +“And I want him to give me a heart,” said the Tin Woodman. + +“That will not trouble him,” continued the man, “for Oz has a large +collection of hearts, of all sizes and shapes.” + +“And I want him to give me courage,” said the Cowardly Lion. + +“Oz keeps a great pot of courage in his Throne Room,” said the man, +“which he has covered with a golden plate, to keep it from running +over. He will be glad to give you some.” + +“And I want him to send me back to Kansas,” said Dorothy. + +“Where is Kansas?” asked the man, with surprise. + +“I don’t know,” replied Dorothy sorrowfully, “but it is my home, and +I’m sure it’s somewhere.” + +“Very likely. Well, Oz can do anything; so I suppose he will find +Kansas for you. But first you must get to see him, and that will be a +hard task; for the Great Wizard does not like to see anyone, and he +usually has his own way. But what do YOU want?” he continued, speaking +to Toto. Toto only wagged his tail; for, strange to say, he could not +speak. + +The woman now called to them that supper was ready, so they gathered +around the table and Dorothy ate some delicious porridge and a dish of +scrambled eggs and a plate of nice white bread, and enjoyed her meal. +The Lion ate some of the porridge, but did not care for it, saying it +was made from oats and oats were food for horses, not for lions. The +Scarecrow and the Tin Woodman ate nothing at all. Toto ate a little of +everything, and was glad to get a good supper again. + +The woman now gave Dorothy a bed to sleep in, and Toto lay down beside +her, while the Lion guarded the door of her room so she might not be +disturbed. The Scarecrow and the Tin Woodman stood up in a corner and +kept quiet all night, although of course they could not sleep. + +The next morning, as soon as the sun was up, they started on their way, +and soon saw a beautiful green glow in the sky just before them. + +“That must be the Emerald City,” said Dorothy. + +As they walked on, the green glow became brighter and brighter, and it +seemed that at last they were nearing the end of their travels. Yet it +was afternoon before they came to the great wall that surrounded the +City. It was high and thick and of a bright green color. + +In front of them, and at the end of the road of yellow brick, was a big +gate, all studded with emeralds that glittered so in the sun that even +the painted eyes of the Scarecrow were dazzled by their brilliancy. + +There was a bell beside the gate, and Dorothy pushed the button and +heard a silvery tinkle sound within. Then the big gate swung slowly +open, and they all passed through and found themselves in a high arched +room, the walls of which glistened with countless emeralds. + +Before them stood a little man about the same size as the Munchkins. He +was clothed all in green, from his head to his feet, and even his skin +was of a greenish tint. At his side was a large green box. + +When he saw Dorothy and her companions the man asked, “What do you wish +in the Emerald City?” + +“We came here to see the Great Oz,” said Dorothy. + +The man was so surprised at this answer that he sat down to think it +over. + +“It has been many years since anyone asked me to see Oz,” he said, +shaking his head in perplexity. “He is powerful and terrible, and if +you come on an idle or foolish errand to bother the wise reflections of +the Great Wizard, he might be angry and destroy you all in an instant.” + +“But it is not a foolish errand, nor an idle one,” replied the +Scarecrow; “it is important. And we have been told that Oz is a good +Wizard.” + +“So he is,” said the green man, “and he rules the Emerald City wisely +and well. But to those who are not honest, or who approach him from +curiosity, he is most terrible, and few have ever dared ask to see his +face. I am the Guardian of the Gates, and since you demand to see the +Great Oz I must take you to his Palace. But first you must put on the +spectacles.” + +“Why?” asked Dorothy. + +“Because if you did not wear spectacles the brightness and glory of the +Emerald City would blind you. Even those who live in the City must wear +spectacles night and day. They are all locked on, for Oz so ordered it +when the City was first built, and I have the only key that will unlock +them.” + +He opened the big box, and Dorothy saw that it was filled with +spectacles of every size and shape. All of them had green glasses in +them. The Guardian of the Gates found a pair that would just fit +Dorothy and put them over her eyes. There were two golden bands +fastened to them that passed around the back of her head, where they +were locked together by a little key that was at the end of a chain the +Guardian of the Gates wore around his neck. When they were on, Dorothy +could not take them off had she wished, but of course she did not wish +to be blinded by the glare of the Emerald City, so she said nothing. + +Then the green man fitted spectacles for the Scarecrow and the Tin +Woodman and the Lion, and even on little Toto; and all were locked fast +with the key. + +Then the Guardian of the Gates put on his own glasses and told them he +was ready to show them to the Palace. Taking a big golden key from a +peg on the wall, he opened another gate, and they all followed him +through the portal into the streets of the Emerald City. + + + + +Chapter XI +The Wonderful City of Oz + + +Even with eyes protected by the green spectacles, Dorothy and her +friends were at first dazzled by the brilliancy of the wonderful City. +The streets were lined with beautiful houses all built of green marble +and studded everywhere with sparkling emeralds. They walked over a +pavement of the same green marble, and where the blocks were joined +together were rows of emeralds, set closely, and glittering in the +brightness of the sun. The window panes were of green glass; even the +sky above the City had a green tint, and the rays of the sun were +green. + +There were many people—men, women, and children—walking about, and +these were all dressed in green clothes and had greenish skins. They +looked at Dorothy and her strangely assorted company with wondering +eyes, and the children all ran away and hid behind their mothers when +they saw the Lion; but no one spoke to them. Many shops stood in the +street, and Dorothy saw that everything in them was green. Green candy +and green pop corn were offered for sale, as well as green shoes, green +hats, and green clothes of all sorts. At one place a man was selling +green lemonade, and when the children bought it Dorothy could see that +they paid for it with green pennies. + +There seemed to be no horses nor animals of any kind; the men carried +things around in little green carts, which they pushed before them. +Everyone seemed happy and contented and prosperous. + +The Guardian of the Gates led them through the streets until they came +to a big building, exactly in the middle of the City, which was the +Palace of Oz, the Great Wizard. There was a soldier before the door, +dressed in a green uniform and wearing a long green beard. + +“Here are strangers,” said the Guardian of the Gates to him, “and they +demand to see the Great Oz.” + +“Step inside,” answered the soldier, “and I will carry your message to +him.” + +So they passed through the Palace Gates and were led into a big room +with a green carpet and lovely green furniture set with emeralds. The +soldier made them all wipe their feet upon a green mat before entering +this room, and when they were seated he said politely: + +“Please make yourselves comfortable while I go to the door of the +Throne Room and tell Oz you are here.” + +They had to wait a long time before the soldier returned. When, at +last, he came back, Dorothy asked: + +“Have you seen Oz?” + +“Oh, no,” returned the soldier; “I have never seen him. But I spoke to +him as he sat behind his screen and gave him your message. He said he +will grant you an audience, if you so desire; but each one of you must +enter his presence alone, and he will admit but one each day. +Therefore, as you must remain in the Palace for several days, I will +have you shown to rooms where you may rest in comfort after your +journey.” + +“Thank you,” replied the girl; “that is very kind of Oz.” + +The soldier now blew upon a green whistle, and at once a young girl, +dressed in a pretty green silk gown, entered the room. She had lovely +green hair and green eyes, and she bowed low before Dorothy as she +said, “Follow me and I will show you your room.” + +So Dorothy said good-bye to all her friends except Toto, and taking the +dog in her arms followed the green girl through seven passages and up +three flights of stairs until they came to a room at the front of the +Palace. It was the sweetest little room in the world, with a soft +comfortable bed that had sheets of green silk and a green velvet +counterpane. There was a tiny fountain in the middle of the room, that +shot a spray of green perfume into the air, to fall back into a +beautifully carved green marble basin. Beautiful green flowers stood in +the windows, and there was a shelf with a row of little green books. +When Dorothy had time to open these books she found them full of queer +green pictures that made her laugh, they were so funny. + +In a wardrobe were many green dresses, made of silk and satin and +velvet; and all of them fitted Dorothy exactly. + +“Make yourself perfectly at home,” said the green girl, “and if you +wish for anything ring the bell. Oz will send for you tomorrow +morning.” + +She left Dorothy alone and went back to the others. These she also led +to rooms, and each one of them found himself lodged in a very pleasant +part of the Palace. Of course this politeness was wasted on the +Scarecrow; for when he found himself alone in his room he stood +stupidly in one spot, just within the doorway, to wait till morning. It +would not rest him to lie down, and he could not close his eyes; so he +remained all night staring at a little spider which was weaving its web +in a corner of the room, just as if it were not one of the most +wonderful rooms in the world. The Tin Woodman lay down on his bed from +force of habit, for he remembered when he was made of flesh; but not +being able to sleep, he passed the night moving his joints up and down +to make sure they kept in good working order. The Lion would have +preferred a bed of dried leaves in the forest, and did not like being +shut up in a room; but he had too much sense to let this worry him, so +he sprang upon the bed and rolled himself up like a cat and purred +himself asleep in a minute. + +The next morning, after breakfast, the green maiden came to fetch +Dorothy, and she dressed her in one of the prettiest gowns, made of +green brocaded satin. Dorothy put on a green silk apron and tied a +green ribbon around Toto’s neck, and they started for the Throne Room +of the Great Oz. + +First they came to a great hall in which were many ladies and gentlemen +of the court, all dressed in rich costumes. These people had nothing to +do but talk to each other, but they always came to wait outside the +Throne Room every morning, although they were never permitted to see +Oz. As Dorothy entered they looked at her curiously, and one of them +whispered: + +“Are you really going to look upon the face of Oz the Terrible?” + +“Of course,” answered the girl, “if he will see me.” + +“Oh, he will see you,” said the soldier who had taken her message to +the Wizard, “although he does not like to have people ask to see him. +Indeed, at first he was angry and said I should send you back where you +came from. Then he asked me what you looked like, and when I mentioned +your silver shoes he was very much interested. At last I told him about +the mark upon your forehead, and he decided he would admit you to his +presence.” + +Just then a bell rang, and the green girl said to Dorothy, “That is the +signal. You must go into the Throne Room alone.” + +She opened a little door and Dorothy walked boldly through and found +herself in a wonderful place. It was a big, round room with a high +arched roof, and the walls and ceiling and floor were covered with +large emeralds set closely together. In the center of the roof was a +great light, as bright as the sun, which made the emeralds sparkle in a +wonderful manner. + +But what interested Dorothy most was the big throne of green marble +that stood in the middle of the room. It was shaped like a chair and +sparkled with gems, as did everything else. In the center of the chair +was an enormous Head, without a body to support it or any arms or legs +whatever. There was no hair upon this head, but it had eyes and a nose +and mouth, and was much bigger than the head of the biggest giant. + +As Dorothy gazed upon this in wonder and fear, the eyes turned slowly +and looked at her sharply and steadily. Then the mouth moved, and +Dorothy heard a voice say: + +“I am Oz, the Great and Terrible. Who are you, and why do you seek me?” + +It was not such an awful voice as she had expected to come from the big +Head; so she took courage and answered: + +“I am Dorothy, the Small and Meek. I have come to you for help.” + +The eyes looked at her thoughtfully for a full minute. Then said the +voice: + +“Where did you get the silver shoes?” + +“I got them from the Wicked Witch of the East, when my house fell on +her and killed her,” she replied. + +“Where did you get the mark upon your forehead?” continued the voice. + +“That is where the Good Witch of the North kissed me when she bade me +good-bye and sent me to you,” said the girl. + +Again the eyes looked at her sharply, and they saw she was telling the +truth. Then Oz asked, “What do you wish me to do?” + +“Send me back to Kansas, where my Aunt Em and Uncle Henry are,” she +answered earnestly. “I don’t like your country, although it is so +beautiful. And I am sure Aunt Em will be dreadfully worried over my +being away so long.” + +The eyes winked three times, and then they turned up to the ceiling and +down to the floor and rolled around so queerly that they seemed to see +every part of the room. And at last they looked at Dorothy again. + +“Why should I do this for you?” asked Oz. + +“Because you are strong and I am weak; because you are a Great Wizard +and I am only a little girl.” + +“But you were strong enough to kill the Wicked Witch of the East,” said +Oz. + +“That just happened,” returned Dorothy simply; “I could not help it.” + +“Well,” said the Head, “I will give you my answer. You have no right to +expect me to send you back to Kansas unless you do something for me in +return. In this country everyone must pay for everything he gets. If +you wish me to use my magic power to send you home again you must do +something for me first. Help me and I will help you.” + +“What must I do?” asked the girl. + +“Kill the Wicked Witch of the West,” answered Oz. + +“But I cannot!” exclaimed Dorothy, greatly surprised. + +“You killed the Witch of the East and you wear the silver shoes, which +bear a powerful charm. There is now but one Wicked Witch left in all +this land, and when you can tell me she is dead I will send you back to +Kansas—but not before.” + +The little girl began to weep, she was so much disappointed; and the +eyes winked again and looked upon her anxiously, as if the Great Oz +felt that she could help him if she would. + +“I never killed anything, willingly,” she sobbed. “Even if I wanted to, +how could I kill the Wicked Witch? If you, who are Great and Terrible, +cannot kill her yourself, how do you expect me to do it?” + +“I do not know,” said the Head; “but that is my answer, and until the +Wicked Witch dies you will not see your uncle and aunt again. Remember +that the Witch is Wicked—tremendously Wicked—and ought to be killed. +Now go, and do not ask to see me again until you have done your task.” + +Sorrowfully Dorothy left the Throne Room and went back where the Lion +and the Scarecrow and the Tin Woodman were waiting to hear what Oz had +said to her. “There is no hope for me,” she said sadly, “for Oz will +not send me home until I have killed the Wicked Witch of the West; and +that I can never do.” + +Her friends were sorry, but could do nothing to help her; so Dorothy +went to her own room and lay down on the bed and cried herself to +sleep. + +The next morning the soldier with the green whiskers came to the +Scarecrow and said: + +“Come with me, for Oz has sent for you.” + +So the Scarecrow followed him and was admitted into the great Throne +Room, where he saw, sitting in the emerald throne, a most lovely Lady. +She was dressed in green silk gauze and wore upon her flowing green +locks a crown of jewels. Growing from her shoulders were wings, +gorgeous in color and so light that they fluttered if the slightest +breath of air reached them. + +When the Scarecrow had bowed, as prettily as his straw stuffing would +let him, before this beautiful creature, she looked upon him sweetly, +and said: + +“I am Oz, the Great and Terrible. Who are you, and why do you seek me?” + +Now the Scarecrow, who had expected to see the great Head Dorothy had +told him of, was much astonished; but he answered her bravely. + +“I am only a Scarecrow, stuffed with straw. Therefore I have no brains, +and I come to you praying that you will put brains in my head instead +of straw, so that I may become as much a man as any other in your +dominions.” + +“Why should I do this for you?” asked the Lady. + +“Because you are wise and powerful, and no one else can help me,” +answered the Scarecrow. + +“I never grant favors without some return,” said Oz; “but this much I +will promise. If you will kill for me the Wicked Witch of the West, I +will bestow upon you a great many brains, and such good brains that you +will be the wisest man in all the Land of Oz.” + +“I thought you asked Dorothy to kill the Witch,” said the Scarecrow, in +surprise. + +“So I did. I don’t care who kills her. But until she is dead I will not +grant your wish. Now go, and do not seek me again until you have earned +the brains you so greatly desire.” + +The Scarecrow went sorrowfully back to his friends and told them what +Oz had said; and Dorothy was surprised to find that the Great Wizard +was not a Head, as she had seen him, but a lovely Lady. + +“All the same,” said the Scarecrow, “she needs a heart as much as the +Tin Woodman.” + +On the next morning the soldier with the green whiskers came to the Tin +Woodman and said: + +“Oz has sent for you. Follow me.” + +So the Tin Woodman followed him and came to the great Throne Room. He +did not know whether he would find Oz a lovely Lady or a Head, but he +hoped it would be the lovely Lady. “For,” he said to himself, “if it is +the head, I am sure I shall not be given a heart, since a head has no +heart of its own and therefore cannot feel for me. But if it is the +lovely Lady I shall beg hard for a heart, for all ladies are themselves +said to be kindly hearted.” + +But when the Woodman entered the great Throne Room he saw neither the +Head nor the Lady, for Oz had taken the shape of a most terrible Beast. +It was nearly as big as an elephant, and the green throne seemed hardly +strong enough to hold its weight. The Beast had a head like that of a +rhinoceros, only there were five eyes in its face. There were five long +arms growing out of its body, and it also had five long, slim legs. +Thick, woolly hair covered every part of it, and a more +dreadful-looking monster could not be imagined. It was fortunate the +Tin Woodman had no heart at that moment, for it would have beat loud +and fast from terror. But being only tin, the Woodman was not at all +afraid, although he was much disappointed. + +“I am Oz, the Great and Terrible,” spoke the Beast, in a voice that was +one great roar. “Who are you, and why do you seek me?” + +“I am a Woodman, and made of tin. Therefore I have no heart, and cannot +love. I pray you to give me a heart that I may be as other men are.” + +“Why should I do this?” demanded the Beast. + +“Because I ask it, and you alone can grant my request,” answered the +Woodman. + +Oz gave a low growl at this, but said, gruffly: “If you indeed desire a +heart, you must earn it.” + +“How?” asked the Woodman. + +“Help Dorothy to kill the Wicked Witch of the West,” replied the Beast. +“When the Witch is dead, come to me, and I will then give you the +biggest and kindest and most loving heart in all the Land of Oz.” + +So the Tin Woodman was forced to return sorrowfully to his friends and +tell them of the terrible Beast he had seen. They all wondered greatly +at the many forms the Great Wizard could take upon himself, and the +Lion said: + +“If he is a Beast when I go to see him, I shall roar my loudest, and so +frighten him that he will grant all I ask. And if he is the lovely +Lady, I shall pretend to spring upon her, and so compel her to do my +bidding. And if he is the great Head, he will be at my mercy; for I +will roll this head all about the room until he promises to give us +what we desire. So be of good cheer, my friends, for all will yet be +well.” + +The next morning the soldier with the green whiskers led the Lion to +the great Throne Room and bade him enter the presence of Oz. + +The Lion at once passed through the door, and glancing around saw, to +his surprise, that before the throne was a Ball of Fire, so fierce and +glowing he could scarcely bear to gaze upon it. His first thought was +that Oz had by accident caught on fire and was burning up; but when he +tried to go nearer, the heat was so intense that it singed his +whiskers, and he crept back tremblingly to a spot nearer the door. + +Then a low, quiet voice came from the Ball of Fire, and these were the +words it spoke: + +“I am Oz, the Great and Terrible. Who are you, and why do you seek me?” + +And the Lion answered, “I am a Cowardly Lion, afraid of everything. I +came to you to beg that you give me courage, so that in reality I may +become the King of Beasts, as men call me.” + +“Why should I give you courage?” demanded Oz. + +“Because of all Wizards you are the greatest, and alone have power to +grant my request,” answered the Lion. + +The Ball of Fire burned fiercely for a time, and the voice said, “Bring +me proof that the Wicked Witch is dead, and that moment I will give you +courage. But as long as the Witch lives, you must remain a coward.” + +The Lion was angry at this speech, but could say nothing in reply, and +while he stood silently gazing at the Ball of Fire it became so +furiously hot that he turned tail and rushed from the room. He was glad +to find his friends waiting for him, and told them of his terrible +interview with the Wizard. + +“What shall we do now?” asked Dorothy sadly. + +“There is only one thing we can do,” returned the Lion, “and that is to +go to the land of the Winkies, seek out the Wicked Witch, and destroy +her.” + +“But suppose we cannot?” said the girl. + +“Then I shall never have courage,” declared the Lion. + +“And I shall never have brains,” added the Scarecrow. + +“And I shall never have a heart,” spoke the Tin Woodman. + +“And I shall never see Aunt Em and Uncle Henry,” said Dorothy, +beginning to cry. + +“Be careful!” cried the green girl. “The tears will fall on your green +silk gown and spot it.” + +So Dorothy dried her eyes and said, “I suppose we must try it; but I am +sure I do not want to kill anybody, even to see Aunt Em again.” + +“I will go with you; but I’m too much of a coward to kill the Witch,” +said the Lion. + +“I will go too,” declared the Scarecrow; “but I shall not be of much +help to you, I am such a fool.” + +“I haven’t the heart to harm even a Witch,” remarked the Tin Woodman; +“but if you go I certainly shall go with you.” + +Therefore it was decided to start upon their journey the next morning, +and the Woodman sharpened his axe on a green grindstone and had all his +joints properly oiled. The Scarecrow stuffed himself with fresh straw +and Dorothy put new paint on his eyes that he might see better. The +green girl, who was very kind to them, filled Dorothy’s basket with +good things to eat, and fastened a little bell around Toto’s neck with +a green ribbon. + +They went to bed quite early and slept soundly until daylight, when +they were awakened by the crowing of a green cock that lived in the +back yard of the Palace, and the cackling of a hen that had laid a +green egg. + + + + +Chapter XII +The Search for the Wicked Witch + + +The soldier with the green whiskers led them through the streets of the +Emerald City until they reached the room where the Guardian of the +Gates lived. This officer unlocked their spectacles to put them back in +his great box, and then he politely opened the gate for our friends. + +“Which road leads to the Wicked Witch of the West?” asked Dorothy. + +“There is no road,” answered the Guardian of the Gates. “No one ever +wishes to go that way.” + +“How, then, are we to find her?” inquired the girl. + +“That will be easy,” replied the man, “for when she knows you are in +the country of the Winkies she will find you, and make you all her +slaves.” + +“Perhaps not,” said the Scarecrow, “for we mean to destroy her.” + +“Oh, that is different,” said the Guardian of the Gates. “No one has +ever destroyed her before, so I naturally thought she would make slaves +of you, as she has of the rest. But take care; for she is wicked and +fierce, and may not allow you to destroy her. Keep to the West, where +the sun sets, and you cannot fail to find her.” + +They thanked him and bade him good-bye, and turned toward the West, +walking over fields of soft grass dotted here and there with daisies +and buttercups. Dorothy still wore the pretty silk dress she had put on +in the palace, but now, to her surprise, she found it was no longer +green, but pure white. The ribbon around Toto’s neck had also lost its +green color and was as white as Dorothy’s dress. + +The Emerald City was soon left far behind. As they advanced the ground +became rougher and hillier, for there were no farms nor houses in this +country of the West, and the ground was untilled. + +In the afternoon the sun shone hot in their faces, for there were no +trees to offer them shade; so that before night Dorothy and Toto and +the Lion were tired, and lay down upon the grass and fell asleep, with +the Woodman and the Scarecrow keeping watch. + +Now the Wicked Witch of the West had but one eye, yet that was as +powerful as a telescope, and could see everywhere. So, as she sat in +the door of her castle, she happened to look around and saw Dorothy +lying asleep, with her friends all about her. They were a long distance +off, but the Wicked Witch was angry to find them in her country; so she +blew upon a silver whistle that hung around her neck. + +At once there came running to her from all directions a pack of great +wolves. They had long legs and fierce eyes and sharp teeth. + +“Go to those people,” said the Witch, “and tear them to pieces.” + +“Are you not going to make them your slaves?” asked the leader of the +wolves. + +“No,” she answered, “one is of tin, and one of straw; one is a girl and +another a Lion. None of them is fit to work, so you may tear them into +small pieces.” + +“Very well,” said the wolf, and he dashed away at full speed, followed +by the others. + +It was lucky the Scarecrow and the Woodman were wide awake and heard +the wolves coming. + +“This is my fight,” said the Woodman, “so get behind me and I will meet +them as they come.” + +He seized his axe, which he had made very sharp, and as the leader of +the wolves came on the Tin Woodman swung his arm and chopped the wolf’s +head from its body, so that it immediately died. As soon as he could +raise his axe another wolf came up, and he also fell under the sharp +edge of the Tin Woodman’s weapon. There were forty wolves, and forty +times a wolf was killed, so that at last they all lay dead in a heap +before the Woodman. + +Then he put down his axe and sat beside the Scarecrow, who said, “It +was a good fight, friend.” + +They waited until Dorothy awoke the next morning. The little girl was +quite frightened when she saw the great pile of shaggy wolves, but the +Tin Woodman told her all. She thanked him for saving them and sat down +to breakfast, after which they started again upon their journey. + +Now this same morning the Wicked Witch came to the door of her castle +and looked out with her one eye that could see far off. She saw all her +wolves lying dead, and the strangers still traveling through her +country. This made her angrier than before, and she blew her silver +whistle twice. + +Straightway a great flock of wild crows came flying toward her, enough +to darken the sky. + +And the Wicked Witch said to the King Crow, “Fly at once to the +strangers; peck out their eyes and tear them to pieces.” + +The wild crows flew in one great flock toward Dorothy and her +companions. When the little girl saw them coming she was afraid. + +But the Scarecrow said, “This is my battle, so lie down beside me and +you will not be harmed.” + +So they all lay upon the ground except the Scarecrow, and he stood up +and stretched out his arms. And when the crows saw him they were +frightened, as these birds always are by scarecrows, and did not dare +to come any nearer. But the King Crow said: + +“It is only a stuffed man. I will peck his eyes out.” + +The King Crow flew at the Scarecrow, who caught it by the head and +twisted its neck until it died. And then another crow flew at him, and +the Scarecrow twisted its neck also. There were forty crows, and forty +times the Scarecrow twisted a neck, until at last all were lying dead +beside him. Then he called to his companions to rise, and again they +went upon their journey. + +When the Wicked Witch looked out again and saw all her crows lying in a +heap, she got into a terrible rage, and blew three times upon her +silver whistle. + +Forthwith there was heard a great buzzing in the air, and a swarm of +black bees came flying toward her. + +“Go to the strangers and sting them to death!” commanded the Witch, and +the bees turned and flew rapidly until they came to where Dorothy and +her friends were walking. But the Woodman had seen them coming, and the +Scarecrow had decided what to do. + +“Take out my straw and scatter it over the little girl and the dog and +the Lion,” he said to the Woodman, “and the bees cannot sting them.” +This the Woodman did, and as Dorothy lay close beside the Lion and held +Toto in her arms, the straw covered them entirely. + +The bees came and found no one but the Woodman to sting, so they flew +at him and broke off all their stings against the tin, without hurting +the Woodman at all. And as bees cannot live when their stings are +broken that was the end of the black bees, and they lay scattered thick +about the Woodman, like little heaps of fine coal. + +Then Dorothy and the Lion got up, and the girl helped the Tin Woodman +put the straw back into the Scarecrow again, until he was as good as +ever. So they started upon their journey once more. + +The Wicked Witch was so angry when she saw her black bees in little +heaps like fine coal that she stamped her foot and tore her hair and +gnashed her teeth. And then she called a dozen of her slaves, who were +the Winkies, and gave them sharp spears, telling them to go to the +strangers and destroy them. + +The Winkies were not a brave people, but they had to do as they were +told. So they marched away until they came near to Dorothy. Then the +Lion gave a great roar and sprang towards them, and the poor Winkies +were so frightened that they ran back as fast as they could. + +When they returned to the castle the Wicked Witch beat them well with a +strap, and sent them back to their work, after which she sat down to +think what she should do next. She could not understand how all her +plans to destroy these strangers had failed; but she was a powerful +Witch, as well as a wicked one, and she soon made up her mind how to +act. + +There was, in her cupboard, a Golden Cap, with a circle of diamonds and +rubies running round it. This Golden Cap had a charm. Whoever owned it +could call three times upon the Winged Monkeys, who would obey any +order they were given. But no person could command these strange +creatures more than three times. Twice already the Wicked Witch had +used the charm of the Cap. Once was when she had made the Winkies her +slaves, and set herself to rule over their country. The Winged Monkeys +had helped her do this. The second time was when she had fought against +the Great Oz himself, and driven him out of the land of the West. The +Winged Monkeys had also helped her in doing this. Only once more could +she use this Golden Cap, for which reason she did not like to do so +until all her other powers were exhausted. But now that her fierce +wolves and her wild crows and her stinging bees were gone, and her +slaves had been scared away by the Cowardly Lion, she saw there was +only one way left to destroy Dorothy and her friends. + +So the Wicked Witch took the Golden Cap from her cupboard and placed it +upon her head. Then she stood upon her left foot and said slowly: + +“Ep-pe, pep-pe, kak-ke!” + +Next she stood upon her right foot and said: + +“Hil-lo, hol-lo, hel-lo!” + +After this she stood upon both feet and cried in a loud voice: + +“Ziz-zy, zuz-zy, zik!” + +Now the charm began to work. The sky was darkened, and a low rumbling +sound was heard in the air. There was a rushing of many wings, a great +chattering and laughing, and the sun came out of the dark sky to show +the Wicked Witch surrounded by a crowd of monkeys, each with a pair of +immense and powerful wings on his shoulders. + +One, much bigger than the others, seemed to be their leader. He flew +close to the Witch and said, “You have called us for the third and last +time. What do you command?” + +“Go to the strangers who are within my land and destroy them all except +the Lion,” said the Wicked Witch. “Bring that beast to me, for I have a +mind to harness him like a horse, and make him work.” + +“Your commands shall be obeyed,” said the leader. Then, with a great +deal of chattering and noise, the Winged Monkeys flew away to the place +where Dorothy and her friends were walking. + +Some of the Monkeys seized the Tin Woodman and carried him through the +air until they were over a country thickly covered with sharp rocks. +Here they dropped the poor Woodman, who fell a great distance to the +rocks, where he lay so battered and dented that he could neither move +nor groan. + +Others of the Monkeys caught the Scarecrow, and with their long fingers +pulled all of the straw out of his clothes and head. They made his hat +and boots and clothes into a small bundle and threw it into the top +branches of a tall tree. + +The remaining Monkeys threw pieces of stout rope around the Lion and +wound many coils about his body and head and legs, until he was unable +to bite or scratch or struggle in any way. Then they lifted him up and +flew away with him to the Witch’s castle, where he was placed in a +small yard with a high iron fence around it, so that he could not +escape. + +But Dorothy they did not harm at all. She stood, with Toto in her arms, +watching the sad fate of her comrades and thinking it would soon be her +turn. The leader of the Winged Monkeys flew up to her, his long, hairy +arms stretched out and his ugly face grinning terribly; but he saw the +mark of the Good Witch’s kiss upon her forehead and stopped short, +motioning the others not to touch her. + +“We dare not harm this little girl,” he said to them, “for she is +protected by the Power of Good, and that is greater than the Power of +Evil. All we can do is to carry her to the castle of the Wicked Witch +and leave her there.” + +So, carefully and gently, they lifted Dorothy in their arms and carried +her swiftly through the air until they came to the castle, where they +set her down upon the front doorstep. Then the leader said to the +Witch: + +“We have obeyed you as far as we were able. The Tin Woodman and the +Scarecrow are destroyed, and the Lion is tied up in your yard. The +little girl we dare not harm, nor the dog she carries in her arms. Your +power over our band is now ended, and you will never see us again.” + +Then all the Winged Monkeys, with much laughing and chattering and +noise, flew into the air and were soon out of sight. + +The Wicked Witch was both surprised and worried when she saw the mark +on Dorothy’s forehead, for she knew well that neither the Winged +Monkeys nor she, herself, dare hurt the girl in any way. She looked +down at Dorothy’s feet, and seeing the Silver Shoes, began to tremble +with fear, for she knew what a powerful charm belonged to them. At +first the Witch was tempted to run away from Dorothy; but she happened +to look into the child’s eyes and saw how simple the soul behind them +was, and that the little girl did not know of the wonderful power the +Silver Shoes gave her. So the Wicked Witch laughed to herself, and +thought, “I can still make her my slave, for she does not know how to +use her power.” Then she said to Dorothy, harshly and severely: + +“Come with me; and see that you mind everything I tell you, for if you +do not I will make an end of you, as I did of the Tin Woodman and the +Scarecrow.” + +Dorothy followed her through many of the beautiful rooms in her castle +until they came to the kitchen, where the Witch bade her clean the pots +and kettles and sweep the floor and keep the fire fed with wood. + +Dorothy went to work meekly, with her mind made up to work as hard as +she could; for she was glad the Wicked Witch had decided not to kill +her. + +With Dorothy hard at work, the Witch thought she would go into the +courtyard and harness the Cowardly Lion like a horse; it would amuse +her, she was sure, to make him draw her chariot whenever she wished to +go to drive. But as she opened the gate the Lion gave a loud roar and +bounded at her so fiercely that the Witch was afraid, and ran out and +shut the gate again. + +“If I cannot harness you,” said the Witch to the Lion, speaking through +the bars of the gate, “I can starve you. You shall have nothing to eat +until you do as I wish.” + +So after that she took no food to the imprisoned Lion; but every day +she came to the gate at noon and asked, “Are you ready to be harnessed +like a horse?” + +And the Lion would answer, “No. If you come in this yard, I will bite +you.” + +The reason the Lion did not have to do as the Witch wished was that +every night, while the woman was asleep, Dorothy carried him food from +the cupboard. After he had eaten he would lie down on his bed of straw, +and Dorothy would lie beside him and put her head on his soft, shaggy +mane, while they talked of their troubles and tried to plan some way to +escape. But they could find no way to get out of the castle, for it was +constantly guarded by the yellow Winkies, who were the slaves of the +Wicked Witch and too afraid of her not to do as she told them. + +The girl had to work hard during the day, and often the Witch +threatened to beat her with the same old umbrella she always carried in +her hand. But, in truth, she did not dare to strike Dorothy, because of +the mark upon her forehead. The child did not know this, and was full +of fear for herself and Toto. Once the Witch struck Toto a blow with +her umbrella and the brave little dog flew at her and bit her leg in +return. The Witch did not bleed where she was bitten, for she was so +wicked that the blood in her had dried up many years before. + +Dorothy’s life became very sad as she grew to understand that it would +be harder than ever to get back to Kansas and Aunt Em again. Sometimes +she would cry bitterly for hours, with Toto sitting at her feet and +looking into her face, whining dismally to show how sorry he was for +his little mistress. Toto did not really care whether he was in Kansas +or the Land of Oz so long as Dorothy was with him; but he knew the +little girl was unhappy, and that made him unhappy too. + +Now the Wicked Witch had a great longing to have for her own the Silver +Shoes which the girl always wore. Her bees and her crows and her wolves +were lying in heaps and drying up, and she had used up all the power of +the Golden Cap; but if she could only get hold of the Silver Shoes, +they would give her more power than all the other things she had lost. +She watched Dorothy carefully, to see if she ever took off her shoes, +thinking she might steal them. But the child was so proud of her pretty +shoes that she never took them off except at night and when she took +her bath. The Witch was too much afraid of the dark to dare go in +Dorothy’s room at night to take the shoes, and her dread of water was +greater than her fear of the dark, so she never came near when Dorothy +was bathing. Indeed, the old Witch never touched water, nor ever let +water touch her in any way. + +But the wicked creature was very cunning, and she finally thought of a +trick that would give her what she wanted. She placed a bar of iron in +the middle of the kitchen floor, and then by her magic arts made the +iron invisible to human eyes. So that when Dorothy walked across the +floor she stumbled over the bar, not being able to see it, and fell at +full length. She was not much hurt, but in her fall one of the Silver +Shoes came off; and before she could reach it, the Witch had snatched +it away and put it on her own skinny foot. + +The wicked woman was greatly pleased with the success of her trick, for +as long as she had one of the shoes she owned half the power of their +charm, and Dorothy could not use it against her, even had she known how +to do so. + +The little girl, seeing she had lost one of her pretty shoes, grew +angry, and said to the Witch, “Give me back my shoe!” + +“I will not,” retorted the Witch, “for it is now my shoe, and not +yours.” + +“You are a wicked creature!” cried Dorothy. “You have no right to take +my shoe from me.” + +“I shall keep it, just the same,” said the Witch, laughing at her, “and +someday I shall get the other one from you, too.” + +This made Dorothy so very angry that she picked up the bucket of water +that stood near and dashed it over the Witch, wetting her from head to +foot. + +Instantly the wicked woman gave a loud cry of fear, and then, as +Dorothy looked at her in wonder, the Witch began to shrink and fall +away. + +“See what you have done!” she screamed. “In a minute I shall melt +away.” + +“I’m very sorry, indeed,” said Dorothy, who was truly frightened to see +the Witch actually melting away like brown sugar before her very eyes. + +“Didn’t you know water would be the end of me?” asked the Witch, in a +wailing, despairing voice. + +“Of course not,” answered Dorothy. “How should I?” + +“Well, in a few minutes I shall be all melted, and you will have the +castle to yourself. I have been wicked in my day, but I never thought a +little girl like you would ever be able to melt me and end my wicked +deeds. Look out—here I go!” + +With these words the Witch fell down in a brown, melted, shapeless mass +and began to spread over the clean boards of the kitchen floor. Seeing +that she had really melted away to nothing, Dorothy drew another bucket +of water and threw it over the mess. She then swept it all out the +door. After picking out the silver shoe, which was all that was left of +the old woman, she cleaned and dried it with a cloth, and put it on her +foot again. Then, being at last free to do as she chose, she ran out to +the courtyard to tell the Lion that the Wicked Witch of the West had +come to an end, and that they were no longer prisoners in a strange +land. + + + + +Chapter XIII +The Rescue + + +The Cowardly Lion was much pleased to hear that the Wicked Witch had +been melted by a bucket of water, and Dorothy at once unlocked the gate +of his prison and set him free. They went in together to the castle, +where Dorothy’s first act was to call all the Winkies together and tell +them that they were no longer slaves. + +There was great rejoicing among the yellow Winkies, for they had been +made to work hard during many years for the Wicked Witch, who had +always treated them with great cruelty. They kept this day as a +holiday, then and ever after, and spent the time in feasting and +dancing. + +“If our friends, the Scarecrow and the Tin Woodman, were only with us,” +said the Lion, “I should be quite happy.” + +“Don’t you suppose we could rescue them?” asked the girl anxiously. + +“We can try,” answered the Lion. + +So they called the yellow Winkies and asked them if they would help to +rescue their friends, and the Winkies said that they would be delighted +to do all in their power for Dorothy, who had set them free from +bondage. So she chose a number of the Winkies who looked as if they +knew the most, and they all started away. They traveled that day and +part of the next until they came to the rocky plain where the Tin +Woodman lay, all battered and bent. His axe was near him, but the blade +was rusted and the handle broken off short. + +The Winkies lifted him tenderly in their arms, and carried him back to +the Yellow Castle again, Dorothy shedding a few tears by the way at the +sad plight of her old friend, and the Lion looking sober and sorry. +When they reached the castle Dorothy said to the Winkies: + +“Are any of your people tinsmiths?” + +“Oh, yes. Some of us are very good tinsmiths,” they told her. + +“Then bring them to me,” she said. And when the tinsmiths came, +bringing with them all their tools in baskets, she inquired, “Can you +straighten out those dents in the Tin Woodman, and bend him back into +shape again, and solder him together where he is broken?” + +The tinsmiths looked the Woodman over carefully and then answered that +they thought they could mend him so he would be as good as ever. So +they set to work in one of the big yellow rooms of the castle and +worked for three days and four nights, hammering and twisting and +bending and soldering and polishing and pounding at the legs and body +and head of the Tin Woodman, until at last he was straightened out into +his old form, and his joints worked as well as ever. To be sure, there +were several patches on him, but the tinsmiths did a good job, and as +the Woodman was not a vain man he did not mind the patches at all. + +When, at last, he walked into Dorothy’s room and thanked her for +rescuing him, he was so pleased that he wept tears of joy, and Dorothy +had to wipe every tear carefully from his face with her apron, so his +joints would not be rusted. At the same time her own tears fell thick +and fast at the joy of meeting her old friend again, and these tears +did not need to be wiped away. As for the Lion, he wiped his eyes so +often with the tip of his tail that it became quite wet, and he was +obliged to go out into the courtyard and hold it in the sun till it +dried. + +“If we only had the Scarecrow with us again,” said the Tin Woodman, +when Dorothy had finished telling him everything that had happened, “I +should be quite happy.” + +“We must try to find him,” said the girl. + +So she called the Winkies to help her, and they walked all that day and +part of the next until they came to the tall tree in the branches of +which the Winged Monkeys had tossed the Scarecrow’s clothes. + +It was a very tall tree, and the trunk was so smooth that no one could +climb it; but the Woodman said at once, “I’ll chop it down, and then we +can get the Scarecrow’s clothes.” + +Now while the tinsmiths had been at work mending the Woodman himself, +another of the Winkies, who was a goldsmith, had made an axe-handle of +solid gold and fitted it to the Woodman’s axe, instead of the old +broken handle. Others polished the blade until all the rust was removed +and it glistened like burnished silver. + +As soon as he had spoken, the Tin Woodman began to chop, and in a short +time the tree fell over with a crash, whereupon the Scarecrow’s clothes +fell out of the branches and rolled off on the ground. + +Dorothy picked them up and had the Winkies carry them back to the +castle, where they were stuffed with nice, clean straw; and behold! +here was the Scarecrow, as good as ever, thanking them over and over +again for saving him. + +Now that they were reunited, Dorothy and her friends spent a few happy +days at the Yellow Castle, where they found everything they needed to +make them comfortable. + +But one day the girl thought of Aunt Em, and said, “We must go back to +Oz, and claim his promise.” + +“Yes,” said the Woodman, “at last I shall get my heart.” + +“And I shall get my brains,” added the Scarecrow joyfully. + +“And I shall get my courage,” said the Lion thoughtfully. + +“And I shall get back to Kansas,” cried Dorothy, clapping her hands. +“Oh, let us start for the Emerald City tomorrow!” + +This they decided to do. The next day they called the Winkies together +and bade them good-bye. The Winkies were sorry to have them go, and +they had grown so fond of the Tin Woodman that they begged him to stay +and rule over them and the Yellow Land of the West. Finding they were +determined to go, the Winkies gave Toto and the Lion each a golden +collar; and to Dorothy they presented a beautiful bracelet studded with +diamonds; and to the Scarecrow they gave a gold-headed walking stick, +to keep him from stumbling; and to the Tin Woodman they offered a +silver oil-can, inlaid with gold and set with precious jewels. + +Every one of the travelers made the Winkies a pretty speech in return, +and all shook hands with them until their arms ached. + +Dorothy went to the Witch’s cupboard to fill her basket with food for +the journey, and there she saw the Golden Cap. She tried it on her own +head and found that it fitted her exactly. She did not know anything +about the charm of the Golden Cap, but she saw that it was pretty, so +she made up her mind to wear it and carry her sunbonnet in the basket. + +Then, being prepared for the journey, they all started for the Emerald +City; and the Winkies gave them three cheers and many good wishes to +carry with them. + + + + +Chapter XIV +The Winged Monkeys + + +You will remember there was no road—not even a pathway—between the +castle of the Wicked Witch and the Emerald City. When the four +travelers went in search of the Witch she had seen them coming, and so +sent the Winged Monkeys to bring them to her. It was much harder to +find their way back through the big fields of buttercups and yellow +daisies than it was being carried. They knew, of course, they must go +straight east, toward the rising sun; and they started off in the right +way. But at noon, when the sun was over their heads, they did not know +which was east and which was west, and that was the reason they were +lost in the great fields. They kept on walking, however, and at night +the moon came out and shone brightly. So they lay down among the sweet +smelling yellow flowers and slept soundly until morning—all but the +Scarecrow and the Tin Woodman. + +The next morning the sun was behind a cloud, but they started on, as if +they were quite sure which way they were going. + +“If we walk far enough,” said Dorothy, “I am sure we shall sometime +come to some place.” + +But day by day passed away, and they still saw nothing before them but +the scarlet fields. The Scarecrow began to grumble a bit. + +“We have surely lost our way,” he said, “and unless we find it again in +time to reach the Emerald City, I shall never get my brains.” + +“Nor I my heart,” declared the Tin Woodman. “It seems to me I can +scarcely wait till I get to Oz, and you must admit this is a very long +journey.” + +“You see,” said the Cowardly Lion, with a whimper, “I haven’t the +courage to keep tramping forever, without getting anywhere at all.” + +Then Dorothy lost heart. She sat down on the grass and looked at her +companions, and they sat down and looked at her, and Toto found that +for the first time in his life he was too tired to chase a butterfly +that flew past his head. So he put out his tongue and panted and looked +at Dorothy as if to ask what they should do next. + +“Suppose we call the field mice,” she suggested. “They could probably +tell us the way to the Emerald City.” + +“To be sure they could,” cried the Scarecrow. “Why didn’t we think of +that before?” + +Dorothy blew the little whistle she had always carried about her neck +since the Queen of the Mice had given it to her. In a few minutes they +heard the pattering of tiny feet, and many of the small gray mice came +running up to her. Among them was the Queen herself, who asked, in her +squeaky little voice: + +“What can I do for my friends?” + +“We have lost our way,” said Dorothy. “Can you tell us where the +Emerald City is?” + +“Certainly,” answered the Queen; “but it is a great way off, for you +have had it at your backs all this time.” Then she noticed Dorothy’s +Golden Cap, and said, “Why don’t you use the charm of the Cap, and call +the Winged Monkeys to you? They will carry you to the City of Oz in +less than an hour.” + +“I didn’t know there was a charm,” answered Dorothy, in surprise. “What +is it?” + +“It is written inside the Golden Cap,” replied the Queen of the Mice. +“But if you are going to call the Winged Monkeys we must run away, for +they are full of mischief and think it great fun to plague us.” + +“Won’t they hurt me?” asked the girl anxiously. + +“Oh, no. They must obey the wearer of the Cap. Good-bye!” And she +scampered out of sight, with all the mice hurrying after her. + +Dorothy looked inside the Golden Cap and saw some words written upon +the lining. These, she thought, must be the charm, so she read the +directions carefully and put the Cap upon her head. + +“Ep-pe, pep-pe, kak-ke!” she said, standing on her left foot. + +“What did you say?” asked the Scarecrow, who did not know what she was +doing. + +“Hil-lo, hol-lo, hel-lo!” Dorothy went on, standing this time on her +right foot. + +“Hello!” replied the Tin Woodman calmly. + +“Ziz-zy, zuz-zy, zik!” said Dorothy, who was now standing on both feet. +This ended the saying of the charm, and they heard a great chattering +and flapping of wings, as the band of Winged Monkeys flew up to them. + +The King bowed low before Dorothy, and asked, “What is your command?” + +“We wish to go to the Emerald City,” said the child, “and we have lost +our way.” + +“We will carry you,” replied the King, and no sooner had he spoken than +two of the Monkeys caught Dorothy in their arms and flew away with her. +Others took the Scarecrow and the Woodman and the Lion, and one little +Monkey seized Toto and flew after them, although the dog tried hard to +bite him. + +The Scarecrow and the Tin Woodman were rather frightened at first, for +they remembered how badly the Winged Monkeys had treated them before; +but they saw that no harm was intended, so they rode through the air +quite cheerfully, and had a fine time looking at the pretty gardens and +woods far below them. + +Dorothy found herself riding easily between two of the biggest Monkeys, +one of them the King himself. They had made a chair of their hands and +were careful not to hurt her. + +“Why do you have to obey the charm of the Golden Cap?” she asked. + +“That is a long story,” answered the King, with a winged laugh; “but as +we have a long journey before us, I will pass the time by telling you +about it, if you wish.” + +“I shall be glad to hear it,” she replied. + +“Once,” began the leader, “we were a free people, living happily in the +great forest, flying from tree to tree, eating nuts and fruit, and +doing just as we pleased without calling anybody master. Perhaps some +of us were rather too full of mischief at times, flying down to pull +the tails of the animals that had no wings, chasing birds, and throwing +nuts at the people who walked in the forest. But we were careless and +happy and full of fun, and enjoyed every minute of the day. This was +many years ago, long before Oz came out of the clouds to rule over this +land. + +“There lived here then, away at the North, a beautiful princess, who +was also a powerful sorceress. All her magic was used to help the +people, and she was never known to hurt anyone who was good. Her name +was Gayelette, and she lived in a handsome palace built from great +blocks of ruby. Everyone loved her, but her greatest sorrow was that +she could find no one to love in return, since all the men were much +too stupid and ugly to mate with one so beautiful and wise. At last, +however, she found a boy who was handsome and manly and wise beyond his +years. Gayelette made up her mind that when he grew to be a man she +would make him her husband, so she took him to her ruby palace and used +all her magic powers to make him as strong and good and lovely as any +woman could wish. When he grew to manhood, Quelala, as he was called, +was said to be the best and wisest man in all the land, while his manly +beauty was so great that Gayelette loved him dearly, and hastened to +make everything ready for the wedding. + +“My grandfather was at that time the King of the Winged Monkeys which +lived in the forest near Gayelette’s palace, and the old fellow loved a +joke better than a good dinner. One day, just before the wedding, my +grandfather was flying out with his band when he saw Quelala walking +beside the river. He was dressed in a rich costume of pink silk and +purple velvet, and my grandfather thought he would see what he could +do. At his word the band flew down and seized Quelala, carried him in +their arms until they were over the middle of the river, and then +dropped him into the water. + +“‘Swim out, my fine fellow,’ cried my grandfather, ‘and see if the +water has spotted your clothes.’ Quelala was much too wise not to swim, +and he was not in the least spoiled by all his good fortune. He +laughed, when he came to the top of the water, and swam in to shore. +But when Gayelette came running out to him she found his silks and +velvet all ruined by the river. + +“The princess was angry, and she knew, of course, who did it. She had +all the Winged Monkeys brought before her, and she said at first that +their wings should be tied and they should be treated as they had +treated Quelala, and dropped in the river. But my grandfather pleaded +hard, for he knew the Monkeys would drown in the river with their wings +tied, and Quelala said a kind word for them also; so that Gayelette +finally spared them, on condition that the Winged Monkeys should ever +after do three times the bidding of the owner of the Golden Cap. This +Cap had been made for a wedding present to Quelala, and it is said to +have cost the princess half her kingdom. Of course my grandfather and +all the other Monkeys at once agreed to the condition, and that is how +it happens that we are three times the slaves of the owner of the +Golden Cap, whosoever he may be.” + +“And what became of them?” asked Dorothy, who had been greatly +interested in the story. + +“Quelala being the first owner of the Golden Cap,” replied the Monkey, +“he was the first to lay his wishes upon us. As his bride could not +bear the sight of us, he called us all to him in the forest after he +had married her and ordered us always to keep where she could never +again set eyes on a Winged Monkey, which we were glad to do, for we +were all afraid of her. + +“This was all we ever had to do until the Golden Cap fell into the +hands of the Wicked Witch of the West, who made us enslave the Winkies, +and afterward drive Oz himself out of the Land of the West. Now the +Golden Cap is yours, and three times you have the right to lay your +wishes upon us.” + +As the Monkey King finished his story Dorothy looked down and saw the +green, shining walls of the Emerald City before them. She wondered at +the rapid flight of the Monkeys, but was glad the journey was over. The +strange creatures set the travelers down carefully before the gate of +the City, the King bowed low to Dorothy, and then flew swiftly away, +followed by all his band. + +“That was a good ride,” said the little girl. + +“Yes, and a quick way out of our troubles,” replied the Lion. “How +lucky it was you brought away that wonderful Cap!” + + + + +Chapter XV +The Discovery of Oz, the Terrible + + +The four travelers walked up to the great gate of Emerald City and rang +the bell. After ringing several times, it was opened by the same +Guardian of the Gates they had met before. + +“What! are you back again?” he asked, in surprise. + +“Do you not see us?” answered the Scarecrow. + +“But I thought you had gone to visit the Wicked Witch of the West.” + +“We did visit her,” said the Scarecrow. + +“And she let you go again?” asked the man, in wonder. + +“She could not help it, for she is melted,” explained the Scarecrow. + +“Melted! Well, that is good news, indeed,” said the man. “Who melted +her?” + +“It was Dorothy,” said the Lion gravely. + +“Good gracious!” exclaimed the man, and he bowed very low indeed before +her. + +Then he led them into his little room and locked the spectacles from +the great box on all their eyes, just as he had done before. Afterward +they passed on through the gate into the Emerald City. When the people +heard from the Guardian of the Gates that Dorothy had melted the Wicked +Witch of the West, they all gathered around the travelers and followed +them in a great crowd to the Palace of Oz. + +The soldier with the green whiskers was still on guard before the door, +but he let them in at once, and they were again met by the beautiful +green girl, who showed each of them to their old rooms at once, so they +might rest until the Great Oz was ready to receive them. + +The soldier had the news carried straight to Oz that Dorothy and the +other travelers had come back again, after destroying the Wicked Witch; +but Oz made no reply. They thought the Great Wizard would send for them +at once, but he did not. They had no word from him the next day, nor +the next, nor the next. The waiting was tiresome and wearing, and at +last they grew vexed that Oz should treat them in so poor a fashion, +after sending them to undergo hardships and slavery. So the Scarecrow +at last asked the green girl to take another message to Oz, saying if +he did not let them in to see him at once they would call the Winged +Monkeys to help them, and find out whether he kept his promises or not. +When the Wizard was given this message he was so frightened that he +sent word for them to come to the Throne Room at four minutes after +nine o’clock the next morning. He had once met the Winged Monkeys in +the Land of the West, and he did not wish to meet them again. + +The four travelers passed a sleepless night, each thinking of the gift +Oz had promised to bestow on him. Dorothy fell asleep only once, and +then she dreamed she was in Kansas, where Aunt Em was telling her how +glad she was to have her little girl at home again. + +Promptly at nine o’clock the next morning the green-whiskered soldier +came to them, and four minutes later they all went into the Throne Room +of the Great Oz. + +Of course each one of them expected to see the Wizard in the shape he +had taken before, and all were greatly surprised when they looked about +and saw no one at all in the room. They kept close to the door and +closer to one another, for the stillness of the empty room was more +dreadful than any of the forms they had seen Oz take. + +Presently they heard a solemn Voice, that seemed to come from somewhere +near the top of the great dome, and it said: + +“I am Oz, the Great and Terrible. Why do you seek me?” + +They looked again in every part of the room, and then, seeing no one, +Dorothy asked, “Where are you?” + +“I am everywhere,” answered the Voice, “but to the eyes of common +mortals I am invisible. I will now seat myself upon my throne, that you +may converse with me.” Indeed, the Voice seemed just then to come +straight from the throne itself; so they walked toward it and stood in +a row while Dorothy said: + +“We have come to claim our promise, O Oz.” + +“What promise?” asked Oz. + +“You promised to send me back to Kansas when the Wicked Witch was +destroyed,” said the girl. + +“And you promised to give me brains,” said the Scarecrow. + +“And you promised to give me a heart,” said the Tin Woodman. + +“And you promised to give me courage,” said the Cowardly Lion. + +“Is the Wicked Witch really destroyed?” asked the Voice, and Dorothy +thought it trembled a little. + +“Yes,” she answered, “I melted her with a bucket of water.” + +“Dear me,” said the Voice, “how sudden! Well, come to me tomorrow, for +I must have time to think it over.” + +“You’ve had plenty of time already,” said the Tin Woodman angrily. + +“We shan’t wait a day longer,” said the Scarecrow. + +“You must keep your promises to us!” exclaimed Dorothy. + +The Lion thought it might be as well to frighten the Wizard, so he gave +a large, loud roar, which was so fierce and dreadful that Toto jumped +away from him in alarm and tipped over the screen that stood in a +corner. As it fell with a crash they looked that way, and the next +moment all of them were filled with wonder. For they saw, standing in +just the spot the screen had hidden, a little old man, with a bald head +and a wrinkled face, who seemed to be as much surprised as they were. +The Tin Woodman, raising his axe, rushed toward the little man and +cried out, “Who are you?” + +“I am Oz, the Great and Terrible,” said the little man, in a trembling +voice. “But don’t strike me—please don’t—and I’ll do anything you want +me to.” + +Our friends looked at him in surprise and dismay. + +“I thought Oz was a great Head,” said Dorothy. + +“And I thought Oz was a lovely Lady,” said the Scarecrow. + +“And I thought Oz was a terrible Beast,” said the Tin Woodman. + +“And I thought Oz was a Ball of Fire,” exclaimed the Lion. + +“No, you are all wrong,” said the little man meekly. “I have been +making believe.” + +“Making believe!” cried Dorothy. “Are you not a Great Wizard?” + +“Hush, my dear,” he said. “Don’t speak so loud, or you will be +overheard—and I should be ruined. I’m supposed to be a Great Wizard.” + +“And aren’t you?” she asked. + +“Not a bit of it, my dear; I’m just a common man.” + +“You’re more than that,” said the Scarecrow, in a grieved tone; “you’re +a humbug.” + +“Exactly so!” declared the little man, rubbing his hands together as if +it pleased him. “I am a humbug.” + +“But this is terrible,” said the Tin Woodman. “How shall I ever get my +heart?” + +“Or I my courage?” asked the Lion. + +“Or I my brains?” wailed the Scarecrow, wiping the tears from his eyes +with his coat sleeve. + +“My dear friends,” said Oz, “I pray you not to speak of these little +things. Think of me, and the terrible trouble I’m in at being found +out.” + +“Doesn’t anyone else know you’re a humbug?” asked Dorothy. + +“No one knows it but you four—and myself,” replied Oz. “I have fooled +everyone so long that I thought I should never be found out. It was a +great mistake my ever letting you into the Throne Room. Usually I will +not see even my subjects, and so they believe I am something terrible.” + +“But, I don’t understand,” said Dorothy, in bewilderment. “How was it +that you appeared to me as a great Head?” + +“That was one of my tricks,” answered Oz. “Step this way, please, and I +will tell you all about it.” + +He led the way to a small chamber in the rear of the Throne Room, and +they all followed him. He pointed to one corner, in which lay the great +Head, made out of many thicknesses of paper, and with a carefully +painted face. + +“This I hung from the ceiling by a wire,” said Oz. “I stood behind the +screen and pulled a thread, to make the eyes move and the mouth open.” + +“But how about the voice?” she inquired. + +“Oh, I am a ventriloquist,” said the little man. “I can throw the sound +of my voice wherever I wish, so that you thought it was coming out of +the Head. Here are the other things I used to deceive you.” He showed +the Scarecrow the dress and the mask he had worn when he seemed to be +the lovely Lady. And the Tin Woodman saw that his terrible Beast was +nothing but a lot of skins, sewn together, with slats to keep their +sides out. As for the Ball of Fire, the false Wizard had hung that also +from the ceiling. It was really a ball of cotton, but when oil was +poured upon it the ball burned fiercely. + +“Really,” said the Scarecrow, “you ought to be ashamed of yourself for +being such a humbug.” + +“I am—I certainly am,” answered the little man sorrowfully; “but it was +the only thing I could do. Sit down, please, there are plenty of +chairs; and I will tell you my story.” + +So they sat down and listened while he told the following tale. + +“I was born in Omaha—” + +“Why, that isn’t very far from Kansas!” cried Dorothy. + +“No, but it’s farther from here,” he said, shaking his head at her +sadly. “When I grew up I became a ventriloquist, and at that I was very +well trained by a great master. I can imitate any kind of a bird or +beast.” Here he mewed so like a kitten that Toto pricked up his ears +and looked everywhere to see where she was. “After a time,” continued +Oz, “I tired of that, and became a balloonist.” + +“What is that?” asked Dorothy. + +“A man who goes up in a balloon on circus day, so as to draw a crowd of +people together and get them to pay to see the circus,” he explained. + +“Oh,” she said, “I know.” + +“Well, one day I went up in a balloon and the ropes got twisted, so +that I couldn’t come down again. It went way up above the clouds, so +far that a current of air struck it and carried it many, many miles +away. For a day and a night I traveled through the air, and on the +morning of the second day I awoke and found the balloon floating over a +strange and beautiful country. + +“It came down gradually, and I was not hurt a bit. But I found myself +in the midst of a strange people, who, seeing me come from the clouds, +thought I was a great Wizard. Of course I let them think so, because +they were afraid of me, and promised to do anything I wished them to. + +“Just to amuse myself, and keep the good people busy, I ordered them to +build this City, and my Palace; and they did it all willingly and well. +Then I thought, as the country was so green and beautiful, I would call +it the Emerald City; and to make the name fit better I put green +spectacles on all the people, so that everything they saw was green.” + +“But isn’t everything here green?” asked Dorothy. + +“No more than in any other city,” replied Oz; “but when you wear green +spectacles, why of course everything you see looks green to you. The +Emerald City was built a great many years ago, for I was a young man +when the balloon brought me here, and I am a very old man now. But my +people have worn green glasses on their eyes so long that most of them +think it really is an Emerald City, and it certainly is a beautiful +place, abounding in jewels and precious metals, and every good thing +that is needed to make one happy. I have been good to the people, and +they like me; but ever since this Palace was built, I have shut myself +up and would not see any of them. + +“One of my greatest fears was the Witches, for while I had no magical +powers at all I soon found out that the Witches were really able to do +wonderful things. There were four of them in this country, and they +ruled the people who live in the North and South and East and West. +Fortunately, the Witches of the North and South were good, and I knew +they would do me no harm; but the Witches of the East and West were +terribly wicked, and had they not thought I was more powerful than they +themselves, they would surely have destroyed me. As it was, I lived in +deadly fear of them for many years; so you can imagine how pleased I +was when I heard your house had fallen on the Wicked Witch of the East. +When you came to me, I was willing to promise anything if you would +only do away with the other Witch; but, now that you have melted her, I +am ashamed to say that I cannot keep my promises.” + +“I think you are a very bad man,” said Dorothy. + +“Oh, no, my dear; I’m really a very good man, but I’m a very bad +Wizard, I must admit.” + +“Can’t you give me brains?” asked the Scarecrow. + +“You don’t need them. You are learning something every day. A baby has +brains, but it doesn’t know much. Experience is the only thing that +brings knowledge, and the longer you are on earth the more experience +you are sure to get.” + +“That may all be true,” said the Scarecrow, “but I shall be very +unhappy unless you give me brains.” + +The false Wizard looked at him carefully. + +“Well,” he said with a sigh, “I’m not much of a magician, as I said; +but if you will come to me tomorrow morning, I will stuff your head +with brains. I cannot tell you how to use them, however; you must find +that out for yourself.” + +“Oh, thank you—thank you!” cried the Scarecrow. “I’ll find a way to use +them, never fear!” + +“But how about my courage?” asked the Lion anxiously. + +“You have plenty of courage, I am sure,” answered Oz. “All you need is +confidence in yourself. There is no living thing that is not afraid +when it faces danger. The True courage is in facing danger when you are +afraid, and that kind of courage you have in plenty.” + +“Perhaps I have, but I’m scared just the same,” said the Lion. “I shall +really be very unhappy unless you give me the sort of courage that +makes one forget he is afraid.” + +“Very well, I will give you that sort of courage tomorrow,” replied Oz. + +“How about my heart?” asked the Tin Woodman. + +“Why, as for that,” answered Oz, “I think you are wrong to want a +heart. It makes most people unhappy. If you only knew it, you are in +luck not to have a heart.” + +“That must be a matter of opinion,” said the Tin Woodman. “For my part, +I will bear all the unhappiness without a murmur, if you will give me +the heart.” + +“Very well,” answered Oz meekly. “Come to me tomorrow and you shall +have a heart. I have played Wizard for so many years that I may as well +continue the part a little longer.” + +“And now,” said Dorothy, “how am I to get back to Kansas?” + +“We shall have to think about that,” replied the little man. “Give me +two or three days to consider the matter and I’ll try to find a way to +carry you over the desert. In the meantime you shall all be treated as +my guests, and while you live in the Palace my people will wait upon +you and obey your slightest wish. There is only one thing I ask in +return for my help—such as it is. You must keep my secret and tell no +one I am a humbug.” + +They agreed to say nothing of what they had learned, and went back to +their rooms in high spirits. Even Dorothy had hope that “The Great and +Terrible Humbug,” as she called him, would find a way to send her back +to Kansas, and if he did she was willing to forgive him everything. + + + + +Chapter XVI +The Magic Art of the Great Humbug + + +Next morning the Scarecrow said to his friends: + +“Congratulate me. I am going to Oz to get my brains at last. When I +return I shall be as other men are.” + +“I have always liked you as you were,” said Dorothy simply. + +“It is kind of you to like a Scarecrow,” he replied. “But surely you +will think more of me when you hear the splendid thoughts my new brain +is going to turn out.” Then he said good-bye to them all in a cheerful +voice and went to the Throne Room, where he rapped upon the door. + +“Come in,” said Oz. + +The Scarecrow went in and found the little man sitting down by the +window, engaged in deep thought. + +“I have come for my brains,” remarked the Scarecrow, a little uneasily. + +“Oh, yes; sit down in that chair, please,” replied Oz. “You must excuse +me for taking your head off, but I shall have to do it in order to put +your brains in their proper place.” + +“That’s all right,” said the Scarecrow. “You are quite welcome to take +my head off, as long as it will be a better one when you put it on +again.” + +So the Wizard unfastened his head and emptied out the straw. Then he +entered the back room and took up a measure of bran, which he mixed +with a great many pins and needles. Having shaken them together +thoroughly, he filled the top of the Scarecrow’s head with the mixture +and stuffed the rest of the space with straw, to hold it in place. + +When he had fastened the Scarecrow’s head on his body again he said to +him, “Hereafter you will be a great man, for I have given you a lot of +bran-new brains.” + +The Scarecrow was both pleased and proud at the fulfillment of his +greatest wish, and having thanked Oz warmly he went back to his +friends. + +Dorothy looked at him curiously. His head was quite bulged out at the +top with brains. + +“How do you feel?” she asked. + +“I feel wise indeed,” he answered earnestly. “When I get used to my +brains I shall know everything.” + +“Why are those needles and pins sticking out of your head?” asked the +Tin Woodman. + +“That is proof that he is sharp,” remarked the Lion. + +“Well, I must go to Oz and get my heart,” said the Woodman. So he +walked to the Throne Room and knocked at the door. + +“Come in,” called Oz, and the Woodman entered and said, “I have come +for my heart.” + +“Very well,” answered the little man. “But I shall have to cut a hole +in your breast, so I can put your heart in the right place. I hope it +won’t hurt you.” + +“Oh, no,” answered the Woodman. “I shall not feel it at all.” + +So Oz brought a pair of tinsmith’s shears and cut a small, square hole +in the left side of the Tin Woodman’s breast. Then, going to a chest of +drawers, he took out a pretty heart, made entirely of silk and stuffed +with sawdust. + +“Isn’t it a beauty?” he asked. + +“It is, indeed!” replied the Woodman, who was greatly pleased. “But is +it a kind heart?” + +“Oh, very!” answered Oz. He put the heart in the Woodman’s breast and +then replaced the square of tin, soldering it neatly together where it +had been cut. + +“There,” said he; “now you have a heart that any man might be proud of. +I’m sorry I had to put a patch on your breast, but it really couldn’t +be helped.” + +“Never mind the patch,” exclaimed the happy Woodman. “I am very +grateful to you, and shall never forget your kindness.” + +“Don’t speak of it,” replied Oz. + +Then the Tin Woodman went back to his friends, who wished him every joy +on account of his good fortune. + +The Lion now walked to the Throne Room and knocked at the door. + +“Come in,” said Oz. + +“I have come for my courage,” announced the Lion, entering the room. + +“Very well,” answered the little man; “I will get it for you.” + +He went to a cupboard and reaching up to a high shelf took down a +square green bottle, the contents of which he poured into a green-gold +dish, beautifully carved. Placing this before the Cowardly Lion, who +sniffed at it as if he did not like it, the Wizard said: + +“Drink.” + +“What is it?” asked the Lion. + +“Well,” answered Oz, “if it were inside of you, it would be courage. +You know, of course, that courage is always inside one; so that this +really cannot be called courage until you have swallowed it. Therefore +I advise you to drink it as soon as possible.” + +The Lion hesitated no longer, but drank till the dish was empty. + +“How do you feel now?” asked Oz. + +“Full of courage,” replied the Lion, who went joyfully back to his +friends to tell them of his good fortune. + +Oz, left to himself, smiled to think of his success in giving the +Scarecrow and the Tin Woodman and the Lion exactly what they thought +they wanted. “How can I help being a humbug,” he said, “when all these +people make me do things that everybody knows can’t be done? It was +easy to make the Scarecrow and the Lion and the Woodman happy, because +they imagined I could do anything. But it will take more than +imagination to carry Dorothy back to Kansas, and I’m sure I don’t know +how it can be done.” + + + + +Chapter XVII +How the Balloon Was Launched + + +For three days Dorothy heard nothing from Oz. These were sad days for +the little girl, although her friends were all quite happy and +contented. The Scarecrow told them there were wonderful thoughts in his +head; but he would not say what they were because he knew no one could +understand them but himself. When the Tin Woodman walked about he felt +his heart rattling around in his breast; and he told Dorothy he had +discovered it to be a kinder and more tender heart than the one he had +owned when he was made of flesh. The Lion declared he was afraid of +nothing on earth, and would gladly face an army or a dozen of the +fierce Kalidahs. + +Thus each of the little party was satisfied except Dorothy, who longed +more than ever to get back to Kansas. + +On the fourth day, to her great joy, Oz sent for her, and when she +entered the Throne Room he greeted her pleasantly: + +“Sit down, my dear; I think I have found the way to get you out of this +country.” + +“And back to Kansas?” she asked eagerly. + +“Well, I’m not sure about Kansas,” said Oz, “for I haven’t the faintest +notion which way it lies. But the first thing to do is to cross the +desert, and then it should be easy to find your way home.” + +“How can I cross the desert?” she inquired. + +“Well, I’ll tell you what I think,” said the little man. “You see, when +I came to this country it was in a balloon. You also came through the +air, being carried by a cyclone. So I believe the best way to get +across the desert will be through the air. Now, it is quite beyond my +powers to make a cyclone; but I’ve been thinking the matter over, and I +believe I can make a balloon.” + +“How?” asked Dorothy. + +“A balloon,” said Oz, “is made of silk, which is coated with glue to +keep the gas in it. I have plenty of silk in the Palace, so it will be +no trouble to make the balloon. But in all this country there is no gas +to fill the balloon with, to make it float.” + +“If it won’t float,” remarked Dorothy, “it will be of no use to us.” + +“True,” answered Oz. “But there is another way to make it float, which +is to fill it with hot air. Hot air isn’t as good as gas, for if the +air should get cold the balloon would come down in the desert, and we +should be lost.” + +“We!” exclaimed the girl. “Are you going with me?” + +“Yes, of course,” replied Oz. “I am tired of being such a humbug. If I +should go out of this Palace my people would soon discover I am not a +Wizard, and then they would be vexed with me for having deceived them. +So I have to stay shut up in these rooms all day, and it gets tiresome. +I’d much rather go back to Kansas with you and be in a circus again.” + +“I shall be glad to have your company,” said Dorothy. + +“Thank you,” he answered. “Now, if you will help me sew the silk +together, we will begin to work on our balloon.” + +So Dorothy took a needle and thread, and as fast as Oz cut the strips +of silk into proper shape the girl sewed them neatly together. First +there was a strip of light green silk, then a strip of dark green and +then a strip of emerald green; for Oz had a fancy to make the balloon +in different shades of the color about them. It took three days to sew +all the strips together, but when it was finished they had a big bag of +green silk more than twenty feet long. + +Then Oz painted it on the inside with a coat of thin glue, to make it +airtight, after which he announced that the balloon was ready. + +“But we must have a basket to ride in,” he said. So he sent the soldier +with the green whiskers for a big clothes basket, which he fastened +with many ropes to the bottom of the balloon. + +When it was all ready, Oz sent word to his people that he was going to +make a visit to a great brother Wizard who lived in the clouds. The +news spread rapidly throughout the city and everyone came to see the +wonderful sight. + +Oz ordered the balloon carried out in front of the Palace, and the +people gazed upon it with much curiosity. The Tin Woodman had chopped a +big pile of wood, and now he made a fire of it, and Oz held the bottom +of the balloon over the fire so that the hot air that arose from it +would be caught in the silken bag. Gradually the balloon swelled out +and rose into the air, until finally the basket just touched the +ground. + +Then Oz got into the basket and said to all the people in a loud voice: + +“I am now going away to make a visit. While I am gone the Scarecrow +will rule over you. I command you to obey him as you would me.” + +The balloon was by this time tugging hard at the rope that held it to +the ground, for the air within it was hot, and this made it so much +lighter in weight than the air without that it pulled hard to rise into +the sky. + +“Come, Dorothy!” cried the Wizard. “Hurry up, or the balloon will fly +away.” + +“I can’t find Toto anywhere,” replied Dorothy, who did not wish to +leave her little dog behind. Toto had run into the crowd to bark at a +kitten, and Dorothy at last found him. She picked him up and ran +towards the balloon. + +She was within a few steps of it, and Oz was holding out his hands to +help her into the basket, when, crack! went the ropes, and the balloon +rose into the air without her. + +“Come back!” she screamed. “I want to go, too!” + +“I can’t come back, my dear,” called Oz from the basket. “Good-bye!” + +“Good-bye!” shouted everyone, and all eyes were turned upward to where +the Wizard was riding in the basket, rising every moment farther and +farther into the sky. + +And that was the last any of them ever saw of Oz, the Wonderful Wizard, +though he may have reached Omaha safely, and be there now, for all we +know. But the people remembered him lovingly, and said to one another: + +“Oz was always our friend. When he was here he built for us this +beautiful Emerald City, and now he is gone he has left the Wise +Scarecrow to rule over us.” + +Still, for many days they grieved over the loss of the Wonderful +Wizard, and would not be comforted. + + + + +Chapter XVIII +Away to the South + + +Dorothy wept bitterly at the passing of her hope to get home to Kansas +again; but when she thought it all over she was glad she had not gone +up in a balloon. And she also felt sorry at losing Oz, and so did her +companions. + +The Tin Woodman came to her and said: + +“Truly I should be ungrateful if I failed to mourn for the man who gave +me my lovely heart. I should like to cry a little because Oz is gone, +if you will kindly wipe away my tears, so that I shall not rust.” + +“With pleasure,” she answered, and brought a towel at once. Then the +Tin Woodman wept for several minutes, and she watched the tears +carefully and wiped them away with the towel. When he had finished, he +thanked her kindly and oiled himself thoroughly with his jeweled +oil-can, to guard against mishap. + +The Scarecrow was now the ruler of the Emerald City, and although he +was not a Wizard the people were proud of him. “For,” they said, “there +is not another city in all the world that is ruled by a stuffed man.” +And, so far as they knew, they were quite right. + +The morning after the balloon had gone up with Oz, the four travelers +met in the Throne Room and talked matters over. The Scarecrow sat in +the big throne and the others stood respectfully before him. + +“We are not so unlucky,” said the new ruler, “for this Palace and the +Emerald City belong to us, and we can do just as we please. When I +remember that a short time ago I was up on a pole in a farmer’s +cornfield, and that now I am the ruler of this beautiful City, I am +quite satisfied with my lot.” + +“I also,” said the Tin Woodman, “am well-pleased with my new heart; +and, really, that was the only thing I wished in all the world.” + +“For my part, I am content in knowing I am as brave as any beast that +ever lived, if not braver,” said the Lion modestly. + +“If Dorothy would only be contented to live in the Emerald City,” +continued the Scarecrow, “we might all be happy together.” + +“But I don’t want to live here,” cried Dorothy. “I want to go to +Kansas, and live with Aunt Em and Uncle Henry.” + +“Well, then, what can be done?” inquired the Woodman. + +The Scarecrow decided to think, and he thought so hard that the pins +and needles began to stick out of his brains. Finally he said: + +“Why not call the Winged Monkeys, and ask them to carry you over the +desert?” + +“I never thought of that!” said Dorothy joyfully. “It’s just the thing. +I’ll go at once for the Golden Cap.” + +When she brought it into the Throne Room she spoke the magic words, and +soon the band of Winged Monkeys flew in through the open window and +stood beside her. + +“This is the second time you have called us,” said the Monkey King, +bowing before the little girl. “What do you wish?” + +“I want you to fly with me to Kansas,” said Dorothy. + +But the Monkey King shook his head. + +“That cannot be done,” he said. “We belong to this country alone, and +cannot leave it. There has never been a Winged Monkey in Kansas yet, +and I suppose there never will be, for they don’t belong there. We +shall be glad to serve you in any way in our power, but we cannot cross +the desert. Good-bye.” + +And with another bow, the Monkey King spread his wings and flew away +through the window, followed by all his band. + +Dorothy was ready to cry with disappointment. “I have wasted the charm +of the Golden Cap to no purpose,” she said, “for the Winged Monkeys +cannot help me.” + +“It is certainly too bad!” said the tender-hearted Woodman. + +The Scarecrow was thinking again, and his head bulged out so horribly +that Dorothy feared it would burst. + +“Let us call in the soldier with the green whiskers,” he said, “and ask +his advice.” + +So the soldier was summoned and entered the Throne Room timidly, for +while Oz was alive he never was allowed to come farther than the door. + +“This little girl,” said the Scarecrow to the soldier, “wishes to cross +the desert. How can she do so?” + +“I cannot tell,” answered the soldier, “for nobody has ever crossed the +desert, unless it is Oz himself.” + +“Is there no one who can help me?” asked Dorothy earnestly. + +“Glinda might,” he suggested. + +“Who is Glinda?” inquired the Scarecrow. + +“The Witch of the South. She is the most powerful of all the Witches, +and rules over the Quadlings. Besides, her castle stands on the edge of +the desert, so she may know a way to cross it.” + +“Glinda is a Good Witch, isn’t she?” asked the child. + +“The Quadlings think she is good,” said the soldier, “and she is kind +to everyone. I have heard that Glinda is a beautiful woman, who knows +how to keep young in spite of the many years she has lived.” + +“How can I get to her castle?” asked Dorothy. + +“The road is straight to the South,” he answered, “but it is said to be +full of dangers to travelers. There are wild beasts in the woods, and a +race of queer men who do not like strangers to cross their country. For +this reason none of the Quadlings ever come to the Emerald City.” + +The soldier then left them and the Scarecrow said: + +“It seems, in spite of dangers, that the best thing Dorothy can do is +to travel to the Land of the South and ask Glinda to help her. For, of +course, if Dorothy stays here she will never get back to Kansas.” + +“You must have been thinking again,” remarked the Tin Woodman. + +“I have,” said the Scarecrow. + +“I shall go with Dorothy,” declared the Lion, “for I am tired of your +city and long for the woods and the country again. I am really a wild +beast, you know. Besides, Dorothy will need someone to protect her.” + +“That is true,” agreed the Woodman. “My axe may be of service to her; +so I also will go with her to the Land of the South.” + +“When shall we start?” asked the Scarecrow. + +“Are you going?” they asked, in surprise. + +“Certainly. If it wasn’t for Dorothy I should never have had brains. +She lifted me from the pole in the cornfield and brought me to the +Emerald City. So my good luck is all due to her, and I shall never +leave her until she starts back to Kansas for good and all.” + +“Thank you,” said Dorothy gratefully. “You are all very kind to me. But +I should like to start as soon as possible.” + +“We shall go tomorrow morning,” returned the Scarecrow. “So now let us +all get ready, for it will be a long journey.” + + + + +Chapter XIX +Attacked by the Fighting Trees + + +The next morning Dorothy kissed the pretty green girl good-bye, and +they all shook hands with the soldier with the green whiskers, who had +walked with them as far as the gate. When the Guardian of the Gate saw +them again he wondered greatly that they could leave the beautiful City +to get into new trouble. But he at once unlocked their spectacles, +which he put back into the green box, and gave them many good wishes to +carry with them. + +“You are now our ruler,” he said to the Scarecrow; “so you must come +back to us as soon as possible.” + +“I certainly shall if I am able,” the Scarecrow replied; “but I must +help Dorothy to get home, first.” + +As Dorothy bade the good-natured Guardian a last farewell she said: + +“I have been very kindly treated in your lovely City, and everyone has +been good to me. I cannot tell you how grateful I am.” + +“Don’t try, my dear,” he answered. “We should like to keep you with us, +but if it is your wish to return to Kansas, I hope you will find a +way.” He then opened the gate of the outer wall, and they walked forth +and started upon their journey. + +The sun shone brightly as our friends turned their faces toward the +Land of the South. They were all in the best of spirits, and laughed +and chatted together. Dorothy was once more filled with the hope of +getting home, and the Scarecrow and the Tin Woodman were glad to be of +use to her. As for the Lion, he sniffed the fresh air with delight and +whisked his tail from side to side in pure joy at being in the country +again, while Toto ran around them and chased the moths and butterflies, +barking merrily all the time. + +“City life does not agree with me at all,” remarked the Lion, as they +walked along at a brisk pace. “I have lost much flesh since I lived +there, and now I am anxious for a chance to show the other beasts how +courageous I have grown.” + +They now turned and took a last look at the Emerald City. All they +could see was a mass of towers and steeples behind the green walls, and +high up above everything the spires and dome of the Palace of Oz. + +“Oz was not such a bad Wizard, after all,” said the Tin Woodman, as he +felt his heart rattling around in his breast. + +“He knew how to give me brains, and very good brains, too,” said the +Scarecrow. + +“If Oz had taken a dose of the same courage he gave me,” added the +Lion, “he would have been a brave man.” + +Dorothy said nothing. Oz had not kept the promise he made her, but he +had done his best, so she forgave him. As he said, he was a good man, +even if he was a bad Wizard. + +The first day’s journey was through the green fields and bright flowers +that stretched about the Emerald City on every side. They slept that +night on the grass, with nothing but the stars over them; and they +rested very well indeed. + +In the morning they traveled on until they came to a thick wood. There +was no way of going around it, for it seemed to extend to the right and +left as far as they could see; and, besides, they did not dare change +the direction of their journey for fear of getting lost. So they looked +for the place where it would be easiest to get into the forest. + +The Scarecrow, who was in the lead, finally discovered a big tree with +such wide-spreading branches that there was room for the party to pass +underneath. So he walked forward to the tree, but just as he came under +the first branches they bent down and twined around him, and the next +minute he was raised from the ground and flung headlong among his +fellow travelers. + +This did not hurt the Scarecrow, but it surprised him, and he looked +rather dizzy when Dorothy picked him up. + +“Here is another space between the trees,” called the Lion. + +“Let me try it first,” said the Scarecrow, “for it doesn’t hurt me to +get thrown about.” He walked up to another tree, as he spoke, but its +branches immediately seized him and tossed him back again. + +“This is strange,” exclaimed Dorothy. “What shall we do?” + +“The trees seem to have made up their minds to fight us, and stop our +journey,” remarked the Lion. + +“I believe I will try it myself,” said the Woodman, and shouldering his +axe, he marched up to the first tree that had handled the Scarecrow so +roughly. When a big branch bent down to seize him the Woodman chopped +at it so fiercely that he cut it in two. At once the tree began shaking +all its branches as if in pain, and the Tin Woodman passed safely under +it. + +“Come on!” he shouted to the others. “Be quick!” They all ran forward +and passed under the tree without injury, except Toto, who was caught +by a small branch and shaken until he howled. But the Woodman promptly +chopped off the branch and set the little dog free. + +The other trees of the forest did nothing to keep them back, so they +made up their minds that only the first row of trees could bend down +their branches, and that probably these were the policemen of the +forest, and given this wonderful power in order to keep strangers out +of it. + +The four travelers walked with ease through the trees until they came +to the farther edge of the wood. Then, to their surprise, they found +before them a high wall which seemed to be made of white china. It was +smooth, like the surface of a dish, and higher than their heads. + +“What shall we do now?” asked Dorothy. + +“I will make a ladder,” said the Tin Woodman, “for we certainly must +climb over the wall.” + + + + +Chapter XX +The Dainty China Country + + +While the Woodman was making a ladder from wood which he found in the +forest Dorothy lay down and slept, for she was tired by the long walk. +The Lion also curled himself up to sleep and Toto lay beside him. + +The Scarecrow watched the Woodman while he worked, and said to him: + +“I cannot think why this wall is here, nor what it is made of.” + +“Rest your brains and do not worry about the wall,” replied the +Woodman. “When we have climbed over it, we shall know what is on the +other side.” + +After a time the ladder was finished. It looked clumsy, but the Tin +Woodman was sure it was strong and would answer their purpose. The +Scarecrow waked Dorothy and the Lion and Toto, and told them that the +ladder was ready. The Scarecrow climbed up the ladder first, but he was +so awkward that Dorothy had to follow close behind and keep him from +falling off. When he got his head over the top of the wall the +Scarecrow said, “Oh, my!” + +“Go on,” exclaimed Dorothy. + +So the Scarecrow climbed farther up and sat down on the top of the +wall, and Dorothy put her head over and cried, “Oh, my!” just as the +Scarecrow had done. + +Then Toto came up, and immediately began to bark, but Dorothy made him +be still. + +The Lion climbed the ladder next, and the Tin Woodman came last; but +both of them cried, “Oh, my!” as soon as they looked over the wall. +When they were all sitting in a row on the top of the wall, they looked +down and saw a strange sight. + +Before them was a great stretch of country having a floor as smooth and +shining and white as the bottom of a big platter. Scattered around were +many houses made entirely of china and painted in the brightest colors. +These houses were quite small, the biggest of them reaching only as +high as Dorothy’s waist. There were also pretty little barns, with +china fences around them; and many cows and sheep and horses and pigs +and chickens, all made of china, were standing about in groups. + +But the strangest of all were the people who lived in this queer +country. There were milkmaids and shepherdesses, with brightly colored +bodices and golden spots all over their gowns; and princesses with most +gorgeous frocks of silver and gold and purple; and shepherds dressed in +knee breeches with pink and yellow and blue stripes down them, and +golden buckles on their shoes; and princes with jeweled crowns upon +their heads, wearing ermine robes and satin doublets; and funny clowns +in ruffled gowns, with round red spots upon their cheeks and tall, +pointed caps. And, strangest of all, these people were all made of +china, even to their clothes, and were so small that the tallest of +them was no higher than Dorothy’s knee. + +No one did so much as look at the travelers at first, except one little +purple china dog with an extra-large head, which came to the wall and +barked at them in a tiny voice, afterwards running away again. + +“How shall we get down?” asked Dorothy. + +They found the ladder so heavy they could not pull it up, so the +Scarecrow fell off the wall and the others jumped down upon him so that +the hard floor would not hurt their feet. Of course they took pains not +to light on his head and get the pins in their feet. When all were +safely down they picked up the Scarecrow, whose body was quite +flattened out, and patted his straw into shape again. + +“We must cross this strange place in order to get to the other side,” +said Dorothy, “for it would be unwise for us to go any other way except +due South.” + +They began walking through the country of the china people, and the +first thing they came to was a china milkmaid milking a china cow. As +they drew near, the cow suddenly gave a kick and kicked over the stool, +the pail, and even the milkmaid herself, and all fell on the china +ground with a great clatter. + +Dorothy was shocked to see that the cow had broken her leg off, and +that the pail was lying in several small pieces, while the poor +milkmaid had a nick in her left elbow. + +“There!” cried the milkmaid angrily. “See what you have done! My cow +has broken her leg, and I must take her to the mender’s shop and have +it glued on again. What do you mean by coming here and frightening my +cow?” + +“I’m very sorry,” returned Dorothy. “Please forgive us.” + +But the pretty milkmaid was much too vexed to make any answer. She +picked up the leg sulkily and led her cow away, the poor animal limping +on three legs. As she left them the milkmaid cast many reproachful +glances over her shoulder at the clumsy strangers, holding her nicked +elbow close to her side. + +Dorothy was quite grieved at this mishap. + +“We must be very careful here,” said the kind-hearted Woodman, “or we +may hurt these pretty little people so they will never get over it.” + +A little farther on Dorothy met a most beautifully dressed young +Princess, who stopped short as she saw the strangers and started to run +away. + +Dorothy wanted to see more of the Princess, so she ran after her. But +the china girl cried out: + +“Don’t chase me! Don’t chase me!” + +She had such a frightened little voice that Dorothy stopped and said, +“Why not?” + +“Because,” answered the Princess, also stopping, a safe distance away, +“if I run I may fall down and break myself.” + +“But could you not be mended?” asked the girl. + +“Oh, yes; but one is never so pretty after being mended, you know,” +replied the Princess. + +“I suppose not,” said Dorothy. + +“Now there is Mr. Joker, one of our clowns,” continued the china lady, +“who is always trying to stand upon his head. He has broken himself so +often that he is mended in a hundred places, and doesn’t look at all +pretty. Here he comes now, so you can see for yourself.” + +Indeed, a jolly little clown came walking toward them, and Dorothy +could see that in spite of his pretty clothes of red and yellow and +green he was completely covered with cracks, running every which way +and showing plainly that he had been mended in many places. + +The Clown put his hands in his pockets, and after puffing out his +cheeks and nodding his head at them saucily, he said: + + “My lady fair, + Why do you stare +At poor old Mr. Joker? + You’re quite as stiff + And prim as if +You’d eaten up a poker!” + + +“Be quiet, sir!” said the Princess. “Can’t you see these are strangers, +and should be treated with respect?” + +“Well, that’s respect, I expect,” declared the Clown, and immediately +stood upon his head. + +“Don’t mind Mr. Joker,” said the Princess to Dorothy. “He is +considerably cracked in his head, and that makes him foolish.” + +“Oh, I don’t mind him a bit,” said Dorothy. “But you are so beautiful,” +she continued, “that I am sure I could love you dearly. Won’t you let +me carry you back to Kansas, and stand you on Aunt Em’s mantel? I could +carry you in my basket.” + +“That would make me very unhappy,” answered the china Princess. “You +see, here in our country we live contentedly, and can talk and move +around as we please. But whenever any of us are taken away our joints +at once stiffen, and we can only stand straight and look pretty. Of +course that is all that is expected of us when we are on mantels and +cabinets and drawing-room tables, but our lives are much pleasanter +here in our own country.” + +“I would not make you unhappy for all the world!” exclaimed Dorothy. +“So I’ll just say good-bye.” + +“Good-bye,” replied the Princess. + +They walked carefully through the china country. The little animals and +all the people scampered out of their way, fearing the strangers would +break them, and after an hour or so the travelers reached the other +side of the country and came to another china wall. + +It was not so high as the first, however, and by standing upon the +Lion’s back they all managed to scramble to the top. Then the Lion +gathered his legs under him and jumped on the wall; but just as he +jumped, he upset a china church with his tail and smashed it all to +pieces. + +“That was too bad,” said Dorothy, “but really I think we were lucky in +not doing these little people more harm than breaking a cow’s leg and a +church. They are all so brittle!” + +“They are, indeed,” said the Scarecrow, “and I am thankful I am made of +straw and cannot be easily damaged. There are worse things in the world +than being a Scarecrow.” + + + + +Chapter XXI +The Lion Becomes the King of Beasts + + +After climbing down from the china wall the travelers found themselves +in a disagreeable country, full of bogs and marshes and covered with +tall, rank grass. It was difficult to walk without falling into muddy +holes, for the grass was so thick that it hid them from sight. However, +by carefully picking their way, they got safely along until they +reached solid ground. But here the country seemed wilder than ever, and +after a long and tiresome walk through the underbrush they entered +another forest, where the trees were bigger and older than any they had +ever seen. + +“This forest is perfectly delightful,” declared the Lion, looking +around him with joy. “Never have I seen a more beautiful place.” + +“It seems gloomy,” said the Scarecrow. + +“Not a bit of it,” answered the Lion. “I should like to live here all +my life. See how soft the dried leaves are under your feet and how rich +and green the moss is that clings to these old trees. Surely no wild +beast could wish a pleasanter home.” + +“Perhaps there are wild beasts in the forest now,” said Dorothy. + +“I suppose there are,” returned the Lion, “but I do not see any of them +about.” + +They walked through the forest until it became too dark to go any +farther. Dorothy and Toto and the Lion lay down to sleep, while the +Woodman and the Scarecrow kept watch over them as usual. + +When morning came, they started again. Before they had gone far they +heard a low rumble, as of the growling of many wild animals. Toto +whimpered a little, but none of the others was frightened, and they +kept along the well-trodden path until they came to an opening in the +wood, in which were gathered hundreds of beasts of every variety. There +were tigers and elephants and bears and wolves and foxes and all the +others in the natural history, and for a moment Dorothy was afraid. But +the Lion explained that the animals were holding a meeting, and he +judged by their snarling and growling that they were in great trouble. + +As he spoke several of the beasts caught sight of him, and at once the +great assemblage hushed as if by magic. The biggest of the tigers came +up to the Lion and bowed, saying: + +“Welcome, O King of Beasts! You have come in good time to fight our +enemy and bring peace to all the animals of the forest once more.” + +“What is your trouble?” asked the Lion quietly. + +“We are all threatened,” answered the tiger, “by a fierce enemy which +has lately come into this forest. It is a most tremendous monster, like +a great spider, with a body as big as an elephant and legs as long as a +tree trunk. It has eight of these long legs, and as the monster crawls +through the forest he seizes an animal with a leg and drags it to his +mouth, where he eats it as a spider does a fly. Not one of us is safe +while this fierce creature is alive, and we had called a meeting to +decide how to take care of ourselves when you came among us.” + +The Lion thought for a moment. + +“Are there any other lions in this forest?” he asked. + +“No; there were some, but the monster has eaten them all. And, besides, +they were none of them nearly so large and brave as you.” + +“If I put an end to your enemy, will you bow down to me and obey me as +King of the Forest?” inquired the Lion. + +“We will do that gladly,” returned the tiger; and all the other beasts +roared with a mighty roar: “We will!” + +“Where is this great spider of yours now?” asked the Lion. + +“Yonder, among the oak trees,” said the tiger, pointing with his +forefoot. + +“Take good care of these friends of mine,” said the Lion, “and I will +go at once to fight the monster.” + +He bade his comrades good-bye and marched proudly away to do battle +with the enemy. + +The great spider was lying asleep when the Lion found him, and it +looked so ugly that its foe turned up his nose in disgust. Its legs +were quite as long as the tiger had said, and its body covered with +coarse black hair. It had a great mouth, with a row of sharp teeth a +foot long; but its head was joined to the pudgy body by a neck as +slender as a wasp’s waist. This gave the Lion a hint of the best way to +attack the creature, and as he knew it was easier to fight it asleep +than awake, he gave a great spring and landed directly upon the +monster’s back. Then, with one blow of his heavy paw, all armed with +sharp claws, he knocked the spider’s head from its body. Jumping down, +he watched it until the long legs stopped wiggling, when he knew it was +quite dead. + +The Lion went back to the opening where the beasts of the forest were +waiting for him and said proudly: + +“You need fear your enemy no longer.” + +Then the beasts bowed down to the Lion as their King, and he promised +to come back and rule over them as soon as Dorothy was safely on her +way to Kansas. + + + + +Chapter XXII +The Country of the Quadlings + + +The four travelers passed through the rest of the forest in safety, and +when they came out from its gloom saw before them a steep hill, covered +from top to bottom with great pieces of rock. + +“That will be a hard climb,” said the Scarecrow, “but we must get over +the hill, nevertheless.” + +So he led the way and the others followed. They had nearly reached the +first rock when they heard a rough voice cry out, “Keep back!” + +“Who are you?” asked the Scarecrow. + +Then a head showed itself over the rock and the same voice said, “This +hill belongs to us, and we don’t allow anyone to cross it.” + +“But we must cross it,” said the Scarecrow. “We’re going to the country +of the Quadlings.” + +“But you shall not!” replied the voice, and there stepped from behind +the rock the strangest man the travelers had ever seen. + +He was quite short and stout and had a big head, which was flat at the +top and supported by a thick neck full of wrinkles. But he had no arms +at all, and, seeing this, the Scarecrow did not fear that so helpless a +creature could prevent them from climbing the hill. So he said, “I’m +sorry not to do as you wish, but we must pass over your hill whether +you like it or not,” and he walked boldly forward. + +As quick as lightning the man’s head shot forward and his neck +stretched out until the top of the head, where it was flat, struck the +Scarecrow in the middle and sent him tumbling, over and over, down the +hill. Almost as quickly as it came the head went back to the body, and +the man laughed harshly as he said, “It isn’t as easy as you think!” + +A chorus of boisterous laughter came from the other rocks, and Dorothy +saw hundreds of the armless Hammer-Heads upon the hillside, one behind +every rock. + +The Lion became quite angry at the laughter caused by the Scarecrow’s +mishap, and giving a loud roar that echoed like thunder, he dashed up +the hill. + +Again a head shot swiftly out, and the great Lion went rolling down the +hill as if he had been struck by a cannon ball. + +Dorothy ran down and helped the Scarecrow to his feet, and the Lion +came up to her, feeling rather bruised and sore, and said, “It is +useless to fight people with shooting heads; no one can withstand +them.” + +“What can we do, then?” she asked. + +“Call the Winged Monkeys,” suggested the Tin Woodman. “You have still +the right to command them once more.” + +“Very well,” she answered, and putting on the Golden Cap she uttered +the magic words. The Monkeys were as prompt as ever, and in a few +moments the entire band stood before her. + +“What are your commands?” inquired the King of the Monkeys, bowing low. + +“Carry us over the hill to the country of the Quadlings,” answered the +girl. + +“It shall be done,” said the King, and at once the Winged Monkeys +caught the four travelers and Toto up in their arms and flew away with +them. As they passed over the hill the Hammer-Heads yelled with +vexation, and shot their heads high in the air, but they could not +reach the Winged Monkeys, which carried Dorothy and her comrades safely +over the hill and set them down in the beautiful country of the +Quadlings. + +“This is the last time you can summon us,” said the leader to Dorothy; +“so good-bye and good luck to you.” + +“Good-bye, and thank you very much,” returned the girl; and the Monkeys +rose into the air and were out of sight in a twinkling. + +The country of the Quadlings seemed rich and happy. There was field +upon field of ripening grain, with well-paved roads running between, +and pretty rippling brooks with strong bridges across them. The fences +and houses and bridges were all painted bright red, just as they had +been painted yellow in the country of the Winkies and blue in the +country of the Munchkins. The Quadlings themselves, who were short and +fat and looked chubby and good-natured, were dressed all in red, which +showed bright against the green grass and the yellowing grain. + +The Monkeys had set them down near a farmhouse, and the four travelers +walked up to it and knocked at the door. It was opened by the farmer’s +wife, and when Dorothy asked for something to eat the woman gave them +all a good dinner, with three kinds of cake and four kinds of cookies, +and a bowl of milk for Toto. + +“How far is it to the Castle of Glinda?” asked the child. + +“It is not a great way,” answered the farmer’s wife. “Take the road to +the South and you will soon reach it.” + +Thanking the good woman, they started afresh and walked by the fields +and across the pretty bridges until they saw before them a very +beautiful Castle. Before the gates were three young girls, dressed in +handsome red uniforms trimmed with gold braid; and as Dorothy +approached, one of them said to her: + +“Why have you come to the South Country?” + +“To see the Good Witch who rules here,” she answered. “Will you take me +to her?” + +“Let me have your name, and I will ask Glinda if she will receive you.” +They told who they were, and the girl soldier went into the Castle. +After a few moments she came back to say that Dorothy and the others +were to be admitted at once. + + + + +Chapter XXIII +Glinda The Good Witch Grants Dorothy’s Wish + + +Before they went to see Glinda, however, they were taken to a room of +the Castle, where Dorothy washed her face and combed her hair, and the +Lion shook the dust out of his mane, and the Scarecrow patted himself +into his best shape, and the Woodman polished his tin and oiled his +joints. + +When they were all quite presentable they followed the soldier girl +into a big room where the Witch Glinda sat upon a throne of rubies. + +She was both beautiful and young to their eyes. Her hair was a rich red +in color and fell in flowing ringlets over her shoulders. Her dress was +pure white but her eyes were blue, and they looked kindly upon the +little girl. + +“What can I do for you, my child?” she asked. + +Dorothy told the Witch all her story: how the cyclone had brought her +to the Land of Oz, how she had found her companions, and of the +wonderful adventures they had met with. + +“My greatest wish now,” she added, “is to get back to Kansas, for Aunt +Em will surely think something dreadful has happened to me, and that +will make her put on mourning; and unless the crops are better this +year than they were last, I am sure Uncle Henry cannot afford it.” + +Glinda leaned forward and kissed the sweet, upturned face of the loving +little girl. + +“Bless your dear heart,” she said, “I am sure I can tell you of a way +to get back to Kansas.” Then she added, “But, if I do, you must give me +the Golden Cap.” + +“Willingly!” exclaimed Dorothy; “indeed, it is of no use to me now, and +when you have it you can command the Winged Monkeys three times.” + +“And I think I shall need their service just those three times,” +answered Glinda, smiling. + +Dorothy then gave her the Golden Cap, and the Witch said to the +Scarecrow, “What will you do when Dorothy has left us?” + +“I will return to the Emerald City,” he replied, “for Oz has made me +its ruler and the people like me. The only thing that worries me is how +to cross the hill of the Hammer-Heads.” + +“By means of the Golden Cap I shall command the Winged Monkeys to carry +you to the gates of the Emerald City,” said Glinda, “for it would be a +shame to deprive the people of so wonderful a ruler.” + +“Am I really wonderful?” asked the Scarecrow. + +“You are unusual,” replied Glinda. + +Turning to the Tin Woodman, she asked, “What will become of you when +Dorothy leaves this country?” + +He leaned on his axe and thought a moment. Then he said, “The Winkies +were very kind to me, and wanted me to rule over them after the Wicked +Witch died. I am fond of the Winkies, and if I could get back again to +the Country of the West, I should like nothing better than to rule over +them forever.” + +“My second command to the Winged Monkeys,” said Glinda “will be that +they carry you safely to the land of the Winkies. Your brain may not be +so large to look at as those of the Scarecrow, but you are really +brighter than he is—when you are well polished—and I am sure you will +rule the Winkies wisely and well.” + +Then the Witch looked at the big, shaggy Lion and asked, “When Dorothy +has returned to her own home, what will become of you?” + +“Over the hill of the Hammer-Heads,” he answered, “lies a grand old +forest, and all the beasts that live there have made me their King. If +I could only get back to this forest, I would pass my life very happily +there.” + +“My third command to the Winged Monkeys,” said Glinda, “shall be to +carry you to your forest. Then, having used up the powers of the Golden +Cap, I shall give it to the King of the Monkeys, that he and his band +may thereafter be free for evermore.” + +The Scarecrow and the Tin Woodman and the Lion now thanked the Good +Witch earnestly for her kindness; and Dorothy exclaimed: + +“You are certainly as good as you are beautiful! But you have not yet +told me how to get back to Kansas.” + +“Your Silver Shoes will carry you over the desert,” replied Glinda. “If +you had known their power you could have gone back to your Aunt Em the +very first day you came to this country.” + +“But then I should not have had my wonderful brains!” cried the +Scarecrow. “I might have passed my whole life in the farmer’s +cornfield.” + +“And I should not have had my lovely heart,” said the Tin Woodman. “I +might have stood and rusted in the forest till the end of the world.” + +“And I should have lived a coward forever,” declared the Lion, “and no +beast in all the forest would have had a good word to say to me.” + +“This is all true,” said Dorothy, “and I am glad I was of use to these +good friends. But now that each of them has had what he most desired, +and each is happy in having a kingdom to rule besides, I think I should +like to go back to Kansas.” + +“The Silver Shoes,” said the Good Witch, “have wonderful powers. And +one of the most curious things about them is that they can carry you to +any place in the world in three steps, and each step will be made in +the wink of an eye. All you have to do is to knock the heels together +three times and command the shoes to carry you wherever you wish to +go.” + +“If that is so,” said the child joyfully, “I will ask them to carry me +back to Kansas at once.” + +She threw her arms around the Lion’s neck and kissed him, patting his +big head tenderly. Then she kissed the Tin Woodman, who was weeping in +a way most dangerous to his joints. But she hugged the soft, stuffed +body of the Scarecrow in her arms instead of kissing his painted face, +and found she was crying herself at this sorrowful parting from her +loving comrades. + +Glinda the Good stepped down from her ruby throne to give the little +girl a good-bye kiss, and Dorothy thanked her for all the kindness she +had shown to her friends and herself. + +Dorothy now took Toto up solemnly in her arms, and having said one last +good-bye she clapped the heels of her shoes together three times, +saying: + +“Take me home to Aunt Em!” + + +Instantly she was whirling through the air, so swiftly that all she +could see or feel was the wind whistling past her ears. + +The Silver Shoes took but three steps, and then she stopped so suddenly +that she rolled over upon the grass several times before she knew where +she was. + +At length, however, she sat up and looked about her. + +“Good gracious!” she cried. + +For she was sitting on the broad Kansas prairie, and just before her +was the new farmhouse Uncle Henry built after the cyclone had carried +away the old one. Uncle Henry was milking the cows in the barnyard, and +Toto had jumped out of her arms and was running toward the barn, +barking furiously. + +Dorothy stood up and found she was in her stocking-feet. For the Silver +Shoes had fallen off in her flight through the air, and were lost +forever in the desert. + + + + +Chapter XXIV +Home Again + + +Aunt Em had just come out of the house to water the cabbages when she +looked up and saw Dorothy running toward her. + +“My darling child!” she cried, folding the little girl in her arms and +covering her face with kisses. “Where in the world did you come from?” + +“From the Land of Oz,” said Dorothy gravely. “And here is Toto, too. +And oh, Aunt Em! I’m so glad to be at home again!” + + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE WONDERFUL WIZARD OF OZ *** + +***** This file should be named 55-0.txt or 55-0.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/5/55/ + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will +be renamed. + +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, +so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the +United States without permission and without paying copyright +royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part +of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm +concept and trademark. 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Thus, we do not +necessarily keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper +edition. + +Most people start at our website which has the main PG search +facility: www.gutenberg.org + +This website includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. + + diff --git a/dwhite75.ipynb b/dwhite75.ipynb new file mode 100644 index 0000000..659b24d --- /dev/null +++ b/dwhite75.ipynb @@ -0,0 +1,456 @@ +{ + "cells": [ + { + "cell_type": "markdown", + "metadata": {}, + "source": [ + "# Written text as operational data\n", + "\n", + "Written text is one type of data\n", + "\n", + "### Why people write?\n", + "\n", + " - To communicate: their thoughts, feelings, urgency, needs, information\n", + "\n", + "### Why people communicate?\n", + "\n", + "1. To express emotions\n", + "1. To share information\n", + "1. To enable or elicit an action\n", + "1. ...\n", + "\n", + "### We will use written text for the purpose other than \n", + "1. To experience emotion\n", + "1. To learn something the author intended us to learn\n", + "1. To do what the author intended us to do\n", + "\n", + "### Instead, we will use written text to recognize who wrote it\n", + " - By calculating and comparing word frequencies in written documents\n", + " \n", + "See, for example, likely fictional story https://medium.com/@amuse/how-the-nsa-caught-satoshi-nakamoto-868affcef595" + ] + }, + { + "cell_type": "markdown", + "metadata": {}, + "source": [ + "### Example 1. Dictionaries in python (associative arrays)\n", + "\n", + "Plot the frequency distribution of words on a web page." + ] + }, + { + "cell_type": "code", + "execution_count": 5, + "metadata": {}, + "outputs": [ + { + "name": "stdout", + "output_type": "stream", + "text": [ + "class=\"menu-item\t54\n", + "\t38\n", + "\t35\n", + "
  • \t28\n", + "\t21\n", + "\t21\n" + ] + } + ], + "source": [ + "import requests, re\n", + "# re is a module for regular expressions: to detect various combinations of characters\n", + "import operator\n", + "\n", + "# Start from a simple document\n", + "r = requests .get('http://eecs.utk.edu')\n", + "\n", + "# What comes back includes headers and other HTTP stuff, get just the body of the response\n", + "t = r.text\n", + "\n", + "# obtain words by splitting a string using as separator one or more (+) space/like characters (\\s) \n", + "wds = re.split('\\s+',t)\n", + "\n", + "# now populate a dictionary (wf)\n", + "wf = {}\n", + "for w in wds:\n", + " if w in wf: wf [w] = wf [w] + 1\n", + " else: wf[w] = 1\n", + "\n", + "# dictionaries can not be sorted, so lets get a sorted *list* \n", + "wfs = sorted (wf .items(), key = operator .itemgetter (1), reverse=True) \n", + "\n", + "# lets just have no more than 15 words \n", + "ml = min(len(wfs),15)\n", + "for i in range(1,ml,1):\n", + " print (wfs[i][0]+\"\\t\"+str(wfs[i][1])) " + ] + }, + { + "cell_type": "markdown", + "metadata": {}, + "source": [ + "### Part 2\n", + "\n", + "Given the earlier code, i was able to output the given word frequencies between 2 different authors" + ] + }, + { + "cell_type": "code", + "execution_count": 2, + "metadata": {}, + "outputs": [], + "source": [ + "import requests, re, nltk\n", + "from bs4 import BeautifulSoup\n", + "from nltk import clean_html\n", + "from collections import Counter\n", + "import operator\n", + "\n", + "# we may not care about the usage of stop words\n", + "stop_words = nltk.corpus.stopwords.words('english') + [\n", + " 'ut', '\\'re','.', ',', '--', '\\'s', '?', ')', '(', ':', '\\'',\n", + " '\\\"', '-', '}', '{', '&', '|', u'\\u2014' ]\n", + "\n", + "# We most likely would like to remove html markup\n", + "def cleanHtml (html):\n", + " from bs4 import BeautifulSoup\n", + " soup = BeautifulSoup(html, 'html.parser')\n", + " return soup .get_text()\n", + "\n", + "# We also want to remove special characters, quotes, etc. from each word\n", + "def cleanWord (w):\n", + " # r in r'[.,\"\\']' tells to treat \\ as a regular character \n", + " # but we need to escape ' with \\'\n", + " # any character between the brackets [] is to be removed \n", + " wn = re.sub('[,\"\\.\\'&\\|:@>*;/=]', \"\", w)\n", + " # get rid of numbers\n", + " return re.sub('^[0-9\\.]*$', \"\", wn)\n", + " \n", + "# define a function to get text/clean/calculate frequency\n", + "def get_wf (URL):\n", + " # first get the web page\n", + " r = requests .get(URL)\n", + " \n", + " # Now clean\n", + " # remove html markup\n", + " t = cleanHtml (r .text) .lower()\n", + " \n", + " # split string into an array of words using any sequence of spaces \"\\s+\" \n", + " wds = re .split('\\s+',t)\n", + " \n", + " # remove periods, commas, etc stuck to the edges of words\n", + " for i in range(len(wds)):\n", + " wds [i] = cleanWord (wds [i])\n", + " \n", + " # If satisfied with results, lets go to the next step: calculate frequencies\n", + " # We can write a loop to create a dictionary, but \n", + " # there is a special function for everything in python\n", + " # in particular for counting frequencies (like function table() in R)\n", + " wf = Counter (wds)\n", + " \n", + " # Remove stop words from the dictionary wf\n", + " for k in stop_words:\n", + " wf. pop(k, None)\n", + " \n", + " #how many regular words in the document?\n", + " tw = 0\n", + " for w in wf:\n", + " tw += wf[w] \n", + " \n", + " \n", + " # Get ordered list\n", + " wfs = sorted (wf .items(), key = operator.itemgetter(1), reverse=True)\n", + " ml = min(len(wfs),15)\n", + "\n", + " #Reverse the list because barh plots items from the bottom\n", + " return (wfs [ 0:ml ] [::-1], tw)\n", + " \n", + "# Now populate two lists \n", + "(wf_ee, tw_ee) = get_wf('https://www.gutenberg.org/files/11/11-0.txt') # alice wonderland\n", + "(wf_bu, tw_bu) = get_wf('https://www.gutenberg.org/files/55/55-0.txt') # wonderful oz" + ] + }, + { + "cell_type": "code", + "execution_count": 3, + "metadata": {}, + "outputs": [ + { + "name": "stdout", + "output_type": "stream", + "text": [ + "[('know', 61), ('queen', 64), ('see', 65), ('would', 72), ('thought', 73), ('could', 75), ('like', 78), ('went', 83), ('one', 88), ('project', 88), ('', 92), ('â\\x80\\x9ci', 119), ('little', 124), ('alice', 374), ('said', 455)]\n", + "[('would', 113), ('asked', 114), ('could', 119), ('witch', 119), ('one', 120), ('little', 139), ('tin', 139), ('great', 142), ('â\\x80\\x9ci', 143), ('oz', 146), ('lion', 169), ('woodman', 175), ('scarecrow', 215), ('said', 331), ('dorothy', 340)]\n" + ] + }, + { + "name": "stderr", + "output_type": "stream", + "text": [ + "/usr/local/lib/python3.8/dist-packages/IPython/core/pylabtools.py:151: UserWarning: Glyph 128 (\\x80) missing from current font.\n", + " fig.canvas.print_figure(bytes_io, **kw)\n", + "/usr/local/lib/python3.8/dist-packages/IPython/core/pylabtools.py:151: UserWarning: Glyph 156 (\\x9c) missing from current font.\n", + " fig.canvas.print_figure(bytes_io, **kw)\n" + ] + }, + { + "data": { + "image/png": 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\n", + "text/plain": [ + "
    " + ] + }, + "metadata": {}, + "output_type": "display_data" + } + ], + "source": [ + "# Plot the results: there are noticeable differences in the recipes!\n", + "import numpy as np\n", + "import pylab\n", + "import matplotlib.pyplot as plt\n", + "\n", + "%matplotlib inline\n", + "def plotTwoLists (wf_ee, wf_bu, title):\n", + " f = plt.figure (figsize=(10, 6))\n", + " f .suptitle (title, fontsize=20)\n", + " ax = f.add_subplot(111)\n", + " ax .spines ['top'] .set_color ('none')\n", + " ax .spines ['bottom'] .set_color ('none')\n", + " ax .spines ['left'] .set_color ('none')\n", + " ax .spines ['right'] .set_color ('none')\n", + " ax .tick_params (labelcolor='w', top='off', bottom='off', left='off', right='off', labelsize=20)\n", + "\n", + " # Create two subplots\n", + " # First subplot\n", + " ax1 = f .add_subplot (121)\n", + " plt .subplots_adjust (wspace=.5)\n", + "\n", + " pos = np .arange (len(wf_ee)) \n", + " ax1 .tick_params (axis='both', which='major', labelsize=14)\n", + " pylab .yticks (pos, [ x [0] for x in wf_ee ])\n", + " ax1 .barh (range(len(wf_ee)), [ x [1] for x in wf_ee ], align='center')\n", + "\n", + " # Second subplot\n", + " ax2 = f .add_subplot (122)\n", + " ax2 .tick_params (axis='both', which='major', labelsize=14)\n", + " pos = np .arange (len(wf_bu)) \n", + " pylab .yticks (pos, [ x [0] for x in wf_bu ])\n", + " ax2 .barh (range (len(wf_bu)), [ x [1] for x in wf_bu ], align='center')\n", + "\n", + " print (wf_ee)\n", + " print (wf_bu)\n", + "\n", + "plotTwoLists (wf_ee, wf_bu, 'Difference between Alices Adventures in Wonderland and The Wonderful Wizard of Oz')" + ] + }, + { + "cell_type": "code", + "execution_count": 9, + "metadata": {}, + "outputs": [ + { + "name": "stdout", + "output_type": "stream", + "text": [ + "and\t2836\n", + "of\t2676\n", + "to\t2646\n", + "a\t2217\n", + "in\t1422\n", + "his\t1205\n", + "he\t928\n", + "that\t920\n", + "was\t823\n", + "for\t798\n", + "with\t797\n", + "as\t672\n", + "I\t505\n", + "you\t497\n" + ] + } + ], + "source": [ + "#In case Project gutenberg is blocked you can download text to your laptop and copy to the docker container via scp\n", + "#Assuming the file name you copy is pg4680.txt here is how you change the script\n", + "# Please note the option errors='replace'\n", + "# without it python invariably runs into unicode errors\n", + "f = open ('pg4680.txt', 'r', encoding=\"ascii\", errors='replace')\n", + " \n", + "# What comes back includes headers and other HTTP stuff, get just the body of the response\n", + "t = f.read()\n", + "\n", + "# obtain words by splitting a string using as separator one or more (+) space/like characters (\\s) \n", + "wds = re.split('\\s+',t)\n", + "\n", + "# now populate a dictionary (wf)\n", + "wf = {}\n", + "for w in wds:\n", + " if w in wf: wf [w] = wf [w] + 1\n", + " else: wf [w] = 1\n", + "\n", + "# dictionaries can not be sorted, so lets get a sorted *list* \n", + "wfs = sorted (wf .items(), key = operator .itemgetter (1), reverse=True) \n", + "\n", + "# lets just have no more than 15 words \n", + "ml = min(len(wfs),15)\n", + "for i in range(1,ml,1):\n", + " print (wfs[i][0]+\"\\t\"+str(wfs[i][1])) " + ] + }, + { + "cell_type": "markdown", + "metadata": {}, + "source": [ + "# Assignment 1\n", + "\n", + "1. Compare word frequencies between two works of a single author.\n", + "1. Compare word frequencies between works of two authors.\n", + "1. Are there some words preferred by one author but used less frequently by another author?\n", + "\n", + "Extra credit\n", + "\n", + "1. The frequency of a specific word, e.g., \"would\" should follow a binomial distribution (each regular word in a document is a trial and with probability p that word is \"would\". The estimate for p is N(\"would\")/N(regular word)). Do these binomial distributions for your chosen word differ significantly between books of the same author or between authors? \n", + "\n", + "Project Gutenberg is a good source of for fiction and non-fiction.\n", + "\n", + "E.g below are two most popular books from Project Gutenberg:\n", + "- Pride and Prejudice at http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/1342.txt.utf-8\n", + "- Adventures of Huckleberry Finn at http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/76.txt.utf-8" + ] + }, + { + "cell_type": "markdown", + "metadata": {}, + "source": [ + "Part 1 Comapring freq of words of two different works by the same author.\n", + "\n", + "In this assignment i changed how the txt was read in making it a file instead of an html source. \n", + "I then used the above given code to help split and sort the words and then print them accordingly \n", + "in a list to better show the works provided." + ] + }, + { + "cell_type": "code", + "execution_count": 11, + "metadata": {}, + "outputs": [ + { + "name": "stdout", + "output_type": "stream", + "text": [ + "Alices Adventures in Wonderland\n", + "\n", + "and\t783\n", + "to\t778\n", + "a\t667\n", + "of\t605\n", + "she\t485\n", + "said\t416\n", + "in\t406\n", + "it\t357\n", + "was\t329\n", + "you\t306\n", + "I\t249\n", + "as\t246\n", + "that\t225\n", + "Alice\t221\n", + "\n", + "Sylvie and Bruno Concluded\n", + "\n", + "to\t2024\n", + "of\t1828\n", + "a\t1657\n", + "and\t1559\n", + "I\t1155\n", + "in\t1005\n", + "it\t769\n", + "he\t726\n", + "that\t682\n", + "was\t643\n", + "is\t576\n", + "with\t564\n", + "as\t560\n", + "you\t551\n" + ] + } + ], + "source": [ + "import re, operator\n", + "#open txt doc instead of html source\n", + "f = open ('11-0.txt', 'r', encoding=\"ascii\", errors='replace')\n", + "f2 = open ('48795.txt', 'r', encoding=\"ascii\", errors='replace')\n", + " \n", + "t = f.read()\n", + "t2 = f2.read()\n", + "\n", + "wds = re.split('\\s+',t)\n", + "wds2 = re.split('\\s+',t2)\n", + "\n", + "wf = {}\n", + "for w in wds:\n", + " if w in wf: wf [w] = wf [w] + 1\n", + " else: wf [w] = 1\n", + " \n", + "wf2 = {}\n", + "for w in wds2:\n", + " if w in wf2: wf2 [w] = wf2 [w] + 1\n", + " else: wf2 [w] = 1\n", + " \n", + "wfs = sorted (wf .items(), key = operator .itemgetter (1), reverse=True) \n", + "wfs2 = sorted (wf2 .items(), key = operator .itemgetter (1), reverse=True) \n", + "\n", + " \n", + "ml = min(len(wfs),15)\n", + "print (\"Alices Adventures in Wonderland\\n\")\n", + "for i in range(1,ml,1):\n", + " print (wfs[i][0] + \"\\t\" + str (wfs[i][1])) \n", + " \n", + "print('\\nSylvie and Bruno Concluded\\n') \n", + "ml2 = min(len(wfs2),15)\n", + "for i in range(1,ml2,1):\n", + " print (wfs2[i][0] + \"\\t\" + str (wfs2[i][1])) " + ] + }, + { + "cell_type": "markdown", + "metadata": {}, + "source": [ + "### Part 3\n", + "Are there some words preferred by one author but used less frequently by another author?\n", + "\n", + "Yes, pertaining to the story, certain character names are decribed way more often. These being dorothy, (from wizard of oz) along with the other main characters. Scarecrow, Lion, Tin Man. And Alice of course was name dominately in alices adventures in wonderland. " + ] + } + ], + "metadata": { + "kernelspec": { + "display_name": "Python 3 (ipykernel)", + "language": "python", + "name": "python3" + }, + "language_info": { + "codemirror_mode": { + "name": "ipython", + "version": 3 + }, + "file_extension": ".py", + "mimetype": "text/x-python", + "name": "python", + "nbconvert_exporter": "python", + "pygments_lexer": "ipython3", + "version": "3.8.10" + } + }, + "nbformat": 4, + "nbformat_minor": 1 +}