It’s a magical story about two sisters who find enchanted toys in their playroom on Christmas Eve, and must take a trip to Toyland, where they stumble upon many more magical adventures!

WINDY AND THE LOST KEY

Chapter One

The adventure began in the early hours of one Christmas morning.

It was two o’clock in the morning when the two sisters woke up. Marie, who was a light sleeper, was feeling giddy with excitement at the thought of Father Christmas visiting with all their presents; so excited that she had not been able to eat all her dinner the previous night.

Unfortunately, they had to share a bedroom, mainly because Debbie didn’t like sleeping on her own. She snored and talked in her sleep, too. Often, they kept each other awake, laughing and giggling until mom or dad came in to tell them off. When they went to bed the night before our story, they had really tried to stay awake, but after having a very busy Christmas Eve going to see Father Christmas at the local department store in town, they had both fallen asleep as soon as their heads had touched their pillows.

Now, awake again, they wondered if Father Christmas had been to their house yet. Excited to see what he had brought them, the sisters got out of bed, put on their slippers and crept down the stairs, remembering to step over the creaky floorboard, as they didn’t want to disturb their parents who were sleeping soundly in the bedroom next door. They could hear their dad snoring so were quietly confident they were safe from being caught.

As they reached the bottom of the stairs, they crept along the hallway and stood inside the doorway to the playroom.

“I don’t think he’s been yet; it might be too early,” whispered Marie as she walked into the playroom, closely followed by her sister, who was holding onto the back of Marie’s nightdress.

Then, the two girls heard something strange.

“What’s that noise?” whispered Marie, looking around.

“It sounds like someone is crying,” replied Debbie, trying to see where the noise was coming from.

The playroom was a large rectangular room with mismatched wooden furniture. The floor was laminated and the walls were painted in an eggshell blue. The room was lit by two wall lamps. Overall it had a fairy-tale-like look to it.

In one corner of the playroom next to the rocking chair, near the doll’s house, sat a rag doll facing the wall. She had long blonde hair which she wore in pigtails tied with a shiny pink ribbon, a red dress with white spots, and the reddest, shiniest shoes with a shiny black buckle right at the centre. She was crying, and the closer the girls got to her, the louder her crying became. Big fat tears were rolling down her red cheeks, splashing onto her spotted dress. At first, they didn’t notice what was lying in her lap. As they tip toed closer, they saw it was a little white sausage dog with pointy ears. It looked very dirty and frightened, and was shaking nervously as it saw them watching him.

“Who are you, and why are you crying?” asked Marie shyly. The doll slowly turned around to face them and, still holding the dog in her arms, jumped up with a start and looked at the two sisters.

“My name is Katie and I have fallen off Father Christmas’s sleigh,” said the little doll, still crying big, fat tears.

‘Please stop crying,” said Debbie, giving Katie her favourite handkerchief out of her pyjama pocket. She reached out and began stroking the little dog gently, as he was still shaking too.

“How on earth did you manage to fall off Father Christmas’s sleigh?” asked Marie.

“This little dog was blown off the sleigh by a very strong wind. I tried to hold onto him but I fell off myself,” said Katie through her tears, as she cuddled her new-found friend and tried to wipe her tears away with Debbie’s handkerchief at the same time. “When I saw your friendly- looking house I managed to squeeze us both in through your playroom window. I hope you don’t mind.”

“What is the little dogs’ name?” asked Debbie.

“I don’t know” said Katie. “I’ve tried to ask him, but he hasn’t made a sound since he fell off the sleigh and I picked him up.”

“Then we shall give him a name,” said Marie bossily. “Because he was blown off the sleigh by a strong wind, let’s call him Windy.”

“Do you like your new name, Windy?” asked Marie, gently stroking the still frightened dog.

“Windy can’t answer you,” said Katie in a sad voice.

“Why not?” asked Marie.

“Because he has lost his bark,” replied Katie.

“Lost his bark?” cried Debbie in surprise, starting to laugh. “Whoever heard of a dog losing his bark?”

“Well, you see Debbie, Windy is a clockwork dog, and when he fell off the sleigh, he lost the key that winds him up. It was carried away with the wind and I couldn’t catch it, so until his key is found, he will not be able to bark or make any noise at all,” explained Katie sadly.

Windy nodded his head in sorrowful agreement; his hearing was working fine and he had thankfully stopped shaking.

“But how do we get him another key?” asked Marie. “Can we go and buy one?”

“There is only one way I’m afraid,” said Katie. “Windy must be taken back to Toyland so that we can ask the toymaker for another key from his workshop.”

“How do we get to Toyland?” asked Debbie in a disbelieving voice, secretly not sure she believed in Toyland, even though she was talking to a doll and a clockwork dog.

“By magic,” replied Katie wistfully.

“That’s silly. I don’t believe in magic!!” scoffed Debbie, rather rudely, realising how silly that sounded.

“If you don’t believe me, I can show you right now,” Katie told her. She began rubbing one of her red shoes with her left hand, and using her right hand, pointed a finger in Debbie’s direction. In an instant, Debbie started to rise slowly into the air and floated all around the playroom, her slippers barely missing the books and toys on the bookshelves. The little white dog was so afraid that he quickly scampered into the doll’s house and peeped through a window to watch the flying little girl.

“Now do you believe in magic?” laughed Katie, looking up at Debbie.

“You look like a flying canary in your yellow pyjamas!” said Marie.

“Please let me down! I do believe in magic now, I really do,” yelled Debbie, still flying round the playroom, having to cover her eyes with her hands.

Katie clicked her fingers, which broke the magic spell. Debbie gently and slowly came sailing to the floor, landing rather more heavily than she would have liked on some floor cushions in the corner of the playroom. She sat there for a second feeling quite bewildered.

“Alright, now that you have shown us that you can do magic, please tell us how we can get to Toyland so we can help Windy?” said Marie, as Debbie, having recovered from flying, went to the doll’s house, picked up Windy and gave him a kiss on his nose.

“A trip in a golden coach is what will get us to Toyland,” said Katie, looking around the playroom for what she needed. She saw the sisters’ very tall Christmas tree sitting in the corner, all lit up and sparkling with baubles and tinsel.

“Do you see those fairy lights hanging on your Christmas tree?” asked Katie, pointing towards the tree.

“Yes, I see them,” answered Marie. “They are shaped like golden coaches; my dad bought them for my mom last Christmas as a present.

“Well, watch them very carefully,” said Katie, as once again she rubbed her red shoe with her left hand, and pointed with her right hand towards one of the golden coaches hanging on the tree. There was a flash of light, like a sparkler on bonfire night being lit, and suddenly there appeared out of nowhere a full-sized golden coach in the middle of the playroom!

“Oh, my goodness,” shouted Debbie and Marie at the same time. Then they covered their mouths with their hands, suddenly realising that they were being loud.

The golden coach filled the room: it looked old, disused and dilapidated.

“I really hope you can change that back again,” Debbie said looking unsure all of a sudden.

“Of course I can. But for now, we shall use it to get us to the city of Arboron where Toyland is,” said Katie, inviting Marie and Debbie to climb inside.

“How can we go anywhere in that?” grumbled Debbie. “It looks like it will collapse at any minute, and it has no horses to pull it, and everyone knows that horses pull coaches. Also, we haven’t had our breakfast yet,” she moaned, rubbing her tummy.

“Anything is possible on Christmas Day with a little bit of magic,” said Katie, as she magically rubbed her shoes, and a mug of hot chocolate and biscuits suddenly appeared in both of the girls’ hands. They greedily ate the biscuits and drank the hot chocolate.

Just as they had finished their drinks, the coach began to lift very slowly off the floor, wobbling a little as it got its balance. Suddenly, with a whoosh, it went flying through the open playroom window. Either the window had gotten bigger or the coach had gotten smaller, neither sister was sure.

Chapter Two

Marie and Katie were sitting on the floor of the coach, holding hands, and Debbie was looking through one of the windows, holding Windy tightly in her arms so that he could see the view. They flew off into the morning sky, flying swiftly over the roof tops.

“Look Windy! There’s my school,” shouted Debbie excitedly. “And there’s my teacher, Mrs Tadpole, taking her dog for a walk.”

“Hello Mrs Tadpole, Merry Christmas,” cried Debbie out of the coach window.

“She can’t hear you silly!” Marie was laughing at her little sister. “And don’t lean too far out.”

They flew across the snow-covered rooftops, valleys, mountains and seas, anxiously looking out of the windows at the views whizzing beneath them. As the coach began to slow down, it appeared to be looking for somewhere to land. Far more gracefully than it looked, it landed in a clearing in a wood.

The city of Arboron was built in the shadows of an enormous mountain called Rainbow Mountain. Its appearance was matched by the backdrop of ever-clear skies which had helped shape the city to what it was this day.

“We are in the Mysterious Wood and we need to get a move on.” Katie was trying to put Windy in her pocket as she spoke.

“I think I’d like to go home now,” Debbie muttered, climbing out of the coach, quickly followed by Marie.

“It isn’t a bad place to be. Most of the creatures are sleepy or asleep; they won’t bother us too much. As long as we stay away from Jagged Wood, we will be fine,” Katie told them.

The wood was tremendous, clear and young. Its canopy was marked by willow, sycamore and oak, their crowns allowed cascading lights to shimmer through. Swooping branches swayed from the willow trees and a variety of flowers, which desperately tried to avoid the shadows, looked almost out of place in the otherwise uniform scenery.

A disharmony of beastly noises echoed in the air, and clashed with the swaying of tree tops in the wind.

“Where is Jagged Wood?” asked Debbie and Marie.

“Beyond Rainbow Mountain,” said Katie.

“Where is Rainbow Mountain?” chorused the sisters.

Changing the subject and realizing the girls were still wearing their nightwear, Katie turned to them both.

“Now before we go you must both have some decent clothes, so stand still a minute.”

First she pointed to Marie. PING! her nightdress vanished and in its place appeared a stylish emerald green jacket which flowed with a cowl neckline, gracefully revealing an ornate dress underneath it. She had a large ribbon worn high around her waist. On her feet were the most beautiful soft velvet green ballet pumps.

“WOW!” was all Marie could say, spinning around.

Debbie crossed her fingers behind her back and prayed she didn’t have to wear anything so fancy and old fashioned.

Turning to Debbie, Katie performed her magic. PING! Debbie could barely dare to open her eyes. In place of her favourite pair of yellow pyjamas she wore an ornate top. Over the top was a long sleeved purple silk jacket which came down to her knees. She also wore a pair of trousers, which were quite wide and went down to furred boots. They felt very comfortable and were quite simple in design.

“Can I have a different outfit please?” asked Debbie, not altogether pleased with looking like she did, preferring to wear jeans, hoodie and trainers, and maybe even a cool cap.

“No, there isn’t time,” Katie whispered, starting to walk quickly down one
of the paths signposted ‘To Toyland’.

As they made their way down the winding uneven path, they saw the silhouettes of creatures similar to those you would see at home in your garden or when out for a walk. They saw thin creatures, crawling creatures, and what they thought might be hairy creatures of some sort. Debbie kept brushing tiny creatures off her coat until Marie told her to stop it. They could feel their excitement rising as a whole new world unfolded before them.

The post Windy and the Lost Key – A Christmas Story first appeared on Bedtime Stories.

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

1

My little brother was whining again.

“Pleeeease!” he wailed at Mum and Dad. “Just one more go at Minecraft!”

But Mum and Dad weren’t having any of it. Their arms were folded. They were always unmovable when our screen time alarm went off and our time for the week was finished.

Max didn’t realise it yet because he was only six. But I was ten, and knew the ways of the world. Believe me, there was no hope arguing when our time to play was up. That’s why I already had my zombie book out, and was reading it with half a glance, while eying off Max with the other.

“I didn’t get to finish the Great Pyramid!” he cried. He had collapsed on the floor, because not having the X-Box in his hands had presumably made him unable to walk. What anguish. He looked up at our parents with tear-stained cheeks. But they weren’t buying it.

“You’ve been playing…” Mum checked her smart watch, “one hour. Any more than that and you’ll be impossible.”

“Addicted,” added my Dad.

I saw my Mum’s eyes flicker back down to her smart watch, and at the same time, heard a gentle little buzz.

“Work…” Mum murmured. She looked at Dad. “Can you watch the dinner? I’ve got to answer this email.”

Dad looked at his phone. He pressed some buttons.

“Reminder in twenty minutes,” he said.

Mum went to her study and Dad started reading the news on his phone. The two of them had already forgotten Max and his breakdown.

Max, realising that the conversation was over, decided to forget about his complaining and wandered off to his room. I went back to my zombie book.

That was the last time everything was normal for us. None of us realised what was about to happen to our ordinary family, and how everything would soon be destroyed.

 2

I first realised something was wrong when I woke up the next morning by myself. Usually Mum came and woke me every morning. Then, when I didn’t get up, she’d nag me for a while. Finally she’d dump me out of bed and I’d have no choice but to put my clothes on.

I’d come to the kitchen then, and I’d have toast ready on the table, and my sandwiches already packed in my lunch box, wrapped and ready to go. I just had to swallow my breakfast, go brush my teeth, get my shoes on, and I was done. Ready for school.

But this morning, Mum didn’t wake me. So I woke at the time she’d normally be kicking me out of bed, only to find an ominous silence.

Curious, I got up. The house was silent. There was nobody in any of the rooms. No breakfast on the table; no lunch packed by the door.

I went to Max’s bedroom door and saw a light coming from under the sheets. I went to his bed and pulled the covers back.
There was Max on a tablet, playing Minecraft like crazy.

“What are you doing?” I whispered. “Mum and Dad are going to crack it!”

But Max didn’t answer me. He didn’t even look up. He was so obsessed with his game that all I could hear was his heavy, focused breathing, and the little clicks of his fingers as they pressed the Home screen button. His face was about two inches from the screen.

“Max!” I hissed at him. “Stop! I’ll tell Mum and Dad!”

Max totally ignored me. His eyes were glazed. His finger was moving back and forth.

“That’s it,” I muttered. “You’re in so much trouble…”

I stalked to Mum and Dad’s bedroom. The door was closed. It was only then that I hesitated. Might they be sick? Would I be disturbing them? But it was after eight, and I knew they’d want to know about Max playing the tablet on a Monday morning. Last time he’d played for two hours without them knowing, our parents had cancelled our tablet access for two whole weeks.

I tapped quietly. Then, when nobody responded, I turned the handle and pushed the door slowly open.

What I saw made me gasp out loud. I couldn’t believe my eyes!

3

Mum and Dad were sitting bolt-upright in bed, playing a game on their phones. Believe me when I say I’d never seen them play games before. I knew some people’s parents played games, but mine said that games ruined your mind.

They didn’t seem to mind using their phones for everything else, mind you – finding good restaurants and reading the newspaper and sharing photos with their friends – but playing a game? In bed in their pyjamas at 8am before school started? Never.

The second shocking thing was that they weren’t just playing the games like you’d think a parent would play. Most parents I’d seen playing Candy Crush on their phone at the playground usually sort of pretended they were doing something else. You know, like with one eye on the screen and another on little Timmy who was about to kill himself hanging upside down from the giant rope spider.

But no, my parents wouldn’t have noticed if I’d come running into the room crying that there was an axe murderer in the house. They were totally enthralled. Like Max, their eyes were wide and round. The blue light from the screen made their faces seem drawn and alien.

They didn’t react when I walked into the room, and still less when I came up close and stood beside them. I reached out and put my hand on Dad’s wrist – they get me to do that when I want to interrupt about something – but still I stood there, my hand on Dad’s wrist, and he didn’t even flinch.

I craned to have a look at the phone screen, but it was just dark with a whole lot of numbers flicking across the screen. It didn’t make a whole lot of sense to me.

“Dad?” I said.

No response.

“Mum?”

There was no reply from either of them. Just the soft tap of their fingers on the screen, and the quiet, almost slumberous breathing of someone who is intensely trying to make it to Level Eleven.

“You know, Mum and Dad, too much playing on your phones will turn you into zombies?”

They didn’t even register. I went to take Dad’s phone, but expertly, he whipped it out of my reach, still playing that weird numbers game.

Well I wasn’t going to climb all over him. I still had my dignity.

I went and made myself breakfast. And as I sat there, chewing, I tried to work it out. Was it something in our air conditioning unit? Had I missed something? The release of some really cool game that I didn’t know about.
I just couldn’t understand it. Something was seriously wrong.

And as I finished my breakfast, I knew. There was only one place I could go to find out what was going on.

4

School. The kids at school knew all about the games that were just hitting the app stores. It must be some kind of new game. I needed to find out what.

I pulled on my clothes and grabbed my school bag. School was at the end of my street, so I didn’t have to rely on Mum and Dad driving me like some kids did. I could just walk there, in less than seven minutes.

And that’s what I did. I left my family to their gaming, and closed the door behind me.

A few minutes later, I was walking the same old route and starting to feel a bit better. The leaves were starting to change colour, and the air was getting cooler. It felt good on my face.

I got nearly all the way to school when I realised that I hadn’t seen many people on the way there. That was strange.
Then I realised, I’d been running late this morning. My Mum hadn’t woken me up like she usually did. I must have missed the bell.

I picked up my pace a bit.

When I got to the school, I made my way to my classroom. I felt a strange sensation to see that there were hardly any kids in the playground.

Those that were hanging around the handball courts were all playing on their phones. Not taking photos of each other and texting like they usually did. No – they were all in their own little bubbles, eyes wide, faces tinged the same shade of blue I’d seen with Max and my parents.

Well, it wasn’t some kind of school holiday that had stopped my parents from waking me up; I could cross that off the list. There were too many kids here for that.

Before I could wonder any more, I saw my best friend Abhishek hanging out the front of my classroom and walked over.

“Hey,” I said.

As you have probably guessed, Abhishek completely ignored me. I thought that was impossible, at first, because Abhishek doesn’t have a phone. But then I remembered that he had some kind of fancy step tracking watch he got for his birthday, and he was staring into it as though it was a portal to another dimension.

“Hey!” I said again. “Abhishek! It’s Roman!”

That was a big fat Nope. He didn’t turn. He didn’t even blink. Not even slightly. He was just tap-tap-tapping with his finger. Then my heart stopped in my chest. I could see his heart rate and blood pressure were flashing up on the screen. No joke, his heart rate was more than two hundred. TWO HUNDRED! And he wasn’t even moving.

“Hey, Abhishek. C’mon. Stop playing that thing,” I said to him urgently. “We’ve got to get you to the Principle’s office.”

His face was tinged blue. I wondered if he was dying. I had to do something fast.

5

I’ve never been the type who paid too much attention when the teachers were giving first aid classes at school. So I didn’t know the first thing about what to do with Abhishek, whose face now seemed so blue that it was almost alien-like.

Still his face was still as a statue, his eyes frozen wide. Still his finger was tap-tap-tapping on his step-tracker. Tap-tap-tap. It was creepy. It was wrong.

Then the breeze seemed to die down all of a sudden and I realised that all of the kids in the playground were tapping in unison. Tap-tap-tap. The hollow sounds rang out across the concrete expanse and bounced off the buildings.

Tap-tap-tap. Imagine that. The almost-imperceptible thwock! of hundreds of fingers all tapping their watches and mobile phones at once. The sound rose to a crescendo. It took over the school. Tap-tap-tap. Tap-tap-tap-tap-tap.

I didn’t know what to do, but I knew I had to do it quickly. I grabbed Abhishek under the arms and started to drag him towards the Principal’s office. He felt really heavy and I couldn’t do it easily, not in the least because his body was relaxed like he was slouching in a beanbag, and his arm remained stretched out at an angle in front of him so he could see the screen on his wrist, and he didn’t seem to realise that someone was dragging him at all.

Still, I managed to get him off the bench. I got him off the bench and had just dragged him up the steps started heading towards the middle of the playground when, all of a sudden, everybody’s fingers stopped moving. I knew, because all that tapping suddenly stopped.

The air went silent. Utter silence. Completely silent. Not a bird twittered; not a cricket sang. Not a device buzzed or beeped into the air. It was quiet as though a television screen had just been switched off. As though we were all little robots that had suddenly been unplugged.

Then, in a very freaky fashion, everyone took a breath, at exactly the same time. A big sigh filled the air; the sigh of a hundred kids in unison.

Next thing I knew, a slow whine began from somewhere outside the school, past the school gates and the entrance to the bus stop and the road. It sounded like a whistle – no, a wind tunnel – maybe even the drone of a motor over mountains.
The sound rose and rose. It got louder and louder. It started hurting my ears. I placed Abhishek gently on the ground and put my hands over my ears as the sound got even louder still, and turned into a screech, like a car braking suddenly before it hits a brick wall; like an engine when something has gone very, very wrong.

Then all of a sudden, a bright light appeared in the sky, brighter than I’d ever seen before, and I realised it was coming from the biggest, silver spider I’d ever seen, reaching its mechanical legs across the corners of the sky, looming over the school buildings, whistling and screeching and making a noise like I’d only ever heard in the movies. It was real-life surround-sound. And before it had even sank to the ground, right in the middle of our playground, I realised what it was.

It was a terrifying spaceship.

6

All the kids in the playground who had been so immobile only moments before, suddenly stood up straight. Then their heads snapped up in unison as they stared at the bright disc that was lowering over their school yard. There they stood, frozen, looking upwards, their faced bathed in a green and purple light.

I was freaking out. There was no way I wanted to be in the way of that great silver shining thing, wailing and shooting out strange bluish sparks.

I tried to drag my friend Abhishek away, towards our classroom, but he surprised me. He suddenly shook me off with a strength I didn’t realise he had. He didn’t even look at me; his face was still craned upwards, staring at the sky.

I tried once more. But he seemed to be possessed with a weird kind of superhuman strength I knew he didn’t have before today. Both of us were usually what you would call weaklings, that no amount of football or wrestling could save us from. But not today. Today Abhishek was as strong as some kind of chubby Hercules.

He pushed me away with a bone-thumping lurch. I fell to the ground. And I could only watch as he began to shuffle towards that great shining machine.

“Stop!” I croaked, because I was terrified, and my voice had dried right up in my throat. But my voice was drowned out by a slow rising murmur as all the kids in the playground started walking towards the spaceship in that same strange, shuffling gait.

Next thing, I saw all the teachers also emerging from their classrooms and joining the zombie throng. I saw my teacher Mrs Rana walking with the rest of them. Only unlike the others who wore a dulled, dumb expression, she had a little smile on her face.

Though it was stunned and kind of absorbed, for a moment I forgot my fear, and in my excitement I called out to her. I thought she must be aware of all this like I was, and there was someone experiencing this shocking event who was awake like me.

But she walked right past me, her hand at a strange angle. It was only then that I realised she was taking a selfie, and that’s why she had that weird look on her face.

She was taking a selfie with the spaceship. Intently, like it was no danger to her at all.

She couldn’t have been more wrong.

As the humming intensified once more, I heard a rumble and realised that people were no longer just emerging from classrooms. They were also coming from the neighbouring houses, which were located on the street beside the entrance to our school. Fifty people or more. Nearly everyone in the immediate radius.

That’s when I realised the problem was way bigger than I could ever have imagined. Here were old grandmas and grandpas, people you’d never imagine harbouring a secret desire to play FIFA19 or wear an Apple watch, shuffling out of their houses and making their way slowly towards the school, their faces upturned to the sky, joining the throng of school kids and teachers and neighbours to collect in a weird, intense zombie huddle beneath the great spidery spaceship.

Then, just as suddenly as this whole thing had started, the screeching finally stopped. Once again, that unearthly silence fell over everyone.

I could feel my heart in my ears. A strong sense of dread gripped me. I couldn’t explain it.

And now, in that stillness, there was a brief and horrible moment that everyone actually realised where they were.

It was the quickest of moments. The most split of seconds. Their gait changed; they looked at each other in surprise to find themselves in the playground.

Then they looked up, and saw the giant spaceship, crouched over them like a predatory insect.

Abhishek saw me across the heads of people. His eyes met mine. For a split second, he woke up from everything that was going on and he saw me. His eyes were full of fear.

“Help me, Roman,” I saw his mouth move.

That’s all there was time for.

The bright light flared.

Then everyone disappeared.

7

My courage left me at that moment. I hardly knew what I was doing. I was alone in the playground. The giant spaceship still squatted above me, humming in a satisfied way. I realised with a heart-dropping certainty that I was now the only person left in the school.

I felt exposed and vulnerable. I wanted to run, but I was afraid that doing so would draw attention to me; that it would make that great metallic monster – or whoever was controlling it – realise that they’d missed someone. That there was someone still alive on the ground.

Should I make a run for it anyway? Was there even a possibility of escaping that thing ? I couldn’t have decided for myself. But something decided it for me. The spaceship seemed to train its great spindly legs in a new direction; my direction.

I scrambled to my feet. Blindly, barely knowing what I was doing then, I ran. Away. Away from the giant spaceship, as fast as my legs would take me, down the steps to the playground and past the library, past the gym equipment and down the hill. And as I made my way helter-skelter towards our sports oval, I heard the spaceship’s humming intensify, and felt it brighten behind me.

Oh no. Not again.

My legs went into overdrive and I pelted for the line of trees on the far side of the oval. I dove behind the biggest one and sat with my back to the trunk, panting, trying to make myself the smallest and most inconspicuous human you’d ever see.

And it seemed to work. The spaceship’s humming died down once more, and as I peered around the tree I saw that the lights had switched off.

Relief flooded my senses. But I didn’t have much time. I knew I needed to help Abhishek. He’d asked me to. It’s what a good mate would do.

But what could I do? Had he completely disappeared? Or was he up in that great big shining thing still crouching over our school playground?

And what about my teachers? All the kids at our school? Were they all up there?

Did they know what was happening? Were they feeling scared?

I wished I had a phone to call my Mum and Dad, but then I remembered that it was lucky that I didn’t.

Then I had that thought again. Mum and Dad. And Max. Oh no!

Mum, Dad and Max. Still at home, still playing their computer games, at least so far as I knew. Were they equally at risk from this great, deadly spaceship?

I felt a flash of guilt that I hadn’t tried harder to get them off their devices before I left for school. Sure, I had tried to grab their phones. But when I couldn’t get a sensible answer out of them, shouldn’t I have just turned off the wifi?

Why hadn’t I thought of something so simple?

I jumped to my feet and began walking as fast and quietly as I could, looping back around to the street using the trees as a camouflage. Luckily they went all the way to the fence line.

But the whole time I was weaving behind the trees, walking quickly and quietly towards the road, I watched the spaceship from the corner of my eye. And it didn’t move. It was like had decided to make my school its new airbase. It did, however, keep flaring up periodically with those strange coloured lights. White and purple and green and blue, like a giant disco ball.

I stopped, just briefly, to have a good look at it. To see if I could see any way of entering the thing, once I’d got Mum and Dad and Max into safety, and had to work out what to do about Abhishek and all the other kids and teachers from our school. Its surface was smooth as an egg, just with these weird projections that looked like a spider’s legs. I couldn’t see any doors or windows. It was now pulsing gently like a luminous flower. It was really pretty, in a freaky kind of way.

Pretty and dangerous, I reminded myself.

And once again, if I could regret anything, it would be that all these thoughts tend to come to me always a bit too late. Like – ten seconds too late. Because as I watched that strange, beautiful machine, there was a hot pink flare, so bright it made my eyes hurt…

And everything went black.

8

“Hey,” a voice was saying in the darkness. My head was hurting.

It was a girl’s voice. Thin and worried. A voice I’d never heard before.

I tried to open my eyes but they felt melted together.

“Wake up!” the voice said, more urgently now. I could feel something hard beneath my body, and her hands on me, shaking my elbow with some energy.

I tried again. With a monumental effort, I managed to pry my eyes open.

Oh, everything was so bright! I shut my eyes again, and rubbed them with my hands. My head was spinning.

“Are you okay?” she asked now. She could see I was alive, after all. I just nodded.

“Who are you?” I said.

“Who are you?” returned the girl.

“Roman,” I said. “I’m from the school.”

“Me too,” said the girl. “My name is Namor.”

“I haven’t heard of you,” I said.

Maybe that was rude, because Namor said coldly, “Well I haven’t heard of you.”

“It’s a big school,” I said. Then I remembered what had happened just a few minutes before. “Was,” I added.

I realised I was lying straight out on the ground under a tree – the same tree I’d been standing under when I saw that blinding pink flash only moments before. So I hadn’t been taken. That was something, at least. I wasn’t on that giant spaceship twenty metres in the air. Yet.

With some effort, I sat up. Namor just looked at me. I don’t think she liked me very much since I told her I hadn’t heard of her. Come to think of it, I had been kind of rude. But my head was still hurting, and I guess I just came out with it without thinking.

Namor was the palest girl I’d ever seen. Her hair was so light it was almost white, and she had these massive eyes that were green like the bottom of a swimming pool. She was chewing her nails and looking at me, waiting for me to say something. I obliged her.

“So how come you’re awake?”

“Awake?”

“You know, like… don’t you have a phone or something?”

“Nah,” said Namor. She blinked once. Her eyes were unsettlingly large.“I’ve never had one,” she said.

“Me neither,” I replied. “My parents reckon that technology fries your brain.”

“That’s a funny idea,” she said. “Why would it fry your brain?”

“Oh, I don’t know. My Mum just says ‘microwaves’…”

Mum was very vague when it came to her explanations. I could picture her now, telling me to turn the wifi off before we all went to bed. “Those microwaves,” she used to say, waving her hand in the air towards some invisible force…

“Microwaves have nothing to do with telephones or computers,” Namor said. “They’re like a radio. They don’t fry anything.”

“Well why aren’t you allowed to have a mobile phone?” I asked. “What reason did your parents give?”

“I just don’t think they’re very interesting,” Namor said. All of a sudden, she became more animated. She almost smiled. “Not when there’s all this other interesting stuff to look at. I mean – look at it. That sky, it’s the craziest blue. And look at your legs. Did you know there’s a eusocial insect climbing on you at the moment?”

“A eusocial … what?” I looked at her and then down at my leg. “Oh, you mean an ant?” I brushed it off. What a freak. Who calls ants a ‘eusocial insect’?’

But Namor kept watching the ant with large and excited eyes. She put her finger out and let the ant climb on it, then gave me the widest, unsettling grin. All this, mind you, while a giant spaceship was pulsing and humming only a few hundred metres away.

“Look,” I said. “You can stay with the ant all you want. But I’ve got to get back to my house. My Mum and Dad and brother are there. They’re in danger.”

“Are they?” Namor said. She suddenly seemed very interested. She put the ant down. “I’ll come with you.”

I suddenly felt oddly protective of my family. I didn’t want her seeing them like that, with those glowing, intent faces, and that weird, absorbed smile, and their fingers tapping frantically on their screens.

And didn’t she have a home to go to?

“What about your house? Are your parents alright?”

Namor just blinked at me. Her face was blank.

“My parents are where I left them,” she said.

“How do you know?”

“I saw them just before,” she said.

“Well I wouldn’t be so sure,” I said. And then I realised the uselessness of discussing this with her. I didn’t care. I just needed to make sure my family were safe.

I rose to my feet. I was still a bit unsteady.

“Ok, I’ve got to go,” I said. “Good luck.”

I started walking away from her. But she was still staring at me. I could feel her eyes on me. And something about her seemed kind of sad.

I took a few more steps, and then, maybe because I regretted my previous rudeness, something stuck in me. I turned around.

“You can come with me if you like,” I told her.

She nodded happily, and just like that, she was standing by my side. I started walking and she followed my pace. We strode away from the playground, as quickly and carefully as we could, to avoid the spaceship seeing us, in the direction of my home.

And as we walked, I thought about this strange new friend of mine. About something that had been unsettling me since a few moments before. After a few minutes more, I realised what it was.

I had a feeling Namor was lying about her parents.

But I had no idea why.

9

But for the meantime, at least as we quickly walked away from the school, the spaceship didn’t move, and stayed hovering right where it was. It gave me some comfort.It hadn’t started going up and down the street or anything, like some giant vacuum cleaner. I was still nervous though. I picked up my pace. Namor, who had long skinny arms and legs, kept up pretty well.

But as we walked away from the playground and looped onto my street, I didn’t hear police sirens, as you might expect at seeing a huge silver disc lower on a public school and suck up all its inhabitants.

Then I thought, maybe I was the only one who saw it. Me and Namor, that is.

I stole a look at the girl walking beside me. I couldn’t work her out. There was something wrong about her attitude, but I didn’t know what it was. She wasn’t at all looking at the spaceship; it didn’t seem to worry her in the slightest.

Maybe she hadn’t seen what I saw. I hadn’t asked her yet, after all. I decided to ask her.

“Did you see what happened with the spaceship before?” I said. “Did you see all those people disappear?”

“Yep,” she said.

“Anyone you knew?”

“Nah,” she said.

“What do you mean? None of your friends were at school today?”

But Namor’s face went cold. She didn’t seem to want to talk about it. That was weird.

Maybe she didn’t have friends. It wouldn’t be so unusual. Anyone that calls ants eusocial insects probably doesn’t have much experience talking to people.

“My best friend was sucked up into that thing,” I told her.

“Nobody was sucked up,” replied Namor. “They were teleported.”

“I don’t think there’s much of a difference…”

“Yes there is.”

I just looked at her. I didn’t want to argue over the way my best friend had just disappeared into a spaceship. But Namor did.

“If they’d been sucked up, it would have hurt their organs,” Namor said. “Much better this way,” she added.

I had to give her one thing: she’d made me feel a tiny bit better.

“So they might be alright up there, you think…?”

“Oh, they’re alright,” Namor said breezily.

But I wasn’t so sure. I started walking even faster.

As we walked, I practiced in my head what I needed to do once I got home. I just needed to see Mum, Dad and Max, I told myself. Turn off the wifi, tell them what had happened, and get them to drive to the police station. If the spaceship was still there, the police could surround it with their helicopters. I had no idea how they’d get in, but that’s why they were the police and I was just a clueless boy. Let the experts take care of it.

I saw with relief that we’d now crossed two streets and were almost at a big curve in the road where my street went around behind a large pine tree. I knew that once we passed it, we’d see my house.

“We’re almost here,” I told Namor.

She didn’t nod or say anything, just kept walking beside me – right beside me – as though she’d been glued to my side. She was so close I could smell her shampoo, which was a weird smell, like strong plastics.

“You wait outside when we get there,” I added. “I just need to talk to my Mum and Dad for a second before you come in.”

Namor nodded.

“There’s a swing under the front tree you can hang out on,” I added belatedly, feeling a bit rude all over again.

It’s just that I didn’t want anyone seeing my parents and brother as zombies. I didn’t want Namor looking at my family with her cool eyes, thinking they were weird or something.

My Mum was the greatest – she was so funny, and was always inventing jokes around the dinner table. My Dad was really good at kicking a soccer ball with me. My brother Max was awesome at baking cakes. You wouldn’t know it by seeing them addicted to their devices.

It was stupid, I realised, but I just wanted Namor to think my family were as good as they were. Even if she was just some strange kid who didn’t really know how to talk to people properly.

We turned the corner and then I breathed a giant sigh of relief. Everything was as it should be. There was no giant spaceship parked out the front, or anywhere on the street that I could see. There was nobody around, granted, but it was a school morning, and everybody would be at school or work, and that was normal.

One hundred percent normal. Right. It was time to move into my plan.

“Here’s the swing,” I told Namor.

She sat down on it. I left her and walked up to the front door.

I took my key out and went to put it in the lock.

That’s when I saw the lock had completely melted. It was a hard, molten mass.

Then I looked down.

And my heart froze.

10

There was a puddle of something lime-green and gooey, sitting on the doorstep. It was glowing like nothing I’d ever seen on earth, and humming in the same pitch that the giant spaceship had been humming at back in the playground.

I jumped when I saw it, and took an automatic step backwards. But the goo just stayed where it was, shimmering in a luminous, dangerous way.

It didn’t seem alive. But I didn’t want to touch it.

But I could just lean over it…

I leaned over and pushed hard on the door, but it was sealed shut. I tried jiggling it but it wouldn’t budge. I knew I had no hope of getting in with the key, because there wasn’t even a keyhole anymore.

I needed to know if my parents and brother were in there.

“Mum! Dad!” I started yelling at the top of my voice. I tried this a few times, and jabbed over and over at the doorbell. But no-one came. The house was deadly silent. Like the rest of the street, and the neighbourhood. And Namor, who was just swinging on the swing, blank-faced, studying the sky.

“They’ve been here!” I shouted towards her.

Namor seemed to wake up.

“Who?”

“Who? The aliens!”

Namor shrugged and went back to her swinging.

I couldn’t believe it. What a friend. I didn’t even know why I’d brought her along. As far as I was concerned, she could fend for herself now. I had more immediate things to worry about.

Think, I told myself. Think.

There was a door out the back, but it was glass and had an automatic lock. All our bedroom windows would be closed because it was Mum who usually opened them in the mornings, after we’d left for school, and she wouldn’t have done that today.

How could I get in the house? There must be a way.

Then I remembered. There was an old disused dog-door that the previous owners had put at the side of the house, leading into the laundry. Dad had been worried about it for ages, and had asked the landlord to seal it shut. But as far as I knew, it hadn’t happened yet.

I ran to the side of the house, plunging through the camellias and spiderwebs, past the water tank and around to the laundry entrance. Sure enough, there was the dog door, and it only took a second to confirm that it hadn’t been sealed shut yet. My heart leapt with relief.

Crouching down on hands and knees, I knew I could make it through. My head made it through no problems; my shoulders took a bit of wiggling but eventually, clumsily, I made it in and found myself akimbo on the floor. It was strange. Here I was now, in my perfectly ordinary house, lying on the laundry floor amongst the wet socks and dirty shorts. I stood carefully and listened. Still not a sound emanated from the house; not even the sounds of computer games anymore.

But while I was pretty certain I already knew what I would find, I hesitated before I turned the handle to let myself out of the laundry. I didn’t want to meet any aliens. If they had my Mum, Dad and Max, I wanted to at least have the advantage of surprise.

C’mon Roman, I told myself. Just do it.

My heart beating thick in my ears, I slowly – slowly – turned the handle. It made a slow, long squeak, but that was inevitable. I paused, hardly daring to breathe, but when nothing else happened, I gave the laundry door the gentlest push, and let myself into the hallway.

Everything was neat and quiet. There were no puddles of glowing green, or blood spatters, or signs of a struggle. I went to Max’s room first.

No-one.

I passed the kitchen. Nobody had eaten any breakfast. There were no bowls or cups in the sink.

I went to the lounge room. The TV was turned off. The curtains were still drawn.

Feeling a greater-than-ever sense of dread by now, I went into my parents room.

Nobody.

What was even weirder was that the beds were made, like they’d never even been there.

Like they’d never existed.

I could hear my breath very loud in my ears. My hear was making a drum-beat that I thought the neighbours would know about. But they probably weren’t there. There was just me and Namor, so far as I knew.

I went to the bedroom window, to see if she was still on the swing, and perhaps by now even wondering enough about me to have been even a little worried.

But when I looked outside, Namor was gone.

11

I left Mum and Dad’s bedroom then. I ran to the front door and unlocked it. Outside, I realised that the air felt cold, colder than it had before, and there was an odd smell in the air that I hadn’t noticed until now. A kind of pervasive rubbery smell.

I stayed in the doorway so I wouldn’t touch that weird green stuff, which was still glowing and humming. Only the hum had since grown more off-pitch, like a tune that leaned into the silence rather than cut into it.

“Namor!” I yelled over the sound, into the front yard. But out there, only silence greeted me. The empty swing was motionless.

I turned back into the house. I shut and locked the front door once more. What was out there? What had taken Namor?

I felt a sudden chill pass over me. What if the spaceship had come back to life, and was now working its way up the street, sucking up everyone it could find?

A panic gripped me then, and I went from room to room, checking all the doors and windows were closed and locked. Finding them all tightly sealed, I shut all the curtains then, and sat in the corner of the loungeroom, knees pulled up to my chest, feeling my heart pound my knees as I wondered what to do.

I was alone in the house. For all I knew, I was alone in the whole world. I didn’t want to go back outside. But how long could I stay in the house? My parents usually did the groceries on Tuesdays, which was tomorrow, so I knew we didn’t have all that much stuff in the pantry.

And I didn’t know how to cook – not really. I could bake a cake if it was a cake mix. I could make a sandwich. But that was about it. And what would happen when the food ran out?

As I sat there thinking about all my options, which were not many, I realised that I could now hear the humming of the green goo on the front doorstep from inside the house. It had gotten so loud that I could hear it even though the door was closed.

It was freaking me out. I got up and ran to the toilet at the back of the house, because it was the furthest room away from the front door and the street and that weird green goo.

I sat down on the toilet seat. My head was starting to feel tight and my temples thudded. I started to imagine my epitaph. Dead on the toilet. Sucked up into space from the sewer.

Then I heard it. A strange, wheezy sound. Rhythmic. Persistent.

And then a slow tapping, almost hesitant at first. A tapping that grew louder in increments. Tap-tap-tap. It was on the door to the toilet.

Tap-tap-tap-tap-TAP. And the crazy heavy breathing kind of sound grew closer, and I knew there must be some kind of giant beast behind the door, because it breathed like something living, something large and hungry, something large and hungry and laborious, something that was hungry and knew I was in here and was tapping its nails on the wood of the door, finding the flimsiest part, preparing to tear into it…

Tap-tap-tap-TAP-TAP-TAP-TAPTAPTAPTAPTAP!

I was rigid on the toilet seat. I couldn’t move a muscle. I was terrified. There was that rubbery smell again, and I realised it had permeated the tiny bathroom, and was probably some kind of poisonous gas and I was either going to be eaten by this wheezing monster or choke on whatever that green goo was shooting out through my house, and both options were not what I would have chosen. I would have chosen to die from overeating chocolate. Definitely overeating chocolate.

Tap-tap-tap-TAP-TAP-TAP-TAPTAPTAPTAPTAP!

I started to wonder if there was any way I could escape from my ill-thought-out prison. Who wants to die on a toilet? I wondered if I could just jump up and push the door open as fast and suddenly as I could, and catch the creature by surprise, and send it spinning down the hall with the force of the door. It seemed like an okay plan. Not the best. But I grabbed the toilet brush, which was a good hard metal one, and planned how I would stab it towards the creature.

Tap-tap-tap-TAP-TAP-TAP-TAPTAPTAPTAPTAP!

Oh man, though, I was just a boy, and I was coming up against some kind of crazed space creature that wanted to kill me with… a toilet brush?

I didn’t have time to think much more, because all of a sudden the creature must have gotten sick of tapping, and it started to make long scratching sounds up and down the length of the door. There was a sudden judder, and the whole door rattled in its hinges.

I couldn’t help it. A voice tore out from my throat.

“GO AWAY!” I shouted.

There was a silence. Then the door started rattling again, more forcefully this time, because the creature now knew I was in the toilet, and was prepared to meet me head on.

The humming sound from the green goo on the doorstep was now audible in the toilet, which meant that its volume was rising. And I could still hear that horrible heavy breathing, animal-like, and the scratches and thumps and the door shuddered once more in its hinges.

That’s it, I thought. I wasn’t going to die like this. I was going to try and face the monster.

I would unlock the door and shove it open in one swift motion.

I would try and stun whatever it was with my toilet brush.

If that failed, I would just make a break for it out the back door and run for my life.

I crouched before the door, one hand on the lock, the other on my weapon.

I was ready, I told myself.

The creature groaned and thudded into the door once more, rattling it in its sockets.

I turned the handle, and pushed open the door.

12

There was a strong feeling of force. I pushed through the resistance.

And then something let go. Whatever it was was sent spinning through the air and down the hallway. It landed on the floorboards with a heavy bang. I rushed out and faced it.

It was a boy. A boy I’d never seen before.

The boy had long hair that fell into his eyes, and glasses. He was wearing a green windcheater and shiny nylon pants that was long out of fashion. He was flat on his back, rubbing his eyes, as if he didn’t know how he had gotten there.

He looked a touch younger than me. All my fear disappeared as quickly as it had come. I noticed he had a wheezy kind of breathing, and right as I noticed, he fished around in his jacket pocket and brought out a puffer.

He took three quick sucks.

I folded my arms and glared at him.

“Who are you?” I demanded. “What are you doing in my house?”

“I- I don’t know,” he said. He looked sideways at me, as if worried that I would do something else to him. I guess that was normal when I’d just sent him flying into the hallway.

“You don’t know who you are?” I pressed him incredulously.

“Ahh..” he said, confused. He sat up and shook his head. “Let me think a bit.”

I stayed where I was as I saw him stare at the walls for a few moments. Then something seemed to pass his features, and he perked right up. He looked at me, beaming.

“I think I know who I am,” he finally said.

“And…?”

“Jason,” he said.

“Okay…”

“That’s all I’ve got.” He shrugged apologetically.

“Jason, how did you get into my house. All the doors and windows are locked.”

“I don’t – really know…” he said. “I was out the front of my house, and then suddenly I was here.”

“Well why were you trying to get into the bathroom?”

“The bathroom? I wasn’t!”

“Yes you were! You were scratching at the door!”

“That wasn’t me!”

“Who was it then?”

But Jason’s face fell.

“I don’t remember anything,” he said. “Like I said, I was just playing my phone out the front of my house, and next thing I knew I was here.”

I almost jumped on him.

“Your phone? You were on your phone?”

“Yeah. At least, I think so,” he said sheepishly. Then he added, “I usually am.”

“Aren’t you kind of young to be on your phone all the time?”

“Mum says it’s alright,” he replied. “I develop apps. She says it’s kind of like a job.”

I’d never heard of a kid developing apps before. He must have been pretty smart. I looked at him appraisingly, and as I did, I realised he was about the luckiest person I could have met right now. All those games you play around the campfire where people say if the last two people on earth were you and someone else, who would you choose….?

Well in the circumstances, when the whole world had gone mad for their digital devices, I reckoned being stuck with a computer programmer was not my last choice, not by a long shot.

Even if he couldn’t exactly remember much right now.

“Jason,” I said suddenly. “You must be hungry. Do you want some biscuits?”

Because I knew it would be important now to get his memory back up to scratch. Glucose could do it. Food for the brain.

“Sure,” he said.

And then I thought, if he was on his phone and he wasn’t taken, then maybe there was something different about his phone, from the phones of everyone else. I needed to have a look at it. It might contain a clue as to how everyone disappeared and he didn’t; yet how inexplicably he landed up in my hallway when all the doors and windows were shut.

I helped him up and he followed me, still looking a little dazed, into the kitchen.

“And where’s your phone?” I casually asked, when we sitting at the table and Jason was crunching into some chocolate-chip cookies

“Right here,” he said. And he put it on the table.

It was the weirdest phone I’d seen in my life.

That’s when I knew we were really in trouble.

13

Comparing Jason’s phone with those of everybody I’d ever seen in my life was like comparing apples and oranges. I couldn’t see how Jason’s device had anything to do with a normal phone. It was backlit with a screen that kind of bubbled like hard lava, and there were hundreds of zeroes and ones racing over the screen in what seemed like random patterns.

“What kind of phone is this?” I asked him.

“It’s a new kind of beta model,” he replied, pushing his glasses up his nose. “I don’t know much about it. It came in the mail last week. I was still learning to use it.”

“But how do you use it? It doesn’t look like any phone I’ve ever seen before…”

“Oh, it’s connected to the internet; you can surf the web like with any smart phone.”

And he tapped the screen a few times and Google did come up, only noticed it was on a glowing blue background, and it was spelt a little wrong. Gogol instead of Google.

“It’s not real Google,” I said, pointing it out.

“It works just the same,” he said, a bit defensively. “Anyway.”

“Check the news,” I said. “I want to see if they have anything about the spaceship. We need to start gathering information.”

But Jason just looked at me, surprised. I’d forgotten that he didn’t know anything about the spaceship. As far as he was concerned, he’d just teleported from wherever his front yard was, all the way to my hallway. It must have been a bit confusing for him, actually. So I realised I needed to fill him in.

“I know this is going to sound unbelievable,” I said. “But a giant spaceship just landed in my school yard and sucked up all the school kids and teachers. Every one of them except for me.”

I didn’t think it was worth mentioning Namor, now that she’d disappeared.

“Whoa,” said Jason. “Why not you?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “But why are you here too? That’s what I want to know.”

A strange look passed over Jason’s face.

“I already told you I don’t know…”

“I know you don’t know,” I reassured him quickly. I didn’t want to alienate him like I had Namor. “I just think you need to tell me everything you know that might help me understand how you got here,” I continued. “Because I think you must have been teleported here by those aliens. I can’t work out any other way to explain how you got into my house – can you?”

“Not really,” Jason admitted.

“And if we could pool our information,” I said. “We might be able to get somewhere. I need to find a way to get into that spaceship. My best friend and family are on it.”

“There’s nobody you know left here?” Jason asked.

“Well all the kids and teachers I know have disappeared…” I said. “And the weird thing is, that they were all playing on their mobile phones and devices right before it happened. They were totally addicted to their screens. I’d never seen that happen before.”

“In my opinion,” Jason said. “If you want it…”

I nodded.

“I doubt they were all playing the same thing,” he said.

“I agree,” I told him. “My best friend Abhishek was playing on his step tracker. There’s not the same apps on a tablet and a step tracker…”

But a look passed over Jason’s face then that was strange. It almost seemed like he was bored of the conversation.

“Anyway,” he said suddenly. “You want to see if there’s anything on the news about the spaceship?”

I nodded. He indicated that I should come sit next to him at the table, so I did. Once I was beside him and gazing at that weird mobile phone once more, he tapped at the screen.

I leaned over a little more so I could see the screen better. A whole lot of numbers started flashing up on the screen. They were hypnotic… I felt a slight pull towards them, as though they were feeding my eyes. But somewhere in the back of my mind, I had started to realise the flaw in my plan.

What if we started looking at his phone and became zombies too? Shouldn’t I have taken steps to protect myself?

I wrenched my eyes away. And saw then that Jason wasn’t looking at his phone. He was watching my face. That was weird.

“The internet’s down,” he said. He tapped some buttons and the screen switched off. He seemed annoyed.

“Well what can we do?” I asked. My head was hurting a little now. “Can you make it go back on? What if I switch the server off then on again? I know where it is…”

“I’m not hooked in to your wireless,” he said. “This is 4G. The whole network is down here. I can’t even make a phone call.”

Frowning, he placed his phone back on the table between us. Back on its screensaver, it was still glowing and making those bubbling shapes. It was the weirdest design I’d ever seen.

“Well, what if we go back to your house?” I said. “Might it work better closer to your house?”

I knew it wasn’t a perfect plan. I just couldn’t think what else to do. How would we find out what was going on if we couldn’t read the news and work out what was happening?

“Sure, we could go back to my house,” said Jason. “But what if the internet’s down there too? Don’t you think it’s better if we try and find some other people? I mean, if you think there’s anyone still down here…”

I didn’t know how to start doing something like that. Would I knock on everyone’s door? When that big spaceship was just looming up at the end of the street?

Jason seemed to sense my hesitation, because he added:

“Because the big question is, are there any other people like you?” Then he blinked. “I mean, like us.”

“Awake, you mean?”

“Yeah,” he said. “People who aren’t in the spaceship.”

“I don’t know,” I said. I was remembering Namor now. “There was one girl…”

Jason looked intently, almost eagerly, at me.

“She was with me before, but she’s gone now.”

“Where did she go?”

“I don’t know,” I admitted.

Jason sat back in his chair with an exasperated sigh.

“Well, I guess we’ll have to go out and look for them.”

But there was something wrong with his plan.

“How do we know there’s anyone else?” I asked him.

Jason looked up at me and smiled.
 “I don’t think the spaceship would have had the capacity to get everyone at once,” he said. “Not everyone in the whole town.”

“That’s just the thing. What if it did?”

Jason shrugged. A silence fell over the two of us. Outside, not a bird twittered. The air was starting to feel heavy and late, as though it were almost dusk and not the middle of the day.

I shifted in my seat, because my bones had started to hurt in a dull ache. I thought I must have injured myself when I fell in the playground.

“I just think we should get together – all humans together – so we can work out what resources we have,” said Jason finally. “Whether we can fight, or whether we should just embrace these visitors and go quietly with them…”

“Quietly with them? Are you kidding!” I replied.

“I don’t know,” Jason said. “It’s not logical if you’d rather die. I’m presuming you only have food for two weeks maximum. The electricity and the shops and the buses and the police… none of it’s going to continue for long if everyone’s gone. Do you know how to live by yourself? What would you eat?”

That was true. I had no idea what I would eat. I mean, I guess if I walked around the city I’d find a handful of shops with food in them, cans and everything, and that would last me a while. Maybe a few years. But eventually I’d have to do something for myself.

But I’d be older then. Maybe I’d have worked it out…

But hang on, what was I doing? I was totally getting ahead of myself. I didn’t believe the whole human race had been sucked up into that one spaceship…

“And what if the beings up there aren’t so bad?” Jason’s voice continued reasonably. “What if they offered you a warm bed and food on tap, and you were having the best dreams ever, and you never missed being back on Earth a bit?”

“Look, let’s discuss that when we get to it,” I said. “For now, what are you saying?”

“I’m saying I think we should go out and find some other humans,” said Jason.

“Hmm,” I said. I went back to the window and looked at the street.

And I couldn’t believe what I saw out there this time. It was incredible.

It was Mum and Abhishek, standing under a tree.

14

I dropped everything and ran for it. Out of the kitchen and down the hall, I flung open the front door and leapt over the green goo in a single bound. Mum was pushing Abhishek on the swing, and he was loving it, and she was laughing and Abhishek was laughing too.

They both looked up as I ran outside and, without saying a word, threw my arms around my mother and hugged her as tight as I could.

Mum laughed a bit in protest as I pressed my face to her shoulder, but I couldn’t help it; I felt like crying.

“Oh Mum,” was all I could say. “Mum, you’re here… and you’re ok…”

Mum just patted my back.

“Of course I’m here,” she said.

“But where were you? Where’s Dad? And Max?”

“We went shopping.”

“You went shopping? Argh Mum, you scared me!”

Abhishek turned his smiling face to me and I noticed something weird. He usually has this little mole on one side of his mouth. I could have sworn it was the left side. But today it was on the right side.

“And Abhishek, what are you doing here with my Mum?”’

“I came here looking for you,” he said. “Why weren’t you at school? We had sport today.”

I felt a bit confused, but what could I say? Mum and Abhishek were here. That was the best news ever.

“Umm….” I said. “I… I just had to come home.”

I was starting to doubt everything that had happened. Have you ever had a situation where everything you thought was true wasn’t true at all, or at least nobody seemed to see things in the same way? Standing here, with Mum and Abhishek in front of me, normal and smiling, Mum with her hand comfortably on Abhishek’s shoulder, I felt decidedly strange.

Had I even seen the giant spaceship? Was something going wrong with my mind?

“But where’s Dad and Max?” I asked.

“Dad?” Mum asked vaguely.

“Yeah. He was here when I left this morning…”

“Oh! Dad. He’s… gone. Gone out.”

“Gone out where? Our car’s still here?”

As it was. Our van hadn’t moved since this morning.

An expression seemed to pass Mum’s face. It was almost as though she was listening to something. Then her face changed, and she nodded.

“He’s gone for a walk,” she said. “He took Max with him.”

“But shouldn’t Max be at school?” I asked.

Again that strange, absorbed look passed over my Mum’s face. She paused, as though listening to a little voice in her head. Then she nodded again.

“He should be. That’s where Dad’s walked him to. To school.”

I felt an old panic rise. Late! I must be late for school! But Abhishek was here, and I was still jittery, and I just couldn’t face going back to school right now.

“Are you okay Romal?” asked Mum, her face a picture of concern.

“Sorry?” I asked.

Mum reached out and brought me in for a hug. She had a strange plastic smell.

“I said, are you okay Romal?”

Romal. She said Romal.

I pulled back from her embrace and looked at her carefully.

“Roman, Mum.”

“Yes, Roman…”

“You called me Romal.”

Mum gave a twittering kind of laugh.

“Oh I’m so silly!” she said. “Come on. Let’s invite your friend Abhishek inside for a drink. And your other friend too, who is she…?”

“Namor?”

“Namor,” Mum said lightly. “That’s who it was. I remember now. Where is she? She should come in and join us.”

I stood on the lawn, watching my Mum. She looked like my Mum. Exactly like her. Only I hadn’t told her about Namor. I’d never met the girl before today. How did Mum know about her?

I looked over at Abhishek, and I realised then that he had the strangest expression on his face. Like he’d gone into a sleep mode. But at the instant that I looked over, the moment passed, and he jerked into life again and smiled at me. He poked out his tongue.

“Yeah, where’s Namor?” he asked.

There was a strong smell of plastic starting to surround us. I took one cautious step backwards, back towards the road.

“Who’s Namor?” I asked.

“You know Namor!” Abhishek replied.

“Yes, but how do you know her?” I asked suspiciously.

Abhishek smiled.

“We’re friends, aren’t we?”

That was enough for me. I knew there was something wrong. It might have been me, or it might have been them, but I wasn’t going to wait around to find out.

I sprang to life. I broke into a run. I pelted to the front door and leapt inside, shutting the door behind me.

“Jason!” I cried out, hoping he’d hear me in the house. The lock wouldn’t work anymore, being all melted, and I didn’t know where I should go. I just acted on instinct. But I knew Mum and Abhishek would be coming up behind me, and I only had moments to decide what to do.

I ran to the kitchen so he could join me, I wanted him to be safe too. But he was no longer in the kitchen, and I had no time to waste in looking for him.

“Jason, hide or run!” I shouted to the empty house. “There’s dangerous beings on our front lawn. Don’t trust them? Just run!”

And I sprinted down the hallway, burst through the back door and ran two steps at a time down into our garden. I weaved through the trees and made my way towards the back fence. I would jump the fence, I decided. I would jump it and then change direction and backtrack towards the main road and find another place to hide. A place where they’d never expect me to be.

But I never got that far. Because as I reached the edge of the garden, the back fence rising before me, something crashed into me so hard it winded me.

I landed flat on my back on the grass. And as I wheezed and tried to get my breath back, three faces appeared above me.
 Jason, Mum and Abhishek.

“There’s no need to run,” Jason said calmly. “We won’t hurt you.”

“Yet…” said Abhishek.

15

Well, one thing was for sure. Jason, Mum and Abhishek were not feeling themselves.

If they even were Jason, Mum and Abhishek.

That’s not to even mention where Dad and Max might be.

I started to realise that I was in pretty big trouble when they reached out and hauled me up. Abhishek was still as strong as a horse. Meanwhile, Jason had completely recovered from our earlier crash in the hall, because you wouldn’t have thought it was the same kid. I could feel his steely fingers gripping into me like a metal trap, and they weren’t even flexible.

Mum, too, was hard as a rock. I couldn’t believe I hadn’t noticed it before.

My first thought was androids, because it really was like they were human-robot combinations. They seemed to be made with some tough kind of metal, underneath the warm and human stuff, and you could feel the unnatural tension underneath.

Together, the three of them dragged me to the nearest tree.

Jason pulled a weird, pink rope out of his satiny jacket. It was all shining and warm, like metal. They clipped it in place. I tugged at it with my wrists, but it was like it had been locked. It wasn’t going anywhere. It attached my wrists together, and I was stuck to the tree.

I could now hear the green goo at the front of the house just about going crazy, whistling and humming, so that the sound filled the backyard. The air had a strange, clear quality, like a photo where the light has gotten in, and it made everything look too-white, as though I was staring permanently into a flash. I wondered if I had hit my head on the way down.

“So Roman,” said Jason, smiling. “You’re onto us.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” I said. “I’m not onto anything. I just don’t know what’s happening. Where’s my Mum? And Dad, and my brother? And Abhishek?”

“I’m here,” said Mum pleasantly. Abhishek didn’t say anything, just smoothed the hair out of his eyes and grinned at me.

“You’re not my Mum,” I said. I was sounding braver than I felt. “And you’re not Abhishek,” I told the other one.

“An approximation,” the Not-My-Mum said. “Monkeys will hug a wire frame surrounded by a blanket. Ducks will follow a moving robot. Why are humans so complicated? I went to so much trouble to match… not many would!”

And as she did a little twirl I realised that she had copied a photo we had in our study. It was a photo of Mum at a wedding, because here was this – this thing, I was going to take stab and say alien – wearing the same outfit as my Mum had in that photo, right down to the shoes.

“You might look like her, but anyone could see you’re not,” I told her.

“Well, it doesn’t really matter,” she said. “I only did it not to scare you.”

“We won’t change back into our normal forms,” added Jason, smirking. “You’d die of shock!”

My heart was beating thick in my chest. I still didn’t know why they had tied me up. But I knew they could teleport me in a flash. Why hadn’t they done that yet?

“Why are you here?” I asked. “What have you done with the people at my school? And my parents?”

“We’ve taken them,” said Jason. “They’ve come to no harm. We don’t intend to kill them…”

“Only use their brains,” said Abhishek.

“What! No!” I couldn’t help crying out. They were taking my parents brains? And my brother’s? And everyone else’s? What kinds of monsters would do that?

“You make us sound like zombies!” Mum laughed. “Jason, be serious. Ha, don’t you like the sound of that? Jason. So funny. They have the cutest names on this planet…”

“We’re using the storage space,” said Abhishek. “We’ve run out of our own.”

“What storage space?” I said. “I don’t understand!”

“The human brain,” said Jason, interjecting. “It’s an impressive thing. We have our own brains, of course, but nothing like your kind’s. We’ve been watching you for a long while, and waiting for the point in time when your knowledge has expanded, and your brains along with it. The kind of capacity we get from organic brain growth is exponentially greater than any kind of artificial hard drives we have developed…”

“We treat the humans well,” said Mum. “They’ve just been hooked up to a great big server. We’re going to use them all like a giant supercomputer. And once we get into space and back onto our planet, we’ll wipe everything that’s on everyone’s minds and use the space for ourselves. A nice large planet like yours should give our civilisation enough memory to last us a few decades at least. Maybe more.”

“And when the memory runs out?” I couldn’t help but exclaim.

“Well. It costs money to keep all those humans alive. We’re not in the business of – how do you say on Earth? – throwing money down the drain…”

I suddenly understood Jason’s words a little while before. They were basically planning to hook everyone up, wipe them clean, use their brains, and just keep them alive while they were useful. And then..? They’d just get rid of them. In space somewhere. Maybe millions of light years from home. Would they dump them on a hostile planet? Or just let them die?

And what if they woke up before that happened? I couldn’t forget the look on Abhishek’s face in that instant before he’d been teleported. It was like he knew what was in store for him. I couldn’t bear the thought that they were scared up there. Or cold, or hungry, or confused.

I tugged again at the ropes that were binding my wrists. They felt like they had stretched a little. I pulled again. But still they stayed locked.

“Well what do you want me for?” I said, more boldly than I felt. If I could distract them and keep pulling at the ropes, I thought, perhaps they’d loosen even more.

But I noticed something weird after I asked this question. The three of them all paused a moment. Their bodies went still, their heads sitting on an angle as though they were listening to something. It was only for a fraction of a second. Then they looked normal once again.

Mum murmured something to Jason. Then they remembered me, and looked at me for such a long time that I worried they had noticed me still working away at my wrist-tie, stretching it more and more… I knew I needed to project some confidence.

“You might catch me, but there will be others,” I said suddenly. “My friend Namor is out there. I’m just one human of many. Are you really going to waste your time with all the ones that got away?”

The three of them looked stunned for a moment. Then they all laughed at me. All of their laughing faces, so familiar and yet so alien.

“Not exactly,” Mum said.

“Don’t get us wrong,” added Jason. “We like your brains. But we’ve got most of them. We can’t waste time, you know, gathering the last of them up.”

“It’s much more efficient for us to just scoop in, grab as many humans as we can, and go,” added Abhishek.

I decided to be bold. I had nothing to lose.

“Well what then?” I said. “Why are you here, and not up in that spaceship, carrying out your plans?”

Abhishek went to reply, but I saw Jason give a very slight shake of his head. So it was Mum who said it.

“One of our kind has escaped,” she told me.

“And you’d better help us,” added Jason.”Or you won’t like what we do to you.”

16

The missing alien was a girl called Tial – who’s heard of a girl called Tial? – and she was the daughter of the spaceship’s captain.

“If one of our own kind are left on this planet,” said Mum. “You don’t want to know what it’s going to do.”

“What do you mean?” I asked him. “What can it do? You’ve taken nearly everyone.”

They all paused again. Then Jason said suddenly, as though coming back to life,

“Bacteria,” he said. “We’re teeming with interstellar bacteria. Get that into your ecosystem, and you can say goodbye to plant and animal life on this planet.”

That sounded terrible! But I was still suspicious.

“Why do YOU care…?”

Again that strange pause. There was no doubt in my mind now. They were listening to someone.

“For the future,” all three of them said.

In unison. The exact same words.

I knew then that I needed to know who was talking to them on the other end.

“Who are you talking to?” I accused them boldly.

“Talking? Oh, nobody. We’re listening,” said Mum.

“Listening to who?”

“To our captain. The reception is terrible on this planet,” she replied.

“And he’s instructing you what to say…?”

“She,” said Mum. “And none of us speak English, Romal. We have an app that translates those strange sounds made by your mouth, but the captain is telling us how to talk to you.”

“To the three of you?”

“To everyone, all at the same time. She’s not linearly restricted like you are.”

Linearly restricted? What was that supposed to mean?

“She can talk to lots of beings at once,” said Jason. “Just because we need more brain space, don’t make the mistake of thinking that your brains are superior to ours. We are using you as an external hard drive, that’s all…”

But Jason became almost dreamy then, and an utterly alien expression drifted across his features.

“Tial,” Mum said, as if reminding him about something.

I was still working away at my wrist bindings. They were feeling distinctly looser. Meanwhile the three aliens seemed to have lost their sense of purpose. It was like they were wilting.

And almost at the instant I thought it, they dropped their heads a little, as though they were tired, and their limbs seemed floppy too. Abhishek even sat down on the grass.

I noticed that the wail from the green goo out the front was quietening too. Everything was growing quieter, becoming hushed. I didn’t know what was happening but I knew I had to take advantage of it. I kept pulling and tugging at the cord binding my wrists, and I felt it starting to slide in directions it hadn’t slid before.

“How many people can your captain talk with at once?” I asked them, to keep them busy than anything else.

“People,” Mum eventually offered, half-heartedly. “Well that’s a funny thing to call us…”

“There are currently five thousand, two hundred and seventy eight aliens here on the ground,” Jason murmured. “And in exactly three minutes, we’ll release ten thousand of our humans. Programmed to find anyone who doesn’t have the software installed. If that doesn’t find Tial…”

Then his voice stopped completely. All three of their faces went completely blank.

They fell face-first into the grass.

I wasn’t going to wait to find out why. I tugged and tugged. Then I gave a giant YANK and something clicked from around my wrists. The cord came sliding off. I was free.

There were humans around. The aliens had confirmed it. I was going to the place where I was surest that humans would congregate that was close to my house.

The shopping mall.

I ran for my life to the shopping mall.

17

I didn’t even worry about hiding. I ran as fast as my legs would take me, down to the end of my street, through the set of lights, which were blinking purple…. purple? It must have been the light. It was still really bleached and weird. Then I ran past the bus stop, down another street, and at the end of that one, I turned into the entrance of the shopping mall.

The whole time I was running, I felt like I was on a movie set, and not on my own planet at all. For a start, there was barely anyone on the street. Jason might have told me there were aliens and zombie humans being put back on Earth to find this Tial, but if that was so, they clearly didn’t think she’d be hanging out beside the parked cars and zebra crossings, because there wasn’t a soul around.

I darted across the street and didn’t slow down even a bit as I approached the entrance. It was lucky too. I was just about to push open the glass doors to the shopping mall when everything behind me exploded.

An enormous shattering sound rang out, like thunder and something smashed. It was like the air was made of crystal and someone dropped it. I didn’t even need to look behind me to feel a blast of hot air melt my neck. I didn’t know what it was, but I wasn’t about to look. All I knew was that I needed to run, run as fast as I could, and put as much space between me and the aliens who knew me. Get inside and away from the spaceship and whatever that huge explosion was.

If there were other aliens or zombie parents in the shopping mall, I would just need to find a way to fit in.

So that was the plan, but I didn’t mean to make such a fancy entrance. I was pushed by the force of the explosion into the doors. They swung open when I hit them. I skidded on my butt into the cool, slippery floor of the shopping mall.

As I did so, I saw about three human-looking beings (which I had decided they all were now, until proven otherwise) who were sitting on one of those recreational areas in the middle of the mall look up at me in interest. It must have looked weird to anyone to see a kid slide into the mall at high speed, legs and arms flying all over the place. I landed with a grunt, jumped up and sprinted away before they could say anything or ask any questions. When I rounded the corner, I slowed to a fast walk.

I was dismayed to realise that those three weren’t the end of it. There were a lot of people in the shopping mall. Human-looking beings, I reminded myself. Because any of them could have been aliens like the ones who’d just tied me up, zombies sent down with their brains reprogrammed to find Tial, or humans like myself, totally freaking out. How would I know the difference?

It was going to be like trying to find whether a species of shark was friendly or dangerous by counting its teeth. You wouldn’t know what kind it was until its mouth was already open.

I saw old people, young people, kids. People in work clothes and yoga clothes. People in school clothes. I even saw someone in my school uniform. I knew enough to steer well away from that one. That would almost definitely be a zombie.

Mostly everyone was walking around like people usually did in shopping malls. Just walking around casually. But I had the horrible sensation that they were all looking at me.

And when I got to the food court, lots of the people were just staring at the tables, as though they didn’t know how to eat anything.

I sucked in my breath. Where could I go to think a bit? Somewhere where I could be away from all these – human-looking beings? I passed a big department store and then I knew the answer. I’d go to the change rooms. The chances of aliens or zombies trying on clothes was very, very slim.

At least that’s what I thought, anyway.

So I went to the men’s department – where I knew practically no-one ever went to try on clothes, even on a good day – and found the row of cubicles.

Every one of them was empty. That was good. I went into one, closed and locked the door, and sat down.

What would I do?

I needed to find humans. The aliens must have some kind of weakness. They’d said it themselves that our brains were impressive. So we must be able to match them.

And I had the feeling there was something they weren’t telling me about this Tial girl they were looking for either. The fact they hadn’t teleported me straight up to the spaceship when they saw me – as well as the fact that they had seemed to want my help – made me think that they weren’t as strong as they seemed.

All I needed was a few more humans to talk to, I told myself. Together we could pool our information and work out what to do.

But there was the matter of time as well. Suppose they couldn’t find Tial? They had every intention of flying back to their home planet with a spaceship full of the human race. My Mum, Dad, brother and best friend along with them. How could I solve this problem before they gave up on the idea of looking for Tial? What if they’d found her already?

I remembered my watch, for probably the first time that day. I looked at it, having no idea what the time must be. But it had stopped outright just after 9am. It must have been around the time I heard that first explosion in the playground, and then I met Namor.

Namor. What was she doing? Where had she gone?

My thoughts were interrupted by a sound outside the cubicle. Instantly, I held my breath and pulled my feet up in the air so they wouldn’t be visible from the outside.

The footsteps kept making their way towards me. Slowly, somebody’s feet walked down the row of cubicles. When they came into sight, all I could see was that they were a pair of woman’s feet, in red shiny shoes.

There was also a strong smell of plastic, like Namor’s shampoo had smelt like. Like the Mum-alien, and the Abhishek-alien, and the Jason-alien too.

I held my breath, hoping the feet would walk straight past me. But they didn’t. They paused right outside my cubicle.

And then I knew.

Namor had been an alien.

And now there was an alien outside, too.

And it was waiting for me.

18

“Can I help you?” said the alien sweetly.

I didn’t answer.

“Can I get you any sizes?” said the alien again.

I tried to make my voice gruff and man-sounding.

“No,” I told her. It was all I dared say.

But the feet did not go away. The smell of plastic was overpowering now. I didn’t know what to do. Could I try and slide under the neighbouring cubicle, and then the next, like this all the way to the door? And then run out of the department store and find somewhere else to go?

It wasn’t ideal but it was all I could think of. The only problem was that I didn’t know which way the alien would look when I stopped replying to her questions.

I had a better idea. I took off my watch. It wasn’t working anyway.

I leaned down, and as hard as I could, I threw it in the opposite direction to where I wanted to go, under the rows of cubicles. Luckily I had a good arm, and it went the whole four cubicles under, and hit a wall at the end with a satisfying thwack!

The alien hesitated. Then I saw the footsteps continue towards where my watch had made the sound.

That was my key. I hopped down and rolled under the first cubicle, then the next, then the next. I was like a human tumbleweed. Rolling like I’d never rolled before.

When I got to the third cubicle and my head was spinning like a disco ball, I broke out and escaped through the door.

Crashing right into the alien.

She was a dark-haired woman, smiling sweetly at me. Her teeth a little luminously green.

I wanted to scream with shock. But my voice dried up in my throat. I wasn’t capable of making a single sound. I only choked.

I instead went to run, but she reached out an iron hand, like it was nothing, and held me by the forearm. Her skin was warm and moist, like a snake in a bath. I got goosebumps all up and down my arm just feeling it. And smelling her, all plasticky.

“Hey there,” said the alien woman. “Now where are you going so fast?”

I couldn’t reply even if I’d wanted to. But when I didn’t reply, the alien woman tipped her head to one side, and I could see that she was listening to the spaceship captain, and he was telling her something.

When she listened, her attention went off me. Just for a fraction of a second. I remembered then, that I could use this to my advantage. This was a weakness. Their reception was like 3G. The transmission speed was just really, really slow.

I could say something to confuse her. And then maybe I could make a run for it.

I thought in a flash. What was the most complicated thing I could ask her?

And then it hit me.

“You have a 3 and a 5 litre water container. None of the containers have any writing on them. You have to use the containers to make exactly 4 litres of water. How do you do it?”

That was the hardest thing I’d ever had to do in maths class. Even my parents couldn’t work it out when I took the question home.

The alien hesitated, and I saw her starting to listen to the reply.

I knew it was going to be long and complicated.

And that was my chance.

I jerked my arm out of her grasp and it worked.

I slid right out of her fingers. I hit the ground fast and was already running by the time her eyes lost that glazed expression and she realised what I was doing.

And it seemed she couldn’t run all that fast in those shiny red shoes, or maybe she was just dazed by the complicated answer, because she took one ginger step towards me, and then just shook her head.

“Fill the 5 litre container…” she began, I think because she didn’t know what else to say.

I didn’t care to listen. I knew the answer.

I pelted out of there like I was made of wind.

Through the racks of clothes and past the perfumes, I burst out of the men’s bags and into the socks department.

And also burst slap-bang into another human-looking being.

“Ow!” she said, rubbing her elbow where I’d banged her into a wall.

“Wait…” she said then, before I could sprint away again.

Our eyes met.

She didn’t smell like plastic.

She didn’t act like a zombie.

“Are you… a human?” she asked me.

What did I say?

Well what would you say?

19

I had to trust my gut. If I was going to find humans, I needed to believe there were some, somewhere.

“Yes I’m a human,” I told her. “Are you?”

The girl nodded. Then without saying anything else, she grabbed my hand. Just like that, we were running.

We escaped the men’s socks department. The alien lady in red shoes was long behind us, and I hoped we’d never see her again. But there were so many more all around us. I didn’t know how we’d keep away from them for long.

We weaved through the racks of clothes and luxury products until we escaped the department store entirely. We burst out into the main section of the shopping mall where everyone was still standing around in a kind of dumb, scary way.

The human girl kept running and dragged me behind her. Nobody really looked at us, but that kind of felt worse. It was almost like they weren’t watching us because they had other ways of seeing us, and that was a seriously creepy thought.

Meanwhile, I didn’t know where the girl was taking me, but she seemed to know what she was doing. That was good. We went down a side section and then she was pushing open a door that said STAFF ONLY.

“It goes to the car park,” she said. We were now in a dimly-lit stairwell and we ran down them two at a time. “You alright?” she added over her shoulder as we ran.

It was true that I was starting to puff. I’d run all the way from my house to the mall, and had barely had time to catch my breath.

“I’m fine,” I said. “But do we have to keep running?”

“Zombies are slow,” said the girl. “But aliens are fast. We want to put as much space between you and them as possible.”

“Are there none where we’re going?”

“None,” said the girl. “For now.”

I noticed her hand wasn’t sweating at all. That was strange. Usually people’s hands became clammy when you held them as long as she’d been holding mine. But maybe she just wasn’t the sweaty type.

We went down about three levels and finally hit the basement. She opened the door at the bottom and then we were in the car park. All the lights had gone out, and there were only the emergency ones still lit. They made everything seem smoky. The shapes of parked cars looked like sleeping monsters.

But the girl didn’t seem to mind. She dragged me past them all. Then at last I saw there was a dingy car wash at the end of the parking area. Still underground, it was a kind of room built into the wall, with a few smeary windows, some chairs, magazines, and a drink dispenser, where I guess customers usually waited until their car was clean.

Through the dim windows I could see the shadows of about six or eight people – human-looking beings, I still had to remind myself – although judging by the girl’s reaction, they must have been humans.

“Is that where we’re going?” I said, still breathing heavily.

“Yep,” said the girl. “Headquarters.”

Finally, she slowed down and released my hand.

“What’s your name?” I asked her, because she still hadn’t told me anything about herself.

“Ruby,” she said. “And yours?”

“Roman,” I told her.

“Well Roman,” said Ruby. “You’re going to have a lot of names to remember in a second, because there’s a few of us here. My brother Emerson, for a start. He’s going to be really happy to meet you. He was starting to think the rest of the humans were all gone…”

“Why would he think that?” I asked.

“We heard a big explosion about half an hour ago.”

“I heard it too,” I told her. “I felt it.”

“You felt it?”

“Like hot air. It blasted the back of my neck.”

“Show me,” Ruby said suddenly. She spun me around. Then she made a weird sound through her teeth.

“Your skin is totally blue.”

“Blue?”

“Like it’s been burnt blue.”

I put my hand up to feel it, but it wasn’t painful. Still, I worried a bit. What did it mean to my body? Was it permanent?

We had now reached the doors to the car wash. Before I could ask, Ruby told me.

“Zombies can’t stand water,” Ruby told me. “It turns them into green goo…”

“So we’ve barricaded ourselves in the car wash,” said a boy’s voice suddenly. He was standing in the doorway, watching me. He was smiling. “Another human. Welcome to our humble abode.”

He shook my hand in a very grown-up way. This must be Ruby’s brother Emerson. I shook his hand too, but I was still thinking about his water comment. Green goo? Well what had been on my front step then? The remains of… a zombie? A poor, human zombie?

And that started me down a whole other path of thinking. Had Mum or Dad or Max tried to fight off the aliens? Is that why there was a puddle of green goo sitting on our front doorstep?

And if so, who was the zombie that had turned into green goo?

Every inch of my soul hoped that it wasn’t Max or my parents…

20

But for now, Emerson was still smiling in the doorway.

I tried to put the dreadful thought from my mind. I had no evidence that my parents were the goo. I just needed to work out how to save them, now more than ever.

I saw Emerson was still waiting for me to respond. And I knew I needed to be friendly to these humans. I would need them.

“Hi,” I said. “I’m Roman.”

“Well come in Roman,” said Emerson. He ushered me inside and introduced me to everyone else. There were eight other humans in all: three women, two men, and a handful of babies.

The babies surprised me. Seeing my reaction, Emerson said,

“There are a whole lot of babies on the surface we need to rescue. We’re doing it one by one.”

“Why so many babies? Because their brains aren’t as big? Are they not as useful to the aliens?”

“No,” said Ruby. “It’s just because they don’t generally use electronic devices.”

Of course, I thought. And I guessed it wasn’t for lack of trying. I knew some parents gave their phones to their babies as soon as they possibly could. But human babies seemed to have a natural protection against aliens. They just weren’t interested in watching stuff, as a rule. The human world was much more interesting to them than watching a cartoon or playing on an app.

It reminded me suddenly of Namor, and how interested she’d been in the blue sky and the ants. No wonder. Being new to the planet, she had been almost exactly like a baby.

“Lucky babies,” I said wryly.

“Lucky all of us,” said Emerson. “I don’t think there’s anyone here who uses electronic devices. That’s what’s saved us.”

“So why didn’t you use electronic devices…?”

“Our parents don’t let us,” said Ruby.

“Huh. Me too,” I said regretfully, through force of habit. Then I realised I should be proud. I’d sometimes felt annoyed that I couldn’t just use a tablet or a phone whenever I’d felt like it, but now I still had a brain that could think for itself. That was such a precious opportunity. And I needed every bit of my brain to save my family.

“I was speaking to an alien right after this all happened,” said one of the women whose name was Joanna. She was a youngish kind of woman with purple hair. She was sitting by the far side of the waiting room, near a window, eating a chocolate bar.

“It had locked me in my car,” she continued. “And it wanted me to come out. It told me that I’d be able to have the life that every person loved, if I just came out.”

There was an odd thump somewhere out in the car park. But nobody seemed to notice.

“It told me that it was painless to harvest our memory space,” Joanna continued, oblivious. “And it said that we’d be entertained by some pretty cool games, and they’d feed us up there too. And then it said that they had been responsible for developing computer games in the first place.”

Apparently the alien told Joanna that they first came to Earth in the mid eighties to prepare our brains for ultimate entertainment. They gave the plans for computer games to some of the big companies at the time. Humans started playing Atari and Commodore-64. Then the aliens went further than that: they began designing the games themselves… Alex Kid in Miracle World, Mario Brothers, Where In The World Is Carmen Sandiego… Each game was specifically designed to stretch the brains of humans in one very important way: they wanted us to be addicted. They wanted us to gradually pull away from the real world so that by the time they came to collect us, we’d go without a peep. We’d be really happy to hand over our brain power in return for some Tetris… for eternity.

There was another dull thud outside. This time everyone heard it.

Emerson’s head snapped up. He looked out the window and then leapt into action.

“The zombies,” he said. “They’ve found us.”

The humans in the room instantly stood up. Ruby ran to the front counter and produced a jar of coins. She shook them in the glass.

“These babies should keep them back for a bit.”

“Right,” said Emerson. He put his hand out. “Open it! And give a handful to everyone.”

Ruby expertly unscrewed the jar and started handing out coins.

“What are these for?” I asked, confused. I could hear a moaning sound growing louder now.

“Why do you think we’re in the car wash?” Ruby replied. “With these coins, we can make the water jets start. When they get close enough, we’ll turn on the spray. It’ll keep us safe in here.”

Right. I took a handful of coins. I saw now that there were heaps of different coin-operated machines arranged around the room, and they seemed to align with various car-washing equipment outside.

I took a post by a coin machine located next to the far window.

And then, peering through the dark glass, I saw them. They were shadowy and purple in the gloom of the car park. They were advancing slowly – so slowly! – with a shuffling walk, just like the pedestrians you sometimes see reading the newspaper on their phones as they go about their business. The zombies were advancing on our little human headquarters.

But unlike the telephone zombies you sometimes see down the street, these zombies advanced with a clear sense of purpose. And what was most terrifying was the number of them. It was going to be a zombie war, there was no doubt in my mind. They were lined up like soldiers. I don’t even think they cared about looking for Tial. It was as though some base trigger in their brain had been lit. The possibility for a real-life computer game. Them against us. It was senseless. And terrifying.

There must have been more than a thousand of them. All shuffling towards us. They had the power of numbers. But we had the coins and the water…

21

There was a dreadful moaning in the air as the first of them struck. Emerson had everyone hold off until they got close enough for our jets to squirt them.

Then – GO! With a big rattle, we all put in our coins, all at once. The water jets spurted and then rose into action. It was beautiful. With no-one to hold them, the hoses stiffened and then whipped around as they shot a spray of pure water in every which direction. The giant soapy bristles started turning, and churned out a thick deluge of water as wild as a waterfall. The fine spray designed to moisten windows filled the air with tiny droplets. I saw the first of the zombies fall. The ones closest to us folded over and then slopped into the concrete, quickly turning into glowing green puddles that ran all over the outside area of the car wash. Another row of zombies came up behind.

I knew we had to protect ourselves, but as I went on, slipping one coin after the other into the coin dispenser before me, I realised that I didn’t feel good about liquefying the zombies. After all, the zombies were just humans like us. Humans like my Mum and Dad and Max, and Abhishek and Mrs Rana.

I saw some of their faces as they advanced, and they just looked exactly like anybody. They looked like teenagers and kids and teachers and mums and dads, and grandparents and aunties and uncles. Normal people who this morning, like my family, had just been looking at their phones or watches when all this happened. It was horrible. I was beginning to feel sick to my stomach.

“Go on!” urged Joanna, sensing that I was losing my will to do it. And so I did. What was the alternative? Let the zombies swarm us, and do… who knew what?

And so I kept slipping the coins in, and the green goo kept getting higher and higher, and was making that high-pitched whistling sound which I now hoped wasn’t a sign of something terrible, like a communication with the aliens, or that we were hurting them…

Joanna saw that something serious was wrong. She stopped putting the coins into her machine and ran over.

“What’s going on?” she asked.

“The zombies!” I sputtered. “We’re killing them all! And they’re just humans like you and me…”

Joanna looked concerned, and put her arm around my shoulder.

“They’re not humans,” she said. “They’re avatars. The real humans are still up in the spaceship, safe as can be. That’s why they’re so slow. They’re being controlled by the brains of the trapped humans, but the reception isn’t very good…”

“Like the aliens,” I said.

“Yes,” said Joanna. “But the aliens are made of a type of neoprene – you know, like a wetsuit material, that enables them to shapeshift. That’s why they have that funny smell. And the aliens have their own brains, they just communicate back to the spaceship to talk. These avatars, on the other hand, can’t get anywhere without being controlled, every single step, every movement. The avatars are made of – well, I guess it’s like an interstellar wax. They look like their human controllers but they’re not. Don’t worry,” said Joanna. “It’s really like they’re playing a computer game up there. They have no idea that what they’re doing is real. And nothing you can do can hurt the real humans.”

“But can they hurt us?”

“Absolutely,” said Joanna. “If they touch us, they can take over our body. They’ll use us as an avatar. And with all the benefits of a real body – fast movement, immunity to water…”

“But all they have been sent down to do is find that Tial girl!” I cried, confused.

“Who?” said Ruby over her shoulder, still loading her coins into her dispenser.

“The alien who escaped. They’ve lost one of their own. They told me that’s why they were sending down the zombies. To try and find this missing alien.”

“I think the aliens underestimated how much they’ve primed humans to play computer games,” said Emerson. “Maybe they came here to find the alien, but once they got here, they thought if they took over the last human bodies, they could do it so much better. We’ve just become another computer game for them. Another level to complete.”

I had no worries now about using the rest of my coins. I slipped the last of them into my machine and watched as the zombie avatars melted into green humming puddles by my window. But there were still so many more coming up behind. I couldn’t see an end to them. The car park was dark with human shapes, all shuffling slowly towards us, in grim, organised lines.

“Give me some more coins!” I called to Ruby.

“There’s not many left!” she said worriedly. “Emerson, I think we’ve already used about half of the coins!”

Emerson frowned.

“Are there any more jars?”

“None,” she said. “I just had one big jar.”

Emerson paused. All around us, the zombies were moaning, the green goo was puddling and humming, and the sound of coins was clinking steadily into our dispensers while the wild waters raged.

“Someone is going to have to go out there,” he said. “We need to find more coins. Without them, we’re lost.”

Ruby looked over at me.

“I will,” I said, barely believing my own words.

22

“I’ll come with you,” said Emerson. “It will be safer with two.”

Looking out into the gloom, the glowing green puddles and the advancing zombie shapes shuffling out of the darkness, I found it hard to believe that we could be safe at all.

“But we won’t go out the front,” Emerson said. “There’s a door at the back. It leads out to a staff area and to the back of the Woolworths. We can let ourselves into the grocery store through the goods lift. There will be coins in the registers.”

“Have you got any bags?” I asked. Then I remembered. There would be hundreds of bags there. We didn’t need to bring our own during a zombie apocalypse.

We left our fellow humans still fighting the zombie hordes, and slipped out the back door without a moment to lose.

On this side, the air was dank and still, as though no living person had passed this way for decades. Emerson led the way. Like his sister, we climbed the stairs two at a time and just as he said, we found ourselves at the goods lift. We took it. When the doors opened we were in a storage room at the back of Woolworths. We raced straight through it and into the shop. We couldn’t waste an instant.

Thankfully there was no-one at all in the Woolworths. I couldn’t imagine why, until I thought that perhaps all the zombies had congregated on the car park. And maybe the aliens had worked out the zombies had gone rogue, and were down there too, trying to stop them from wasting all their avatars in the carwash when there was still Tial to find.

So we ran really fast through the empty aisles and got to the cash registers. I had no idea how to open them but we banged on a few buttons and eventually they slid open. We left the notes and scooped all the coins into the plastic bags we found at the counter. One-by-one, we went from register to register, collecting as many coins as we could.

We had just got to the end of the row of registers when Emerson looked over at me.

“Have you got enough?” he asked. I nodded.

Then something terrible happened.

There was a click, and all the lights went out.

Pitch black.

It was pitch black in the Woolworths and we were stuck here. I had no idea how to find the milk aisle at the best of times. Let alone now, when there were still zombies and aliens out there somewhere, and we needed to find our way back to the storage area and the goods lift, and I hadn’t even thought to count how many steps we’d taken in getting from there to here.

“What’s happened?” I groaned. “Not the lights!”

Emerson didn’t say anything for some moments. He sounded like he was thinking. But then he said,

“I think the electricity’s gone down. I was waiting for something like this to happen. There’s no one to maintain the grid. All the humans are out of action. Who keeps on the services when everyone’s been taken by aliens?”

“No-one,” I said grimly. But then I realised what that meant. “But… the car wash…!”

“Battery operated,” said Emerson. “But I don’t know how long the batteries will last without a generator.”

“We’ve still got to get back fast then,” I said. I was thinking of Ruby, and Joanna, and all the others. I wanted to make sure they were safe.

“Grab my hand,” said Emerson. And when I felt his fingers, we gripped on tight and walked slowly, gingerly, through the empty space, waiting to collide into anything at any time, not knowing where we were going, not really, but trying anyway. Trying to retrace our steps and find the storage room and the goods lift. I was beginning to hear a dull kind of roaring sound coming from underground. I hoped it wasn’t the zombies, finally getting into the car wash. I hoped they still had enough coins, and batteries, to last until we got there and could help them.

Somehow, by some kind of miracle, we made it back to the storage area. I could hardly believe it.

“Good,” said Emerson under his breath. I got the impression he was better at finding his way around than I was. That was a relief. We were stronger when we could benefit from everyone’s different skills, together.

Emerson released my hand.

“Have you still got the coins?” he asked.

But before I could reply, there was a strange sound, and suddenly a blue glow lit up the room.

There in the storage room standing before us was Namor. She blinked those spooky alien eyes, just once.

“Roman,” she said. “I’ve been looking for you.”

23

With everything that had happened, I was pretty much on edge. I screamed!

The sound of my screech startled Emerson, who must have suddenly realised that Namor was not just some human friend I’d just come across.

He jumped into action. He threw one of his bags of coins at Namor’s head.

She blinked and caught it with one pale hand.

“Don’t freak out,” she said calmly. “I don’t want to hurt you guys.”

“Don’t freak out!” I shouted. “You’re an ALIEN!”

“Yeah, so what?” Namor said.

“Well you’re trying to capture us all!”

Namor looked annoyed.

“Not all of us.”

“Not all of us?”

“No,” Namor said again. “Not all of us aliens are trying to capture you. I, for one, don’t care a bit about you. I just came here for a holiday.”

She’d obviously been thinking about this for a while, because she suddenly burst out,

“You have no idea how boring it is on my planet! There are tall buildings everywhere, and the sun is like billions of kilometres further away from our planet than yours is, and it’s so cold all the time. And dark! And there are no birds or animals or anything because we destroyed them all. And all we have to do all day is collect information about other ecosystems and file it and categorise it and all the while we never actually see what’s going on because all we have is the information, not the reality…”

Something was beginning to dawn on me.

“Your name’s not Namor, is it?” I said.

Namor shrugged.

“I just invented it in the moment. It’s ‘Roman’ backwards… I don’t know much about human girl names,” she said.

“Your name’s Tial.”

“Yes. Tial.”

“Well your parents and everyone are looking for you.”

“I know,” she said. “I can hear them all talking about trying to find me…”

“Hear them all?”

She tapped the side of her head. Of course. She was hooked up to the same system as the other aliens had been.

“But I’ve turned my speakers to mute,” she said. Only her eyes smiled. She was still a weird girl – alien – whatever.

“Well they’re all turning everything upside down looking for you,” I said.

“I’m not going back,” she said.

“You can’t stay here!”

“Why ever not? I don’t eat much.”

Again that smile that only reached her blue, liquid eyes.

“Interstellar bacteria, for one thing,” I told her.

That did it. She scrunched up her eyes and gave a big hearty laugh.

“Is that what they told you?!”

I didn’t know what to do with her laughter. I folded my arms over my chest and glared at her. Emerson was looking confused. I remembered that he didn’t know anything about Tial.

Well, he was getting a quick lesson.

“Here’s the truth,” Tial said. “I don’t want to go home. I don’t have any interstellar bacteria – or whatever they told you. And I should know – we’re like the interstellar librarians of the universe. We know everything! Except real things, like how people react to different things in the environment, and why someone like me wouldn’t want to go back to their own planet.”

“So no interstellar bacteria?”

“Absolutely none,” said Tial firmly. “They just said that to get me back.” She folded her arms, unselfconsciously copying my action.

“And here’s some real knowledge for you – I’m not going back,” she added. “I just want to be left alone. I love the blue sky here, and the clean air, and the animals and the sun. They just exploded a giant dust bomb in the atmosphere – did you hear it? A giant dust bomb! They hoped to jam up my navigation device. And they didn’t care what they wrecked. I’m tired of my parents ruining everything. They just want to be powerful at all costs. They’ve ruined their planet. Now they are ruining yours too.”

“My neck went blue from the dust bomb…” I told her.

“It will fade,” she said. “Everything will recover.”

“But it won’t,” I said. “Your people can’t take all my friends and family. I’ll never recover from that,” I told her. “I love them.”

“Love,” Tial said. Her mouth quirked at the corner. “That’s something I need to learn about.”

Emerson looked agitated. He was clearly still thinking about his sister and the other humans we’d left down below, fighting the zombies. He was worried that they might be getting hurt.

“Please,” he said to Tial. “My sister is down in the car park being attacked by the zombies. We haven’t got time…”

Tial turned her gaze to him. She blinked her large eyes once more.

“They’ve caught them,” she said calmly.

“The zombies!”

“The – us. The aliens. The aliens got them before the zombies did.”

Emerson cried out.

“Where have they taken my sister?”

“Up to the spaceship with the rest. Don’t worry, we’re librarians, not warriors… she won’t be hurt.”

“That’s what you always say!” I cried. “Look, Tial. Maybe you don’t want to fix what’s wrong with your planet and your people. But if you don’t, who will? They’ll just keep on destroying everything for their own purposes and will never do any better. Do you really want to stay on this planet knowing that your kind have ruined everything for us? And for any other planet they happen to come across?”

Tial made no reaction. In that infuriating alien way she had, I couldn’t tell if she was listening or if she even cared.

“Tial, if there’s anyone who can make a difference, it’s you,” I continued. “Please. Only those who can see a better way have the ability to change it. You’re young. You could be a leader one day! You could make your planet better, and everyone else’s too.”

Tial blinked. She looked at me. She looked at Emerson. Then she looked at me again, and sighed.

“I just like it here! So much!”

“You could still visit,” I told her. “When it’s better, and back to normal. It would be more fun for you then, anyway…”

Tial shook her head as though clearing away her thoughts.

“Okay,” she said. “I’ll go back. But on one condition.”

“What?”

“You go back with me,” she said.

24

I didn’t have to think twice. Stay on an empty planet with none of the people I loved? Or go onto the spaceship with Tial, and hopefully free them, and the rest of humankind to boot.

For me, there was no question.

“Sure I’ll come,” I said. “And you’ll free the humans?”

“If I can,” she said. “I’m just a kid, you know.”

But didn’t kids hold the keys to the future? The power to change things for the better? I knew they did.

“You don’t have to come,” I told Emerson. “Just wait here. I’ll get your sister back.”

Emerson nodded.

“You can eat all the ice-cream you want while you’re waiting,” Tial said, as if reading his thoughts. “They’re only going to melt anyway.”

I stood forward and Tial took my hands. Her palms were chill, and kind of firm now that I noticed it, a bit like a robot; a bit like the other aliens had been. But I guess that wasn’t what they looked or felt like when they were on their own home planet.

Tial said softly, “Shut your eyes.”

I shut them. Through the lids I saw a very bright flash. Then all of a sudden, everything changed.

We were in the shining hull of a great big dome-shaped room, with silver walls and transparent screens lighting up like smooth Christmas lights. I breathed out in amazement. There was all of human knowledge, skitting across the screens, as though the programs were flicking through the pages of a huge encyclopaedia, but for topics that I had never ever dreamed existed – calculations for the length of time that someone will taste a biscuit, and the classification of space dust.

I could feel Tial beside me, but when I turned to look at her she was no longer in the human girl shape that she had been. Instead she was a glowing, ghostly creature with luminous arms and legs, like a sweet-faced octopus.

As I looked at her, she wafted up to one of the screens and began operating it with her many arms. She switched and moved and slid the screens around, until I could see a room as long as earth itself, filled with comfortable beds, and in every bed, a human her kind had stolen. They were surrounded by stars and dreaming. I knew they weren’t unhappy, but I knew they’d be happier on Earth, tasting food and breathing clean air, dancing and running and thinking the thoughts that they decided they wanted to think.

“See,” Tial’s voice floated up to my ears. “They’re fine.”

“Good,” I said. “Can you show me my Mum and Dad? And Max? And Abhishek?”

I was still worried about the green goo I’d seen. Tial moved her misty limbs once again, and then the screen was zoomed up on my family. They were sleeping deeply and their cheeks were pink. Then Tial tapped the screen again and Abhishek appeared. He was fine. They were all fine.

“Oh thank goodness,” I said. “Please, Tial, please let them come home.”

“Just wait a moment,” she said now. “I need to tell my parents. But…” and here she hesitated, wafting up and down in front of me as though uncertain.

“What is it, Tial?”

“I want them to see inside your mind, too,” she eventually said.

My mind! They would plunder my mind?

I was silent, thinking it all over. She added,

“Would you let them? I know they’ve been frustrated because there were some humans they couldn’t understand. I wonder if you’d let them see inside your brain, they might understand you better. And they’d see why you would prefer to live your own life on your own planet, than hooked up to their computers…”

I had gone through all stages of trusting Tial, and everything told me I shouldn’t trust her, because she was an alien, and I was basically giving her the keys to my mind. My own thoughts and feelings, that I owned, and I didn’t want to ever give away.

But I knew what she was saying. It would help if her parents could see my perspective. And I wanted to help.

I nodded. And Tial settled her great smoky octopus-like body over my brain as though it was a cap, and I fell into a dreamy state for I don’t know how long. I saw alien planets and cold suns, strange trees and creatures. And eventually I found myself stirring again, and I was back in the shining dome room, and Tial fluttering gently beside me.

“It’s okay,” she said. “They’re going to release them all.”

I felt a sense of relief flood over me.

“Oh that’s wonderful Thank you. Thank you so much…”

“They’ve had some other ideas for making more storage anyway…” she added. “Ideas that don’t involve using organic brain memory. So they didn’t need to do all this. I guess my Dad just got an idea in his head and thought he had to see it though. Sometimes people are like that.”

I thought it was funny that Tial called herself a person. I guess that the word alien was always used by others; a person never thought that they themselves were an alien to somebody.

“Thank you,” I said again.

I moved in for a hug. Tial hugged me back. She had so many arms and legs it was like being wrapped in a bunch of smoky rope.

“Take care, Roman,” she said. “I’ll see you again some day, when I’m older.”

There was a gradual brightening of the room until it turned so bright that I shut my eyes. And then I felt a falling sensation, and I found myself back in my front yard. Sitting cross-legged on the grass. Everything was very still and quiet.

Then – gradually – as though the sound were slowly being turned back up, I heard a bird twittering. I blinked again as my eyes adjusted. The sun was behind me, which meant that it was late afternoon. I jumped to my feet and ran to the front door.

No green goo. The lock wasn’t melted in any way. I pushed on the door and it easily clicked open. I walked quickly through the hallway, then found myself on the back deck.

Mum, Dad and Max were sitting around our outdoor table, eating afternoon tea. They all looked up at me.

“You’re home!” said Dad. “We wondered where you were!”

I opened my mouth to start to explain. But before I could start talking, I heard a beeping sound.

Mum’s mobile phone. She had received a message.

But she didn’t read it. She switched her phone off with her free hand, and smiled at me.

“Now,” she said. “How about you have a nice cool drink and tell me about your day…?”

THE END

Bedtime Story / Middle Grade Serial written by Jade Maitre

© Jade Maitre 2018

Let’s Chat About The Stories ~ Ideas for Talking With Kids

Courage

1. Roman does a lot of courageous things in this story. Can you think of some? Why do you think they were courageous?

Self-Confidence

1. Roman and Tial both wonder if they can change things because they’re only kids. But Roman knows “kids have the power to change things for the better”. Do you agree? How do you think kids have the power to do this?

Environment, Empathy

1. When Tial’s parents first come to Earth, they see humans just as components of a giant supercomputer that they can use for their own benefit. But when Roman lets the aliens see his mind, they understand how this feels for the humans who love each other. How do you think understanding the minds of others can help us treat each other better?

The post Zombie Parents From Outer Space first appeared on Bedtime Stories.

This story is about a girl called Angel, who receives a creepy doll for her birthday. It has scary themes, so is best for ages 7 and up.

You can read the story through, or click on the links below to go straight to…

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 1

“I CAN’T WAAAAIIIITTTT!” Angel screamed, knocking her mum back with the force of her scream.

“Angel, I KNOW your birthday is in 2 days, but chill out, please!” Angel’s mum laughed and picked herself off the floor.

“Sorrymumit’sjustthatit’sgoingtobemytwelvethI’mturningTWELVEAndAUNTSYLVIAISCOMING!! and … and …”

“OK, OK, I get it, I get it!!” Her mum laughed.

“Sorry, mum, are you OK?” Angel hugged her mum. “I’m just so excited! I wonder what Aunty Sylvia will bring me this year? She always brings me cool stuff.”

“Creepy stuff, you mean,” teased her mum, tucking back into her dinner.

“I like creepy stuff! It’s awesome!!” exclaimed Angel.

It was true. Angel was fascinated by creepy stuff, so it was a good thing that she had a penpal, Jasmine, who lived in Malaysia. Asia was full of super creepy stuff like jumping ghosts and demons that sat on your chest when you were sleeping and stole your breath. Angel loved it all!

“Yes, well, just don’t crawl into my bed at night when you’re scared about something or the other,” Angel’s mum smiled at her.

“Mum! I’m too old for that now! Sheesh!” Angel clucked her tongue in mock disgust. They laughed together and finished their dinner.

After dinner Angel went upstairs to figure out more party decorations. It was going to be … a Halloween theme, of course! Angel’s birthday was right smack on October 31st – Halloween – so it was no wonder she was so into the spooky, creepy and freaky.

“OK, so I’ve got the severed arms dangling by spiderwebs from the ceiling … oh! I’ve got to make sure my spiderwebs are still OK! Wait … what do I care? They’re spiderwebs! The more torn-up the better! Now, the ghosts … I’ve got to make them scarier than last year’s … I wasn’t so into them then!”

Her thoughts drifted to her Aunt Sylvia. Aunt Sylvia was her mum’s older sister, but she was, Angel had to admit, way cooler than her mum, who was already pretty cool. She was into all the same things that Angel was – namely the spooky and macabre – a word that her aunt had taught her. Aunt Sylvia lived and worked all over the world, but she always made it a point to come visit Angel on her birthday – and this year was a big one – the last year before she was officially a teen.

Angel loved the gifts her aunt brought her – last year it had been a shrunken head from South America where she had gone on a holiday. That had caused a huge row between her aunt and her mum, who wanted her to be interested in more ‘normal girl stuff’ as she put it. In the end, she had allowed Angel to keep it on the condition that she not have any nightmares about it. So far she hadn’t. Then the previous year’s gift had been a real, stuffed rabbit’s foot.

“For good luck,” Aunt Sylvia had said.

Aunt Sylvia also told interesting, creepy, stories. Angel loved creepy stories that made her shiver a little at night, and her aunt was a master storyteller. Angel’s favourite story so far was the one about the beautiful long-haired woman who drivers sometimes saw on the road in the middle of the night. She wouldn’t talk, but would hitch a ride from you – only to turn out to be a ghost. This story was from Malaysia, and Jasmine had confirmed that it had happened to lots of her mum’s friends.

Angel drifted off to sleep with creepy stories on her mind.

Little did she know that soon she’d be wrapped up in a terrifying story of her own …

Chapter 2

“GOOOODDD MOOOORRRNINGGGG!!!!” Angel shrieked and pounced on her mum’s bed. “WISH ME HAPPY BIRTHDAYYYYY!!!!”

Angel’s mum rolled over and hugged her. “Happy birthday, darling. Now go organise your birthday stuff and leave me alone.”

Angel bounced downstairs to the fridge to check on the ‘blood’ punch. The floating eyes, fingers and toes bobbed around in the red punch as she scooped a cup for herself.

“Don’t drink that stuff in the morning!” her mum said, coming down the stairs.

“Aw mum, it’s my birthday, give me a break!”

By noon, Angel was bouncing around the house. “When is Aunt Sylvia coming!?!??

“Right now, my little ghoul!” said a voice from behind her. She jumped and squealed.

“AUNT SYLLLIIVVVIIIAAAAA!!” She ran and squeezed her aunt so tight that she forced out a little ‘oof’.

“OK, relax, Angel, my angel, you don’t want to kill me before I give you your gift!” laughed Aunt Sylvia.

“Ooh, what is it?!?!” exclaimed Angel, spinning around like a top in her excitement.

“Here you go. Be careful, it’s porcelain.”

Angel peeked inside the bag.

“A … doll?” she said, puzzled, “But … Aunt Sylvia … you know I’m not into girly stuff. Sheesh, has my mum been talking to you?” She put the bag down, disappointed.

“Girl, you know I wouldn’t get you just any old doll! Take her out and have a good look at her. She’s got a story that you’ll want to hear.”

Angel took the doll out of the bag and held it up. Then she saw that as pretty as it was, with its brown curls, big black eyes and long eyelashes, it actually was uber-creepy too. Its blank eyes stared at her, sending a little shiver down her spine. Did they flash a little just then?

“O-kay … I get it, Aunt Sylvia. Dolls are creepy and, yup, this gal is pretty creepy. She’s staring at me like I’m supposed to talk to her or something…”

“This isn’t just any old doll, Angel. Sit down and listen to her story.” Aunt Sylvia patted the couch next to her. Angel sat down and put the doll on the floor next to her. It didn’t seem like the type of doll you cuddled. Aunty Sylvia looked down at it.

“I bought this doll at an old shop at the edge of town. It’s one of those shops that sells things nobody wants, until the right person comes along and wants it – you know what I mean? I like to pop in there every once in a while to see what could be waiting for me to find it. When I walked in a few months ago … she was waiting for me.”

Angel shifted uncomfortably. Was she seeing things or did an annoyed frown just flash on the doll’s face?

“The moment I saw her, I knew I had to get her for you. And when the shopkeeper told me how it came to be there, it was perfect.

“Tell me, Aunt Sylvia! TELL me!!” Angel started to bounce again in anticipation.She tried to avoid looking at the doll, but couldn’t stop sneaking glances at it.

“Well, the shopkeeper said that she arrived at the shop one morning and there it was, in a little basket, as if it was a baby. There was a note attached to it. Hang on, it should still be attached. The shopkeeper said she didn’t take the note off. She didn’t like to touch the doll too much – she even left it in the basket all these years, she said.”

“Where’s the basket now?” Angel asked, leaning down and sweeping her hands across the floor, feeling for the note.

“I took it out of the basket. I knew if I left it in there, you’d really not appreciate it!” Aunt Sylvia chuckled. Angel nodded.

“For sure … a little baby-doll … seriously! Ah!” She jumped up with a little scrap of paper in her hands. “I think this is the note.”

“Read it out loud. I’ve not read it, I wanted to leave that honour to you,” Aunt Sylvia said.

Angel unfolded the note and read it out loud to her aunt.

“She is a naughty girl and naughty girls get punished. May she learn her lesson or forever hold her peace.” Angel felt a weird wave pass over her. “What does that mean!?”

“I have no idea. But … It’s the perfect gift for you, do you see? Your mum will think I finally got you a normal, girly thing, but we’ll know better, won’t we?”

“Yes … we’ll know better …” Angel was in deep thought.

There was something about the doll, something she felt she should have been noticing, but she just couldn’t put her finger on it yet…

Chapter 3

That afternoon, Angel’s friends started to come. They were all dressed up. There were vampires, witches, two Frankensteins and a couple of devils. Her BFF Tessa was Carrie from their favourite author Stephen King’s book, and Bryana and Dominique, her other close friends, were the twins from ‘The Shining’.

Angel always dressed up as horror story character, and this year she was the creature from The Ring. Angel always had a ball creeping her friends out with her super-creepy decorations, food and games. But today she found it was a little different to usual. She just couldn’t shake her weirded out feelings about the doll. When Tessa had arrived, she had quickly put the doll on the shelf of dolls in her bedroom and vowed to forget about it until later. But she couldn’t quite forget that little glint she thought she had seen in its eyes.

When night fell, Angel’s mum gathered everyone together to go trick or treating. Angel went into her room to grab her socks. But as she turned, she found herself staring at the doll. Was it staring pleadingly at her?

She really didn’t want to get into anything right now, just as she was about to go do one of her favourite things. But she knew she had to have a closer look. Angel went up to the shelf. She could swear it was asking her for something with its eyes. She wanted to pick it up to give it a cuddle, but … it was just so creepy! She shook her head and went back downstairs.

Trick or treat was as awesome as it was every year. Her next door neighbour had decorated his house up to the max and invited them in for the annual ‘Terrible Tour’. It was better than any lame amusement park haunted house. But all Angel could think about was the doll. It made her skin crawl but she felt kind of sorry for it at the same time. She decided to talk to her girls about it later when they were settled in for the sleepover.

“Guys, guys, huddle up…” Angel pulled her friends’ arms as they were sitting together on her bedroom floor later that night.

“What’s up, Angel? You’re actually looking kind of white … were you seriously scared by the ‘Terrible Tour’?!” Dominique teased.

“No, no, it’s not that. Look, my Aunt Sylvia gave me this really creepy doll for my birthday and normally you know I love stuff like this, but there’s something really weird about this doll.”

Angel blushed to see their surprised faces, but she went on. “I really feel like it’s trying to tell me something,” she admitted.

“Like what, ‘Take me to your leader?’ Bryana snorted. Dominique and Bryana, though into the creepy stuff, didn’t take it so seriously. Tessa, on the other hand, GOT Angel.

“Bring it down, let’s check it out. If it came from your Aunt Sylvia, it’s gotta be something interesting, but I don’t think she’d have given you anything … like … bad.”

“That’s the thing. It’s creeping me out but I’m not feeling …. bad. Just … weird.”

Angel didn’t know how to explain it. She took the doll down from the shelf.

“She’s so pretty!” said Dominique. Bryana went to take the doll from Angel, but Angel stopped.

“I’m not sure you should touch her. I feel … this weird connection to her … like she’d only like it if I touched her.”

“Wow … OK. You’re really affected by her, I can see that,” said Bryana.

Tessa, who’d been quiet the whole time, spoke up.

“OK, I take it back. There is something uber-creepy about that thing. Could it not be in here when we sleep?” Then she added, as if it was an afterthought:

“In fact, if I were you, I’d get rid of it, Aunt Sylvia or no.”

Angel had a gut feeling that, much as it creeped her out, she couldn’t just chuck it in the bin. Tessa was right, thought, they’d never get any sleep with it in her room. She took it out to the garage and put it on her dad’s workbench. She almost said sorry to it, but shook her head and chuckled nervously.

“It’s only a DOLL, Angel, get it together,” she whispered to herself.

Then she went back in to her friends.

Something she should never have done.

Chapter 4

The girls had a great time and fell asleep at 4am, but Angel jerked awake at 6am, shaking. She looked around … her friends seemed OK. She must have had a nightmare, which was not normal for her.

She wished she could call Aunt Sylvia. She could have spoken to her about it, but Aunt Sylvia had already gone off on another trip to a new faraway destination. So instead she shook her head as though trying to shake away the scary thoughts, rubbed her eyes and went back to sleep.

When everyone woke up, Angel and her friends decided to go to the mall to distract themselves. They were still pretty disturbed by the doll and nobody had had a great sleep.

Then Angel suddenly remembered – they would have to go through the garage to get to her mum’s car! She stopped short, Tessa banging into her.

“What’s up, Angel!?” Tessa squealed.

“The garage … the doll … I put the doll in the garage!” Angel stammered.

“Angel!” her mum called, “What’s this doing in the garage??”

Angel knew she meant the doll. “Sorry, mum, sorry! Erm, just a little joke. I’ll come get it – her!”

“I don’t want to see that thing!” jumped Bryana.

“OK OK, you guys, I have to get it back. You guys go wait in the living room, OK?”

Angel pounded down the stairs and ran into the garage. Her mum watched her all the while, arms folded. Was the doll staring accusingly at her? She gulped and gingerly crept towards it.

“Angel, you’re being extra weird today. I’ll chalk it up to not enough sleep. Get going, girl, if you guys want a lift to the mall!” Mum said.

Angel grabbed the doll, ran upstairs, plonked it down on the shelf and ran all the way back down.

“Let’s go,” she panted.

When Angel got home that afternoon, she was nervous. She didn’t know what to expect. She had meant it when she’d told her friends that she didn’t feel it was evil, but it did seem like it had feelings, and her chucking it in the garage the night before might not have been very nice. What if the doll was angry at her? What might it do? What could a doll do, in the middle of the night?

Angel was so worked up by all her thoughts that when she got back to her room, she gave a little scream to notice that

The doll wasn’t there!

She was sure she’d left it on the shelf before going to the mall.

It wasn’t on the floor under the shelf either.

She ran around her room looking for it, just in case she’d remembered wrongly.

Her mind whirled … had it come alive and run away? Had it come alive and hidden somewhere to pounce on her that night??

She freaked out and ran out of the room. She would sleep on the couch tonight. No way she was going back into her room.

Then she heard April’s voice talking to someone. Who was April talking to?

OMG was the doll in there!?

She rushed into her sister’s room, ready to fight a demented, demonic doll.

The doll was there, but it wasn’t demented, or demonic … it was … normal. She was already in freak-out mode, though, and she shrieked and grabbed the doll from her sister. April started to cry.

“What on earth is going on in here??” Angel’s mum stormed into April’s room, “I was trying to write!! Angel, you KNOW I’ve got something due! I was counting on you to play nicely with April so I could finish it!”

“Mum, I’m sorry, I … I freaked out. I … thought …” She looked down at the doll. Was she imagining a smirk on its face?

“You didn’t think, that’s what! Go to your room until dinnertime. I want some peace in this house. Got it?”

“But … Mum …”

“NO BUTS, YOUNG LADY! GO!!!”

There was no point arguing. Angel went to her room and put the doll back on the shelf.

When she had calmed down, she figured that since she was stuck in her room until dinner, she’d better get going on her homework. Today was maths – she hated the stuff. Two frustrating hours later, Angel hadn’t figured anything out. She stomped down to help her mum with dinner. They ate mainly in silence until April coughed and snorted peas out of her nose and Angel and her mum burst out laughing. After that they chilled and Angel wanted to talk to her mum about the doll. Then she felt weird and didn’t.

And so it was that after dinner, Angel plodded back upstairs to try to tackle her maths again. She opened her notebook. And couldn’t believe her eyes!

Chapter 5

The sums were all neatly done in her handwriting!!

She shook her head, rubbed her eyes and stared at the book again. Had she actually done them, but forgotten because she was so tired? What was going on!? Then she looked up at the doll on the shelf. What…!

The next morning Angel didn’t wait to tell her best friend.

“Tessa! Tessa!” Angel shrieked, running towards her. “You’re never going to guess what happened last night!!! You know that homework Mr. Buo gave us?”

“Yeah … It took me ages to figure it out. I don’t even know if I got it right!” Tessa rolled her eyes.

“Yeah, me too … but get this. I gave up on my maths homework after only halfway because I had to have dinner. But when I went back up to try to finish it, it’d been done! See?” Angel pulled out her maths book and showed it to Tessa.

“Uh … dude … that’s your handwriting.” Tessa stared at Angel. Angel could tell her best friend didn’t believe her.

“That’s the thing…” she tried to continue. “I’m 99% sure I didn’t! I mean … I was trying like mad to figure it out before dinner … I threw out pages and pages of calculations … but then … after dinner … there they were! Finished!”

“Hmmmm…” said Tessa. She appeared to be thinking. Eventually, she said,

“OK fine. If the doll did do it, how are you sure she’s not doing it to make you think she’s on your side?” Her eyes grew round. “And then, when you’ve relaxed … WHACK!” Tessa whacked her hand into her other fist and then laughed. It made Angel jump.

Get a grip, Angel! she whispered firmly to herself.

“Angel! Tessa! Hey!” Angel and Tessa turned around and saw Whitney, a friend from their home room. “Hey, guys, I’m having a party this Saturday, just a small thing to introduce an exchange student who’ll be staying with us for a month. Can you come? Please say you’ll come!”

“Cool! Thanks, Whitney, we’ll be there!”

Angel was happy to have a distraction from the doll. She was so confused. Was Tessa right? Had it done her homework just to get on her good side?

“Cool! Great! See you guys at home room!”

After that, Angel had a terrible week. She couldn’t concentrate on her schoolwork, she couldn’t sleep, and she couldn’t eat. All that was running through her mind were questions like Was the doll bad? Was the doll good? Was it helping her or plotting against her?

Her head was spinning. Bad stuff started happening, too. She dropped her homework folder into a puddle and got in trouble with her teacher, who didn’t believe her excuse. Her sister got the measles (luckily Angel herself had already had it, so she couldn’t catch it again.) She got stung by a bee and her hand swelled up to twice its size. She hoped it would get back to normal by Saturday.

But by Saturday, she was starting to think that maybe Tessa was right. The doll was doing bad stuff to her. Her swollen hand hadn’t gone back to normal. She hadn’t slept well the night before and she had panda eyes. She couldn’t find her favourite dress and her mum was in a really bad mood and had threatened to not take her to the party if she didn’t keep her sister quiet for a couple of hours.

Finally, Angel got to Whitney’s house. She crossed her fingers and went inside. Tessa was already there. Tessa did a double take when she saw Angel.

“Are you OK, girlfriend? You look like you’ve been trampled by bison.”

Angel sighed, “I don’t want to talk about it. Let’s just try to have fun, OK?”

“Angel! Tessa!” Whitney called them over to where she was standing with a nice-looking boy. “This is Sam. He’s from England and he’s staying with us for the month.” Sam smiled at them.

“Hi, Sam, how are you liking the States so far?” Angel asked Sam.

“It’s cool. So many things are different here, but then so many things are the same,” Sam said.

“Like what?”

Angel was curious. She was always curious about other cultures.

“Like the music you guys like here. I’m so happy to hear Imagine Dragons on the radio everywhere here too.”

“You like Imagine Dragons? Get out! They’re one of our favourite bands too!” Tessa exclaimed.

The three of them settled down to talk and Angel started to feel normal for the first time since she’d gotten the doll.

But things weren’t normal, as she’d soon discover. Even out of sight, the doll was still watching her, waiting for something, that strange little smile on its face…

Chapter 6

On Monday morning, Angel was in a much better mood. Saturday night was the most awesome fun she’d had, maybe even better than her birthday. She really liked Sam, he seemed cool, and he seemed to like so many of the same things that she did, even books and… weird stuff. They had talked all night and said they’d catch up in school.

The next day Angel bounced into school looking for Tessa and Sam. She found Tessa, but Sam didn’t show up before home room.

The two girls chatted about how the interesting stuff he’d said. “Remember all that stuff he was telling us about the Tower of London? The beheadings and stuff? Cool! I’m going to research more into English history … so many crazy things went on there!” Angel enthused.

But they didn’t see Sam in class either. Whitney was also not there.

“Class, class, I need your attention please. Whoever attended Whitney’s party on Saturday, please report to the matron,” Angel’s teacher announced to the class.

Something started niggling at Angel again. “Tessa … it’s something bad, I know it. The doll …”

“Angel … Angel…” her friend whispered in reply. “Don’t start with that doll stuff again. I told you… if it’s freaking you out this bad, get rid of it. Your Aunt Sylvia will understand. Seriously, she wouldn’t want you to be going nuts.”

But that didn’t sit well with Angel. She shook her head. As they walked to the matron’s office, she decided to try talking to the doll when she got home later. She knew it sounded silly, but no-one would know, would they?

When they got to the office, the matron told them that Whitney and Sam were down with some kind of weird virus that even she’d never heard of. Alarm bells clanged in Angel’s head.

“Tess …”

“I don’t wanna hear, it, Ang.”

They were sent home, just in case.

When she got home, Angel went straight to the doll.

“Look, I know I haven’t been very nice to you, but… it’s because you’re creeping me out! I’ve got the heebie jeebies! I”m not sleeping, I’m not eating … I don’t know if it’s real or not, but I feel like there’s something going on with you. I don’t think you’re evil like Tessa says, but… but I wish I knew what’s the deal.”

She stopped. What was she doing – talking to a doll?! She was really losing it. She shook her head.

“Anyway, I want to be friends. I’ll try to be nicer to you… but can you quit creeping me out? And… and… if there’s other stuff… please…” She stopped. She was sure the doll’s eyes had flashed again. Suddenly her mood shifted.

“OK! Deal? Deal!”

She relaxed. Something had changed… she was sure of it.

After her strange conversation with the doll, Angel had a great dinner. She found herself laughing with her mum about lots of little things. She even seemed more relaxed than usual, which was weird because of the virus alert.

“Mum, aren’t you worried about the virus? I mean, I was at the party too.”

“I’m worried, sure, but I’m pretty sure you’re protected from a lot of things. We eat right, use essential oils, your immunity is strong. I’m not stressing out.”

Well, according to both Angel and her mum then, things were looking good.

After dinner, Angel went up to her room to do her homework. She joked with the doll,

“Hi! Could you help me with my maths again? I hate maths SO much! Nah, just kidding…”

But did she see the doll’s mouth turn up a little bit? She smiled back and got down to her homework. It was surprisingly easy… was the doll actually helping her??

Later when she was snuggling into bed, she turned to look at the doll.

“Can I ask one thing?” she said to the doll. “If you’re really making things happen, can you please help my friends Whitney and Sam? They’re sick with some weird virus and I’m scared for them.”

Then she turned over and went to sleep.

The doll’s mouth turned up even more.

Chapter 7

A few days passed and Angel’s plan seemed to be working. Maybe the doll was working with her now. Things didn’t seem to be going so badly as they were before. Sam and Whitney were still in hospital with the virus, but Angel knew these things took time to get better and luckily nobody else seemed to have caught it. Then, on Thursday, Whitney’s mum called her mum and told her that Sam had been asking to see her! The doctor had cleared it, so, on Friday, Angel and Tessa went straight to the hospital from school.

“Hi Whitney! Hi Sam! OMG how are you guys??” Angel and Tessa came into the hospital room with a whole bunch of balloons and cards from friends in school.

“We’re contagious! Stay away! Who said you could come here!” shrieked Sam, waving them away in alarm.” But on seeing their shocked faces, he laughed, “Just kidding guys, thanks for coming to see us.”

“Yeah guys, thanks for coming!” Whitney rolled her eyes and tilted her head towards Sam. “I’ve been going stir crazy cooped up in here with this joker. Who knew English people could be so hilarious,” she drawled in a mock-English accent.

“You, my dear little buttercup, appreciate me, I just know it deep down inside,” joked Sam. He turned to Angel. “Fill me in on creepy stories, Angel, I’ve been deprived of my daily dose of creepiness!”

“Ha ha… well uh…” Angel had the perfect creepy story to tell him, but since it involved him and Whitney, she wasn’t sure she should tell them. “Actually it’s been a boring few weeks, guys.” She crossed her fingers behind her back. “I’m also waiting for something to happen.”

“Wait, what about …” Tessa began

“… the weird noises that old lady Hinkley has been hearing in her garden!” Angel cut Tessa off. “You’re right, Tessa! How could I forget! She’s called the police, like, 3-4 times now to investigate, but they’ve always told her to not bother them about this stuff.”

“Yeah…” Tessa side-eyed Angel. “Very weird.”

“Ooooh… what do you think it is? Bigfoot?” Sam sat up, very interested.

“No idea… I don’t think Bigfoot hangs out in our neck of the woods, though,” Angel said. “Anyway, tell us more about creepy stories from England…”

Angel’s mum drove the two girls back home. Tessa was going to stay over because her parents had to attend an event.

“Ang, I hope that creepy doll isn’t going to be sitting on the shelf in your room staring at us the whole time,” Tessa said. “You know how I feel about it.”

Angel sighed, “Tess, I already told you… it’s on our side now. It won’t hurt us, I swear!”

Tessa shrugged, “That’s what you believe, you don’t know that for a fact.”

Angel took Tessa’s arm, “Tess, babe, trust me. I’ve been sleeping with it in the room every night. I feel safe and… even protected. Give it a chance, OK?”

Tessa shrugged again. “Let’s see.”

When they walked into Angel’s room, Tessa tensed up, but quickly relaxed. “Hey, you’re right! It doesn’t feel weird anymore!” She walked up to the doll, “Wow, it DOES look like it’s smiling more. Just a trick of the light, I’m sure, but … cool!

The girls settled down to watch TV after dinner. Paranormal Activities, their favourite show, was on that night.

“Oh… I’m supposed to message my mum to check in with her,” Tessa jumped up during an ad. “Give me a shout if it comes back on.”

Tessa ran upstairs. But shortly after, Angel heard her scream, and run back down the stairs.

“It MOVED! Angel, it moved!! I swear that thing is possessed get it OUT of the house NOW before anything bad happens!!!!”

Angel was shocked when Tessa actually burst into tears. She pounded up the stairs and into her room and, sure enough, the doll was facing the other way. She shrieked, grabbed it and threw it out of the window as hard as she could.

The doll landed on a hedge outside.

Its mouth turned down into a frown.

Chapter 8

Angel was back to being a nervous wreck – not eating, not sleeping, not concentrating on anything. Her mum had been so worried she’d caught the weird virus from Sam and Whitney that she had actually brought her to the doctor’s for the first time in years.

Angel had obviously not told her mum what was up with the doll. Her mum didn’t believe in all this stuff and would really be angry at Aunt Sylvia for filling her head with ‘all this nonsense’, as she’d said many times before.

Floating through school like a zombie, Angel got a lot of weird stares from everyone. Mrs. Karmalita, her favourite teacher who taught English Literature, asked if she needed to go to Matron. She started wearing hoodies pulled up over her face.

The one good thing about it all was that the doll was gone. She’d finally plucked up enough courage to go check the hedge where the doll had landed. It had vanished. She hoped that the cleaners had picked it up and sent it to the incinerator, and not that it had run away by itself.

But then, a few days later, Angel opened her closet and… the doll was there!

She was really scared now, and pretty convinced it was evil. Rushing to school and freaking out, so she just decided to leave it in the closet until she got home and figured out what to do.

She ran into school to look for Tessa, but Tessa wasn’t at their usual meeting spot in front of the lockers.

She was really freaking out now … Tessa had always been against the doll and she was pretty sure the doll knew it. It had been Tessa who had blown the final alarm bell, too.

Sick with worry, she tried to text Tessa.

No answer.

The bell rang for class and she kept texting throughout homeroom even though she knew phones weren’t allowed in class. Sure enough, Mr. Dobson caught her.

“Angel, you know you shouldn’t be using phones in class. Please report to detention after school today.”

“But, Mr. Dobson, Tessa might be in trouble!” Angel blurted out, panicked.

“What do you mean?” Mr. Dobson gave her a funny look. She knew she couldn’t say anything.

“Sorry, Mr. Dobson, I mean, Tessa’s not in school today and I’m worried she might have caught that weird virus Whitney and Sam had.”

She was going nuts. After detention and being screamed at by her mum, Angel grabbed her phone and frantically tried to reach Tessa again.

She tried her cell, her home, her mum … nothing. She sent her dozens of texts but Tessa didn’t see or reply to any of them.

She couldn’t sleep that night. She had refused to go back into her room and she’d gotten April to bring all her sleeping stuff out to the couch, which had made her mum mad again, but she didn’t care. She tossed and turned, stressing about what had happened to Tessa. Shifting and tugging on her blanket, she tried to figure out what had happened to her BFF. She was also freaking out about what the doll would to to HER.

The next day, Angel ran into school hoping to see Tessa, but there was still no sign of her. Sweating, she ran around the school searching everywhere for Tessa. The kitchen, the science lab, the English/creative writing class, everywhere. Tessa was nowhere to be seen.

At home, freaking out, she tried calling her BFF again, and this time Tessa replied!

“Tessa! Where have you been? I’ve been worried sick about you!!!” Angel screamed into her phone.

“Sorry, Angel, my grandma fell and broke her leg and we had to follow mum over to help her cos dad’s out of town. I forgot my phone. Did you think the doll had gotten me??”

“YES! Sheesh … don’t EVER do that to me again!”

That night she finally screwed up the courage to look into her closet again. Sure enough, the doll was still there, a small frown on its face.

“I’m sorry about what I did. I just… wish you weren’t so creepy. Did you really move??? Are you evil???? You know what? I kinda wish you could move and talk so that you could tell me what in the world is going on!!!”

And then she gave a little scream and dropped it.

It had blinked and smiled at her!

Chapter 9

Angel slammed the closet door shut.

“I take that back! I take that back! I don’t want you to come alive! Don’t!”

She slammed the door and ran down the stairs.

“That’s it! I’m getting rid of it! I’m gonna burn it! I don’t care if bad luck comes… I’ve had enough!”

She calmed down a while later, though. This was a creepy adventure and she always wanted creepy adventures, right? Now she knew what she had to do. Figure the whole thing out. She would lay low with the doll, pretend to be on its side and talk to it and stuff. She would research and try to find out more about the doll. There was definitely some history behind it… was it a magic cursed doll brought to life? Was it a cursed person’s soul put inside the doll by a witch? This was the stuff she was made for.

She got Tessa on the phone, “Tessa, Tessa, I know what to do now! It’s a creepy mystery!! It’s totally something we read about every time… and we’re in the middle of it!! We’ve got to solve it!!”

Tessa was quiet for a long while. “I guess you’re right, Angel. All this time I’ve been freaked out by it, but… yeah… it’s something we love freaking ourselves out with… okay, let’s do it!”

“Awesome! Wish you were here tonight, but it’s OK, I’ll start researching on my own. Come over tomorrow, OK?”

“I’ll try … I might have to help with my grandma.”

“Cool!” Angel felt a whole lot better now that she had decided what to do. She got online and started reading up on cursed dolls, witches, souls trapped in objects… it was uber creepy but the more she read into souls being trapped, the more it made sense. Maybe that’s why she never really felt the doll was evil… maybe it was just a trapped soul trying to get out and back to its own life?

She went to the closet and took a deep breath. She opened it and… All her clothes were neatly folded and arranged: shirts on the shirts pile, shorts on the shorts pile, dresses, skirts and jeans hung up. She smiled down at the doll.

“Hey, thanks for helping! First my homework, now my clothes… I could get used to having a friend do all this for me!”

She took the doll out of the cupboard and propped it against her pillow on her bed.

“So what’s the deal with you? Are you like Slappy in Goosebumps or… are you an actual person stuck in the doll?”

She saw a gleam in the doll’s eye. Was that a tear running down the doll’s cheek?!

“Oh… hey… don’t… don’t cry!! Omigosh… here…” Angel grabbed a tissue and dabbed at the doll’s face. She picked it up and gave it a cuddle – it didn’t feel weird anymore. “It’s OK. I’m your friend. I’ll try my best to help you, and my BFF too. We’ll get to the bottom of this. I wish you could talk… that would really help us along. I know! Maybe I can ask you questions and you can give me a sign for yes and a sign for no. Hmm … Can you blink once for yes, twice for no?” She nearly dropped the doll when it blinked once.

She shook her head and held on.

“OK! Great! We can talk! Kind of. Soooo… are you a doll curse to come to life or are you a soul trapped in a doll?”

The doll didn’t respond.

“Oh, ya sorry. Ummm… are you a doll cursed to come to life?”

The doll blinked twice.

“So you are a soul trapped inside a doll?”

The doll blinked once.

“But, whose soul? How am I going to find that out?” She mulled it over. “I know! I’ll research into people who have disappeared! But… there must be millions! Where am I supposed to start? Can you help me?”

The doll did nothing.

“I guess I will have to figure it out in the morning. Can you wait?”

The doll blinked once.

Chapter 10

Angel could barely sleep that night from the excitement of it all. She knew she was on the right track. The problem was… how on Earth was she going to find out exactly whose soul was trapped inside the doll?! She figured she could ask the doll about each and every missing person she could find out about… but that would take ages! She didn’t want to go to school the next day; she needed to get cracking on the case! But she knew her mum wouldn’t have any of it.

“Heya,” Angel greeted the doll before leaving for school. “I have to go to school. I’ll try to do some research during my free period, OK? Hopefully I’ll find something!” The doll didn’t reply.

In school, Angel rushed to Tessa.

“Tessa! Tessa! You’ll never guess what happened last night!”

“Hey Angel! You look a whole lot better today. Awesome!” Tessa hugged Angel.

“That’s because I’ve finally figured out something and I think I can really do something about the doll! Listen. After we talked, I did a ton of research about cursed dolls and souls being trapped inside objects and I found a way to talk to the doll!” Angel was breathless with excitement.

“It spoke to you?!” Tessa’s eyes were wide.

“Well, no, but I told it to blink once for yes, twice for no. I asked it if it had been cursed to come to life and it blinked twice for no! Then I asked if it was a soul trapped inside the doll… it blinked once! It’s a soul trapped inside the doll! So now all I have to do is find out whose…” Angel sighed, “That’s the toughie.”

“Yeah … there could be millions of possibilities. Where are we gonna start?” Tessa mused.

“You’re gonna help me?” Angel grabbed Tessa, excited.

“Of course! You didn’t think I’d let you have all the excitement, did you?” Tessa laughed.

“Cool! OK, I was planning on using my free period to hit the computers. I figured I’d write down all the names of missing people that I can find then read them to the doll when I get home,” Angel said.

“Good plan,” Tessa nodded. The bell rang for assembly.

“Oh … and she helped me fold my clothes!” Angel giggled. She nudged her friend. “I told her I could get used to all the help she was giving.”

The girls linked arms then and went to assembly. Mrs. Weston, the principal, looked very serious up on the podium.

“Girls and boys, today is the 60th anniversary of the disappearance of Meghan Montgomery,” Mrs. Weston told everyone. “As you may recall, Meghan was a student here from 1954 until her mysterious disappearance in 1959. Nobody knew where she had gone, not even her parents, and the police never found any leads, Nothing is known of her disappearance until today.”

Angel’s ears pricked up and she grabbed Tessa’s hand. Something was niggling at her.

“Let us have a moment of silence as we look through the pictures of Meghan and remember her in our hearts,” called Mrs. Weston.

Angel squeaked as pictures of Meghan started flashing onto the projector screen. They looked like the doll! Even Tessa did a double take.

At free time, the girls rushed to the library to research further into Meghan’s story. Angel was all but convinced that it was Meghan’s soul in the doll… but how? What was the story behind it?

“Get this, Tessa, Meghan was 12 just like us when she disappeared.” Angel showed Tessa the newspaper article about the disappearance.

“Yah and she was also into all the creepy stuff that we like too,” Tessa read from another article she was reading about Meghan.

“I think we’ve got it, Tessa!” Angel jumped up. A few people turned around and looked at her and she quieted down, “I can’t wait to get home to ask her!”

Chapter 11

Angel ran into the house and up the stairs. She ripped the closet door open… but Meghan (she’d started to think of the doll as Meghan) wasn’t there!! Panicked, she ripped around the room looking for it – throwing the covers on her bed back, pulling all her drawers open, even scrambling under the bed. Meghan was nowhere to be found.

“April if you’ve taken the doll again I’ll kill you!!!” she screamed, as she pounded into her sister’s room. Her sister started to cry.

“April no take!” she sobbed and Angel’s mum ran into the room too.

“Angel! You’re grounded! Calm your sister down, I don’t have time for this.” Her mum stormed out of the room.

“April, I’m sorry.” Angel hugged her sister, her brain still whirling. Where WAS Meghan? “But … are you sure you didn’t take it? Just to play? I won’t get mad if you did, just tell me where it is.”

“April no take,” April sniffed and hiccuped.

“OKOK, I’m sorry. Look, I’ll play with you later. I just need to find my doll, OK?” Angel hugged her sister again.

“OK!” April’s face brightened up.

Angel tore around the house looking for Meghan, but she was nowhere to be found. She collapsed onto her bed. She had no idea what to do. How was she going to help Meghan if she had vanished?

Later that evening, as she was helping her mum with dinner, Angel asked, “Mum, did you see the doll that Aunt Sylvia gave me for my birthday? It’s gone missing.”

“Ohhhh… That’s why you were tearing around the house and screaming at your sister. I saw it on the closet floor along with a bunch of your old clothes and toys so I thought you wanted to donate it away… remember the school charity drive asking for old clothes and toys? I gathered everything to send in today.”

“MUM! Aunt Sylvia gave it to me! How could you think I’d give it away?!”

“Well honestly, honey, I figured that you didn’t want it anymore. You’ve been acting very weird since you got it and, to be honest, I was glad you decided to give it away.”

“Mum!!!” Angel didn’t know what to do. “Call them NOW and ask for it back!!!! I NEED it!!!!”

“You’ll just have to ask them tomorrow when you go to school honey.”

Angel’s head started to pound. Would Meghan think she’d abandoned here again?? Would she be sad or angry? Would bad stuff start happening again?

She was back to not being able to concentrate and that night, she couldn’t fall asleep. Just as she was finally falling off to sleep, Angel heard a tapping sound. She jerked out of a half-dream and stared around wildly. Where was that sound coming from?

She suddenly realised it was coming from the window.

“What the … !?!?”

She ran to the window and pulled the curtains open. Meghan was standing right there on the ledge!! She ripped the window open and Meghan climbed in. Climbed! With her own little doll legs and arms, like an agile plastic spider.

“Meghan! You came back! Wow… you can move all on your own now???”

“Hi Angel. Yes, I finally got enough energy to move and talk on my own. Thanks to you! You believed in me!”

Angel was a bit freaked out, watching the doll move and talk.

“Wow… this is awesome! Now you can finally tell me what is going on!!” Angel hugged Meghan.

“First of all, thank you for not giving up on me,” said the Meghan-doll as she hugged Angel back. “I’m so glad I came to you rather than someone else who would definitely have thrown me out.”

“Yah, you’re lucky I’m into creepy stuff! Even then, I was ready to get rid of you… I was getting really creeped out and bad stuff started happening all around me,” Angel admitted.

“I don’t think I did that,” Meghan said. “I don’t think the curse makes me give bad luck to anyone.”

“Well then what’s been happening?? Anyway, tell me your story!! How did you end up like this???”

And the little doll settled itself down on her bedspread and began to tell her story…

Chapter 12

Meghan was silent for a while.

“I’m still not clear on everything that happened. One minute I was standing outside her house, the next minute I was… I was…”

“Meghan… Meghan… can you start from the beginning? Whose house?”

The little doll turned its eyes to Angel and her face, though fixed, seemed sorrowful.

“I was always fascinated by things that made my skin crawl.”

“Creepy stuff, just like me!”

“Yes, I think we have a lot in common. I heard about a woman who lived on the outskirts of town. She was rumoured to be… to have… powers.”

“A witch!? Cool!”

“Well, it wasn’t done to say that word in those days,” said the little doll, still looking with that curious, sober face. “People said it would bring bad luck. But yes, it was said that anyone who got on her bad side would end up with bad luck… or worse. Being curious, I had to investigate.”

The little doll paused as though to collect her thoughts. Angel waited.

“I went out to the woman’s house on a Sunday. I just wanted to see what she looked like, maybe see her doing something… out of the ordinary. I didn’t want to disturb her or cause any trouble, though, I promise. I just approached the house and peeped in through the window. The lady was cooking something… I couldn’t see what. I could smell rosemary. She stirred and stirred. I would have done anything to see what was in that pot. It was just a normal pot… just like my mother used at home to make spaghetti sauce… but who knew what she was cooking? Then she turned off the stove and sat down. She just sat there for a long time, not doing anything. At least I thought she was doing nothing, I wasn’t sure. Suddenly, she turned and looked straight at me. I froze. I could feel her eyes boring into me. I felt something strange happening inside of me and, suddenly, I unfroze and I ran. I ran all the way home and hid under my covers. I was shaking like a leaf – so frightened that I refused to come out. I spent the next few days in bed and everyone assumed I was sick.”

“You mean you didn’t turn into a doll straight away?” Angel felt like a doll herself. She was rooted to the spot, fascinated.

“No, I was just scared. I didn’t feel anything happen to me at all.”

Angel felt relieved, though she knew the story was bound to turn out badly. She was surprised to feel how much she was investing in the story. How vividly she could picture Meghan’s story. She felt like she was the one who had seen the old woman, stirring that pot and then gazing at her so strangely…

“But then, on the third day after she had seen me,” said the doll. “I woke up in a strange place I had never seen before. I went to bed as usual the night before, and I have no idea how it happened. But I was in some kind of shop! I worked out soon enough that it was an antique shop. I looked around and everything seemed bigger to me. I thought the strange lady had made me sick after all and that I was hallucinating. But after a while of walking around the shop, I realised it was real and something awful had happened… I finally looked into a mirror and was shocked… a doll was staring back at me. The doll looked like me.” Her pretty face was so shiny and fixed that it seemed to glisten with tears. “I guess I’ve been in that antique shop ever since…” she rounded off sadly.

“That’s terrible! You never saw your family again?” Angel felt so bad for Meghan, she could feel tears pricking her eyelids.

“No, never again.” Meghan put her head down and started to sob. Her stiff little body shook. Angel held her until she calmed down.

“I saw in the articles about you that your family never stopped looking for you,” she told the doll. “Your sister, especially, never gave up.” Angel tried to remember more from the articles. “I’ll bring you to the library to read them all again, if you want.”

“I’d like that,” Meghan said. She seemed to compose herself. She gave a sad smile to Angel. Then Angel had a sudden flash of inspiration.

“Hey! That woman who did this to you… maybe we should try to find her and get her to change you back!”

“That’s a great idea, but…” Meghan was quiet for a while. “It’s been a long time…”

“60 years…” said Angel, realising.

“Yes.” Meghan put her head down, “She may not be alive anymore. She seemed old to me even at that time.”

“Oh man…” Angel hugged Meghan.

Was it possible they could find the woman who did this? And even if she was still alive, was there a chance that she would she change poor Meghan back?

Chapter 13

Angel smuggled Meghan to school in her backpack. Meghan wasn’t sure she wanted to do it – she didn’t want the memories to make her even more sad than she already was – but Angel thought it might actually make her feel better to share her stories of the good times she’d had in school.

“Everything looks … the same!” Meghan exclaimed quietly, as she sat half-in, half-out of Angel’s backpack. “Well, nearly everything. The wallpaper is different and… Oh! That whole wing wasn’t there when I was here!”

“Yep, I think the West Wing was added 10 years ago. It’s our performing arts centre where we do drama, music and film stuff.” Angel realised she was actually quite proud of the school.

“Film!” Meghan exclaimed. “You make films here? It doesn’t look like a large enough space!”

“Well, anything and everything can be filmed, you don’t need a big space, really…”

“Things have really changed,” Meghan said sadly. Angel wanted to cheer her new friend up.

“Oh! Hey! Tell me about your friends… what did you guys like to do together? What sports did you play?”

“Friends … well I didn’t have many friends, to be honest, because not many people understood why I was interested in… creepy stuff, you called it? I had just one very close friend who had the same interests as me. Her name was Jilly. We did everything together. She was supposed to come with me that day to the old lady’s house, but she was sick. Lucky for her,” she said regretfully.

“So you guys investigated creepy stuff together? Just like me and Tessa! Tessa’s my BFF. She’s not here today, she had to go to help her grandma out. She was one of the reasons I was so worried about you being evil… last week she vanished and I couldn’t get her on the phone, she wasn’t replying to my texts… I thought you’d done something to her!”

As soon as the words were out of Angel’s mouth, she regretted them. Angel thought that she felt the doll stiffen. But then Meghan said gently,

“Don’t worry, Angel. I understand why you thought that.”

Angel breathed a sigh of relief.

“BFF means Best Friends Forever,” Angel added, realising she might not have used that phrase so many years ago. Then she decided to change the subject altogether. “What was your favourite subject in school?”

“My favourite subject? I loved English Literature. Aside from being fascinated by strange things, I loved to read and write strange stories.”

Angel clapped. “Me too! Wow… we’re so alike, it’s…. creepy!” She laughed.

The bell rang and Angel went to homeroom. She kept getting weird looks from everyone, even the teachers, but she figured that was because she was carrying a really realistic-looking doll, and she supposed at her age, it was a little strange.

During lunchtime, Angel was walking down the corridor to the cafeteria when Mrs. Karmelita walked by and did a double take.

“Angel! Who… I mean… what is that in your backpack?!” the teacher blurted out.

“It’s just a doll, Mrs. K. It seems to be bothering everyone… should I put it into my locker?” Angel definitely didn’t want it taken away.

“No, there’s no need… it’s just that…” Mrs. Karmelita seemed flustered, which Angel had never seen happen. “Angel, did you know that your doll resembles Meghan? The girl who we held a vigil for at assembly?”

“I know! That’s why I brought her… I mean, it, to school… to show my friends. It was weird when I saw the slideshow of Meghan. I thought to myself ‘Oh wow! She looks exactly like my doll!’

Angel knew she was babbling and forced herself to stop. Mrs. Karmelita looked at Angel and then at the doll for an uncomfortably long time.

“My dear, why did you say ‘her’? What I mean is, obviously it’s a female doll, but a doll nonetheless, and you know we use the pronoun ‘it’ for inanimate objects.”

“Yes, sorry Mrs. K., I’m just kinda hungry and can’t concentrate right now. Can I go to lunch, please?” Angel kicked herself for that mistake. She knew Mrs. Karmelita, old as she was, was still as sharp as a pin, especially when it came to grammar and spelling.

“Yes, yes, of course, my apologies for keeping you from your lunch.” Mrs. Karmelita waved Angel off, then called to her. “Angel? Could I trouble you to come see me after school today, please? I have something I’d like to discuss with you.”

Angel really wanted to get home to discuss things properly with Meghan, but there was something strange in Mrs. K’s voice…

Chapter 14

As soon as Mrs Karmelita walked away, Meghan tugged at Angel’s hair and whispered urgently, “That’s Jilly!!!!”

Angel spun around, forgetting that a) she was in the middle of the school hall and b) she was talking to someone in her backpack.

“What?!?! What do you mean that’s Jilly??”

“That teacher you were talking to… Mrs. K., you called her… that’s my best friend when we were in school together! K. stands for Karmelita, right? Jilly Karmelita!”

Meghan sounded so happy Angel didn’t want to say anything to upset her, but she knew how weird this was going to be.

“I can’t believe Jilly’s right here!” Meghan sounded over the moon. “She became a teacher… just like she wanted! And of course she’s teaching English Literature… she loved reading and writing!”

“What did you want to become?” Angel was curious.

“I wanted to become a writer. To put all the strange stories I had in my mind down on paper,” said Meghan dreamily, “After investigating the old lady, I had planned to build a story around it. I guess I became the story instead.”

Angel couldn’t help but smile at that. “Well, this is cool! You’re going to see you BFF for the first time in a long time!”

Angel knocked on Mrs. Karmelita’s classroom door after school. She was bursting with curiosity about how it would play out. Would she tell Mrs. K? Reveal Meghan? She actually wanted to, but was worried Mrs. K. would think she was going crazy. Mrs. K. was cool most of the time, and Meghan did say she was into creepy stuff when she was young, but she was old now and that could have changed.

“Come in, Angel,” Mrs. Karmelita called from her desk. “Sit down, my dear.”

Noticing Angel’s worried face, she smiled, “Don’t worry, Angel, you’re not in any trouble. I just wanted to find out more about your doll. It really gave me a shock when I saw it this morning. You know, it really does look like Meghan.”

Angel decided to take a chance. “Mrs. K., did you… did you know Meghan? I think she was the same age as you when were you in school together or something?”

Mrs. Karmelita sighed.

“Yes, we were schoolmates here. As a matter of fact, we were the best of friends.”

“Wow! Tell me more!” Angel felt Meghan twitch in her backpack.

“May I request something, dear. Could you put the doll on the table please? I would very much like to look at it.” Mrs. K almost sounded awkward.

“Sure!” Angel took her backpack off, put it on the table and gently took Meghan out.

“My, the resemblance is uncanny!” Mrs. Karmelita whispered, staring at Meghan. “Meghan was… she was such a sweet girl. She was my best friend – we did everything together. We loved to read and write… well, that’s why I’m an English Literature teacher now.” Mrs. Karmelita smiled wistfully.

“Just like me and Tessa!” exclaimed Angel. She was trying really hard to pretend she didn’t know this already.

“Yes, we’re more similar than you know, Angel.” Mrs. Karmelita smiled at Angel. “We were both fascinated with the unusual too, again like yourself and Tessa. Our dream was to investigate the paranormal and write about it.” Mrs. Karmelita suddenly drew closer to Meghan. “Did I just see a gleam in the doll’s eye? Meghan’s eyes used to gleam like that when she got excited about something…”

“Hi, Jilly! It’s me! Meghan!” Meghan winked at Mrs. Karmelita.

Mrs. Karmelita jumped back and screamed. “What ! How…?”

She staggered back and Angel rushed to help her.

Chapter 15

“Calm down, Mrs. K., here, sit down. Let me explain everything.”

Angel beckoned Mrs Karmelita went into the hallway. She closed the door behind them, leaving Meghan in the room. Mrs Kermelita looked so overwhelmed that Angel thought it was better to prepare her before she came face-to-face with her transformed friend again.

“Mrs. K., I know this is going to be hard to believe, but… you know how Meghan disappeared?”

Mrs Karmelita, breathing heavily, nodded. She sat down on one of the chairs in the hallway. Angel sat down next to her.

“Well, she didn’t go anywhere,” Angel told her.  “You remember that old lady you were going to investigate with her? The one everyone thought was a witch?” Mrs Karmelita winced but said nothing. “Well, she went to the house, but the old lady caught her snooping around. So she cursed her and put her soul in a doll.”

“That doll?” Mrs Karmelita looked back at the room where they had left Meghan.

“Yes,” Angel confirmed. “When Meghan’s soul was sent into the doll, it started to look more and more like her as time passed, but nobody noticed because she was stuck in an antique shop.”

“How did she come to be with you?” Mrs. Karmelita said, still sounding stunned.

“My Aunt happened to walk into the antique shop and saw her. She bought her for my birthday. She’s the one who kind of got me into creepy things, so every year I can’t wait to see what gift she’ll find for me.” Angel looked down. “I wish Aunt Sylvia was here… she’d know what to do.”

“I was supposed to go with Meghan to that woman’s house,” Mrs. Karmelita thought out loud. “Imagine what would have happened if I had? You would have an entirely different English Literature teacher and I… I would have ended up a doll, just like Meghan.” She shuddered. “Poor Meghan. She must have been terrified, and all alone. I should have been there for her.” She put her head down and wiped her eyes. Meghan sniffled too.

“Mrs. K., I know it’s freaky… believe me, it took me a long time to relax into the idea. But I think Meghan wants to talk to you like you guys used to. Would you be OK doing that?”

Mrs. Karmelita’s eyes teared up even more. “Yes. Yes, I’d like that. Please give me a moment to compose myself.” She dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief andthen finally stood up. They went back in the room together. Mrs Karmelita took Meghan in her hands and hugged her.

“Meghan, my best friend!” she cried.

“Jilly!” Meghan’s eyes lit up. “I’ve been waiting for so long to talk to you again! I wasn’t even sure I would ever have the chance again.”

It was funny, but as Mrs Karmelita spoke with Meghan, she lost all traces of the teacher in her voice, and sounded only like a young girl again, animated, talking with her friend.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you, Meghan. I should have been there… you should have waited for me,” Mrs. Karmelita’s eyes teared up again.

“Jilly, you know me, I wouldn’t have waited for the world once I got wind of something! I’m just happy to see you again.”

“Meghan, you know your sister never gave up looking for you?” Mrs. Karmelita told her.

“Yes, I know. Angel showed me the articles. Thank goodness for Angel!”

Meghan turned to Angel. “Thank you for keeping me, and for looking a little deeper below the surface. I am so lucky to have your help!”

Angel blushed, “Awww… I wasn’t always very nice to you, Meghan. Sending you to the garage, then the charity bin!”

“How could you have known? I don’t hold it against you!” Meghan laughed.

Angel blushed deeper, “I’m glad to hear that! But what do we do now? I mean… you don’t want to be stuck in a doll anymore, do you?”

Meghan shook her head violently. Mrs. Karmelita suddenly sat up.

“Meghan! I’ve read something on this before. Cursed dolls. The only way to break the curse is for the original person who placed it to lift it.”

Angel shook her head. “Mrs. K., I’ve already thought of that but, surely the old lady who did this to Meghan is already… has already…”

“Passed away,” Mrs. Karmelita sighed. “That is most likely the case. Oh dear, what can we do?”

“I’ll research into it,” Angel said resolutely. “Don’t worry, Meghan, I’ll try my best!”

“As will I,” chimed in Mrs. K.

Angel left the two old friends to catch up. She meant what she had said. But where would she start?

Chapter 16

Meghan tried to remember where the old lady’s house was, but it was difficult. They ended up narrowing the possibilities down to five old ladies who were rumoured to dabble into supernatural practices.

“What should we do now? Go check out each of these old ladies?” Angel asked.

“I think that’s the only thing we can do. Angel, call your mother to let her know you’re with me,” Mrs. Karmelita advised.

“OK, good idea,” Angel agreed. She went to call her mother, then got into Mrs. Karmelita’s car. As they drove out to the outskirts of town, the three of them discussed their plan.

“I don’t think we should show Meghan to her straight away,” Angel said. “She might get angry and zap us all into dolls, then we’d be in big trouble. Omigod, maybe we should have written a note and left it on your table, Mrs. K., in case something happens to us.”

“That sounds rather melodramatic, but given the circumstances, you might be right, Angel,” Mrs. Karmelita agreed.

Angel gasped, “I know! I’ll text Tessa and tell her where we’re going. She’ll definitely keep an eye out for me.” She pulled her phone out, but then noticing something, she stopped.

“Hey, are you OK Meghan?” She felt Meghan trembling in her arms.

“I… I’m terrified. I never wanted to see that woman again, and here we are looking for her,” Meghan stammered.

Mrs. Karmelita assured her, “Don’t worry, Meghan, we’re here to help you.”

Angel wasn’t so sure about that, but she didn’t say anything.

“I know you mean well, Jilly,” said Meghan. “But you didn’t see the look in her eyes.” The little doll shuddered. “It was as if she was looking right into my soul! I’ve never forgotten it!”

“We have to try, Meghan. I promise we’ll be as careful as possible,” Mrs. Karmelita reassured her.

They reached the outskirts of town and started looking around for the closest address on their list. After a while of driving around, they finally found it. “It definitely looks like the house of a witch!” Angel excitedly exclaimed. Mrs. Karmelita and Meghan winced.

Mrs. Karmelita parked the car and they looked at each other, not sure what to do.

“I think we should try to observe the house first, before talking to anyone,” Mrs. Karmelita suggested.

“That makes sense,” Angel agreed. “Meghan, does this house look familiar to you at all?”

“No, it doesn’t. But it was so long ago. I’ll never forget her, though, so the easiest way to find her is if I see her… which I definitely do NOT want to do,” Meghan repeated again. “I’m not sure I want to be peeking into anyone’s window anymore!”

“Right now we’re just observing, Meghan. We can decide what to do when and if we find her,” Mrs. Karmelita said gently. Her little friend was trembling more than ever.

They waited and waited and finally the postman rang the doorbell. Everyone in the car tensed when the door was opened by an old woman, but Meghan said, “That’s not her.”

They went to the next house. And then next one. And soon they had visited all of the houses on the list. But Meghan said that none of the old ladies who lived in the houses were the same one as the woman who had enchanted her.

It was getting late and they didn’t want to be there in the evening.

“Don’t worry, Angel, we’ll come back tomorrow. I’m free the whole summer and I want to help my friend out,” Mrs. Karmelita said, patting Meghan on the arm. But everyone was disappointed. Angel could feel it in the air.

They rode home in silence. “I”ll pick you girls up at 9am tomorrow and we’ll get a fresh, early start,” Mrs. Karmelita promised as she dropped them off.

But 9am the next morning, she didn’t come.

Chapter 17

Angel and Meghan waited until ten in the morning for Mrs. Karmelita to come, but still she didn’t come.

“Where could she be??” Angel paced the living room. “I hope nothing bad happened to her! Omigod omigod! What if the witch knew we were coming to look for her and zapped Mrs. K. first?!”

“Poor Jilly! Let’s give up, Angel. Thank you for all your help, but maybe I should just be contented as a doll for the remainder of my days.” Even Meghan’s eyes, which were glass, seemed overshadowed with worry.

“No! Mrs. K. was right,” Angel suddenly exclaimed. “We have to at least try to see if this works. I’m not going to give up! If Mrs. K.’s in trouble, I’m going to try to help her too!”

“That’s one of the things I most admire about you, Angel, your courage in the face of all odds. You’re right, if Jilly is in trouble, we’d better help. And we should see this thing through.” The little doll took a breath. “OK, I’m ready to face the witch!”

Meghan’s about-turn surprised Angel, but she was glad.

“Let’s go! I’m going to take the bus out there… hmmm, what should I tell my mum?”

“Well, much as I hate to tell fibs, you could tell her the same thing you did yesterday… that you are with Jilly, to work on a special writing project,” Meghan suggested.

“Cool!”

Angel went to look for her mum and tell her, with Meghan accompanying her inside her backpack. After Angel had told her mum the excuse they’d invented (and thankfully her mum believed every word…), they headed for the bus station.

As they rode the bus, they whispered their plans – in case somebody who shouldn’t hear happened to be around.

“Where do we start now? We’ve checked out the ladies we thought could be the ones. Now we’re at zero.”

“Perhaps we could ask around?”

Meghan still seemed hopeful. Perhaps it was her bravery that was making her so positive and determined.

“Hmmmm…. it’s gonna be so random,” Angel frowned.

“We don’t have another option, I think,” the doll reminded Angel.

The bus pulled up to their stop then.

“Here we go,” said Angel, moving off the bus. When the bus had pulled away from the kerb, she looked around. “But where do we go now?”

“Your guess is as good as mine!” Meghan would have shrugged if she’d been able to.

“OK… let’s go… right.”

Angel turned and walked down the street. She screwed up the courage and asked anybody she could find if they knew of any ‘strange ladies’ she could interview for her school project. She got a lot of stares and evil eye signs, but no help. By mid-afternoon, they were losing steam.

“Nobody knows anything!” Angel exclaimed, annoyed. She sat down on the pavement and put her chin in her hands. Suddenly a shadow fell over them.

“Are you looking for Mistress Selina? Heard you’re looking for her,” a small voice enquired. Angel jumped up and in the backpack, felt Meghan shiver against her spine.

“W-what? How did you know that? Who’s Mistress Selina??” she stammered.

“Follow me,” the boy said, not answering.

They walked for what seemed like miles and miles. Angel looked down at her watch but it had stopped so she couldn’t tell the time. Meghan seemed tense in her backpack. “Do you think this is it?” she heard the small doll’s voice whisper at one moment. Angel turned a little and whispered back,

“I feel all tingly … I don’t know if it’s a sign.”

They finally arrived at a tiny shack way out near the swamps. The mysterious boy turned to them, “Mistress Selina is waiting for you.” He pointed at the door then walked off.

Angel stared at the door of the shack. Then she remembered Meghan, and took the doll out of her backpack. Poor Meghan was shaking.

“I feel her! I feel her! Oh no! Please get me away from here! This was a bad idea!”

Angel tried to calm Meghan as much as she could but she was shaking just as much as the doll was. There was a creepy feeling in the air and they couldn’t stop jumping at every sound. Then the door opened. —-

Chapter 18

Angel stepped in, trembling like a leaf. Meghan was vibrating in her arms and she had to hold on tight so she wouldn’t drop her.

“O-OK, you’re right, Meghan, m-maybe t-this wasn’t such a g-good idea,” Angel whispered.

They looked around the room they had just entered. It was dark and smelled like incense.

“The air feels like it’s watching me,” Angel whispered.

“Me too,” whispered Meghan.

“So… you have come back to disturb Mistress Selina again,” a quavering voice floated out of the gloom.

Angel spun around, trying to see where the voice was coming from.

“Come closer, child, so that Mistress Selina can see you with her old, failing eyes,” the voice crooned. Exactly like a witch, Angel thought.

“I remember you, child, you were snooping around my house,” the voice continued, and Meghan let out a little squeak of fear. Angel jumped again. Her eyes darted around the dark room. Where was Mistress Selina??

Suddenly a light clicked on and they were staring at two sunken eyes in a very wrinkled, thin face. Long straggly hair surrounded the face and a toothless grin made Angel’s skin crawl.

“Ah, child, it wasn’t enough that you came to disturb me all those years ago, but now you have brought another curious thrill-seeker to gawp and stare at me?” The witch pointed accusingly at Meghan. Angel quickly hid the doll behind her back, took a deep breath and let it all out in one long desperate sentence.

“Wait… Mistress Selina we are sorry but we really didn’t come here to disturb you. Meghan is really sorry she disturbed you all those years ago but she’s learned her lesson. Mistress Selina, she really has, and she’ll never bother anyone again if you change her back to her human self. And me? I’m just trying to help her…”

The witch’s eyes stared long and hard at Angel until she couldn’t stand it anymore. She was about to try to turn and run when Mistress Selina beckoned to her with her finger. She couldn’t resist walking towards the old crone even though she felt like she was walking on an earthquake. She nearly dropped Meghan twice and had to fumble to keep holding her.

When Angel was standing too near to Mistress Selina to run away, the witch suddenly stuck her long nose closer to her and took a long sniff.

“I’m checking if you’re telling the truth, child. My eyes tell me you are, but my nose must tell me the same story too, or you’ll meet the same fate as your friend.”

The witch sniffed longer until she was satisfied.

“As for you, my snooping child…” the witch held out her hand for Meghan, who screamed and pressed herself so hard against Angel that it was Angel’s turn to squeak. “Out with you, my little snooper, unless you want to be turned into a croaking toad instead!” Mistress Selina’s voice was so angry when she spoke to Meghan.

“I’m sorry, Meghan, I hope it’s going to be alright” Angel whispered. She handed the doll to Mistress Selina. Mistress Selina peered hard at Meghan, then sniffed her for a long time too.

“Lucky for you, snooping one, your brave friend was telling the truth,” Mistress Selina said to the doll. She set Meghan on the table. Angel quickly took Meghan back and hugged her.

“So why are you here, if not to snoop on me again? I am an old woman now, why can’t I be left alone?” Mistress Selina sat down on a very old armchair.

“Mistress Selina,” Angel tried to sound calm. “Meghan has been a doll for many many years. She’s very sorry for what she did.  She’d like to go back to being human. Please, could you change her back? She promises to never disturb anyone again.”

“Hmmm… I guess it’s been long enough. I’ll do it, but you’d better keep your word, now, do you hear?”

Angel and Meghan hugged excitedly. “We promise!!” they said together.

“You’ll need to get three things for me from the swamp,” Mistress Selina said slowly, “Now, let me see…”

Angel and Meghan looked at each other, worried again.

“…I’ll need a cup full of crocodile tears, two pinching princes and ten lump raisers,” the witch said.

“But we…” started Angel. To no avail.

Mistress Selina waved them away and walked back into the gloom.

What could they do !

Chapter 19

Angel stood outside Mistress Selina’s shack, not sure where to turn.

“What on Earth are crocodile’s tears, pinching princes and lump raisers?!” She scratched her head. “Well, I guess they sound like things from the swamp, so I’ll head there, what do you think, Meghan?”

“Yes, you’re right, they do sound like swamp things, especially as Mistress Selina said so. But… how on Earth are we going to figure it out?” Meghan was puzzled too.

“No idea,” sighed Angel, “But we’ve come this far, I guess we have to try.”

They walked for a while and finally got to the edge of the swamp.

“Ergh! I’m NOT going in THERE!!” Angel stepped back. The swamp stank of mud, stale water and green.

“But it’s the only option we have,” Meghan reminded her.

“Okay for you,” said Angel. “You’re plastic!” Despite the seriousness of the situation, the two girls almost smiled at each other.

“I will help you,” a voice suddenly said, startling them from behind. Angel jumped and spun around. It was the mysterious boy once more.

“How… how did you get there?!?!” Angel stammered.

The boy didn’t say anything but turned around and walked into the swamp.

“Ergh! I guess we have no choice,” Angel sighed and followed him in.

They walked for what seemed like a long time but Angel couldn’t see anything that could be crocodile tears, pinching princes or lump raisers.

“Hey! Hey boy, where are we going? Do you actually have a plan?” she called after the boy. The boy just waved them on and kept walking. After a while, he stopped and turned to them.

“Now what?” Angel asked, confused. There was nothing around them but swamp and more swamp. The boy sat down and started fiddling with a weed. Angel looked around. “Stinky swamp, stinky swamp, stinky swamp. Hmmmm …”

Suddenly the water splashed up in a huge wave and an alligator snapped at Angel! She jumped back and screamed, managing to avoid the snapping jaws. She tried to run, but her legs had turned to jelly and the mud was sticky. She avoided the snapping jaws but the alligator turned for another lunge. Meghan screamed from inside the backpack, “Watch out, Angel!!!”

Suddenly the alligator fell. Angel looked around, confused but grateful. The boy was holding a catapult and had shot a big stone at the alligator.

“But… but… how could a stone stop an alligator???” Angel puzzled.

Meghan screamed, her voice loud and muffled from inside the backpack,

“NEVERMIND, RUN!!!”

Angel didn’t need to be told twice. She sprinted out of there. She ran for a long time. She plunged through sticks and swampy mud until she finally had to stop when she couldn’t run anymore.

Panting, she looked around. She was surrounded by… swamp, swamp and more swamp. The boy was nowhere to be seen.

“Meghan, we’re in big trouble now!” Angel said slowly. The sounds of the swamp were getting louder now and Angel figured it was coming to evening. She did NOT want to get stuck here when night came, but she had no idea how to get out.

It was all a bit much, even if she was now eleven years old. She sat down and started to cry, really scared now. But after a few minutes she felt better, as crying often makes people feel better. She sat in tired silence for a few moments, thinking. Meghan was silent in her backpack. Then all of a sudden, clear thoughts ran back into her mind. She jumped up.

“I’ve got it!! I think I know what ‘crocodile tears’ means! I think it’s just salty swamp water!!”

Meghan’s little voice piped up from the backpack, “You might be right, Angel, now it rings a bell in my head… I think I’ve heard that expression before! I’m sorry I didn’t think of it before.”

Angel took Meghan from the backpack and hugged her. It was amazing how hugging a doll can always make you feel better.

“No worries, Meghan, we’ve been through a lot of scary stuff today!”

She took the vial that Mistress Selina had given her out of the backpack. “Ergh, I don’t even want to be touching this yucky stuff and now I have to scoop it up?!”

She scooped the water until the vial was full, then capped it.

“OK, hopefully we’re right about this first thing, but… how am I going to get it back to Mistress Selina?”

Angel looked around the swamp again, and realised with dread that she was lost. Hopelessly lost.

Chapter 20

Angel turned around and around, a sinking feeling in her stomach. Her voice came out shaky.

“Meghan… I think… I think we’re really lost now.” Angel’s voice broke and she started to cry again. The sky above was getting dark and the animal sounds were getting louder all around them.

“Oh no… oh no,” Meghan panicked. Angel took a deep breath and pulled herself together.

“I’m going to keep walking in this direction. Hopefully I’ll get to the other side of the swamp or something.”

“It’s… it’s getting darker, Angel!” Meghan’s voice was filled with fear. “Maybe we should find a shelter to hide in for the night.”

As soon as Meghan said that, a loud clap of thunder shook the trees around them, followed by a bright flash of lightning. A heavy rain began to crash down. Soaking wet, Angel started to run blindly. Crashing into fallen branches and scraping her legs, she eventually found an old abandoned hut. She ran inside and tried her best to avoid getting any more wet.

Meghan started to cry, “This is the hut I tried to hide in when Mistress Selina saw me! Her magic still found me, nevertheless!”

“But wait… If Mistress Selina’s magic found you then, then she can find us here now!” Angel realised.

“Yes but how do we get the message to her?” Meghan pointed out.

Suddenly, Meghan’s little mouth opened and Mistress Selina’s voice came out!

“Follow me. I am in her now.” Mistress Selina said through Meghan. The doll jumped out of the backpack and started to walk.

Angel gave a little squeak of shock, then realised it was probably because Mistress Selina’s magic was strong enough to reach them in the swamp. She followed Meghan out into the rain… but they weren’t getting wet!

“What … how is it happening??” Angel looked around in wonder. Then she realised that Mistress Selina was actually helping her along the way! “Way to go, Mistress Selina!”

Angel cheered up and kept following Meghan. They walked and walked, not turning left or right for a long time. Angel was enjoying the weird sensation of seeing rain all around her but not feeling it touch her and soak her. “I could get used to this!” She jauntily strutted. A stream of rain poured down onto her head. “Oh! Oh … OK, OK, I won’t expect VIP treatment. Sorry!” Mistress Selina was actually watching them! Angel wondered if it was through a crystal ball… but she hadn’t see one at the witch’s house…

They finally found their way back to the shack and went in.

“Will she get angry if we wet her floor?” Angel wondered, but couldn’t do anything about it.

“So, my child, you figured out the first puzzle.”

Mistress Selina’s voice made Angel jump. “Y-yes, Mistress Selina, at least I think I did,” stammered Angel.

“Come here and give them to me, then, child!” The witch’s voice suddenly sharpened and Angel ran over to give her the vial of crocodile tears.

Mistress Selina took the vial, opened it and poured it into a giant black pot that Angel hadn’t seen in the room before. Puffs of stinky green smoke puffed out.

“Ergh, I hope you don’t have to drink that,” whispered Angel to Meghan who shushed her fearfully. Muttering, the witch stirred the concoction in the pot. Foul smelling steam rose up and choked Angel. Even Meghan gagged a little.

“Good, good, this will do. Now, off to find the other ingredients! It doesn’t matter what order you bring them to me in, they all go in the pot, just the same!” said Mistress Selina.

“Erm… does it have to be tonight, Mistress Selina? It’s getting late and I need to be home before my Mum freaks…”

For Angel had suddenly remembered her Mum.

“Off with you, then!” Mistress Selina cried. “But if you want your friend to ‘get better’ soon, you’d better work fast!”

Angel got out of the witch’s house as fast as she could, and made her way back to the bus stand. As she was half-running down the street, a page from a newspaper got caught on her foot. She glanced at it and saw… a picture of Mistress Selina!

She grabbed the page and read it frantically. Mistress Selina was wanted for questioning in a few disappearance cases! So she was still at it! Or… was she being wrongly accused?

Chapter 21

Angel’s head started to pound… maybe this was the way to help Meghan: to turn Mistress Selina in to the police and ask them to force her to change Meghan back. On the other hand, Mistress Selina was already helping Meghan and this might take longer. Who knew what the authorities would do? Would they even be able to force Mistress Selina to change all those people back into human form, or would they just throw her in jail? Either way, Meghan would be stuck waiting and Mistress Selina might also be so angry she might refuse to help.

“What do we do?” Angel asked Meghan.

“I don’t want to turn Mistress Selina in to the authorities,” Meghan replied. “I know why she did what she did to me… I don’t think she was evil, she just didn’t want people snooping around on her. Maybe she just doesn’t think much about how her action affects others. But she’s helping us now… I think we shouldn’t say anything.”

Angel nodded. “I agree. I just hope she doesn’t get caught before we can turn you back into a human!”

The next day, Angel planned to tell her mum that she was spending the day with Tessa.

“Mum, I’m off with Tess now! See you!” Angel said to her mum, as casually as possible. But her Mum had other plans.

“No, Angel, I don’t think you and Tessa should go out what with these disappearances. I’m sorry to ruin your summer fun, honey, but you’d better play it safe.”

“But… but…” Angel was desperate. “We’re just going to Mrs. Karmelita’s house! We’re working on a summer project.”

“Hmmmm… how about Mrs. Karmelita bringing Tessa here? I’m sure she’ll understand.”

Angel knew her Mum was trying to compromise.

“Nooooooo Mum. Look, how about I call you when I’m there? Just so you’ll know I’m OK?” Angel felt horrible lying to her Mum, but she had no choice – she HAD to get out there.

“Hmmmm… OK, I could live with that. Make sure you do!” Angel’s mum said at last.

“OK!” Angel felt worse and worse, but there was nothing she could do. She ran off towards Tessa’s house, but then turned the corner to the bus stop.

“I really hope we can figure this out today!” Angel whispered to Meghan on the bus. “Mistress Selina could get nabbed anytime and then our chances of turning you back into a human will be zilch!”

“Zilch?” Meghan asked, “What’s that?”

“Oh … I mean zero,” Angel explained.

“Yes, if I could cross my fingers, I would!” Meghan gave a small laugh.

“Hey! We still cross our fingers, for good luck!” Angel exclaimed.

They sat in silence for a while, enjoying their first ‘happy together’ moment ever since the whole adventure started.

The bus finally arrived at their stop and they got out.

“Back to the swamp it is, then!”

For some reason, Angel was feeling upbeat. She walked into the swamp and started looking around.

“Pinching pincers… pinching pincers… hmmm…”

But by mid-morning Angel wasn’t feeling so positive anymore.

“If Mistress Selina could help us yesterday with the rain, why can’t she help us find all this stuff she needs?” she muttered, stirring the mud with the tip of her sneaker. “The rain was an act of nature that had nothing to do with our quest to find the potion ingredients. I think the quest was set to work off my bad deed…”

Meghan looked abashed.

“Sorry, Angel, to put you through all this for me. I wish I could do it myself.”

Angel patted Meghan.

“Hey, don’t get down on yourself. I offered to help, right?” Then Angel’s stomach started to growl. “Aw, man, I didn’t eat any breakfast! I’m starving! That’s probably why I’m so grouchy,” she sighed. “Wish I’d remembered to bring some snacks!”

By noon, Angel felt dizzy. “I didn’t even bring water!! I’m gonna die in this swamp,” she cried and sat down again.

Chapter 22

Angel sat crying for a long while. Nothing Meghan said helped. Suddenly, Angel jumped up. “Hey! Something pinched me!”

She hopped around, her toe bleeding a little and saw… crabs!

“Hey I didn’t know there were crabs here!! Wait… crabs! Pinching pincers… crabs! Wow, I figured it out!!!”

“Good job, Angel, I think you’re right!” Meghan cheered Angel on.

“How many did Mistress Selina say she needed? Three? Zoiks… how am I gonna catch them?” Angel wondered.

“Well, normally there are cages for them to crawl into and then they snap shut, but we don’t have cages. I’m afraid you might just have to use your hands!” Meghan volunteered. Angel thought she could certainly only say this because her own hands were dolls’ hands, and made of wood.

“Zoiks! I wish I had gloves,” said Angel. “OK, here goes!”

Angel ran around grabbing crabs, which wasn’t too hard, but she got pinched so much that it hurt! The crabs she had caught kept crawling away from the rock she had put them on, too.

“Man … this is NOT working!” Angel exclaimed, furious. Her hands were covered in red marks from being nipped by the crabs and she hadn’t managed to keep one crab still.

“Here’s some string from your backpack,” Meghan offered, “Maybe you can try tying them to something? I also found some handkerchiefs to wrap around your hands… ugh… this one might be dirty.”

“Hey, thanks!” Angel tied the handkerchiefs around her hands and went after another crab. “Got it!” She quickly tied it to a big root and kept on going after crabs.

Pretty soon, she had three all tied up.

“Whew! I should have thought of that from the start! Thanks Meghan!”

They brought the crabs back to Mistress Selina, who threw the shells into the potion pot and made a crab salad with the meat. It wasn’t until they had eaten every last thing in the bowl that Angel realised it was getting late.

“Thanks for the yummy food, Mistress Selina, but I’d better get going home! I’ll come back tomorrow to figure out the last thing in the puzzle.”

On the bus, Angel’s tummy started to squeeze.

“OMG! OW! What’s happening!? Did Mistress Selina poison me?? Was it bad crab?? I can’t be sick now, I’ve got to finish this!!” Angel was freaking out. When she got home, Angel’s stomach was churning but as soon as her key hit the door her mum came flying out.

“YOUNG LADY WHERE ON EARTH HAVE YOU BEEN?! You promised to call me but you didn’t! It’s so late now and I’ve been worried sick! You’re grounded until further notice. Go to your room!”

Angel had never seen her mum so mad. She started to say she was sorry but then something crazy happened. A giant burp escaped instead! She looked at her mum, stunned, then they both burst out laughing.

When they stopped, her mum looked at her.

“Angel, you look sick! Well, I’m still mad at you for freaking me out, but come on to bed, I’ll get you something for your tummy.”

Angel didn’t feel well at all, so she accepted the offer gratefully and fell into bed. When she finally woke up, it was the next morning! Luckily her tummy felt fine.

She sniffed, smelled icky swamp and went to bathe.

“Yuck, I was so tired I didn’t even bathe!”

She ran downstairs to tell her mum she was off with Tessa, then she remembered what had happened when she got home yesterday.

“Uhm, Mum, erm… I’m so sorry for not calling you yesterday when I promised I would. I got so into the project I… I forgot! I know I freaked you out… I’m so sorry… I promise I will today…”

“Today?” Mum said brightly.

Angel was on high alert – her mum’s voice sounded too cheery.

“Oh no, Angel you’re not going anywhere today… or for the rest of the summer break. You’re grounded, young lady because you freaked me out and also for your own safety. When I’m in the mood, I’ll let you invite people over, but until then, you can spend your time helping me around the house.

“BUT MUMMMMMMMM” Angel wailed, but she knew she was fighting a losing battle. Her mum was too calm to be OK. After breakfast, Angel packed her bag and climbed out the window.

“I’m a dead duck with mum, but I have to finish this thing!” she thought to herself, as she shimmied down the drainpipe, against all sense and reason…

Chapter 23

On the bus, Angel was quiet. She sensed that Meghan wanted to say something, but didn’t know what to say. So when they arrived, Angel walked to the swamp without a word.

Suddenly she jumped! The boy was right in front of her!

“Where did you come from?!?!” Angel blurted out, but she was glad to have him around, though he didn’t say much. She hoped he would stay around longer than he did last time. “Guess what! I found out what ‘crocodile tears’ and ‘pinching pinchers’ were! Now all I need to find are the ‘lump raisers’. Any ideas?”

As usual, there was no reply from the boy. They walked quietly for a while, then the boy stopped. Angel looked around. There wasn’t much around except more swamp. Suddenly she felt her foot being nipped.

“Hey! Ouch! Oh man, not again!” she hopped around. “Dude,” she said to the boy, “I’ve FOUND the pinching pincers already!! Or, they found me, or whatever, but that’s done! I’m looking for lump raisers now!”

But right then Meghan screamed, and Angel whipped around to see… another crocodile! Its giant mouth was wide open, coming straight at her!! Angel screamed and jumped backwards.

“I’VE FIGURED OUT WHAT CROCODILE TEARS WERE!! GET THAT THING AWAY FROM ME!!”

She turned to run, but then remembered what had happened the first time.

“SHOOT IT, OR SOMETHING!!!!” Angel screamed at the boy. Finally the boy whipped out his catapult and shot at the crocodile who fell to the water and crawled off.

Angel glared at the boy.

“Are you bringing all these things to me? I told you, I’ve already figured out those two things. If you really are bringing stuff to me, help me with those lump raisers!”

She immediately realised she should be extra nice to the boy if he was actually doing all this because a) he was helping her, in a way, and b) he also had some kind of weird ability.

“OKOK, I’m sorry I yelled at you. Can you please help me figure out what lump raisers are? I really need to help my friend turn back into a human and then get home… I’m in a gallon of hot soup with my mum.”

The boy didn’t say anything. Angel walked around the swamp until she felt like she was wandering around in a circle.

“Argh!!! What are lump raisers! Come on!! Ouch!” She slapped at her leg. Then her arm. Then her face, “Yeow!!! Get OFF me, silly mosquitoes!!!”

“Mosquitoes?” Meghan suddenly piped up. “Angel, look down at your arms and legs!”

“Oh! Ohhhhhhh! LUMP RAISERS!!! Mosquitoes!!!!” Angel shouted, “But… how do we catch ten of them?!”

“Well, they’re attracted to you…” Meghan guessed.

“Zoiks… you mean… I’m supposed to be bait??” Angel squeaked. “Gosh, when you put it like that, I don’t feel very good,”

Meghan regretted what she’d said. “

No… no… it’s brilliant! I’m just gonna need a whole lot of ointment after this!” Angel felt surprisingly good. “It’s bizarre, but it might work! OKOK… erm… boy … I’ll stand with my arms out and, when the mosquitoes land on me, smack ‘em! Not too hard, though, don’t forget!!”

The boy came over and nodded. Angel steeled herself and stretched her arms out. Almost immediately a mosquito landed on her!

“Whack it! Whack it!” Angel shouted. The boy smacked it and it fell into the swamp. “Oh dang! I forgot to tell you, you gotta catch them in something to keep!” Angel smacked her forehead. “What can we catch them in?”

“How about the sweet tin you have in here?” Meghan asked from Angel’s bag.

“Perfect!” Angel emptied the sweets out and gave the tin to the boy. “We need ten! Go go go!”

They actually had a lot of fun catching mosquitoes, but by the end of it, Angel was covered in big red welts.

“Mum’s gonna be even more furious! But… I think we’re finally done! And you’re gonna be OK, Meghan!”

Angel was really happy for the first time since all this had begun.

“Let’s get this back to Mistress Selina. Which way do we go?” Angel asked the boy.

They got back to Mistress Selina’s house and handed her the tin of mosquitoes which she emptied into the pot. A ghostly green light flared up.

Chapter 24

A flickering scene’ started up in the green smoke coming out of the pot. As they watched, they saw Meghan creeping up to the window of Mistress Selina’s house and peeping in. The witch was stirring something in the same pot that they saw in front of them right now, just as Meghan had described to Angel. The green smoke of the scene spread all around and seemed to waft out of the pot in the scene too, which made Angel feel woozy and disoriented. Then, as they watched the images in the green smoke, Mistress Selina put her spatula down and turned off the stove. She moved slowly to a chair that was facing the window and sat down.

Angel jumped as the perspective of the scene suddenly changed from the view of someone looking in, to… the view from the witch’s eyes! She gave a little shriek and jumped back. Through the witch’s eyes, she stared at a swirling purple vortex in front of her. Then, suddenly, the view swooped to the window where Meghan was peeping in! Angel/the witch saw Meghan! At that instant, the swirling purple vortex shot out and swirled around Meghan. Then the whole scene dissolved and Angel was left shaking like a leaf.

“You did send a curse to Meghan that day, Mistress Selina. I saw it… it was purple… swirling… “ Angel said, dazed.

“Yes, I did,” said Mistress Selina. “As I said, I was sick of busybodies poking about my business and laughing and staring at me. All I wanted was to be left alone. I taught her a lesson she wouldn’t soon forget.”

“I… I didn’t want to cause you any trouble, Mistress Selina, and I wasn’t going to gossip,” Meghan spoke up timidly. “I was just curious and very interested in all the good things that ladies like yourself can do, like healing without medicine, helping people who feel bad feel better, connecting people with a loved one who has passed…”

Mistress Selina looked at Meghan, thoughtful.

“You know, nobody has ever talked about the good that we do… they only ever focus on the ‘bad’ things we do… curses, revenge spells… You’re the first to be interested in how we can actually help people. I do believe I was wrong about you, Meghan.”

The smoke rose. The scene swirled up from the pot again and all eyes turned back to watch it. This time, it showed…

“My house! My home sweet home!” Meghan cried, delighted. “I never thought I’d see it again!” Then her voice became sad. The front door of the cute little semi-D opened and…

“MUMMY!” Meghan cried. A tear started from her eye. In the scene, Meghan’s mum had her head down and was sobbing. A man walked out to cover her shoulders with a cardigan and put his arm around her. He led her to the porch swing and they sobbed together for a long time.

“Daddy…” Meghan whispered in tears, “I’ve never seen Daddy cry!”

The smoke swirled and now a new scene showed up. Angel and Meghan watched search parties combing the swamp and surrounding areas.

“They’re searching for you, Meghan,” Angel whispered, choking up herself.

“Sissy…” Meghan sobbed as a pretty girl who looked like Meghan, but older, led a search party. The next scene was especially hard to watch – a church service dedicated to Meghan. A pretty picture of her smiling at the camera – the same picture Angel first saw at the memorial assembly in school was standing on an easel next to the pulpit. The minister spoke for a while, then invited Meghan’s father to say something but he was crying too hard, so her sister went up instead. Meghan wailed as she watched her sister cry on the pulpit. A loud sob came from Mistress Selina too.

“Enough! I see now that no harm was intended, Meghan, but that I caused so much harm by reacting angrily. I give you my apologies, although I know they don’t mean much to you now.”

“No, Mistress Selina, thank you. I don’t blame you, I know how you must have felt that day,” Meghan was gracious to the end.

“Come, I will undo what was done, late as it is,” said Mistress Selina. “Come, child.”

She took Meghan in her arms and started to chant…

Chapter 25

Angel stepped back and watched as Mistress Selina waved her hands around Meghan, who was shaking so much she nearly fell off the table. Mistress Selina muttered some words under her breath and Meghan quietened down. Mistress Selina continued to mutter under her breath and green smoke started to swirl around Meghan.

“Dude…” Angel whispered, staring at Meghan.

Meghan started to get taller and… bigger.

She started to look… real.

After a few moments, Meghan looked exactly like the girl in the photo that Angel had first seen in school. She looked at herself in a mirror with a big smile on her face. She shook her hands and jumped up and down, happy to be human again.

“I feel exactly like I remember!” Meghan beamed. She grabbed Angel’s hands and they jumped and danced around. A smile played around Mistress Selina’s lips. Then Angel gasped.

“Dude… look…” She pointed at the mirror. Meghan turned to look and gasped out loud!

She was getting older by the minute… now she was a teenager… now she was a young adult… now she was in her 30s… now her 40s… she got wrinkles on her face and her hair got whiter and whiter… Finally Meghan stopped transforming. She was in her 60s… the age she would actually be if she’d stayed human all these years. She stared at herself in the mirror and a tear rolled down her cheek.

“I’m old now. I look like my grandmother,” Meghan said.

“I’m sorry, Meghan, I can’t imagine what that must feel like.” said Angel with feeling.

Meghan looked herself over once more, turning her wrinkled arms in the light.

“Well, at least I’m human again,” she finally said. She turned to Mistress Selina. “Thank you Mistress Selina.”

“Go now, and live your life. Once again, I apologise for having stolen so much of it. Take this to help you live the rest of your days in happiness and peace. Hang it in your room on your bed.” Mistress Selina gave Meghan a small drawstring bag which smelled a bit funny.

“Thank you Mistress Selina!” Meghan said as she took the bag.

“And you, young lady,” Mistress Selina said, turning to Angel, “I commend you again for your bravery and persistence in helping someone you barely even know, even in the face of danger and fear!” Angel stared down at the floor, embarrassed. “Take this as a reminder of your good deeds and may it keep you happy and well in your years to come.”

Mistress Selina also gave Angel a small drawstring bag, but it smelled slightly different from the one she had given Meghan.

“What’s in the bags, Mistress Selina?” Angel couldn’t help but ask.

“Enough questions, young lady!” Mistress Selina said shortly. But… was she actually smiling a little?

“I do have one more question, Mistress Selina, a serious one,” Angel suddenly remembered.

“Oh all right, what is it?” Mistress Selina grumbled.

“Did you… I mean… erm… OK… a boy I just met, my BFF and my favourite teacher all had something weird happen to them and I thought it had something to do with the doll… I mean, the curse that Meghan was under. I thought the person who put the curse… er, you…was cursing them too, for some reason.”

Mistress Selina stared at Angel for a long time, until the younger girl nearly just turned and ran out of the door.

“Sometimes things just happen that we have no control over,” she said quietly.

“What do you think that means, though?!” Angel asked Meghan when they were on the bus on the way home.

“I have NO idea!” Meghan lifted her hands up. She couldn’t stop moving some part of her body, enjoying her long-awaited freedom.

“But… but… so… what happened to Tessa and Mrs. K.??? I mean, I hope Tess is at her grandma’s house… but how about Mrs. K.? And what happened to Whitney and Sam? Why did they get sick???”

There were no answers.

Chapter 26

“I can’t believe I’m back to being human again!!” Meghan squirmed in her seat, shaking her arms and legs and touching her hair. “It feels so freeing!” She blinked her eyes at Angel who laughed, then got serious.

“I’m in big trouble back at home. I bet my mum’s already called for a search party. She was pretty freaked out by the disappearances that were blamed on Mistress Selina,” Angel said. “I don’t blame her. I mean, I guess she’s just worried for me cos she loves me.”

“Yes, mothers do seem to be the bad guys… always scolding us and nagging us. But they’re just trying to protect us from ‘the big bad world’.” Meghan reflected. “I wish I’d listened to my mother that day. I’m sorry, Mummy…” Meghan started to tear up again. Then suddenly she perked up. “But… what an adventure!” Angel saw a flash of the curious young girl she’d met so briefly at Mistress Selina’s house before Meghan had aged to her actual age. She kind of felt sad that she’d ‘lost’ a new friend.

“Gosh, I hope Mistress Selina doesn’t get in trouble. I mean, yeah, she made you disappear, so I guess she could have done it to those others too, but she did listen to us and change you back and… hey… wait a minute!” Angel nearly jumped up, she was so excited. “We can tell people your story and convince them that, if she DID make those other people disappear, she’ll reverse the spells! Then we can tell them about all the good stuff she can do for people that you mentioned… the healing potions and that stuff…”

Meghan grabbed Angel’s hand. “That’s a GREAT idea, Angel! We can use my story to help her! Who do we go to? Who do we tell? Oh, I’m so excited! But first… can we go back to my home to see if anybody is still there? I would love to see my sisters and brothers if I could and tell them what happened.”

Angel squeezed Meghan’s hand. “Sure! Of course! I guess you should tell them your story before the whole world knows and they get a shock.”

They got off the bus at Meghan’s street. Meghan looked around sadly.

“Everything has changed. That used to be my favourite sweet shop where I bought lemon sherberts. There used to be a small park there where we’d play all through summertime. I carved the initials of my first crush on a tree there, but it’s gone now. I wonder what would have happened if I’d stayed human,” she said quietly. “Would I have stayed in the old house? Gotten married? Had children there?” A tear slipped from her eye and Angel patted her hand.

As they got nearer Meghan’s house, Meghan held tighter to Angel’s hand. “I’m not so sure about this anymore, Angel. What if they tell me to go away? They might be frightened… Oh maybe I should just leave. It’s been so long… perhaps they’ve forgotten about me…”

Angel squeezed Meghan’s hand. “Hey, listen… they haven’t forgotten about you. Remember I told you that your sister’s still asking the police about you? She’ll still looking for you!”

They got to the front door of Meghan’s house; a cute little cottage with lots of flower pots everywhere.

“Here I go!” Meghan rang the brass bell hanging at the side of the door.

“Who is it?” An old lady’s voice asked from behind the door.

“That’s sissy!!” Meghan whispered to Angel, excitedly squeezing her hand. “You answer first, I don’t want to scare her!”

“Hi! I’m Angel! I’m selling cookies to raise money for my school!” Angel blurted out the first thing that came to her head.

“Oh… how nice!” the voice said, and the door opened. Angel saw a sweet little old lady smiling at her. “I love chocolate chip – do you have any chocolate chi …” The little old lady looked up at Meghan. “Who?” Her jaw dropped. “Meghan?!?!?!?”

Chapter 27

“Sissy!!! Yes, it’s me!” Meghan cried and hugged her sister. Both of them were crying. Even Angel got a tear in her eye, which she quickly wiped away.

“What… where… how… why…?” Meghan’s sister turned from Meghan to Angel, looking for answers. Confused, she blurted out, “My, you’re pretty. Are you my niece?”

“What? No! I’m, erm…” Angel turned to Meghan to fill the story in for her sister.

“Sissy… I think you’d better sit down so I can tell you the whole story.”

Meghan didn’t let go of her sister. Meghan and Angel spent a whole hour telling Meghan’s sister the story. Her eyes grew wider and wider and she kept grabbing Meghan’s hand.

“Oh my! You’ve been… a doll for all these years?? Meghan’s sister stared at her.

“Yes,” said Meghan. “I know it’s hard to believe, but if not for this brave girl,” Meghan patted Angel’s hand, “I would still be a doll in an antique shop – alone, scared and… eventually… forgotten.”

“No, Meghan, I wouldn’t forget you! I kept looking for you!” Meghan’s sister turned to Angel. “Thank you, dear girl, you really saved the day!”

“Awww… like I told Meghan, I very nearly chucked her out of the window, I was so creeped out!” Angel was embarrassed again.

“We should celebrate your homecoming, Meghan! Throw a big party! Tell the whole town who were so kind to help look for you!” Meghan’s sister was excited.

“Oh goodness, no need to make a thing of it!” It was Meghan’s turn to blush.

“Yes! We HAVE to!” Angel jumped up. “So many people are still thinking of you, Meghan. Let’s do it! Also, this is a good way to help Mistress Selina!”

Angel sighed, “Well, I guess I’d better get home and face Mum. I’m in a deep bucket of trouble as it is. If I don’t get home before evening I’ll never be allowed out again for the rest of my life!”

Angel got home and opened the front door, and, as expected, got a huge blast from her mum straight away.

“Young lady, you are in the biggest trouble of your life!”

“Hi, mum… sorry mum… I know I’m in deep doodoo…”

“You bet you are! You snuck our when I specifically told you to stay in! You stayed out all day without even letting me know you’re safe! Do you know how worried I was? I called the police! I thought you’d been kidnapped!”

“I know, I’m sorry, mum, I’ll never do it again. It’s just cos… Meghan… Mistress Selina…” Angel tried to explain.

“Exactly! You’ll never do it again because you’re never going out of this house again! You’re grounded for the rest of your life, Missy! Go to your room right now!”

It was no use. She couldn’t talk to her Mum. Angel went to her room. She was so tired, she fell asleep. A few hours later, she woke up, thirsty.

“Gosh, I wonder if mum’s still mad at me? I really need to get a drink.”

Angel decided to try going downstairs, but when she got to the top of the stairs, she heard voices downstairs.

“Ma’am, you sent us a missing person’s report?” Angel heard a man’s voice ask. The police! Her mum had really called the police!

“Yes, my daughter went missing for a couple of hours and I was very worried, what with the disappearances and all, but she’s back now, thank goodness. She’d just snuck out and gone ‘adventuring’ without telling me. It’s weird, it’s not like her at all. She’s normally very responsible… But I called you to cancel the report, didn’t I?”

“Yes, you did ma’am, thank you. That’s good news that she’s back now, we’ll cancel the report. But we’re also here because you mentioned that your daughter mentioned a ‘Mistress Selina’? Do you know she’s actually a person of interest in our ongoing disappearance cases?” the officer told her Mum.

Mistress Selina!!! Angel clapped her hand over her mouth. She’d said the name to her Mum! She had to act, and act fast, to clear Mistress Selina’s name.

Chapter 28

Angel ran down the stairs.

“Hi! Oh! Hi! Officer! Sorry to interrupt, sorry I was listening, but I need to talk to you about… about…” She saw her mum’s thunderous face and knew she was still in trouble, but she had to talk to the officer. “Mistress Selina,” she blurted out.

“What! How do you know anything about that?” Then Angel’s mum realised something. “Wait, Angel, is that where you’ve been going these past few days? When you’ve said you’ve been going to Mrs. Karmelita’s? Angel, do you know what you’ve been getting yourself into?!!”

Ma’am,” the officer put his hand up. “Wait. Please calm down. Can I talk to your daughter please? If she has any information about this individual, we need to find out.”

“Ok, ok, but I have to be here too,” Angel’s mum stood firm.

“Yes, ma’am, we need a parent to be present when we’re talking to minors. Ok. Angel, is it? I’m Officer Gomez. Tell me everything you know about Mistress Selina.”

But Angel was worried about her mother, who already looked wide-eyed with fear.

“You’d better sit down, Mum, it’s a long and weird story. Remember that doll that Aunt Sylvia got me for my birthday?” Angel was relieved that the whole story was finally going to come out.

“Yes… that thing was bad for you. You were freaking out so much about it. I’m going to have another serious talk with your Aunt Sylvia when she gets back from her trip. No more freaky stuff for you!” Angel’s mum was getting riled up again and Angel quickly cut her off.

“Listen, mum, please listen,” Angel begged. “Well, yeah, at first I was totally freaked out by it… it seemed alive! I couldn’t sleep or eat or focus on anything. Then weird stuff started happening. Tessa vanished…”

“What?! Tessa vanished?? Is she ok?” Angel’s mum started freaking out again.

“Mum, please let me finish!” Angel said, a little too loudly. But her mum didn’t look mad anymore, just worried. “Anyway, yeah… I thought the DOLL made her vanish because she’d said bad stuff about it. Turns out she just went to help out her sick grandma. But Sam and Whitney got sick… and Mrs. K. disappeared… she’s still not back… well, I’m not sure, but I think she would have tried to get a hold of me if she’d come back because… oh man, I’m getting the story all mixed up.” Angel stopped, flustered.

“It’s ok, just carry on, Angel,” Officer Gomez prompted her.

“Yeah… anyways, I thought the doll was making bad stuff happen. All that was happening and I was getting into accidents and stuff – though now that I think about it, that was probably cos I wasn’t getting enough sleep and I was totally distracted by the doll.” Angel was now talking more to herself than Officer Gomez.

“And…?” Officer Gomez prompted.

“Huh? Oh! Sorry. So finally one day at assembly we had a memorial service for Meghan – a girl who had disappeared 60 years ago with no trace. Search parties, some even with those sniffer dogs, checked everywhere but they couldn’t find her.” Angel continued, “When I saw the picture of Meghan that they put up, I freaked! It looked just like my doll!!”

“Angel, what are you saying?” Her Mum had stopped being angry and was staring at her.

“The doll was Meghan!” Angel blurted out.

“Now, hold on, wait a minute… are you telling me that this little girl who had disappeared 60 years ago had been turned into a… doll??!!” Officer Gomez stared at Angel.

“Ye-es…” Angel trailed off, not liking all the staring at her.

“Angel, are you telling the truth?” her Mum asked.

“Mum! I don’t lie… I mean… erm… well I’m not lying about this!” Angel spluttered.

“Ok, let me go talk to Meghan,” the officer got up. “Can I get her address?”

“I’ll take you there!” Angel jumped up.

“You’re grounded, remember, Angel?” her Mum interjected.

“Aw Mum!” But Angel knew she was. And so she had to go home with her Mum.

But once she was back in her bedroom, she spent the rest of the night wondering if Meghan would be able to convince the officer that Mistress Selina was going to reverse whatever bad spells she’d done. The only way Angel could possibly help was if she could find some way to find out what was going on…

Chapter 29

“Argh! I can’t STAND it!! Why hasn’t Officer Gomez called? I should have told him to call me straight after he’d talked to Meghan! I’m dying here!!” Angel was bursting at the seams for some news.

“Be that as it may, it’s bedtime, young lady,” Angel’s Mum said firmly. “You’ve had waaaaay too much stimulation for the past few days… maybe that’s why you’ve completely forgotten that I care about you and your safety.”

“OK, OK, mum, I’ll try.” Angel didn’t want to get her Mum mad again. “But I just woke up and… I’m too…” Angel saw her Mum’s face go dark. “OK, OK, I’m off to bed!”

But she couldn’t sleep for hours and hours. The next morning was no better. Angel just couldn’t stop pacing around.

“Angel, stop it. You’re giving me a headache! Come eat your breakfast.” Her mother put a plate of pancakes on the table.

“Sorry, Mum, I just …” The doorbell rang and Angel ran for the door. “I’ll get it!”

“Meghan!” Angel practically screamed. “Thank goodness you’re here! Did Officer Gomez talk to you? Did you tell him everything? Is Mistress Selina still in trouble?”

Meghan hugged Angel. “Yes, I spoke to Officer Gomez and told him everything. He’s agreed to let me speak to Mistress Selina first to try to convince her to change anyone she’s cursed back to their original human selves. If I can also convince her to only use her magic for good from now on, then the police will leave her alone.”

“Oh good!!” Angel relaxed, then sprang up again. “Wait… I just had a thought. How about the other people who were affected by the curse… like Sam and Whitney… and Mrs. K.! She’s vanished without a trace! Did the curse spread to them too? Will she help them?”

“Well, we don’t really know if Sam and Whitney were affected by the curse… people get sick all the time,” Meghan thought out loud. “But Jilly vanishing just when we were about to start looking for Mistress Selina… that’s strange. I’ll ask Mistress Selina about it.”

“We’ll ask… OK, let’s go!”

Angel went to grab her backpack but her mum stopped her.

“And where are you going, young lady??”

Angel didn’t like the sound of her Mum’s voice.

“I’m… we’re going to talk to Mistress Selina about lifting the curses.”

“And did you forget again that you’re grounded until further notice?” Angel’s Mum reminded her.

Angel’s shoulders slumped and she whined “Awwww, Mum, PLEASE let me go, just this once, please, please, please, please!!””

“No, Angel. Grounded is grounded. You weren’t responsible the other day when you scared me half to death because you didn’t call me.” Her Mum was firm. “And now things are dangerous. What if Mistress Selina gets angry and turns YOU into a doll? Then what??” Angel gulped.

“It’s OK, Angel,” Meghan reassured her. “I’ll go and talk to Mistress Selina and come straight back here, OK?”

“OK, I guess…” Angel wasn’t happy but knew she couldn’t argue with her Mum. Angel spent the rest of the day pacing and tapping nervously. “Where IS she?! Where IS she?! Did she convince Mistress Selina??? What’s going ON?!”

The doorbell rang and Angel sprinted to the door and pulled it open for Meghan. “Did you do it? Did you do it?”

Meghan didn’t answer, but only held out a crystal ball. “Mistress Selina wants to talk to you.”

Angel stared. “Through that?! Er… OK?”

Meghan put the crystal ball down and muttered, “Mistress Selina, Angel is here.”

They stared as green smoke filled the ball and started swirling around the room. Then, Mistress Selina’s face appeared in the ball. Angel jumped and gave a little scream.

“Greetings, Angel, brave one that you are,” Mistress Selina’s old crackly voice floated out of the ball. “I suppose you’re wondering what I have to say…”

Chapter 30

“M-m-mistress Selina!” Angel stuttered, feeling like she was in a movie. “A-are you OK? Did you get into trouble? We’re trying to figure it all out with the authorities…”

“Yes, yes, my child,” Mistress Selina’s voice was calm. “Meghan has told me everything you both are doing to help me and I am very grateful. I now realise the error of my actions over the years and I have agreed to reverse any damage that I can. From now on, I will only use my powers for good to help those who need me.Now, Meghan mentioned that you had a few questions for me?”

“Yes, Mistress Selina, I was just wondering… after you curse someone, can the curse also affect people who helped the cursed person? Because me and a couple of my friends had bad luck after I got Meghan. Two got sick, two went missing… but my BFF Tessa came back… that was a false alarm because her grandma was sick… Then again, she’s kind of vanished again so I hope she’s gone to visit her grandma again…” Angel realised she was rambling and stopped.

Mistress Selina didn’t say anything for a long time and Angel started to worry that she’d made her mad. Finally she nodded slowly.

“Yes, it could happen that the curse could reach out beyond the originally cursed and affect those that come into proximity. You were very blessed to not have been affected by it. I do apologise for the inconvenience caused and that’s why I hope to set things right.”

But how could Mistress Selina set things right? She didn’t say. The ball grew dim, and went dark.

The next two weeks were very weird for Angel. She had been caught up in the whole doll thing and now things were supposed to go back to normal. Being grounded didn’t help her restlessness. Her mind kept drifting to what had happened over the last month.

One night her Mum rushed into her room and shook her awake.

“What’s up Mum? I was sleeping!” Angel was very grouchy when she got woken up.

“I heard you scream ‘Get away from me you crazy crocodile!’ and you sounded so panicked I thought I’d better wake you up!” Her Mum hugged her. “I hope you start forgetting about whatever’s happened this past month soon, Angel, you’re really not having a good time of it.”

“I don’t think I”ll EVER forget, Mum! And I don’t think I WANT to forget! It’s been the most amazing month of my life! Scary, yeah, but amazing!” Then Angel’s eyes lit up. “I know! I’ll write a story about it!”

“That’s a GREAT idea, Angel! That will be a great way to get all the thoughts and feelings out. I’ll help you to get it published!” Angel hadn’t seen her Mum so excited about something in a long time and felt a whole lot better.

About a month later, the authorities finally went to all of the people that Mistress Selina had remembered cursing. Meghan stayed with her sister in their old house and was helping Mistress Selina by talking to the families of those who had been affected by her actions’. She was so happy to reconnect with her old friends, but she missed Jilly.

“I really wish I knew where she’d vanished to,” Meghan told Angel sadly one day when she was at Angel’s house, “Mistress Selina hasn’t been able to help with that.”

Angel was still grounded except for school and Meghan came to fill her in on what was going on when she could.

Angel was super busy with her book, but she was really worried about Tessa. Where had she got to? She hadn’t been answering her phone again, and Angel had no idea what was going on. She was all ready to talk to Mistress Selina again.

One day before the big celebration that the town was going to hold to celebrate Meghan and all the other cursed people’s return, Angel’s doorbell rang.

“Meghan! What are you going to…” Angel stopped. It wasn’t Meghan… it was Tessa!!

“TESSA GIRRRRRRRL!!!! Angel grabbed her friend and hugged her tight. “Where have you been?!?! You missed the whole adventure! Were you at your grandmother’s? Is she OK?”

Tessa hugged Angel back. “I missed you too, girl. Well, it’s weird. I WAS at my grandma’s… after I last talked to you she got bad again. But then… I can’t remember after that at all! I just woke up one morning and I was in my bed again. My Mum and everyone was being normal… I don’t know WHAT happened!!”

Angel and Tessa never figured out what had happened to Tessa. They asked Mistress Selina, but even she had no idea.

Eventually, things settled back to normal, but every once in a while, Tessa would get a weird look in her eyes and mutter, “Pigeons …”

The End

The post Is She For Real? first appeared on Bedtime Stories.

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, 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: ‘Ou 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 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 rosetree; 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.
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—
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
Pennyworth 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, 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 do.

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:

‘Unimportant, your Majesty means, of course,’ he said in a very respectful tone, but frowning and making faces at him as he spoke.

‘Unimportant, 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

Original Alice in Wonderland story by Lewis Carroll

Original vintage illustrations by John Tenniel, Gordon Robinson and Arthur Rackham.

Let’s Chat About The Stories ~ Ideas for Talking With Kids

Independent Thinking

1. Alice often discovers that things don’t seem to make sense when she is in Wonderland! Sometimes this happens in life too. Can you think of some ways you could try to make sense and find out what was real if you were in a place like Wonderland?

2. Do you think that the trial over Who Stole the Tarts was a good way to discover who had stolen the tarts? Why or why not?

3. Do you agree with the Cheshire Cat’s statement that “we’re all mad here”? Why or why not?

Empathy

4. Alice often discovers that when she mentions her cat, Dinah, the other animals become offended. Do you think they are right to be offended, even if Alice feels differently?

5. Likewise, Alice stops mentioning Dinah in conversations so as not to offend the other animals. Is this the right thing to do?

Conversation

6. Have you ever had a strange dream like Alice’s? What happened in it?

The post Alice in Wonderland first appeared on Bedtime Stories.

New Feature – Book Samples !

The following story is a sample of the chapter book Tiger Kingdom and the Book of Destiny. You can read the first three chapters below.

If you like it, you can find out more about the rest of the story here. We hope you enjoy!

Prologue

“You will need this.” The boy reached out to the girl, handing her a knife. She turned the hilt around clumsily in her delicate hands. The great white beast at her side lifted his paw to her fingers.

“She does not need this weapon of man,” the beast said with a voice that was smooth like silk. His sharp blue eyes pierced the boys with their power. “She has the power to fight within.” He took the blade from her, and he could see streaks of fire within the tiger’s icy blue eyes as he held the weapon up to them. But the boy persisted.

“She will have no power against the spirits!” He spoke passionately. “To fight, she must be armed. And she must have help, she can’t go alone. I’m going with her, try and stop me!” He lunged forward at the beast, going for the knife—but the beast moved, and he swiped only air. The girl shivered at the violence of it and shrank back into the shadows.

“I shall go wherever you bid me.” Her voice rang out like crystal into the darkness, clear and also wispy, like the qualities of air and water mixed to create a fine tapestry of sky. The boy jumped back, surprised. This was not the voice of the girl he knew, the girl from his world. “I will not have you with me, because it would only endanger you. And I will not carry a piece of violence. But I will fight, when I need to.”

“Yes, you have the light with you always.” The beast nodded, opening his paws toward her. “We have given it to you to keep, to guide and protect you. You are one of us now; you are part of the Kingdom, forever.” She stepped toward him, and he enfolded her into his coat of fur, her slim figure lost within his great one.

The boy could only stand and stare in disbelief. He had lost her to this strange Kingdom. He was alone. And he knew it was up to him to find a way back to his world, a way back home.

Chapter 1.

Tiger’s Escape

I could hear the paws of the tigers

pounding the pavement, the heaving sound

of their hot breath against

the chilly Autumn air.

I could see their golden eyes,

striped coats glinting

in the night shadows

as they ran.

I climbed into bed, freeing the sheet

from underneath Jack’s iron grasp.

I tried to press my eyes closed tight

yet lay there for hours,

eyes opening to the streets below,

still seeing tiger stripes blazing

in the light of the street lamp,

still hearing the sounds of leaves rustling

as they rushed past in the night,

the wind moving steadily through the trees.

The wailing of the sirens woke me. “Jack, Jack!” I cried. “Wake up!” Beside me, my brother groaned and stirred from his sleep.

“Hmph.” He grunted and turned over, putting his pillow over his head. “I’m sleepin’, Suz. What is it?”

“Don’t you hear the sirens?” I pulled the pillow away from him and whispered excitedly in his ear. “I saw them. In the street!”

Jack sat up abruptly, flipping on the lamp, his eyes wide, as if his senses were suddenly aware of the sirens blaring around them. “Saw who?” he questioned me, getting up from his bed and looking out the porch screen to the street beyond. “Who’s in the street?”

“The tigers! I saw them running past the house just minutes ago. I thought I was dreaming…but then…”

“Tigers? You mean those big, ferocious beasts that live in the jungle?” Jack snorted. “You were dreaming, sis. It’s probably just a policeman chasing a speeder. Go back to bed.” And with that, he fell back into bed and resumed his previous position. “Hey, where’s my pillow?”

“I’m not giving it back until you go talk to Mama and Daddy with me. They’ll want to know about the tigers.” I stubbornly held his pillow to my chest.

“Wake them up over a dream you had?” He rolled his eyes at me. “It was just a dream! And you’re just scared of sirens! Now give it back and go back to sleep.” He reached out his long arms and grabbed for the pillow, catching its corner and swiftly releasing it from my hands. “Goodnight.” He winked at me in his victory, turned over on his side and flipped off the lamp.

I stood in the dark, frowning at my brother’s obvious lack of faith in his twin sister, not to mention in his sense of adventure. The tigers had been real, I was sure of it. Where were they now?

Chapter 2.

Suzie & Jack

Only a few hours later, the sun streamed through the tiny holes in the screen, bathing the porch in bright light. I rolled over, grabbing my pillow from underneath my head, to cover my eyes. Then, a switch seemed to go off in my brain, a flash of stripes moving across my mind. “The tigers!” I called out loud, sitting up and flinging the pillow away. “Jack—” I started, turning to the empty space next to me, surprised to see that my brother had already woken and gone.

Pulling the sheet and quilt over our bed, I hastily threw on my robe and house slippers and ran down the hallway. The grandfather clock stood ominously over my head at its end. It was 7:00. I only had twenty minutes to get to the bus stop.

Rushing into the kitchen, I bumped into Jack. He was already dressed and eating a bowl of Cheerios at the breakfast table. “Running from the tigers?” he teased. He dodged by me and slipped out the front door before I could hit him. Why did he have to be so annoying sometimes?

“Suzie! You’re not even dressed yet. Here, take this and go on—hurry!” Mama held out a banana and cup of juice toward me, scooting me back down the hallway. “Oh!” Mama suddenly slipped, and the cup fell to the ground, splattering juice across the white tile floor, staining it orange.

As I reached for paper towels on the counter, my hand brushed Daddy’s newspaper. I looked down at it; the front-page headlines blazed in large black ink. But what caught my eye wasn’t this page, it was a small corner of another peeking out from underneath it. Pulling it free, I stared at the tiny print, nearly hidden in the bottom left corner.

“Greatest Show on Earth To Entrance Audiences,” it read. Mama was still shooing me down the hallway. “Go on now. I can take care of this.” Taking the newspaper with me, I obeyed.

Ten minutes later and with little time to spare, I slung my backpack over my shoulder and ran toward the bus stop. The large yellow school bus was already there, and it looked nearly full.

“Hi, Suz!” My best friend Emily stuck her hand out and waved from a window near the front of the bus. “Come on, I saved you a seat!” I waved back, stepping up into the bus and making my way as quickly as possible to the free seat beside her.

“Thanks, Em,” I said breathlessly, rummaging into my backpack as she spoke. I pulled out the newspaper page and smoothed it out in my lap.

“What’s that?” Emily leaned over my shoulder, reading the newspaper headline aloud.

“Greatest Show on Earth to Entrance Audiences”…the circus is coming to town? Cool! You want to ask our folks if we can go together?” Her eyes widened in excitement. “I’d love to see the acrobats! And the tigers—it says there will be tigers!” She pointed to the center of the article. I sucked in my breath, not answering right away. I could still see the tigers rushing past in the night, their stripes blazing in the light of the street lamps. I was right, it hadn’t been a dream!

“What is it?” Emily turned to me, taking in my wide-eyed look.

“The tigers!” I blurted out fast. “They’re here—I mean, I saw them last night! Jack told me it was a dream, but I knew. I knew it was real!” Emily furrowed her brows in confusion. “They must have escaped from the circus!”

“Alright, everyone off in single file, please! Watch your step!” came the shout of the driver from the front, and a wave of students came plunging forward from behind us, their bags hitting the seats. I quickly folded the newspaper article, zipping it into my backpack. The bus had come to a stop in front of South Middle School.

“See you at lunch!” I waved goodbye to Emily as we stepped through the big double doors of the school and into the main hallway.

“Save me a seat!” she replied, turning left toward her fifth-grade homeroom while I turned right toward mine, smiling. She knew I always saved her the same seat every day, at the table next to the long lunchroom windows— “our” table—but she always reminded me anyway.

Everyone was chatting excitedly when I entered the classroom. Mrs. Drake sat at her desk sipping her coffee through pursed lips. She frowned. “Margo, could you please tell us what all the commotion is about?” She turned to the shy girl with shaggy brown hair who had the unfortunate seat nearest hers.

“Um…” Margo stammered, looking up slowly at the students around her. “We…we were just talking about…about…” She looked around helplessly.

“About the exam coming up,” Michael offered from the back. Mrs. Drake stood up and walked over to him.

“Mmm.” She lifted her mug to her lips again, sipping slowly. “Well, then, Michael, I hardly think an exam is worth so much noise.” She walked back toward her desk, setting down her mug and picking up a piece of paper from her desk. Then she walked over to the message board next to the homeroom door and pinned it up. “Greatest Show on Earth To Entrance Audiences,” read the headline. Smiling wide, my heart beating faster, I nearly jumped out of my seat in wild excitement. My usual shyness vanished for the moment, and I was ready to tell everyone about the tigers. But I held myself back, as I knew talking during morning announcements was a bad idea.

“Now this may be worth some noise!” Mrs. Drake’s face broke out into an uncharacteristic smile. “In celebration of the circus coming to town, I’d like you all to use this week’s writing time to expound upon it. Write about what you think you’ll see there, creating a story about it. Remember, the beauty is in the details. And, as always, pay careful attention to grammar and punctuation. But creativity and originality will be rewarded! I’ll collect them at the end of the week, and the most creative and original story will win a free ticket to the show—courtesy of the generous family who owns the circus!” She gave a small clap. “Now, get out your writing journals, pencils, and begin!”

Chapter 3.

A Magic Key

As Mrs. Drake spoke, I felt my excitement waning, then plunging down deep into the pit of my stomach, turning to dread. There’s nothing I hate more than a writing assignment. It isn’t that I don’t have ideas—they swirl in my head so fast that my pencil can never keep up! At the end, I’m left with a jumble of letters that often make no sense to anyone but me. I sat with my journal opened to a fresh, clean lined page. I stared into it, willing my pencil to begin the words. Instead, I began to draw. I drew the tigers, their bold stripes bending along their backs, their paws held up in mid-flight, flying across the page. With each line, my pencil moved faster, my heart beat stronger, and I felt the familiar rush of creating something.

Around me, everything seemed still, the classroom silent except for the scratching of pencils on paper. I didn’t look up from my drawing, though, wanting to add the details of my dream. As I began drawing the streetlamp in the background, something seemed to glimmer on the page. I raised it up from the desk, shaking it as if to shake away dust. But now the paper seemed to be glowing, right in my hand. I stared, my pencil suspended in the air in disbelief. In the shadow of the streetlamp I had drawn was an outline of something. I put the paper right up to my eye. It was a key. I dropped my pencil, head jerking up to look around the classroom.

But I wasn’t in the classroom any more. I was outside, standing in the darkness. A streetlamp glowed near me. It was as if I had closed my eyes and stepped into my drawing—into my dream where the tigers had been. How is this possible? I gaped.

Suddenly, the silence was broken by a thundering, a pounding so loud it vibrated the ground below me. The tigers! As if in response, my own feet spun into action and I ran, the cold wind biting my skin as I rushed forward. But I heard another sound on the wind, this one a high-pitched melody. It seemed to twinkle and echo, repeating over and over, pulling me in the other direction, away from the road. I turned toward it, running straight into the thorny brambles of a rosebush.

“Arrrrgh! Owww!” I cried as I fell sideways into the thorns. I had never been an athlete, and in fact was something of a klutz. I cursed myself for my two left feet, feeling the pain of fresh scrapes on my legs. I rolled away from the bush, peering down to see if there was any blood, hoping I wouldn’t have to test my nursing skills too. Something was glowing in the grass next to me.

It was the key. It shone as bright as gold, with a beautiful blue stone at its center. Around the stone were three animal shapes: a tiger, a bear, and a bird. And there were symbols on it, too, which looked like ancient hieroglyphic script. I stared at it, transfixed. The music I had heard seemed to be louder now—as if coming from the key itself. Enchanted by its power, and with the pain of my legs forgotten, I reached out my hand and picked it up.

Kids Story Sample written by Stacie Eirich

Illustrations by Suzanne Hunt

If you enjoyed reading this sample of Tiger Kingdom and the Book of Destiny, click below to read more about the series and author Stacie here.

Tiger Kingdom & The Book of Destiny

Volume 1 of The Dream Chronicles

by Stacie Eirich

Illustrations by Suzanne Hunt

Copyright @ Stacie Eirich 2016

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior consent of the author/publisher.

Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.

The post Tiger Kingdom and the Book of Destiny first appeared on Bedtime Stories.

A personal note from the author…

I am delighted and honoured that you and your children are sharing these great stories and the creative activity of drawing and painting, too. That’s what kids all around the world are doing with Colour Our Story  – https://www.colourourstory.com/ – only all the stories come from their own hearts. One from Sierra Leone wrote: “We are the future today and tomorrow.” They are – so please join in!

The post How The Children Became Stars first appeared on Bedtime Stories.

Table of Contents

Chapter 1 – Sara

Once on a dark winter’s day, when the yellow fog hung so thick and heavy in the streets of London that the lamps were lighted and the shop windows blazed with gas as they do at night, an odd-looking little girl sat in a cab with her father and was driven rather slowly through the big thoroughfares.

She sat with her feet tucked under her, and leaned against her father, who held her in his arm, as she stared out of the window at the passing people with a queer old-fashioned thoughtfulness in her big eyes.

She was such a little girl that one did not expect to see such a look on her small face. It would have been an old look for a child of twelve, and Sara Crewe was only seven. The fact was, however, that she was always dreaming and thinking odd things and could not herself remember any time when she had not been thinking things about grown-up people and the world they belonged to. She felt as if she had lived a long, long time.

At this moment she was remembering the voyage she had just made from Bombay with her father, Captain Crewe. She was thinking of the big ship, of the Lascars passing silently to and fro on it, of the children playing about on the hot deck, and of some young officers’ wives who used to try to make her talk to them and laugh at the things she said.

Principally, she was thinking of what a queer thing it was that at one time one was in India in the blazing sun, and then in the middle of the ocean, and then driving in a strange vehicle through strange streets where the day was as dark as the night. She found this so puzzling that she moved closer to her father.

“Papa,” she said in a low, mysterious little voice which was almost a whisper, “papa.”

“What is it, darling?” Captain Crewe answered, holding her closer and looking down into her face. “What is Sara thinking of?”

“Is this the place?” Sara whispered, cuddling still closer to him. “Is it, papa?”

“Yes, little Sara, it is. We have reached it at last.” And though she was only seven years old, she knew that he felt sad when he said it.

It seemed to her many years since he had begun to prepare her mind for “the place,” as she always called it. Her mother had died when she was born, so she had never known or missed her. Her young, handsome, rich, petting father seemed to be the only relation she had in the world. They had always played together and been fond of each other. She only knew he was rich because she had heard people say so when they thought she was not listening, and she had also heard them say that when she grew up she would be rich, too. She did not know all that being rich meant. She had always lived in a beautiful bungalow, and had been used to seeing many servants who made salaams to her and called her “Missee Sahib,” and gave her her own way in everything. She had had toys and pets and an ayah who worshipped her, and she had gradually learned that people who were rich had these things. That, however, was all she knew about it.

During her short life only one thing had troubled her, and that thing was “the place” she was to be taken to some day. The climate of India was very bad for children, and as soon as possible they were sent away from it—generally to England and to school. She had seen other children go away, and had heard their fathers and mothers talk about the letters they received from them. She had known that she would be obliged to go also, and though sometimes her father’s stories of the voyage and the new country had attracted her, she had been troubled by the thought that he could not stay with her.

“Couldn’t you go to that place with me, papa?” she had asked when she was five years old. “Couldn’t you go to school, too? I would help you with your lessons.”

“But you will not have to stay for a very long time, little Sara,” he had always said. “You will go to a nice house where there will be a lot of little girls, and you will play together, and I will send you plenty of books, and you will grow so fast that it will seem scarcely a year before you are big enough and clever enough to come back and take care of papa.”

She had liked to think of that. To keep the house for her father; to ride with him, and sit at the head of his table when he had dinner parties; to talk to him and read his books—that would be what she would like most in the world, and if one must go away to “the place” in England to attain it, she must make up her mind to go. She did not care very much for other little girls, but if she had plenty of books she could console herself. She liked books more than anything else, and was, in fact, always inventing stories of beautiful things and telling them to herself. Sometimes she had told them to her father, and he had liked them as much as she did.

“Well, papa,” she said softly, “if we are here I suppose we must be resigned.”

He laughed at her old-fashioned speech and kissed her. He was really not at all resigned himself, though he knew he must keep that a secret. His quaint little Sara had been a great companion to him, and he felt he should be a lonely fellow when, on his return to India, he went into his bungalow knowing he need not expect to see the small figure in its white frock come forward to meet him. So he held her very closely in his arms as the cab rolled into the big, dull square in which stood the house which was their destination.

It was a big, dull, brick house, exactly like all the others in its row, but that on the front door there shone a brass plate on which was engraved in black letters:

MISS MINCHIN,
Select Seminary for Young Ladies.

“Here we are, Sara,” said Captain Crewe, making his voice sound as cheerful as possible. Then he lifted her out of the cab and they mounted the steps and rang the bell. Sara often thought afterward that the house was somehow exactly like Miss Minchin. It was respectable and well furnished, but everything in it was ugly; and the very armchairs seemed to have hard bones in them. In the hall everything was hard and polished—even the red cheeks of the moon face on the tall clock in the corner had a severe varnished look. The drawing room into which they were ushered was covered by a carpet with a square pattern upon it, the chairs were square, and a heavy marble timepiece stood upon the heavy marble mantel.

As she sat down in one of the stiff mahogany chairs, Sara cast one of her quick looks about her.

“I don’t like it, papa,” she said. “But then I dare say soldiers—even brave ones—don’t really LIKE going into battle.”

Captain Crewe laughed outright at this. He was young and full of fun, and he never tired of hearing Sara’s queer speeches.

“Oh, little Sara,” he said. “What shall I do when I have no one to say solemn things to me? No one else is as solemn as you are.”

“But why do solemn things make you laugh so?” inquired Sara.

“Because you are such fun when you say them,” he answered, laughing still more. And then suddenly he swept her into his arms and kissed her very hard, stopping laughing all at once and looking almost as if tears had come into his eyes.

It was just then that Miss Minchin entered the room. She was very like her house, Sara felt: tall and dull, and respectable and ugly. She had large, cold, fishy eyes, and a large, cold, fishy smile. It spread itself into a very large smile when she saw Sara and Captain Crewe. She had heard a great many desirable things of the young soldier from the lady who had recommended her school to him. Among other things, she had heard that he was a rich father who was willing to spend a great deal of money on his little daughter.

“It will be a great privilege to have charge of such a beautiful and promising child, Captain Crewe,” she said, taking Sara’s hand and stroking it. “Lady Meredith has told me of her unusual cleverness. A clever child is a great treasure in an establishment like mine.”

Sara stood quietly, with her eyes fixed upon Miss Minchin’s face. She was thinking something odd, as usual.

“Why does she say I am a beautiful child?” she was thinking. “I am not beautiful at all. Colonel Grange’s little girl, Isobel, is beautiful. She has dimples and rose-colored cheeks, and long hair the color of gold. I have short black hair and green eyes; besides which, I am a thin child and not fair in the least. I am one of the ugliest children I ever saw. She is beginning by telling a story.”

She was mistaken, however, in thinking she was an ugly child. She was not in the least like Isobel Grange, who had been the beauty of the regiment, but she had an odd charm of her own. She was a slim, supple creature, rather tall for her age, and had an intense, attractive little face. Her hair was heavy and quite black and only curled at the tips; her eyes were greenish gray, it is true, but they were big, wonderful eyes with long, black lashes, and though she herself did not like the color of them, many other people did. Still she was very firm in her belief that she was an ugly little girl, and she was not at all elated by Miss Minchin’s flattery.

“I should be telling a story if I said she was beautiful,” she thought; “and I should know I was telling a story. I believe I am as ugly as she is—in my way. What did she say that for?”

After she had known Miss Minchin longer she learned why she had said it. She discovered that she said the same thing to each papa and mamma who brought a child to her school.

Sara stood near her father and listened while he and Miss Minchin talked. She had been brought to the seminary because Lady Meredith’s two little girls had been educated there, and Captain Crewe had a great respect for Lady Meredith’s experience. Sara was to be what was known as “a parlor boarder,” and she was to enjoy even greater privileges than parlor boarders usually did. She was to have a pretty bedroom and sitting room of her own; she was to have a pony and a carriage, and a maid to take the place of the ayah who had been her nurse in India.

“I am not in the least anxious about her education,” Captain Crewe said, with his gay laugh, as he held Sara’s hand and patted it. “The difficulty will be to keep her from learning too fast and too much. She is always sitting with her little nose burrowing into books. She doesn’t read them, Miss Minchin; she gobbles them up as if she were a little wolf instead of a little girl. She is always starving for new books to gobble, and she wants grown-up books—great, big, fat ones—French and German as well as English—history and biography and poets, and all sorts of things. Drag her away from her books when she reads too much. Make her ride her pony in the Row or go out and buy a new doll. She ought to play more with dolls.”

“Papa,” said Sara, “you see, if I went out and bought a new doll every few days I should have more than I could be fond of. Dolls ought to be intimate friends. Emily is going to be my intimate friend.”

Captain Crewe looked at Miss Minchin and Miss Minchin looked at Captain Crewe.

“Who is Emily?” she inquired.

“Tell her, Sara,” Captain Crewe said, smiling.

Sara’s green-gray eyes looked very solemn and quite soft as she answered.

“She is a doll I haven’t got yet,” she said. “She is a doll papa is going to buy for me. We are going out together to find her. I have called her Emily. She is going to be my friend when papa is gone. I want her to talk to about him.”

Miss Minchin’s large, fishy smile became very flattering indeed.

“What an original child!” she said. “What a darling little creature!”

“Yes,” said Captain Crewe, drawing Sara close. “She is a darling little creature. Take great care of her for me, Miss Minchin.”

Sara stayed with her father at his hotel for several days; in fact, she remained with him until he sailed away again to India. They went out and visited many big shops together, and bought a great many things. They bought, indeed, a great many more things than Sara needed; but Captain Crewe was a rash, innocent young man and wanted his little girl to have everything she admired and everything he admired himself, so between them they collected a wardrobe much too grand for a child of seven. There were velvet dresses trimmed with costly furs, and lace dresses, and embroidered ones, and hats with great, soft ostrich feathers, and ermine coats and muffs, and boxes of tiny gloves and handkerchiefs and silk stockings in such abundant supplies that the polite young women behind the counters whispered to each other that the odd little girl with the big, solemn eyes must be at least some foreign princess—perhaps the little daughter of an Indian rajah.

And at last they found Emily, but they went to a number of toy shops and looked at a great many dolls before they discovered her.

“I want her to look as if she wasn’t a doll really,” Sara said. “I want her to look as if she LISTENS when I talk to her. The trouble with dolls, papa”—and she put her head on one side and reflected as she said it—”the trouble with dolls is that they never seem to HEAR.” So they looked at big ones and little ones—at dolls with black eyes and dolls with blue—at dolls with brown curls and dolls with golden braids, dolls dressed and dolls undressed.

“You see,” Sara said when they were examining one who had no clothes. “If, when I find her, she has no frocks, we can take her to a dressmaker and have her things made to fit. They will fit better if they are tried on.”

After a number of disappointments they decided to walk and look in at the shop windows and let the cab follow them. They had passed two or three places without even going in, when, as they were approaching a shop which was really not a very large one, Sara suddenly started and clutched her father’s arm.

“Oh, papa!” she cried. “There is Emily!”

A flush had risen to her face and there was an expression in her green-gray eyes as if she had just recognized someone she was intimate with and fond of.

“She is actually waiting there for us!” she said. “Let us go in to her.”

“Dear me,” said Captain Crewe, “I feel as if we ought to have someone to introduce us.”

“You must introduce me and I will introduce you,” said Sara. “But I knew her the minute I saw her—so perhaps she knew me, too.”

Perhaps she had known her. She had certainly a very intelligent expression in her eyes when Sara took her in her arms. She was a large doll, but not too large to carry about easily; she had naturally curling golden-brown hair, which hung like a mantle about her, and her eyes were a deep, clear, gray-blue, with soft, thick eyelashes which were real eyelashes and not mere painted lines.

“Of course,” said Sara, looking into her face as she held her on her knee, “of course papa, this is Emily.”

So Emily was bought and actually taken to a children’s outfitter’s shop and measured for a wardrobe as grand as Sara’s own. She had lace frocks, too, and velvet and muslin ones, and hats and coats and beautiful lace-trimmed underclothes, and gloves and handkerchiefs and furs.

“I should like her always to look as if she was a child with a good mother,” said Sara. “I’m her mother, though I am going to make a companion of her.”

Captain Crewe would really have enjoyed the shopping tremendously, but that a sad thought kept tugging at his heart. This all meant that he was going to be separated from his beloved, quaint little comrade.

He got out of his bed in the middle of that night and went and stood looking down at Sara, who lay asleep with Emily in her arms. Her black hair was spread out on the pillow and Emily’s golden-brown hair mingled with it, both of them had lace-ruffled nightgowns, and both had long eyelashes which lay and curled up on their cheeks. Emily looked so like a real child that Captain Crewe felt glad she was there. He drew a big sigh and pulled his mustache with a boyish expression.

“Heigh-ho, little Sara!” he said to himself “I don’t believe you know how much your daddy will miss you.”

The next day he took her to Miss Minchin’s and left her there. He was to sail away the next morning. He explained to Miss Minchin that his solicitors, Messrs. Barrow & Skipworth, had charge of his affairs in England and would give her any advice she wanted, and that they would pay the bills she sent in for Sara’s expenses. He would write to Sara twice a week, and she was to be given every pleasure she asked for.

“She is a sensible little thing, and she never wants anything it isn’t safe to give her,” he said.

Then he went with Sara into her little sitting room and they bade each other good-by. Sara sat on his knee and held the lapels of his coat in her small hands, and looked long and hard at his face.

“Are you learning me by heart, little Sara?” he said, stroking her hair.

“No,” she answered. “I know you by heart. You are inside my heart.” And they put their arms round each other and kissed as if they would never let each other go.

When the cab drove away from the door, Sara was sitting on the floor of her sitting room, with her hands under her chin and her eyes following it until it had turned the corner of the square. Emily was sitting by her, and she looked after it, too. When Miss Minchin sent her sister, Miss Amelia, to see what the child was doing, she found she could not open the door.

“I have locked it,” said a queer, polite little voice from inside. “I want to be quite by myself, if you please.”

Miss Amelia was fat and dumpy, and stood very much in awe of her sister. She was really the better-natured person of the two, but she never disobeyed Miss Minchin. She went downstairs again, looking almost alarmed.

“I never saw such a funny, old-fashioned child, sister,” she said. “She has locked herself in, and she is not making the least particle of noise.”

“It is much better than if she kicked and screamed, as some of them do,” Miss Minchin answered. “I expected that a child as much spoiled as she is would set the whole house in an uproar. If ever a child was given her own way in everything, she is.”

“I’ve been opening her trunks and putting her things away,” said Miss Amelia. “I never saw anything like them—sable and ermine on her coats, and real Valenciennes lace on her underclothing. You have seen some of her clothes. What DO you think of them?”

“I think they are perfectly ridiculous,” replied Miss Minchin, sharply; “but they will look very well at the head of the line when we take the schoolchildren to church on Sunday. She has been provided for as if she were a little princess.”

And upstairs in the locked room Sara and Emily sat on the floor and stared at the corner round which the cab had disappeared, while Captain Crewe looked backward, waving and kissing his hand as if he could not bear to stop.

Chapter 2 – A French Lesson

When Sara entered the schoolroom the next morning everybody looked at her with wide, interested eyes. By that time every pupil—from Lavinia Herbert, who was nearly thirteen and felt quite grown up, to Lottie Legh, who was only just four and the baby of the school—had heard a great deal about her. They knew very certainly that she was Miss Minchin’s show pupil and was considered a credit to the establishment. One or two of them had even caught a glimpse of her French maid, Mariette, who had arrived the evening before. Lavinia had managed to pass Sara’s room when the door was open, and had seen Mariette opening a box which had arrived late from some shop.

“It was full of petticoats with lace frills on them—frills and frills,” she whispered to her friend Jessie as she bent over her geography. “I saw her shaking them out. I heard Miss Minchin say to Miss Amelia that her clothes were so grand that they were ridiculous for a child. My mamma says that children should be dressed simply. She has got one of those petticoats on now. I saw it when she sat down.”

“She has silk stockings on!” whispered Jessie, bending over her geography also. “And what little feet! I never saw such little feet.”

“Oh,” sniffed Lavinia, spitefully, “that is the way her slippers are made. My mamma says that even big feet can be made to look small if you have a clever shoemaker. I don’t think she is pretty at all. Her eyes are such a queer color.”

“She isn’t pretty as other pretty people are,” said Jessie, stealing a glance across the room; “but she makes you want to look at her again. She has tremendously long eyelashes, but her eyes are almost green.”

Sara was sitting quietly in her seat, waiting to be told what to do. She had been placed near Miss Minchin’s desk. She was not abashed at all by the many pairs of eyes watching her. She was interested and looked back quietly at the children who looked at her. She wondered what they were thinking of, and if they liked Miss Minchin, and if they cared for their lessons, and if any of them had a papa at all like her own. She had had a long talk with Emily about her papa that morning.

“He is on the sea now, Emily,” she had said. “We must be very great friends to each other and tell each other things. Emily, look at me. You have the nicest eyes I ever saw—but I wish you could speak.”

She was a child full of imaginings and whimsical thoughts, and one of her fancies was that there would be a great deal of comfort in even pretending that Emily was alive and really heard and understood. After Mariette had dressed her in her dark-blue schoolroom frock and tied her hair with a dark-blue ribbon, she went to Emily, who sat in a chair of her own, and gave her a book.

“You can read that while I am downstairs,” she said; and, seeing Mariette looking at her curiously, she spoke to her with a serious little face.

“What I believe about dolls,” she said, “is that they can do things they will not let us know about. Perhaps, really, Emily can read and talk and walk, but she will only do it when people are out of the room. That is her secret. You see, if people knew that dolls could do things, they would make them work. So, perhaps, they have promised each other to keep it a secret. If you stay in the room, Emily will just sit there and stare; but if you go out, she will begin to read, perhaps, or go and look out of the window. Then if she heard either of us coming, she would just run back and jump into her chair and pretend she had been there all the time.”

“Comme elle est drole!” Mariette said to herself, and when she went downstairs she told the head housemaid about it. But she had already begun to like this odd little girl who had such an intelligent small face and such perfect manners. She had taken care of children before who were not so polite. Sara was a very fine little person, and had a gentle, appreciative way of saying, “If you please, Mariette,” “Thank you, Mariette,” which was very charming. Mariette told the head housemaid that she thanked her as if she was thanking a lady.

“Elle a l’air d’une princesse, cette petite,” she said. Indeed, she was very much pleased with her new little mistress and liked her place greatly.

After Sara had sat in her seat in the schoolroom for a few minutes, being looked at by the pupils, Miss Minchin rapped in a dignified manner upon her desk.

“Young ladies,” she said, “I wish to introduce you to your new companion.” All the little girls rose in their places, and Sara rose also. “I shall expect you all to be very agreeable to Miss Crewe; she has just come to us from a great distance—in fact, from India. As soon as lessons are over you must make each other’s acquaintance.”

The pupils bowed ceremoniously, and Sara made a little curtsy, and then they sat down and looked at each other again.

“Sara,” said Miss Minchin in her schoolroom manner, “come here to me.”

She had taken a book from the desk and was turning over its leaves. Sara went to her politely.

“As your papa has engaged a French maid for you,” she began, “I conclude that he wishes you to make a special study of the French language.”

Sara felt a little awkward.

“I think he engaged her,” she said, “because he—he thought I would like her, Miss Minchin.”

“I am afraid,” said Miss Minchin, with a slightly sour smile, “that you have been a very spoiled little girl and always imagine that things are done because you like them. My impression is that your papa wished you to learn French.”

If Sara had been older or less punctilious about being quite polite to people, she could have explained herself in a very few words. But, as it was, she felt a flush rising on her cheeks. Miss Minchin was a very severe and imposing person, and she seemed so absolutely sure that Sara knew nothing whatever of French that she felt as if it would be almost rude to correct her. The truth was that Sara could not remember the time when she had not seemed to know French. Her father had often spoken it to her when she had been a baby. Her mother had been a French woman, and Captain Crewe had loved her language, so it happened that Sara had always heard and been familiar with it.

“I—I have never really learned French, but—but—” she began, trying shyly to make herself clear.

One of Miss Minchin’s chief secret annoyances was that she did not speak French herself, and was desirous of concealing the irritating fact. She, therefore, had no intention of discussing the matter and laying herself open to innocent questioning by a new little pupil.

“That is enough,” she said with polite tartness. “If you have not learned, you must begin at once. The French master, Monsieur Dufarge, will be here in a few minutes. Take this book and look at it until he arrives.”

Sara’s cheeks felt warm. She went back to her seat and opened the book. She looked at the first page with a grave face. She knew it would be rude to smile, and she was very determined not to be rude. But it was very odd to find herself expected to study a page which told her that “le pere” meant “the father,” and “la mere” meant “the mother.”

Miss Minchin glanced toward her scrutinizingly.

“You look rather cross, Sara,” she said. “I am sorry you do not like the idea of learning French.”

“I am very fond of it,” answered Sara, thinking she would try again; “but—”

“You must not say ‘but’ when you are told to do things,” said Miss Minchin. “Look at your book again.”

And Sara did so, and did not smile, even when she found that “le fils” meant “the son,” and “le frere” meant “the brother.”

“When Monsieur Dufarge comes,” she thought, “I can make him understand.”

Monsieur Dufarge arrived very shortly afterward. He was a very nice, intelligent, middle-aged Frenchman, and he looked interested when his eyes fell upon Sara trying politely to seem absorbed in her little book of phrases.

“Is this a new pupil for me, madame?” he said to Miss Minchin. “I hope that is my good fortune.”

“Her papa—Captain Crewe—is very anxious that she should begin the language. But I am afraid she has a childish prejudice against it. She does not seem to wish to learn,” said Miss Minchin.

“I am sorry of that, mademoiselle,” he said kindly to Sara. “Perhaps, when we begin to study together, I may show you that it is a charming tongue.”

Little Sara rose in her seat. She was beginning to feel rather desperate, as if she were almost in disgrace. She looked up into Monsieur Dufarge’s face with her big, green-gray eyes, and they were quite innocently appealing. She knew that he would understand as soon as she spoke. She began to explain quite simply in pretty and fluent French. Madame had not understood. She had not learned French exactly—not out of books—but her papa and other people had always spoken it to her, and she had read it and written it as she had read and written English. Her papa loved it, and she loved it because he did. Her dear mamma, who had died when she was born, had been French. She would be glad to learn anything monsieur would teach her, but what she had tried to explain to madame was that she already knew the words in this book—and she held out the little book of phrases.

When she began to speak Miss Minchin started quite violently and sat staring at her over her eyeglasses, almost indignantly, until she had finished. Monsieur Dufarge began to smile, and his smile was one of great pleasure. To hear this pretty childish voice speaking his own language so simply and charmingly made him feel almost as if he were in his native land—which in dark, foggy days in London sometimes seemed worlds away. When she had finished, he took the phrase book from her, with a look almost affectionate. But he spoke to Miss Minchin.

“Ah, madame,” he said, “there is not much I can teach her. She has not LEARNED French; she is French. Her accent is exquisite.”

“You ought to have told me,” exclaimed Miss Minchin, much mortified, turning to Sara.

“I—I tried,” said Sara. “I—I suppose I did not begin right.”

Miss Minchin knew she had tried, and that it had not been her fault that she was not allowed to explain. And when she saw that the pupils had been listening and that Lavinia and Jessie were giggling behind their French grammars, she felt infuriated.

“Silence, young ladies!” she said severely, rapping upon the desk. “Silence at once!”

And she began from that minute to feel rather a grudge against her show pupil.

Chapter 3 -Ermengarde

On that first morning, when Sara sat at Miss Minchin’s side, aware that the whole schoolroom was devoting itself to observing her, she had noticed very soon one little girl, about her own age, who looked at her very hard with a pair of light, rather dull, blue eyes. She was a fat child who did not look as if she were in the least clever, but she had a good-naturedly pouting mouth. Her flaxen hair was braided in a tight pigtail, tied with a ribbon, and she had pulled this pigtail around her neck, and was biting the end of the ribbon, resting her elbows on the desk, as she stared wonderingly at the new pupil. When Monsieur Dufarge began to speak to Sara, she looked a little frightened; and when Sara stepped forward and, looking at him with the innocent, appealing eyes, answered him, without any warning, in French, the fat little girl gave a startled jump, and grew quite red in her awed amazement. Having wept hopeless tears for weeks in her efforts to remember that “la mere” meant “the mother,” and “le pere,” “the father,”—when one spoke sensible English—it was almost too much for her suddenly to find herself listening to a child her own age who seemed not only quite familiar with these words, but apparently knew any number of others, and could mix them up with verbs as if they were mere trifles.

She stared so hard and bit the ribbon on her pigtail so fast that she attracted the attention of Miss Minchin, who, feeling extremely cross at the moment, immediately pounced upon her.

“Miss St. John!” she exclaimed severely. “What do you mean by such conduct? Remove your elbows! Take your ribbon out of your mouth! Sit up at once!”

Upon which Miss St. John gave another jump, and when Lavinia and Jessie tittered she became redder than ever—so red, indeed, that she almost looked as if tears were coming into her poor, dull, childish eyes; and Sara saw her and was so sorry for her that she began rather to like her and want to be her friend. It was a way of hers always to want to spring into any fray in which someone was made uncomfortable or unhappy.

“If Sara had been a boy and lived a few centuries ago,” her father used to say, “she would have gone about the country with her sword drawn, rescuing and defending everyone in distress. She always wants to fight when she sees people in trouble.”

So she took rather a fancy to fat, slow, little Miss St. John, and kept glancing toward her through the morning. She saw that lessons were no easy matter to her, and that there was no danger of her ever being spoiled by being treated as a show pupil. Her French lesson was a pathetic thing. Her pronunciation made even Monsieur Dufarge smile in spite of himself, and Lavinia and Jessie and the more fortunate girls either giggled or looked at her in wondering disdain. But Sara did not laugh. She tried to look as if she did not hear when Miss St. John called “le bon pain,” “lee bong pang.” She had a fine, hot little temper of her own, and it made her feel rather savage when she heard the titters and saw the poor, stupid, distressed child’s face.

“It isn’t funny, really,” she said between her teeth, as she bent over her book. “They ought not to laugh.”

When lessons were over and the pupils gathered together in groups to talk, Sara looked for Miss St. John, and finding her bundled rather disconsolately in a window-seat, she walked over to her and spoke. She only said the kind of thing little girls always say to each other by way of beginning an acquaintance, but there was something friendly about Sara, and people always felt it.

“What is your name?” she said.

To explain Miss St. John’s amazement one must recall that a new pupil is, for a short time, a somewhat uncertain thing; and of this new pupil the entire school had talked the night before until it fell asleep quite exhausted by excitement and contradictory stories. A new pupil with a carriage and a pony and a maid, and a voyage from India to discuss, was not an ordinary acquaintance.

“My name’s Ermengarde St. John,” she answered.

“Mine is Sara Crewe,” said Sara. “Yours is very pretty. It sounds like a story book.”

“Do you like it?” fluttered Ermengarde. “I—I like yours.”

Miss St. John’s chief trouble in life was that she had a clever father. Sometimes this seemed to her a dreadful calamity. If you have a father who knows everything, who speaks seven or eight languages, and has thousands of volumes which he has apparently learned by heart, he frequently expects you to be familiar with the contents of your lesson books at least; and it is not improbable that he will feel you ought to be able to remember a few incidents of history and to write a French exercise. Ermengarde was a severe trial to Mr. St. John. He could not understand how a child of his could be a notably and unmistakably dull creature who never shone in anything.

“Good heavens!” he had said more than once, as he stared at her, “there are times when I think she is as stupid as her Aunt Eliza!”

If her Aunt Eliza had been slow to learn and quick to forget a thing entirely when she had learned it, Ermengarde was strikingly like her. She was the monumental dunce of the school, and it could not be denied.

“She must be MADE to learn,” her father said to Miss Minchin.

Consequently Ermengarde spent the greater part of her life in disgrace or in tears. She learned things and forgot them; or, if she remembered them, she did not understand them. So it was natural that, having made Sara’s acquaintance, she should sit and stare at her with profound admiration.

“You can speak French, can’t you?” she said respectfully.

Sara got on to the window-seat, which was a big, deep one, and, tucking up her feet, sat with her hands clasped round her knees.

“I can speak it because I have heard it all my life,” she answered. “You could speak it if you had always heard it.”

“Oh, no, I couldn’t,” said Ermengarde. “I NEVER could speak it!”

“Why?” inquired Sara, curiously.

Ermengarde shook her head so that the pigtail wobbled.

“You heard me just now,” she said. “I’m always like that. I can’t SAY the words. They’re so queer.”

She paused a moment, and then added with a touch of awe in her voice, “You are CLEVER, aren’t you?”

Sara looked out of the window into the dingy square, where the sparrows were hopping and twittering on the wet, iron railings and the sooty branches of the trees. She reflected a few moments. She had heard it said very often that she was “clever,” and she wondered if she was—and IF she was, how it had happened.

“I don’t know,” she said. “I can’t tell.” Then, seeing a mournful look on the round, chubby face, she gave a little laugh and changed the subject.

“Would you like to see Emily?” she inquired.

“Who is Emily?” Ermengarde asked, just as Miss Minchin had done.

“Come up to my room and see,” said Sara, holding out her hand.

They jumped down from the window-seat together, and went upstairs.

“Is it true,” Ermengarde whispered, as they went through the hall—”is it true that you have a playroom all to yourself?”

“Yes,” Sara answered. “Papa asked Miss Minchin to let me have one, because—well, it was because when I play I make up stories and tell them to myself, and I don’t like people to hear me. It spoils it if I think people listen.”

They had reached the passage leading to Sara’s room by this time, and Ermengarde stopped short, staring, and quite losing her breath.

“You MAKE up stories!” she gasped. “Can you do that—as well as speak French? CAN you?”

Sara looked at her in simple surprise.

“Why, anyone can make up things,” she said. “Have you never tried?”

She put her hand warningly on Ermengarde’s.

“Let us go very quietly to the door,” she whispered, “and then I will open it quite suddenly; perhaps we may catch her.”

She was half laughing, but there was a touch of mysterious hope in her eyes which fascinated Ermengarde, though she had not the remotest idea what it meant, or whom it was she wanted to “catch,” or why she wanted to catch her. Whatsoever she meant, Ermengarde was sure it was something delightfully exciting. So, quite thrilled with expectation, she followed her on tiptoe along the passage. They made not the least noise until they reached the door. Then Sara suddenly turned the handle, and threw it wide open. Its opening revealed the room quite neat and quiet, a fire gently burning in the grate, and a wonderful doll sitting in a chair by it, apparently reading a book.

“Oh, she got back to her seat before we could see her!” Sara explained. “Of course they always do. They are as quick as lightning.”

Ermengarde looked from her to the doll and back again.

“Can she—walk?” she asked breathlessly.

“Yes,” answered Sara. “At least I believe she can. At least I PRETEND I believe she can. And that makes it seem as if it were true. Have you never pretended things?”

“No,” said Ermengarde. “Never. I—tell me about it.”

She was so bewitched by this odd, new companion that she actually stared at Sara instead of at Emily—notwithstanding that Emily was the most attractive doll person she had ever seen.

“Let us sit down,” said Sara, “and I will tell you. It’s so easy that when you begin you can’t stop. You just go on and on doing it always. And it’s beautiful. Emily, you must listen. This is Ermengarde St. John, Emily. Ermengarde, this is Emily. Would you like to hold her?”

“Oh, may I?” said Ermengarde. “May I, really? She is beautiful!” And Emily was put into her arms.

Never in her dull, short life had Miss St. John dreamed of such an hour as the one she spent with the queer new pupil before they heard the lunch-bell ring and were obliged to go downstairs.

Sara sat upon the hearth-rug and told her strange things. She sat rather huddled up, and her green eyes shone and her cheeks flushed. She told stories of the voyage, and stories of India; but what fascinated Ermengarde the most was her fancy about the dolls who walked and talked, and who could do anything they chose when the human beings were out of the room, but who must keep their powers a secret and so flew back to their places “like lightning” when people returned to the room.

“WE couldn’t do it,” said Sara, seriously. “You see, it’s a kind of magic.”

Once, when she was relating the story of the search for Emily, Ermengarde saw her face suddenly change. A cloud seemed to pass over it and put out the light in her shining eyes. She drew her breath in so sharply that it made a funny, sad little sound, and then she shut her lips and held them tightly closed, as if she was determined either to do or NOT to do something. Ermengarde had an idea that if she had been like any other little girl, she might have suddenly burst out sobbing and crying. But she did not.

“Have you a—a pain?” Ermengarde ventured.

“Yes,” Sara answered, after a moment’s silence. “But it is not in my body.” Then she added something in a low voice which she tried to keep quite steady, and it was this: “Do you love your father more than anything else in all the whole world?”

Ermengarde’s mouth fell open a little. She knew that it would be far from behaving like a respectable child at a select seminary to say that it had never occurred to you that you COULD love your father, that you would do anything desperate to avoid being left alone in his society for ten minutes. She was, indeed, greatly embarrassed.

“I—I scarcely ever see him,” she stammered. “He is always in the library—reading things.”

“I love mine more than all the world ten times over,” Sara said. “That is what my pain is. He has gone away.”

She put her head quietly down on her little, huddled-up knees, and sat very still for a few minutes.

“She’s going to cry out loud,” thought Ermengarde, fearfully.

But she did not. Her short, black locks tumbled about her ears, and she sat still. Then she spoke without lifting her head.

“I promised him I would bear it,” she said. “And I will. You have to bear things. Think what soldiers bear! Papa is a soldier. If there was a war he would have to bear marching and thirstiness and, perhaps, deep wounds. And he would never say a word—not one word.”

Ermengarde could only gaze at her, but she felt that she was beginning to adore her. She was so wonderful and different from anyone else.

Presently, she lifted her face and shook back her black locks, with a queer little smile.

“If I go on talking and talking,” she said, “and telling you things about pretending, I shall bear it better. You don’t forget, but you bear it better.”

Ermengarde did not know why a lump came into her throat and her eyes felt as if tears were in them.

“Lavinia and Jessie are ‘best friends,’” she said rather huskily. “I wish we could be ‘best friends.’ Would you have me for yours? You’re clever, and I’m the stupidest child in the school, but I—oh, I do so like you!”

“I’m glad of that,” said Sara. “It makes you thankful when you are liked. Yes. We will be friends. And I’ll tell you what”—a sudden gleam lighting her face—”I can help you with your French lessons.”

Chapter 4 -Lottie

If Sara had been a different kind of child, the life she led at Miss Minchin’s Select Seminary for the next few years would not have been at all good for her. She was treated more as if she were a distinguished guest at the establishment than as if she were a mere little girl. If she had been a self-opinionated, domineering child, she might have become disagreeable enough to be unbearable through being so much indulged and flattered. If she had been an indolent child, she would have learned nothing. Privately Miss Minchin disliked her, but she was far too worldly a woman to do or say anything which might make such a desirable pupil wish to leave her school. She knew quite well that if Sara wrote to her papa to tell him she was uncomfortable or unhappy, Captain Crewe would remove her at once. Miss Minchin’s opinion was that if a child were continually praised and never forbidden to do what she liked, she would be sure to be fond of the place where she was so treated. Accordingly, Sara was praised for her quickness at her lessons, for her good manners, for her amiability to her fellow pupils, for her generosity if she gave sixpence to a beggar out of her full little purse; the simplest thing she did was treated as if it were a virtue, and if she had not had a disposition and a clever little brain, she might have been a very self-satisfied young person. But the clever little brain told her a great many sensible and true things about herself and her circumstances, and now and then she talked these things over to Ermengarde as time went on.

“Things happen to people by accident,” she used to say. “A lot of nice accidents have happened to me. It just HAPPENED that I always liked lessons and books, and could remember things when I learned them. It just happened that I was born with a father who was beautiful and nice and clever, and could give me everything I liked. Perhaps I have not really a good temper at all, but if you have everything you want and everyone is kind to you, how can you help but be good-tempered? I don’t know”—looking quite serious—”how I shall ever find out whether I am really a nice child or a horrid one. Perhaps I’m a HIDEOUS child, and no one will ever know, just because I never have any trials.”

“Lavinia has no trials,” said Ermengarde, stolidly, “and she is horrid enough.”

Sara rubbed the end of her little nose reflectively, as she thought the matter over.

“Well,” she said at last, “perhaps—perhaps that is because Lavinia is GROWING.” This was the result of a charitable recollection of having heard Miss Amelia say that Lavinia was growing so fast that she believed it affected her health and temper.

Lavinia, in fact, was spiteful. She was inordinately jealous of Sara. Until the new pupil’s arrival, she had felt herself the leader in the school. She had led because she was capable of making herself extremely disagreeable if the others did not follow her. She domineered over the little children, and assumed grand airs with those big enough to be her companions. She was rather pretty, and had been the best-dressed pupil in the procession when the Select Seminary walked out two by two, until Sara’s velvet coats and sable muffs appeared, combined with drooping ostrich feathers, and were led by Miss Minchin at the head of the line. This, at the beginning, had been bitter enough; but as time went on it became apparent that Sara was a leader, too, and not because she could make herself disagreeable, but because she never did.

“There’s one thing about Sara Crewe,” Jessie had enraged her “best friend” by saying honestly, “she’s never ‘grand’ about herself the least bit, and you know she might be, Lavvie. I believe I couldn’t help being—just a little—if I had so many fine things and was made such a fuss over. It’s disgusting, the way Miss Minchin shows her off when parents come.”

“‘Dear Sara must come into the drawing room and talk to Mrs. Musgrave about India,’” mimicked Lavinia, in her most highly flavored imitation of Miss Minchin. “‘Dear Sara must speak French to Lady Pitkin. Her accent is so perfect.’ She didn’t learn her French at the Seminary, at any rate. And there’s nothing so clever in her knowing it. She says herself she didn’t learn it at all. She just picked it up, because she always heard her papa speak it. And, as to her papa, there is nothing so grand in being an Indian officer.”

“Well,” said Jessie, slowly, “he’s killed tigers. He killed the one in the skin Sara has in her room. That’s why she likes it so. She lies on it and strokes its head, and talks to it as if it was a cat.”

“She’s always doing something silly,” snapped Lavinia. “My mamma says that way of hers of pretending things is silly. She says she will grow up eccentric.”

It was quite true that Sara was never “grand.” She was a friendly little soul, and shared her privileges and belongings with a free hand. The little ones, who were accustomed to being disdained and ordered out of the way by mature ladies aged ten and twelve, were never made to cry by this most envied of them all. She was a motherly young person, and when people fell down and scraped their knees, she ran and helped them up and patted them, or found in her pocket a bonbon or some other article of a soothing nature. She never pushed them out of her way or alluded to their years as a humiliation and a blot upon their small characters.

“If you are four you are four,” she said severely to Lavinia on an occasion of her having—it must be confessed—slapped Lottie and called her “a brat;” “but you will be five next year, and six the year after that. And,” opening large, convicting eyes, “it takes sixteen years to make you twenty.”

“Dear me,” said Lavinia, “how we can calculate!” In fact, it was not to be denied that sixteen and four made twenty—and twenty was an age the most daring were scarcely bold enough to dream of.

So the younger children adored Sara. More than once she had been known to have a tea party, made up of these despised ones, in her own room. And Emily had been played with, and Emily’s own tea service used—the one with cups which held quite a lot of much-sweetened weak tea and had blue flowers on them. No one had seen such a very real doll’s tea set before. From that afternoon Sara was regarded as a goddess and a queen by the entire alphabet class.

Lottie Legh worshipped her to such an extent that if Sara had not been a motherly person, she would have found her tiresome. Lottie had been sent to school by a rather flighty young papa who could not imagine what else to do with her. Her young mother had died, and as the child had been treated like a favorite doll or a very spoiled pet monkey or lap dog ever since the first hour of her life, she was a very appalling little creature. When she wanted anything or did not want anything she wept and howled; and, as she always wanted the things she could not have, and did not want the things that were best for her, her shrill little voice was usually to be heard uplifted in wails in one part of the house or another.

Her strongest weapon was that in some mysterious way she had found out that a very small girl who had lost her mother was a person who ought to be pitied and made much of. She had probably heard some grown-up people talking her over in the early days, after her mother’s death. So it became her habit to make great use of this knowledge.

The first time Sara took her in charge was one morning when, on passing a sitting room, she heard both Miss Minchin and Miss Amelia trying to suppress the angry wails of some child who, evidently, refused to be silenced. She refused so strenuously indeed that Miss Minchin was obliged to almost shout—in a stately and severe manner—to make herself heard.

“What IS she crying for?” she almost yelled.

“Oh—oh—oh!” Sara heard; “I haven’t got any mam—ma-a!”

“Oh, Lottie!” screamed Miss Amelia. “Do stop, darling! Don’t cry! Please don’t!”

“Oh! Oh! Oh! Oh! Oh!” Lottie howled tempestuously. “Haven’t—got—any—mam—ma-a!”

“She ought to be whipped,” Miss Minchin proclaimed. “You SHALL be whipped, you naughty child!”

Lottie wailed more loudly than ever. Miss Amelia began to cry. Miss Minchin’s voice rose until it almost thundered, then suddenly she sprang up from her chair in impotent indignation and flounced out of the room, leaving Miss Amelia to arrange the matter.

Sara had paused in the hall, wondering if she ought to go into the room, because she had recently begun a friendly acquaintance with Lottie and might be able to quiet her. When Miss Minchin came out and saw her, she looked rather annoyed. She realized that her voice, as heard from inside the room, could not have sounded either dignified or amiable.

“Oh, Sara!” she exclaimed, endeavoring to produce a suitable smile.

“I stopped,” explained Sara, “because I knew it was Lottie—and I thought, perhaps—just perhaps, I could make her be quiet. May I try, Miss Minchin?”

“If you can, you are a clever child,” answered Miss Minchin, drawing in her mouth sharply. Then, seeing that Sara looked slightly chilled by her asperity, she changed her manner. “But you are clever in everything,” she said in her approving way. “I dare say you can manage her. Go in.” And she left her.

When Sara entered the room, Lottie was lying upon the floor, screaming and kicking her small fat legs violently, and Miss Amelia was bending over her in consternation and despair, looking quite red and damp with heat. Lottie had always found, when in her own nursery at home, that kicking and screaming would always be quieted by any means she insisted on. Poor plump Miss Amelia was trying first one method, and then another.

“Poor darling,” she said one moment, “I know you haven’t any mamma, poor—” Then in quite another tone, “If you don’t stop, Lottie, I will shake you. Poor little angel! There—! You wicked, bad, detestable child, I will smack you! I will!”

Sara went to them quietly. She did not know at all what she was going to do, but she had a vague inward conviction that it would be better not to say such different kinds of things quite so helplessly and excitedly.

“Miss Amelia,” she said in a low voice, “Miss Minchin says I may try to make her stop—may I?”

Miss Amelia turned and looked at her hopelessly. “Oh, DO you think you can?” she gasped.

“I don’t know whether I CAN”, answered Sara, still in her half-whisper; “but I will try.”

Miss Amelia stumbled up from her knees with a heavy sigh, and Lottie’s fat little legs kicked as hard as ever.

“If you will steal out of the room,” said Sara, “I will stay with her.”

“Oh, Sara!” almost whimpered Miss Amelia. “We never had such a dreadful child before. I don’t believe we can keep her.”

But she crept out of the room, and was very much relieved to find an excuse for doing it.

Sara stood by the howling furious child for a few moments, and looked down at her without saying anything. Then she sat down flat on the floor beside her and waited. Except for Lottie’s angry screams, the room was quite quiet. This was a new state of affairs for little Miss Legh, who was accustomed, when she screamed, to hear other people protest and implore and command and coax by turns. To lie and kick and shriek, and find the only person near you not seeming to mind in the least, attracted her attention. She opened her tight-shut streaming eyes to see who this person was. And it was only another little girl. But it was the one who owned Emily and all the nice things. And she was looking at her steadily and as if she was merely thinking. Having paused for a few seconds to find this out, Lottie thought she must begin again, but the quiet of the room and of Sara’s odd, interested face made her first howl rather half-hearted.

“I—haven’t—any—ma—ma—ma-a!” she announced; but her voice was not so strong.

Sara looked at her still more steadily, but with a sort of understanding in her eyes.

“Neither have I,” she said.

This was so unexpected that it was astounding. Lottie actually dropped her legs, gave a wriggle, and lay and stared. A new idea will stop a crying child when nothing else will. Also it was true that while Lottie disliked Miss Minchin, who was cross, and Miss Amelia, who was foolishly indulgent, she rather liked Sara, little as she knew her. She did not want to give up her grievance, but her thoughts were distracted from it, so she wriggled again, and, after a sulky sob, said, “Where is she?”

Sara paused a moment. Because she had been told that her mamma was in heaven, she had thought a great deal about the matter, and her thoughts had not been quite like those of other people.

“She went to heaven,” she said. “But I am sure she comes out sometimes to see me—though I don’t see her. So does yours. Perhaps they can both see us now. Perhaps they are both in this room.”

Lottie sat bolt upright, and looked about her. She was a pretty, little, curly-headed creature, and her round eyes were like wet forget-me-nots. If her mamma had seen her during the last half-hour, she might not have thought her the kind of child who ought to be related to an angel.

Sara went on talking. Perhaps some people might think that what she said was rather like a fairy story, but it was all so real to her own imagination that Lottie began to listen in spite of herself. She had been told that her mamma had wings and a crown, and she had been shown pictures of ladies in beautiful white nightgowns, who were said to be angels. But Sara seemed to be telling a real story about a lovely country where real people were.

“There are fields and fields of flowers,” she said, forgetting herself, as usual, when she began, and talking rather as if she were in a dream, “fields and fields of lilies—and when the soft wind blows over them it wafts the scent of them into the air—and everybody always breathes it, because the soft wind is always blowing. And little children run about in the lily fields and gather armfuls of them, and laugh and make little wreaths. And the streets are shining. And people are never tired, however far they walk. They can float anywhere they like. And there are walls made of pearl and gold all round the city, but they are low enough for the people to go and lean on them, and look down onto the earth and smile, and send beautiful messages.”

Whatsoever story she had begun to tell, Lottie would, no doubt, have stopped crying, and been fascinated into listening; but there was no denying that this story was prettier than most others. She dragged herself close to Sara, and drank in every word until the end came—far too soon. When it did come, she was so sorry that she put up her lip ominously.

“I want to go there,” she cried. “I—haven’t any mamma in this school.”

Sara saw the danger signal, and came out of her dream. She took hold of the chubby hand and pulled her close to her side with a coaxing little laugh.

“I will be your mamma,” she said. “We will play that you are my little girl. And Emily shall be your sister.”

Lottie’s dimples all began to show themselves.

“Shall she?” she said.

“Yes,” answered Sara, jumping to her feet. “Let us go and tell her. And then I will wash your face and brush your hair.”

To which Lottie agreed quite cheerfully, and trotted out of the room and upstairs with her, without seeming even to remember that the whole of the last hour’s tragedy had been caused by the fact that she had refused to be washed and brushed for lunch and Miss Minchin had been called in to use her majestic authority.

And from that time Sara was an adopted mother.

Chapter 5 -Becky

Of course the greatest power Sara possessed and the one which gained her even more followers than her luxuries and the fact that she was “the show pupil,” the power that Lavinia and certain other girls were most envious of, and at the same time most fascinated by in spite of themselves, was her power of telling stories and of making everything she talked about seem like a story, whether it was one or not.

Anyone who has been at school with a teller of stories knows what the wonder means—how he or she is followed about and besought in a whisper to relate romances; how groups gather round and hang on the outskirts of the favored party in the hope of being allowed to join in and listen. Sara not only could tell stories, but she adored telling them. When she sat or stood in the midst of a circle and began to invent wonderful things, her green eyes grew big and shining, her cheeks flushed, and, without knowing that she was doing it, she began to act and made what she told lovely or alarming by the raising or dropping of her voice, the bend and sway of her slim body, and the dramatic movement of her hands. She forgot that she was talking to listening children; she saw and lived with the fairy folk, or the kings and queens and beautiful ladies, whose adventures she was narrating. Sometimes when she had finished her story, she was quite out of breath with excitement, and would lay her hand on her thin, little, quick-rising chest, and half laugh as if at herself.

“When I am telling it,” she would say, “it doesn’t seem as if it was only made up. It seems more real than you are—more real than the schoolroom. I feel as if I were all the people in the story—one after the other. It is queer.”

She had been at Miss Minchin’s school about two years when, one foggy winter’s afternoon, as she was getting out of her carriage, comfortably wrapped up in her warmest velvets and furs and looking very much grander than she knew, she caught sight, as she crossed the pavement, of a dingy little figure standing on the area steps, and stretching its neck so that its wide-open eyes might peer at her through the railings. Something in the eagerness and timidity of the smudgy face made her look at it, and when she looked she smiled because it was her way to smile at people.

But the owner of the smudgy face and the wide-open eyes evidently was afraid that she ought not to have been caught looking at pupils of importance. She dodged out of sight like a jack-in-the-box and scurried back into the kitchen, disappearing so suddenly that if she had not been such a poor little forlorn thing, Sara would have laughed in spite of herself. That very evening, as Sara was sitting in the midst of a group of listeners in a corner of the schoolroom telling one of her stories, the very same figure timidly entered the room, carrying a coal box much too heavy for her, and knelt down upon the hearth rug to replenish the fire and sweep up the ashes.

She was cleaner than she had been when she peeped through the area railings, but she looked just as frightened. She was evidently afraid to look at the children or seem to be listening. She put on pieces of coal cautiously with her fingers so that she might make no disturbing noise, and she swept about the fire irons very softly. But Sara saw in two minutes that she was deeply interested in what was going on, and that she was doing her work slowly in the hope of catching a word here and there. And realizing this, she raised her voice and spoke more clearly.

“The Mermaids swam softly about in the crystal-green water, and dragged after them a fishing-net woven of deep-sea pearls,” she said. “The Princess sat on the white rock and watched them.”

It was a wonderful story about a princess who was loved by a Prince Merman, and went to live with him in shining caves under the sea.

The small drudge before the grate swept the hearth once and then swept it again. Having done it twice, she did it three times; and, as she was doing it the third time, the sound of the story so lured her to listen that she fell under the spell and actually forgot that she had no right to listen at all, and also forgot everything else. She sat down upon her heels as she knelt on the hearth rug, and the brush hung idly in her fingers. The voice of the storyteller went on and drew her with it into winding grottos under the sea, glowing with soft, clear blue light, and paved with pure golden sands. Strange sea flowers and grasses waved about her, and far away faint singing and music echoed.

The hearth brush fell from the work-roughened hand, and Lavinia Herbert looked round.

“That girl has been listening,” she said.

The culprit snatched up her brush, and scrambled to her feet. She caught at the coal box and simply scuttled out of the room like a frightened rabbit.

Sara felt rather hot-tempered.

“I knew she was listening,” she said. “Why shouldn’t she?”

Lavinia tossed her head with great elegance.

“Well,” she remarked, “I do not know whether your mamma would like you to tell stories to servant girls, but I know MY mamma wouldn’t like ME to do it.”

“My mamma!” said Sara, looking odd. “I don’t believe she would mind in the least. She knows that stories belong to everybody.”

“I thought,” retorted Lavinia, in severe recollection, “that your mamma was dead. How can she know things?”

“Do you think she DOESN’T know things?” said Sara, in her stern little voice. Sometimes she had a rather stern little voice.

“Sara’s mamma knows everything,” piped in Lottie. “So does my mamma—’cept Sara is my mamma at Miss Minchin’s—my other one knows everything. The streets are shining, and there are fields and fields of lilies, and everybody gathers them. Sara tells me when she puts me to bed.”

“You wicked thing,” said Lavinia, turning on Sara; “making fairy stories about heaven.”

“There are much more splendid stories in Revelation,” returned Sara. “Just look and see! How do you know mine are fairy stories? But I can tell you”—with a fine bit of unheavenly temper—”you will never find out whether they are or not if you’re not kinder to people than you are now. Come along, Lottie.” And she marched out of the room, rather hoping that she might see the little servant again somewhere, but she found no trace of her when she got into the hall.

“Who is that little girl who makes the fires?” she asked Mariette that night.

Mariette broke forth into a flow of description.

Ah, indeed, Mademoiselle Sara might well ask. She was a forlorn little thing who had just taken the place of scullery maid—though, as to being scullery maid, she was everything else besides. She blacked boots and grates, and carried heavy coal-scuttles up and down stairs, and scrubbed floors and cleaned windows, and was ordered about by everybody. She was fourteen years old, but was so stunted in growth that she looked about twelve. In truth, Mariette was sorry for her. She was so timid that if one chanced to speak to her it appeared as if her poor, frightened eyes would jump out of her head.

“What is her name?” asked Sara, who had sat by the table, with her chin on her hands, as she listened absorbedly to the recital.

Her name was Becky. Mariette heard everyone below-stairs calling, “Becky, do this,” and “Becky, do that,” every five minutes in the day.

Sara sat and looked into the fire, reflecting on Becky for some time after Mariette left her. She made up a story of which Becky was the ill-used heroine. She thought she looked as if she had never had quite enough to eat. Her very eyes were hungry. She hoped she should see her again, but though she caught sight of her carrying things up or down stairs on several occasions, she always seemed in such a hurry and so afraid of being seen that it was impossible to speak to her.

But a few weeks later, on another foggy afternoon, when she entered her sitting room she found herself confronting a rather pathetic picture. In her own special and pet easy-chair before the bright fire, Becky—with a coal smudge on her nose and several on her apron, with her poor little cap hanging half off her head, and an empty coal box on the floor near her—sat fast asleep, tired out beyond even the endurance of her hard-working young body. She had been sent up to put the bedrooms in order for the evening. There were a great many of them, and she had been running about all day. Sara’s rooms she had saved until the last. They were not like the other rooms, which were plain and bare. Ordinary pupils were expected to be satisfied with mere necessaries. Sara’s comfortable sitting room seemed a bower of luxury to the scullery maid, though it was, in fact, merely a nice, bright little room. But there were pictures and books in it, and curious things from India; there was a sofa and the low, soft chair; Emily sat in a chair of her own, with the air of a presiding goddess, and there was always a glowing fire and a polished grate. Becky saved it until the end of her afternoon’s work, because it rested her to go into it, and she always hoped to snatch a few minutes to sit down in the soft chair and look about her, and think about the wonderful good fortune of the child who owned such surroundings and who went out on the cold days in beautiful hats and coats one tried to catch a glimpse of through the area railing.

On this afternoon, when she had sat down, the sensation of relief to her short, aching legs had been so wonderful and delightful that it had seemed to soothe her whole body, and the glow of warmth and comfort from the fire had crept over her like a spell, until, as she looked at the red coals, a tired, slow smile stole over her smudged face, her head nodded forward without her being aware of it, her eyes drooped, and she fell fast asleep. She had really been only about ten minutes in the room when Sara entered, but she was in as deep a sleep as if she had been, like the Sleeping Beauty, slumbering for a hundred years. But she did not look—poor Becky—like a Sleeping Beauty at all. She looked only like an ugly, stunted, worn-out little scullery drudge.

Sara seemed as much unlike her as if she were a creature from another world.

On this particular afternoon she had been taking her dancing lesson, and the afternoon on which the dancing master appeared was rather a grand occasion at the seminary, though it occurred every week. The pupils were attired in their prettiest frocks, and as Sara danced particularly well, she was very much brought forward, and Mariette was requested to make her as diaphanous and fine as possible.

Today a frock the color of a rose had been put on her, and Mariette had bought some real buds and made her a wreath to wear on her black locks. She had been learning a new, delightful dance in which she had been skimming and flying about the room, like a large rose-colored butterfly, and the enjoyment and exercise had brought a brilliant, happy glow into her face.

When she entered the room, she floated in with a few of the butterfly steps—and there sat Becky, nodding her cap sideways off her head.

“Oh!” cried Sara, softly, when she saw her. “That poor thing!”

It did not occur to her to feel cross at finding her pet chair occupied by the small, dingy figure. To tell the truth, she was quite glad to find it there. When the ill-used heroine of her story wakened, she could talk to her. She crept toward her quietly, and stood looking at her. Becky gave a little snore.

“I wish she’d waken herself,” Sara said. “I don’t like to waken her. But Miss Minchin would be cross if she found out. I’ll just wait a few minutes.”

She took a seat on the edge of the table, and sat swinging her slim, rose-colored legs, and wondering what it would be best to do. Miss Amelia might come in at any moment, and if she did, Becky would be sure to be scolded.

“But she is so tired,” she thought. “She is so tired!”

A piece of flaming coal ended her perplexity for her that very moment. It broke off from a large lump and fell on to the fender. Becky started, and opened her eyes with a frightened gasp. She did not know she had fallen asleep. She had only sat down for one moment and felt the beautiful glow—and here she found herself staring in wild alarm at the wonderful pupil, who sat perched quite near her, like a rose-colored fairy, with interested eyes.

She sprang up and clutched at her cap. She felt it dangling over her ear, and tried wildly to put it straight. Oh, she had got herself into trouble now with a vengeance! To have impudently fallen asleep on such a young lady’s chair! She would be turned out of doors without wages.

She made a sound like a big breathless sob.

“Oh, miss! Oh, miss!” she stuttered. “I arst yer pardon, miss! Oh, I do, miss!”

Sara jumped down, and came quite close to her.

“Don’t be frightened,” she said, quite as if she had been speaking to a little girl like herself. “It doesn’t matter the least bit.”

“I didn’t go to do it, miss,” protested Becky. “It was the warm fire—an’ me bein’ so tired. It—it WASN’T impertience!”

Sara broke into a friendly little laugh, and put her hand on her shoulder.

“You were tired,” she said; “you could not help it. You are not really awake yet.”

How poor Becky stared at her! In fact, she had never heard such a nice, friendly sound in anyone’s voice before. She was used to being ordered about and scolded, and having her ears boxed. And this one—in her rose-colored dancing afternoon splendor—was looking at her as if she were not a culprit at all—as if she had a right to be tired—even to fall asleep! The touch of the soft, slim little paw on her shoulder was the most amazing thing she had ever known.

“Ain’t—ain’t yer angry, miss?” she gasped. “Ain’t yer goin’ to tell the missus?”

“No,” cried out Sara. “Of course I’m not.”

The woeful fright in the coal-smutted face made her suddenly so sorry that she could scarcely bear it. One of her queer thoughts rushed into her mind. She put her hand against Becky’s cheek.

“Why,” she said, “we are just the same—I am only a little girl like you. It’s just an accident that I am not you, and you are not me!”

Becky did not understand in the least. Her mind could not grasp such amazing thoughts, and “an accident” meant to her a calamity in which some one was run over or fell off a ladder and was carried to “the ‘orspital.”

“A’ accident, miss,” she fluttered respectfully. “Is it?”

“Yes,” Sara answered, and she looked at her dreamily for a moment. But the next she spoke in a different tone. She realized that Becky did not know what she meant.

“Have you done your work?” she asked. “Dare you stay here a few minutes?”

Becky lost her breath again.

“Here, miss? Me?”

Sara ran to the door, opened it, and looked out and listened.

“No one is anywhere about,” she explained. “If your bedrooms are finished, perhaps you might stay a tiny while. I thought—perhaps—you might like a piece of cake.”

The next ten minutes seemed to Becky like a sort of delirium. Sara opened a cupboard, and gave her a thick slice of cake. She seemed to rejoice when it was devoured in hungry bites. She talked and asked questions, and laughed until Becky’s fears actually began to calm themselves, and she once or twice gathered boldness enough to ask a question or so herself, daring as she felt it to be.

“Is that—” she ventured, looking longingly at the rose-colored frock. And she asked it almost in a whisper. “Is that there your best?”

“It is one of my dancing-frocks,” answered Sara. “I like it, don’t you?”

For a few seconds Becky was almost speechless with admiration. Then she said in an awed voice, “Onct I see a princess. I was standin’ in the street with the crowd outside Covin’ Garden, watchin’ the swells go inter the operer. An’ there was one everyone stared at most. They ses to each other, ‘That’s the princess.’ She was a growed-up young lady, but she was pink all over—gownd an’ cloak, an’ flowers an’ all. I called her to mind the minnit I see you, sittin’ there on the table, miss. You looked like her.”

“I’ve often thought,” said Sara, in her reflecting voice, “that I should like to be a princess; I wonder what it feels like. I believe I will begin pretending I am one.”

Becky stared at her admiringly, and, as before, did not understand her in the least. She watched her with a sort of adoration. Very soon Sara left her reflections and turned to her with a new question.

“Becky,” she said, “weren’t you listening to that story?”

“Yes, miss,” confessed Becky, a little alarmed again. “I knowed I hadn’t orter, but it was that beautiful I—I couldn’t help it.”

“I liked you to listen to it,” said Sara. “If you tell stories, you like nothing so much as to tell them to people who want to listen. I don’t know why it is. Would you like to hear the rest?”

Becky lost her breath again.

“Me hear it?” she cried. “Like as if I was a pupil, miss! All about the Prince—and the little white Mer-babies swimming about laughing—with stars in their hair?”

Sara nodded.

“You haven’t time to hear it now, I’m afraid,” she said; “but if you will tell me just what time you come to do my rooms, I will try to be here and tell you a bit of it every day until it is finished. It’s a lovely long one—and I’m always putting new bits to it.”

“Then,” breathed Becky, devoutly, “I wouldn’t mind HOW heavy the coal boxes was—or WHAT the cook done to me, if—if I might have that to think of.”

“You may,” said Sara. “I’ll tell it ALL to you.”

When Becky went downstairs, she was not the same Becky who had staggered up, loaded down by the weight of the coal scuttle. She had an extra piece of cake in her pocket, and she had been fed and warmed, but not only by cake and fire. Something else had warmed and fed her, and the something else was Sara.

When she was gone Sara sat on her favorite perch on the end of her table. Her feet were on a chair, her elbows on her knees, and her chin in her hands.

“If I WAS a princess—a REAL princess,” she murmured, “I could scatter largess to the populace. But even if I am only a pretend princess, I can invent little things to do for people. Things like this. She was just as happy as if it was largess. I’ll pretend that to do things people like is scattering largess. I’ve scattered largess.”

Chapter 6 – The Diamond Mines

Not very long after this a very exciting thing happened. Not only Sara, but the entire school, found it exciting, and made it the chief subject of conversation for weeks after it occurred. In one of his letters Captain Crewe told a most interesting story. A friend who had been at school with him when he was a boy had unexpectedly come to see him in India. He was the owner of a large tract of land upon which diamonds had been found, and he was engaged in developing the mines. If all went as was confidently expected, he would become possessed of such wealth as it made one dizzy to think of; and because he was fond of the friend of his school days, he had given him an opportunity to share in this enormous fortune by becoming a partner in his scheme. This, at least, was what Sara gathered from his letters. It is true that any other business scheme, however magnificent, would have had but small attraction for her or for the schoolroom; but “diamond mines” sounded so like the Arabian Nights that no one could be indifferent. Sara thought them enchanting, and painted pictures, for Ermengarde and Lottie, of labyrinthine passages in the bowels of the earth, where sparkling stones studded the walls and roofs and ceilings, and strange, dark men dug them out with heavy picks. Ermengarde delighted in the story, and Lottie insisted on its being retold to her every evening. Lavinia was very spiteful about it, and told Jessie that she didn’t believe such things as diamond mines existed.

“My mamma has a diamond ring which cost forty pounds,” she said. “And it is not a big one, either. If there were mines full of diamonds, people would be so rich it would be ridiculous.”

“Perhaps Sara will be so rich that she will be ridiculous,” giggled Jessie.

“She’s ridiculous without being rich,” Lavinia sniffed.

“I believe you hate her,” said Jessie.

“No, I don’t,” snapped Lavinia. “But I don’t believe in mines full of diamonds.”

“Well, people have to get them from somewhere,” said Jessie. “Lavinia,” with a new giggle, “what do you think Gertrude says?”

“I don’t know, I’m sure; and I don’t care if it’s something more about that everlasting Sara.”

“Well, it is. One of her ‘pretends’ is that she is a princess. She plays it all the time—even in school. She says it makes her learn her lessons better. She wants Ermengarde to be one, too, but Ermengarde says she is too fat.”

“She IS too fat,” said Lavinia. “And Sara is too thin.”

Naturally, Jessie giggled again.

“She says it has nothing to do with what you look like, or what you have. It has only to do with what you THINK of, and what you DO.”

“I suppose she thinks she could be a princess if she was a beggar,” said Lavinia. “Let us begin to call her Your Royal Highness.”

Lessons for the day were over, and they were sitting before the schoolroom fire, enjoying the time they liked best. It was the time when Miss Minchin and Miss Amelia were taking their tea in the sitting room sacred to themselves. At this hour a great deal of talking was done, and a great many secrets changed hands, particularly if the younger pupils behaved themselves well, and did not squabble or run about noisily, which it must be confessed they usually did. When they made an uproar the older girls usually interfered with scolding and shakes. They were expected to keep order, and there was danger that if they did not, Miss Minchin or Miss Amelia would appear and put an end to festivities. Even as Lavinia spoke the door opened and Sara entered with Lottie, whose habit was to trot everywhere after her like a little dog.

“There she is, with that horrid child!” exclaimed Lavinia in a whisper. “If she’s so fond of her, why doesn’t she keep her in her own room? She will begin howling about something in five minutes.”

It happened that Lottie had been seized with a sudden desire to play in the schoolroom, and had begged her adopted parent to come with her. She joined a group of little ones who were playing in a corner. Sara curled herself up in the window-seat, opened a book, and began to read. It was a book about the French Revolution, and she was soon lost in a harrowing picture of the prisoners in the Bastille—men who had spent so many years in dungeons that when they were dragged out by those who rescued them, their long, gray hair and beards almost hid their faces, and they had forgotten that an outside world existed at all, and were like beings in a dream.

She was so far away from the schoolroom that it was not agreeable to be dragged back suddenly by a howl from Lottie. Never did she find anything so difficult as to keep herself from losing her temper when she was suddenly disturbed while absorbed in a book. People who are fond of books know the feeling of irritation which sweeps over them at such a moment. The temptation to be unreasonable and snappish is one not easy to manage.

“It makes me feel as if someone had hit me,” Sara had told Ermengarde once in confidence. “And as if I want to hit back. I have to remember things quickly to keep from saying something ill-tempered.”

She had to remember things quickly when she laid her book on the window-seat and jumped down from her comfortable corner.

Lottie had been sliding across the schoolroom floor, and, having first irritated Lavinia and Jessie by making a noise, had ended by falling down and hurting her fat knee. She was screaming and dancing up and down in the midst of a group of friends and enemies, who were alternately coaxing and scolding her.

“Stop this minute, you cry-baby! Stop this minute!” Lavinia commanded.

“I’m not a cry-baby … I’m not!” wailed Lottie. “Sara, Sa—ra!”

“If she doesn’t stop, Miss Minchin will hear her,” cried Jessie. “Lottie darling, I’ll give you a penny!”

“I don’t want your penny,” sobbed Lottie; and she looked down at the fat knee, and, seeing a drop of blood on it, burst forth again.

Sara flew across the room and, kneeling down, put her arms round her.

“Now, Lottie,” she said. “Now, Lottie, you PROMISED Sara.”

“She said I was a cry-baby,” wept Lottie.

Sara patted her, but spoke in the steady voice Lottie knew.

“But if you cry, you will be one, Lottie pet. You PROMISED.” Lottie remembered that she had promised, but she preferred to lift up her voice.

“I haven’t any mamma,” she proclaimed. “I haven’t—a bit—of mamma.”

“Yes, you have,” said Sara, cheerfully. “Have you forgotten? Don’t you know that Sara is your mamma? Don’t you want Sara for your mamma?”

Lottie cuddled up to her with a consoled sniff.

“Come and sit in the window-seat with me,” Sara went on, “and I’ll whisper a story to you.”

“Will you?” whimpered Lottie. “Will you—tell me—about the diamond mines?”

“The diamond mines?” broke out Lavinia. “Nasty, little spoiled thing, I should like to SLAP her!”

Sara got up quickly on her feet. It must be remembered that she had been very deeply absorbed in the book about the Bastille, and she had had to recall several things rapidly when she realized that she must go and take care of her adopted child. She was not an angel, and she was not fond of Lavinia.

“Well,” she said, with some fire, “I should like to slap YOU—but I don’t want to slap you!” restraining herself. “At least I both want to slap you—and I should LIKE to slap you—but I WON’T slap you. We are not little gutter children. We are both old enough to know better.”

Here was Lavinia’s opportunity.

“Ah, yes, your royal highness,” she said. “We are princesses, I believe. At least one of us is. The school ought to be very fashionable now Miss Minchin has a princess for a pupil.”

Sara started toward her. She looked as if she were going to box her ears. Perhaps she was. Her trick of pretending things was the joy of her life. She never spoke of it to girls she was not fond of. Her new “pretend” about being a princess was very near to her heart, and she was shy and sensitive about it. She had meant it to be rather a secret, and here was Lavinia deriding it before nearly all the school. She felt the blood rush up into her face and tingle in her ears. She only just saved herself. If you were a princess, you did not fly into rages. Her hand dropped, and she stood quite still a moment. When she spoke it was in a quiet, steady voice; she held her head up, and everybody listened to her.

“It’s true,” she said. “Sometimes I do pretend I am a princess. I pretend I am a princess, so that I can try and behave like one.”

Lavinia could not think of exactly the right thing to say. Several times she had found that she could not think of a satisfactory reply when she was dealing with Sara. The reason for this was that, somehow, the rest always seemed to be vaguely in sympathy with her opponent. She saw now that they were pricking up their ears interestedly. The truth was, they liked princesses, and they all hoped they might hear something more definite about this one, and drew nearer Sara accordingly.

Lavinia could only invent one remark, and it fell rather flat.

“Dear me,” she said, “I hope, when you ascend the throne, you won’t forget us!”

“I won’t,” said Sara, and she did not utter another word, but stood quite still, and stared at her steadily as she saw her take Jessie’s arm and turn away.

After this, the girls who were jealous of her used to speak of her as “Princess Sara” whenever they wished to be particularly disdainful, and those who were fond of her gave her the name among themselves as a term of affection. No one called her “princess” instead of “Sara,” but her adorers were much pleased with the picturesqueness and grandeur of the title, and Miss Minchin, hearing of it, mentioned it more than once to visiting parents, feeling that it rather suggested a sort of royal boarding school.

To Becky it seemed the most appropriate thing in the world. The acquaintance begun on the foggy afternoon when she had jumped up terrified from her sleep in the comfortable chair, had ripened and grown, though it must be confessed that Miss Minchin and Miss Amelia knew very little about it. They were aware that Sara was “kind” to the scullery maid, but they knew nothing of certain delightful moments snatched perilously when, the upstairs rooms being set in order with lightning rapidity, Sara’s sitting room was reached, and the heavy coal box set down with a sigh of joy. At such times stories were told by installments, things of a satisfying nature were either produced and eaten or hastily tucked into pockets to be disposed of at night, when Becky went upstairs to her attic to bed.

“But I has to eat ’em careful, miss,” she said once; “‘cos if I leaves crumbs the rats come out to get ’em.”

“Rats!” exclaimed Sara, in horror. “Are there RATS there?”

“Lots of ’em, miss,” Becky answered in quite a matter-of-fact manner. “There mostly is rats an’ mice in attics. You gets used to the noise they makes scuttling about. I’ve got so I don’t mind ’em s’ long as they don’t run over my piller.”

“Ugh!” said Sara.

“You gets used to anythin’ after a bit,” said Becky. “You have to, miss, if you’re born a scullery maid. I’d rather have rats than cockroaches.”

“So would I,” said Sara; “I suppose you might make friends with a rat in time, but I don’t believe I should like to make friends with a cockroach.”

Sometimes Becky did not dare to spend more than a few minutes in the bright, warm room, and when this was the case perhaps only a few words could be exchanged, and a small purchase slipped into the old-fashioned pocket Becky carried under her dress skirt, tied round her waist with a band of tape. The search for and discovery of satisfying things to eat which could be packed into small compass, added a new interest to Sara’s existence. When she drove or walked out, she used to look into shop windows eagerly. The first time it occurred to her to bring home two or three little meat pies, she felt that she had hit upon a discovery. When she exhibited them, Becky’s eyes quite sparkled.

“Oh, miss!” she murmured. “Them will be nice an’ fillin.’ It’s fillin’ness that’s best. Sponge cake’s a ‘evenly thing, but it melts away like—if you understand, miss. These’ll just STAY in yer stummick.”

“Well,” hesitated Sara, “I don’t think it would be good if they stayed always, but I do believe they will be satisfying.”

They were satisfying—and so were beef sandwiches, bought at a cook-shop—and so were rolls and Bologna sausage. In time, Becky began to lose her hungry, tired feeling, and the coal box did not seem so unbearably heavy.

However heavy it was, and whatsoever the temper of the cook, and the hardness of the work heaped upon her shoulders, she had always the chance of the afternoon to look forward to—the chance that Miss Sara would be able to be in her sitting room. In fact, the mere seeing of Miss Sara would have been enough without meat pies. If there was time only for a few words, they were always friendly, merry words that put heart into one; and if there was time for more, then there was an installment of a story to be told, or some other thing one remembered afterward and sometimes lay awake in one’s bed in the attic to think over. Sara—who was only doing what she unconsciously liked better than anything else, Nature having made her for a giver—had not the least idea what she meant to poor Becky, and how wonderful a benefactor she seemed. If Nature has made you for a giver, your hands are born open, and so is your heart; and though there may be times when your hands are empty, your heart is always full, and you can give things out of that—warm things, kind things, sweet things—help and comfort and laughter—and sometimes gay, kind laughter is the best help of all.

Becky had scarcely known what laughter was through all her poor, little hard-driven life. Sara made her laugh, and laughed with her; and, though neither of them quite knew it, the laughter was as “fillin'” as the meat pies.

A few weeks before Sara’s eleventh birthday a letter came to her from her father, which did not seem to be written in such boyish high spirits as usual. He was not very well, and was evidently overweighted by the business connected with the diamond mines.

“You see, little Sara,” he wrote, “your daddy is not a businessman at all, and figures and documents bother him. He does not really understand them, and all this seems so enormous. Perhaps, if I was not feverish I should not be awake, tossing about, one half of the night and spend the other half in troublesome dreams. If my little missus were here, I dare say she would give me some solemn, good advice. You would, wouldn’t you, Little Missus?”

One of his many jokes had been to call her his “little missus” because she had such an old-fashioned air.

He had made wonderful preparations for her birthday. Among other things, a new doll had been ordered in Paris, and her wardrobe was to be, indeed, a marvel of splendid perfection. When she had replied to the letter asking her if the doll would be an acceptable present, Sara had been very quaint.

“I am getting very old,” she wrote; “you see, I shall never live to have another doll given me. This will be my last doll. There is something solemn about it. If I could write poetry, I am sure a poem about ‘A Last Doll’ would be very nice. But I cannot write poetry. I have tried, and it made me laugh. It did not sound like Watts or Coleridge or Shakespeare at all. No one could ever take Emily’s place, but I should respect the Last Doll very much; and I am sure the school would love it. They all like dolls, though some of the big ones—the almost fifteen ones—pretend they are too grown up.”

Captain Crewe had a splitting headache when he read this letter in his bungalow in India. The table before him was heaped with papers and letters which were alarming him and filling him with anxious dread, but he laughed as he had not laughed for weeks.

“Oh,” he said, “she’s better fun every year she lives. God grant this business may right itself and leave me free to run home and see her. What wouldn’t I give to have her little arms round my neck this minute! What WOULDN’T I give!”

The birthday was to be celebrated by great festivities. The schoolroom was to be decorated, and there was to be a party. The boxes containing the presents were to be opened with great ceremony, and there was to be a glittering feast spread in Miss Minchin’s sacred room. When the day arrived the whole house was in a whirl of excitement. How the morning passed nobody quite knew, because there seemed such preparations to be made. The schoolroom was being decked with garlands of holly; the desks had been moved away, and red covers had been put on the forms which were arrayed round the room against the wall.

When Sara went into her sitting room in the morning, she found on the table a small, dumpy package, tied up in a piece of brown paper. She knew it was a present, and she thought she could guess whom it came from. She opened it quite tenderly. It was a square pincushion, made of not quite clean red flannel, and black pins had been stuck carefully into it to form the words, “Menny hapy returns.”

“Oh!” cried Sara, with a warm feeling in her heart. “What pains she has taken! I like it so, it—it makes me feel sorrowful.”

But the next moment she was mystified. On the under side of the pincushion was secured a card, bearing in neat letters the name “Miss Amelia Minchin.”

Sara turned it over and over.

“Miss Amelia!” she said to herself “How CAN it be!”

And just at that very moment she heard the door being cautiously pushed open and saw Becky peeping round it.

There was an affectionate, happy grin on her face, and she shuffled forward and stood nervously pulling at her fingers.

“Do yer like it, Miss Sara?” she said. “Do yer?”

“Like it?” cried Sara. “You darling Becky, you made it all yourself.”

Becky gave a hysteric but joyful sniff, and her eyes looked quite moist with delight.

“It ain’t nothin’ but flannin, an’ the flannin ain’t new; but I wanted to give yer somethin’ an’ I made it of nights. I knew yer could PRETEND it was satin with diamond pins in. _I_ tried to when I was makin’ it. The card, miss,” rather doubtfully; “‘t warn’t wrong of me to pick it up out o’ the dust-bin, was it? Miss ‘Meliar had throwed it away. I hadn’t no card o’ my own, an’ I knowed it wouldn’t be a proper presink if I didn’t pin a card on—so I pinned Miss ‘Meliar’s.”

Sara flew at her and hugged her. She could not have told herself or anyone else why there was a lump in her throat.

“Oh, Becky!” she cried out, with a queer little laugh, “I love you, Becky—I do, I do!”

“Oh, miss!” breathed Becky. “Thank yer, miss, kindly; it ain’t good enough for that. The—the flannin wasn’t new.”

Chapter 7 – The Diamond Mines Again

When Sara entered the holly-hung schoolroom in the afternoon, she did so as the head of a sort of procession. Miss Minchin, in her grandest silk dress, led her by the hand. A manservant followed, carrying the box containing the Last Doll, a housemaid carried a second box, and Becky brought up the rear, carrying a third and wearing a clean apron and a new cap. Sara would have much preferred to enter in the usual way, but Miss Minchin had sent for her, and, after an interview in her private sitting room, had expressed her wishes.

“This is not an ordinary occasion,” she said. “I do not desire that it should be treated as one.”

So Sara was led grandly in and felt shy when, on her entry, the big girls stared at her and touched each other’s elbows, and the little ones began to squirm joyously in their seats.

“Silence, young ladies!” said Miss Minchin, at the murmur which arose. “James, place the box on the table and remove the lid. Emma, put yours upon a chair. Becky!” suddenly and severely.

Becky had quite forgotten herself in her excitement, and was grinning at Lottie, who was wriggling with rapturous expectation. She almost dropped her box, the disapproving voice so startled her, and her frightened, bobbing curtsy of apology was so funny that Lavinia and Jessie tittered.

“It is not your place to look at the young ladies,” said Miss Minchin. “You forget yourself. Put your box down.”

Becky obeyed with alarmed haste and hastily backed toward the door.

“You may leave us,” Miss Minchin announced to the servants with a wave of her hand.

Becky stepped aside respectfully to allow the superior servants to pass out first. She could not help casting a longing glance at the box on the table. Something made of blue satin was peeping from between the folds of tissue paper.

“If you please, Miss Minchin,” said Sara, suddenly, “mayn’t Becky stay?”

It was a bold thing to do. Miss Minchin was betrayed into something like a slight jump. Then she put her eyeglass up, and gazed at her show pupil disturbedly.

“Becky!” she exclaimed. “My dearest Sara!”

Sara advanced a step toward her.

“I want her because I know she will like to see the presents,” she explained. “She is a little girl, too, you know.”

Miss Minchin was scandalized. She glanced from one figure to the other.

“My dear Sara,” she said, “Becky is the scullery maid. Scullery maids—er—are not little girls.”

It really had not occurred to her to think of them in that light. Scullery maids were machines who carried coal scuttles and made fires.

“But Becky is,” said Sara. “And I know she would enjoy herself. Please let her stay—because it is my birthday.”

Miss Minchin replied with much dignity:

“As you ask it as a birthday favor—she may stay. Rebecca, thank Miss Sara for her great kindness.”

Becky had been backing into the corner, twisting the hem of her apron in delighted suspense. She came forward, bobbing curtsies, but between Sara’s eyes and her own there passed a gleam of friendly understanding, while her words tumbled over each other.

“Oh, if you please, miss! I’m that grateful, miss! I did want to see the doll, miss, that I did. Thank you, miss. And thank you, ma’am,”—turning and making an alarmed bob to Miss Minchin—”for letting me take the liberty.”

Miss Minchin waved her hand again—this time it was in the direction of the corner near the door.

“Go and stand there,” she commanded. “Not too near the young ladies.”

Becky went to her place, grinning. She did not care where she was sent, so that she might have the luck of being inside the room, instead of being downstairs in the scullery, while these delights were going on. She did not even mind when Miss Minchin cleared her throat ominously and spoke again.

“Now, young ladies, I have a few words to say to you,” she announced.

“She’s going to make a speech,” whispered one of the girls. “I wish it was over.”

Sara felt rather uncomfortable. As this was her party, it was probable that the speech was about her. It is not agreeable to stand in a schoolroom and have a speech made about you.

“You are aware, young ladies,” the speech began—for it was a speech—”that dear Sara is eleven years old today.”

“DEAR Sara!” murmured Lavinia.

“Several of you here have also been eleven years old, but Sara’s birthdays are rather different from other little girls’ birthdays. When she is older she will be heiress to a large fortune, which it will be her duty to spend in a meritorious manner.”

“The diamond mines,” giggled Jessie, in a whisper.

Sara did not hear her; but as she stood with her green-gray eyes fixed steadily on Miss Minchin, she felt herself growing rather hot. When Miss Minchin talked about money, she felt somehow that she always hated her—and, of course, it was disrespectful to hate grown-up people.

“When her dear papa, Captain Crewe, brought her from India and gave her into my care,” the speech proceeded, “he said to me, in a jesting way, ‘I am afraid she will be very rich, Miss Minchin.’ My reply was, ‘Her education at my seminary, Captain Crewe, shall be such as will adorn the largest fortune.’ Sara has become my most accomplished pupil. Her French and her dancing are a credit to the seminary. Her manners—which have caused you to call her Princess Sara—are perfect. Her amiability she exhibits by giving you this afternoon’s party. I hope you appreciate her generosity. I wish you to express your appreciation of it by saying aloud all together, ‘Thank you, Sara!'”

The entire schoolroom rose to its feet as it had done the morning Sara remembered so well.

“Thank you, Sara!” it said, and it must be confessed that Lottie jumped up and down. Sara looked rather shy for a moment. She made a curtsy—and it was a very nice one.

“Thank you,” she said, “for coming to my party.”

“Very pretty, indeed, Sara,” approved Miss Minchin. “That is what a real princess does when the populace applauds her. Lavinia”—scathingly—”the sound you just made was extremely like a snort. If you are jealous of your fellow-pupil, I beg you will express your feelings in some more lady-like manner. Now I will leave you to enjoy yourselves.”

The instant she had swept out of the room the spell her presence always had upon them was broken. The door had scarcely closed before every seat was empty. The little girls jumped or tumbled out of theirs; the older ones wasted no time in deserting theirs. There was a rush toward the boxes. Sara had bent over one of them with a delighted face.

“These are books, I know,” she said.

The little children broke into a rueful murmur, and Ermengarde looked aghast.

“Does your papa send you books for a birthday present?” she exclaimed. “Why, he’s as bad as mine. Don’t open them, Sara.”

“I like them,” Sara laughed, but she turned to the biggest box. When she took out the Last Doll it was so magnificent that the children uttered delighted groans of joy, and actually drew back to gaze at it in breathless rapture.

“She is almost as big as Lottie,” someone gasped.

Lottie clapped her hands and danced about, giggling.

“She’s dressed for the theater,” said Lavinia. “Her cloak is lined with ermine.”

“Oh,” cried Ermengarde, darting forward, “she has an opera-glass in her hand—a blue-and-gold one!”

“Here is her trunk,” said Sara. “Let us open it and look at her things.”

She sat down upon the floor and turned the key. The children crowded clamoring around her, as she lifted tray after tray and revealed their contents. Never had the schoolroom been in such an uproar. There were lace collars and silk stockings and handkerchiefs; there was a jewel case containing a necklace and a tiara which looked quite as if they were made of real diamonds; there was a long sealskin and muff, there were ball dresses and walking dresses and visiting dresses; there were hats and tea gowns and fans. Even Lavinia and Jessie forgot that they were too elderly to care for dolls, and uttered exclamations of delight and caught up things to look at them.

“Suppose,” Sara said, as she stood by the table, putting a large, black-velvet hat on the impassively smiling owner of all these splendors—”suppose she understands human talk and feels proud of being admired.”

“You are always supposing things,” said Lavinia, and her air was very superior.

“I know I am,” answered Sara, undisturbedly. “I like it. There is nothing so nice as supposing. It’s almost like being a fairy. If you suppose anything hard enough it seems as if it were real.”

“It’s all very well to suppose things if you have everything,” said Lavinia. “Could you suppose and pretend if you were a beggar and lived in a garret?”

Sara stopped arranging the Last Doll’s ostrich plumes, and looked thoughtful.

“I BELIEVE I could,” she said. “If one was a beggar, one would have to suppose and pretend all the time. But it mightn’t be easy.”

She often thought afterward how strange it was that just as she had finished saying this—just at that very moment—Miss Amelia came into the room.

“Sara,” she said, “your papa’s solicitor, Mr. Barrow, has called to see Miss Minchin, and, as she must talk to him alone and the refreshments are laid in her parlor, you had all better come and have your feast now, so that my sister can have her interview here in the schoolroom.”

Refreshments were not likely to be disdained at any hour, and many pairs of eyes gleamed. Miss Amelia arranged the procession into decorum, and then, with Sara at her side heading it, she led it away, leaving the Last Doll sitting upon a chair with the glories of her wardrobe scattered about her; dresses and coats hung upon chair backs, piles of lace-frilled petticoats lying upon their seats.

Becky, who was not expected to partake of refreshments, had the indiscretion to linger a moment to look at these beauties—it really was an indiscretion.

“Go back to your work, Becky,” Miss Amelia had said; but she had stopped to pick up reverently first a muff and then a coat, and while she stood looking at them adoringly, she heard Miss Minchin upon the threshold, and, being smitten with terror at the thought of being accused of taking liberties, she rashly darted under the table, which hid her by its tablecloth.

Miss Minchin came into the room, accompanied by a sharp-featured, dry little gentleman, who looked rather disturbed. Miss Minchin herself also looked rather disturbed, it must be admitted, and she gazed at the dry little gentleman with an irritated and puzzled expression.

She sat down with stiff dignity, and waved him to a chair.

“Pray, be seated, Mr. Barrow,” she said.

Mr. Barrow did not sit down at once. His attention seemed attracted by the Last Doll and the things which surrounded her. He settled his eyeglasses and looked at them in nervous disapproval. The Last Doll herself did not seem to mind this in the least. She merely sat upright and returned his gaze indifferently.

“A hundred pounds,” Mr. Barrow remarked succinctly. “All expensive material, and made at a Parisian modiste’s. He spent money lavishly enough, that young man.”

Miss Minchin felt offended. This seemed to be a disparagement of her best patron and was a liberty.

Even solicitors had no right to take liberties.

“I beg your pardon, Mr. Barrow,” she said stiffly. “I do not understand.”

“Birthday presents,” said Mr. Barrow in the same critical manner, “to a child eleven years old! Mad extravagance, I call it.”

Miss Minchin drew herself up still more rigidly.

“Captain Crewe is a man of fortune,” she said. “The diamond mines alone—”

Mr. Barrow wheeled round upon her. “Diamond mines!” he broke out. “There are none! Never were!”

Miss Minchin actually got up from her chair.

“What!” she cried. “What do you mean?”

“At any rate,” answered Mr. Barrow, quite snappishly, “it would have been much better if there never had been any.”

“Any diamond mines?” ejaculated Miss Minchin, catching at the back of a chair and feeling as if a splendid dream was fading away from her.

“Diamond mines spell ruin oftener than they spell wealth,” said Mr. Barrow. “When a man is in the hands of a very dear friend and is not a businessman himself, he had better steer clear of the dear friend’s diamond mines, or gold mines, or any other kind of mines dear friends want his money to put into. The late Captain Crewe—”

Here Miss Minchin stopped him with a gasp.

“The LATE Captain Crewe!” she cried out. “The LATE! You don’t come to tell me that Captain Crewe is—”

“He’s dead, ma’am,” Mr. Barrow answered with jerky brusqueness. “Died of jungle fever and business troubles combined. The jungle fever might not have killed him if he had not been driven mad by the business troubles, and the business troubles might not have put an end to him if the jungle fever had not assisted. Captain Crewe is dead!”

Miss Minchin dropped into her chair again. The words he had spoken filled her with alarm.

“What WERE his business troubles?” she said. “What WERE they?”

“Diamond mines,” answered Mr. Barrow, “and dear friends—and ruin.”

Miss Minchin lost her breath.

“Ruin!” she gasped out.

“Lost every penny. That young man had too much money. The dear friend was mad on the subject of the diamond mine. He put all his own money into it, and all Captain Crewe’s. Then the dear friend ran away—Captain Crewe was already stricken with fever when the news came. The shock was too much for him. He died delirious, raving about his little girl—and didn’t leave a penny.”

Now Miss Minchin understood, and never had she received such a blow in her life. Her show pupil, her show patron, swept away from the Select Seminary at one blow. She felt as if she had been outraged and robbed, and that Captain Crewe and Sara and Mr. Barrow were equally to blame.

“Do you mean to tell me,” she cried out, “that he left NOTHING! That Sara will have no fortune! That the child is a beggar! That she is left on my hands a little pauper instead of an heiress?”

Mr. Barrow was a shrewd businessman, and felt it as well to make his own freedom from responsibility quite clear without any delay.

“She is certainly left a beggar,” he replied. “And she is certainly left on your hands, ma’am—as she hasn’t a relation in the world that we know of.”

Miss Minchin started forward. She looked as if she was going to open the door and rush out of the room to stop the festivities going on joyfully and rather noisily that moment over the refreshments.

“It is monstrous!” she said. “She’s in my sitting room at this moment, dressed in silk gauze and lace petticoats, giving a party at my expense.”

“She’s giving it at your expense, madam, if she’s giving it,” said Mr. Barrow, calmly. “Barrow & Skipworth are not responsible for anything. There never was a cleaner sweep made of a man’s fortune. Captain Crewe died without paying OUR last bill—and it was a big one.”

Miss Minchin turned back from the door in increased indignation. This was worse than anyone could have dreamed of its being.

“That is what has happened to me!” she cried. “I was always so sure of his payments that I went to all sorts of ridiculous expenses for the child. I paid the bills for that ridiculous doll and her ridiculous fantastic wardrobe. The child was to have anything she wanted. She has a carriage and a pony and a maid, and I’ve paid for all of them since the last cheque came.”

Mr. Barrow evidently did not intend to remain to listen to the story of Miss Minchin’s grievances after he had made the position of his firm clear and related the mere dry facts. He did not feel any particular sympathy for irate keepers of boarding schools.

“You had better not pay for anything more, ma’am,” he remarked, “unless you want to make presents to the young lady. No one will remember you. She hasn’t a brass farthing to call her own.”

“But what am I to do?” demanded Miss Minchin, as if she felt it entirely his duty to make the matter right. “What am I to do?”

“There isn’t anything to do,” said Mr. Barrow, folding up his eyeglasses and slipping them into his pocket. “Captain Crewe is dead. The child is left a pauper. Nobody is responsible for her but you.”

“I am not responsible for her, and I refuse to be made responsible!”

Miss Minchin became quite white with rage.

Mr. Barrow turned to go.

“I have nothing to do with that, madam,” he said uninterestedly. “Barrow & Skipworth are not responsible. Very sorry the thing has happened, of course.”

“If you think she is to be foisted off on me, you are greatly mistaken,” Miss Minchin gasped. “I have been robbed and cheated; I will turn her into the street!”

If she had not been so furious, she would have been too discreet to say quite so much. She saw herself burdened with an extravagantly brought-up child whom she had always resented, and she lost all self-control.

Mr. Barrow undisturbedly moved toward the door.

“I wouldn’t do that, madam,” he commented; “it wouldn’t look well. Unpleasant story to get about in connection with the establishment. Pupil bundled out penniless and without friends.”

He was a clever business man, and he knew what he was saying. He also knew that Miss Minchin was a business woman, and would be shrewd enough to see the truth. She could not afford to do a thing which would make people speak of her as cruel and hard-hearted.

“Better keep her and make use of her,” he added. “She’s a clever child, I believe. You can get a good deal out of her as she grows older.”

“I will get a good deal out of her before she grows older!” exclaimed Miss Minchin.

“I am sure you will, ma’am,” said Mr. Barrow, with a little sinister smile. “I am sure you will. Good morning!”

He bowed himself out and closed the door, and it must be confessed that Miss Minchin stood for a few moments and glared at it. What he had said was quite true. She knew it. She had absolutely no redress. Her show pupil had melted into nothingness, leaving only a friendless, beggared little girl. Such money as she herself had advanced was lost and could not be regained.

And as she stood there breathless under her sense of injury, there fell upon her ears a burst of gay voices from her own sacred room, which had actually been given up to the feast. She could at least stop this.

But as she started toward the door it was opened by Miss Amelia, who, when she caught sight of the changed, angry face, fell back a step in alarm.

“What IS the matter, sister?” she ejaculated.

Miss Minchin’s voice was almost fierce when she answered:

“Where is Sara Crewe?”

Miss Amelia was bewildered.

“Sara!” she stammered. “Why, she’s with the children in your room, of course.”

“Has she a black frock in her sumptuous wardrobe?”—in bitter irony.

“A black frock?” Miss Amelia stammered again. “A BLACK one?”

“She has frocks of every other color. Has she a black one?”

Miss Amelia began to turn pale.

“No—ye-es!” she said. “But it is too short for her. She has only the old black velvet, and she has outgrown it.”

“Go and tell her to take off that preposterous pink silk gauze, and put the black one on, whether it is too short or not. She has done with finery!”

Then Miss Amelia began to wring her fat hands and cry.

“Oh, sister!” she sniffed. “Oh, sister! What CAN have happened?”

Miss Minchin wasted no words.

“Captain Crewe is dead,” she said. “He has died without a penny. That spoiled, pampered, fanciful child is left a pauper on my hands.”

Miss Amelia sat down quite heavily in the nearest chair.

“Hundreds of pounds have I spent on nonsense for her. And I shall never see a penny of it. Put a stop to this ridiculous party of hers. Go and make her change her frock at once.”

“I?” panted Miss Amelia. “M-must I go and tell her now?”

“This moment!” was the fierce answer. “Don’t sit staring like a goose. Go!”

Poor Miss Amelia was accustomed to being called a goose. She knew, in fact, that she was rather a goose, and that it was left to geese to do a great many disagreeable things. It was a somewhat embarrassing thing to go into the midst of a room full of delighted children, and tell the giver of the feast that she had suddenly been transformed into a little beggar, and must go upstairs and put on an old black frock which was too small for her. But the thing must be done. This was evidently not the time when questions might be asked.

She rubbed her eyes with her handkerchief until they looked quite red. After which she got up and went out of the room, without venturing to say another word. When her older sister looked and spoke as she had done just now, the wisest course to pursue was to obey orders without any comment. Miss Minchin walked across the room. She spoke to herself aloud without knowing that she was doing it. During the last year the story of the diamond mines had suggested all sorts of possibilities to her. Even proprietors of seminaries might make fortunes in stocks, with the aid of owners of mines. And now, instead of looking forward to gains, she was left to look back upon losses.

“The Princess Sara, indeed!” she said. “The child has been pampered as if she were a QUEEN.” She was sweeping angrily past the corner table as she said it, and the next moment she started at the sound of a loud, sobbing sniff which issued from under the cover.

“What is that!” she exclaimed angrily. The loud, sobbing sniff was heard again, and she stooped and raised the hanging folds of the table cover.

“How DARE you!” she cried out. “How dare you! Come out immediately!”

It was poor Becky who crawled out, and her cap was knocked on one side, and her face was red with repressed crying.

“If you please, ‘m—it’s me, mum,” she explained. “I know I hadn’t ought to. But I was lookin’ at the doll, mum—an’ I was frightened when you come in—an’ slipped under the table.”

“You have been there all the time, listening,” said Miss Minchin.

“No, mum,” Becky protested, bobbing curtsies. “Not listenin’—I thought I could slip out without your noticin’, but I couldn’t an’ I had to stay. But I didn’t listen, mum—I wouldn’t for nothin’. But I couldn’t help hearin’.”

Suddenly it seemed almost as if she lost all fear of the awful lady before her. She burst into fresh tears.

“Oh, please, ‘m,” she said; “I dare say you’ll give me warnin’, mum—but I’m so sorry for poor Miss Sara—I’m so sorry!”

“Leave the room!” ordered Miss Minchin.

Becky curtsied again, the tears openly streaming down her cheeks.

“Yes, ‘m; I will, ‘m,” she said, trembling; “but oh, I just wanted to arst you: Miss Sara—she’s been such a rich young lady, an’ she’s been waited on, ‘and and foot; an’ what will she do now, mum, without no maid? If—if, oh please, would you let me wait on her after I’ve done my pots an’ kettles? I’d do ’em that quick—if you’d let me wait on her now she’s poor. Oh,” breaking out afresh, “poor little Miss Sara, mum—that was called a princess.”

Somehow, she made Miss Minchin feel more angry than ever. That the very scullery maid should range herself on the side of this child—whom she realized more fully than ever that she had never liked—was too much. She actually stamped her foot.

“No—certainly not,” she said. “She will wait on herself, and on other people, too. Leave the room this instant, or you’ll leave your place.”

Becky threw her apron over her head and fled. She ran out of the room and down the steps into the scullery, and there she sat down among her pots and kettles, and wept as if her heart would break.

“It’s exactly like the ones in the stories,” she wailed. “Them pore princess ones that was drove into the world.”

Miss Minchin had never looked quite so still and hard as she did when Sara came to her, a few hours later, in response to a message she had sent her.

Even by that time it seemed to Sara as if the birthday party had either been a dream or a thing which had happened years ago, and had happened in the life of quite another little girl.

Every sign of the festivities had been swept away; the holly had been removed from the schoolroom walls, and the forms and desks put back into their places. Miss Minchin’s sitting room looked as it always did—all traces of the feast were gone, and Miss Minchin had resumed her usual dress. The pupils had been ordered to lay aside their party frocks; and this having been done, they had returned to the schoolroom and huddled together in groups, whispering and talking excitedly.

“Tell Sara to come to my room,” Miss Minchin had said to her sister. “And explain to her clearly that I will have no crying or unpleasant scenes.”

“Sister,” replied Miss Amelia, “she is the strangest child I ever saw. She has actually made no fuss at all. You remember she made none when Captain Crewe went back to India. When I told her what had happened, she just stood quite still and looked at me without making a sound. Her eyes seemed to get bigger and bigger, and she went quite pale. When I had finished, she still stood staring for a few seconds, and then her chin began to shake, and she turned round and ran out of the room and upstairs. Several of the other children began to cry, but she did not seem to hear them or to be alive to anything but just what I was saying. It made me feel quite queer not to be answered; and when you tell anything sudden and strange, you expect people will say SOMETHING—whatever it is.”

Nobody but Sara herself ever knew what had happened in her room after she had run upstairs and locked her door. In fact, she herself scarcely remembered anything but that she walked up and down, saying over and over again to herself in a voice which did not seem her own, “My papa is dead! My papa is dead!”

Once she stopped before Emily, who sat watching her from her chair, and cried out wildly, “Emily! Do you hear? Do you hear—papa is dead? He is dead in India—thousands of miles away.”

When she came into Miss Minchin’s sitting room in answer to her summons, her face was white and her eyes had dark rings around them. Her mouth was set as if she did not wish it to reveal what she had suffered and was suffering. She did not look in the least like the rose-colored butterfly child who had flown about from one of her treasures to the other in the decorated schoolroom. She looked instead a strange, desolate, almost grotesque little figure.

She had put on, without Mariette’s help, the cast-aside black-velvet frock. It was too short and tight, and her slender legs looked long and thin, showing themselves from beneath the brief skirt. As she had not found a piece of black ribbon, her short, thick, black hair tumbled loosely about her face and contrasted strongly with its pallor. She held Emily tightly in one arm, and Emily was swathed in a piece of black material.

“Put down your doll,” said Miss Minchin. “What do you mean by bringing her here?”

“No,” Sara answered. “I will not put her down. She is all I have. My papa gave her to me.”

She had always made Miss Minchin feel secretly uncomfortable, and she did so now. She did not speak with rudeness so much as with a cold steadiness with which Miss Minchin felt it difficult to cope—perhaps because she knew she was doing a heartless and inhuman thing.

“You will have no time for dolls in future,” she said. “You will have to work and improve yourself and make yourself useful.”

Sara kept her big, strange eyes fixed on her, and said not a word.

“Everything will be very different now,” Miss Minchin went on. “I suppose Miss Amelia has explained matters to you.”

“Yes,” answered Sara. “My papa is dead. He left me no money. I am quite poor.”

“You are a beggar,” said Miss Minchin, her temper rising at the recollection of what all this meant. “It appears that you have no relations and no home, and no one to take care of you.”

For a moment the thin, pale little face twitched, but Sara again said nothing.

“What are you staring at?” demanded Miss Minchin, sharply. “Are you so stupid that you cannot understand? I tell you that you are quite alone in the world, and have no one to do anything for you, unless I choose to keep you here out of charity.”

“I understand,” answered Sara, in a low tone; and there was a sound as if she had gulped down something which rose in her throat. “I understand.”

“That doll,” cried Miss Minchin, pointing to the splendid birthday gift seated near—”that ridiculous doll, with all her nonsensical, extravagant things—I actually paid the bill for her!”

Sara turned her head toward the chair.

“The Last Doll,” she said. “The Last Doll.” And her little mournful voice had an odd sound.

“The Last Doll, indeed!” said Miss Minchin. “And she is mine, not yours. Everything you own is mine.”

“Please take it away from me, then,” said Sara. “I do not want it.”

If she had cried and sobbed and seemed frightened, Miss Minchin might almost have had more patience with her. She was a woman who liked to domineer and feel her power, and as she looked at Sara’s pale little steadfast face and heard her proud little voice, she quite felt as if her might was being set at naught.

“Don’t put on grand airs,” she said. “The time for that sort of thing is past. You are not a princess any longer. Your carriage and your pony will be sent away—your maid will be dismissed. You will wear your oldest and plainest clothes—your extravagant ones are no longer suited to your station. You are like Becky—you must work for your living.”

To her surprise, a faint gleam of light came into the child’s eyes—a shade of relief.

“Can I work?” she said. “If I can work it will not matter so much. What can I do?”

“You can do anything you are told,” was the answer. “You are a sharp child, and pick up things readily. If you make yourself useful I may let you stay here. You speak French well, and you can help with the younger children.”

“May I?” exclaimed Sara. “Oh, please let me! I know I can teach them. I like them, and they like me.”

“Don’t talk nonsense about people liking you,” said Miss Minchin. “You will have to do more than teach the little ones. You will run errands and help in the kitchen as well as in the schoolroom. If you don’t please me, you will be sent away. Remember that. Now go.”

Sara stood still just a moment, looking at her. In her young soul, she was thinking deep and strange things. Then she turned to leave the room.

“Stop!” said Miss Minchin. “Don’t you intend to thank me?”

Sara paused, and all the deep, strange thoughts surged up in her breast.

“What for?” she said.

“For my kindness to you,” replied Miss Minchin. “For my kindness in giving you a home.”

Sara made two or three steps toward her. Her thin little chest heaved up and down, and she spoke in a strange un-childishly fierce way.

“You are not kind,” she said. “You are NOT kind, and it is NOT a home.” And she had turned and run out of the room before Miss Minchin could stop her or do anything but stare after her with stony anger.

She went up the stairs slowly, but panting for breath and she held Emily tightly against her side.

“I wish she could talk,” she said to herself. “If she could speak—if she could speak!”

She meant to go to her room and lie down on the tiger-skin, with her cheek upon the great cat’s head, and look into the fire and think and think and think. But just before she reached the landing Miss Amelia came out of the door and closed it behind her, and stood before it, looking nervous and awkward. The truth was that she felt secretly ashamed of the thing she had been ordered to do.

“You—you are not to go in there,” she said.

“Not go in?” exclaimed Sara, and she fell back a pace.

“That is not your room now,” Miss Amelia answered, reddening a little.

Somehow, all at once, Sara understood. She realized that this was the beginning of the change Miss Minchin had spoken of.

“Where is my room?” she asked, hoping very much that her voice did not shake.

“You are to sleep in the attic next to Becky.”

Sara knew where it was. Becky had told her about it. She turned, and mounted up two flights of stairs. The last one was narrow, and covered with shabby strips of old carpet. She felt as if she were walking away and leaving far behind her the world in which that other child, who no longer seemed herself, had lived. This child, in her short, tight old frock, climbing the stairs to the attic, was quite a different creature.

When she reached the attic door and opened it, her heart gave a dreary little thump. Then she shut the door and stood against it and looked about her.

Yes, this was another world. The room had a slanting roof and was whitewashed. The whitewash was dingy and had fallen off in places. There was a rusty grate, an old iron bedstead, and a hard bed covered with a faded coverlet. Some pieces of furniture too much worn to be used downstairs had been sent up. Under the skylight in the roof, which showed nothing but an oblong piece of dull gray sky, there stood an old battered red footstool. Sara went to it and sat down. She seldom cried. She did not cry now. She laid Emily across her knees and put her face down upon her and her arms around her, and sat there, her little black head resting on the black draperies, not saying one word, not making one sound.

And as she sat in this silence there came a low tap at the door—such a low, humble one that she did not at first hear it, and, indeed, was not roused until the door was timidly pushed open and a poor tear-smeared face appeared peeping round it. It was Becky’s face, and Becky had been crying furtively for hours and rubbing her eyes with her kitchen apron until she looked strange indeed.

“Oh, miss,” she said under her breath. “Might I—would you allow me—jest to come in?”

Sara lifted her head and looked at her. She tried to begin a smile, and somehow she could not. Suddenly—and it was all through the loving mournfulness of Becky’s streaming eyes—her face looked more like a child’s not so much too old for her years. She held out her hand and gave a little sob.

“Oh, Becky,” she said. “I told you we were just the same—only two little girls—just two little girls. You see how true it is. There’s no difference now. I’m not a princess anymore.”

Becky ran to her and caught her hand, and hugged it to her breast, kneeling beside her and sobbing with love and pain.

“Yes, miss, you are,” she cried, and her words were all broken. “Whats’ever ‘appens to you—whats’ever—you’d be a princess all the same—an’ nothin’ couldn’t make you nothin’ different.”

Chapter 8 – In the Attic

The first night she spent in her attic was a thing Sara never forgot. During its passing she lived through a wild, unchildlike woe of which she never spoke to anyone about her. There was no one who would have understood. It was, indeed, well for her that as she lay awake in the darkness her mind was forcibly distracted, now and then, by the strangeness of her surroundings. It was, perhaps, well for her that she was reminded by her small body of material things. If this had not been so, the anguish of her young mind might have been too great for a child to bear. But, really, while the night was passing she scarcely knew that she had a body at all or remembered any other thing than one.

“My papa is dead!” she kept whispering to herself. “My papa is dead!”

It was not until long afterward that she realized that her bed had been so hard that she turned over and over in it to find a place to rest, that the darkness seemed more intense than any she had ever known, and that the wind howled over the roof among the chimneys like something which wailed aloud. Then there was something worse. This was certain scufflings and scratchings and squeakings in the walls and behind the skirting boards. She knew what they meant, because Becky had described them. They meant rats and mice who were either fighting with each other or playing together. Once or twice she even heard sharp-toed feet scurrying across the floor, and she remembered in those after days, when she recalled things, that when first she heard them she started up in bed and sat trembling, and when she lay down again covered her head with the bedclothes.

The change in her life did not come about gradually, but was made all at once.

“She must begin as she is to go on,” Miss Minchin said to Miss Amelia. “She must be taught at once what she is to expect.”

Mariette had left the house the next morning. The glimpse Sara caught of her sitting room, as she passed its open door, showed her that everything had been changed. Her ornaments and luxuries had been removed, and a bed had been placed in a corner to transform it into a new pupil’s bedroom.

When she went down to breakfast she saw that her seat at Miss Minchin’s side was occupied by Lavinia, and Miss Minchin spoke to her coldly.

“You will begin your new duties, Sara,” she said, “by taking your seat with the younger children at a smaller table. You must keep them quiet, and see that they behave well and do not waste their food. You ought to have been down earlier. Lottie has already upset her tea.”

That was the beginning, and from day to day the duties given to her were added to. She taught the younger children French and heard their other lessons, and these were the least of her labors. It was found that she could be made use of in numberless directions. She could be sent on errands at any time and in all weathers. She could be told to do things other people neglected. The cook and the housemaids took their tone from Miss Minchin, and rather enjoyed ordering about the “young one” who had been made so much fuss over for so long. They were not servants of the best class, and had neither good manners nor good tempers, and it was frequently convenient to have at hand someone on whom blame could be laid.

During the first month or two, Sara thought that her willingness to do things as well as she could, and her silence under reproof, might soften those who drove her so hard. In her proud little heart she wanted them to see that she was trying to earn her living and not accepting charity. But the time came when she saw that no one was softened at all; and the more willing she was to do as she was told, the more domineering and exacting careless housemaids became, and the more ready a scolding cook was to blame her.

If she had been older, Miss Minchin would have given her the bigger girls to teach and saved money by dismissing an instructress; but while she remained and looked like a child, she could be made more useful as a sort of little superior errand girl and maid of all work. An ordinary errand boy would not have been so clever and reliable. Sara could be trusted with difficult commissions and complicated messages. She could even go and pay bills, and she combined with this the ability to dust a room well and to set things in order.

Her own lessons became things of the past. She was taught nothing, and only after long and busy days spent in running here and there at everybody’s orders was she grudgingly allowed to go into the deserted schoolroom, with a pile of old books, and study alone at night.

“If I do not remind myself of the things I have learned, perhaps I may forget them,” she said to herself. “I am almost a scullery maid, and if I am a scullery maid who knows nothing, I shall be like poor Becky. I wonder if I could QUITE forget and begin to drop my H’S and not remember that Henry the Eighth had six wives.”

One of the most curious things in her new existence was her changed position among the pupils. Instead of being a sort of small royal personage among them, she no longer seemed to be one of their number at all. She was kept so constantly at work that she scarcely ever had an opportunity of speaking to any of them, and she could not avoid seeing that Miss Minchin preferred that she should live a life apart from that of the occupants of the schoolroom.

“I will not have her forming intimacies and talking to the other children,” that lady said. “Girls like a grievance, and if she begins to tell romantic stories about herself, she will become an ill-used heroine, and parents will be given a wrong impression. It is better that she should live a separate life—one suited to her circumstances. I am giving her a home, and that is more than she has any right to expect from me.”

Sara did not expect much, and was far too proud to try to continue to be intimate with girls who evidently felt rather awkward and uncertain about her. The fact was that Miss Minchin’s pupils were a set of dull, matter-of-fact young people. They were accustomed to being rich and comfortable, and as Sara’s frocks grew shorter and shabbier and queerer-looking, and it became an established fact that she wore shoes with holes in them and was sent out to buy groceries and carry them through the streets in a basket on her arm when the cook wanted them in a hurry, they felt rather as if, when they spoke to her, they were addressing an under servant.

“To think that she was the girl with the diamond mines,” Lavinia commented. “She does look an object. And she’s queerer than ever. I never liked her much, but I can’t bear that way she has now of looking at people without speaking—just as if she was finding them out.”

“I am,” said Sara, promptly, when she heard of this. “That’s what I look at some people for. I like to know about them. I think them over afterward.”

The truth was that she had saved herself annoyance several times by keeping her eye on Lavinia, who was quite ready to make mischief, and would have been rather pleased to have made it for the ex-show pupil.

Sara never made any mischief herself, or interfered with anyone. She worked like a drudge; she tramped through the wet streets, carrying parcels and baskets; she labored with the childish inattention of the little ones’ French lessons; as she became shabbier and more forlorn-looking, she was told that she had better take her meals downstairs; she was treated as if she was nobody’s concern, and her heart grew proud and sore, but she never told anyone what she felt.

“Soldiers don’t complain,” she would say between her small, shut teeth, “I am not going to do it; I will pretend this is part of a war.”

But there were hours when her child heart might almost have broken with loneliness but for three people.

The first, it must be owned, was Becky—just Becky. Throughout all that first night spent in the garret, she had felt a vague comfort in knowing that on the other side of the wall in which the rats scuffled and squeaked there was another young human creature. And during the nights that followed the sense of comfort grew. They had little chance to speak to each other during the day. Each had her own tasks to perform, and any attempt at conversation would have been regarded as a tendency to loiter and lose time. “Don’t mind me, miss,” Becky whispered during the first morning, “if I don’t say nothin’ polite. Some un’d be down on us if I did. I MEANS ‘please’ an’ ‘thank you’ an’ ‘beg pardon,’ but I dassn’t to take time to say it.”

But before daybreak she used to slip into Sara’s attic and button her dress and give her such help as she required before she went downstairs to light the kitchen fire. And when night came Sara always heard the humble knock at her door which meant that her handmaid was ready to help her again if she was needed. During the first weeks of her grief Sara felt as if she were too stupefied to talk, so it happened that some time passed before they saw each other much or exchanged visits. Becky’s heart told her that it was best that people in trouble should be left alone.

The second of the trio of comforters was Ermengarde, but odd things happened before Ermengarde found her place.

When Sara’s mind seemed to awaken again to the life about her, she realized that she had forgotten that an Ermengarde lived in the world. The two had always been friends, but Sara had felt as if she were years the older. It could not be contested that Ermengarde was as dull as she was affectionate. She clung to Sara in a simple, helpless way; she brought her lessons to her that she might be helped; she listened to her every word and besieged her with requests for stories. But she had nothing interesting to say herself, and she loathed books of every description. She was, in fact, not a person one would remember when one was caught in the storm of a great trouble, and Sara forgot her.

It had been all the easier to forget her because she had been suddenly called home for a few weeks. When she came back she did not see Sara for a day or two, and when she met her for the first time she encountered her coming down a corridor with her arms full of garments which were to be taken downstairs to be mended. Sara herself had already been taught to mend them. She looked pale and unlike herself, and she was attired in the queer, outgrown frock whose shortness showed so much thin black leg.

Ermengarde was too slow a girl to be equal to such a situation. She could not think of anything to say. She knew what had happened, but, somehow, she had never imagined Sara could look like this—so odd and poor and almost like a servant. It made her quite miserable, and she could do nothing but break into a short hysterical laugh and exclaim—aimlessly and as if without any meaning, “Oh, Sara, is that you?”

“Yes,” answered Sara, and suddenly a strange thought passed through her mind and made her face flush. She held the pile of garments in her arms, and her chin rested upon the top of it to keep it steady. Something in the look of her straight-gazing eyes made Ermengarde lose her wits still more. She felt as if Sara had changed into a new kind of girl, and she had never known her before. Perhaps it was because she had suddenly grown poor and had to mend things and work like Becky.

“Oh,” she stammered. “How—how are you?”

“I don’t know,” Sara replied. “How are you?”

“I’m—I’m quite well,” said Ermengarde, overwhelmed with shyness. Then spasmodically she thought of something to say which seemed more intimate. “Are you—are you very unhappy?” she said in a rush.

Then Sara was guilty of an injustice. Just at that moment her torn heart swelled within her, and she felt that if anyone was as stupid as that, one had better get away from her.

“What do you think?” she said. “Do you think I am very happy?” And she marched past her without another word.

In course of time she realized that if her wretchedness had not made her forget things, she would have known that poor, dull Ermengarde was not to be blamed for her unready, awkward ways. She was always awkward, and the more she felt, the more stupid she was given to being.

But the sudden thought which had flashed upon her had made her over-sensitive.

“She is like the others,” she had thought. “She does not really want to talk to me. She knows no one does.”

So for several weeks a barrier stood between them. When they met by chance Sara looked the other way, and Ermengarde felt too stiff and embarrassed to speak. Sometimes they nodded to each other in passing, but there were times when they did not even exchange a greeting.

“If she would rather not talk to me,” Sara thought, “I will keep out of her way. Miss Minchin makes that easy enough.”

Miss Minchin made it so easy that at last they scarcely saw each other at all. At that time it was noticed that Ermengarde was more stupid than ever, and that she looked listless and unhappy. She used to sit in the window-seat, huddled in a heap, and stare out of the window without speaking. Once Jessie, who was passing, stopped to look at her curiously.

“What are you crying for, Ermengarde?” she asked.

“I’m not crying,” answered Ermengarde, in a muffled, unsteady voice.

“You are,” said Jessie. “A great big tear just rolled down the bridge of your nose and dropped off at the end of it. And there goes another.”

“Well,” said Ermengarde, “I’m miserable—and no one need interfere.” And she turned her plump back and took out her handkerchief and boldly hid her face in it.

That night, when Sara went to her attic, she was later than usual. She had been kept at work until after the hour at which the pupils went to bed, and after that she had gone to her lessons in the lonely schoolroom. When she reached the top of the stairs, she was surprised to see a glimmer of light coming from under the attic door.

“Nobody goes there but myself,” she thought quickly, “but someone has lighted a candle.”

Someone had, indeed, lighted a candle, and it was not burning in the kitchen candlestick she was expected to use, but in one of those belonging to the pupils’ bedrooms. The someone was sitting upon the battered footstool, and was dressed in her nightgown and wrapped up in a red shawl. It was Ermengarde.

“Ermengarde!” cried Sara. She was so startled that she was almost frightened. “You will get into trouble.”

Ermengarde stumbled up from her footstool. She shuffled across the attic in her bedroom slippers, which were too large for her. Her eyes and nose were pink with crying.

“I know I shall—if I’m found out.” she said. “But I don’t care—I don’t care a bit. Oh, Sara, please tell me. What is the matter? Why don’t you like me any more?”

Something in her voice made the familiar lump rise in Sara’s throat. It was so affectionate and simple—so like the old Ermengarde who had asked her to be “best friends.” It sounded as if she had not meant what she had seemed to mean during these past weeks.

“I do like you,” Sara answered. “I thought—you see, everything is different now. I thought you—were different.”

Ermengarde opened her wet eyes wide.

“Why, it was you who were different!” she cried. “You didn’t want to talk to me. I didn’t know what to do. It was you who were different after I came back.”

Sara thought a moment. She saw she had made a mistake.

“I AM different,” she explained, “though not in the way you think. Miss Minchin does not want me to talk to the girls. Most of them don’t want to talk to me. I thought—perhaps—you didn’t. So I tried to keep out of your way.”

“Oh, Sara,” Ermengarde almost wailed in her reproachful dismay. And then after one more look they rushed into each other’s arms. It must be confessed that Sara’s small black head lay for some minutes on the shoulder covered by the red shawl. When Ermengarde had seemed to desert her, she had felt horribly lonely.

Afterward they sat down upon the floor together, Sara clasping her knees with her arms, and Ermengarde rolled up in her shawl. Ermengarde looked at the odd, big-eyed little face adoringly.

“I couldn’t bear it any more,” she said. “I dare say you could live without me, Sara; but I couldn’t live without you. I was nearly DEAD. So tonight, when I was crying under the bedclothes, I thought all at once of creeping up here and just begging you to let us be friends again.”

“You are nicer than I am,” said Sara. “I was too proud to try and make friends. You see, now that trials have come, they have shown that I am NOT a nice child. I was afraid they would. Perhaps”—wrinkling her forehead wisely—”that is what they were sent for.”

“I don’t see any good in them,” said Ermengarde stoutly.

“Neither do I—to speak the truth,” admitted Sara, frankly. “But I suppose there MIGHT be good in things, even if we don’t see it. There MIGHT”—doubtfully—”be good in Miss Minchin.”

Ermengarde looked round the attic with a rather fearsome curiosity.

“Sara,” she said, “do you think you can bear living here?”

Sara looked round also.

“If I pretend it’s quite different, I can,” she answered; “or if I pretend it is a place in a story.”

She spoke slowly. Her imagination was beginning to work for her. It had not worked for her at all since her troubles had come upon her. She had felt as if it had been stunned.

“Other people have lived in worse places. Think of the Count of Monte Cristo in the dungeons of the Chateau d’If. And think of the people in the Bastille!”

“The Bastille,” half whispered Ermengarde, watching her and beginning to be fascinated. She remembered stories of the French Revolution which Sara had been able to fix in her mind by her dramatic relation of them. No one but Sara could have done it.

A well-known glow came into Sara’s eyes.

“Yes,” she said, hugging her knees, “that will be a good place to pretend about. I am a prisoner in the Bastille. I have been here for years and years—and years; and everybody has forgotten about me. Miss Minchin is the jailer—and Becky”—a sudden light adding itself to the glow in her eyes—”Becky is the prisoner in the next cell.”

She turned to Ermengarde, looking quite like the old Sara.

“I shall pretend that,” she said; “and it will be a great comfort.”

Ermengarde was at once enraptured and awed.

“And will you tell me all about it?” she said. “May I creep up here at night, whenever it is safe, and hear the things you have made up in the day? It will seem as if we were more ‘best friends’ than ever.”

“Yes,” answered Sara, nodding. “Adversity tries people, and mine has tried you and proved how nice you are.”

Chapter 9 – Melchisedec

The third person in the trio was Lottie. She was a small thing and did not know what adversity meant, and was much bewildered by the alteration she saw in her young adopted mother. She had heard it rumored that strange things had happened to Sara, but she could not understand why she looked different—why she wore an old black frock and came into the schoolroom only to teach instead of to sit in her place of honor and learn lessons herself. There had been much whispering among the little ones when it had been discovered that Sara no longer lived in the rooms in which Emily had so long sat in state. Lottie’s chief difficulty was that Sara said so little when one asked her questions. At seven mysteries must be made very clear if one is to understand them.

“Are you very poor now, Sara?” she had asked confidentially the first morning her friend took charge of the small French class. “Are you as poor as a beggar?” She thrust a fat hand into the slim one and opened round, tearful eyes. “I don’t want you to be as poor as a beggar.”

She looked as if she was going to cry. And Sara hurriedly consoled her.

“Beggars have nowhere to live,” she said courageously. “I have a place to live in.”

“Where do you live?” persisted Lottie. “The new girl sleeps in your room, and it isn’t pretty any more.”

“I live in another room,” said Sara.

“Is it a nice one?” inquired Lottie. “I want to go and see it.”

“You must not talk,” said Sara. “Miss Minchin is looking at us. She will be angry with me for letting you whisper.”

She had found out already that she was to be held accountable for everything which was objected to. If the children were not attentive, if they talked, if they were restless, it was she who would be reproved.

But Lottie was a determined little person. If Sara would not tell her where she lived, she would find out in some other way. She talked to her small companions and hung about the elder girls and listened when they were gossiping; and acting upon certain information they had unconsciously let drop, she started late one afternoon on a voyage of discovery, climbing stairs she had never known the existence of, until she reached the attic floor. There she found two doors near each other, and opening one, she saw her beloved Sara standing upon an old table and looking out of a window.

“Sara!” she cried, aghast. “Mamma Sara!” She was aghast because the attic was so bare and ugly and seemed so far away from all the world. Her short legs had seemed to have been mounting hundreds of stairs.

Sara turned round at the sound of her voice. It was her turn to be aghast. What would happen now? If Lottie began to cry and any one chanced to hear, they were both lost. She jumped down from her table and ran to the child.

“Don’t cry and make a noise,” she implored. “I shall be scolded if you do, and I have been scolded all day. It’s—it’s not such a bad room, Lottie.”

“Isn’t it?” gasped Lottie, and as she looked round it she bit her lip. She was a spoiled child yet, but she was fond enough of her adopted parent to make an effort to control herself for her sake. Then, somehow, it was quite possible that any place in which Sara lived might turn out to be nice. “Why isn’t it, Sara?” she almost whispered.

Sara hugged her close and tried to laugh. There was a sort of comfort in the warmth of the plump, childish body. She had had a hard day and had been staring out of the windows with hot eyes.

“You can see all sorts of things you can’t see downstairs,” she said.

“What sort of things?” demanded Lottie, with that curiosity Sara could always awaken even in bigger girls.

“Chimneys—quite close to us—with smoke curling up in wreaths and clouds and going up into the sky—and sparrows hopping about and talking to each other just as if they were people—and other attic windows where heads may pop out any minute and you can wonder who they belong to. And it all feels as high up—as if it was another world.”

“Oh, let me see it!” cried Lottie. “Lift me up!”

Sara lifted her up, and they stood on the old table together and leaned on the edge of the flat window in the roof, and looked out.

Anyone who has not done this does not know what a different world they saw. The slates spread out on either side of them and slanted down into the rain gutter-pipes. The sparrows, being at home there, twittered and hopped about quite without fear. Two of them perched on the chimney top nearest and quarrelled with each other fiercely until one pecked the other and drove him away. The garret window next to theirs was shut because the house next door was empty.

“I wish someone lived there,” Sara said. “It is so close that if there was a little girl in the attic, we could talk to each other through the windows and climb over to see each other, if we were not afraid of falling.”

The sky seemed so much nearer than when one saw it from the street, that Lottie was enchanted. From the attic window, among the chimney pots, the things which were happening in the world below seemed almost unreal. One scarcely believed in the existence of Miss Minchin and Miss Amelia and the schoolroom, and the roll of wheels in the square seemed a sound belonging to another existence.

“Oh, Sara!” cried Lottie, cuddling in her guarding arm. “I like this attic—I like it! It is nicer than downstairs!”

“Look at that sparrow,” whispered Sara. “I wish I had some crumbs to throw to him.”

“I have some!” came in a little shriek from Lottie. “I have part of a bun in my pocket; I bought it with my penny yesterday, and I saved a bit.”

When they threw out a few crumbs the sparrow jumped and flew away to an adjacent chimney top. He was evidently not accustomed to intimates in attics, and unexpected crumbs startled him. But when Lottie remained quite still and Sara chirped very softly—almost as if she were a sparrow herself—he saw that the thing which had alarmed him represented hospitality, after all. He put his head on one side, and from his perch on the chimney looked down at the crumbs with twinkling eyes. Lottie could scarcely keep still.

“Will he come? Will he come?” she whispered.

“His eyes look as if he would,” Sara whispered back. “He is thinking and thinking whether he dare. Yes, he will! Yes, he is coming!”

He flew down and hopped toward the crumbs, but stopped a few inches away from them, putting his head on one side again, as if reflecting on the chances that Sara and Lottie might turn out to be big cats and jump on him. At last his heart told him they were really nicer than they looked, and he hopped nearer and nearer, darted at the biggest crumb with a lightning peck, seized it, and carried it away to the other side of his chimney.

“Now he KNOWS”, said Sara. “And he will come back for the others.”

He did come back, and even brought a friend, and the friend went away and brought a relative, and among them they made a hearty meal over which they twittered and chattered and exclaimed, stopping every now and then to put their heads on one side and examine Lottie and Sara. Lottie was so delighted that she quite forgot her first shocked impression of the attic. In fact, when she was lifted down from the table and returned to earthly things, as it were, Sara was able to point out to her many beauties in the room which she herself would not have suspected the existence of.

“It is so little and so high above everything,” she said, “that it is almost like a nest in a tree. The slanting ceiling is so funny. See, you can scarcely stand up at this end of the room; and when the morning begins to come I can lie in bed and look right up into the sky through that flat window in the roof. It is like a square patch of light. If the sun is going to shine, little pink clouds float about, and I feel as if I could touch them. And if it rains, the drops patter and patter as if they were saying something nice. Then if there are stars, you can lie and try to count how many go into the patch. It takes such a lot. And just look at that tiny, rusty grate in the corner. If it was polished and there was a fire in it, just think how nice it would be. You see, it’s really a beautiful little room.”

She was walking round the small place, holding Lottie’s hand and making gestures which described all the beauties she was making herself see. She quite made Lottie see them, too. Lottie could always believe in the things Sara made pictures of.

“You see,” she said, “there could be a thick, soft blue Indian rug on the floor; and in that corner there could be a soft little sofa, with cushions to curl up on; and just over it could be a shelf full of books so that one could reach them easily; and there could be a fur rug before the fire, and hangings on the wall to cover up the whitewash, and pictures. They would have to be little ones, but they could be beautiful; and there could be a lamp with a deep rose-colored shade; and a table in the middle, with things to have tea with; and a little fat copper kettle singing on the hob; and the bed could be quite different. It could be made soft and covered with a lovely silk coverlet. It could be beautiful. And perhaps we could coax the sparrows until we made such friends with them that they would come and peck at the window and ask to be let in.”

“Oh, Sara!” cried Lottie. “I should like to live here!”

When Sara had persuaded her to go downstairs again, and, after setting her on her way, had come back to her attic, she stood in the middle of it and looked about her. The enchantment of her imaginings for Lottie had died away. The bed was hard and covered with its dingy quilt. The whitewashed wall showed its broken patches, the floor was cold and bare, the grate was broken and rusty, and the battered footstool, tilted sideways on its injured leg, the only seat in the room. She sat down on it for a few minutes and let her head drop in her hands. The mere fact that Lottie had come and gone away again made things seem a little worse—just as perhaps prisoners feel a little more desolate after visitors come and go, leaving them behind.

“It’s a lonely place,” she said. “Sometimes it’s the loneliest place in the world.”

She was sitting in this way when her attention was attracted by a slight sound near her. She lifted her head to see where it came from, and if she had been a nervous child she would have left her seat on the battered footstool in a great hurry. A large rat was sitting up on his hind quarters and sniffing the air in an interested manner. Some of Lottie’s crumbs had dropped upon the floor and their scent had drawn him out of his hole.

He looked so queer and so like a gray-whiskered dwarf or gnome that Sara was rather fascinated. He looked at her with his bright eyes, as if he were asking a question. He was evidently so doubtful that one of the child’s queer thoughts came into her mind.

“I dare say it is rather hard to be a rat,” she mused. “Nobody likes you. People jump and run away and scream out, ‘Oh, a horrid rat!’ I shouldn’t like people to scream and jump and say, ‘Oh, a horrid Sara!’ the moment they saw me. And set traps for me, and pretend they were dinner. It’s so different to be a sparrow. But nobody asked this rat if he wanted to be a rat when he was made. Nobody said, ‘Wouldn’t you rather be a sparrow?'”

She had sat so quietly that the rat had begun to take courage. He was very much afraid of her, but perhaps he had a heart like the sparrow and it told him that she was not a thing which pounced. He was very hungry. He had a wife and a large family in the wall, and they had had frightfully bad luck for several days. He had left the children crying bitterly, and felt he would risk a good deal for a few crumbs, so he cautiously dropped upon his feet.

“Come on,” said Sara; “I’m not a trap. You can have them, poor thing! Prisoners in the Bastille used to make friends with rats. Suppose I make friends with you.”

How it is that animals understand things I do not know, but it is certain that they do understand. Perhaps there is a language which is not made of words and everything in the world understands it. Perhaps there is a soul hidden in everything and it can always speak, without even making a sound, to another soul. But whatsoever was the reason, the rat knew from that moment that he was safe—even though he was a rat. He knew that this young human being sitting on the red footstool would not jump up and terrify him with wild, sharp noises or throw heavy objects at him which, if they did not fall and crush him, would send him limping in his scurry back to his hole. He was really a very nice rat, and did not mean the least harm. When he had stood on his hind legs and sniffed the air, with his bright eyes fixed on Sara, he had hoped that she would understand this, and would not begin by hating him as an enemy. When the mysterious thing which speaks without saying any words told him that she would not, he went softly toward the crumbs and began to eat them. As he did it he glanced every now and then at Sara, just as the sparrows had done, and his expression was so very apologetic that it touched her heart.

She sat and watched him without making any movement. One crumb was very much larger than the others—in fact, it could scarcely be called a crumb. It was evident that he wanted that piece very much, but it lay quite near the footstool and he was still rather timid.

“I believe he wants it to carry to his family in the wall,” Sara thought. “If I do not stir at all, perhaps he will come and get it.”

She scarcely allowed herself to breathe, she was so deeply interested. The rat shuffled a little nearer and ate a few more crumbs, then he stopped and sniffed delicately, giving a side glance at the occupant of the footstool; then he darted at the piece of bun with something very like the sudden boldness of the sparrow, and the instant he had possession of it fled back to the wall, slipped down a crack in the skirting board, and was gone.

“I knew he wanted it for his children,” said Sara. “I do believe I could make friends with him.”

A week or so afterward, on one of the rare nights when Ermengarde found it safe to steal up to the attic, when she tapped on the door with the tips of her fingers Sara did not come to her for two or three minutes. There was, indeed, such a silence in the room at first that Ermengarde wondered if she could have fallen asleep. Then, to her surprise, she heard her utter a little, low laugh and speak coaxingly to someone.

“There!” Ermengarde heard her say. “Take it and go home, Melchisedec! Go home to your wife!”

Almost immediately Sara opened the door, and when she did so she found Ermengarde standing with alarmed eyes upon the threshold.

“Who—who ARE you talking to, Sara?” she gasped out.

Sara drew her in cautiously, but she looked as if something pleased and amused her.

“You must promise not to be frightened—not to scream the least bit, or I can’t tell you,” she answered.

Ermengarde felt almost inclined to scream on the spot, but managed to control herself. She looked all round the attic and saw no one. And yet Sara had certainly been speaking TO someone. She thought of ghosts.

“Is it—something that will frighten me?” she asked timorously.

“Some people are afraid of them,” said Sara. “I was at first—but I am not now.”

“Was it—a ghost?” quaked Ermengarde.

“No,” said Sara, laughing. “It was my rat.”

Ermengarde made one bound, and landed in the middle of the little dingy bed. She tucked her feet under her nightgown and the red shawl. She did not scream, but she gasped with fright.

“Oh! Oh!” she cried under her breath. “A rat! A rat!”

“I was afraid you would be frightened,” said Sara. “But you needn’t be. I am making him tame. He actually knows me and comes out when I call him. Are you too frightened to want to see him?”

The truth was that, as the days had gone on and, with the aid of scraps brought up from the kitchen, her curious friendship had developed, she had gradually forgotten that the timid creature she was becoming familiar with was a mere rat.

At first Ermengarde was too much alarmed to do anything but huddle in a heap upon the bed and tuck up her feet, but the sight of Sara’s composed little countenance and the story of Melchisedec’s first appearance began at last to rouse her curiosity, and she leaned forward over the edge of the bed and watched Sara go and kneel down by the hole in the skirting board.

“He—he won’t run out quickly and jump on the bed, will he?” she said.

“No,” answered Sara. “He’s as polite as we are. He is just like a person. Now watch!”

She began to make a low, whistling sound—so low and coaxing that it could only have been heard in entire stillness. She did it several times, looking entirely absorbed in it. Ermengarde thought she looked as if she were working a spell. And at last, evidently in response to it, a gray-whiskered, bright-eyed head peeped out of the hole. Sara had some crumbs in her hand. She dropped them, and Melchisedec came quietly forth and ate them. A piece of larger size than the rest he took and carried in the most businesslike manner back to his home.

“You see,” said Sara, “that is for his wife and children. He is very nice. He only eats the little bits. After he goes back I can always hear his family squeaking for joy. There are three kinds of squeaks. One kind is the children’s, and one is Mrs. Melchisedec’s, and one is Melchisedec’s own.”

Ermengarde began to laugh.

“Oh, Sara!” she said. “You ARE queer—but you are nice.”

“I know I am queer,” admitted Sara, cheerfully; “and I TRY to be nice.” She rubbed her forehead with her little brown paw, and a puzzled, tender look came into her face. “Papa always laughed at me,” she said; “but I liked it. He thought I was queer, but he liked me to make up things. I—I can’t help making up things. If I didn’t, I don’t believe I could live.” She paused and glanced around the attic. “I’m sure I couldn’t live here,” she added in a low voice.

Ermengarde was interested, as she always was. “When you talk about things,” she said, “they seem as if they grew real. You talk about Melchisedec as if he was a person.”

“He IS a person,” said Sara. “He gets hungry and frightened, just as we do; and he is married and has children. How do we know he doesn’t think things, just as we do? His eyes look as if he was a person. That was why I gave him a name.”

She sat down on the floor in her favorite attitude, holding her knees.

“Besides,” she said, “he is a Bastille rat sent to be my friend. I can always get a bit of bread the cook has thrown away, and it is quite enough to support him.”

“Is it the Bastille yet?” asked Ermengarde, eagerly. “Do you always pretend it is the Bastille?”

“Nearly always,” answered Sara. “Sometimes I try to pretend it is another kind of place; but the Bastille is generally easiest—particularly when it is cold.”

Just at that moment Ermengarde almost jumped off the bed, she was so startled by a sound she heard. It was like two distinct knocks on the wall.

“What is that?” she exclaimed.

Sara got up from the floor and answered quite dramatically:

“It is the prisoner in the next cell.”

“Becky!” cried Ermengarde, enraptured.

“Yes,” said Sara. “Listen; the two knocks meant, ‘Prisoner, are you there?'”

She knocked three times on the wall herself, as if in answer.

“That means, ‘Yes, I am here, and all is well.'”

Four knocks came from Becky’s side of the wall.

“That means,” explained Sara, “‘Then, fellow-sufferer, we will sleep in peace. Good night.'”

Ermengarde quite beamed with delight.

“Oh, Sara!” she whispered joyfully. “It is like a story!”

“It IS a story,” said Sara. “EVERYTHING’S a story. You are a story—I am a story. Miss Minchin is a story.”

And she sat down again and talked until Ermengarde forgot that she was a sort of escaped prisoner herself, and had to be reminded by Sara that she could not remain in the Bastille all night, but must steal noiselessly downstairs again and creep back into her deserted bed.

Chapter 10 – The Indian Gentleman

But it was a perilous thing for Ermengarde and Lottie to make pilgrimages to the attic. They could never be quite sure when Sara would be there, and they could scarcely ever be certain that Miss Amelia would not make a tour of inspection through the bedrooms after the pupils were supposed to be asleep. So their visits were rare ones, and Sara lived a strange and lonely life. It was a lonelier life when she was downstairs than when she was in her attic. She had no one to talk to; and when she was sent out on errands and walked through the streets, a forlorn little figure carrying a basket or a parcel, trying to hold her hat on when the wind was blowing, and feeling the water soak through her shoes when it was raining, she felt as if the crowds hurrying past her made her loneliness greater. When she had been the Princess Sara, driving through the streets in her brougham, or walking, attended by Mariette, the sight of her bright, eager little face and picturesque coats and hats had often caused people to look after her. A happy, beautifully cared for little girl naturally attracts attention. Shabby, poorly dressed children are not rare enough and pretty enough to make people turn around to look at them and smile. No one looked at Sara in these days, and no one seemed to see her as she hurried along the crowded pavements. She had begun to grow very fast, and, as she was dressed only in such clothes as the plainer remnants of her wardrobe would supply, she knew she looked very queer, indeed. All her valuable garments had been disposed of, and such as had been left for her use she was expected to wear so long as she could put them on at all. Sometimes, when she passed a shop window with a mirror in it, she almost laughed outright on catching a glimpse of herself, and sometimes her face went red and she bit her lip and turned away.

In the evening, when she passed houses whose windows were lighted up, she used to look into the warm rooms and amuse herself by imagining things about the people she saw sitting before the fires or about the tables. It always interested her to catch glimpses of rooms before the shutters were closed. There were several families in the square in which Miss Minchin lived, with which she had become quite familiar in a way of her own. The one she liked best she called the Large Family. She called it the Large Family not because the members of it were big—for, indeed, most of them were little—but because there were so many of them. There were eight children in the Large Family, and a stout, rosy mother, and a stout, rosy father, and a stout, rosy grandmother, and any number of servants. The eight children were always either being taken out to walk or to ride in perambulators by comfortable nurses, or they were going to drive with their mamma, or they were flying to the door in the evening to meet their papa and kiss him and dance around him and drag off his overcoat and look in the pockets for packages, or they were crowding about the nursery windows and looking out and pushing each other and laughing—in fact, they were always doing something enjoyable and suited to the tastes of a large family. Sara was quite fond of them, and had given them names out of books—quite romantic names. She called them the Montmorencys when she did not call them the Large Family. The fat, fair baby with the lace cap was Ethelberta Beauchamp Montmorency; the next baby was Violet Cholmondeley Montmorency; the little boy who could just stagger and who had such round legs was Sydney Cecil Vivian Montmorency; and then came Lilian Evangeline Maud Marion, Rosalind Gladys, Guy Clarence, Veronica Eustacia, and Claude Harold Hector.

One evening a very funny thing happened—though, perhaps, in one sense it was not a funny thing at all.

Several of the Montmorencys were evidently going to a children’s party, and just as Sara was about to pass the door they were crossing the pavement to get into the carriage which was waiting for them. Veronica Eustacia and Rosalind Gladys, in white-lace frocks and lovely sashes, had just got in, and Guy Clarence, aged five, was following them. He was such a pretty fellow and had such rosy cheeks and blue eyes, and such a darling little round head covered with curls, that Sara forgot her basket and shabby cloak altogether—in fact, forgot everything but that she wanted to look at him for a moment. So she paused and looked.

It was Christmas time, and the Large Family had been hearing many stories about children who were poor and had no mammas and papas to fill their stockings and take them to the pantomime—children who were, in fact, cold and thinly clad and hungry. In the stories, kind people—sometimes little boys and girls with tender hearts—invariably saw the poor children and gave them money or rich gifts, or took them home to beautiful dinners. Guy Clarence had been affected to tears that very afternoon by the reading of such a story, and he had burned with a desire to find such a poor child and give her a certain sixpence he possessed, and thus provide for her for life. An entire sixpence, he was sure, would mean affluence for evermore. As he crossed the strip of red carpet laid across the pavement from the door to the carriage, he had this very sixpence in the pocket of his very short man-o-war trousers; And just as Rosalind Gladys got into the vehicle and jumped on the seat in order to feel the cushions spring under her, he saw Sara standing on the wet pavement in her shabby frock and hat, with her old basket on her arm, looking at him hungrily.

He thought that her eyes looked hungry because she had perhaps had nothing to eat for a long time. He did not know that they looked so because she was hungry for the warm, merry life his home held and his rosy face spoke of, and that she had a hungry wish to snatch him in her arms and kiss him. He only knew that she had big eyes and a thin face and thin legs and a common basket and poor clothes. So he put his hand in his pocket and found his sixpence and walked up to her benignly.

“Here, poor little girl,” he said. “Here is a sixpence. I will give it to you.”

Sara started, and all at once realized that she looked exactly like poor children she had seen, in her better days, waiting on the pavement to watch her as she got out of her brougham. And she had given them pennies many a time. Her face went red and then it went pale, and for a second she felt as if she could not take the dear little sixpence.

“Oh, no!” she said. “Oh, no, thank you; I mustn’t take it, indeed!”

Her voice was so unlike an ordinary street child’s voice and her manner was so like the manner of a well-bred little person that Veronica Eustacia (whose real name was Janet) and Rosalind Gladys (who was really called Nora) leaned forward to listen.

But Guy Clarence was not to be thwarted in his benevolence. He thrust the sixpence into her hand.

“Yes, you must take it, poor little girl!” he insisted stoutly. “You can buy things to eat with it. It is a whole sixpence!”

There was something so honest and kind in his face, and he looked so likely to be heartbrokenly disappointed if she did not take it, that Sara knew she must not refuse him. To be as proud as that would be a cruel thing. So she actually put her pride in her pocket, though it must be admitted her cheeks burned.

“Thank you,” she said. “You are a kind, kind little darling thing.” And as he scrambled joyfully into the carriage she went away, trying to smile, though she caught her breath quickly and her eyes were shining through a mist. She had known that she looked odd and shabby, but until now she had not known that she might be taken for a beggar.

As the Large Family’s carriage drove away, the children inside it were talking with interested excitement.

“Oh, Donald,” (this was Guy Clarence’s name), Janet exclaimed alarmedly, “why did you offer that little girl your sixpence? I’m sure she is not a beggar!”

“She didn’t speak like a beggar!” cried Nora. “And her face didn’t really look like a beggar’s face!”

“Besides, she didn’t beg,” said Janet. “I was so afraid she might be angry with you. You know, it makes people angry to be taken for beggars when they are not beggars.”

“She wasn’t angry,” said Donald, a trifle dismayed, but still firm. “She laughed a little, and she said I was a kind, kind little darling thing. And I was!”—stoutly. “It was my whole sixpence.”

Janet and Nora exchanged glances.

“A beggar girl would never have said that,” decided Janet. “She would have said, ‘Thank yer kindly, little gentleman—thank yer, sir;’ and perhaps she would have bobbed a curtsy.”

Sara knew nothing about the fact, but from that time the Large Family was as profoundly interested in her as she was in it. Faces used to appear at the nursery windows when she passed, and many discussions concerning her were held round the fire.

“She is a kind of servant at the seminary,” Janet said. “I don’t believe she belongs to anybody. I believe she is an orphan. But she is not a beggar, however shabby she looks.”

And afterward she was called by all of them, “The-little-girl-who-is-not-a-beggar,” which was, of course, rather a long name, and sounded very funny sometimes when the youngest ones said it in a hurry.

Sara managed to bore a hole in the sixpence and hung it on an old bit of narrow ribbon round her neck. Her affection for the Large Family increased—as, indeed, her affection for everything she could love increased. She grew fonder and fonder of Becky, and she used to look forward to the two mornings a week when she went into the schoolroom to give the little ones their French lesson. Her small pupils loved her, and strove with each other for the privilege of standing close to her and insinuating their small hands into hers. It fed her hungry heart to feel them nestling up to her. She made such friends with the sparrows that when she stood upon the table, put her head and shoulders out of the attic window, and chirped, she heard almost immediately a flutter of wings and answering twitters, and a little flock of dingy town birds appeared and alighted on the slates to talk to her and make much of the crumbs she scattered. With Melchisedec she had become so intimate that he actually brought Mrs. Melchisedec with him sometimes, and now and then one or two of his children. She used to talk to him, and, somehow, he looked quite as if he understood.

There had grown in her mind rather a strange feeling about Emily, who always sat and looked on at everything. It arose in one of her moments of great desolateness. She would have liked to believe or pretend to believe that Emily understood and sympathized with her. She did not like to own to herself that her only companion could feel and hear nothing. She used to put her in a chair sometimes and sit opposite to her on the old red footstool, and stare and pretend about her until her own eyes would grow large with something which was almost like fear—particularly at night when everything was so still, when the only sound in the attic was the occasional sudden scurry and squeak of Melchisedec’s family in the wall. One of her “pretends” was that Emily was a kind of good witch who could protect her. Sometimes, after she had stared at her until she was wrought up to the highest pitch of fancifulness, she would ask her questions and find herself ALMOST feeling as if she would presently answer. But she never did.

“As to answering, though,” said Sara, trying to console herself, “I don’t answer very often. I never answer when I can help it. When people are insulting you, there is nothing so good for them as not to say a word—just to look at them and THINK. Miss Minchin turns pale with rage when I do it, Miss Amelia looks frightened, and so do the girls. When you will not fly into a passion people know you are stronger than they are, because you are strong enough to hold in your rage, and they are not, and they say stupid things they wish they hadn’t said afterward. There’s nothing so strong as rage, except what makes you hold it in—that’s stronger. It’s a good thing not to answer your enemies. I scarcely ever do. Perhaps Emily is more like me than I am like myself. Perhaps she would rather not answer her friends, even. She keeps it all in her heart.”

But though she tried to satisfy herself with these arguments, she did not find it easy. When, after a long, hard day, in which she had been sent here and there, sometimes on long errands through wind and cold and rain, she came in wet and hungry, and was sent out again because nobody chose to remember that she was only a child, and that her slim legs might be tired and her small body might be chilled; when she had been given only harsh words and cold, slighting looks for thanks; when the cook had been vulgar and insolent; when Miss Minchin had been in her worst mood, and when she had seen the girls sneering among themselves at her shabbiness—then she was not always able to comfort her sore, proud, desolate heart with fancies when Emily merely sat upright in her old chair and stared.

One of these nights, when she came up to the attic cold and hungry, with a tempest raging in her young breast, Emily’s stare seemed so vacant, her sawdust legs and arms so inexpressive, that Sara lost all control over herself. There was nobody but Emily—no one in the world. And there she sat.

“I shall die presently,” she said at first.

Emily simply stared.

“I can’t bear this,” said the poor child, trembling. “I know I shall die. I’m cold; I’m wet; I’m starving to death. I’ve walked a thousand miles today, and they have done nothing but scold me from morning until night. And because I could not find that last thing the cook sent me for, they would not give me any supper. Some men laughed at me because my old shoes made me slip down in the mud. I’m covered with mud now. And they laughed. Do you hear?”

She looked at the staring glass eyes and complacent face, and suddenly a sort of heartbroken rage seized her. She lifted her little savage hand and knocked Emily off the chair, bursting into a passion of sobbing—Sara who never cried.

“You are nothing but a DOLL!” she cried. “Nothing but a doll—doll—doll! You care for nothing. You are stuffed with sawdust. You never had a heart. Nothing could ever make you feel. You are a DOLL!” Emily lay on the floor, with her legs ignominiously doubled up over her head, and a new flat place on the end of her nose; but she was calm, even dignified. Sara hid her face in her arms. The rats in the wall began to fight and bite each other and squeak and scramble. Melchisedec was chastising some of his family.

Sara’s sobs gradually quieted themselves. It was so unlike her to break down that she was surprised at herself. After a while she raised her face and looked at Emily, who seemed to be gazing at her round the side of one angle, and, somehow, by this time actually with a kind of glassy-eyed sympathy. Sara bent and picked her up. Remorse overtook her. She even smiled at herself a very little smile.

“You can’t help being a doll,” she said with a resigned sigh, “any more than Lavinia and Jessie can help not having any sense. We are not all made alike. Perhaps you do your sawdust best.” And she kissed her and shook her clothes straight, and put her back upon her chair.

She had wished very much that some one would take the empty house next door. She wished it because of the attic window which was so near hers. It seemed as if it would be so nice to see it propped open someday and a head and shoulders rising out of the square aperture.

“If it looked a nice head,” she thought, “I might begin by saying, ‘Good morning,’ and all sorts of things might happen. But, of course, it’s not really likely that anyone but under servants would sleep there.”

One morning, on turning the corner of the square after a visit to the grocer’s, the butcher’s, and the baker’s, she saw, to her great delight, that during her rather prolonged absence, a van full of furniture had stopped before the next house, the front doors were thrown open, and men in shirt sleeves were going in and out carrying heavy packages and pieces of furniture.

“It’s taken!” she said. “It really IS taken! Oh, I do hope a nice head will look out of the attic window!”

She would almost have liked to join the group of loiterers who had stopped on the pavement to watch the things carried in. She had an idea that if she could see some of the furniture she could guess something about the people it belonged to.

“Miss Minchin’s tables and chairs are just like her,” she thought; “I remember thinking that the first minute I saw her, even though I was so little. I told papa afterward, and he laughed and said it was true. I am sure the Large Family have fat, comfortable armchairs and sofas, and I can see that their red-flowery wallpaper is exactly like them. It’s warm and cheerful and kind-looking and happy.”

She was sent out for parsley to the greengrocer’s later in the day, and when she came up the area steps her heart gave quite a quick beat of recognition. Several pieces of furniture had been set out of the van upon the pavement. There was a beautiful table of elaborately wrought teakwood, and some chairs, and a screen covered with rich Oriental embroidery. The sight of them gave her a weird, homesick feeling. She had seen things so like them in India. One of the things Miss Minchin had taken from her was a carved teakwood desk her father had sent her.

“They are beautiful things,” she said; “they look as if they ought to belong to a nice person. All the things look rather grand. I suppose it is a rich family.”

The vans of furniture came and were unloaded and gave place to others all the day. Several times it so happened that Sara had an opportunity of seeing things carried in. It became plain that she had been right in guessing that the newcomers were people of large means. All the furniture was rich and beautiful, and a great deal of it was Oriental. Wonderful rugs and draperies and ornaments were taken from the vans, many pictures, and books enough for a library. Among other things there was a superb god Buddha in a splendid shrine.

“Someone in the family MUST have been in India,” Sara thought. “They have got used to Indian things and like them. I AM glad. I shall feel as if they were friends, even if a head never looks out of the attic window.”

When she was taking in the evening’s milk for the cook (there was really no odd job she was not called upon to do), she saw something occur which made the situation more interesting than ever. The handsome, rosy man who was the father of the Large Family walked across the square in the most matter-of-fact manner, and ran up the steps of the next-door house. He ran up them as if he felt quite at home and expected to run up and down them many a time in the future. He stayed inside quite a long time, and several times came out and gave directions to the workmen, as if he had a right to do so. It was quite certain that he was in some intimate way connected with the newcomers and was acting for them.

“If the new people have children,” Sara speculated, “the Large Family children will be sure to come and play with them, and they MIGHT come up into the attic just for fun.”

At night, after her work was done, Becky came in to see her fellow prisoner and bring her news.

“It’s a’ Nindian gentleman that’s comin’ to live next door, miss,” she said. “He’s very rich, an’ he’s ill, an’ the gentleman of the Large Family is his lawyer. He’s had a lot of trouble, an’ it’s made him ill an’ low in his mind. He worships idols, miss. He’s an ‘eathen an’ bows down to wood an’ stone. I seen a’ idol bein’ carried in for him to worship. Somebody had oughter send him a trac’. You can get a trac’ for a penny.”

Sara laughed a little.

“I don’t believe he worships that idol,” she said; “some people like to keep them to look at because they are interesting. My papa had a beautiful one, and he did not worship it.”

But Becky was rather inclined to prefer to believe that the new neighbor was “an ‘eathen.” It sounded so much more romantic than that he should merely be the ordinary kind of gentleman who went to church with a prayer book. She sat and talked long that night of what he would be like, of what his wife would be like if he had one, and of what his children would be like if they had children. Sara saw that privately she could not help hoping very much that they would all be black, and would wear turbans, and, above all, that—like their parent—they would all be “‘eathens.”

“I never lived next door to no ‘eathens, miss,” she said; “I should like to see what sort o’ ways they’d have.”

It was several weeks before her curiosity was satisfied, and then it was revealed that the new occupant had neither wife nor children. He was a solitary man with no family at all, and it was evident that he was shattered in health and unhappy in mind.

A carriage drove up one day and stopped before the house. When the footman dismounted from the box and opened the door the gentleman who was the father of the Large Family got out first. After him there descended a nurse in uniform, then came down the steps two men-servants. They came to assist their master, who, when he was helped out of the carriage, proved to be a man with a haggard, distressed face, and a skeleton body wrapped in furs. He was carried up the steps, and the head of the Large Family went with him, looking very anxious. Shortly afterward a doctor’s carriage arrived, and the doctor went in—plainly to take care of him.

“There is a gentleman next door, Sara,” Lottie whispered at the French class afterward.

Sara whispered back; “He is very ill. Go on with your exercise, Lottie. ‘Non, monsieur. Je n’ai pas le canif de mon oncle.'”

That was the beginning of the story of the Indian gentleman.

Chapter 11 – Ram Dass

There were fine sunsets even in the square, sometimes. One could only see parts of them, however, between the chimneys and over the roofs. From the kitchen windows one could not see them at all, and could only guess that they were going on because the bricks looked warm and the air rosy or yellow for a while, or perhaps one saw a blazing glow strike a particular pane of glass somewhere. There was, however, one place from which one could see all the splendor of them: the piles of red or gold clouds in the west; or the purple ones edged with dazzling brightness; or the little fleecy, floating ones, tinged with rose-color and looking like flights of pink doves scurrying across the blue in a great hurry if there was a wind. The place where one could see all this, and seem at the same time to breathe a purer air, was, of course, the attic window. When the square suddenly seemed to begin to glow in an enchanted way and look wonderful in spite of its sooty trees and railings, Sara knew something was going on in the sky; and when it was at all possible to leave the kitchen without being missed or called back, she invariably stole away and crept up the flights of stairs, and, climbing on the old table, got her head and body as far out of the window as possible. When she had accomplished this, she always drew a long breath and looked all round her. It used to seem as if she had all the sky and the world to herself. No one else ever looked out of the other attics. Generally the skylights were closed; but even if they were propped open to admit air, no one seemed to come near them. And there Sara would stand, sometimes turning her face upward to the blue which seemed so friendly and near—just like a lovely vaulted ceiling—sometimes watching the west and all the wonderful things that happened there: the clouds melting or drifting or waiting softly to be changed pink or crimson or snow-white or purple or pale dove-gray. Sometimes they made islands or great mountains enclosing lakes of deep turquoise-blue, or liquid amber, or chrysoprase-green; sometimes dark headlands jutted into strange, lost seas; sometimes slender strips of wonderful lands joined other wonderful lands together. There were places where it seemed that one could run or climb or stand and wait to see what next was coming—until, perhaps, as it all melted, one could float away. At least it seemed so to Sara, and nothing had ever been quite so beautiful to her as the things she saw as she stood on the table—her body half out of the skylight—the sparrows twittering with sunset softness on the slates. The sparrows always seemed to her to twitter with a sort of subdued softness just when these marvels were going on.

There was such a sunset as this a few days after the Indian gentleman was brought to his new home; and, as it fortunately happened that the afternoon’s work was done in the kitchen and nobody had ordered her to go anywhere or perform any task, Sara found it easier than usual to slip away and go upstairs.

She mounted her table and stood looking out. It was a wonderful moment. There were floods of molten gold covering the west, as if a glorious tide was sweeping over the world. A deep, rich yellow light filled the air; the birds flying across the tops of the houses showed quite black against it.

“It’s a Splendid one,” said Sara, softly, to herself. “It makes me feel almost afraid—as if something strange was just going to happen. The Splendid ones always make me feel like that.”

She suddenly turned her head because she heard a sound a few yards away from her. It was an odd sound like a queer little squeaky chattering. It came from the window of the next attic. Someone had come to look at the sunset as she had. There was a head and a part of a body emerging from the skylight, but it was not the head or body of a little girl or a housemaid; it was the picturesque white-swathed form and dark-faced, gleaming-eyed, white-turbaned head of a native Indian man-servant—”a Lascar,” Sara said to herself quickly—and the sound she had heard came from a small monkey he held in his arms as if he were fond of it, and which was snuggling and chattering against his breast.

As Sara looked toward him he looked toward her. The first thing she thought was that his dark face looked sorrowful and homesick. She felt absolutely sure he had come up to look at the sun, because he had seen it so seldom in England that he longed for a sight of it. She looked at him interestedly for a second, and then smiled across the slates. She had learned to know how comforting a smile, even from a stranger, may be.

Hers was evidently a pleasure to him. His whole expression altered, and he showed such gleaming white teeth as he smiled back that it was as if a light had been illuminated in his dusky face. The friendly look in Sara’s eyes was always very effective when people felt tired or dull.

It was perhaps in making his salute to her that he loosened his hold on the monkey. He was an impish monkey and always ready for adventure, and it is probable that the sight of a little girl excited him. He suddenly broke loose, jumped on to the slates, ran across them chattering, and actually leaped on to Sara’s shoulder, and from there down into her attic room. It made her laugh and delighted her; but she knew he must be restored to his master—if the Lascar was his master—and she wondered how this was to be done. Would he let her catch him, or would he be naughty and refuse to be caught, and perhaps get away and run off over the roofs and be lost? That would not do at all. Perhaps he belonged to the Indian gentleman, and the poor man was fond of him.

She turned to the Lascar, feeling glad that she remembered still some of the Hindustani she had learned when she lived with her father. She could make the man understand. She spoke to him in the language he knew.

“Will he let me catch him?” she asked.

She thought she had never seen more surprise and delight than the dark face expressed when she spoke in the familiar tongue. The truth was that the poor fellow felt as if his gods had intervened, and the kind little voice came from heaven itself. At once Sara saw that he had been accustomed to European children. He poured forth a flood of respectful thanks. He was the servant of Missee Sahib. The monkey was a good monkey and would not bite; but, unfortunately, he was difficult to catch. He would flee from one spot to another, like the lightning. He was disobedient, though not evil. Ram Dass knew him as if he were his child, and Ram Dass he would sometimes obey, but not always. If Missee Sahib would permit Ram Dass, he himself could cross the roof to her room, enter the windows, and regain the unworthy little animal. But he was evidently afraid Sara might think he was taking a great liberty and perhaps would not let him come.

But Sara gave him leave at once.

“Can you get across?” she inquired.

“In a moment,” he answered her.

“Then come,” she said; “he is flying from side to side of the room as if he was frightened.”

Ram Dass slipped through his attic window and crossed to hers as steadily and lightly as if he had walked on roofs all his life. He slipped through the skylight and dropped upon his feet without a sound. Then he turned to Sara and salaamed again. The monkey saw him and uttered a little scream. Ram Dass hastily took the precaution of shutting the skylight, and then went in chase of him. It was not a very long chase. The monkey prolonged it a few minutes evidently for the mere fun of it, but presently he sprang chattering on to Ram Dass’s shoulder and sat there chattering and clinging to his neck with a weird little skinny arm.

Ram Dass thanked Sara profoundly. She had seen that his quick native eyes had taken in at a glance all the bare shabbiness of the room, but he spoke to her as if he were speaking to the little daughter of a rajah, and pretended that he observed nothing. He did not presume to remain more than a few moments after he had caught the monkey, and those moments were given to further deep and grateful obeisance to her in return for her indulgence. This little evil one, he said, stroking the monkey, was, in truth, not so evil as he seemed, and his master, who was ill, was sometimes amused by him. He would have been made sad if his favorite had run away and been lost. Then he salaamed once more and got through the skylight and across the slates again with as much agility as the monkey himself had displayed.

When he had gone Sara stood in the middle of her attic and thought of many things his face and his manner had brought back to her. The sight of his native costume and the profound reverence of his manner stirred all her past memories. It seemed a strange thing to remember that she—the drudge whom the cook had said insulting things to an hour ago—had only a few years ago been surrounded by people who all treated her as Ram Dass had treated her; who salaamed when she went by, whose foreheads almost touched the ground when she spoke to them, who were her servants and her slaves. It was like a sort of dream. It was all over, and it could never come back. It certainly seemed that there was no way in which any change could take place. She knew what Miss Minchin intended that her future should be. So long as she was too young to be used as a regular teacher, she would be used as an errand girl and servant and yet expected to remember what she had learned and in some mysterious way to learn more. The greater number of her evenings she was supposed to spend at study, and at various indefinite intervals she was examined and knew she would have been severely admonished if she had not advanced as was expected of her. The truth, indeed, was that Miss Minchin knew that she was too anxious to learn to require teachers. Give her books, and she would devour them and end by knowing them by heart. She might be trusted to be equal to teaching a good deal in the course of a few years. This was what would happen: when she was older she would be expected to drudge in the schoolroom as she drudged now in various parts of the house; they would be obliged to give her more respectable clothes, but they would be sure to be plain and ugly and to make her look somehow like a servant. That was all there seemed to be to look forward to, and Sara stood quite still for several minutes and thought it over.

Then a thought came back to her which made the color rise in her cheek and a spark light itself in her eyes. She straightened her thin little body and lifted her head.

“Whatever comes,” she said, “cannot alter one thing. If I am a princess in rags and tatters, I can be a princess inside. It would be easy to be a princess if I were dressed in cloth of gold, but it is a great deal more of a triumph to be one all the time when no one knows it. There was Marie Antoinette when she was in prison and her throne was gone and she had only a black gown on, and her hair was white, and they insulted her and called her Widow Capet. She was a great deal more like a queen then than when she was so gay and everything was so grand. I like her best then. Those howling mobs of people did not frighten her. She was stronger than they were, even when they cut her head off.”

This was not a new thought, but quite an old one, by this time. It had consoled her through many a bitter day, and she had gone about the house with an expression in her face which Miss Minchin could not understand and which was a source of great annoyance to her, as it seemed as if the child were mentally living a life which held her above the rest of the world. It was as if she scarcely heard the rude and acid things said to her; or, if she heard them, did not care for them at all. Sometimes, when she was in the midst of some harsh, domineering speech, Miss Minchin would find the still, unchildish eyes fixed upon her with something like a proud smile in them. At such times she did not know that Sara was saying to herself:

“You don’t know that you are saying these things to a princess, and that if I chose I could wave my hand and order you to execution. I only spare you because I am a princess, and you are a poor, stupid, unkind, vulgar old thing, and don’t know any better.”

This used to interest and amuse her more than anything else; and queer and fanciful as it was, she found comfort in it and it was a good thing for her. While the thought held possession of her, she could not be made rude and malicious by the rudeness and malice of those about her.

“A princess must be polite,” she said to herself.

And so when the servants, taking their tone from their mistress, were insolent and ordered her about, she would hold her head erect and reply to them with a quaint civility which often made them stare at her.

“She’s got more airs and graces than if she come from Buckingham Palace, that young one,” said the cook, chuckling a little sometimes. “I lose my temper with her often enough, but I will say she never forgets her manners. ‘If you please, cook’; ‘Will you be so kind, cook?’ ‘I beg your pardon, cook’; ‘May I trouble you, cook?’ She drops ’em about the kitchen as if they was nothing.”

The morning after the interview with Ram Dass and his monkey, Sara was in the schoolroom with her small pupils. Having finished giving them their lessons, she was putting the French exercise-books together and thinking, as she did it, of the various things royal personages in disguise were called upon to do: Alfred the Great, for instance, burning the cakes and getting his ears boxed by the wife of the neat-herd. How frightened she must have been when she found out what she had done. If Miss Minchin should find out that she—Sara, whose toes were almost sticking out of her boots—was a princess—a real one! The look in her eyes was exactly the look which Miss Minchin most disliked. She would not have it; she was quite near her and was so enraged that she actually flew at her and boxed her ears—exactly as the neat-herd’s wife had boxed King Alfred’s. It made Sara start. She wakened from her dream at the shock, and, catching her breath, stood still a second. Then, not knowing she was going to do it, she broke into a little laugh.

“What are you laughing at, you bold, impudent child?” Miss Minchin exclaimed.

It took Sara a few seconds to control herself sufficiently to remember that she was a princess. Her cheeks were red and smarting from the blows she had received.

“I was thinking,” she answered.

“Beg my pardon immediately,” said Miss Minchin.

Sara hesitated a second before she replied.

“I will beg your pardon for laughing, if it was rude,” she said then; “but I won’t beg your pardon for thinking.”

“What were you thinking?” demanded Miss Minchin. “How dare you think? What were you thinking?”

Jessie tittered, and she and Lavinia nudged each other in unison. All the girls looked up from their books to listen. Really, it always interested them a little when Miss Minchin attacked Sara. Sara always said something queer, and never seemed the least bit frightened. She was not in the least frightened now, though her boxed ears were scarlet and her eyes were as bright as stars.

“I was thinking,” she answered grandly and politely, “that you did not know what you were doing.”

“That I did not know what I was doing?” Miss Minchin fairly gasped.

“Yes,” said Sara, “and I was thinking what would happen if I were a princess and you boxed my ears—what I should do to you. And I was thinking that if I were one, you would never dare to do it, whatever I said or did. And I was thinking how surprised and frightened you would be if you suddenly found out—”

She had the imagined future so clearly before her eyes that she spoke in a manner which had an effect even upon Miss Minchin. It almost seemed for the moment to her narrow, unimaginative mind that there must be some real power hidden behind this candid daring.

“What?” she exclaimed. “Found out what?”

“That I really was a princess,” said Sara, “and could do anything—anything I liked.”

Every pair of eyes in the room widened to its full limit. Lavinia leaned forward on her seat to look.

“Go to your room,” cried Miss Minchin, breathlessly, “this instant! Leave the schoolroom! Attend to your lessons, young ladies!”

Sara made a little bow.

“Excuse me for laughing if it was impolite,” she said, and walked out of the room, leaving Miss Minchin struggling with her rage, and the girls whispering over their books.

“Did you see her? Did you see how queer she looked?” Jessie broke out. “I shouldn’t be at all surprised if she did turn out to be something. Suppose she should!”

Chapter 12 – The Other Side of the Wall

When one lives in a row of houses, it is interesting to think of the things which are being done and said on the other side of the wall of the very rooms one is living in. Sara was fond of amusing herself by trying to imagine the things hidden by the wall which divided the Select Seminary from the Indian gentleman’s house. She knew that the schoolroom was next to the Indian gentleman’s study, and she hoped that the wall was thick so that the noise made sometimes after lesson hours would not disturb him.

“I am growing quite fond of him,” she said to Ermengarde; “I should not like him to be disturbed. I have adopted him for a friend. You can do that with people you never speak to at all. You can just watch them, and think about them and be sorry for them, until they seem almost like relations. I’m quite anxious sometimes when I see the doctor call twice a day.”

“I have very few relations,” said Ermengarde, reflectively, “and I’m very glad of it. I don’t like those I have. My two aunts are always saying, ‘Dear me, Ermengarde! You are very fat. You shouldn’t eat sweets,’ and my uncle is always asking me things like, ‘When did Edward the Third ascend the throne?’ and, ‘Who died of a surfeit of lampreys?'”

Sara laughed.

“People you never speak to can’t ask you questions like that,” she said; “and I’m sure the Indian gentleman wouldn’t even if he was quite intimate with you. I am fond of him.”

She had become fond of the Large Family because they looked happy; but she had become fond of the Indian gentleman because he looked unhappy. He had evidently not fully recovered from some very severe illness. In the kitchen—where, of course, the servants, through some mysterious means, knew everything—there was much discussion of his case. He was not an Indian gentleman really, but an Englishman who had lived in India. He had met with great misfortunes which had for a time so imperilled his whole fortune that he had thought himself ruined and disgraced forever. The shock had been so great that he had almost died of brain fever; and ever since he had been shattered in health, though his fortunes had changed and all his possessions had been restored to him. His trouble and peril had been connected with mines.

“And mines with diamonds in ’em!” said the cook. “No savin’s of mine never goes into no mines—particular diamond ones”—with a side glance at Sara. “We all know somethin’ of THEM.”

“He felt as my papa felt,” Sara thought. “He was ill as my papa was; but he did not die.”

So her heart was more drawn to him than before. When she was sent out at night she used sometimes to feel quite glad, because there was always a chance that the curtains of the house next door might not yet be closed and she could look into the warm room and see her adopted friend. When no one was about she used sometimes to stop, and, holding to the iron railings, wish him good night as if he could hear her.

“Perhaps you can FEEL if you can’t hear,” was her fancy. “Perhaps kind thoughts reach people somehow, even through windows and doors and walls. Perhaps you feel a little warm and comforted, and don’t know why, when I am standing here in the cold and hoping you will get well and happy again. I am so sorry for you,” she would whisper in an intense little voice. “I wish you had a ‘Little Missus’ who could pet you as I used to pet papa when he had a headache. I should like to be your ‘Little Missus’ myself, poor dear! Good night—good night. God bless you!”

She would go away, feeling quite comforted and a little warmer herself. Her sympathy was so strong that it seemed as if it MUST reach him somehow as he sat alone in his armchair by the fire, nearly always in a great dressing gown, and nearly always with his forehead resting in his hand as he gazed hopelessly into the fire. He looked to Sara like a man who had a trouble on his mind still, not merely like one whose troubles lay all in the past.

“He always seems as if he were thinking of something that hurts him NOW,” she said to herself, “but he has got his money back and he will get over his brain fever in time, so he ought not to look like that. I wonder if there is something else.”

If there was something else—something even servants did not hear of—she could not help believing that the father of the Large Family knew it—the gentleman she called Mr. Montmorency. Mr. Montmorency went to see him often, and Mrs. Montmorency and all the little Montmorencys went, too, though less often. He seemed particularly fond of the two elder little girls—the Janet and Nora who had been so alarmed when their small brother Donald had given Sara his sixpence. He had, in fact, a very tender place in his heart for all children, and particularly for little girls. Janet and Nora were as fond of him as he was of them, and looked forward with the greatest pleasure to the afternoons when they were allowed to cross the square and make their well-behaved little visits to him. They were extremely decorous little visits because he was an invalid.

“He is a poor thing,” said Janet, “and he says we cheer him up. We try to cheer him up very quietly.”

Janet was the head of the family, and kept the rest of it in order. It was she who decided when it was discreet to ask the Indian gentleman to tell stories about India, and it was she who saw when he was tired and it was the time to steal quietly away and tell Ram Dass to go to him. They were very fond of Ram Dass. He could have told any number of stories if he had been able to speak anything but Hindustani. The Indian gentleman’s real name was Mr. Carrisford, and Janet told Mr. Carrisford about the encounter with the little-girl-who-was-not-a-beggar. He was very much interested, and all the more so when he heard from Ram Dass of the adventure of the monkey on the roof. Ram Dass made for him a very clear picture of the attic and its desolateness—of the bare floor and broken plaster, the rusty, empty grate, and the hard, narrow bed.

“Carmichael,” he said to the father of the Large Family, after he had heard this description, “I wonder how many of the attics in this square are like that one, and how many wretched little servant girls sleep on such beds, while I toss on my down pillows, loaded and harassed by wealth that is, most of it—not mine.”

“My dear fellow,” Mr. Carmichael answered cheerily, “the sooner you cease tormenting yourself the better it will be for you. If you possessed all the wealth of all the Indies, you could not set right all the discomforts in the world, and if you began to refurnish all the attics in this square, there would still remain all the attics in all the other squares and streets to put in order. And there you are!”

Mr. Carrisford sat and bit his nails as he looked into the glowing bed of coals in the grate.

“Do you suppose,” he said slowly, after a pause—”do you think it is possible that the other child—the child I never cease thinking of, I believe—could be—could POSSIBLY be reduced to any such condition as the poor little soul next door?”

Mr. Carmichael looked at him uneasily. He knew that the worst thing the man could do for himself, for his reason and his health, was to begin to think in the particular way of this particular subject.

“If the child at Madame Pascal’s school in Paris was the one you are in search of,” he answered soothingly, “she would seem to be in the hands of people who can afford to take care of her. They adopted her because she had been the favorite companion of their little daughter who died. They had no other children, and Madame Pascal said that they were extremely well-to-do Russians.”

“And the wretched woman actually did not know where they had taken her!” exclaimed Mr. Carrisford.

Mr. Carmichael shrugged his shoulders.

“She was a shrewd, worldly Frenchwoman, and was evidently only too glad to get the child so comfortably off her hands when the father’s death left her totally unprovided for. Women of her type do not trouble themselves about the futures of children who might prove burdens. The adopted parents apparently disappeared and left no trace.”

“But you say ‘IF the child was the one I am in search of. You say ‘if.’ We are not sure. There was a difference in the name.”

“Madame Pascal pronounced it as if it were Carew instead of Crewe—but that might be merely a matter of pronunciation. The circumstances were curiously similar. An English officer in India had placed his motherless little girl at the school. He had died suddenly after losing his fortune.” Mr. Carmichael paused a moment, as if a new thought had occurred to him. “Are you SURE the child was left at a school in Paris? Are you sure it was Paris?”

“My dear fellow,” broke forth Carrisford, with restless bitterness, “I am SURE of nothing. I never saw either the child or her mother. Ralph Crewe and I loved each other as boys, but we had not met since our school days, until we met in India. I was absorbed in the magnificent promise of the mines. He became absorbed, too. The whole thing was so huge and glittering that we half lost our heads. When we met we scarcely spoke of anything else. I only knew that the child had been sent to school somewhere. I do not even remember, now, HOW I knew it.”

He was beginning to be excited. He always became excited when his still weakened brain was stirred by memories of the catastrophes of the past.

Mr. Carmichael watched him anxiously. It was necessary to ask some questions, but they must be put quietly and with caution.

“But you had reason to think the school WAS in Paris?”

“Yes,” was the answer, “because her mother was a Frenchwoman, and I had heard that she wished her child to be educated in Paris. It seemed only likely that she would be there.”

“Yes,” Mr. Carmichael said, “it seems more than probable.”

The Indian gentleman leaned forward and struck the table with a long, wasted hand.

“Carmichael,” he said, “I MUST find her. If she is alive, she is somewhere. If she is friendless and penniless, it is through my fault. How is a man to get back his nerve with a thing like that on his mind? This sudden change of luck at the mines has made realities of all our most fantastic dreams, and poor Crewe’s child may be begging in the street!”

“No, no,” said Carmichael. “Try to be calm. Console yourself with the fact that when she is found you have a fortune to hand over to her.”

“Why was I not man enough to stand my ground when things looked black?” Carrisford groaned in petulant misery. “I believe I should have stood my ground if I had not been responsible for other people’s money as well as my own. Poor Crewe had put into the scheme every penny that he owned. He trusted me—he LOVED me. And he died thinking I had ruined him—I—Tom Carrisford, who played cricket at Eton with him. What a villain he must have thought me!”

“Don’t reproach yourself so bitterly.”

“I don’t reproach myself because the speculation threatened to fail—I reproach myself for losing my courage. I ran away like a swindler and a thief, because I could not face my best friend and tell him I had ruined him and his child.”

The good-hearted father of the Large Family put his hand on his shoulder comfortingly.

“You ran away because your brain had given way under the strain of mental torture,” he said. “You were half delirious already. If you had not been you would have stayed and fought it out. You were in a hospital, strapped down in bed, raving with brain fever, two days after you left the place. Remember that.”

Carrisford dropped his forehead in his hands.

“Good God! Yes,” he said. “I was driven mad with dread and horror. I had not slept for weeks. The night I staggered out of my house all the air seemed full of hideous things mocking and mouthing at me.”

“That is explanation enough in itself,” said Mr. Carmichael. “How could a man on the verge of brain fever judge sanely!”

Carrisford shook his drooping head.

“And when I returned to consciousness poor Crewe was dead—and buried. And I seemed to remember nothing. I did not remember the child for months and months. Even when I began to recall her existence everything seemed in a sort of haze.”

He stopped a moment and rubbed his forehead. “It sometimes seems so now when I try to remember. Surely I must sometime have heard Crewe speak of the school she was sent to. Don’t you think so?”

“He might not have spoken of it definitely. You never seem even to have heard her real name.”

“He used to call her by an odd pet name he had invented. He called her his ‘Little Missus.’ But the wretched mines drove everything else out of our heads. We talked of nothing else. If he spoke of the school, I forgot—I forgot. And now I shall never remember.”

“Come, come,” said Carmichael. “We shall find her yet. We will continue to search for Madame Pascal’s good-natured Russians. She seemed to have a vague idea that they lived in Moscow. We will take that as a clue. I will go to Moscow.”

“If I were able to travel, I would go with you,” said Carrisford; “but I can only sit here wrapped in furs and stare at the fire. And when I look into it I seem to see Crewe’s gay young face gazing back at me. He looks as if he were asking me a question. Sometimes I dream of him at night, and he always stands before me and asks the same question in words. Can you guess what he says, Carmichael?”

Mr. Carmichael answered him in a rather low voice.

“Not exactly,” he said.

“He always says, ‘Tom, old man—Tom—where is the Little Missus?'” He caught at Carmichael’s hand and clung to it. “I must be able to answer him—I must!” he said. “Help me to find her. Help me.”

On the other side of the wall Sara was sitting in her garret talking to Melchisedec, who had come out for his evening meal.

“It has been hard to be a princess today, Melchisedec,” she said. “It has been harder than usual. It gets harder as the weather grows colder and the streets get more sloppy. When Lavinia laughed at my muddy skirt as I passed her in the hall, I thought of something to say all in a flash—and I only just stopped myself in time. You can’t sneer back at people like that—if you are a princess. But you have to bite your tongue to hold yourself in. I bit mine. It was a cold afternoon, Melchisedec. And it’s a cold night.”

Quite suddenly she put her black head down in her arms, as she often did when she was alone.

“Oh, papa,” she whispered, “what a long time it seems since I was your ‘Little Missus’!”

This was what happened that day on both sides of the wall.

Chapter 13 – One of the Populace

The winter was a wretched one. There were days on which Sara tramped through snow when she went on her errands; there were worse days when the snow melted and combined itself with mud to form slush; there were others when the fog was so thick that the lamps in the street were lighted all day and London looked as it had looked the afternoon, several years ago, when the cab had driven through the thoroughfares with Sara tucked up on its seat, leaning against her father’s shoulder. On such days the windows of the house of the Large Family always looked delightfully cozy and alluring, and the study in which the Indian gentleman sat glowed with warmth and rich color. But the attic was dismal beyond words. There were no longer sunsets or sunrises to look at, and scarcely ever any stars, it seemed to Sara. The clouds hung low over the skylight and were either gray or mud-color, or dropping heavy rain. At four o’clock in the afternoon, even when there was no special fog, the daylight was at an end. If it was necessary to go to her attic for anything, Sara was obliged to light a candle. The women in the kitchen were depressed, and that made them more ill-tempered than ever. Becky was driven like a little slave.

“‘Twarn’t for you, miss,” she said hoarsely to Sara one night when she had crept into the attic—”‘twarn’t for you, an’ the Bastille, an’ bein’ the prisoner in the next cell, I should die. That there does seem real now, doesn’t it? The missus is more like the head jailer every day she lives. I can jest see them big keys you say she carries. The cook she’s like one of the under-jailers. Tell me some more, please, miss—tell me about the subt’ranean passage we’ve dug under the walls.”

“I’ll tell you something warmer,” shivered Sara. “Get your coverlet and wrap it round you, and I’ll get mine, and we will huddle close together on the bed, and I’ll tell you about the tropical forest where the Indian gentleman’s monkey used to live. When I see him sitting on the table near the window and looking out into the street with that mournful expression, I always feel sure he is thinking about the tropical forest where he used to swing by his tail from coconut trees. I wonder who caught him, and if he left a family behind who had depended on him for coconuts.”

“That is warmer, miss,” said Becky, gratefully; “but, someways, even the Bastille is sort of heatin’ when you gets to tellin’ about it.”

“That is because it makes you think of something else,” said Sara, wrapping the coverlet round her until only her small dark face was to be seen looking out of it. “I’ve noticed this. What you have to do with your mind, when your body is miserable, is to make it think of something else.”

“Can you do it, miss?” faltered Becky, regarding her with admiring eyes.

Sara knitted her brows a moment.

“Sometimes I can and sometimes I can’t,” she said stoutly. “But when I CAN I’m all right. And what I believe is that we always could—if we practiced enough. I’ve been practicing a good deal lately, and it’s beginning to be easier than it used to be. When things are horrible—just horrible—I think as hard as ever I can of being a princess. I say to myself, ‘I am a princess, and I am a fairy one, and because I am a fairy nothing can hurt me or make me uncomfortable.’ You don’t know how it makes you forget”—with a laugh.

She had many opportunities of making her mind think of something else, and many opportunities of proving to herself whether or not she was a princess. But one of the strongest tests she was ever put to came on a certain dreadful day which, she often thought afterward, would never quite fade out of her memory even in the years to come.

For several days it had rained continuously; the streets were chilly and sloppy and full of dreary, cold mist; there was mud everywhere—sticky London mud—and over everything the pall of drizzle and fog. Of course there were several long and tiresome errands to be done—there always were on days like this—and Sara was sent out again and again, until her shabby clothes were damp through. The absurd old feathers on her forlorn hat were more draggled and absurd than ever, and her downtrodden shoes were so wet that they could not hold any more water. Added to this, she had been deprived of her dinner, because Miss Minchin had chosen to punish her. She was so cold and hungry and tired that her face began to have a pinched look, and now and then some kind-hearted person passing her in the street glanced at her with sudden sympathy. But she did not know that. She hurried on, trying to make her mind think of something else. It was really very necessary. Her way of doing it was to “pretend” and “suppose” with all the strength that was left in her. But really this time it was harder than she had ever found it, and once or twice she thought it almost made her more cold and hungry instead of less so. But she persevered obstinately, and as the muddy water squelched through her broken shoes and the wind seemed trying to drag her thin jacket from her, she talked to herself as she walked, though she did not speak aloud or even move her lips.

“Suppose I had dry clothes on,” she thought. “Suppose I had good shoes and a long, thick coat and merino stockings and a whole umbrella. And suppose—suppose—just when I was near a baker’s where they sold hot buns, I should find sixpence—which belonged to nobody. SUPPOSE if I did, I should go into the shop and buy six of the hottest buns and eat them all without stopping.”

Some very odd things happen in this world sometimes.

It certainly was an odd thing that happened to Sara. She had to cross the street just when she was saying this to herself. The mud was dreadful—she almost had to wade. She picked her way as carefully as she could, but she could not save herself much; only, in picking her way, she had to look down at her feet and the mud, and in looking down—just as she reached the pavement—she saw something shining in the gutter. It was actually a piece of silver—a tiny piece trodden upon by many feet, but still with spirit enough left to shine a little. Not quite a sixpence, but the next thing to it—a fourpenny piece.

In one second it was in her cold little red-and-blue hand.

“Oh,” she gasped, “it is true! It is true!”

And then, if you will believe me, she looked straight at the shop directly facing her. And it was a baker’s shop, and a cheerful, stout, motherly woman with rosy cheeks was putting into the window a tray of delicious newly baked hot buns, fresh from the oven—large, plump, shiny buns, with currants in them.

It almost made Sara feel faint for a few seconds—the shock, and the sight of the buns, and the delightful odors of warm bread floating up through the baker’s cellar window.

She knew she need not hesitate to use the little piece of money. It had evidently been lying in the mud for some time, and its owner was completely lost in the stream of passing people who crowded and jostled each other all day long.

“But I’ll go and ask the baker woman if she has lost anything,” she said to herself, rather faintly. So she crossed the pavement and put her wet foot on the step. As she did so she saw something that made her stop.

It was a little figure more forlorn even than herself—a little figure which was not much more than a bundle of rags, from which small, bare, red muddy feet peeped out, only because the rags with which their owner was trying to cover them were not long enough. Above the rags appeared a shock head of tangled hair, and a dirty face with big, hollow, hungry eyes.

Sara knew they were hungry eyes the moment she saw them, and she felt a sudden sympathy.

“This,” she said to herself, with a little sigh, “is one of the populace—and she is hungrier than I am.”

The child—this “one of the populace”—stared up at Sara, and shuffled herself aside a little, so as to give her room to pass. She was used to being made to give room to everybody. She knew that if a policeman chanced to see her he would tell her to “move on.”

Sara clutched her little fourpenny piece and hesitated for a few seconds. Then she spoke to her.

“Are you hungry?” she asked.

The child shuffled herself and her rags a little more.

“Ain’t I jist?” she said in a hoarse voice. “Jist ain’t I?”

“Haven’t you had any dinner?” said Sara.

“No dinner,” more hoarsely still and with more shuffling. “Nor yet no bre’fast—nor yet no supper. No nothin’.

“Since when?” asked Sara.

“Dunno. Never got nothin’ today—nowhere. I’ve axed an’ axed.”

Just to look at her made Sara more hungry and faint. But those queer little thoughts were at work in her brain, and she was talking to herself, though she was sick at heart.

“If I’m a princess,” she was saying, “if I’m a princess—when they were poor and driven from their thrones—they always shared—with the populace—if they met one poorer and hungrier than themselves. They always shared. Buns are a penny each. If it had been sixpence I could have eaten six. It won’t be enough for either of us. But it will be better than nothing.”

“Wait a minute,” she said to the beggar child.

She went into the shop. It was warm and smelled deliciously. The woman was just going to put some more hot buns into the window.

“If you please,” said Sara, “have you lost fourpence—a silver fourpence?” And she held the forlorn little piece of money out to her.

The woman looked at it and then at her—at her intense little face and draggled, once fine clothes.

“Bless us, no,” she answered. “Did you find it?”

“Yes,” said Sara. “In the gutter.”

“Keep it, then,” said the woman. “It may have been there for a week, and goodness knows who lost it. YOU could never find out.”

“I know that,” said Sara, “but I thought I would ask you.”

“Not many would,” said the woman, looking puzzled and interested and good-natured all at once.

“Do you want to buy something?” she added, as she saw Sara glance at the buns.

“Four buns, if you please,” said Sara. “Those at a penny each.”

The woman went to the window and put some in a paper bag.

Sara noticed that she put in six.

“I said four, if you please,” she explained. “I have only fourpence.”

“I’ll throw in two for makeweight,” said the woman with her good-natured look. “I dare say you can eat them sometime. Aren’t you hungry?”

A mist rose before Sara’s eyes.

“Yes,” she answered. “I am very hungry, and I am much obliged to you for your kindness; and”—she was going to add—”there is a child outside who is hungrier than I am.” But just at that moment two or three customers came in at once, and each one seemed in a hurry, so she could only thank the woman again and go out.

The beggar girl was still huddled up in the corner of the step. She looked frightful in her wet and dirty rags. She was staring straight before her with a stupid look of suffering, and Sara saw her suddenly draw the back of her roughened black hand across her eyes to rub away the tears which seemed to have surprised her by forcing their way from under her lids. She was muttering to herself.

Sara opened the paper bag and took out one of the hot buns, which had already warmed her own cold hands a little.

“See,” she said, putting the bun in the ragged lap, “this is nice and hot. Eat it, and you will not feel so hungry.”

The child started and stared up at her, as if such sudden, amazing good luck almost frightened her; then she snatched up the bun and began to cram it into her mouth with great wolfish bites.

“Oh, my! Oh, my!” Sara heard her say hoarsely, in wild delight. “OH my!”

Sara took out three more buns and put them down.

The sound in the hoarse, ravenous voice was awful.

“She is hungrier than I am,” she said to herself. “She’s starving.” But her hand trembled when she put down the fourth bun. “I’m not starving,” she said—and she put down the fifth.

The little ravening London savage was still snatching and devouring when she turned away. She was too ravenous to give any thanks, even if she had ever been taught politeness—which she had not. She was only a poor little wild animal.

“Good-bye,” said Sara.

When she reached the other side of the street she looked back. The child had a bun in each hand and had stopped in the middle of a bite to watch her. Sara gave her a little nod, and the child, after another stare—a curious lingering stare—jerked her shaggy head in response, and until Sara was out of sight she did not take another bite or even finish the one she had begun.

At that moment the baker-woman looked out of her shop window.

“Well, I never!” she exclaimed. “If that young un hasn’t given her buns to a beggar child! It wasn’t because she didn’t want them, either. Well, well, she looked hungry enough. I’d give something to know what she did it for.”

She stood behind her window for a few moments and pondered. Then her curiosity got the better of her. She went to the door and spoke to the beggar child.

“Who gave you those buns?” she asked her. The child nodded her head toward Sara’s vanishing figure.

“What did she say?” inquired the woman.

“Axed me if I was ‘ungry,” replied the hoarse voice.

“What did you say?”

“Said I was jist.”

“And then she came in and got the buns, and gave them to you, did she?”

The child nodded.

“How many?”

“Five.”

The woman thought it over.

“Left just one for herself,” she said in a low voice. “And she could have eaten the whole six—I saw it in her eyes.”

She looked after the little draggled far-away figure and felt more disturbed in her usually comfortable mind than she had felt for many a day.

“I wish she hadn’t gone so quick,” she said. “I’m blest if she shouldn’t have had a dozen.” Then she turned to the child.

“Are you hungry yet?” she said.

“I’m allus hungry,” was the answer, “but ‘t ain’t as bad as it was.”

“Come in here,” said the woman, and she held open the shop door.

The child got up and shuffled in. To be invited into a warm place full of bread seemed an incredible thing. She did not know what was going to happen. She did not care, even.

“Get yourself warm,” said the woman, pointing to a fire in the tiny back room. “And look here; when you are hard up for a bit of bread, you can come in here and ask for it. I’m blest if I won’t give it to you for that young one’s sake.”

* * *

Sara found some comfort in her remaining bun. At all events, it was very hot, and it was better than nothing. As she walked along she broke off small pieces and ate them slowly to make them last longer.

“Suppose it was a magic bun,” she said, “and a bite was as much as a whole dinner. I should be overeating myself if I went on like this.”

It was dark when she reached the square where the Select Seminary was situated. The lights in the houses were all lighted. The blinds were not yet drawn in the windows of the room where she nearly always caught glimpses of members of the Large Family. Frequently at this hour she could see the gentleman she called Mr. Montmorency sitting in a big chair, with a small swarm round him, talking, laughing, perching on the arms of his seat or on his knees or leaning against them. This evening the swarm was about him, but he was not seated. On the contrary, there was a good deal of excitement going on. It was evident that a journey was to be taken, and it was Mr. Montmorency who was to take it. A brougham stood before the door, and a big portmanteau had been strapped upon it. The children were dancing about, chattering and hanging on to their father. The pretty rosy mother was standing near him, talking as if she was asking final questions. Sara paused a moment to see the little ones lifted up and kissed and the bigger ones bent over and kissed also.

“I wonder if he will stay away long,” she thought. “The portmanteau is rather big. Oh, dear, how they will miss him! I shall miss him myself—even though he doesn’t know I am alive.”

When the door opened she moved away—remembering the sixpence—but she saw the traveler come out and stand against the background of the warmly-lighted hall, the older children still hovering about him.

“Will Moscow be covered with snow?” said the little girl Janet. “Will there be ice everywhere?”

“Shall you drive in a drosky?” cried another. “Shall you see the Czar?”

“I will write and tell you all about it,” he answered, laughing. “And I will send you pictures of muzhiks and things. Run into the house. It is a hideous damp night. I would rather stay with you than go to Moscow. Good night! Good night, duckies! God bless you!” And he ran down the steps and jumped into the brougham.

“If you find the little girl, give her our love,” shouted Guy Clarence, jumping up and down on the door mat.

Then they went in and shut the door.

“Did you see,” said Janet to Nora, as they went back to the room—”the little-girl-who-is-not-a-beggar was passing? She looked all cold and wet, and I saw her turn her head over her shoulder and look at us. Mamma says her clothes always look as if they had been given her by someone who was quite rich—someone who only let her have them because they were too shabby to wear. The people at the school always send her out on errands on the horridest days and nights there are.”

Sara crossed the square to Miss Minchin’s area steps, feeling faint and shaky.

“I wonder who the little girl is,” she thought—”the little girl he is going to look for.”

And she went down the area steps, lugging her basket and finding it very heavy indeed, as the father of the Large Family drove quickly on his way to the station to take the train which was to carry him to Moscow, where he was to make his best efforts to search for the lost little daughter of Captain Crewe.

Chapter 14 – What Melchisedec Heard and Saw

On this very afternoon, while Sara was out, a strange thing happened in the attic. Only Melchisedec saw and heard it; and he was so much alarmed and mystified that he scuttled back to his hole and hid there, and really quaked and trembled as he peeped out furtively and with great caution to watch what was going on.

The attic had been very still all the day after Sara had left it in the early morning. The stillness had only been broken by the pattering of the rain upon the slates and the skylight. Melchisedec had, in fact, found it rather dull; and when the rain ceased to patter and perfect silence reigned, he decided to come out and reconnoiter, though experience taught him that Sara would not return for some time. He had been rambling and sniffing about, and had just found a totally unexpected and unexplained crumb left from his last meal, when his attention was attracted by a sound on the roof. He stopped to listen with a palpitating heart. The sound suggested that something was moving on the roof. It was approaching the skylight; it reached the skylight. The skylight was being mysteriously opened. A dark face peered into the attic; then another face appeared behind it, and both looked in with signs of caution and interest. Two men were outside on the roof, and were making silent preparations to enter through the skylight itself. One was Ram Dass and the other was a young man who was the Indian gentleman’s secretary; but of course Melchisedec did not know this. He only knew that the men were invading the silence and privacy of the attic; and as the one with the dark face let himself down through the aperture with such lightness and dexterity that he did not make the slightest sound, Melchisedec turned tail and fled precipitately back to his hole. He was frightened to death. He had ceased to be timid with Sara, and knew she would never throw anything but crumbs, and would never make any sound other than the soft, low, coaxing whistling; but strange men were dangerous things to remain near. He lay close and flat near the entrance of his home, just managing to peep through the crack with a bright, alarmed eye. How much he understood of the talk he heard I am not in the least able to say; but, even if he had understood it all, he would probably have remained greatly mystified.

The secretary, who was light and young, slipped through the skylight as noiselessly as Ram Dass had done; and he caught a last glimpse of Melchisedec’s vanishing tail.

“Was that a rat?” he asked Ram Dass in a whisper.

“Yes; a rat, Sahib,” answered Ram Dass, also whispering. “There are many in the walls.”

“Ugh!” exclaimed the young man. “It is a wonder the child is not terrified of them.”

Ram Dass made a gesture with his hands. He also smiled respectfully. He was in this place as the intimate exponent of Sara, though she had only spoken to him once.

“The child is the little friend of all things, Sahib,” he answered. “She is not as other children. I see her when she does not see me. I slip across the slates and look at her many nights to see that she is safe. I watch her from my window when she does not know I am near. She stands on the table there and looks out at the sky as if it spoke to her. The sparrows come at her call. The rat she has fed and tamed in her loneliness. The poor slave of the house comes to her for comfort. There is a little child who comes to her in secret; there is one older who worships her and would listen to her forever if she might. This I have seen when I have crept across the roof. By the mistress of the house—who is an evil woman—she is treated like a pariah; but she has the bearing of a child who is of the blood of kings!”

“You seem to know a great deal about her,” the secretary said.

“All her life each day I know,” answered Ram Dass. “Her going out I know, and her coming in; her sadness and her poor joys; her coldness and her hunger. I know when she is alone until midnight, learning from her books; I know when her secret friends steal to her and she is happier—as children can be, even in the midst of poverty—because they come and she may laugh and talk with them in whispers. If she were ill I should know, and I would come and serve her if it might be done.”

“You are sure no one comes near this place but herself, and that she will not return and surprise us. She would be frightened if she found us here, and the Sahib Carrisford’s plan would be spoiled.”

Ram Dass crossed noiselessly to the door and stood close to it.

“None mount here but herself, Sahib,” he said. “She has gone out with her basket and may be gone for hours. If I stand here I can hear any step before it reaches the last flight of the stairs.”

The secretary took a pencil and a tablet from his breast pocket.

“Keep your ears open,” he said; and he began to walk slowly and softly round the miserable little room, making rapid notes on his tablet as he looked at things.

First he went to the narrow bed. He pressed his hand upon the mattress and uttered an exclamation.

“As hard as a stone,” he said. “That will have to be altered some day when she is out. A special journey can be made to bring it across. It cannot be done tonight.” He lifted the covering and examined the one thin pillow.

“Coverlet dingy and worn, blanket thin, sheets patched and ragged,” he said. “What a bed for a child to sleep in—and in a house which calls itself respectable! There has not been a fire in that grate for many a day,” glancing at the rusty fireplace.

“Never since I have seen it,” said Ram Dass. “The mistress of the house is not one who remembers that another than herself may be cold.”

The secretary was writing quickly on his tablet. He looked up from it as he tore off a leaf and slipped it into his breast pocket.

“It is a strange way of doing the thing,” he said. “Who planned it?”

Ram Dass made a modestly apologetic obeisance.

“It is true that the first thought was mine, Sahib,” he said; “though it was naught but a fancy. I am fond of this child; we are both lonely. It is her way to relate her visions to her secret friends. Being sad one night, I lay close to the open skylight and listened. The vision she related told what this miserable room might be if it had comforts in it. She seemed to see it as she talked, and she grew cheered and warmed as she spoke. Then she came to this fancy; and the next day, the Sahib being ill and wretched, I told him of the thing to amuse him. It seemed then but a dream, but it pleased the Sahib. To hear of the child’s doings gave him entertainment. He became interested in her and asked questions. At last he began to please himself with the thought of making her visions real things.”

“You think that it can be done while she sleeps? Suppose she awakened,” suggested the secretary; and it was evident that whatsoever the plan referred to was, it had caught and pleased his fancy as well as the Sahib Carrisford’s.

“I can move as if my feet were of velvet,” Ram Dass replied; “and children sleep soundly—even the unhappy ones. I could have entered this room in the night many times, and without causing her to turn upon her pillow. If the other bearer passes to me the things through the window, I can do all and she will not stir. When she awakens she will think a magician has been here.”

He smiled as if his heart warmed under his white robe, and the secretary smiled back at him.

“It will be like a story from the Arabian Nights,” he said. “Only an Oriental could have planned it. It does not belong to London fogs.”

They did not remain very long, to the great relief of Melchisedec, who, as he probably did not comprehend their conversation, felt their movements and whispers ominous. The young secretary seemed interested in everything. He wrote down things about the floor, the fireplace, the broken footstool, the old table, the walls—which last he touched with his hand again and again, seeming much pleased when he found that a number of old nails had been driven in various places.

“You can hang things on them,” he said.

Ram Dass smiled mysteriously.

“Yesterday, when she was out,” he said, “I entered, bringing with me small, sharp nails which can be pressed into the wall without blows from a hammer. I placed many in the plaster where I may need them. They are ready.”

The Indian gentleman’s secretary stood still and looked round him as he thrust his tablets back into his pocket.

“I think I have made notes enough; we can go now,” he said. “The Sahib Carrisford has a warm heart. It is a thousand pities that he has not found the lost child.”

“If he should find her his strength would be restored to him,” said Ram Dass. “His God may lead her to him yet.”

Then they slipped through the skylight as noiselessly as they had entered it. And, after he was quite sure they had gone, Melchisedec was greatly relieved, and in the course of a few minutes felt it safe to emerge from his hole again and scuffle about in the hope that even such alarming human beings as these might have chanced to carry crumbs in their pockets and drop one or two of them.

Chapter 15 – The Magic

When Sara had passed the house next door she had seen Ram Dass closing the shutters, and caught her glimpse of this room also.

“It is a long time since I saw a nice place from the inside,” was the thought which crossed her mind.

There was the usual bright fire glowing in the grate, and the Indian gentleman was sitting before it. His head was resting in his hand, and he looked as lonely and unhappy as ever.

“Poor man!” said Sara. “I wonder what you are supposing.”

And this was what he was “supposing” at that very moment.

“Suppose,” he was thinking, “suppose—even if Carmichael traces the people to Moscow—the little girl they took from Madame Pascal’s school in Paris is NOT the one we are in search of. Suppose she proves to be quite a different child. What steps shall I take next?”

When Sara went into the house she met Miss Minchin, who had come downstairs to scold the cook.

“Where have you wasted your time?” she demanded. “You have been out for hours.”

“It was so wet and muddy,” Sara answered, “it was hard to walk, because my shoes were so bad and slipped about.”

“Make no excuses,” said Miss Minchin, “and tell no falsehoods.”

Sara went in to the cook. The cook had received a severe lecture and was in a fearful temper as a result. She was only too rejoiced to have someone to vent her rage on, and Sara was a convenience, as usual.

“Why didn’t you stay all night?” she snapped.

Sara laid her purchases on the table.

“Here are the things,” she said.

The cook looked them over, grumbling. She was in a very savage humor indeed.

“May I have something to eat?” Sara asked rather faintly.

“Tea’s over and done with,” was the answer. “Did you expect me to keep it hot for you?”

Sara stood silent for a second.

“I had no dinner,” she said next, and her voice was quite low. She made it low because she was afraid it would tremble.

“There’s some bread in the pantry,” said the cook. “That’s all you’ll get at this time of day.”

Sara went and found the bread. It was old and hard and dry. The cook was in too vicious a humor to give her anything to eat with it. It was always safe and easy to vent her spite on Sara. Really, it was hard for the child to climb the three long flights of stairs leading to her attic. She often found them long and steep when she was tired; but tonight it seemed as if she would never reach the top. Several times she was obliged to stop to rest. When she reached the top landing she was glad to see the glimmer of a light coming from under her door. That meant that Ermengarde had managed to creep up to pay her a visit. There was some comfort in that. It was better than to go into the room alone and find it empty and desolate. The mere presence of plump, comfortable Ermengarde, wrapped in her red shawl, would warm it a little.

Yes; there Ermengarde was when she opened the door. She was sitting in the middle of the bed, with her feet tucked safely under her. She had never become intimate with Melchisedec and his family, though they rather fascinated her. When she found herself alone in the attic she always preferred to sit on the bed until Sara arrived. She had, in fact, on this occasion had time to become rather nervous, because Melchisedec had appeared and sniffed about a good deal, and once had made her utter a repressed squeal by sitting up on his hind legs and, while he looked at her, sniffing pointedly in her direction.

“Oh, Sara,” she cried out, “I am glad you have come. Melchy WOULD sniff about so. I tried to coax him to go back, but he wouldn’t for such a long time. I like him, you know; but it does frighten me when he sniffs right at me. Do you think he ever WOULD jump?”

“No,” answered Sara.

Ermengarde crawled forward on the bed to look at her.

“You DO look tired, Sara,” she said; “you are quite pale.”

“I AM tired,” said Sara, dropping on to the lopsided footstool. “Oh, there’s Melchisedec, poor thing. He’s come to ask for his supper.”

Melchisedec had come out of his hole as if he had been listening for her footstep. Sara was quite sure he knew it. He came forward with an affectionate, expectant expression as Sara put her hand in her pocket and turned it inside out, shaking her head.

“I’m very sorry,” she said. “I haven’t one crumb left. Go home, Melchisedec, and tell your wife there was nothing in my pocket. I’m afraid I forgot because the cook and Miss Minchin were so cross.”

Melchisedec seemed to understand. He shuffled resignedly, if not contentedly, back to his home.

“I did not expect to see you tonight, Ermie,” Sara said. Ermengarde hugged herself in the red shawl.

“Miss Amelia has gone out to spend the night with her old aunt,” she explained. “No one else ever comes and looks into the bedrooms after we are in bed. I could stay here until morning if I wanted to.”

She pointed toward the table under the skylight. Sara had not looked toward it as she came in. A number of books were piled upon it. Ermengarde’s gesture was a dejected one.

“Papa has sent me some more books, Sara,” she said. “There they are.”

Sara looked round and got up at once. She ran to the table, and picking up the top volume, turned over its leaves quickly. For the moment she forgot her discomforts.

“Ah,” she cried out, “how beautiful! Carlyle’s French Revolution. I have SO wanted to read that!”

“I haven’t,” said Ermengarde. “And papa will be so cross if I don’t. He’ll expect me to know all about it when I go home for the holidays. What SHALL I do?”

Sara stopped turning over the leaves and looked at her with an excited flush on her cheeks.

“Look here,” she cried, “if you’ll lend me these books, _I’ll_ read them—and tell you everything that’s in them afterward—and I’ll tell it so that you will remember it, too.”

“Oh, goodness!” exclaimed Ermengarde. “Do you think you can?”

“I know I can,” Sara answered. “The little ones always remember what I tell them.”

“Sara,” said Ermengarde, hope gleaming in her round face, “if you’ll do that, and make me remember, I’ll—I’ll give you anything.”

“I don’t want you to give me anything,” said Sara. “I want your books—I want them!” And her eyes grew big, and her chest heaved.

“Take them, then,” said Ermengarde. “I wish I wanted them—but I don’t. I’m not clever, and my father is, and he thinks I ought to be.”

Sara was opening one book after the other. “What are you going to tell your father?” she asked, a slight doubt dawning in her mind.

“Oh, he needn’t know,” answered Ermengarde. “He’ll think I’ve read them.”

Sara put down her book and shook her head slowly. “That’s almost like telling lies,” she said. “And lies—well, you see, they are not only wicked—they’re VULGAR. Sometimes”—reflectively—”I’ve thought perhaps I might do something wicked—I might suddenly fly into a rage and kill Miss Minchin, you know, when she was ill-treating me—but I COULDN’T be vulgar. Why can’t you tell your father _I_ read them?”

“He wants me to read them,” said Ermengarde, a little discouraged by this unexpected turn of affairs.

“He wants you to know what is in them,” said Sara. “And if I can tell it to you in an easy way and make you remember it, I should think he would like that.”

“He’ll like it if I learn anything in ANY way,” said rueful Ermengarde. “You would if you were my father.”

“It’s not your fault that—” began Sara. She pulled herself up and stopped rather suddenly. She had been going to say, “It’s not your fault that you are stupid.”

“That what?” Ermengarde asked.

“That you can’t learn things quickly,” amended Sara. “If you can’t, you can’t. If I can—why, I can; that’s all.”

She always felt very tender of Ermengarde, and tried not to let her feel too strongly the difference between being able to learn anything at once, and not being able to learn anything at all. As she looked at her plump face, one of her wise, old-fashioned thoughts came to her.

“Perhaps,” she said, “to be able to learn things quickly isn’t everything. To be kind is worth a great deal to other people. If Miss Minchin knew everything on earth and was like what she is now, she’d still be a detestable thing, and everybody would hate her. Lots of clever people have done harm and have been wicked. Look at Robespierre—”

She stopped and examined Ermengarde’s countenance, which was beginning to look bewildered. “Don’t you remember?” she demanded. “I told you about him not long ago. I believe you’ve forgotten.”

“Well, I don’t remember ALL of it,” admitted Ermengarde.

“Well, you wait a minute,” said Sara, “and I’ll take off my wet things and wrap myself in the coverlet and tell you over again.”

She took off her hat and coat and hung them on a nail against the wall, and she changed her wet shoes for an old pair of slippers. Then she jumped on the bed, and drawing the coverlet about her shoulders, sat with her arms round her knees. “Now, listen,” she said.

She plunged into the gory records of the French Revolution, and told such stories of it that Ermengarde’s eyes grew round with alarm and she held her breath. But though she was rather terrified, there was a delightful thrill in listening, and she was not likely to forget Robespierre again, or to have any doubts about the Princesse de Lamballe.

“You know they put her head on a pike and danced round it,” Sara explained. “And she had beautiful floating blonde hair; and when I think of her, I never see her head on her body, but always on a pike, with those furious people dancing and howling.”

It was agreed that Mr. St. John was to be told the plan they had made, and for the present the books were to be left in the attic.

“Now let’s tell each other things,” said Sara. “How are you getting on with your French lessons?”

“Ever so much better since the last time I came up here and you explained the conjugations. Miss Minchin could not understand why I did my exercises so well that first morning.”

Sara laughed a little and hugged her knees.

“She doesn’t understand why Lottie is doing her sums so well,” she said; “but it is because she creeps up here, too, and I help her.” She glanced round the room. “The attic would be rather nice—if it wasn’t so dreadful,” she said, laughing again. “It’s a good place to pretend in.”

The truth was that Ermengarde did not know anything of the sometimes almost unbearable side of life in the attic and she had not a sufficiently vivid imagination to depict it for herself. On the rare occasions that she could reach Sara’s room she only saw the side of it which was made exciting by things which were “pretended” and stories which were told. Her visits partook of the character of adventures; and though sometimes Sara looked rather pale, and it was not to be denied that she had grown very thin, her proud little spirit would not admit of complaints. She had never confessed that at times she was almost ravenous with hunger, as she was tonight. She was growing rapidly, and her constant walking and running about would have given her a keen appetite even if she had had abundant and regular meals of a much more nourishing nature than the unappetizing, inferior food snatched at such odd times as suited the kitchen convenience. She was growing used to a certain gnawing feeling in her young stomach.

“I suppose soldiers feel like this when they are on a long and weary march,” she often said to herself. She liked the sound of the phrase, “long and weary march.” It made her feel rather like a soldier. She had also a quaint sense of being a hostess in the attic.

“If I lived in a castle,” she argued, “and Ermengarde was the lady of another castle, and came to see me, with knights and squires and vassals riding with her, and pennons flying, when I heard the clarions sounding outside the drawbridge I should go down to receive her, and I should spread feasts in the banquet hall and call in minstrels to sing and play and relate romances. When she comes into the attic I can’t spread feasts, but I can tell stories, and not let her know disagreeable things. I dare say poor chatelaines had to do that in time of famine, when their lands had been pillaged.” She was a proud, brave little chatelaine, and dispensed generously the one hospitality she could offer—the dreams she dreamed—the visions she saw—the imaginings which were her joy and comfort.

So, as they sat together, Ermengarde did not know that she was faint as well as ravenous, and that while she talked she now and then wondered if her hunger would let her sleep when she was left alone. She felt as if she had never been quite so hungry before.

“I wish I was as thin as you, Sara,” Ermengarde said suddenly. “I believe you are thinner than you used to be. Your eyes look so big, and look at the sharp little bones sticking out of your elbow!”

Sara pulled down her sleeve, which had pushed itself up.

“I always was a thin child,” she said bravely, “and I always had big green eyes.”

“I love your queer eyes,” said Ermengarde, looking into them with affectionate admiration. “They always look as if they saw such a long way. I love them—and I love them to be green—though they look black generally.”

“They are cat’s eyes,” laughed Sara; “but I can’t see in the dark with them—because I have tried, and I couldn’t—I wish I could.”

It was just at this minute that something happened at the skylight which neither of them saw. If either of them had chanced to turn and look, she would have been startled by the sight of a dark face which peered cautiously into the room and disappeared as quickly and almost as silently as it had appeared. Not QUITE as silently, however. Sara, who had keen ears, suddenly turned a little and looked up at the roof.

“That didn’t sound like Melchisedec,” she said. “It wasn’t scratchy enough.”

“What?” said Ermengarde, a little startled.

“Didn’t you think you heard something?” asked Sara.

“N-no,” Ermengarde faltered. “Did you?” {another ed. has “No-no,”}

“Perhaps I didn’t,” said Sara; “but I thought I did. It sounded as if something was on the slates—something that dragged softly.”

“What could it be?” said Ermengarde. “Could it be—robbers?”

“No,” Sara began cheerfully. “There is nothing to steal—”

She broke off in the middle of her words. They both heard the sound that checked her. It was not on the slates, but on the stairs below, and it was Miss Minchin’s angry voice. Sara sprang off the bed, and put out the candle.

“She is scolding Becky,” she whispered, as she stood in the darkness. “She is making her cry.”

“Will she come in here?” Ermengarde whispered back, panic-stricken.

“No. She will think I am in bed. Don’t stir.”

It was very seldom that Miss Minchin mounted the last flight of stairs. Sara could only remember that she had done it once before. But now she was angry enough to be coming at least part of the way up, and it sounded as if she was driving Becky before her.

“You impudent, dishonest child!” they heard her say. “Cook tells me she has missed things repeatedly.”

“‘T warn’t me, mum,” said Becky sobbing. “I was ‘ungry enough, but ‘t warn’t me—never!”

“You deserve to be sent to prison,” said Miss Minchin’s voice. “Picking and stealing! Half a meat pie, indeed!”

“‘T warn’t me,” wept Becky. “I could ‘ave eat a whole un—but I never laid a finger on it.”

Miss Minchin was out of breath between temper and mounting the stairs. The meat pie had been intended for her special late supper. It became apparent that she boxed Becky’s ears.

“Don’t tell falsehoods,” she said. “Go to your room this instant.”

Both Sara and Ermengarde heard the slap, and then heard Becky run in her slipshod shoes up the stairs and into her attic. They heard her door shut, and knew that she threw herself upon her bed.

“I could ‘ave e’t two of ’em,” they heard her cry into her pillow. “An’ I never took a bite. ‘Twas cook give it to her policeman.”

Sara stood in the middle of the room in the darkness. She was clenching her little teeth and opening and shutting fiercely her outstretched hands. She could scarcely stand still, but she dared not move until Miss Minchin had gone down the stairs and all was still.

“The wicked, cruel thing!” she burst forth. “The cook takes things herself and then says Becky steals them. She DOESN’T! She DOESN’T! She’s so hungry sometimes that she eats crusts out of the ash barrel!” She pressed her hands hard against her face and burst into passionate little sobs, and Ermengarde, hearing this unusual thing, was overawed by it. Sara was crying! The unconquerable Sara! It seemed to denote something new—some mood she had never known. Suppose—suppose—a new dread possibility presented itself to her kind, slow, little mind all at once. She crept off the bed in the dark and found her way to the table where the candle stood. She struck a match and lit the candle. When she had lighted it, she bent forward and looked at Sara, with her new thought growing to definite fear in her eyes.

“Sara,” she said in a timid, almost awe-stricken voice, “are—are—you never told me—I don’t want to be rude, but—are YOU ever hungry?”

It was too much just at that moment. The barrier broke down. Sara lifted her face from her hands.

“Yes,” she said in a new passionate way. “Yes, I am. I’m so hungry now that I could almost eat you. And it makes it worse to hear poor Becky. She’s hungrier than I am.”

Ermengarde gasped.

“Oh, oh!” she cried woefully. “And I never knew!”

“I didn’t want you to know,” Sara said. “It would have made me feel like a street beggar. I know I look like a street beggar.”

“No, you don’t—you don’t!” Ermengarde broke in. “Your clothes are a little queer—but you couldn’t look like a street beggar. You haven’t a street-beggar face.”

“A little boy once gave me a sixpence for charity,” said Sara, with a short little laugh in spite of herself. “Here it is.” And she pulled out the thin ribbon from her neck. “He wouldn’t have given me his Christmas sixpence if I hadn’t looked as if I needed it.”

Somehow the sight of the dear little sixpence was good for both of them. It made them laugh a little, though they both had tears in their eyes.

“Who was he?” asked Ermengarde, looking at it quite as if it had not been a mere ordinary silver sixpence.

“He was a darling little thing going to a party,” said Sara. “He was one of the Large Family, the little one with the round legs—the one I call Guy Clarence. I suppose his nursery was crammed with Christmas presents and hampers full of cakes and things, and he could see I had nothing.”

Ermengarde gave a little jump backward. The last sentences had recalled something to her troubled mind and given her a sudden inspiration.

“Oh, Sara!” she cried. “What a silly thing I am not to have thought of it!”

“Of what?”

“Something splendid!” said Ermengarde, in an excited hurry. “This very afternoon my nicest aunt sent me a box. It is full of good things. I never touched it, I had so much pudding at dinner, and I was so bothered about papa’s books.” Her words began to tumble over each other. “It’s got cake in it, and little meat pies, and jam tarts and buns, and oranges and red-currant wine, and figs and chocolate. I’ll creep back to my room and get it this minute, and we’ll eat it now.”

Sara almost reeled. When one is faint with hunger the mention of food has sometimes a curious effect. She clutched Ermengarde’s arm.

“Do you think—you COULD?” she ejaculated.

“I know I could,” answered Ermengarde, and she ran to the door—opened it softly—put her head out into the darkness, and listened. Then she went back to Sara. “The lights are out. Everybody’s in bed. I can creep—and creep—and no one will hear.”

It was so delightful that they caught each other’s hands and a sudden light sprang into Sara’s eyes.

“Ermie!” she said. “Let us PRETEND! Let us pretend it’s a party! And oh, won’t you invite the prisoner in the next cell?”

“Yes! Yes! Let us knock on the wall now. The jailer won’t hear.”

Sara went to the wall. Through it she could hear poor Becky crying more softly. She knocked four times.

“That means, ‘Come to me through the secret passage under the wall,’ she explained. ‘I have something to communicate.'”

Five quick knocks answered her.

“She is coming,” she said.

Almost immediately the door of the attic opened and Becky appeared. Her eyes were red and her cap was sliding off, and when she caught sight of Ermengarde she began to rub her face nervously with her apron.

“Don’t mind me a bit, Becky!” cried Ermengarde.

“Miss Ermengarde has asked you to come in,” said Sara, “because she is going to bring a box of good things up here to us.”

Becky’s cap almost fell off entirely, she broke in with such excitement.

“To eat, miss?” she said. “Things that’s good to eat?”

“Yes,” answered Sara, “and we are going to pretend a party.”

“And you shall have as much as you WANT to eat,” put in Ermengarde. “I’ll go this minute!”

She was in such haste that as she tiptoed out of the attic she dropped her red shawl and did not know it had fallen. No one saw it for a minute or so. Becky was too much overpowered by the good luck which had befallen her.

“Oh, miss! oh, miss!” she gasped; “I know it was you that asked her to let me come. It—it makes me cry to think of it.” And she went to Sara’s side and stood and looked at her worshipingly.

But in Sara’s hungry eyes the old light had begun to glow and transform her world for her. Here in the attic—with the cold night outside—with the afternoon in the sloppy streets barely passed—with the memory of the awful unfed look in the beggar child’s eyes not yet faded—this simple, cheerful thing had happened like a thing of magic.

She caught her breath.

“Somehow, something always happens,” she cried, “just before things get to the very worst. It is as if the Magic did it. If I could only just remember that always. The worst thing never QUITE comes.”

She gave Becky a little cheerful shake.

“No, no! You mustn’t cry!” she said. “We must make haste and set the table.”

“Set the table, miss?” said Becky, gazing round the room. “What’ll we set it with?”

Sara looked round the attic, too.

“There doesn’t seem to be much,” she answered, half laughing.

That moment she saw something and pounced upon it. It was Ermengarde’s red shawl which lay upon the floor.

“Here’s the shawl,” she cried. “I know she won’t mind it. It will make such a nice red tablecloth.”

They pulled the old table forward, and threw the shawl over it. Red is a wonderfully kind and comfortable color. It began to make the room look furnished directly.

“How nice a red rug would look on the floor!” exclaimed Sara. “We must pretend there is one!”

Her eye swept the bare boards with a swift glance of admiration. The rug was laid down already.

“How soft and thick it is!” she said, with the little laugh which Becky knew the meaning of; and she raised and set her foot down again delicately, as if she felt something under it.

“Yes, miss,” answered Becky, watching her with serious rapture. She was always quite serious.

“What next, now?” said Sara, and she stood still and put her hands over her eyes. “Something will come if I think and wait a little”—in a soft, expectant voice. “The Magic will tell me.”

One of her favorite fancies was that on “the outside,” as she called it, thoughts were waiting for people to call them. Becky had seen her stand and wait many a time before, and knew that in a few seconds she would uncover an enlightened, laughing face.

In a moment she did.

“There!” she cried. “It has come! I know now! I must look among the things in the old trunk I had when I was a princess.”

She flew to its corner and kneeled down. It had not been put in the attic for her benefit, but because there was no room for it elsewhere. Nothing had been left in it but rubbish. But she knew she should find something. The Magic always arranged that kind of thing in one way or another.

In a corner lay a package so insignificant-looking that it had been overlooked, and when she herself had found it she had kept it as a relic. It contained a dozen small white handkerchiefs. She seized them joyfully and ran to the table. She began to arrange them upon the red table-cover, patting and coaxing them into shape with the narrow lace edge curling outward, her Magic working its spells for her as she did it.

“These are the plates,” she said. “They are golden plates. These are the richly embroidered napkins. Nuns worked them in convents in Spain.”

“Did they, miss?” breathed Becky, her very soul uplifted by the information.

“You must pretend it,” said Sara. “If you pretend it enough, you will see them.”

“Yes, miss,” said Becky; and as Sara returned to the trunk she devoted herself to the effort of accomplishing an end so much to be desired.

Sara turned suddenly to find her standing by the table, looking very queer indeed. She had shut her eyes, and was twisting her face in strange convulsive contortions, her hands hanging stiffly clenched at her sides. She looked as if she was trying to lift some enormous weight.

“What is the matter, Becky?” Sara cried. “What are you doing?”

Becky opened her eyes with a start.

“I was a-‘pretendin’,’ miss,” she answered a little sheepishly; “I was tryin’ to see it like you do. I almost did,” with a hopeful grin. “But it takes a lot o’ stren’th.”

“Perhaps it does if you are not used to it,” said Sara, with friendly sympathy; “but you don’t know how easy it is when you’ve done it often. I wouldn’t try so hard just at first. It will come to you after a while. I’ll just tell you what things are. Look at these.”

She held an old summer hat in her hand which she had fished out of the bottom of the trunk. There was a wreath of flowers on it. She pulled the wreath off.

“These are garlands for the feast,” she said grandly. “They fill all the air with perfume. There’s a mug on the wash-stand, Becky. Oh—and bring the soap dish for a centerpiece.”

Becky handed them to her reverently.

“What are they now, miss?” she inquired. “You’d think they was made of crockery—but I know they ain’t.”

“This is a carven flagon,” said Sara, arranging tendrils of the wreath about the mug. “And this”—bending tenderly over the soap dish and heaping it with roses—”is purest alabaster encrusted with gems.”

She touched the things gently, a happy smile hovering about her lips which made her look as if she were a creature in a dream.

“My, ain’t it lovely!” whispered Becky.

“If we just had something for bonbon dishes,” Sara murmured. “There!”—darting to the trunk again. “I remember I saw something this minute.”

It was only a bundle of wool wrapped in red and white tissue paper, but the tissue paper was soon twisted into the form of little dishes, and was combined with the remaining flowers to ornament the candlestick which was to light the feast. Only the Magic could have made it more than an old table covered with a red shawl and set with rubbish from a long-unopened trunk. But Sara drew back and gazed at it, seeing wonders; and Becky, after staring in delight, spoke with bated breath.

“This ‘ere,” she suggested, with a glance round the attic—”is it the Bastille now—or has it turned into somethin’ different?”

“Oh, yes, yes!” said Sara. “Quite different. It is a banquet hall!”

“My eye, miss!” ejaculated Becky. “A blanket ‘all!” and she turned to view the splendors about her with awed bewilderment.

“A banquet hall,” said Sara. “A vast chamber where feasts are given. It has a vaulted roof, and a minstrels’ gallery, and a huge chimney filled with blazing oaken logs, and it is brilliant with waxen tapers twinkling on every side.”

“My eye, Miss Sara!” gasped Becky again.

Then the door opened, and Ermengarde came in, rather staggering under the weight of her hamper. She started back with an exclamation of joy. To enter from the chill darkness outside, and find one’s self confronted by a totally unanticipated festal board, draped with red, adorned with white napery, and wreathed with flowers, was to feel that the preparations were brilliant indeed.

“Oh, Sara!” she cried out. “You are the cleverest girl I ever saw!”

“Isn’t it nice?” said Sara. “They are things out of my old trunk. I asked my Magic, and it told me to go and look.”

“But oh, miss,” cried Becky, “wait till she’s told you what they are! They ain’t just—oh, miss, please tell her,” appealing to Sara.

So Sara told her, and because her Magic helped her she made her ALMOST see it all: the golden platters—the vaulted spaces—the blazing logs—the twinkling waxen tapers. As the things were taken out of the hamper—the frosted cakes—the fruits—the bonbons and the wine—the feast became a splendid thing.

“It’s like a real party!” cried Ermengarde.

“It’s like a queen’s table,” sighed Becky.

Then Ermengarde had a sudden brilliant thought.

“I’ll tell you what, Sara,” she said. “Pretend you are a princess now and this is a royal feast.”

“But it’s your feast,” said Sara; “you must be the princess, and we will be your maids of honor.”

“Oh, I can’t,” said Ermengarde. “I’m too fat, and I don’t know how. YOU be her.”

“Well, if you want me to,” said Sara.

But suddenly she thought of something else and ran to the rusty grate.

“There is a lot of paper and rubbish stuffed in here!” she exclaimed. “If we light it, there will be a bright blaze for a few minutes, and we shall feel as if it was a real fire.” She struck a match and lighted it up with a great specious glow which illuminated the room.

“By the time it stops blazing,” Sara said, “we shall forget about its not being real.”

She stood in the dancing glow and smiled.

“Doesn’t it LOOK real?” she said. “Now we will begin the party.”

She led the way to the table. She waved her hand graciously to Ermengarde and Becky. She was in the midst of her dream.

“Advance, fair damsels,” she said in her happy dream-voice, “and be seated at the banquet table. My noble father, the king, who is absent on a long journey, has commanded me to feast you.” She turned her head slightly toward the corner of the room. “What, ho, there, minstrels! Strike up with your viols and bassoons. Princesses,” she explained rapidly to Ermengarde and Becky, “always had minstrels to play at their feasts. Pretend there is a minstrel gallery up there in the corner. Now we will begin.”

They had barely had time to take their pieces of cake into their hands—not one of them had time to do more, when—they all three sprang to their feet and turned pale faces toward the door—listening—listening.

Someone was coming up the stairs. There was no mistake about it. Each of them recognized the angry, mounting tread and knew that the end of all things had come.

“It’s—the missus!” choked Becky, and dropped her piece of cake upon the floor.

“Yes,” said Sara, her eyes growing shocked and large in her small white face. “Miss Minchin has found us out.”

Miss Minchin struck the door open with a blow of her hand. She was pale herself, but it was with rage. She looked from the frightened faces to the banquet table, and from the banquet table to the last flicker of the burnt paper in the grate.

“I have been suspecting something of this sort,” she exclaimed; “but I did not dream of such audacity. Lavinia was telling the truth.”

So they knew that it was Lavinia who had somehow guessed their secret and had betrayed them. Miss Minchin strode over to Becky and boxed her ears for a second time.

“You impudent creature!” she said. “You leave the house in the morning!”

Sara stood quite still, her eyes growing larger, her face paler. Ermengarde burst into tears.

“Oh, don’t send her away,” she sobbed. “My aunt sent me the hamper. We’re—only—having a party.”

“So I see,” said Miss Minchin, witheringly. “With the Princess Sara at the head of the table.” She turned fiercely on Sara. “It is your doing, I know,” she cried. “Ermengarde would never have thought of such a thing. You decorated the table, I suppose—with this rubbish.” She stamped her foot at Becky. “Go to your attic!” she commanded, and Becky stole away, her face hidden in her apron, her shoulders shaking.

Then it was Sara’s turn again.

“I will attend to you tomorrow. You shall have neither breakfast, dinner, nor supper!”

“I have not had either dinner or supper today, Miss Minchin,” said Sara, rather faintly.

“Then all the better. You will have something to remember. Don’t stand there. Put those things into the hamper again.”

She began to sweep them off the table into the hamper herself, and caught sight of Ermengarde’s new books.

“And you”—to Ermengarde—”have brought your beautiful new books into this dirty attic. Take them up and go back to bed. You will stay there all day tomorrow, and I shall write to your papa. What would HE say if he knew where you are tonight?”

Something she saw in Sara’s grave, fixed gaze at this moment made her turn on her fiercely.

“What are you thinking of?” she demanded. “Why do you look at me like that?”

“I was wondering,” answered Sara, as she had answered that notable day in the schoolroom.

“What were you wondering?”

It was very like the scene in the schoolroom. There was no pertness in Sara’s manner. It was only sad and quiet.

“I was wondering,” she said in a low voice, “what MY papa would say if he knew where I am tonight.”

Miss Minchin was infuriated just as she had been before and her anger expressed itself, as before, in an intemperate fashion. She flew at her and shook her.

“You insolent, unmanageable child!” she cried. “How dare you! How dare you!”

She picked up the books, swept the rest of the feast back into the hamper in a jumbled heap, thrust it into Ermengarde’s arms, and pushed her before her toward the door.

“I will leave you to wonder,” she said. “Go to bed this instant.” And she shut the door behind herself and poor stumbling Ermengarde, and left Sara standing quite alone.

The dream was quite at an end. The last spark had died out of the paper in the grate and left only black tinder; the table was left bare, the golden plates and richly embroidered napkins, and the garlands were transformed again into old handkerchiefs, scraps of red and white paper, and discarded artificial flowers all scattered on the floor; the minstrels in the minstrel gallery had stolen away, and the viols and bassoons were still. Emily was sitting with her back against the wall, staring very hard. Sara saw her, and went and picked her up with trembling hands.

“There isn’t any banquet left, Emily,” she said. “And there isn’t any princess. There is nothing left but the prisoners in the Bastille.” And she sat down and hid her face.

What would have happened if she had not hidden it just then, and if she had chanced to look up at the skylight at the wrong moment, I do not know—perhaps the end of this chapter might have been quite different—because if she had glanced at the skylight she would certainly have been startled by what she would have seen. She would have seen exactly the same face pressed against the glass and peering in at her as it had peered in earlier in the evening when she had been talking to Ermengarde.

But she did not look up. She sat with her little black head in her arms for some time. She always sat like that when she was trying to bear something in silence. Then she got up and went slowly to the bed.

“I can’t pretend anything else—while I am awake,” she said. “There wouldn’t be any use in trying. If I go to sleep, perhaps a dream will come and pretend for me.”

She suddenly felt so tired—perhaps through want of food—that she sat down on the edge of the bed quite weakly.

“Suppose there was a bright fire in the grate, with lots of little dancing flames,” she murmured. “Suppose there was a comfortable chair before it—and suppose there was a small table near, with a little hot—hot supper on it. And suppose”—as she drew the thin coverings over her—”suppose this was a beautiful soft bed, with fleecy blankets and large downy pillows. Suppose—suppose—” And her very weariness was good to her, for her eyes closed and she fell fast asleep.

She did not know how long she slept. But she had been tired enough to sleep deeply and profoundly—too deeply and soundly to be disturbed by anything, even by the squeaks and scamperings of Melchisedec’s entire family, if all his sons and daughters had chosen to come out of their hole to fight and tumble and play.

When she awakened it was rather suddenly, and she did not know that any particular thing had called her out of her sleep. The truth was, however, that it was a sound which had called her back—a real sound—the click of the skylight as it fell in closing after a lithe white figure which slipped through it and crouched down close by upon the slates of the roof—just near enough to see what happened in the attic, but not near enough to be seen.

At first she did not open her eyes. She felt too sleepy and—curiously enough—too warm and comfortable. She was so warm and comfortable, indeed, that she did not believe she was really awake. She never was as warm and cozy as this except in some lovely vision.

“What a nice dream!” she murmured. “I feel quite warm. I—don’t—want—to—wake—up.”

Of course it was a dream. She felt as if warm, delightful bedclothes were heaped upon her. She could actually FEEL blankets, and when she put out her hand it touched something exactly like a satin-covered eider-down quilt. She must not awaken from this delight—she must be quite still and make it last.

But she could not—even though she kept her eyes closed tightly, she could not. Something was forcing her to awaken—something in the room. It was a sense of light, and a sound—the sound of a crackling, roaring little fire.

“Oh, I am awakening,” she said mournfully. “I can’t help it—I can’t.”

Her eyes opened in spite of herself. And then she actually smiled—for what she saw she had never seen in the attic before, and knew she never should see.

“Oh, I HAVEN’T awakened,” she whispered, daring to rise on her elbow and look all about her. “I am dreaming yet.” She knew it MUST be a dream, for if she were awake such things could not—could not be.

Do you wonder that she felt sure she had not come back to earth? This is what she saw. In the grate there was a glowing, blazing fire; on the hob was a little brass kettle hissing and boiling; spread upon the floor was a thick, warm crimson rug; before the fire a folding-chair, unfolded, and with cushions on it; by the chair a small folding-table, unfolded, covered with a white cloth, and upon it spread small covered dishes, a cup, a saucer, a teapot; on the bed were new warm coverings and a satin-covered down quilt; at the foot a curious wadded silk robe, a pair of quilted slippers, and some books. The room of her dream seemed changed into fairyland—and it was flooded with warm light, for a bright lamp stood on the table covered with a rosy shade.

She sat up, resting on her elbow, and her breathing came short and fast.

“It does not—melt away,” she panted. “Oh, I never had such a dream before.” She scarcely dared to stir; but at last she pushed the bedclothes aside, and put her feet on the floor with a rapturous smile.

“I am dreaming—I am getting out of bed,” she heard her own voice say; and then, as she stood up in the midst of it all, turning slowly from side to side—”I am dreaming it stays—real! I’m dreaming it FEELS real. It’s bewitched—or I’m bewitched. I only THINK I see it all.” Her words began to hurry themselves. “If I can only keep on thinking it,” she cried, “I don’t care! I don’t care!”

She stood panting a moment longer, and then cried out again.

“Oh, it isn’t true!” she said. “It CAN’T be true! But oh, how true it seems!”

The blazing fire drew her to it, and she knelt down and held out her hands close to it—so close that the heat made her start back.

“A fire I only dreamed wouldn’t be HOT,” she cried.

She sprang up, touched the table, the dishes, the rug; she went to the bed and touched the blankets. She took up the soft wadded dressing-gown, and suddenly clutched it to her breast and held it to her cheek.

“It’s warm. It’s soft!” she almost sobbed. “It’s real. It must be!”

She threw it over her shoulders, and put her feet into the slippers.

“They are real, too. It’s all real!” she cried. “I am NOT—I am NOT dreaming!”

She almost staggered to the books and opened the one which lay upon the top. Something was written on the flyleaf—just a few words, and they were these:

“To the little girl in the attic. From a friend.”

When she saw that—wasn’t it a strange thing for her to do—she put her face down upon the page and burst into tears.

“I don’t know who it is,” she said; “but somebody cares for me a little. I have a friend.”

She took her candle and stole out of her own room and into Becky’s, and stood by her bedside.

“Becky, Becky!” she whispered as loudly as she dared. “Wake up!”

When Becky wakened, and she sat upright staring aghast, her face still smudged with traces of tears, beside her stood a little figure in a luxurious wadded robe of crimson silk. The face she saw was a shining, wonderful thing. The Princess Sara—as she remembered her—stood at her very bedside, holding a candle in her hand.

“Come,” she said. “Oh, Becky, come!”

Becky was too frightened to speak. She simply got up and followed her, with her mouth and eyes open, and without a word.

And when they crossed the threshold, Sara shut the door gently and drew her into the warm, glowing midst of things which made her brain reel and her hungry senses faint. “It’s true! It’s true!” she cried. “I’ve touched them all. They are as real as we are. The Magic has come and done it, Becky, while we were asleep—the Magic that won’t let those worst things EVER quite happen.”

Chapter 16 – The Visitor

Imagine, if you can, what the rest of the evening was like. How they crouched by the fire which blazed and leaped and made so much of itself in the little grate. How they removed the covers of the dishes, and found rich, hot, savory soup, which was a meal in itself, and sandwiches and toast and muffins enough for both of them. The mug from the washstand was used as Becky’s tea cup, and the tea was so delicious that it was not necessary to pretend that it was anything but tea. They were warm and full-fed and happy, and it was just like Sara that, having found her strange good fortune real, she should give herself up to the enjoyment of it to the utmost. She had lived such a life of imaginings that she was quite equal to accepting any wonderful thing that happened, and almost to cease, in a short time, to find it bewildering.

“I don’t know anyone in the world who could have done it,” she said; “but there has been someone. And here we are sitting by their fire—and—and—it’s true! And whoever it is—wherever they are—I have a friend, Becky—someone is my friend.”

It cannot be denied that as they sat before the blazing fire, and ate the nourishing, comfortable food, they felt a kind of rapturous awe, and looked into each other’s eyes with something like doubt.

“Do you think,” Becky faltered once, in a whisper, “do you think it could melt away, miss? Hadn’t we better be quick?” And she hastily crammed her sandwich into her mouth. If it was only a dream, kitchen manners would be overlooked.

“No, it won’t melt away,” said Sara. “I am EATING this muffin, and I can taste it. You never really eat things in dreams. You only think you are going to eat them. Besides, I keep giving myself pinches; and I touched a hot piece of coal just now, on purpose.”

The sleepy comfort which at length almost overpowered them was a heavenly thing. It was the drowsiness of happy, well-fed childhood, and they sat in the fire glow and luxuriated in it until Sara found herself turning to look at her transformed bed.

There were even blankets enough to share with Becky. The narrow couch in the next attic was more comfortable that night than its occupant had ever dreamed that it could be.

As she went out of the room, Becky turned upon the threshold and looked about her with devouring eyes.

“If it ain’t here in the mornin’, miss,” she said, “it’s been here tonight, anyways, an’ I shan’t never forget it.” She looked at each particular thing, as if to commit it to memory. “The fire was THERE”, pointing with her finger, “an’ the table was before it; an’ the lamp was there, an’ the light looked rosy red; an’ there was a satin cover on your bed, an’ a warm rug on the floor, an’ everythin’ looked beautiful; an'”—she paused a second, and laid her hand on her stomach tenderly—”there WAS soup an’ sandwiches an’ muffins—there WAS.” And, with this conviction a reality at least, she went away.

Through the mysterious agency which works in schools and among servants, it was quite well known in the morning that Sara Crewe was in horrible disgrace, that Ermengarde was under punishment, and that Becky would have been packed out of the house before breakfast, but that a scullery maid could not be dispensed with at once. The servants knew that she was allowed to stay because Miss Minchin could not easily find another creature helpless and humble enough to work like a bounden slave for so few shillings a week. The elder girls in the schoolroom knew that if Miss Minchin did not send Sara away it was for practical reasons of her own.

“She’s growing so fast and learning such a lot, somehow,” said Jessie to Lavinia, “that she will be given classes soon, and Miss Minchin knows she will have to work for nothing. It was rather nasty of you, Lavvy, to tell about her having fun in the garret. How did you find it out?”

“I got it out of Lottie. She’s such a baby she didn’t know she was telling me. There was nothing nasty at all in speaking to Miss Minchin. I felt it my duty”—priggishly. “She was being deceitful. And it’s ridiculous that she should look so grand, and be made so much of, in her rags and tatters!”

“What were they doing when Miss Minchin caught them?”

“Pretending some silly thing. Ermengarde had taken up her hamper to share with Sara and Becky. She never invites us to share things. Not that I care, but it’s rather vulgar of her to share with servant girls in attics. I wonder Miss Minchin didn’t turn Sara out—even if she does want her for a teacher.”

“If she was turned out where would she go?” inquired Jessie, a trifle anxiously.

“How do I know?” snapped Lavinia. “She’ll look rather queer when she comes into the schoolroom this morning, I should think—after what’s happened. She had no dinner yesterday, and she’s not to have any today.”

Jessie was not as ill-natured as she was silly. She picked up her book with a little jerk.

“Well, I think it’s horrid,” she said. “They’ve no right to starve her to death.”

When Sara went into the kitchen that morning the cook looked askance at her, and so did the housemaids; but she passed them hurriedly. She had, in fact, overslept herself a little, and as Becky had done the same, neither had had time to see the other, and each had come downstairs in haste.

Sara went into the scullery. Becky was violently scrubbing a kettle, and was actually gurgling a little song in her throat. She looked up with a wildly elated face.

“It was there when I wakened, miss—the blanket,” she whispered excitedly. “It was as real as it was last night.”

“So was mine,” said Sara. “It is all there now—all of it. While I was dressing I ate some of the cold things we left.”

“Oh, laws! Oh, laws!” Becky uttered the exclamation in a sort of rapturous groan, and ducked her head over her kettle just in time, as the cook came in from the kitchen.

Miss Minchin had expected to see in Sara, when she appeared in the schoolroom, very much what Lavinia had expected to see. Sara had always been an annoying puzzle to her, because severity never made her cry or look frightened. When she was scolded she stood still and listened politely with a grave face; when she was punished she performed her extra tasks or went without her meals, making no complaint or outward sign of rebellion. The very fact that she never made an impudent answer seemed to Miss Minchin a kind of impudence in itself. But after yesterday’s deprivation of meals, the violent scene of last night, the prospect of hunger today, she must surely have broken down. It would be strange indeed if she did not come downstairs with pale cheeks and red eyes and an unhappy, humbled face.

Miss Minchin saw her for the first time when she entered the schoolroom to hear the little French class recite its lessons and superintend its exercises. And she came in with a springing step, color in her cheeks, and a smile hovering about the corners of her mouth. It was the most astonishing thing Miss Minchin had ever known. It gave her quite a shock. What was the child made of? What could such a thing mean? She called her at once to her desk.

“You do not look as if you realize that you are in disgrace,” she said. “Are you absolutely hardened?”

The truth is that when one is still a child—or even if one is grown up—and has been well fed, and has slept long and softly and warm; when one has gone to sleep in the midst of a fairy story, and has wakened to find it real, one cannot be unhappy or even look as if one were; and one could not, if one tried, keep a glow of joy out of one’s eyes. Miss Minchin was almost struck dumb by the look of Sara’s eyes when she made her perfectly respectful answer.

“I beg your pardon, Miss Minchin,” she said; “I know that I am in disgrace.”

“Be good enough not to forget it and look as if you had come into a fortune. It is an impertinence. And remember you are to have no food today.”

“Yes, Miss Minchin,” Sara answered; but as she turned away her heart leaped with the memory of what yesterday had been. “If the Magic had not saved me just in time,” she thought, “how horrible it would have been!”

“She can’t be very hungry,” whispered Lavinia. “Just look at her. Perhaps she is pretending she has had a good breakfast”—with a spiteful laugh.

“She’s different from other people,” said Jessie, watching Sara with her class. “Sometimes I’m a bit frightened of her.”

“Ridiculous thing!” ejaculated Lavinia.

All through the day the light was in Sara’s face, and the color in her cheek. The servants cast puzzled glances at her, and whispered to each other, and Miss Amelia’s small blue eyes wore an expression of bewilderment. What such an audacious look of well-being, under august displeasure could mean she could not understand. It was, however, just like Sara’s singular obstinate way. She was probably determined to brave the matter out.

One thing Sara had resolved upon, as she thought things over. The wonders which had happened must be kept a secret, if such a thing were possible. If Miss Minchin should choose to mount to the attic again, of course all would be discovered. But it did not seem likely that she would do so for some time at least, unless she was led by suspicion. Ermengarde and Lottie would be watched with such strictness that they would not dare to steal out of their beds again. Ermengarde could be told the story and trusted to keep it secret. If Lottie made any discoveries, she could be bound to secrecy also. Perhaps the Magic itself would help to hide its own marvels.

“But whatever happens,” Sara kept saying to herself all day—”WHATEVER happens, somewhere in the world there is a heavenly kind person who is my friend—my friend. If I never know who it is—if I never can even thank him—I shall never feel quite so lonely. Oh, the Magic was GOOD to me!”

If it was possible for weather to be worse than it had been the day before, it was worse this day—wetter, muddier, colder. There were more errands to be done, the cook was more irritable, and, knowing that Sara was in disgrace, she was more savage. But what does anything matter when one’s Magic has just proved itself one’s friend. Sara’s supper of the night before had given her strength, she knew that she should sleep well and warmly, and, even though she had naturally begun to be hungry again before evening, she felt that she could bear it until breakfast-time on the following day, when her meals would surely be given to her again. It was quite late when she was at last allowed to go upstairs. She had been told to go into the schoolroom and study until ten o’clock, and she had become interested in her work, and remained over her books later.

When she reached the top flight of stairs and stood before the attic door, it must be confessed that her heart beat rather fast.

“Of course it MIGHT all have been taken away,” she whispered, trying to be brave. “It might only have been lent to me for just that one awful night. But it WAS lent to me—I had it. It was real.”

She pushed the door open and went in. Once inside, she gasped slightly, shut the door, and stood with her back against it looking from side to side.

The Magic had been there again. It actually had, and it had done even more than before. The fire was blazing, in lovely leaping flames, more merrily than ever. A number of new things had been brought into the attic which so altered the look of it that if she had not been past doubting she would have rubbed her eyes. Upon the low table another supper stood—this time with cups and plates for Becky as well as herself; a piece of bright, heavy, strange embroidery covered the battered mantel, and on it some ornaments had been placed. All the bare, ugly things which could be covered with draperies had been concealed and made to look quite pretty. Some odd materials of rich colors had been fastened against the wall with fine, sharp tacks—so sharp that they could be pressed into the wood and plaster without hammering. Some brilliant fans were pinned up, and there were several large cushions, big and substantial enough to use as seats. A wooden box was covered with a rug, and some cushions lay on it, so that it wore quite the air of a sofa.

Sara slowly moved away from the door and simply sat down and looked and looked again.

“It is exactly like something fairy come true,” she said. “There isn’t the least difference. I feel as if I might wish for anything—diamonds or bags of gold—and they would appear! THAT wouldn’t be any stranger than this. Is this my garret? Am I the same cold, ragged, damp Sara? And to think I used to pretend and pretend and wish there were fairies! The one thing I always wanted was to see a fairy story come true. I am LIVING in a fairy story. I feel as if I might be a fairy myself, and able to turn things into anything else.”

She rose and knocked upon the wall for the prisoner in the next cell, and the prisoner came.

When she entered she almost dropped in a heap upon the floor. For a few seconds she quite lost her breath.

“Oh, laws!” she gasped. “Oh, laws, miss!”

“You see,” said Sara.

On this night Becky sat on a cushion upon the hearth rug and had a cup and saucer of her own.

When Sara went to bed she found that she had a new thick mattress and big downy pillows. Her old mattress and pillow had been removed to Becky’s bedstead, and, consequently, with these additions Becky had been supplied with unheard-of comfort.

“Where does it all come from?” Becky broke forth once. “Laws, who does it, miss?”

“Don’t let us even ASK,” said Sara. “If it were not that I want to say, ‘Oh, thank you,’ I would rather not know. It makes it more beautiful.”

From that time life became more wonderful day by day. The fairy story continued. Almost every day something new was done. Some new comfort or ornament appeared each time Sara opened the door at night, until in a short time the attic was a beautiful little room full of all sorts of odd and luxurious things. The ugly walls were gradually entirely covered with pictures and draperies, ingenious pieces of folding furniture appeared, a bookshelf was hung up and filled with books, new comforts and conveniences appeared one by one, until there seemed nothing left to be desired. When Sara went downstairs in the morning, the remains of the supper were on the table; and when she returned to the attic in the evening, the magician had removed them and left another nice little meal. Miss Minchin was as harsh and insulting as ever, Miss Amelia as peevish, and the servants were as vulgar and rude. Sara was sent on errands in all weathers, and scolded and driven hither and thither; she was scarcely allowed to speak to Ermengarde and Lottie; Lavinia sneered at the increasing shabbiness of her clothes; and the other girls stared curiously at her when she appeared in the schoolroom. But what did it all matter while she was living in this wonderful mysterious story? It was more romantic and delightful than anything she had ever invented to comfort her starved young soul and save herself from despair. Sometimes, when she was scolded, she could scarcely keep from smiling.

“If you only knew!” she was saying to herself. “If you only knew!”

The comfort and happiness she enjoyed were making her stronger, and she had them always to look forward to. If she came home from her errands wet and tired and hungry, she knew she would soon be warm and well fed after she had climbed the stairs. During the hardest day she could occupy herself blissfully by thinking of what she should see when she opened the attic door, and wondering what new delight had been prepared for her. In a very short time she began to look less thin. Color came into her cheeks, and her eyes did not seem so much too big for her face.

“Sara Crewe looks wonderfully well,” Miss Minchin remarked disapprovingly to her sister.

“Yes,” answered poor, silly Miss Amelia. “She is absolutely fattening. She was beginning to look like a little starved crow.”

“Starved!” exclaimed Miss Minchin, angrily. “There was no reason why she should look starved. She always had plenty to eat!”

“Of—of course,” agreed Miss Amelia, humbly, alarmed to find that she had, as usual, said the wrong thing.

“There is something very disagreeable in seeing that sort of thing in a child of her age,” said Miss Minchin, with haughty vagueness.

“What—sort of thing?” Miss Amelia ventured.

“It might almost be called defiance,” answered Miss Minchin, feeling annoyed because she knew the thing she resented was nothing like defiance, and she did not know what other unpleasant term to use. “The spirit and will of any other child would have been entirely humbled and broken by—by the changes she has had to submit to. But, upon my word, she seems as little subdued as if—as if she were a princess.”

“Do you remember,” put in the unwise Miss Amelia, “what she said to you that day in the schoolroom about what you would do if you found out that she was—”

“No, I don’t,” said Miss Minchin. “Don’t talk nonsense.” But she remembered very clearly indeed.

Very naturally, even Becky was beginning to look plumper and less frightened. She could not help it. She had her share in the secret fairy story, too. She had two mattresses, two pillows, plenty of bed-covering, and every night a hot supper and a seat on the cushions by the fire. The Bastille had melted away, the prisoners no longer existed. Two comforted children sat in the midst of delights. Sometimes Sara read aloud from her books, sometimes she learned her own lessons, sometimes she sat and looked into the fire and tried to imagine who her friend could be, and wished she could say to him some of the things in her heart.

Then it came about that another wonderful thing happened. A man came to the door and left several parcels. All were addressed in large letters, “To the Little Girl in the right-hand attic.”

Sara herself was sent to open the door and take them in. She laid the two largest parcels on the hall table, and was looking at the address, when Miss Minchin came down the stairs and saw her.

“Take the things to the young lady to whom they belong,” she said severely. “Don’t stand there staring at them.

“They belong to me,” answered Sara, quietly.

“To you?” exclaimed Miss Minchin. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t know where they come from,” said Sara, “but they are addressed to me. I sleep in the right-hand attic. Becky has the other one.”

Miss Minchin came to her side and looked at the parcels with an excited expression.

“What is in them?” she demanded.

“I don’t know,” replied Sara.

“Open them,” she ordered.

Sara did as she was told. When the packages were unfolded Miss Minchin’s countenance wore suddenly a singular expression. What she saw was pretty and comfortable clothing—clothing of different kinds: shoes, stockings, and gloves, and a warm and beautiful coat. There were even a nice hat and an umbrella. They were all good and expensive things, and on the pocket of the coat was pinned a paper, on which were written these words: “To be worn every day. Will be replaced by others when necessary.”

Miss Minchin was quite agitated. This was an incident which suggested strange things to her sordid mind. Could it be that she had made a mistake, after all, and that the neglected child had some powerful though eccentric friend in the background—perhaps some previously unknown relation, who had suddenly traced her whereabouts, and chose to provide for her in this mysterious and fantastic way? Relations were sometimes very odd—particularly rich old bachelor uncles, who did not care for having children near them. A man of that sort might prefer to overlook his young relation’s welfare at a distance. Such a person, however, would be sure to be crotchety and hot-tempered enough to be easily offended. It would not be very pleasant if there were such a one, and he should learn all the truth about the thin, shabby clothes, the scant food, and the hard work. She felt very queer indeed, and very uncertain, and she gave a side glance at Sara.

“Well,” she said, in a voice such as she had never used since the little girl lost her father, “someone is very kind to you. As the things have been sent, and you are to have new ones when they are worn out, you may as well go and put them on and look respectable. After you are dressed you may come downstairs and learn your lessons in the schoolroom. You need not go out on any more errands today.”

About half an hour afterward, when the schoolroom door opened and Sara walked in, the entire seminary was struck dumb.

“My word!” ejaculated Jessie, jogging Lavinia’s elbow. “Look at the Princess Sara!”

Everybody was looking, and when Lavinia looked she turned quite red.

It was the Princess Sara indeed. At least, since the days when she had been a princess, Sara had never looked as she did now. She did not seem the Sara they had seen come down the back stairs a few hours ago. She was dressed in the kind of frock Lavinia had been used to envying her the possession of. It was deep and warm in color, and beautifully made. Her slender feet looked as they had done when Jessie had admired them, and the hair, whose heavy locks had made her look rather like a Shetland pony when it fell loose about her small, odd face, was tied back with a ribbon.

“Perhaps someone has left her a fortune,” Jessie whispered. “I always thought something would happen to her. She’s so queer.”

“Perhaps the diamond mines have suddenly appeared again,” said Lavinia, scathingly. “Don’t please her by staring at her in that way, you silly thing.”

“Sara,” broke in Miss Minchin’s deep voice, “come and sit here.”

And while the whole schoolroom stared and pushed with elbows, and scarcely made any effort to conceal its excited curiosity, Sara went to her old seat of honor, and bent her head over her books.

That night, when she went to her room, after she and Becky had eaten their supper she sat and looked at the fire seriously for a long time.

“Are you making something up in your head, miss?” Becky inquired with respectful softness. When Sara sat in silence and looked into the coals with dreaming eyes it generally meant that she was making a new story. But this time she was not, and she shook her head.

“No,” she answered. “I am wondering what I ought to do.”

Becky stared—still respectfully. She was filled with something approaching reverence for everything Sara did and said.

“I can’t help thinking about my friend,” Sara explained. “If he wants to keep himself a secret, it would be rude to try and find out who he is. But I do so want him to know how thankful I am to him—and how happy he has made me. Anyone who is kind wants to know when people have been made happy. They care for that more than for being thanked. I wish—I do wish—”

She stopped short because her eyes at that instant fell upon something standing on a table in a corner. It was something she had found in the room when she came up to it only two days before. It was a little writing-case fitted with paper and envelopes and pens and ink.

“Oh,” she exclaimed, “why did I not think of that before?”

She rose and went to the corner and brought the case back to the fire.

“I can write to him,” she said joyfully, “and leave it on the table. Then perhaps the person who takes the things away will take it, too. I won’t ask him anything. He won’t mind my thanking him, I feel sure.”

So she wrote a note. This is what she said:

I hope you will not think it is impolite that I should write this note to you when you wish to keep yourself a secret. Please believe I do not mean to be impolite or try to find out anything at all; only I want to thank you for being so kind to me—so heavenly kind—and making everything like a fairy story. I am so grateful to you, and I am so happy—and so is Becky. Becky feels just as thankful as I do—it is all just as beautiful and wonderful to her as it is to me. We used to be so lonely and cold and hungry, and now—oh, just think what you have done for us! Please let me say just these words. It seems as if I OUGHT to say them. THANK you—THANK you—THANK you!

THE LITTLE GIRL IN THE ATTIC.

The next morning she left this on the little table, and in the evening it had been taken away with the other things; so she knew the Magician had received it, and she was happier for the thought. She was reading one of her new books to Becky just before they went to their respective beds, when her attention was attracted by a sound at the skylight. When she looked up from her page she saw that Becky had heard the sound also, as she had turned her head to look and was listening rather nervously.

“Something’s there, miss,” she whispered.

“Yes,” said Sara, slowly. “It sounds—rather like a cat—trying to get in.”

She left her chair and went to the skylight. It was a queer little sound she heard—like a soft scratching. She suddenly remembered something and laughed. She remembered a quaint little intruder who had made his way into the attic once before. She had seen him that very afternoon, sitting disconsolately on a table before a window in the Indian gentleman’s house.

“Suppose,” she whispered in pleased excitement—”just suppose it was the monkey who got away again. Oh, I wish it was!”

She climbed on a chair, very cautiously raised the skylight, and peeped out. It had been snowing all day, and on the snow, quite near her, crouched a tiny, shivering figure, whose small black face wrinkled itself piteously at sight of her.

“It is the monkey,” she cried out. “He has crept out of the Lascar’s attic, and he saw the light.”

Becky ran to her side.

“Are you going to let him in, miss?” she said.

“Yes,” Sara answered joyfully. “It’s too cold for monkeys to be out. They’re delicate. I’ll coax him in.”

She put a hand out delicately, speaking in a coaxing voice—as she spoke to the sparrows and to Melchisedec—as if she were some friendly little animal herself.

“Come along, monkey darling,” she said. “I won’t hurt you.”

He knew she would not hurt him. He knew it before she laid her soft, caressing little paw on him and drew him towards her. He had felt human love in the slim brown hands of Ram Dass, and he felt it in hers. He let her lift him through the skylight, and when he found himself in her arms he cuddled up to her breast and looked up into her face.

“Nice monkey! Nice monkey!” she crooned, kissing his funny head. “Oh, I do love little animal things.”

He was evidently glad to get to the fire, and when she sat down and held him on her knee he looked from her to Becky with mingled interest and appreciation.

“He IS plain-looking, miss, ain’t he?” said Becky.

“He looks like a very ugly baby,” laughed Sara. “I beg your pardon, monkey; but I’m glad you are not a baby. Your mother COULDN’T be proud of you, and no one would dare to say you looked like any of your relations. Oh, I do like you!”

She leaned back in her chair and reflected.

“Perhaps he’s sorry he’s so ugly,” she said, “and it’s always on his mind. I wonder if he HAS a mind. Monkey, my love, have you a mind?”

But the monkey only put up a tiny paw and scratched his head.

“What shall you do with him?” Becky asked.

“I shall let him sleep with me tonight, and then take him back to the Indian gentleman tomorrow. I am sorry to take you back, monkey; but you must go. You ought to be fondest of your own family; and I’m not a REAL relation.”

And when she went to bed she made him a nest at her feet, and he curled up and slept there as if he were a baby and much pleased with his quarters.

Chapter 17 – “It Is The Child!”

The next afternoon three members of the Large Family sat in the Indian gentleman’s library, doing their best to cheer him up. They had been allowed to come in to perform this office because he had specially invited them. He had been living in a state of suspense for some time, and today he was waiting for a certain event very anxiously. This event was the return of Mr. Carmichael from Moscow. His stay there had been prolonged from week to week. On his first arrival there, he had not been able satisfactorily to trace the family he had gone in search of. When he felt at last sure that he had found them and had gone to their house, he had been told that they were absent on a journey. His efforts to reach them had been unavailing, so he had decided to remain in Moscow until their return. Mr. Carrisford sat in his reclining chair, and Janet sat on the floor beside him. He was very fond of Janet. Nora had found a footstool, and Donald was astride the tiger’s head which ornamented the rug made of the animal’s skin. It must be owned that he was riding it rather violently.

“Don’t chirrup so loud, Donald,” Janet said. “When you come to cheer an ill person up you don’t cheer him up at the top of your voice. Perhaps cheering up is too loud, Mr. Carrisford?” turning to the Indian gentleman.

But he only patted her shoulder.

“No, it isn’t,” he answered. “And it keeps me from thinking too much.”

“I’m going to be quiet,” Donald shouted. “We’ll all be as quiet as mice.”

“Mice don’t make a noise like that,” said Janet.

Donald made a bridle of his handkerchief and bounced up and down on the tiger’s head.

“A whole lot of mice might,” he said cheerfully. “A thousand mice might.”

“I don’t believe fifty thousand mice would,” said Janet, severely; “and we have to be as quiet as one mouse.”

Mr. Carrisford laughed and patted her shoulder again.

“Papa won’t be very long now,” she said. “May we talk about the lost little girl?”

“I don’t think I could talk much about anything else just now,” the Indian gentleman answered, knitting his forehead with a tired look.

“We like her so much,” said Nora. “We call her the little un-fairy princess.”

“Why?” the Indian gentleman inquired, because the fancies of the Large Family always made him forget things a little.

It was Janet who answered.

“It is because, though she is not exactly a fairy, she will be so rich when she is found that she will be like a princess in a fairy tale. We called her the fairy princess at first, but it didn’t quite suit.”

“Is it true,” said Nora, “that her papa gave all his money to a friend to put in a mine that had diamonds in it, and then the friend thought he had lost it all and ran away because he felt as if he was a robber?”

“But he wasn’t really, you know,” put in Janet, hastily.

The Indian gentleman took hold of her hand quickly.

“No, he wasn’t really,” he said.

“I am sorry for the friend,” Janet said; “I can’t help it. He didn’t mean to do it, and it would break his heart. I am sure it would break his heart.”

“You are an understanding little woman, Janet,” the Indian gentleman said, and he held her hand close.

“Did you tell Mr. Carrisford,” Donald shouted again, “about the little-girl-who-isn’t-a-beggar? Did you tell him she has new nice clothes? P’r’aps she’s been found by somebody when she was lost.”

“There’s a cab!” exclaimed Janet. “It’s stopping before the door. It is papa!”

They all ran to the windows to look out.

“Yes, it’s papa,” Donald proclaimed. “But there is no little girl.”

All three of them incontinently fled from the room and tumbled into the hall. It was in this way they always welcomed their father. They were to be heard jumping up and down, clapping their hands, and being caught up and kissed.

Mr. Carrisford made an effort to rise and sank back again.

“It is no use,” he said. “What a wreck I am!”

Mr. Carmichael’s voice approached the door.

“No, children,” he was saying; “you may come in after I have talked to Mr. Carrisford. Go and play with Ram Dass.”

Then the door opened and he came in. He looked rosier than ever, and brought an atmosphere of freshness and health with him; but his eyes were disappointed and anxious as they met the invalid’s look of eager question even as they grasped each other’s hands.

“What news?” Mr. Carrisford asked. “The child the Russian people adopted?”

“She is not the child we are looking for,” was Mr. Carmichael’s answer. “She is much younger than Captain Crewe’s little girl. Her name is Emily Carew. I have seen and talked to her. The Russians were able to give me every detail.”

How wearied and miserable the Indian gentleman looked! His hand dropped from Mr. Carmichael’s.

“Then the search has to be begun over again,” he said. “That is all. Please sit down.”

Mr. Carmichael took a seat. Somehow, he had gradually grown fond of this unhappy man. He was himself so well and happy, and so surrounded by cheerfulness and love, that desolation and broken health seemed pitifully unbearable things. If there had been the sound of just one gay little high-pitched voice in the house, it would have been so much less forlorn. And that a man should be compelled to carry about in his breast the thought that he had seemed to wrong and desert a child was not a thing one could face.

“Come, come,” he said in his cheery voice; “we’ll find her yet.”

“We must begin at once. No time must be lost,” Mr. Carrisford fretted. “Have you any new suggestion to make—any whatsoever?”

Mr. Carmichael felt rather restless, and he rose and began to pace the room with a thoughtful, though uncertain face.

“Well, perhaps,” he said. “I don’t know what it may be worth. The fact is, an idea occurred to me as I was thinking the thing over in the train on the journey from Dover.”

“What was it? If she is alive, she is somewhere.”

“Yes; she is SOMEWHERE. We have searched the schools in Paris. Let us give up Paris and begin in London. That was my idea—to search London.”

“There are schools enough in London,” said Mr. Carrisford. Then he slightly started, roused by a recollection. “By the way, there is one next door.”

“Then we will begin there. We cannot begin nearer than next door.”

“No,” said Carrisford. “There is a child there who interests me; but she is not a pupil. And she is a little dark, forlorn creature, as unlike poor Crewe as a child could be.”

Perhaps the Magic was at work again at that very moment—the beautiful Magic. It really seemed as if it might be so. What was it that brought Ram Dass into the room—even as his master spoke—salaaming respectfully, but with a scarcely concealed touch of excitement in his dark, flashing eyes?

“Sahib,” he said, “the child herself has come—the child the sahib felt pity for. She brings back the monkey who had again run away to her attic under the roof. I have asked that she remain. It was my thought that it would please the sahib to see and speak with her.”

“Who is she?” inquired Mr. Carmichael.

“God knows,” Mr. Carrrisford answered. “She is the child I spoke of. A little drudge at the school.” He waved his hand to Ram Dass, and addressed him. “Yes, I should like to see her. Go and bring her in.” Then he turned to Mr. Carmichael. “While you have been away,” he explained, “I have been desperate. The days were so dark and long. Ram Dass told me of this child’s miseries, and together we invented a romantic plan to help her. I suppose it was a childish thing to do; but it gave me something to plan and think of. Without the help of an agile, soft-footed Oriental like Ram Dass, however, it could not have been done.”

Then Sara came into the room. She carried the monkey in her arms, and he evidently did not intend to part from her, if it could be helped. He was clinging to her and chattering, and the interesting excitement of finding herself in the Indian gentleman’s room had brought a flush to Sara’s cheeks.

“Your monkey ran away again,” she said, in her pretty voice. “He came to my garret window last night, and I took him in because it was so cold. I would have brought him back if it had not been so late. I knew you were ill and might not like to be disturbed.”

The Indian gentleman’s hollow eyes dwelt on her with curious interest.

“That was very thoughtful of you,” he said.

Sara looked toward Ram Dass, who stood near the door.

“Shall I give him to the Lascar?” she asked.

“How do you know he is a Lascar?” said the Indian gentleman, smiling a little.

“Oh, I know Lascars,” Sara said, handing over the reluctant monkey. “I was born in India.”

The Indian gentleman sat upright so suddenly, and with such a change of expression, that she was for a moment quite startled.

“You were born in India,” he exclaimed, “were you? Come here.” And he held out his hand.

Sara went to him and laid her hand in his, as he seemed to want to take it. She stood still, and her green-gray eyes met his wonderingly. Something seemed to be the matter with him.

“You live next door?” he demanded.

“Yes; I live at Miss Minchin’s seminary.”

“But you are not one of her pupils?”

A strange little smile hovered about Sara’s mouth. She hesitated a moment.

“I don’t think I know exactly WHAT I am,” she replied.

“Why not?”

“At first I was a pupil, and a parlor boarder; but now—”

“You were a pupil! What are you now?”

The queer little sad smile was on Sara’s lips again.

“I sleep in the attic, next to the scullery maid,” she said. “I run errands for the cook—I do anything she tells me; and I teach the little ones their lessons.”

“Question her, Carmichael,” said Mr. Carrisford, sinking back as if he had lost his strength. “Question her; I cannot.”

The big, kind father of the Large Family knew how to question little girls. Sara realized how much practice he had had when he spoke to her in his nice, encouraging voice.

“What do you mean by ‘At first,’ my child?” he inquired.

“When I was first taken there by my papa.”

“Where is your papa?”

“He died,” said Sara, very quietly. “He lost all his money and there was none left for me. There was no one to take care of me or to pay Miss Minchin.”

“Carmichael!” the Indian gentleman cried out loudly. “Carmichael!”

“We must not frighten her,” Mr. Carmichael said aside to him in a quick, low voice. And he added aloud to Sara, “So you were sent up into the attic, and made into a little drudge. That was about it, wasn’t it?”

“There was no one to take care of me,” said Sara. “There was no money; I belong to nobody.”

“How did your father lose his money?” the Indian gentleman broke in breathlessly.

“He did not lose it himself,” Sara answered, wondering still more each moment. “He had a friend he was very fond of—he was very fond of him. It was his friend who took his money. He trusted his friend too much.”

The Indian gentleman’s breath came more quickly.

“The friend might have MEANT to do no harm,” he said. “It might have happened through a mistake.”

Sara did not know how unrelenting her quiet young voice sounded as she answered. If she had known, she would surely have tried to soften it for the Indian gentleman’s sake.

“The suffering was just as bad for my papa,” she said. “It killed him.”

“What was your father’s name?” the Indian gentleman said. “Tell me.”

“His name was Ralph Crewe,” Sara answered, feeling startled. “Captain Crewe. He died in India.”

The haggard face contracted, and Ram Dass sprang to his master’s side.

“Carmichael,” the invalid gasped, “it is the child—the child!”

For a moment Sara thought he was going to die. Ram Dass poured out drops from a bottle, and held them to his lips. Sara stood near, trembling a little. She looked in a bewildered way at Mr. Carmichael.

“What child am I?” she faltered.

“He was your father’s friend,” Mr. Carmichael answered her. “Don’t be frightened. We have been looking for you for two years.”

Sara put her hand up to her forehead, and her mouth trembled. She spoke as if she were in a dream.

“And I was at Miss Minchin’s all the while,” she half whispered. “Just on the other side of the wall.”

Chapter 18 – “I Tried Not to Be”

It was pretty, comfortable Mrs. Carmichael who explained everything. She was sent for at once, and came across the square to take Sara into her warm arms and make clear to her all that had happened. The excitement of the totally unexpected discovery had been temporarily almost overpowering to Mr. Carrisford in his weak condition.

“Upon my word,” he said faintly to Mr. Carmichael, when it was suggested that the little girl should go into another room. “I feel as if I do not want to lose sight of her.”

“I will take care of her,” Janet said, “and mamma will come in a few minutes.” And it was Janet who led her away.

“We’re so glad you are found,” she said. “You don’t know how glad we are that you are found.”

Donald stood with his hands in his pockets, and gazed at Sara with reflecting and self-reproachful eyes.

“If I’d just asked what your name was when I gave you my sixpence,” he said, “you would have told me it was Sara Crewe, and then you would have been found in a minute.” Then Mrs. Carmichael came in. She looked very much moved, and suddenly took Sara in her arms and kissed her.

“You look bewildered, poor child,” she said. “And it is not to be wondered at.”

Sara could only think of one thing.

“Was he,” she said, with a glance toward the closed door of the library—”was HE the wicked friend? Oh, do tell me!”

Mrs. Carmichael was crying as she kissed her again. She felt as if she ought to be kissed very often because she had not been kissed for so long.

“He was not wicked, my dear,” she answered. “He did not really lose your papa’s money. He only thought he had lost it; and because he loved him so much his grief made him so ill that for a time he was not in his right mind. He almost died of brain fever, and long before he began to recover your poor papa was dead.”

“And he did not know where to find me,” murmured Sara. “And I was so near.” Somehow, she could not forget that she had been so near.

“He believed you were in school in France,” Mrs. Carmichael explained. “And he was continually misled by false clues. He has looked for you everywhere. When he saw you pass by, looking so sad and neglected, he did not dream that you were his friend’s poor child; but because you were a little girl, too, he was sorry for you, and wanted to make you happier. And he told Ram Dass to climb into your attic window and try to make you comfortable.”

Sara gave a start of joy; her whole look changed.

“Did Ram Dass bring the things?” she cried out. “Did he tell Ram Dass to do it? Did he make the dream that came true?”

“Yes, my dear—yes! He is kind and good, and he was sorry for you, for little lost Sara Crewe’s sake.”

The library door opened and Mr. Carmichael appeared, calling Sara to him with a gesture.

“Mr. Carrisford is better already,” he said. “He wants you to come to him.”

Sara did not wait. When the Indian gentleman looked at her as she entered, he saw that her face was all alight.

She went and stood before his chair, with her hands clasped together against her breast.

“You sent the things to me,” she said, in a joyful emotional little voice, “the beautiful, beautiful things? YOU sent them!”

“Yes, poor, dear child, I did,” he answered her. He was weak and broken with long illness and trouble, but he looked at her with the look she remembered in her father’s eyes—that look of loving her and wanting to take her in his arms. It made her kneel down by him, just as she used to kneel by her father when they were the dearest friends and lovers in the world.

“Then it is you who are my friend,” she said; “it is you who are my friend!” And she dropped her face on his thin hand and kissed it again and again.

“The man will be himself again in three weeks,” Mr. Carmichael said aside to his wife. “Look at his face already.”

In fact, he did look changed. Here was the “Little Missus,” and he had new things to think of and plan for already. In the first place, there was Miss Minchin. She must be interviewed and told of the change which had taken place in the fortunes of her pupil.

Sara was not to return to the seminary at all. The Indian gentleman was very determined upon that point. She must remain where she was, and Mr. Carmichael should go and see Miss Minchin himself.

“I am glad I need not go back,” said Sara. “She will be very angry. She does not like me; though perhaps it is my fault, because I do not like her.”

But, oddly enough, Miss Minchin made it unnecessary for Mr. Carmichael to go to her, by actually coming in search of her pupil herself. She had wanted Sara for something, and on inquiry had heard an astonishing thing. One of the housemaids had seen her steal out of the area with something hidden under her cloak, and had also seen her go up the steps of the next door and enter the house.

“What does she mean!” cried Miss Minchin to Miss Amelia.

“I don’t know, I’m sure, sister,” answered Miss Amelia. “Unless she has made friends with him because he has lived in India.”

“It would be just like her to thrust herself upon him and try to gain his sympathies in some such impertinent fashion,” said Miss Minchin. “She must have been in the house for two hours. I will not allow such presumption. I shall go and inquire into the matter, and apologize for her intrusion.”

Sara was sitting on a footstool close to Mr. Carrisford’s knee, and listening to some of the many things he felt it necessary to try to explain to her, when Ram Dass announced the visitor’s arrival.

Sara rose involuntarily, and became rather pale; but Mr. Carrisford saw that she stood quietly, and showed none of the ordinary signs of child terror.

Miss Minchin entered the room with a sternly dignified manner. She was correctly and well dressed, and rigidly polite.

“I am sorry to disturb Mr. Carrisford,” she said; “but I have explanations to make. I am Miss Minchin, the proprietress of the Young Ladies’ Seminary next door.”

The Indian gentleman looked at her for a moment in silent scrutiny. He was a man who had naturally a rather hot temper, and he did not wish it to get too much the better of him.

“So you are Miss Minchin?” he said.

“I am, sir.”

“In that case,” the Indian gentleman replied, “you have arrived at the right time. My solicitor, Mr. Carmichael, was just on the point of going to see you.”

Mr. Carmichael bowed slightly, and Miss Minchin looked from him to Mr. Carrisford in amazement.

“Your solicitor!” she said. “I do not understand. I have come here as a matter of duty. I have just discovered that you have been intruded upon through the forwardness of one of my pupils—a charity pupil. I came to explain that she intruded without my knowledge.” She turned upon Sara. “Go home at once,” she commanded indignantly. “You shall be severely punished. Go home at once.”

The Indian gentleman drew Sara to his side and patted her hand.

“She is not going.”

Miss Minchin felt rather as if she must be losing her senses.

“Not going!” she repeated.

“No,” said Mr. Carrisford. “She is not going home—if you give your house that name. Her home for the future will be with me.”

Miss Minchin fell back in amazed indignation.

“With YOU! With YOU sir! What does this mean?”

“Kindly explain the matter, Carmichael,” said the Indian gentleman; “and get it over as quickly as possible.” And he made Sara sit down again, and held her hands in his—which was another trick of her papa’s.

Then Mr. Carmichael explained—in the quiet, level-toned, steady manner of a man who knew his subject, and all its legal significance, which was a thing Miss Minchin understood as a business woman, and did not enjoy.

“Mr. Carrisford, madam,” he said, “was an intimate friend of the late Captain Crewe. He was his partner in certain large investments. The fortune which Captain Crewe supposed he had lost has been recovered, and is now in Mr. Carrisford’s hands.”

“The fortune!” cried Miss Minchin; and she really lost color as she uttered the exclamation. “Sara’s fortune!”

“It WILL be Sara’s fortune,” replied Mr. Carmichael, rather coldly. “It is Sara’s fortune now, in fact. Certain events have increased it enormously. The diamond mines have retrieved themselves.”

“The diamond mines!” Miss Minchin gasped out. If this was true, nothing so horrible, she felt, had ever happened to her since she was born.

“The diamond mines,” Mr. Carmichael repeated, and he could not help adding, with a rather sly, unlawyer-like smile, “There are not many princesses, Miss Minchin, who are richer than your little charity pupil, Sara Crewe, will be. Mr. Carrisford has been searching for her for nearly two years; he has found her at last, and he will keep her.”

After which he asked Miss Minchin to sit down while he explained matters to her fully, and went into such detail as was necessary to make it quite clear to her that Sara’s future was an assured one, and that what had seemed to be lost was to be restored to her tenfold; also, that she had in Mr. Carrisford a guardian as well as a friend.

Miss Minchin was not a clever woman, and in her excitement she was silly enough to make one desperate effort to regain what she could not help seeing she had lost through her worldly folly.

“He found her under my care,” she protested. “I have done everything for her. But for me she should have starved in the streets.”

Here the Indian gentleman lost his temper.

“As to starving in the streets,” he said, “she might have starved more comfortably there than in your attic.”

“Captain Crewe left her in my charge,” Miss Minchin argued. “She must return to it until she is of age. She can be a parlor boarder again. She must finish her education. The law will interfere in my behalf.”

“Come, come, Miss Minchin,” Mr. Carmichael interposed, “the law will do nothing of the sort. If Sara herself wishes to return to you, I dare say Mr. Carrisford might not refuse to allow it. But that rests with Sara.”

“Then,” said Miss Minchin, “I appeal to Sara. I have not spoiled you, perhaps,” she said awkwardly to the little girl; “but you know that your papa was pleased with your progress. And—ahem—I have always been fond of you.”

Sara’s green-gray eyes fixed themselves on her with the quiet, clear look Miss Minchin particularly disliked.

“Have YOU, Miss Minchin?” she said. “I did not know that.”

Miss Minchin reddened and drew herself up.

“You ought to have known it,” said she; “but children, unfortunately, never know what is best for them. Amelia and I always said you were the cleverest child in the school. Will you not do your duty to your poor papa and come home with me?”

Sara took a step toward her and stood still. She was thinking of the day when she had been told that she belonged to nobody, and was in danger of being turned into the street; she was thinking of the cold, hungry hours she had spent alone with Emily and Melchisedec in the attic. She looked Miss Minchin steadily in the face.

“You know why I will not go home with you, Miss Minchin,” she said; “you know quite well.”

A hot flush showed itself on Miss Minchin’s hard, angry face.

“You will never see your companions again,” she began. “I will see that Ermengarde and Lottie are kept away—”

Mr. Carmichael stopped her with polite firmness.

“Excuse me,” he said; “she will see anyone she wishes to see. The parents of Miss Crewe’s fellow-pupils are not likely to refuse her invitations to visit her at her guardian’s house. Mr. Carrisford will attend to that.”

It must be confessed that even Miss Minchin flinched. This was worse than the eccentric bachelor uncle who might have a peppery temper and be easily offended at the treatment of his niece. A woman of sordid mind could easily believe that most people would not refuse to allow their children to remain friends with a little heiress of diamond mines. And if Mr. Carrisford chose to tell certain of her patrons how unhappy Sara Crewe had been made, many unpleasant things might happen.

“You have not undertaken an easy charge,” she said to the Indian gentleman, as she turned to leave the room; “you will discover that very soon. The child is neither truthful nor grateful. I suppose”—to Sara—”that you feel now that you are a princess again.”

Sara looked down and flushed a little, because she thought her pet fancy might not be easy for strangers—even nice ones—to understand at first.

“I—TRIED not to be anything else,” she answered in a low voice—”even when I was coldest and hungriest—I tried not to be.”

“Now it will not be necessary to try,” said Miss Minchin, acidly, as Ram Dass salaamed her out of the room.

She returned home and, going to her sitting room, sent at once for Miss Amelia. She sat closeted with her all the rest of the afternoon, and it must be admitted that poor Miss Amelia passed through more than one bad quarter of an hour. She shed a good many tears, and mopped her eyes a good deal. One of her unfortunate remarks almost caused her sister to snap her head entirely off, but it resulted in an unusual manner.

“I’m not as clever as you, sister,” she said, “and I am always afraid to say things to you for fear of making you angry. Perhaps if I were not so timid it would be better for the school and for both of us. I must say I’ve often thought it would have been better if you had been less severe on Sara Crewe, and had seen that she was decently dressed and more comfortable. I KNOW she was worked too hard for a child of her age, and I know she was only half fed—”

“How dare you say such a thing!” exclaimed Miss Minchin.

“I don’t know how I dare,” Miss Amelia answered, with a kind of reckless courage; “but now I’ve begun I may as well finish, whatever happens to me. The child was a clever child and a good child—and she would have paid you for any kindness you had shown her. But you didn’t show her any. The fact was, she was too clever for you, and you always disliked her for that reason. She used to see through us both—”

“Amelia!” gasped her infuriated elder, looking as if she would box her ears and knock her cap off, as she had often done to Becky.

But Miss Amelia’s disappointment had made her hysterical enough not to care what occurred next.

“She did! She did!” she cried. “She saw through us both. She saw that you were a hard-hearted, worldly woman, and that I was a weak fool, and that we were both of us vulgar and mean enough to grovel on our knees for her money, and behave ill to her because it was taken from her—though she behaved herself like a little princess even when she was a beggar. She did—she did—like a little princess!” And her hysterics got the better of the poor woman, and she began to laugh and cry both at once, and rock herself backward and forward.

“And now you’ve lost her,” she cried wildly; “and some other school will get her and her money; and if she were like any other child she’d tell how she’s been treated, and all our pupils would be taken away and we should be ruined. And it serves us right; but it serves you right more than it does me, for you are a hard woman, Maria Minchin, you’re a hard, selfish, worldly woman!”

And she was in danger of making so much noise with her hysterical chokes and gurgles that her sister was obliged to go to her and apply salts and sal volatile to quiet her, instead of pouring forth her indignation at her audacity.

And from that time forward, it may be mentioned, the elder Miss Minchin actually began to stand a little in awe of a sister who, while she looked so foolish, was evidently not quite so foolish as she looked, and might, consequently, break out and speak truths people did not want to hear.

That evening, when the pupils were gathered together before the fire in the schoolroom, as was their custom before going to bed, Ermengarde came in with a letter in her hand and a queer expression on her round face. It was queer because, while it was an expression of delighted excitement, it was combined with such amazement as seemed to belong to a kind of shock just received.

“What IS the matter?” cried two or three voices at once.

“Is it anything to do with the row that has been going on?” said Lavinia, eagerly. “There has been such a row in Miss Minchin’s room, Miss Amelia has had something like hysterics and has had to go to bed.”

Ermengarde answered them slowly as if she were half stunned.

“I have just had this letter from Sara,” she said, holding it out to let them see what a long letter it was.

“From Sara!” Every voice joined in that exclamation.

“Where is she?” almost shrieked Jessie.

“Next door,” said Ermengarde, “with the Indian gentleman.”

“Where? Where? Has she been sent away? Does Miss Minchin know? Was the row about that? Why did she write? Tell us! Tell us!”

There was a perfect babel, and Lottie began to cry plaintively.

Ermengarde answered them slowly as if she were half plunged out into what, at the moment, seemed the most important and self-explaining thing.

“There WERE diamond mines,” she said stoutly; “there WERE!” Open mouths and open eyes confronted her.

“They were real,” she hurried on. “It was all a mistake about them. Something happened for a time, and Mr. Carrisford thought they were ruined—”

“Who is Mr. Carrisford?” shouted Jessie.

“The Indian gentleman. And Captain Crewe thought so, too—and he died; and Mr. Carrisford had brain fever and ran away, and HE almost died. And he did not know where Sara was. And it turned out that there were millions and millions of diamonds in the mines; and half of them belong to Sara; and they belonged to her when she was living in the attic with no one but Melchisedec for a friend, and the cook ordering her about. And Mr. Carrisford found her this afternoon, and he has got her in his home—and she will never come back—and she will be more a princess than she ever was—a hundred and fifty thousand times more. And I am going to see her tomorrow afternoon. There!”

Even Miss Minchin herself could scarcely have controlled the uproar after this; and though she heard the noise, she did not try. She was not in the mood to face anything more than she was facing in her room, while Miss Amelia was weeping in bed. She knew that the news had penetrated the walls in some mysterious manner, and that every servant and every child would go to bed talking about it.

So until almost midnight the entire seminary, realizing somehow that all rules were laid aside, crowded round Ermengarde in the schoolroom and heard read and re-read the letter containing a story which was quite as wonderful as any Sara herself had ever invented, and which had the amazing charm of having happened to Sara herself and the mystic Indian gentleman in the very next house.

Becky, who had heard it also, managed to creep up stairs earlier than usual. She wanted to get away from people and go and look at the little magic room once more. She did not know what would happen to it. It was not likely that it would be left to Miss Minchin. It would be taken away, and the attic would be bare and empty again. Glad as she was for Sara’s sake, she went up the last flight of stairs with a lump in her throat and tears blurring her sight. There would be no fire tonight, and no rosy lamp; no supper, and no princess sitting in the glow reading or telling stories—no princess!

She choked down a sob as she pushed the attic door open, and then she broke into a low cry.

The lamp was flushing the room, the fire was blazing, the supper was waiting; and Ram Dass was standing smiling into her startled face.

“Missee sahib remembered,” he said. “She told the sahib all. She wished you to know the good fortune which has befallen her. Behold a letter on the tray. She has written. She did not wish that you should go to sleep unhappy. The sahib commands you to come to him tomorrow. You are to be the attendant of missee sahib. Tonight I take these things back over the roof.”

And having said this with a beaming face, he made a little salaam and slipped through the skylight with an agile silentness of movement which showed Becky how easily he had done it before.

Chapter 19 – Anne

‘Never had such joy reigned in the nursery of the Large Family. Never had they dreamed of such delights as resulted from an intimate acquaintance with the little-girl-who-was-not-a-beggar. The mere fact of her sufferings and adventures made her a priceless possession. Everybody wanted to be told over and over again the things which had happened to her. When one was sitting by a warm fire in a big, glowing room, it was quite delightful to hear how cold it could be in an attic. It must be admitted that the attic was rather delighted in, and that its coldness and bareness quite sank into insignificance when Melchisedec was remembered, and one heard about the sparrows and things one could see if one climbed on the table and stuck one’s head and shoulders out of the skylight.

Of course the thing loved best was the story of the banquet and the dream which was true. Sara told it for the first time the day after she had been found. Several members of the Large Family came to take tea with her, and as they sat or curled up on the hearth-rug she told the story in her own way, and the Indian gentleman listened and watched her. When she had finished she looked up at him and put her hand on his knee.

“That is my part,” she said. “Now won’t you tell your part of it, Uncle Tom?” He had asked her to call him always “Uncle Tom.” “I don’t know your part yet, and it must be beautiful.”

So he told them how, when he sat alone, ill and dull and irritable, Ram Dass had tried to distract him by describing the passers by, and there was one child who passed oftener than any one else; he had begun to be interested in her—partly perhaps because he was thinking a great deal of a little girl, and partly because Ram Dass had been able to relate the incident of his visit to the attic in chase of the monkey. He had described its cheerless look, and the bearing of the child, who seemed as if she was not of the class of those who were treated as drudges and servants. Bit by bit, Ram Dass had made discoveries concerning the wretchedness of her life. He had found out how easy a matter it was to climb across the few yards of roof to the skylight, and this fact had been the beginning of all that followed.

“Sahib,” he had said one day, “I could cross the slates and make the child a fire when she is out on some errand. When she returned, wet and cold, to find it blazing, she would think a magician had done it.”

The idea had been so fanciful that Mr. Carrisford’s sad face had lighted with a smile, and Ram Dass had been so filled with rapture that he had enlarged upon it and explained to his master how simple it would be to accomplish numbers of other things. He had shown a childlike pleasure and invention, and the preparations for the carrying out of the plan had filled many a day with interest which would otherwise have dragged wearily. On the night of the frustrated banquet Ram Dass had kept watch, all his packages being in readiness in the attic which was his own; and the person who was to help him had waited with him, as interested as himself in the odd adventure. Ram Dass had been lying flat upon the slates, looking in at the skylight, when the banquet had come to its disastrous conclusion; he had been sure of the profoundness of Sara’s wearied sleep; and then, with a dark lantern, he had crept into the room, while his companion remained outside and handed the things to him. When Sara had stirred ever so faintly, Ram Dass had closed the lantern-slide and lain flat upon the floor. These and many other exciting things the children found out by asking a thousand questions.

“I am so glad,” Sara said. “I am so GLAD it was you who were my friend!”

There never were such friends as these two became. Somehow, they seemed to suit each other in a wonderful way. The Indian gentleman had never had a companion he liked quite as much as he liked Sara. In a month’s time he was, as Mr. Carmichael had prophesied he would be, a new man. He was always amused and interested, and he began to find an actual pleasure in the possession of the wealth he had imagined that he loathed the burden of. There were so many charming things to plan for Sara. There was a little joke between them that he was a magician, and it was one of his pleasures to invent things to surprise her. She found beautiful new flowers growing in her room, whimsical little gifts tucked under pillows, and once, as they sat together in the evening, they heard the scratch of a heavy paw on the door, and when Sara went to find out what it was, there stood a great dog—a splendid Russian boarhound—with a grand silver and gold collar bearing an inscription. “I am Boris,” it read; “I serve the Princess Sara.”

There was nothing the Indian gentleman loved more than the recollection of the little princess in rags and tatters. The afternoons in which the Large Family, or Ermengarde and Lottie, gathered to rejoice together were very delightful. But the hours when Sara and the Indian gentleman sat alone and read or talked had a special charm of their own. During their passing many interesting things occurred.

One evening, Mr. Carrisford, looking up from his book, noticed that his companion had not stirred for some time, but sat gazing into the fire.

“What are you ‘supposing,’ Sara?” he asked.

Sara looked up, with a bright color on her cheek.

“I WAS supposing,” she said; “I was remembering that hungry day, and a child I saw.”

“But there were a great many hungry days,” said the Indian gentleman, with rather a sad tone in his voice. “Which hungry day was it?”

“I forgot you didn’t know,” said Sara. “It was the day the dream came true.”

Then she told him the story of the bun shop, and the fourpence she picked up out of the sloppy mud, and the child who was hungrier than herself. She told it quite simply, and in as few words as possible; but somehow the Indian gentleman found it necessary to shade his eyes with his hand and look down at the carpet.

“And I was supposing a kind of plan,” she said, when she had finished. “I was thinking I should like to do something.”

“What was it?” said Mr. Carrisford, in a low tone. “You may do anything you like to do, princess.”

“I was wondering,” rather hesitated Sara—”you know, you say I have so much money—I was wondering if I could go to see the bun-woman, and tell her that if, when hungry children—particularly on those dreadful days—come and sit on the steps, or look in at the window, she would just call them in and give them something to eat, she might send the bills to me. Could I do that?”

“You shall do it tomorrow morning,” said the Indian gentleman.

“Thank you,” said Sara. “You see, I know what it is to be hungry, and it is very hard when one cannot even PRETEND it away.”

“Yes, yes, my dear,” said the Indian gentleman. “Yes, yes, it must be. Try to forget it. Come and sit on this footstool near my knee, and only remember you are a princess.”

“Yes,” said Sara, smiling; “and I can give buns and bread to the populace.” And she went and sat on the stool, and the Indian gentleman (he used to like her to call him that, too, sometimes) drew her small dark head down on his knee and stroked her hair.

The next morning, Miss Minchin, in looking out of her window, saw the things she perhaps least enjoyed seeing. The Indian gentleman’s carriage, with its tall horses, drew up before the door of the next house, and its owner and a little figure, warm with soft, rich furs, descended the steps to get into it. The little figure was a familiar one, and reminded Miss Minchin of days in the past. It was followed by another as familiar—the sight of which she found very irritating. It was Becky, who, in the character of delighted attendant, always accompanied her young mistress to her carriage, carrying wraps and belongings. Already Becky had a pink, round face.

A little later the carriage drew up before the door of the baker’s shop, and its occupants got out, oddly enough, just as the bun-woman was putting a tray of smoking-hot buns into the window.

When Sara entered the shop the woman turned and looked at her, and, leaving the buns, came and stood behind the counter. For a moment she looked at Sara very hard indeed, and then her good-natured face lighted up.

“I’m sure that I remember you, miss,” she said. “And yet—”

“Yes,” said Sara; “once you gave me six buns for fourpence, and—”

“And you gave five of ’em to a beggar child,” the woman broke in on her. “I’ve always remembered it. I couldn’t make it out at first.” She turned round to the Indian gentleman and spoke her next words to him. “I beg your pardon, sir, but there’s not many young people that notices a hungry face in that way; and I’ve thought of it many a time. Excuse the liberty, miss,”—to Sara—”but you look rosier and—well, better than you did that—that—”

“I am better, thank you,” said Sara. “And—I am much happier—and I have come to ask you to do something for me.”

“Me, miss!” exclaimed the bun-woman, smiling cheerfully. “Why, bless you! Yes, miss. What can I do?”

And then Sara, leaning on the counter, made her little proposal concerning the dreadful days and the hungry waifs and the buns.

The woman watched her, and listened with an astonished face.

“Why, bless me!” she said again when she had heard it all; “it’ll be a pleasure to me to do it. I am a working-woman myself and cannot afford to do much on my own account, and there’s sights of trouble on every side; but, if you’ll excuse me, I’m bound to say I’ve given away many a bit of bread since that wet afternoon, just along o’ thinking of you—an’ how wet an’ cold you was, an’ how hungry you looked; an’ yet you gave away your hot buns as if you was a princess.”

The Indian gentleman smiled involuntarily at this, and Sara smiled a little, too, remembering what she had said to herself when she put the buns down on the ravenous child’s ragged lap.

“She looked so hungry,” she said. “She was even hungrier than I was.”

“She was starving,” said the woman. “Many’s the time she’s told me of it since—how she sat there in the wet, and felt as if a wolf was a-tearing at her poor young insides.”

“Oh, have you seen her since then?” exclaimed Sara. “Do you know where she is?”

“Yes, I do,” answered the woman, smiling more good-naturedly than ever. “Why, she’s in that there back room, miss, an’ has been for a month; an’ a decent, well-meanin’ girl she’s goin’ to turn out, an’ such a help to me in the shop an’ in the kitchen as you’d scarce believe, knowin’ how she’s lived.”

She stepped to the door of the little back parlor and spoke; and the next minute a girl came out and followed her behind the counter. And actually it was the beggar-child, clean and neatly clothed, and looking as if she had not been hungry for a long time. She looked shy, but she had a nice face, now that she was no longer a savage, and the wild look had gone from her eyes. She knew Sara in an instant, and stood and looked at her as if she could never look enough.

“You see,” said the woman, “I told her to come when she was hungry, and when she’d come I’d give her odd jobs to do; an’ I found she was willing, and somehow I got to like her; and the end of it was, I’ve given her a place an’ a home, and she helps me, an’ behaves well, an’ is as thankful as a girl can be. Her name’s Anne. She has no other.”

The children stood and looked at each other for a few minutes; and then Sara took her hand out of her muff and held it out across the counter, and Anne took it, and they looked straight into each other’s eyes.

“I am so glad,” Sara said. “And I have just thought of something. Perhaps Mrs. Brown will let you be the one to give the buns and bread to the children. Perhaps you would like to do it because you know what it is to be hungry, too.”

“Yes, miss,” said the girl.

And, somehow, Sara felt as if she understood her, though she said so little, and only stood still and looked and looked after her as she went out of the shop with the Indian gentleman, and they got into the carriage and drove away.

Fairy Tale chapter book for children by Frances Hodgson Burnett

Let’s Chat About The Stories ~ Ideas for Talking With Kids

Independent Thinking, Kindness

1. Many characters in this story are unkind to Sara when they think she is poor, and kind to her when they think she has money. Why do you think the characters behave like this? Do you think it’s the right thing to do? Why or why not?
2. Can you think of some things which we might value in a person that is better than money? What features about a person would make you want to be kind to them?
3. Even though Sara is not a Princess, why do you think she is called “a little Princess” in this story ?

The post A Little Princess first appeared on Bedtime Stories.

YOUTH

1. Burzee

Have you heard of the great Forest of Burzee? Nurse used to sing of it when I was a child. She sang of the big tree-trunks, standing close together, with their roots intertwining below the earth and their branches intertwining above it; of their rough coating of bark and queer, gnarled limbs; of the bushy foliage that roofed the entire forest, save where the sunbeams found a path through which to touch the ground in little spots and to cast weird and curious shadows over the mosses, the lichens and the drifts of dried leaves.

The Forest of Burzee is mighty and grand and awesome to those who steal beneath its shade. Coming from the sunlit meadows into its mazes it seems at first gloomy, then pleasant, and afterward filled with never-ending delights.

For hundreds of years it has flourished in all its magnificence, the silence of its enclosure unbroken save by the chirp of busy chipmunks, the growl of wild beasts and the songs of birds.

Yet Burzee has its inhabitants—for all this. Nature peopled it in the beginning with Fairies, Knooks, Ryls and Nymphs. As long as the Forest stands it will be a home, a refuge and a playground to these sweet immortals, who revel undisturbed in its depths.

Civilization has never yet reached Burzee. Will it ever, I wonder?

2. The Child of the Forest

Once, so long ago our great-grandfathers could scarcely have heard it mentioned, there lived within the great Forest of Burzee a wood-nymph named Necile. She was closely related to the mighty Queen Zurline, and her home was beneath the shade of a widespreading oak. Once every year, on Budding Day, when the trees put forth their new buds, Necile held the Golden Chalice of Ak to the lips of the Queen, who drank therefrom to the prosperity of the Forest. So you see she was a nymph of some importance, and, moreover, it is said she was highly regarded because of her beauty and grace.

When she was created she could not have told; Queen Zurline could not have told; the great Ak himself could not have told. It was long ago when the world was new and nymphs were needed to guard the forests and to minister to the wants of the young trees. Then, on some day not remembered, Necile sprang into being; radiant, lovely, straight and slim as the sapling she was created to guard.

Her hair was the color that lines a chestnut-bur; her eyes were blue in the sunlight and purple in the shade; her cheeks bloomed with the faint pink that edges the clouds at sunset; her lips were full red, pouting and sweet. For costume she adopted oak-leaf green; all the wood-nymphs dress in that color and know no other so desirable. Her dainty feet were sandal-clad, while her head remained bare of covering other than her silken tresses.

Necile’s duties were few and simple. She kept hurtful weeds from growing beneath her trees and sapping the earth-food required by her charges. She frightened away the Gadgols, who took evil delight in flying against the tree-trunks and wounding them so that they drooped and died from the poisonous contact. In dry seasons she carried water from the brooks and pools and moistened the roots of her thirsty dependents.

That was in the beginning. The weeds had now learned to avoid the forests where wood-nymphs dwelt; the loathsome Gadgols no longer dared come nigh; the trees had become old and sturdy and could bear the drought better than when fresh-sprouted. So Necile’s duties were lessened, and time grew laggard, while succeeding years became more tiresome and uneventful than the nymph’s joyous spirit loved.

Truly the forest-dwellers did not lack amusement. Each full moon they danced in the Royal Circle of the Queen. There were also the Feast of Nuts, the Jubilee of Autumn Tintings, the solemn ceremony of Leaf Shedding and the revelry of Budding Day. But these periods of enjoyment were far apart, and left many weary hours between.

That a wood-nymph should grow discontented was not thought of by Necile’s sisters. It came upon her only after many years of brooding. But when once she had settled in her mind that life was irksome she had no patience with her condition, and longed to do something of real interest and to pass her days in ways hitherto undreamed of by forest nymphs. The Law of the Forest alone restrained her from going forth in search of adventure.

While this mood lay heavy upon pretty Necile it chanced that the great Ak visited the Forest of Burzee and allowed the wood-nymphs as was their wont—to lie at his feet and listen to the words of wisdom that fell from his lips. Ak is the Master Woodsman of the world; he sees everything, and knows more than the sons of men.

That night he held the Queen’s hand, for he loved the nymphs as a father loves his children; and Necile lay at his feet with many of her sisters and earnestly harkened as he spoke.

“We live so happily, my fair ones, in our forest glades,” said Ak, stroking his grizzled beard thoughtfully, “that we know nothing of the sorrow and misery that fall to the lot of those poor mortals who inhabit the open spaces of the earth. They are not of our race, it is true, yet compassion well befits beings so fairly favored as ourselves. Often as I pass by the dwelling of some suffering mortal I am tempted to stop and banish the poor thing’s misery. Yet suffering, in moderation, is the natural lot of mortals, and it is not our place to interfere with the laws of Nature.”

“Nevertheless,” said the fair Queen, nodding her golden head at the Master Woodsman, “it would not be a vain guess that Ak has often assisted these hapless mortals.”

Ak smiled.

“Sometimes,” he replied, “when they are very young—’children,’ the mortals call them—I have stopped to rescue them from misery. The men and women I dare not interfere with; they must bear the burdens Nature has imposed upon them. But the helpless infants, the innocent children of men, have a right to be happy until they become full-grown and able to bear the trials of humanity. So I feel I am justified in assisting them. Not long ago—a year, maybe—I found four poor children huddled in a wooden hut, slowly freezing to death. Their parents had gone to a neighboring village for food, and had left a fire to warm their little ones while they were absent. But a storm arose and drifted the snow in their path, so they were long on the road. Meantime the fire went out and the frost crept into the bones of the waiting children.”

“Poor things!” murmured the Queen softly. “What did you do?”

“I called Nelko, bidding him fetch wood from my forests and breathe upon it until the fire blazed again and warmed the little room where the children lay. Then they ceased shivering and fell asleep until their parents came.”

“I am glad you did thus,” said the good Queen, beaming upon the Master; and Necile, who had eagerly listened to every word, echoed in a whisper: “I, too, am glad!”

“And this very night,” continued Ak, “as I came to the edge of Burzee I heard a feeble cry, which I judged came from a human infant. I looked about me and found, close to the forest, a helpless babe, lying quite naked upon the grasses and wailing piteously. Not far away, screened by the forest, crouched Shiegra, the lioness, intent upon devouring the infant for her evening meal.”

“And what did you do, Ak?” asked the Queen, breathlessly.

“Not much, being in a hurry to greet my nymphs. But I commanded Shiegra to lie close to the babe, and to give it her milk to quiet its hunger. And I told her to send word throughout the forest, to all beasts and reptiles, that the child should not be harmed.”

“I am glad you did thus,” said the good Queen again, in a tone of relief; but this time Necile did not echo her words, for the nymph, filled with a strange resolve, had suddenly stolen away from the group.

Swiftly her lithe form darted through the forest paths until she reached the edge of mighty Burzee, when she paused to gaze curiously about her. Never until now had she ventured so far, for the Law of the Forest had placed the nymphs in its inmost depths.

Necile knew she was breaking the Law, but the thought did not give pause to her dainty feet. She had decided to see with her own eyes this infant Ak had told of, for she had never yet beheld a child of man. All the immortals are full-grown; there are no children among them. Peering through the trees Necile saw the child lying on the grass. But now it was sweetly sleeping, having been comforted by the milk drawn from Shiegra. It was not old enough to know what peril means; if it did not feel hunger it was content.

Softly the nymph stole to the side of the babe and knelt upon the sward, her long robe of rose leaf color spreading about her like a gossamer cloud. Her lovely countenance expressed curiosity and surprise, but, most of all, a tender, womanly pity. The babe was newborn, chubby and pink. It was entirely helpless. While the nymph gazed the infant opened its eyes, smiled upon her, and stretched out two dimpled arms. In another instant Necile had caught it to her breast and was hurrying with it through the forest paths.

3. The Adoption

The Master Woodsman suddenly rose, with knitted brows. “There is a strange presence in the Forest,” he declared. Then the Queen and her nymphs turned and saw standing before them Necile, with the sleeping infant clasped tightly in her arms and a defiant look in her deep blue eyes.

And thus for a moment they remained, the nymphs filled with surprise and consternation, but the brow of the Master Woodsman gradually clearing as he gazed intently upon the beautiful immortal who had wilfully broken the Law. Then the great Ak, to the wonder of all, laid his hand softly on Necile’s flowing locks and kissed her on her fair forehead.

“For the first time within my knowledge,” said he, gently, “a nymph has defied me and my laws; yet in my heart can I find no word of chiding. What is your desire, Necile?”

“Let me keep the child!” she answered, beginning to tremble and falling on her knees in supplication.

“Here, in the Forest of Burzee, where the human race has never yet penetrated?” questioned Ak.

“Here, in the Forest of Burzee,” replied the nymph, boldly. “It is my home, and I am weary for lack of occupation. Let me care for the babe! See how weak and helpless it is. Surely it can not harm Burzee nor the Master Woodsman of the World!”

“But the Law, child, the Law!” cried Ak, sternly.

“The Law is made by the Master Woodsman,” returned Necile; “if he bids me care for the babe he himself has saved from death, who in all the world dare oppose me?” Queen Zurline, who had listened intently to this conversation, clapped her pretty hands gleefully at the nymph’s answer.

“You are fairly trapped, O Ak!” she exclaimed, laughing. “Now, I pray you, give heed to Necile’s petition.”

The Woodsman, as was his habit when in thought, stroked his grizzled beard slowly. Then he said:

“She shall keep the babe, and I will give it my protection. But I warn you all that as this is the first time I have relaxed the Law, so shall it be the last time. Never more, to the end of the World, shall a mortal be adopted by an immortal. Otherwise would we abandon our happy existence for one of trouble and anxiety. Good night, my nymphs!”

Then Ak was gone from their midst, and Necile hurried away to her bower to rejoice over her new-found treasure.

4. Claus

Another day found Necile’s bower the most popular place in the Forest. The nymphs clustered around her and the child that lay asleep in her lap, with expressions of curiosity and delight. Nor were they wanting in praises for the great Ak’s kindness in allowing Necile to keep the babe and to care for it. Even the Queen came to peer into the innocent childish face and to hold a helpless, chubby fist in her own fair hand.

“What shall we call him, Necile?” she asked, smiling. “He must have a name, you know.”

“Let him be called Claus,” answered Necile, “for that means ‘a little one.'”

“Rather let him be called Neclaus,”** returned the Queen, “for that will mean ‘Necile’s little one.'”

The nymphs clapped their hands in delight, and Neclaus became the infant’s name, although Necile loved best to call him Claus, and in afterdays many of her sisters followed her example.

Necile gathered the softest moss in all the forest for Claus to lie upon, and she made his bed in her own bower. Of food the infant had no lack. The nymphs searched the forest for bell-udders, which grow upon the goa-tree and when opened are found to be filled with sweet milk. And the soft-eyed does willingly gave a share of their milk to support the little stranger, while Shiegra, the lioness, often crept stealthily into Necile’s bower and purred softly as she lay beside the babe and fed it.

So the little one flourished and grew big and sturdy day by day, while Necile taught him to speak and to walk and to play.

His thoughts and words were sweet and gentle, for the nymphs knew no evil and their hearts were pure and loving. He became the pet of the forest, for Ak’s decree had forbidden beast or reptile to molest him, and he walked fearlessly wherever his will guided him.

Presently the news reached the other immortals that the nymphs of Burzee had adopted a human infant, and that the act had been sanctioned by the great Ak. Therefore many of them came to visit the little stranger, looking upon him with much interest. First the Ryls, who are first cousins to the wood-nymphs, although so differently formed. For the Ryls are required to watch over the flowers and plants, as the nymphs watch over the forest trees. They search the wide world for the food required by the roots of the flowering plants, while the brilliant colors possessed by the full-blown flowers are due to the dyes placed in the soil by the Ryls, which are drawn through the little veins in the roots and the body of the plants, as they reach maturity. The Ryls are a busy people, for their flowers bloom and fade continually, but they are merry and light-hearted and are very popular with the other immortals.

Next came the Knooks, whose duty it is to watch over the beasts of the world, both gentle and wild. The Knooks have a hard time of it, since many of the beasts are ungovernable and rebel against restraint. But they know how to manage them, after all, and you will find that certain laws of the Knooks are obeyed by even the most ferocious animals. Their anxieties make the Knooks look old and worn and crooked, and their natures are a bit rough from associating with wild creatures continually; yet they are most useful to humanity and to the world in general, as their laws are the only laws the forest beasts recognize except those of the Master Woodsman.

Then there were the Fairies, the guardians of mankind, who were much interested in the adoption of Claus because their own laws forbade them to become familiar with their human charges. There are instances on record where the Fairies have shown themselves to human beings, and have even conversed with them; but they are supposed to guard the lives of mankind unseen and unknown, and if they favor some people more than others it is because these have won such distinction fairly, as the Fairies are very just and impartial. But the idea of adopting a child of men had never occurred to them because it was in every way opposed to their laws; so their curiosity was intense to behold the little stranger adopted by Necile and her sister nymphs.

Claus looked upon the immortals who thronged around him with fearless eyes and smiling lips. He rode laughingly upon the shoulders of the merry Ryls; he mischievously pulled the gray beards of the low-browed Knooks; he rested his curly head confidently upon the dainty bosom of the Fairy Queen herself. And the Ryls loved the sound of his laughter; the Knooks loved his courage; the Fairies loved his innocence.

The boy made friends of them all, and learned to know their laws intimately. No forest flower was trampled beneath his feet, lest the friendly Ryls should be grieved. He never interfered with the beasts of the forest, lest his friends the Knooks should become angry. The Fairies he loved dearly, but, knowing nothing of mankind, he could not understand that he was the only one of his race admitted to friendly intercourse with them.

Indeed, Claus came to consider that he alone, of all the forest people, had no like nor fellow. To him the forest was the world. He had no idea that millions of toiling, striving human creatures existed.

And he was happy and content.

** Some people have spelled this name Nicklaus and others Nicolas, which is the reason that Santa Claus is still known in some lands as St. Nicolas. But, of course, Neclaus is his right name, and Claus the nickname given him by his adopted mother, the fair nymph Necile.

5. The Master Woodsman

Years pass swiftly in Burzee, for the nymphs have no need to regard time in any way. Even centuries make no change in the dainty creatures; ever and ever they remain the same, immortal and unchanging.

Claus, however, being mortal, grew to manhood day by day. Necile was disturbed, presently, to find him too big to lie in her lap, and he had a desire for other food than milk. His stout legs carried him far into Burzee’s heart, where he gathered supplies of nuts and berries, as well as several sweet and wholesome roots, which suited his stomach better than the belludders. He sought Necile’s bower less frequently, till finally it became his custom to return thither only to sleep.

The nymph, who had come to love him dearly, was puzzled to comprehend the changed nature of her charge, and unconsciously altered her own mode of life to conform to his whims. She followed him readily through the forest paths, as did many of her sister nymphs, explaining as they walked all the mysteries of the gigantic wood and the habits and nature of the living things which dwelt beneath its shade.

The language of the beasts became clear to little Claus; but he never could understand their sulky and morose tempers. Only the squirrels, the mice and the rabbits seemed to possess cheerful and merry natures; yet would the boy laugh when the panther growled, and stroke the bear’s glossy coat while the creature snarled and bared its teeth menacingly. The growls and snarls were not for Claus, he well knew, so what did they matter?

He could sing the songs of the bees, recite the poetry of the wood-flowers and relate the history of every blinking owl in Burzee. He helped the Ryls to feed their plants and the Knooks to keep order among the animals. The little immortals regarded him as a privileged person, being especially protected by Queen Zurline and her nymphs and favored by the great Ak himself.

One day the Master Woodsman came back to the forest of Burzee. He had visited, in turn, all his forests throughout the world, and they were many and broad.

Not until he entered the glade where the Queen and her nymphs were assembled to greet him did Ak remember the child he had permitted Necile to adopt. Then he found, sitting familiarly in the circle of lovely immortals, a broad-shouldered, stalwart youth, who, when erect, stood fully as high as the shoulder of the Master himself.

Ak paused, silent and frowning, to bend his piercing gaze upon Claus. The clear eyes met his own steadfastly, and the Woodsman gave a sigh of relief as he marked their placid depths and read the youth’s brave and innocent heart. Nevertheless, as Ak sat beside the fair Queen, and the golden chalice, filled with rare nectar, passed from lip to lip, the Master Woodsman was strangely silent and reserved, and stroked his beard many times with a thoughtful motion.

With morning he called Claus aside, in kindly fashion, saying:

“Bid good by, for a time, to Necile and her sisters; for you shall accompany me on my journey through the world.”

The venture pleased Claus, who knew well the honor of being companion of the Master Woodsman of the world. But Necile wept for the first time in her life, and clung to the boy’s neck as if she could not bear to let him go. The nymph who had mothered this sturdy youth was still as dainty, as charming and beautiful as when she had dared to face Ak with the babe clasped to her breast; nor was her love less great. Ak beheld the two clinging together, seemingly as brother and sister to one another, and again he wore his thoughtful look.

6. Claus Discovers Humanity

Taking Claus to a small clearing in the forest, the Master said: “Place your hand upon my girdle and hold fast while we journey through the air; for now shall we encircle the world and look upon many of the haunts of those men from whom you are descended.”

These words caused Claus to marvel, for until now he had thought himself the only one of his kind upon the earth; yet in silence he grasped firmly the girdle of the great Ak, his astonishment forbidding speech.

Then the vast forest of Burzee seemed to fall away from their feet, and the youth found himself passing swiftly through the air at a great height.

Ere long there were spires beneath them, while buildings of many shapes and colors met their downward view. It was a city of men, and Ak, pausing to descend, led Claus to its inclosure. Said the Master:

“So long as you hold fast to my girdle you will remain unseen by all mankind, though seeing clearly yourself. To release your grasp will be to separate yourself forever from me and your home in Burzee.”

One of the first laws of the Forest is obedience, and Claus had no thought of disobeying the Master’s wish. He clung fast to the girdle and remained invisible.

Thereafter with each moment passed in the city the youth’s wonder grew. He, who had supposed himself created differently from all others, now found the earth swarming with creatures of his own kind.

“Indeed,” said Ak, “the immortals are few; but the mortals are many.”

Claus looked earnestly upon his fellows. There were sad faces, gay and reckless faces, pleasant faces, anxious faces and kindly faces, all mingled in puzzling disorder. Some worked at tedious tasks; some strutted in impudent conceit; some were thoughtful and grave while others seemed happy and content. Men of many natures were there, as everywhere, and Claus found much to please him and much to make him sad.

But especially he noted the children—first curiously, then eagerly, then lovingly. Ragged little ones rolled in the dust of the streets, playing with scraps and pebbles. Other children, gaily dressed, were propped upon cushions and fed with sugar-plums. Yet the children of the rich were not happier than those playing with the dust and pebbles, it seemed to Claus.

“Childhood is the time of man’s greatest content,” said Ak, following the youth’s thoughts. “‘Tis during these years of innocent pleasure that the little ones are most free from care.”

“Tell me,” said Claus, “why do not all these babies fare alike?”

“Because they are born in both cottage and palace,” returned the Master. “The difference in the wealth of the parents determines the lot of the child. Some are carefully tended and clothed in silks and dainty linen; others are neglected and covered with rags.”

“Yet all seem equally fair and sweet,” said Claus, thoughtfully.

“While they are babes—yes;” agreed Ak. “Their joy is in being alive, and they do not stop to think. In after years the doom of mankind overtakes them, and they find they must struggle and worry, work and fret, to gain the wealth that is so dear to the hearts of men. Such things are unknown in the Forest where you were reared.” Claus was silent a moment. Then he asked:

“Why was I reared in the forest, among those who are not of my race?”

Then Ak, in gentle voice, told him the story of his babyhood: how he had been abandoned at the forest’s edge and left a prey to wild beasts, and how the loving nymph Necile had rescued him and brought him to manhood under the protection of the immortals.

“Yet I am not of them,” said Claus, musingly.

“You are not of them,” returned the Woodsman. “The nymph who cared for you as a mother seems now like a sister to you; by and by, when you grow old and gray, she will seem like a daughter. Yet another brief span and you will be but a memory, while she remains Necile.”

“Then why, if man must perish, is he born?” demanded the boy.

“Everything perishes except the world itself and its keepers,” answered Ak. “But while life lasts everything on earth has its use. The wise seek ways to be helpful to the world, for the helpful ones are sure to live again.”

Much of this Claus failed to understand fully, but a longing seized him to become helpful to his fellows, and he remained grave and thoughtful while they resumed their journey.

They visited many dwellings of men in many parts of the world, watching farmers toil in the fields, warriors dash into cruel fray, and merchants exchange their goods for bits of white and yellow metal. And everywhere the eyes of Claus sought out the children in love and pity, for the thought of his own helpless babyhood was strong within him and he yearned to give help to the innocent little ones of his race even as he had been succored by the kindly nymph.

Day by day the Master Woodsman and his pupil traversed the earth, Ak speaking but seldom to the youth who clung steadfastly to his girdle, but guiding him into all places where he might become familiar with the lives of human beings.

And at last they returned to the grand old Forest of Burzee, where the Master set Claus down within the circle of nymphs, among whom the pretty Necile anxiously awaited him.

The brow of the great Ak was now calm and peaceful; but the brow of Claus had become lined with deep thought. Necile sighed at the change in her foster-son, who until now had been ever joyous and smiling, and the thought came to her that never again would the life of the boy be the same as before this eventful journey with the Master.

7. Claus Leaves the Forest

When good Queen Zurline had touched the golden chalice with her fair lips and it had passed around the circle in honor of the travelers’ return, the Master Woodsman of the World, who had not yet spoken, turned his gaze frankly upon Claus and said:

“Well?”

The boy understood, and rose slowly to his feet beside Necile. Once only his eyes passed around the familiar circle of nymphs, every one of whom he remembered as a loving comrade; but tears came unbidden to dim his sight, so he gazed thereafter steadfastly at the Master.

“I have been ignorant,” said he, simply, “until the great Ak in his kindness taught me who and what I am. You, who live so sweetly in your forest bowers, ever fair and youthful and innocent, are no fit comrades for a son of humanity. For I have looked upon man, finding him doomed to live for a brief space upon earth, to toil for the things he needs, to fade into old age, and then to pass away as the leaves in autumn. Yet every man has his mission, which is to leave the world better, in some way, than he found it. I am of the race of men, and man’s lot is my lot. For your tender care of the poor, forsaken babe you adopted, as well as for your loving comradeship during my boyhood, my heart will ever overflow with gratitude. My foster-mother,” here he stopped and kissed Necile’s white forehead, “I shall love and cherish while life lasts. But I must leave you, to take my part in the endless struggle to which humanity is doomed, and to live my life in my own way.”

“What will you do?” asked the Queen, gravely.

“I must devote myself to the care of the children of mankind, and try to make them happy,” he answered. “Since your own tender care of a babe brought to me happiness and strength, it is just and right that I devote my life to the pleasure of other babes. Thus will the memory of the loving nymph Necile be planted within the hearts of thousands of my race for many years to come, and her kindly act be recounted in song and in story while the world shall last. Have I spoken well, O Master?”

“You have spoken well,” returned Ak, and rising to his feet he continued: “Yet one thing must not be forgotten. Having been adopted as the child of the Forest, and the playfellow of the nymphs, you have gained a distinction which forever separates you from your kind. Therefore, when you go forth into the world of men you shall retain the protection of the Forest, and the powers you now enjoy will remain with you to assist you in your labors. In any need you may call upon the Nymphs, the Ryls, the Knooks and the Fairies, and they will serve you gladly. I, the Master Woodsman of the World, have said it, and my Word is the Law!”

Claus looked upon Ak with grateful eyes.

“This will make me mighty among men,” he replied. “Protected by these kind friends I may be able to make thousands of little children happy. I will try very hard to do my duty, and I know the Forest people will give me their sympathy and help.”

“We will!” said the Fairy Queen, earnestly.

“We will!” cried the merry Ryls, laughing.

“We will!” shouted the crooked Knooks, scowling.

“We will!” exclaimed the sweet nymphs, proudly. But Necile said nothing. She only folded Claus in her arms and kissed him tenderly.

“The world is big,” continued the boy, turning again to his loyal friends, “but men are everywhere. I shall begin my work near my friends, so that if I meet with misfortune I can come to the Forest for counsel or help.”

With that he gave them all a loving look and turned away. There was no need to say good by, by for him the sweet, wild life of the Forest was over. He went forth bravely to meet his doom—the doom of the race of man—the necessity to worry and work.

But Ak, who knew the boy’s heart, was merciful and guided his steps.

Coming through Burzee to its eastern edge Claus reached the Laughing Valley of Hohaho. On each side were rolling green hills, and a brook wandered midway between them to wind afar off beyond the valley. At his back was the grim Forest; at the far end of the valley a broad plain. The eyes of the young man, which had until now reflected his grave thoughts, became brighter as he stood silent, looking out upon the Laughing Valley. Then on a sudden his eyes twinkled, as stars do on a still night, and grew merry and wide.

For at his feet the cowslips and daisies smiled on him in friendly regard; the breeze whistled gaily as it passed by and fluttered the locks on his forehead; the brook laughed joyously as it leaped over the pebbles and swept around the green curves of its banks; the bees sang sweet songs as they flew from dandelion to daffodil; the beetles chirruped happily in the long grass, and the sunbeams glinted pleasantly over all the scene.

“Here,” cried Claus, stretching out his arms as if to embrace the Valley, “will I make my home!”

That was many, many years ago. It has been his home ever since. It is his home now.

MANHOOD

1. The Laughing Valley

When Claus came the Valley was empty save for the grass, the brook, the wildflowers, the bees and the butterflies. If he would make his home here and live after the fashion of men he must have a house. This puzzled him at first, but while he stood smiling in the sunshine he suddenly found beside him old Nelko, the servant of the Master Woodsman. Nelko bore an ax, strong and broad, with blade that gleamed like burnished silver. This he placed in the young man’s hand, then disappeared without a word.

Claus understood, and turning to the Forest’s edge he selected a number of fallen tree-trunks, which he began to clear of their dead branches. He would not cut into a living tree. His life among the nymphs who guarded the Forest had taught him that a live tree is sacred, being a created thing endowed with feeling. But with the dead and fallen trees it was different. They had fulfilled their destiny, as active members of the Forest community, and now it was fitting that their remains should minister to the needs of man.

The ax bit deep into the logs at every stroke. It seemed to have a force of its own, and Claus had but to swing and guide it.

When shadows began creeping over the green hills to lie in the Valley overnight, the young man had chopped many logs into equal lengths and proper shapes for building a house such as he had seen the poorer classes of men inhabit. Then, resolving to await another day before he tried to fit the logs together, Claus ate some of the sweet roots he well knew how to find, drank deeply from the laughing brook, and lay down to sleep on the grass, first seeking a spot where no flowers grew, lest the weight of his body should crush them.

And while he slumbered and breathed in the perfume of the wondrous Valley the Spirit of Happiness crept into his heart and drove out all terror and care and misgivings. Never more would the face of Claus be clouded with anxieties; never more would the trials of life weigh him down as with a burden. The Laughing Valley had claimed him for its own.

Would that we all might live in that delightful place!—but then, maybe, it would become overcrowded. For ages it had awaited a tenant. Was it chance that led young Claus to make his home in this happy vale? Or may we guess that his thoughtful friends, the immortals, had directed his steps when he wandered away from Burzee to seek a home in the great world?

Certain it is that while the moon peered over the hilltop and flooded with its soft beams the body of the sleeping stranger, the Laughing Valley was filled with the queer, crooked shapes of the friendly Knooks. These people spoke no words, but worked with skill and swiftness. The logs Claus had trimmed with his bright ax were carried to a spot beside the brook and fitted one upon another, and during the night a strong and roomy dwelling was built.

The birds came sweeping into the Valley at daybreak, and their songs, so seldom heard in the deep wood, aroused the stranger. He rubbed the web of sleep from his eyelids and looked around. The house met his gaze.

“I must thank the Knooks for this,” said he, gratefully. Then he walked to his dwelling and entered at the doorway. A large room faced him, having a fireplace at the end and a table and bench in the middle. Beside the fireplace was a cupboard. Another doorway was beyond. Claus entered here, also, and saw a smaller room with a bed against the wall and a stool set near a small stand. On the bed were many layers of dried moss brought from the Forest.

“Indeed, it is a palace!” exclaimed the smiling Claus. “I must thank the good Knooks again, for their knowledge of man’s needs as well as for their labors in my behalf.”

He left his new home with a glad feeling that he was not quite alone in the world, although he had chosen to abandon his Forest life. Friendships are not easily broken, and the immortals are everywhere.

Upon reaching the brook he drank of the pure water, and then sat down on the bank to laugh at the mischievous gambols of the ripples as they pushed one another against rocks or crowded desperately to see which should first reach the turn beyond. And as they raced away he listened to the song they sang:

“Rushing, pushing, on we go!
Not a wave may gently flow—
All are too excited.
Ev’ry drop, delighted,
Turns to spray in merry play
As we tumble on our way!”

Next Claus searched for roots to eat, while the daffodils turned their little eyes up to him laughingly and lisped their dainty song:

“Blooming fairly, growing rarely,
Never flowerets were so gay!
Perfume breathing, joy bequeathing,
As our colors we display.”

It made Claus laugh to hear the little things voice their happiness as they nodded gracefully on their stems. But another strain caught his ear as the sunbeams fell gently across his face and whispered:

“Here is gladness, that our rays
Warm the valley through the days;
Here is happiness, to give
Comfort unto all who live!”

“Yes!” cried Claus in answer, “there is happiness and joy in all things here. The Laughing Valley is a valley of peace and good-will.”

He passed the day talking with the ants and beetles and exchanging jokes with the light-hearted butterflies. And at night he lay on his bed of soft moss and slept soundly.

Then came the Fairies, merry but noiseless, bringing skillets and pots and dishes and pans and all the tools necessary to prepare food and to comfort a mortal. With these they filled cupboard and fireplace, finally placing a stout suit of wool clothing on the stool by the bedside.

When Claus awoke he rubbed his eyes again, and laughed, and spoke aloud his thanks to the Fairies and the Master Woodsman who had sent them. With eager joy he examined all his new possessions, wondering what some might be used for. But, in the days when he had clung to the girdle of the great Ak and visited the cities of men, his eyes had been quick to note all the manners and customs of the race to which he belonged; so he guessed from the gifts brought by the Fairies that the Master expected him hereafter to live in the fashion of his fellow-creatures.

“Which means that I must plow the earth and plant corn,” he reflected; “so that when winter comes I shall have garnered food in plenty.”

But, as he stood in the grassy Valley, he saw that to turn up the earth in furrows would be to destroy hundreds of pretty, helpless flowers, as well as thousands of the tender blades of grass. And this he could not bear to do.

Therefore he stretched out his arms and uttered a peculiar whistle he had learned in the Forest, afterward crying:

“Ryls of the Field Flowers—come to me!”

Instantly a dozen of the queer little Ryls were squatting upon the ground before him, and they nodded to him in cheerful greeting.

Claus gazed upon them earnestly.

“Your brothers of the Forest,” he said, “I have known and loved many years. I shall love you, also, when we have become friends. To me the laws of the Ryls, whether those of the Forest or of the field, are sacred. I have never wilfully destroyed one of the flowers you tend so carefully; but I must plant grain to use for food during the cold winter, and how am I to do this without killing the little creatures that sing to me so prettily of their fragrant blossoms?”

The Yellow Ryl, he who tends the buttercups, made answer:

“Fret not, friend Claus. The great Ak has spoken to us of you. There is better work for you in life than to labor for food, and though, not being of the Forest, Ak has no command over us, nevertheless are we glad to favor one he loves. Live, therefore, to do the good work you are resolved to undertake. We, the Field Ryls, will attend to your food supplies.”

After this speech the Ryls were no longer to be seen, and Claus drove from his mind the thought of tilling the earth.

When next he wandered back to his dwelling a bowl of fresh milk stood upon the table; bread was in the cupboard and sweet honey filled a dish beside it. A pretty basket of rosy apples and new-plucked grapes was also awaiting him. He called out “Thanks, my friends!” to the invisible Ryls, and straightway began to eat of the food.

Thereafter, when hungry, he had but to look into the cupboard to find goodly supplies brought by the kindly Ryls. And the Knooks cut and stacked much wood for his fireplace. And the Fairies brought him warm blankets and clothing.

So began his life in the Laughing Valley, with the favor and friendship of the immortals to minister to his every want.

2. How Claus Made the First Toy

Truly our Claus had wisdom, for his good fortune but strengthened his resolve to befriend the little ones of his own race. He knew his plan was approved by the immortals, else they would not have favored him so greatly.

So he began at once to make acquaintance with mankind. He walked through the Valley to the plain beyond, and crossed the plain in many directions to reach the abodes of men. These stood singly or in groups of dwellings called villages, and in nearly all the houses, whether big or little, Claus found children.

The youngsters soon came to know his merry, laughing face and the kind glance of his bright eyes; and the parents, while they regarded the young man with some scorn for loving children more than their elders, were content that the girls and boys had found a playfellow who seemed willing to amuse them.

So the children romped and played games with Claus, and the boys rode upon his shoulders, and the girls nestled in his strong arms, and the babies clung fondly to his knees. Wherever the young man chanced to be, the sound of childish laughter followed him; and to understand this better you must know that children were much neglected in those days and received little attention from their parents, so that it became to them a marvel that so goodly a man as Claus devoted his time to making them happy. And those who knew him were, you may be sure, very happy indeed. The sad faces of the poor and abused grew bright for once; the cripple smiled despite his misfortune; the ailing ones hushed their moans and the grieved ones their cries when their merry friend came nigh to comfort them.

Only at the beautiful palace of the Lord of Lerd and at the frowning castle of the Baron Braun was Claus refused admittance. There were children at both places; but the servants at the palace shut the door in the young stranger’s face, and the fierce Baron threatened to hang him from an iron hook on the castle walls. Whereupon Claus sighed and went back to the poorer dwellings where he was welcome.

After a time the winter drew near.

The flowers lived out their lives and faded and disappeared; the beetles burrowed far into the warm earth; the butterflies deserted the meadows; and the voice of the brook grew hoarse, as if it had taken cold.

One day snowflakes filled all the air in the Laughing Valley, dancing boisterously toward the earth and clothing in pure white raiment the roof of Claus’s dwelling.

At night Jack Frost rapped at the door.

“Come in!” cried Claus.

“Come out!” answered Jack, “for you have a fire inside.”

So Claus came out. He had known Jack Frost in the Forest, and liked the jolly rogue, even while he mistrusted him.

“There will be rare sport for me to-night, Claus!” shouted the sprite. “Isn’t this glorious weather? I shall nip scores of noses and ears and toes before daybreak.”

“If you love me, Jack, spare the children,” begged Claus.

“And why?” asked the other, in surprise.

“They are tender and helpless,” answered Claus.

“But I love to nip the tender ones!” declared Jack. “The older ones are tough, and tire my fingers.”

“The young ones are weak, and can not fight you,” said Claus.

“True,” agreed Jack, thoughtfully. “Well, I will not pinch a child this night—if I can resist the temptation,” he promised. “Good night, Claus!”

“Good night.”

The young man went in and closed the door, and Jack Frost ran on to the nearest village.

Claus threw a log on the fire, which burned up brightly. Beside the hearth sat Blinkie, a big cat give him by Peter the Knook. Her fur was soft and glossy, and she purred never-ending songs of contentment.

“I shall not see the children again soon,” said Claus to the cat, who kindly paused in her song to listen. “The winter is upon us, the snow will be deep for many days, and I shall be unable to play with my little friends.”

The cat raised a paw and stroked her nose thoughtfully, but made no reply. So long as the fire burned and Claus sat in his easy chair by the hearth she did not mind the weather.

So passed many days and many long evenings. The cupboard was always full, but Claus became weary with having nothing to do more than to feed the fire from the big wood-pile the Knooks had brought him.

One evening he picked up a stick of wood and began to cut it with his sharp knife. He had no thought, at first, except to occupy his time, and he whistled and sang to the cat as he carved away portions of the stick. Puss sat up on her haunches and watched him, listening at the same time to her master’s merry whistle, which she loved to hear even more than her own purring songs.

Claus glanced at puss and then at the stick he was whittling, until presently the wood began to have a shape, and the shape was like the head of a cat, with two ears sticking upward.

Claus stopped whistling to laugh, and then both he and the cat looked at the wooden image in some surprise. Then he carved out the eyes and the nose, and rounded the lower part of the head so that it rested upon a neck.

Puss hardly knew what to make of it now, and sat up stiffly, as if watching with some suspicion what would come next.

Claus knew. The head gave him an idea. He plied his knife carefully and with skill, forming slowly the body of the cat, which he made to sit upon its haunches as the real cat did, with her tail wound around her two front legs.

The work cost him much time, but the evening was long and he had nothing better to do. Finally he gave a loud and delighted laugh at the result of his labors and placed the wooden cat, now completed, upon the hearth opposite the real one.

Puss thereupon glared at her image, raised her hair in anger, and uttered a defiant mew. The wooden cat paid no attention, and Claus, much amused, laughed again.

Then Blinkie advanced toward the wooden image to eye it closely and smell of it intelligently: Eyes and nose told her the creature was wood, in spite of its natural appearance; so puss resumed her seat and her purring, but as she neatly washed her face with her padded paw she cast more than one admiring glance at her clever master. Perhaps she felt the same satisfaction we feel when we look upon good photographs of ourselves.

The cat’s master was himself pleased with his handiwork, without knowing exactly why. Indeed, he had great cause to congratulate himself that night, and all the children throughout the world should have joined him rejoicing. For Claus had made his first toy.

3. How the Ryls Colored the Toys

A hush lay on the Laughing Valley now. Snow covered it like a white spread and pillows of downy flakes drifted before the dwelling where Claus sat feeding the blaze of the fire. The brook gurgled on beneath a heavy sheet of ice and all living plants and insects nestled close to Mother Earth to keep warm. The face of the moon was hid by dark clouds, and the wind, delighting in the wintry sport, pushed and whirled the snowflakes in so many directions that they could get no chance to fall to the ground.

Claus heard the wind whistling and shrieking in its play and thanked the good Knooks again for his comfortable shelter. Blinkie washed her face lazily and stared at the coals with a look of perfect content. The toy cat sat opposite the real one and gazed straight ahead, as toy cats should.

Suddenly Claus heard a noise that sounded different from the voice of the wind. It was more like a wail of suffering and despair.

He stood up and listened, but the wind, growing boisterous, shook the door and rattled the windows to distract his attention. He waited until the wind was tired and then, still listening, he heard once more the shrill cry of distress.

Quickly he drew on his coat, pulled his cap over his eyes and opened the door. The wind dashed in and scattered the embers over the hearth, at the same time blowing Blinkie’s fur so furiously that she crept under the table to escape. Then the door was closed and Claus was outside, peering anxiously into the darkness.

The wind laughed and scolded and tried to push him over, but he stood firm. The helpless flakes stumbled against his eyes and dimmed his sight, but he rubbed them away and looked again. Snow was everywhere, white and glittering. It covered the earth and filled the air.

The cry was not repeated.

Claus turned to go back into the house, but the wind caught him unawares and he stumbled and fell across a snowdrift. His hand plunged into the drift and touched something that was not snow. This he seized and, pulling it gently toward him, found it to be a child. The next moment he had lifted it in his arms and carried it into the house.

The wind followed him through the door, but Claus shut it out quickly. He laid the rescued child on the hearth, and brushing away the snow he discovered it to be Weekum, a little boy who lived in a house beyond the Valley.

Claus wrapped a warm blanket around the little one and rubbed the frost from its limbs. Before long the child opened his eyes and, seeing where he was, smiled happily. Then Claus warmed milk and fed it to the boy slowly, while the cat looked on with sober curiosity. Finally the little one curled up in his friend’s arms and sighed and fell asleep, and Claus, filled with gladness that he had found the wanderer, held him closely while he slumbered.

The wind, finding no more mischief to do, climbed the hill and swept on toward the north. This gave the weary snowflakes time to settle down to earth, and the Valley became still again.

The boy, having slept well in the arms of his friend, opened his eyes and sat up. Then, as a child will, he looked around the room and saw all that it contained.

“Your cat is a nice cat, Claus,” he said, at last. “Let me hold it.”

But puss objected and ran away.

“The other cat won’t run, Claus,” continued the boy. “Let me hold that one.” Claus placed the toy in his arms, and the boy held it lovingly and kissed the tip of its wooden ear.

“How did you get lost in the storm, Weekum?” asked Claus.

“I started to walk to my auntie’s house and lost my way,” answered Weekum.

“Were you frightened?”

“It was cold,” said Weekum, “and the snow got in my eyes, so I could not see. Then I kept on till I fell in the snow, without knowing where I was, and the wind blew the flakes over me and covered me up.”

Claus gently stroked his head, and the boy looked up at him and smiled.

“I’m all right now,” said Weekum.

“Yes,” replied Claus, happily. “Now I will put you in my warm bed, and you must sleep until morning, when I will carry you back to your mother.”

“May the cat sleep with me?” asked the boy.

“Yes, if you wish it to,” answered Claus.

“It’s a nice cat!” Weekum said, smiling, as Claus tucked the blankets around him; and presently the little one fell asleep with the wooden toy in his arms.

When morning came the sun claimed the Laughing Valley and flooded it with his rays; so Claus prepared to take the lost child back to its mother.

“May I keep the cat, Claus?” asked Weekum. “It’s nicer than real cats. It doesn’t run away, or scratch or bite. May I keep it?”

“Yes, indeed,” answered Claus, pleased that the toy he had made could give pleasure to the child. So he wrapped the boy and the wooden cat in a warm cloak, perching the bundle upon his own broad shoulders, and then he tramped through the snow and the drifts of the Valley and across the plain beyond to the poor cottage where Weekum’s mother lived.

“See, mama!” cried the boy, as soon as they entered, “I’ve got a cat!”

The good woman wept tears of joy over the rescue of her darling and thanked Claus many times for his kind act. So he carried a warm and happy heart back to his home in the Valley.

That night he said to puss: “I believe the children will love the wooden cats almost as well as the real ones, and they can’t hurt them by pulling their tails and ears. I’ll make another.”

So this was the beginning of his great work.

The next cat was better made than the first. While Claus sat whittling it out the Yellow Ryl came in to make him a visit, and so pleased was he with the man’s skill that he ran away and brought several of his fellows.

There sat the Red Ryl, the Black Ryl, the Green Ryl, the Blue Ryl and the Yellow Ryl in a circle on the floor, while Claus whittled and whistled and the wooden cat grew into shape.

“If it could be made the same color as the real cat, no one would know the difference,” said the Yellow Ryl, thoughtfully.

“The little ones, maybe, would not know the difference,” replied Claus, pleased with the idea.

“I will bring you some of the red that I color my roses and tulips with,” cried the Red Ryl; “and then you can make the cat’s lips and tongue red.”

“I will bring some of the green that I color my grasses and leaves with,” said the Green Ryl; “and then you can color the cat’s eyes green.”

“They will need a bit of yellow, also,” remarked the Yellow Ryl; “I must fetch some of the yellow that I use to color my buttercups and goldenrods with.”

“The real cat is black,” said the Black Ryl; “I will bring some of the black that I use to color the eyes of my pansies with, and then you can paint your wooden cat black.”

“I see you have a blue ribbon around Blinkie’s neck,” added the Blue Ryl. “I will get some of the color that I use to paint the bluebells and forget-me-nots with, and then you can carve a wooden ribbon on the toy cat’s neck and paint it blue.”

So the Ryls disappeared, and by the time Claus had finished carving out the form of the cat they were all back with the paints and brushes.

They made Blinkie sit upon the table, that Claus might paint the toy cat just the right color, and when the work was done the Ryls declared it was exactly as good as a live cat.

“That is, to all appearances,” added the Red Ryl.

Blinkie seemed a little offended by the attention bestowed upon the toy, and that she might not seem to approve the imitation cat she walked to the corner of the hearth and sat down with a dignified air.

But Claus was delighted, and as soon as morning came he started out and tramped through the snow, across the Valley and the plain, until he came to a village. There, in a poor hut near the walls of the beautiful palace of the Lord of Lerd, a little girl lay upon a wretched cot, moaning with pain.

Claus approached the child and kissed her and comforted her, and then he drew the toy cat from beneath his coat, where he had hidden it, and placed it in her arms.

Ah, how well he felt himself repaid for his labor and his long walk when he saw the little one’s eyes grow bright with pleasure! She hugged the kitty tight to her breast, as if it had been a precious gem, and would not let it go for a single moment. The fever was quieted, the pain grew less, and she fell into a sweet and refreshing sleep.

Claus laughed and whistled and sang all the way home. Never had he been so happy as on that day.

When he entered his house he found Shiegra, the lioness, awaiting him. Since his babyhood Shiegra had loved Claus, and while he dwelt in the Forest she had often come to visit him at Necile’s bower. After Claus had gone to live in the Laughing Valley Shiegra became lonely and ill at ease, and now she had braved the snow-drifts, which all lions abhor, to see him once more. Shiegra was getting old and her teeth were beginning to fall out, while the hairs that tipped her ears and tail had changed from tawny-yellow to white.

Claus found her lying on his hearth, and he put his arms around the neck of the lioness and hugged her lovingly. The cat had retired into a far corner. She did not care to associate with Shiegra.

Claus told his old friend about the cats he had made, and how much pleasure they had given Weekum and the sick girl. Shiegra did not know much about children; indeed, if she met a child she could scarcely be trusted not to devour it. But she was interested in Claus’ new labors, and said:

“These images seem to me very attractive. Yet I can not see why you should make cats, which are very unimportant animals. Suppose, now that I am here, you make the image of a lioness, the Queen of all beasts. Then, indeed, your children will be happy—and safe at the same time!”

Claus thought this was a good suggestion. So he got a piece of wood and sharpened his knife, while Shiegra crouched upon the hearth at his feet. With much care he carved the head in the likeness of the lioness, even to the two fierce teeth that curved over her lower lip and the deep, frowning lines above her wide-open eyes.

When it was finished he said:

“You have a terrible look, Shiegra.”

“Then the image is like me,” she answered; “for I am indeed terrible to all who are not my friends.”

Claus now carved out the body, with Shiegra’s long tail trailing behind it. The image of the crouching lioness was very life-like.

“It pleases me,” said Shiegra, yawning and stretching her body gracefully. “Now I will watch while you paint.”

He brought the paints the Ryls had given him from the cupboard and colored the image to resemble the real Shiegra.

The lioness placed her big, padded paws upon the edge of the table and raised herself while she carefully examined the toy that was her likeness.

“You are indeed skillful!” she said, proudly. “The children will like that better than cats, I’m sure.”

Then snarling at Blinkie, who arched her back in terror and whined fearfully, she walked away toward her forest home with stately strides.

4. How Little Mayrie Became Frightened

The winter was over now, and all the Laughing Valley was filled with joyous excitement. The brook was so happy at being free once again that it gurgled more boisterously than ever and dashed so recklessly against the rocks that it sent showers of spray high in the air. The grass thrust its sharp little blades upward through the mat of dead stalks where it had hidden from the snow, but the flowers were yet too timid to show themselves, although the Ryls were busy feeding their roots. The sun was in remarkably good humor, and sent his rays dancing merrily throughout the Valley.

Claus was eating his dinner one day when he heard a timid knock on his door.

“Come in!” he called.

No one entered, but after a pause came another rapping.

Claus jumped up and threw open the door. Before him stood a small girl holding a smaller brother fast by the hand.

“Is you Tlaus?” she asked, shyly.

“Indeed I am, my dear!” he answered, with a laugh, as he caught both children in his arms and kissed them. “You are very welcome, and you have come just in time to share my dinner.”

He took them to the table and fed them with fresh milk and nut-cakes. When they had eaten enough he asked:

“Why have you made this long journey to see me?”

“I wants a tat!” replied little Mayrie; and her brother, who had not yet learned to speak many words, nodded his head and exclaimed like an echo: “Tat!”

“Oh, you want my toy cats, do you?” returned Claus, greatly pleased to discover that his creations were so popular with children.

The little visitors nodded eagerly.

“Unfortunately,” he continued, “I have but one cat now ready, for I carried two to children in the town yesterday. And the one I have shall be given to your brother, Mayrie, because he is the smaller; and the next one I make shall be for you.”

The boy’s face was bright with smiles as he took the precious toy Claus held out to him; but little Mayrie covered her face with her arm and began to sob grievously.

“I—I—I wants a t—t—tat now!” she wailed.

Her disappointment made Claus feel miserable for a moment. Then he suddenly remembered Shiegra.

“Don’t cry, darling!” he said, soothingly; “I have a toy much nicer than a cat, and you shall have that.”

He went to the cupboard and drew out the image of the lioness, which he placed on the table before Mayrie.

The girl raised her arm and gave one glance at the fierce teeth and glaring eyes of the beast, and then, uttering a terrified scream, she rushed from the house. The boy followed her, also screaming lustily, and even dropping his precious cat in his fear.

For a moment Claus stood motionless, being puzzled and astonished. Then he threw Shiegra’s image into the cupboard and ran after the children, calling to them not to be frightened.

Little Mayrie stopped in her flight and her brother clung to her skirt; but they both cast fearful glances at the house until Claus had assured them many times that the beast had been locked in the cupboard.

“Yet why were you frightened at seeing it?” he asked. “It is only a toy to play with!”

“It’s bad!” said Mayrie, decidedly, “an’—an’—just horrid, an’ not a bit nice, like tats!”

“Perhaps you are right,” returned Claus, thoughtfully. “But if you will return with me to the house I will soon make you a pretty cat.”

So they timidly entered the house again, having faith in their friend’s words; and afterward they had the joy of watching Claus carve out a cat from a bit of wood and paint it in natural colors. It did not take him long to do this, for he had become skillful with his knife by this time, and Mayrie loved her toy the more dearly because she had seen it made.

After his little visitors had trotted away on their journey homeward Claus sat long in deep thought. And he then decided that such fierce creatures as his friend the lioness would never do as models from which to fashion his toys.

“There must be nothing to frighten the dear babies,” he reflected; “and while I know Shiegra well, and am not afraid of her, it is but natural that children should look upon her image with terror. Hereafter I will choose such mild-mannered animals as squirrels and rabbits and deer and lambkins from which to carve my toys, for then the little ones will love rather than fear them.”

He began his work that very day, and before bedtime had made a wooden rabbit and a lamb. They were not quite so lifelike as the cats had been, because they were formed from memory, while Blinkie had sat very still for Claus to look at while he worked.

But the new toys pleased the children nevertheless, and the fame of Claus’ playthings quickly spread to every cottage on plain and in village. He always carried his gifts to the sick or crippled children, but those who were strong enough walked to the house in the Valley to ask for them, so a little path was soon worn from the plain to the door of the toy-maker’s cottage.

First came the children who had been playmates of Claus, before he began to make toys. These, you may be sure, were well supplied. Then children who lived farther away heard of the wonderful images and made journeys to the Valley to secure them. All little ones were welcome, and never a one went away empty-handed.

This demand for his handiwork kept Claus busily occupied, but he was quite happy in knowing the pleasure he gave to so many of the dear children. His friends the immortals were pleased with his success and supported him bravely.

The Knooks selected for him clear pieces of soft wood, that his knife might not be blunted in cutting them; the Ryls kept him supplied with paints of all colors and brushes fashioned from the tips of timothy grasses; the Fairies discovered that the workman needed saws and chisels and hammers and nails, as well as knives, and brought him a goodly array of such tools.

Claus soon turned his living room into a most wonderful workshop. He built a bench before the window, and arranged his tools and paints so that he could reach everything as he sat on his stool. And as he finished toy after toy to delight the hearts of little children he found himself growing so gay and happy that he could not refrain from singing and laughing and whistling all the day long.

“It’s because I live in the Laughing Valley, where everything else laughs!” said Claus.

But that was not the reason.

5. How Bessie Blithesome Came to the Laughing Valley

One day, as Claus sat before his door to enjoy the sunshine while he busily carved the head and horns of a toy deer, he looked up and discovered a glittering cavalcade of horsemen approaching through the Valley.

When they drew nearer he saw that the band consisted of a score of men-at-arms, clad in bright armor and bearing in their hands spears and battle-axes. In front of these rode little Bessie Blithesome, the pretty daughter of that proud Lord of Lerd who had once driven Claus from his palace. Her palfrey was pure white, its bridle was covered with glittering gems, and its saddle draped with cloth of gold, richly broidered. The soldiers were sent to protect her from harm while she journeyed.

Claus was surprised, but he continued to whittle and to sing until the cavalcade drew up before him. Then the little girl leaned over the neck of her palfrey and said:

“Please, Mr. Claus, I want a toy!”

Her voice was so pleading that Claus jumped up at once and stood beside her. But he was puzzled how to answer her request.

“You are a rich lord’s daughter,” said he, “and have all that you desire.”

“Except toys,” added Bessie. “There are no toys in all the world but yours.”

“And I make them for the poor children, who have nothing else to amuse them,” continued Claus.

“Do poor children love to play with toys more than rich ones?” asked Bessie.

“I suppose not,” said Claus, thoughtfully.

“Am I to blame because my father is a lord? Must I be denied the pretty toys I long for because other children are poorer than I?” she inquired earnestly.

“I’m afraid you must, dear,” he answered; “for the poor have nothing else with which to amuse themselves. You have your pony to ride, your servants to wait on you, and every comfort that money can procure.”

“But I want toys!” cried Bessie, wiping away the tears that forced themselves into her eyes. “If I can not have them, I shall be very unhappy.”

Claus was troubled, for her grief recalled to him the thought that his desire was to make all children happy, without regard to their condition in life. Yet, while so many poor children were clamoring for his toys he could not bear to give one to them to Bessie Blithesome, who had so much already to make her happy.

“Listen, my child,” said he, gently; “all the toys I am now making are promised to others. But the next shall be yours, since your heart so longs for it. Come to me again in two days and it shall be ready for you.”

Bessie gave a cry of delight, and leaning over her pony’s neck she kissed Claus prettily upon his forehead. Then, calling to her men-at-arms, she rode gaily away, leaving Claus to resume his work.

“If I am to supply the rich children as well as the poor ones,” he thought, “I shall not have a spare moment in the whole year! But is it right I should give to the rich? Surely I must go to Necile and talk with her about this matter.”

So when he had finished the toy deer, which was very like a deer he had known in the Forest glades, he walked into Burzee and made his way to the bower of the beautiful Nymph Necile, who had been his foster mother.

She greeted him tenderly and lovingly, listening with interest to his story of the visit of Bessie Blithesome.

“And now tell me,” said he, “shall I give toys to rich children?”

“We of the Forest know nothing of riches,” she replied. “It seems to me that one child is like another child, since they are all made of the same clay, and that riches are like a gown, which may be put on or taken away, leaving the child unchanged. But the Fairies are guardians of mankind, and know mortal children better than I. Let us call the Fairy Queen.”

This was done, and the Queen of the Fairies sat beside them and heard Claus relate his reasons for thinking the rich children could get along without his toys, and also what the Nymph had said.

“Necile is right,” declared the Queen; “for, whether it be rich or poor, a child’s longings for pretty playthings are but natural. Rich Bessie’s heart may suffer as much grief as poor Mayrie’s; she can be just as lonely and discontented, and just as gay and happy. I think, friend Claus, it is your duty to make all little ones glad, whether they chance to live in palaces or in cottages.”

“Your words are wise, fair Queen,” replied Claus, “and my heart tells me they are as just as they are wise. Hereafter all children may claim my services.”

Then he bowed before the gracious Fairy and, kissing Necile’s red lips, went back into his Valley.

At the brook he stopped to drink, and afterward he sat on the bank and took a piece of moist clay in his hands while he thought what sort of toy he should make for Bessie Blithesome. He did not notice that his fingers were working the clay into shape until, glancing downward, he found he had unconsciously formed a head that bore a slight resemblance to the Nymph Necile!

At once he became interested. Gathering more of the clay from the bank he carried it to his house. Then, with the aid of his knife and a bit of wood he succeeded in working the clay into the image of a toy nymph. With skillful strokes he formed long, waving hair on the head and covered the body with a gown of oakleaves, while the two feet sticking out at the bottom of the gown were clad in sandals.

But the clay was soft, and Claus found he must handle it gently to avoid ruining his pretty work.

“Perhaps the rays of the sun will draw out the moisture and cause the clay to become hard,” he thought. So he laid the image on a flat board and placed it in the glare of the sun.

This done, he went to his bench and began painting the toy deer, and soon he became so interested in the work that he forgot all about the clay nymph. But next morning, happening to notice it as it lay on the board, he found the sun had baked it to the hardness of stone, and it was strong enough to be safely handled.

Claus now painted the nymph with great care in the likeness of Necile, giving it deep-blue eyes, white teeth, rosy lips and ruddy-brown hair. The gown he colored oak-leaf green, and when the paint was dry Claus himself was charmed with the new toy. Of course it was not nearly so lovely as the real Necile; but, considering the material of which it was made, Claus thought it was very beautiful.

When Bessie, riding upon her white palfrey, came to his dwelling next day, Claus presented her with the new toy. The little girl’s eyes were brighter than ever as she examined the pretty image, and she loved it at once, and held it close to her breast, as a mother does to her child.

“What is it called, Claus?” she asked.

Now Claus knew that Nymphs do not like to be spoken of by mortals, so he could not tell Bessie it was an image of Necile he had given her. But as it was a new toy he searched his mind for a new name to call it by, and the first word he thought of he decided would do very well.

“It is called a dolly, my dear,” he said to Bessie.

“I shall call the dolly my baby,” returned Bessie, kissing it fondly; “and I shall tend it and care for it just as Nurse cares for me. Thank you very much, Claus; your gift has made me happier than I have ever been before!”

Then she rode away, hugging the toy in her arms, and Claus, seeing her delight, thought he would make another dolly, better and more natural than the first.

He brought more clay from the brook, and remembering that Bessie had called the dolly her baby he resolved to form this one into a baby’s image. That was no difficult task to the clever workman, and soon the baby dolly was lying on the board and placed in the sun to dry. Then, with the clay that was left, he began to make an image of Bessie Blithesome herself.

This was not so easy, for he found he could not make the silken robe of the lord’s daughter out of the common clay. So he called the Fairies to his aid, and asked them to bring him colored silks with which to make a real dress for the clay image. The Fairies set off at once on their errand, and before nightfall they returned with a generous supply of silks and laces and golden threads.

Claus now became impatient to complete his new dolly, and instead of waiting for the next day’s sun he placed the clay image upon his hearth and covered it over with glowing coals. By morning, when he drew the dolly from the ashes, it had baked as hard as if it had lain a full day in the hot sun.

Now our Claus became a dressmaker as well as a toymaker. He cut the lavender silk, and nearly sewed it into a beautiful gown that just fitted the new dolly. And he put a lace collar around its neck and pink silk shoes on its feet. The natural color of baked clay is a light gray, but Claus painted the face to resemble the color of flesh, and he gave the dolly Bessie’s brown eyes and golden hair and rosy cheeks.

It was really a beautiful thing to look upon, and sure to bring joy to some childish heart. While Claus was admiring it he heard a knock at his door, and little Mayrie entered. Her face was sad and her eyes red with continued weeping.

“Why, what has grieved you, my dear?” asked Claus, taking the child in his arms.

“I’ve—I’ve—bwoke my tat!” sobbed Mayrie.

“How?” he inquired, his eyes twinkling.

“I—I dwopped him, an’ bwoke off him’s tail; an’—an’—then I dwopped him an’ bwoke off him’s ear! An’—an’ now him’s all spoilt!”

Claus laughed.

“Never mind, Mayrie dear,” he said. “How would you like this new dolly, instead of a cat?”

Mayrie looked at the silk-robed dolly and her eyes grew big with astonishment.

“Oh, Tlaus!” she cried, clapping her small hands together with rapture; “tan I have ‘at boo’ful lady?”

“Do you like it?” he asked.

“I love it!” said she. “It’s better ‘an tats!”

“Then take it, dear, and be careful not to break it.”

Mayrie took the dolly with a joy that was almost reverent, and her face dimpled with smiles as she started along the path toward home.

6. The Wickedness of the Awgwas

I must now tell you something about the Awgwas, that terrible race of creatures which caused our good Claus so much trouble and nearly succeeded in robbing the children of the world of their earliest and best friend.

I do not like to mention the Awgwas, but they are a part of this history, and can not be ignored. They were neither mortals nor immortals, but stood midway between those classes of beings. The Awgwas were invisible to ordinary people, but not to immortals. They could pass swiftly through the air from one part of the world to another, and had the power of influencing the minds of human beings to do their wicked will.

They were of gigantic stature and had coarse, scowling countenances which showed plainly their hatred of all mankind. They possessed no consciences whatever and delighted only in evil deeds.

Their homes were in rocky, mountainous places, from whence they sallied forth to accomplish their wicked purposes.

The one of their number that could think of the most horrible deed for them to do was always elected the King Awgwa, and all the race obeyed his orders. Sometimes these creatures lived to become a hundred years old, but usually they fought so fiercely among themselves that many were destroyed in combat, and when they died that was the end of them. Mortals were powerless to harm them and the immortals shuddered when the Awgwas were mentioned, and always avoided them. So they flourished for many years unopposed and accomplished much evil.

I am glad to assure you that these vile creatures have long since perished and passed from earth; but in the days when Claus was making his first toys they were a numerous and powerful tribe.

One of the principal sports of the Awgwas was to inspire angry passions in the hearts of little children, so that they quarreled and fought with one another. They would tempt boys to eat of unripe fruit, and then delight in the pain they suffered; they urged little girls to disobey their parents, and then would laugh when the children were punished. I do not know what causes a child to be naughty in these days, but when the Awgwas were on earth naughty children were usually under their influence.

Now, when Claus began to make children happy he kept them out of the power of the Awgwas; for children possessing such lovely playthings as he gave them had no wish to obey the evil thoughts the Awgwas tried to thrust into their minds.

Therefore, one year when the wicked tribe was to elect a new King, they chose an Awgwa who proposed to destroy Claus and take him away from the children.

“There are, as you know, fewer naughty children in the world since Claus came to the Laughing Valley and began to make his toys,” said the new King, as he squatted upon a rock and looked around at the scowling faces of his people. “Why, Bessie Blithesome has not stamped her foot once this month, nor has Mayrie’s brother slapped his sister’s face or thrown the puppy into the rain-barrel. Little Weekum took his bath last night without screaming or struggling, because his mother had promised he should take his toy cat to bed with him! Such a condition of affairs is awful for any Awgwa to think of, and the only way we can direct the naughty actions of children is to take this person Claus away from them.”

“Good! good!” cried the big Awgwas, in a chorus, and they clapped their hands to applaud the speech of the King.

“But what shall we do with him?” asked one of the creatures.

“I have a plan,” replied the wicked King; and what his plan was you will soon discover.

That night Claus went to bed feeling very happy, for he had completed no less than four pretty toys during the day, and they were sure, he thought, to make four little children happy. But while he slept the band of invisible Awgwas surrounded his bed, bound him with stout cords, and then flew away with him to the middle of a dark forest in far off Ethop, where they laid him down and left him.

When morning came Claus found himself thousands of miles from any human being, a prisoner in the wild jungle of an unknown land.

From the limb of a tree above his head swayed a huge python, one of those reptiles that are able to crush a man’s bones in their coils. A few yards away crouched a savage panther, its glaring red eyes fixed full on the helpless Claus. One of those monstrous spotted spiders whose sting is death crept stealthily toward him over the matted leaves, which shriveled and turned black at its very touch.

But Claus had been reared in Burzee, and was not afraid.

“Come to me, ye Knooks of the Forest!” he cried, and gave the low, peculiar whistle that the Knooks know.

The panther, which was about to spring upon its victim, turned and slunk away. The python swung itself into the tree and disappeared among the leaves. The spider stopped short in its advance and hid beneath a rotting log.

Claus had no time to notice them, for he was surrounded by a band of harsh-featured Knooks, more crooked and deformed in appearance than any he had ever seen.

“Who are you that call on us?” demanded one, in a gruff voice.

“The friend of your brothers in Burzee,” answered Claus. “I have been brought here by my enemies, the Awgwas, and left to perish miserably. Yet now I implore your help to release me and to send me home again.”

“Have you the sign?” asked another.

“Yes,” said Claus.

They cut his bonds, and with his free arms he made the secret sign of the Knooks.

Instantly they assisted him to stand upon his feet, and they brought him food and drink to strengthen him.

“Our brothers of Burzee make queer friends,” grumbled an ancient Knook whose flowing beard was pure white. “But he who knows our secret sign and signal is entitled to our help, whoever he may be. Close your eyes, stranger, and we will conduct you to your home. Where shall we seek it?”

“‘Tis in the Laughing Valley,” answered Claus, shutting his eyes.

“There is but one Laughing Valley in the known world, so we can not go astray,” remarked the Knook.

As he spoke the sound of his voice seemed to die away, so Claus opened his eyes to see what caused the change. To his astonishment he found himself seated on the bench by his own door, with the Laughing Valley spread out before him. That day he visited the Wood-Nymphs and related his adventure to Queen Zurline and Necile.

“The Awgwas have become your enemies,” said the lovely Queen, thoughtfully; “so we must do all we can to protect you from their power.”

“It was cowardly to bind him while he slept,” remarked Necile, with indignation.

“The evil ones are ever cowardly,” answered Zurline, “but our friend’s slumber shall not be disturbed again.”

The Queen herself came to the dwelling of Claus that evening and placed her Seal on every door and window, to keep out the Awgwas. And under the Seal of Queen Zurline was placed the Seal of the Fairies and the Seal of the Ryls and the Seals of the Knooks, that the charm might become more powerful.

And Claus carried his toys to the children again, and made many more of the little ones happy.

You may guess how angry the King Awgwa and his fierce band were when it was known to them that Claus had escaped from the Forest of Ethop.

They raged madly for a whole week, and then held another meeting among the rocks.

“It is useless to carry him where the Knooks reign,” said the King, “for he has their protection. So let us cast him into a cave of our own mountains, where he will surely perish.”

This was promptly agreed to, and the wicked band set out that night to seize Claus. But they found his dwelling guarded by the Seals of the Immortals and were obliged to go away baffled and disappointed.

“Never mind,” said the King; “he does not sleep always!”

Next day, as Claus traveled to the village across the plain, where he intended to present a toy squirrel to a lame boy, he was suddenly set upon by the Awgwas, who seized him and carried him away to the mountains.

There they thrust him within a deep cavern and rolled many huge rocks against the entrance to prevent his escape.

Deprived thus of light and food, and with little air to breathe, our Claus was, indeed, in a pitiful plight. But he spoke the mystic words of the Fairies, which always command their friendly aid, and they came to his rescue and transported him to the Laughing Valley in the twinkling of an eye.

Thus the Awgwas discovered they might not destroy one who had earned the friendship of the immortals; so the evil band sought other means of keeping Claus from bringing happiness to children and so making them obedient.

Whenever Claus set out to carry his toys to the little ones an Awgwa, who had been set to watch his movements, sprang upon him and snatched the toys from his grasp. And the children were no more disappointed than was Claus when he was obliged to return home disconsolate. Still he persevered, and made many toys for his little friends and started with them for the villages. And always the Awgwas robbed him as soon as he had left the Valley.

They threw the stolen playthings into one of their lonely caverns, and quite a heap of toys accumulated before Claus became discouraged and gave up all attempts to leave the Valley. Then children began coming to him, since they found he did not go to them; but the wicked Awgwas flew around them and caused their steps to stray and the paths to become crooked, so never a little one could find a way into the Laughing Valley.

Lonely days now fell upon Claus, for he was denied the pleasure of bringing happiness to the children whom he had learned to love. Yet he bore up bravely, for he thought surely the time would come when the Awgwas would abandon their evil designs to injure him.

He devoted all his hours to toy-making, and when one plaything had been completed he stood it on a shelf he had built for that purpose. When the shelf became filled with rows of toys he made another one, and filled that also. So that in time he had many shelves filled with gay and beautiful toys representing horses, dogs, cats, elephants, lambs, rabbits and deer, as well as pretty dolls of all sizes and balls and marbles of baked clay painted in gay colors.

Often, as he glanced at this array of childish treasures, the heart of good old Claus became sad, so greatly did he long to carry the toys to his children. And at last, because he could bear it no longer, he ventured to go to the great Ak, to whom he told the story of his persecution by the Awgwas, and begged the Master Woodsman to assist him.

7. The Great Battle Between Good and Evil

Ak listened gravely to the recital of Claus, stroking his beard the while with the slow, graceful motion that betokened deep thought. He nodded approvingly when Claus told how the Knooks and Fairies had saved him from death, and frowned when he heard how the Awgwas had stolen the children’s toys. At last he said:

“From the beginning I have approved the work you are doing among the children of men, and it annoys me that your good deeds should be thwarted by the Awgwas. We immortals have no connection whatever with the evil creatures who have attacked you. Always have we avoided them, and they, in turn, have hitherto taken care not to cross our pathway. But in this matter I find they have interfered with one of our friends, and I will ask them to abandon their persecutions, as you are under our protection.”

Claus thanked the Master Woodsman most gratefully and returned to his Valley, while Ak, who never delayed carrying out his promises, at once traveled to the mountains of the Awgwas.

There, standing on the bare rocks, he called on the King and his people to appear.

Instantly the place was filled with throngs of the scowling Awgwas, and their King, perching himself on a point of rock, demanded fiercely:

“Who dares call on us?”

“It is I, the Master Woodsman of the World,” responded Ak.

“Here are no forests for you to claim,” cried the King, angrily. “We owe no allegiance to you, nor to any immortal!”

“That is true,” replied Ak, calmly. “Yet you have ventured to interfere with the actions of Claus, who dwells in the Laughing Valley, and is under our protection.”

Many of the Awgwas began muttering at this speech, and their King turned threateningly on the Master Woodsman.

“You are set to rule the forests, but the plains and the valleys are ours!” he shouted. “Keep to your own dark woods! We will do as we please with Claus.”

“You shall not harm our friend in any way!” replied Ak.

“Shall we not?” asked the King, impudently. “You will see! Our powers are vastly superior to those of mortals, and fully as great as those of immortals.”

“It is your conceit that misleads you!” said Ak, sternly. “You are a transient race, passing from life into nothingness. We, who live forever, pity but despise you. On earth you are scorned by all, and in Heaven you have no place! Even the mortals, after their earth life, enter another existence for all time, and so are your superiors. How then dare you, who are neither mortal nor immortal, refuse to obey my wish?”

The Awgwas sprang to their feet with menacing gestures, but their King motioned them back.

“Never before,” he cried to Ak, while his voice trembled with rage, “has an immortal declared himself the master of the Awgwas! Never shall an immortal venture to interfere with our actions again! For we will avenge your scornful words by killing your friend Claus within three days. Nor you, nor all the immortals can save him from our wrath. We defy your powers! Begone, Master Woodsman of the World! In the country of the Awgwas you have no place.”

“It is war!” declared Ak, with flashing eyes.

“It is war!” returned the King, savagely. “In three days your friend will be dead.”

The Master turned away and came to his Forest of Burzee, where he called a meeting of the immortals and told them of the defiance of the Awgwas and their purpose to kill Claus within three days.

The little folk listened to him quietly.

“What shall we do?” asked Ak.

“These creatures are of no benefit to the world,” said the Prince of the Knooks; “we must destroy them.”

“Their lives are devoted only to evil deeds,” said the Prince of the Ryls. “We must destroy them.”

“They have no conscience, and endeavor to make all mortals as bad as themselves,” said the Queen of the Fairies. “We must destroy them.”

“They have defied the great Ak, and threaten the life of our adopted son,” said beautiful Queen Zurline. “We must destroy them.”

The Master Woodsman smiled.

“You speak well,” said he. “These Awgwas we know to be a powerful race, and they will fight desperately; yet the outcome is certain. For we who live can never die, even though conquered by our enemies, while every Awgwa who is struck down is one foe the less to oppose us. Prepare, then, for battle, and let us resolve to show no mercy to the wicked!”

Thus arose that terrible war between the immortals and the spirits of evil which is sung of in Fairyland to this very day.

The King Awgwa and his band determined to carry out the threat to destroy Claus. They now hated him for two reasons: he made children happy and was a friend of the Master Woodsman. But since Ak’s visit they had reason to fear the opposition of the immortals, and they dreaded defeat. So the King sent swift messengers to all parts of the world to summon every evil creature to his aid.

And on the third day after the declaration of war a mighty army was at the command of the King Awgwa. There were three hundred Asiatic Dragons, breathing fire that consumed everything it touched. These hated mankind and all good spirits. And there were the three-eyed Giants of Tatary, a host in themselves, who liked nothing better than to fight. And next came the Black Demons from Patalonia, with great spreading wings like those of a bat, which swept terror and misery through the world as they beat upon the air. And joined to these were the Goozzle-Goblins, with long talons as sharp as swords, with which they clawed the flesh from their foes. Finally, every mountain Awgwa in the world had come to participate in the great battle with the immortals.

The King Awgwa looked around upon this vast army and his heart beat high with wicked pride, for he believed he would surely triumph over his gentle enemies, who had never before been known to fight. But the Master Woodsman had not been idle. None of his people was used to warfare, yet now that they were called upon to face the hosts of evil they willingly prepared for the fray.

Ak had commanded them to assemble in the Laughing Valley, where Claus, ignorant of the terrible battle that was to be waged on his account, was quietly making his toys.

Soon the entire Valley, from hill to hill, was filled with the little immortals. The Master Woodsman stood first, bearing a gleaming ax that shone like burnished silver. Next came the Ryls, armed with sharp thorns from bramblebushes. Then the Knooks, bearing the spears they used when they were forced to prod their savage beasts into submission. The Fairies, dressed in white gauze with rainbow-hued wings, bore golden wands, and the Wood-nymphs, in their uniforms of oak-leaf green, carried switches from ash trees as weapons.

Loud laughed the Awgwa King when he beheld the size and the arms of his foes. To be sure the mighty ax of the Woodsman was to be dreaded, but the sweet-faced Nymphs and pretty Fairies, the gentle Ryls and crooked Knooks were such harmless folk that he almost felt shame at having called such a terrible host to oppose them.

“Since these fools dare fight,” he said to the leader of the Tatary Giants, “I will overwhelm them with our evil powers!”

To begin the battle he poised a great stone in his left hand and cast it full against the sturdy form of the Master Woodsman, who turned it aside with his ax. Then rushed the three-eyed Giants of Tatary upon the Knooks, and the Goozzle-Goblins upon the Ryls, and the firebreathing Dragons upon the sweet Fairies. Because the Nymphs were Ak’s own people the band of Awgwas sought them out, thinking to overcome them with ease.

But it is the Law that while Evil, unopposed, may accomplish terrible deeds, the powers of Good can never be overthrown when opposed to Evil. Well had it been for the King Awgwa had he known the Law!

His ignorance cost him his existence, for one flash of the ax borne by the Master Woodsman of the World cleft the wicked King in twain and rid the earth of the vilest creature it contained.

Greatly marveled the Tatary Giants when the spears of the little Knooks pierced their thick walls of flesh and sent them reeling to the ground with howls of agony.

Woe came upon the sharp-taloned Goblins when the thorns of the Ryls reached their savage hearts and let their life-blood sprinkle all the plain. And afterward from every drop a thistle grew.

The Dragons paused astonished before the Fairy wands, from whence rushed a power that caused their fiery breaths to flow back on themselves so that they shriveled away and died.

As for the Awgwas, they had scant time to realize how they were destroyed, for the ash switches of the Nymphs bore a charm unknown to any Awgwa, and turned their foes into clods of earth at the slightest touch!

When Ak leaned upon his gleaming ax and turned to look over the field of battle he saw the few Giants who were able to run disappearing over the distant hills on their return to Tatary. The Goblins had perished every one, as had the terrible Dragons, while all that remained of the wicked Awgwas was a great number of earthen hillocks dotting the plain.

And now the immortals melted from the Valley like dew at sunrise, to resume their duties in the Forest, while Ak walked slowly and thoughtfully to the house of Claus and entered.

“You have many toys ready for the children,” said the Woodsman, “and now you may carry them across the plain to the dwellings and the villages without fear.”

“Will not the Awgwas harm me?” asked Claus, eagerly.

“The Awgwas,” said Ak, “have perished!”

Now I will gladly have done with wicked spirits and with fighting and bloodshed. It was not from choice that I told of the Awgwas and their allies, and of their great battle with the immortals. They were part of this history, and could not be avoided.

8. The First Journey with the Reindeer

Those were happy days for Claus when he carried his accumulation of toys to the children who had awaited them so long. During his imprisonment in the Valley he had been so industrious that all his shelves were filled with playthings, and after quickly supplying the little ones living near by he saw he must now extend his travels to wider fields.

Remembering the time when he had journeyed with Ak through all the world, he know children were everywhere, and he longed to make as many as possible happy with his gifts.

So he loaded a great sack with all kinds of toys, slung it upon his back that he might carry it more easily, and started off on a longer trip than he had yet undertaken.

Wherever he showed his merry face, in hamlet or in farmhouse, he received a cordial welcome, for his fame had spread into far lands. At each village the children swarmed about him, following his footsteps wherever he went; and the women thanked him gratefully for the joy he brought their little ones; and the men looked upon him curiously that he should devote his time to such a queer occupation as toy-making. But every one smiled on him and gave him kindly words, and Claus felt amply repaid for his long journey.

When the sack was empty he went back again to the Laughing Valley and once more filled it to the brim. This time he followed another road, into a different part of the country, and carried happiness to many children who never before had owned a toy or guessed that such a delightful plaything existed.

After a third journey, so far away that Claus was many days walking the distance, the store of toys became exhausted and without delay he set about making a fresh supply.

From seeing so many children and studying their tastes he had acquired several new ideas about toys.

The dollies were, he had found, the most delightful of all playthings for babies and little girls, and often those who could not say “dolly” would call for a “doll” in their sweet baby talk. So Claus resolved to make many dolls, of all sizes, and to dress them in bright-colored clothing. The older boys—and even some of the girls—loved the images of animals, so he still made cats and elephants and horses. And many of the little fellows had musical natures, and longed for drums and cymbals and whistles and horns. So he made a number of toy drums, with tiny sticks to beat them with; and he made whistles from the willow trees, and horns from the bog-reeds, and cymbals from bits of beaten metal.

All this kept him busily at work, and before he realized it the winter season came, with deeper snows than usual, and he knew he could not leave the Valley with his heavy pack. Moreover, the next trip would take him farther from home than every before, and Jack Frost was mischievous enough to nip his nose and ears if he undertook the long journey while the Frost King reigned. The Frost King was Jack’s father and never reproved him for his pranks.

So Claus remained at his work-bench; but he whistled and sang as merrily as ever, for he would allow no disappointment to sour his temper or make him unhappy.

One bright morning he looked from his window and saw two of the deer he had known in the Forest walking toward his house.

Claus was surprised; not that the friendly deer should visit him, but that they walked on the surface of the snow as easily as if it were solid ground, notwithstanding the fact that throughout the Valley the snow lay many feet deep. He had walked out of his house a day or two before and had sunk to his armpits in a drift.

So when the deer came near he opened the door and called to them:

“Good morning, Flossie! Tell me how you are able to walk on the snow so easily.”

“It is frozen hard,” answered Flossie.

“The Frost King has breathed on it,” said Glossie, coming up, “and the surface is now as solid as ice.”

“Perhaps,” remarked Claus, thoughtfully, “I might now carry my pack of toys to the children.”

“Is it a long journey?” asked Flossie.

“Yes; it will take me many days, for the pack is heavy,” answered Claus.

“Then the snow would melt before you could get back,” said the deer. “You must wait until spring, Claus.”

Claus sighed. “Had I your fleet feet,” said he, “I could make the journey in a day.”

“But you have not,” returned Glossie, looking at his own slender legs with pride.

“Perhaps I could ride upon your back,” Claus ventured to remark, after a pause.

“Oh no; our backs are not strong enough to bear your weight,” said Flossie, decidedly. “But if you had a sledge, and could harness us to it, we might draw you easily, and your pack as well.”

“I’ll make a sledge!” exclaimed Claus. “Will you agree to draw me if I do?”

“Well,” replied Flossie, “we must first go and ask the Knooks, who are our guardians, for permission; but if they consent, and you can make a sledge and harness, we will gladly assist you.”

“Then go at once!” cried Claus, eagerly. “I am sure the friendly Knooks will give their consent, and by the time you are back I shall be ready to harness you to my sledge.”

Flossie and Glossie, being deer of much intelligence, had long wished to see the great world, so they gladly ran over the frozen snow to ask the Knooks if they might carry Claus on his journey.

Meantime the toy-maker hurriedly began the construction of a sledge, using material from his wood-pile. He made two long runners that turned upward at the front ends, and across these nailed short boards, to make a platform. It was soon completed, but was as rude in appearance as it is possible for a sledge to be.

The harness was more difficult to prepare, but Claus twisted strong cords together and knotted them so they would fit around the necks of the deer, in the shape of a collar. From these ran other cords to fasten the deer to the front of the sledge.

Before the work was completed Glossie and Flossie were back from the Forest, having been granted permission by Will Knook to make the journey with Claus provided they would to Burzee by daybreak the next morning.

“That is not a very long time,” said Flossie; “but we are swift and strong, and if we get started by this evening we can travel many miles during the night.”

Claus decided to make the attempt, so he hurried on his preparations as fast as possible. After a time he fastened the collars around the necks of his steeds and harnessed them to his rude sledge. Then he placed a stool on the little platform, to serve as a seat, and filled a sack with his prettiest toys.

“How do you intend to guide us?” asked Glossie. “We have never been out of the Forest before, except to visit your house, so we shall not know the way.”

Claus thought about that for a moment. Then he brought more cords and fastened two of them to the spreading antlers of each deer, one on the right and the other on the left.

“Those will be my reins,” said Claus, “and when I pull them to the right or to the left you must go in that direction. If I do not pull the reins at all you may go straight ahead.”

“Very well,” answered Glossie and Flossie; and then they asked: “Are you ready?”

Claus seated himself upon the stool, placed the sack of toys at his feet, and then gathered up the reins.

“All ready!” he shouted; “away we go!”

The deer leaned forward, lifted their slender limbs, and the next moment away flew the sledge over the frozen snow. The swiftness of the motion surprised Claus, for in a few strides they were across the Valley and gliding over the broad plain beyond.

The day had melted into evening by the time they started; for, swiftly as Claus had worked, many hours had been consumed in making his preparations. But the moon shone brightly to light their way, and Claus soon decided it was just as pleasant to travel by night as by day.

The deer liked it better; for, although they wished to see something of the world, they were timid about meeting men, and now all the dwellers in the towns and farmhouses were sound asleep and could not see them.

Away and away they sped, on and on over the hills and through the valleys and across the plains until they reached a village where Claus had never been before.

Here he called on them to stop, and they immediately obeyed. But a new difficulty now presented itself, for the people had locked their doors when they went to bed, and Claus found he could not enter the houses to leave his toys.

“I am afraid, my friends, we have made our journey for nothing,” said he, “for I shall be obliged to carry my playthings back home again without giving them to the children of this village.”

“What’s the matter?” asked Flossie.

“The doors are locked,” answered Claus, “and I can not get in.”

Glossie looked around at the houses. The snow was quite deep in that village, and just before them was a roof only a few feet above the sledge. A broad chimney, which seemed to Glossie big enough to admit Claus, was at the peak of the roof.

“Why don’t you climb down that chimney?” asked Glossie.

Claus looked at it.

“That would be easy enough if I were on top of the roof,” he answered.

“Then hold fast and we will take you there,” said the deer, and they gave one bound to the roof and landed beside the big chimney.

“Good!” cried Claus, well pleased, and he slung the pack of toys over his shoulder and got into the chimney.

There was plenty of soot on the bricks, but he did not mind that, and by placing his hands and knees against the sides he crept downward until he had reached the fireplace. Leaping lightly over the smoldering coals he found himself in a large sitting-room, where a dim light was burning.

From this room two doorways led into smaller chambers. In one a woman lay asleep, with a baby beside her in a crib.

Claus laughed, but he did not laugh aloud for fear of waking the baby. Then he slipped a big doll from his pack and laid it in the crib. The little one smiled, as if it dreamed of the pretty plaything it was to find on the morrow, and Claus crept softly from the room and entered at the other doorway.

Here were two boys, fast asleep with their arms around each other’s neck. Claus gazed at them lovingly a moment and then placed upon the bed a drum, two horns and a wooden elephant.

He did not linger, now that his work in this house was done, but climbed the chimney again and seated himself on his sledge.

“Can you find another chimney?” he asked the reindeer.

“Easily enough,” replied Glossie and Flossie.

Down to the edge of the roof they raced, and then, without pausing, leaped through the air to the top of the next building, where a huge, old-fashioned chimney stood.

“Don’t be so long, this time,” called Flossie, “or we shall never get back to the Forest by daybreak.”

Claus made a trip down this chimney also and found five children sleeping in the house, all of whom were quickly supplied with toys.

When he returned the deer sprang to the next roof, but on descending the chimney Claus found no children there at all. That was not often the case in this village, however, so he lost less time than you might suppose in visiting the dreary homes where there were no little ones.

When he had climbed down the chimneys of all the houses in that village, and had left a toy for every sleeping child, Claus found that his great sack was not yet half emptied.

“Onward, friends!” he called to the deer; “we must seek another village.”

So away they dashed, although it was long past midnight, and in a surprisingly short time they came to a large city, the largest Claus had ever visited since he began to make toys. But, nothing daunted by the throng of houses, he set to work at once and his beautiful steeds carried him rapidly from one roof to another, only the highest being beyond the leaps of the agile deer.

At last the supply of toys was exhausted and Claus seated himself in the sledge, with the empty sack at his feet, and turned the heads of Glossie and Flossie toward home.

Presently Flossie asked:

“What is that gray streak in the sky?”

“It is the coming dawn of day,” answered Claus, surprised to find that it was so late.

“Good gracious!” exclaimed Glossie; “then we shall not be home by daybreak, and the Knooks will punish us and never let us come again.”

“We must race for the Laughing Valley and make our best speed,” returned Flossie; “so hold fast, friend Claus!”

Claus held fast and the next moment was flying so swiftly over the snow that he could not see the trees as they whirled past. Up hill and down dale, swift as an arrow shot from a bow they dashed, and Claus shut his eyes to keep the wind out of them and left the deer to find their own way.

It seemed to him they were plunging through space, but he was not at all afraid. The Knooks were severe masters, and must be obeyed at all hazards, and the gray streak in the sky was growing brighter every moment.

Finally the sledge came to a sudden stop and Claus, who was taken unawares, tumbled from his seat into a snowdrift. As he picked himself up he heard the deer crying:

“Quick, friend, quick! Cut away our harness!”

He drew his knife and rapidly severed the cords, and then he wiped the moisture from his eyes and looked around him.

The sledge had come to a stop in the Laughing Valley, only a few feet, he found, from his own door. In the East the day was breaking, and turning to the edge of Burzee he saw Glossie and Flossie just disappearing in the Forest.

9. “Santa Claus!”

Claus thought that none of the children would ever know where the toys came from which they found by their bedsides when they wakened the following morning. But kindly deeds are sure to bring fame, and fame has many wings to carry its tidings into far lands; so for miles and miles in every direction people were talking of Claus and his wonderful gifts to children. The sweet generousness of his work caused a few selfish folk to sneer, but even these were forced to admit their respect for a man so gentle-natured that he loved to devote his life to pleasing the helpless little ones of his race.

Therefore the inhabitants of every city and village had been eagerly watching the coming of Claus, and remarkable stories of his beautiful playthings were told the children to keep them patient and contented.

When, on the morning following the first trip of Claus with his deer, the little ones came running to their parents with the pretty toys they had found, and asked from whence they came, they was but one reply to the question.

“The good Claus must have been here, my darlings; for his are the only toys in all the world!”

“But how did he get in?” asked the children.

At this the fathers shook their heads, being themselves unable to understand how Claus had gained admittance to their homes; but the mothers, watching the glad faces of their dear ones, whispered that the good Claus was no mortal man but assuredly a Saint, and they piously blessed his name for the happiness he had bestowed upon their children.

“A Saint,” said one, with bowed head, “has no need to unlock doors if it pleases him to enter our homes.”

And, afterward, when a child was naughty or disobedient, its mother would say:

“You must pray to the good Santa Claus for forgiveness. He does not like naughty children, and, unless you repent, he will bring you no more pretty toys.”

But Santa Claus himself would not have approved this speech. He brought toys to the children because they were little and helpless, and because he loved them. He knew that the best of children were sometimes naughty, and that the naughty ones were often good. It is the way with children, the world over, and he would not have changed their natures had he possessed the power to do so.

And that is how our Claus became Santa Claus. It is possible for any man, by good deeds, to enshrine himself as a Saint in the hearts of the people.

10. Christmas Eve

The day that broke as Claus returned from his night ride with Glossie and Flossie brought to him a new trouble. Will Knook, the chief guardian of the deer, came to him, surly and ill-tempered, to complain that he had kept Glossie and Flossie beyond daybreak, in opposition to his orders.

“Yet it could not have been very long after daybreak,” said Claus.

“It was one minute after,” answered Will Knook, “and that is as bad as one hour. I shall set the stinging gnats on Glossie and Flossie, and they will thus suffer terribly for their disobedience.”

“Don’t do that!” begged Claus. “It was my fault.”

But Will Knook would listen to no excuses, and went away grumbling and growling in his ill-natured way.

For this reason Claus entered the Forest to consult Necile about rescuing the good deer from punishment. To his delight he found his old friend, the Master Woodsman, seated in the circle of Nymphs.

Ak listened to the story of the night journey to the children and of the great assistance the deer had been to Claus by drawing his sledge over the frozen snow.

“I do not wish my friends to be punished if I can save them,” said the toy-maker, when he had finished the relation. “They were only one minute late, and they ran swifter than a bird flies to get home before daybreak.”

Ak stroked his beard thoughtfully a moment, and then sent for the Prince of the Knooks, who rules all his people in Burzee, and also for the Queen of the Fairies and the Prince of the Ryls.

When all had assembled Claus told his story again, at Ak’s command, and then the Master addressed the Prince of the Knooks, saying:

“The good work that Claus is doing among mankind deserves the support of every honest immortal. Already he is called a Saint in some of the towns, and before long the name of Santa Claus will be lovingly known in every home that is blessed with children. Moreover, he is a son of our Forest, so we owe him our encouragement. You, Ruler of the Knooks, have known him these many years; am I not right in saying he deserves our friendship?”

The Prince, crooked and sour of visage as all Knooks are, looked only upon the dead leaves at his feet and muttered: “You are the Master Woodsman of the World!”

Ak smiled, but continued, in soft tones: “It seems that the deer which are guarded by your people can be of great assistance to Claus, and as they seem willing to draw his sledge I beg that you will permit him to use their services whenever he pleases.”

The Prince did not reply, but tapped the curled point of his sandal with the tip of his spear, as if in thought.

Then the Fairy Queen spoke to him in this way: “If you consent to Ak’s request I will see that no harm comes to your deer while they are away from the Forest.”

And the Prince of the Ryls added: “For my part I will allow to every deer that assists Claus the privilege of eating my casa plants, which give strength, and my grawle plants, which give fleetness of foot, and my marbon plants, which give long life.”

And the Queen of the Nymphs said: “The deer which draw the sledge of Claus will be permitted to bathe in the Forest pool of Nares, which will give them sleek coats and wonderful beauty.”

The Prince of the Knooks, hearing these promises, shifted uneasily on his seat, for in his heart he hated to refuse a request of his fellow immortals, although they were asking an unusual favor at his hands, and the Knooks are unaccustomed to granting favors of any kind. Finally he turned to his servants and said:

“Call Will Knook.”

When surly Will came and heard the demands of the immortals he protested loudly against granting them.

“Deer are deer,” said he, “and nothing but deer. Were they horses it would be right to harness them like horses. But no one harnesses deer because they are free, wild creatures, owing no service of any sort to mankind. It would degrade my deer to labor for Claus, who is only a man in spite of the friendship lavished on him by the immortals.”

“You have heard,” said the Prince to Ak. “There is truth in what Will says.”

“Call Glossie and Flossie,” returned the Master.

The deer were brought to the conference and Ak asked them if they objected to drawing the sledge for Claus.

“No, indeed!” replied Glossie; “we enjoyed the trip very much.”

“And we tried to get home by daybreak,” added Flossie, “but were unfortunately a minute too late.”

“A minute lost at daybreak doesn’t matter,” said Ak. “You are forgiven for that delay.”

“Provided it does not happen again,” said the Prince of the Knooks, sternly.

“And will you permit them to make another journey with me?” asked Claus, eagerly.

The Prince reflected while he gazed at Will, who was scowling, and at the Master Woodsman, who was smiling.

Then he stood up and addressed the company as follows:

“Since you all urge me to grant the favor I will permit the deer to go with Claus once every year, on Christmas Eve, provided they always return to the Forest by daybreak. He may select any number he pleases, up to ten, to draw his sledge, and those shall be known among us as Reindeer, to distinguish them from the others. And they shall bathe in the Pool of Nares, and eat the casa and grawle and marbon plants and shall be under the especial protection of the Fairy Queen. And now cease scowling, Will Knook, for my words shall be obeyed!”

He hobbled quickly away through the trees, to avoid the thanks of Claus and the approval of the other immortals, and Will, looking as cross as ever, followed him.

But Ak was satisfied, knowing that he could rely on the promise of the Prince, however grudgingly given; and Glossie and Flossie ran home, kicking up their heels delightedly at every step.

“When is Christmas Eve?” Claus asked the Master.

“In about ten days,” he replied.

“Then I can not use the deer this year,” said Claus, thoughtfully, “for I shall not have time enough to make my sackful of toys.”

“The shrewd Prince foresaw that,” responded Ak, “and therefore named Christmas Eve as the day you might use the deer, knowing it would cause you to lose an entire year.”

“If I only had the toys the Awgwas stole from me,” said Claus, sadly, “I could easily fill my sack for the children.”

“Where are they?” asked the Master.

“I do not know,” replied Claus, “but the wicked Awgwas probably hid them in the mountains.”

Ak turned to the Fairy Queen.

“Can you find them?” he asked.

“I will try,” she replied, brightly.

Then Claus went back to the Laughing Valley, to work as hard as he could, and a band of Fairies immediately flew to the mountain that had been haunted by the Awgwas and began a search for the stolen toys.

The Fairies, as we well know, possess wonderful powers; but the cunning Awgwas had hidden the toys in a deep cave and covered the opening with rocks, so no one could look in. Therefore all search for the missing playthings proved in vain for several days, and Claus, who sat at home waiting for news from the Fairies, almost despaired of getting the toys before Christmas Eve.

He worked hard every moment, but it took considerable time to carve out and to shape each toy and to paint it properly, so that on the morning before Christmas Eve only half of one small shelf above the window was filled with playthings ready for the children.

But on this morning the Fairies who were searching in the mountains had a new thought. They joined hands and moved in a straight line through the rocks that formed the mountain, beginning at the topmost peak and working downward, so that no spot could be missed by their bright eyes. And at last they discovered the cave where the toys had been heaped up by the wicked Awgwas.

It did not take them long to burst open the mouth of the cave, and then each one seized as many toys as he could carry and they all flew to Claus and laid the treasure before him.

The good man was rejoiced to receive, just in the nick of time, such a store of playthings with which to load his sledge, and he sent word to Glossie and Flossie to be ready for the journey at nightfall.

With all his other labors he had managed to find time, since the last trip, to repair the harness and to strengthen his sledge, so that when the deer came to him at twilight he had no difficulty in harnessing them.

“We must go in another direction to-night,” he told them, “where we shall find children I have never yet visited. And we must travel fast and work quickly, for my sack is full of toys and running over the brim!”

So, just as the moon arose, they dashed out of the Laughing Valley and across the plain and over the hills to the south. The air was sharp and frosty and the starlight touched the snowflakes and made them glitter like countless diamonds. The reindeer leaped onward with strong, steady bounds, and Claus’ heart was so light and merry that he laughed and sang while the wind whistled past his ears:

“With a ho, ho, ho!
And a ha, ha, ha!
And a ho, ho! ha, ha, hee!
Now away we go
O’er the frozen snow,
As merry as we can be!”

Jack Frost heard him and came racing up with his nippers, but when he saw it was Claus he laughed and turned away again.

The mother owls heard him as he passed near a wood and stuck their heads out of the hollow places in the tree-trunks; but when they saw who it was they whispered to the owlets nestling near them that it was only Santa Claus carrying toys to the children. It is strange how much those mother owls know.

Claus stopped at some of the scattered farmhouses and climbed down the chimneys to leave presents for the babies. Soon after he reached a village and worked merrily for an hour distributing playthings among the sleeping little ones. Then away again he went, signing his joyous carol:

“Now away we go
O’er the gleaming snow,
While the deer run swift and free!
For to girls and boys
We carry the toys
That will fill their hearts with glee!”

The deer liked the sound of his deep bass voice and kept time to the song with their hoofbeats on the hard snow; but soon they stopped at another chimney and Santa Claus, with sparkling eyes and face brushed red by the wind, climbed down its smoky sides and left a present for every child the house contained.

It was a merry, happy night. Swiftly the deer ran, and busily their driver worked to scatter his gifts among the sleeping children.

But the sack was empty at last, and the sledge headed homeward; and now again the race with daybreak began. Glossie and Flossie had no mind to be rebuked a second time for tardiness, so they fled with a swiftness that enabled them to pass the gale on which the Frost King rode, and soon brought them to the Laughing Valley.

It is true when Claus released his steeds from their harness the eastern sky was streaked with gray, but Glossie and Flossie were deep in the Forest before day fairly broke.

Claus was so wearied with his night’s work that he threw himself upon his bed and fell into a deep slumber, and while he slept the Christmas sun appeared in the sky and shone upon hundreds of happy homes where the sound of childish laughter proclaimed that Santa Claus had made them a visit.

God bless him! It was his first Christmas Eve, and for hundreds of years since then he has nobly fulfilled his mission to bring happiness to the hearts of little children.

11. How the First Stockings Were Hung by the Chimneys

When you remember that no child, until Santa Claus began his travels, had ever known the pleasure of possessing a toy, you will understand how joy crept into the homes of those who had been favored with a visit from the good man, and how they talked of him day by day in loving tones and were honestly grateful for his kindly deeds. It is true that great warriors and mighty kings and clever scholars of that day were often spoken of by the people; but no one of them was so greatly beloved as Santa Claus, because none other was so unselfish as to devote himself to making others happy. For a generous deed lives longer than a great battle or a king’s decree of a scholar’s essay, because it spreads and leaves its mark on all nature and endures through many generations.

The bargain made with the Knook Prince changed the plans of Claus for all future time; for, being able to use the reindeer on but one night of each year, he decided to devote all the other days to the manufacture of playthings, and on Christmas Eve to carry them to the children of the world.

But a year’s work would, he knew, result in a vast accumulation of toys, so he resolved to build a new sledge that would be larger and stronger and better-fitted for swift travel than the old and clumsy one.

His first act was to visit the Gnome King, with whom he made a bargain to exchange three drums, a trumpet and two dolls for a pair of fine steel runners, curled beautifully at the ends. For the Gnome King had children of his own, who, living in the hollows under the earth, in mines and caverns, needed something to amuse them.

In three days the steel runners were ready, and when Claus brought the playthings to the Gnome King, his Majesty was so greatly pleased with them that he presented Claus with a string of sweet-toned sleigh-bells, in addition to the runners.

“These will please Glossie and Flossie,” said Claus, as he jingled the bells and listened to their merry sound. “But I should have two strings of bells, one for each deer.”

“Bring me another trumpet and a toy cat,” replied the King, “and you shall have a second string of bells like the first.”

“It is a bargain!” cried Claus, and he went home again for the toys.

The new sledge was carefully built, the Knooks bringing plenty of strong but thin boards to use in its construction. Claus made a high, rounding dash-board to keep off the snow cast behind by the fleet hoofs of the deer; and he made high sides to the platform so that many toys could be carried, and finally he mounted the sledge upon the slender steel runners made by the Gnome King.

It was certainly a handsome sledge, and big and roomy. Claus painted it in bright colors, although no one was likely to see it during his midnight journeys, and when all was finished he sent for Glossie and Flossie to come and look at it.

The deer admired the sledge, but gravely declared it was too big and heavy for them to draw.

“We might pull it over the snow, to be sure,” said Glossie; “but we would not pull it fast enough to enable us to visit the far-away cities and villages and return to the Forest by daybreak.”

“Then I must add two more deer to my team,” declared Claus, after a moment’s thought.

“The Knook Prince allowed you as many as ten. Why not use them all?” asked Flossie. “Then we could speed like the lightning and leap to the highest roofs with ease.”

“A team of ten reindeer!” cried Claus, delightedly. “That will be splendid. Please return to the Forest at once and select eight other deer as like yourselves as possible. And you must all eat of the casa plant, to become strong, and of the grawle plant, to become fleet of foot, and of the marbon plant, that you may live long to accompany me on my journeys. Likewise it will be well for you to bathe in the Pool of Nares, which the lovely Queen Zurline declares will render you rarely beautiful. Should you perform these duties faithfully there is no doubt that on next Christmas Eve my ten reindeer will be the most powerful and beautiful steeds the world has ever seen!”

So Glossie and Flossie went to the Forest to choose their mates, and Claus began to consider the question of a harness for them all.

In the end he called upon Peter Knook for assistance, for Peter’s heart is as kind as his body is crooked, and he is remarkably shrewd, as well. And Peter agreed to furnish strips of tough leather for the harness.

This leather was cut from the skins of lions that had reached such an advanced age that they died naturally, and on one side was tawny hair while the other side was cured to the softness of velvet by the deft Knooks. When Claus received these strips of leather he sewed them neatly into a harness for the ten reindeer, and it proved strong and serviceable and lasted him for many years.

The harness and sledge were prepared at odd times, for Claus devoted most of his days to the making of toys. These were now much better than the first ones had been, for the immortals often came to his house to watch him work and to offer suggestions. It was Necile’s idea to make some of the dolls say “papa” and “mama.” It was a thought of the Knooks to put a squeak inside the lambs, so that when a child squeezed them they would say “baa-a-a-a!” And the Fairy Queen advised Claus to put whistles in the birds, so they could be made to sing, and wheels on the horses, so children could draw them around. Many animals perished in the Forest, from one cause or another, and their fur was brought to Claus that he might cover with it the small images of beasts he made for playthings. A merry Ryl suggested that Claus make a donkey with a nodding head, which he did, and afterward found that it amused the little ones immensely. And so the toys grew in beauty and attractiveness every day, until they were the wonder of even the immortals.

When another Christmas Eve drew near there was a monster load of beautiful gifts for the children ready to be loaded upon the big sledge. Claus filled three sacks to the brim, and tucked every corner of the sledge-box full of toys besides.

Then, at twilight, the ten reindeer appeared and Flossie introduced them all to Claus. They were Racer and Pacer, Reckless and Speckless, Fearless and Peerless, and Ready and Steady, who, with Glossie and Flossie, made up the ten who have traversed the world these hundreds of years with their generous master. They were all exceedingly beautiful, with slender limbs, spreading antlers, velvety dark eyes and smooth coats of fawn color spotted with white.

Claus loved them at once, and has loved them ever since, for they are loyal friends and have rendered him priceless service.

The new harness fitted them nicely and soon they were all fastened to the sledge by twos, with Glossie and Flossie in the lead. These wore the strings of sleigh-bells, and were so delighted with the music they made that they kept prancing up and down to make the bells ring.

Claus now seated himself in the sledge, drew a warm robe over his knees and his fur cap over his ears, and cracked his long whip as a signal to start.

Instantly the ten leaped forward and were away like the wind, while jolly Claus laughed gleefully to see them run and shouted a song in his big, hearty voice:

“With a ho, ho, ho!
And a ha, ha, ha!
And a ho, ho, ha, ha, hee!
Now away we go
O’er the frozen snow,
As merry as we can be!
There are many joys
In our load of toys,
As many a child will know;
We’ll scatter them wide
On our wild night ride
O’er the crisp and sparkling snow!”

Now it was on this same Christmas Eve that little Margot and her brother Dick and her cousins Ned and Sara, who were visiting at Margot’s house, came in from making a snow man, with their clothes damp, their mittens dripping and their shoes and stockings wet through and through. They were not scolded, for Margot’s mother knew the snow was melting, but they were sent early to bed that their clothes might be hung over chairs to dry. The shoes were placed on the red tiles of the hearth, where the heat from the hot embers would strike them, and the stockings were carefully hung in a row by the chimney, directly over the fireplace. That was the reason Santa Claus noticed them when he came down the chimney that night and all the household were fast asleep. He was in a tremendous hurry and seeing the stockings all belonged to children he quickly stuffed his toys into them and dashed up the chimney again, appearing on the roof so suddenly that the reindeer were astonished at his agility.

“I wish they would all hang up their stockings,” he thought, as he drove to the next chimney. “It would save me a lot of time and I could then visit more children before daybreak.”

When Margot and Dick and Ned and Sara jumped out of bed next morning and ran downstairs to get their stockings from the fireplace they were filled with delight to find the toys from Santa Claus inside them. In face, I think they found more presents in their stockings than any other children of that city had received, for Santa Claus was in a hurry and did not stop to count the toys.

Of course they told all their little friends about it, and of course every one of them decided to hang his own stockings by the fireplace the next Christmas Eve. Even Bessie Blithesome, who made a visit to that city with her father, the great Lord of Lerd, heard the story from the children and hung her own pretty stockings by the chimney when she returned home at Christmas time.

On his next trip Santa Claus found so many stockings hung up in anticipation of his visit that he could fill them in a jiffy and be away again in half the time required to hunt the children up and place the toys by their bedsides.

The custom grew year after year, and has always been a great help to Santa Claus. And, with so many children to visit, he surely needs all the help we are able to give him.

12. The First Christmas Tree

Claus had always kept his promise to the Knooks by returning to the Laughing Valley by daybreak, but only the swiftness of his reindeer has enabled him to do this, for he travels over all the world.

He loved his work and he loved the brisk night ride on his sledge and the gay tinkle of the sleigh-bells. On that first trip with the ten reindeer only Glossie and Flossie wore bells; but each year thereafter for eight years Claus carried presents to the children of the Gnome King, and that good-natured monarch gave him in return a string of bells at each visit, so that finally every one of the ten deer was supplied, and you may imagine what a merry tune the bells played as the sledge sped over the snow.

The children’s stockings were so long that it required a great many toys to fill them, and soon Claus found there were other things besides toys that children love. So he sent some of the Fairies, who were always his good friends, into the Tropics, from whence they returned with great bags full of oranges and bananas which they had plucked from the trees. And other Fairies flew to the wonderful Valley of Phunnyland, where delicious candies and bonbons grow thickly on the bushes, and returned laden with many boxes of sweetmeats for the little ones. These things Santa Claus, on each Christmas Eve, placed in the long stockings, together with his toys, and the children were glad to get them, you may be sure.

There are also warm countries where there is no snow in winter, but Claus and his reindeer visited them as well as the colder climes, for there were little wheels inside the runners of his sledge which permitted it to run as smoothly over bare ground as on the snow. And the children who lived in the warm countries learned to know the name of Santa Claus as well as those who lived nearer to the Laughing Valley.

Once, just as the reindeer were ready to start on their yearly trip, a Fairy came to Claus and told him of three little children who lived beneath a rude tent of skins on a broad plain where there were no trees whatever. These poor babies were miserable and unhappy, for their parents were ignorant people who neglected them sadly. Claus resolved to visit these children before he returned home, and during his ride he picked up the bushy top of a pine tree which the wind had broken off and placed it in his sledge.

It was nearly morning when the deer stopped before the lonely tent of skins where the poor children lay asleep. Claus at once planted the bit of pine tree in the sand and stuck many candles on the branches. Then he hung some of his prettiest toys on the tree, as well as several bags of candies. It did not take long to do all this, for Santa Claus works quickly, and when all was ready he lighted the candles and, thrusting his head in at the opening of the tent, he shouted:

“Merry Christmas, little ones!”

With that he leaped into his sledge and was out of sight before the children, rubbing the sleep from their eyes, could come out to see who had called them.

You can imagine the wonder and joy of those little ones, who had never in their lives known a real pleasure before, when they saw the tree, sparkling with lights that shone brilliant in the gray dawn and hung with toys enough to make them happy for years to come! They joined hands and danced around the tree, shouting and laughing, until they were obliged to pause for breath. And their parents, also, came out to look and wonder, and thereafter had more respect and consideration for their children, since Santa Claus had honored them with such beautiful gifts.

The idea of the Christmas tree pleased Claus, and so the following year he carried many of them in his sledge and set them up in the homes of poor people who seldom saw trees, and placed candles and toys on the branches. Of course he could not carry enough trees in one load of all who wanted them, but in some homes the fathers were able to get trees and have them all ready for Santa Claus when he arrived; and these the good Claus always decorated as prettily as possible and hung with toys enough for all the children who came to see the tree lighted.

These novel ideas and the generous manner in which they were carried out made the children long for that one night in the year when their friend Santa Claus should visit them, and as such anticipation is very pleasant and comforting the little ones gleaned much happiness by wondering what would happen when Santa Claus next arrived.

Perhaps you remember that stern Baron Braun who once drove Claus from his castle and forbade him to visit his children? Well, many years afterward, when the old Baron was dead and his son ruled in his place, the new Baron Braun came to the house of Claus with his train of knights and pages and henchmen and, dismounting from his charger, bared his head humbly before the friend of children.

“My father did not know your goodness and worth,” he said, “and therefore threatened to hang you from the castle walls. But I have children of my own, who long for a visit from Santa Claus, and I have come to beg that you will favor them hereafter as you do other children.”

Claus was pleased with this speech, for Castle Braun was the only place he had never visited, and he gladly promised to bring presents to the Baron’s children the next Christmas Eve.

The Baron went away contented, and Claus kept his promise faithfully.

Thus did this man, through very goodness, conquer the hearts of all; and it is no wonder he was ever merry and gay, for there was no home in the wide world where he was not welcomed more royally than any king.

OLD AGE

1. The Mantle of Immortality

And now we come to a turning-point in the career of Santa Claus, and it is my duty to relate the most remarkable that has happened since the world began or mankind was created.

We have followed the life of Claus from the time he was found a helpless infant by the Wood-Nymph Necile and reared to manhood in the great Forest of Burzee. And we know how he began to make toys for children and how, with the assistance and goodwill of the immortals, he was able to distribute them to the little ones throughout the world.

For many years he carried on this noble work; for the simple, hard-working life he led gave him perfect health and strength. And doubtless a man can live longer in the beautiful Laughing Valley, where there are no cares and everything is peaceful and merry, than in any other part of the world.

But when many years had rolled away Santa Claus grew old. The long beard of golden brown that once covered his cheeks and chin gradually became gray, and finally turned to pure white. His hair was white, too, and there were wrinkles at the corners of his eyes, which showed plainly when he laughed. He had never been a very tall man, and now he became fat, and waddled very much like a duck when he walked. But in spite of these things he remained as lively as ever, and was just as jolly and gay, and his kind eyes sparkled as brightly as they did that first day when he came to the Laughing Valley.

Yet a time is sure to come when every mortal who has grown old and lived his life is required to leave this world for another; so it is no wonder that, after Santa Claus had driven his reindeer on many and many a Christmas Eve, those stanch friends finally whispered among themselves that they had probably drawn his sledge for the last time.

Then all the Forest of Burzee became sad and all the Laughing Valley was hushed; for every living thing that had known Claus had used to love him and to brighten at the sound of his footsteps or the notes of his merry whistle.

No doubt the old man’s strength was at last exhausted, for he made no more toys, but lay on his bed as in a dream.

The Nymph Necile, she who had reared him and been his foster-mother, was still youthful and strong and beautiful, and it seemed to her but a short time since this aged, gray-bearded man had lain in her arms and smiled on her with his innocent, baby lips.

In this is shown the difference between mortals and immortals.

It was fortunate that the great Ak came to the Forest at this time. Necile sought him with troubled eyes and told him of the fate that threatened their friend Claus.

At once the Master became grave, and he leaned upon his ax and stroked his grizzled beard thoughtfully for many minutes. Then suddenly he stood up straight, and poised his powerful head with firm resolve, and stretched out his great right arm as if determined on doing some mighty deed. For a thought had come to him so grand in its conception that all the world might well bow before the Master Woodsman and honor his name forever!

It is well known that when the great Ak once undertakes to do a thing he never hesitates an instant. Now he summoned his fleetest messengers, and sent them in a flash to many parts of the earth. And when they were gone he turned to the anxious Necile and comforted her, saying:

“Be of good heart, my child; our friend still lives. And now run to your Queen and tell her that I have summoned a council of all the immortals of the world to meet with me here in Burzee this night. If they obey, and harken unto my words, Claus will drive his reindeer for countless ages yet to come.”

At midnight there was a wondrous scene in the ancient Forest of Burzee, where for the first time in many centuries the rulers of the immortals who inhabit the earth were gathered together.

There was the Queen of the Water Sprites, whose beautiful form was as clear as crystal but continually dripped water on the bank of moss where she sat. And beside her was the King of the Sleep Fays, who carried a wand from the end of which a fine dust fell all around, so that no mortal could keep awake long enough to see him, as mortal eyes were sure to close in sleep as soon as the dust filled them. And next to him sat the Gnome King, whose people inhabit all that region under the earth’s surface, where they guard the precious metals and the jewel stones that lie buried in rock and ore. At his right hand stood the King of the Sound Imps, who had wings on his feet, for his people are swift to carry all sounds that are made. When they are busy they carry the sounds but short distances, for there are many of them; but sometimes they speed with the sounds to places miles and miles away from where they are made. The King of the Sound Imps had an anxious and careworn face, for most people have no consideration for his Imps and, especially the boys and girls, make a great many unnecessary sounds which the Imps are obliged to carry when they might be better employed.

The next in the circle of immortals was the King of the Wind Demons, slender of frame, restless and uneasy at being confined to one place for even an hour. Once in a while he would leave his place and circle around the glade, and each time he did this the Fairy Queen was obliged to untangle the flowing locks of her golden hair and tuck them back of her pink ears. But she did not complain, for it was not often that the King of the Wind Demons came into the heart of the Forest. After the Fairy Queen, whose home you know was in old Burzee, came the King of the Light Elves, with his two Princes, Flash and Twilight, at his back. He never went anywhere without his Princes, for they were so mischievous that he dared not let them wander alone.

Prince Flash bore a lightning-bolt in his right hand and a horn of gunpowder in his left, and his bright eyes roved constantly around, as if he longed to use his blinding flashes. Prince Twilight held a great snuffer in one hand and a big black cloak in the other, and it is well known that unless Twilight is carefully watched the snuffers or the cloak will throw everything into darkness, and Darkness is the greatest enemy the King of the Light Elves has.

In addition to the immortals I have named were the King of the Knooks, who had come from his home in the jungles of India; and the King of the Ryls, who lived among the gay flowers and luscious fruits of Valencia. Sweet Queen Zurline of the Wood-Nymphs completed the circle of immortals.

But in the center of the circle sat three others who possessed powers so great that all the Kings and Queens showed them reverence.

These were Ak, the Master Woodsman of the World, who rules the forests and the orchards and the groves; and Kern, the Master Husbandman of the World, who rules the grain fields and the meadows and the gardens; and Bo, the Master Mariner of the World, who rules the seas and all the craft that float thereon. And all other immortals are more or less subject to these three.

When all had assembled the Master Woodsman of the World stood up to address them, since he himself had summoned them to the council.

Very clearly he told them the story of Claus, beginning at the time when as a babe he had been adopted a child of the Forest, and telling of his noble and generous nature and his life-long labors to make children happy.

“And now,” said Ak, “when he had won the love of all the world, the Spirit of Death is hovering over him. Of all men who have inhabited the earth none other so well deserves immortality, for such a life can not be spared so long as there are children of mankind to miss him and to grieve over his loss. We immortals are the servants of the world, and to serve the world we were permitted in the Beginning to exist. But what one of us is more worthy of immortality than this man Claus, who so sweetly ministers to the little children?”

He paused and glanced around the circle, to find every immortal listening to him eagerly and nodding approval. Finally the King of the Wind Demons, who had been whistling softly to himself, cried out:

“What is your desire, O Ak?”

“To bestow upon Claus the Mantle of Immortality!” said Ak, boldly.

That this demand was wholly unexpected was proved by the immortals springing to their feet and looking into each other’s face with dismay and then upon Ak with wonder. For it was a grave matter, this parting with the Mantle of Immortality.

The Queen of the Water Sprites spoke in her low, clear voice, and the words sounded like raindrops splashing upon a window-pane.

“In all the world there is but one Mantle of Immortality,” she said.

The King of the Sound Fays added:

“It has existed since the Beginning, and no mortal has ever dared to claim it.”

And the Master Mariner of the World arose and stretched his limbs, saying:

“Only by the vote of every immortal can it be bestowed upon a mortal.”

“I know all this,” answered Ak, quietly. “But the Mantle exists, and if it was created, as you say, in the Beginning, it was because the Supreme Master knew that some day it would be required. Until now no mortal has deserved it, but who among you dares deny that the good Claus deserves it? Will you not all vote to bestow it upon him?”

They were silent, still looking upon one another questioningly.

“Of what use is the Mantle of Immortality unless it is worn?” demanded Ak. “What will it profit any one of us to allow it to remain in its lonely shrine for all time to come?”

“Enough!” cried the Gnome King, abruptly. “We will vote on the matter, yes or no. For my part, I say yes!”

“And I!” said the Fairy Queen, promptly, and Ak rewarded her with a smile.

“My people in Burzee tell me they have learned to love him; therefore I vote to give Claus the Mantle,” said the King of the Ryls.

“He is already a comrade of the Knooks,” announced the ancient King of that band. “Let him have immortality!”

“Let him have it—let him have it!” sighed the King of the Wind Demons.

“Why not?” asked the King of the Sleep Fays. “He never disturbs the slumbers my people allow humanity. Let the good Claus be immortal!”

“I do not object,” said the King of the Sound Imps.

“Nor I,” murmured the Queen of the Water Sprites.

“If Claus does not receive the Mantle it is clear none other can ever claim it,” remarked the King of the Light Elves, “so let us have done with the thing for all time.”

“The Wood-Nymphs were first to adopt him,” said Queen Zurline. “Of course I shall vote to make him immortal.”

Ak now turned to the Master Husbandman of the World, who held up his right arm and said “Yes!”

And the Master Mariner of the World did likewise, after which Ak, with sparkling eyes and smiling face, cried out:

“I thank you, fellow immortals! For all have voted ‘yes,’ and so to our dear Claus shall fall the one Mantle of Immortality that it is in our power to bestow!”

“Let us fetch it at once,” said the Fay King; “I’m in a hurry.”

They bowed assent, and instantly the Forest glade was deserted. But in a place midway between the earth and the sky was suspended a gleaming crypt of gold and platinum, aglow with soft lights shed from the facets of countless gems. Within a high dome hung the precious Mantle of Immortality, and each immortal placed a hand on the hem of the splendid Robe and said, as with one voice:

“We bestow this Mantle upon Claus, who is called the Patron Saint of Children!”

At this the Mantle came away from its lofty crypt, and they carried it to the house in the Laughing Valley.

The Spirit of Death was crouching very near to the bedside of Claus, and as the immortals approached she sprang up and motioned them back with an angry gesture. But when her eyes fell upon the Mantle they bore she shrank away with a low moan of disappointment and quitted that house forever.

Softly and silently the immortal Band dropped upon Claus the precious Mantle, and it closed about him and sank into the outlines of his body and disappeared from view. It became a part of his being, and neither mortal nor immortal might ever take it from him.

Then the Kings and Queens who had wrought this great deed dispersed to their various homes, and all were well contented that they had added another immortal to their Band.

And Claus slept on, the red blood of everlasting life coursing swiftly through his veins; and on his brow was a tiny drop of water that had fallen from the ever-melting gown of the Queen of the Water Sprites, and over his lips hovered a tender kiss that had been left by the sweet Nymph Necile. For she had stolen in when the others were gone to gaze with rapture upon the immortal form of her foster son.

2. When the World Grew Old

The next morning, when Santa Claus opened his eyes and gazed around the familiar room, which he had feared he might never see again, he was astonished to find his old strength renewed and to feel the red blood of perfect health coursing through his veins. He sprang from his bed and stood where the bright sunshine came in through his window and flooded him with its merry, dancing rays. He did not then understand what had happened to restore to him the vigor of youth, but in spite of the fact that his beard remained the color of snow and that wrinkles still lingered in the corners of his bright eyes, old Santa Claus felt as brisk and merry as a boy of sixteen, and was soon whistling contentedly as he busied himself fashioning new toys.

Then Ak came to him and told of the Mantle of Immortality and how Claus had won it through his love for little children.

It made old Santa look grave for a moment to think he had been so favored; but it also made him glad to realize that now he need never fear being parted from his dear ones. At once he began preparations for making a remarkable assortment of pretty and amusing playthings, and in larger quantities than ever before; for now that he might always devote himself to this work he decided that no child in the world, poor or rich, should hereafter go without a Christmas gift if he could manage to supply it.

The world was new in the days when dear old Santa Claus first began toy-making and won, by his loving deeds, the Mantle of Immortality. And the task of supplying cheering words, sympathy and pretty playthings to all the young of his race did not seem a difficult undertaking at all. But every year more and more children were born into the world, and these, when they grew up, began spreading slowly over all the face of the earth, seeking new homes; so that Santa Claus found each year that his journeys must extend farther and farther from the Laughing Valley, and that the packs of toys must be made larger and ever larger.

So at length he took counsel with his fellow immortals how his work might keep pace with the increasing number of children that none might be neglected. And the immortals were so greatly interested in his labors that they gladly rendered him their assistance. Ak gave him his man Kilter, “the silent and swift.” And the Knook Prince gave him Peter, who was more crooked and less surly than any of his brothers. And the Ryl Prince gave him Nuter, the sweetest tempered Ryl ever known. And the Fairy Queen gave him Wisk, that tiny, mischievous but lovable Fairy who knows today almost as many children as does Santa Claus himself.

With these people to help make the toys and to keep his house in order and to look after the sledge and the harness, Santa Claus found it much easier to prepare his yearly load of gifts, and his days began to follow one another smoothly and pleasantly.

Yet after a few generations his worries were renewed, for it was remarkable how the number of people continued to grow, and how many more children there were every year to be served. When the people filled all the cities and lands of one country they wandered into another part of the world; and the men cut down the trees in many of the great forests that had been ruled by Ak, and with the wood they built new cities, and where the forests had been were fields of grain and herds of browsing cattle.

You might think the Master Woodsman would rebel at the loss of his forests; but not so. The wisdom of Ak was mighty and farseeing.

“The world was made for men,” said he to Santa Claus, “and I have but guarded the forests until men needed them for their use. I am glad my strong trees can furnish shelter for men’s weak bodies, and warm them through the cold winters. But I hope they will not cut down all the trees, for mankind needs the shelter of the woods in summer as much as the warmth of blazing logs in winter. And, however crowded the world may grow, I do not think men will ever come to Burzee, nor to the Great Black Forest, nor to the wooded wilderness of Braz; unless they seek their shades for pleasure and not to destroy their giant trees.”

By and by people made ships from the tree-trunks and crossed over oceans and built cities in far lands; but the oceans made little difference to the journeys of Santa Claus. His reindeer sped over the waters as swiftly as over land, and his sledge headed from east to west and followed in the wake of the sun. So that as the earth rolled slowly over Santa Claus had all of twenty-four hours to encircle it each Christmas Eve, and the speedy reindeer enjoyed these wonderful journeys more and more.

So year after year, and generation after generation, and century after century, the world grew older and the people became more numerous and the labors of Santa Claus steadily increased. The fame of his good deeds spread to every household where children dwelt. And all the little ones loved him dearly; and the fathers and mothers honored him for the happiness he had given them when they too were young; and the aged grandsires and granddames remembered him with tender gratitude and blessed his name.

3. The Deputies of Santa Claus

However, there was one evil following in the path of civilization that caused Santa Claus a vast amount of trouble before he discovered a way to overcome it. But, fortunately, it was the last trial he was forced to undergo.

One Christmas Eve, when his reindeer had leaped to the top of a new building, Santa Claus was surprised to find that the chimney had been built much smaller than usual. But he had no time to think about it just then, so he drew in his breath and made himself as small as possible and slid down the chimney.

“I ought to be at the bottom by this time,” he thought, as he continued to slip downward; but no fireplace of any sort met his view, and by and by he reached the very end of the chimney, which was in the cellar.

“This is odd!” he reflected, much puzzled by this experience. “If there is no fireplace, what on earth is the chimney good for?”

Then he began to climb out again, and found it hard work—the space being so small. And on his way up he noticed a thin, round pipe sticking through the side of the chimney, but could not guess what it was for.

Finally he reached the roof and said to the reindeer:

“There was no need of my going down that chimney, for I could find no fireplace through which to enter the house. I fear the children who live there must go without playthings this Christmas.”

Then he drove on, but soon came to another new house with a small chimney. This caused Santa Claus to shake his head doubtfully, but he tried the chimney, nevertheless, and found it exactly like the other. Moreover, he nearly stuck fast in the narrow flue and tore his jacket trying to get out again; so, although he came to several such chimneys that night, he did not venture to descend any more of them.

“What in the world are people thinking of, to build such useless chimneys?” he exclaimed. “In all the years I have traveled with my reindeer I have never seen the like before.”

True enough; but Santa Claus had not then discovered that stoves had been invented and were fast coming into use. When he did find it out he wondered how the builders of those houses could have so little consideration for him, when they knew very well it was his custom to climb down chimneys and enter houses by way of the fireplaces. Perhaps the men who built those houses had outgrown their own love for toys, and were indifferent whether Santa Claus called on their children or not. Whatever the explanation might be, the poor children were forced to bear the burden of grief and disappointment.

The following year Santa Claus found more and more of the new-fashioned chimneys that had no fireplaces, and the next year still more. The third year, so numerous had the narrow chimneys become, he even had a few toys left in his sledge that he was unable to give away, because he could not get to the children.

The matter had now become so serious that it worried the good man greatly, and he decided to talk it over with Kilter and Peter and Nuter and Wisk.

Kilter already knew something about it, for it had been his duty to run around to all the houses, just before Christmas, and gather up the notes and letters to Santa Claus that the children had written, telling what they wished put in their stockings or hung on their Christmas trees. But Kilter was a silent fellow, and seldom spoke of what he saw in the cities and villages. The others were very indignant.

“Those people act as if they do not wish their children to be made happy!” said sensible Peter, in a vexed tone. “The idea of shutting out such a generous friend to their little ones!”

“But it is my intention to make children happy whether their parents wish it or not,” returned Santa Claus. “Years ago, when I first began making toys, children were even more neglected by their parents than they are now; so I have learned to pay no attention to thoughtless or selfish parents, but to consider only the longings of childhood.”

“You are right, my master,” said Nuter, the Ryl; “many children would lack a friend if you did not consider them, and try to make them happy.”

“Then,” declared the laughing Wisk, “we must abandon any thought of using these new-fashioned chimneys, but become burglars, and break into the houses some other way.”

“What way?” asked Santa Claus.

“Why, walls of brick and wood and plaster are nothing to Fairies. I can easily pass through them whenever I wish, and so can Peter and Nuter and Kilter. Is it not so, comrades?”

“I often pass through the walls when I gather up the letters,” said Kilter, and that was a long speech for him, and so surprised Peter and Nuter that their big round eyes nearly popped out of their heads.

“Therefore,” continued the Fairy, “you may as well take us with you on your next journey, and when we come to one of those houses with stoves instead of fireplaces we will distribute the toys to the children without the need of using a chimney.”

“That seems to me a good plan,” replied Santa Claus, well pleased at having solved the problem. “We will try it next year.”

That was how the Fairy, the Pixie, the Knook and the Ryl all rode in the sledge with their master the following Christmas Eve; and they had no trouble at all in entering the new-fashioned houses and leaving toys for the children that lived in them.

And their deft services not only relieved Santa Claus of much labor, but enabled him to complete his own work more quickly than usual, so that the merry party found themselves at home with an empty sledge a full hour before daybreak.

The only drawback to the journey was that the mischievous Wisk persisted in tickling the reindeer with a long feather, to see them jump; and Santa Claus found it necessary to watch him every minute and to tweak his long ears once or twice to make him behave himself.

But, taken all together, the trip was a great success, and to this day the four little folk always accompany Santa Claus on his yearly ride and help him in the distribution of his gifts.

But the indifference of parents, which had so annoyed the good Saint, did not continue very long, and Santa Claus soon found they were really anxious he should visit their homes on Christmas Eve and leave presents for their children.

So, to lighten his task, which was fast becoming very difficult indeed, old Santa decided to ask the parents to assist him.

“Get your Christmas trees all ready for my coming,” he said to them; “and then I shall be able to leave the presents without loss of time, and you can put them on the trees when I am gone.”

And to others he said: “See that the children’s stockings are hung up in readiness for my coming, and then I can fill them as quick as a wink.”

And often, when parents were kind and good-natured, Santa Claus would simply fling down his package of gifts and leave the fathers and mothers to fill the stockings after he had darted away in his sledge.

“I will make all loving parents my deputies!” cried the jolly old fellow, “and they shall help me do my work. For in this way I shall save many precious minutes and few children need be neglected for lack of time to visit them.”

Besides carrying around the big packs in his swift-flying sledge old Santa began to send great heaps of toys to the toy-shops, so that if parents wanted larger supplies for their children they could easily get them; and if any children were, by chance, missed by Santa Claus on his yearly rounds, they could go to the toy-shops and get enough to make them happy and contented. For the loving friend of the little ones decided that no child, if he could help it, should long for toys in vain. And the toy-shops also proved convenient whenever a child fell ill, and needed a new toy to amuse it; and sometimes, on birthdays, the fathers and mothers go to the toy-shops and get pretty gifts for their children in honor of the happy event.

Perhaps you will now understand how, in spite of the bigness of the world, Santa Claus is able to supply all the children with beautiful gifts. To be sure, the old gentleman is rarely seen in these days; but it is not because he tries to keep out of sight, I assure you. Santa Claus is the same loving friend of children that in the old days used to play and romp with them by the hour; and I know he would love to do the same now, if he had the time. But, you see, he is so busy all the year making toys, and so hurried on that one night when he visits our homes with his packs, that he comes and goes among us like a flash; and it is almost impossible to catch a glimpse of him.

And, although there are millions and millions more children in the world than there used to be, Santa Claus has never been known to complain of their increasing numbers.

“The more the merrier!” he cries, with his jolly laugh; and the only difference to him is the fact that his little workmen have to make their busy fingers fly faster every year to satisfy the demands of so many little ones.

“In all this world there is nothing so beautiful as a happy child,” says good old Santa Claus; and if he had his way the children would all be beautiful, for all would be happy.

The post The Life and Adventures of Santa Claus first appeared on Bedtime Stories.

The bush was alive with excitement. Mrs Koala had a brand new baby, and the news spread like wildfire.

The kookaburras in the highest gum-trees heard of it, and laughed and chuckled at the idea. In and out of their burrows the rabbits came scuttling, their big brown eyes opening wide with wonder as they heard the news.

Over the grass the message went where Mrs Kangaroo was quietly hopping towards her home. She fairly leapt in the air with joy. “I must tell Mr Kangaroo!” she cried and bounded away in great hops and leaps.

Even Mrs Snake, who was having a nap, awoke, gave a wriggle, and blinked her wicked little eyes. The whole bushland was twittering with the news, for a baby bear was a great event.

Mrs Koala had a baby every two years, and as Mrs Rabbit had very, very many during that time, you can just imagine how surprised everyone was. In the fork of a gum-tree, far above the ground, Mrs Koala nursed her baby, peeping every now and then at the tiny creature in her pouch.

This little baby was the funniest wee creature. He was only about an inch long and covered with soft baby fur, had two big ears, compared to the size of the rest of him, a tiny black nose, and two beady eyes. His mother and father always had a surprised look on their faces, but they looked more surprised than ever now as they gazed at their baby.

He peeped at them and blinked, as much as to say, “Aren’t you glad I’m here?”

Mr Koala puffed out his cheeks with pride, and his wife hugged her baby tighter than ever.

There had been quite a lot of quarrelling and jealousy among the bush folk as to who should be the baby’s nurse.

Mrs Kookaburra was the first to offer her services, and she came flying over to the tree where the Koalas lived. Knocking on the tree with her strong beak she asked if she might come in.

“Certainly,” said Mrs Bear, “if you don’t laugh and wake the baby up.”

“Do you want a nurse for him?” Mrs Kookaburra anxiously inquired.

“Yes, I do,” Mrs Bear replied.

“Will I do?” Mrs Kookaburra asked.

“Oh, no!” said Mrs Bear. “Your laugh is so loud and you chuckle so long that you’d wake the baby up.”

Poor Mrs Kookaburra was very disappointed and flew off to tell Mrs Magpie about it.

“I’ll go over and see if I can be the nurse,” said Mrs Magpie. “Mrs Bear is very particular and I’m sure I will suit.” She gave her feathers a fluff and sharpened her beak, then straight to the Koalas’ home she flew.

“Come in,” called Mrs Bear on hearing the peck at the tree.

“Good morning, Mrs Koala. I hear you are wanting a nurse for the baby. I’m sure I could keep the young scamp in order as I’ve had a few dozen myself.”

“Thank you, Mrs Magpie,” said Mrs Bear very politely, “but I don’t like the look of your beak. You could give a very nasty peck with it.”

“They all want a peck sometimes,” said Mrs Magpie in a very cross tone. At this the baby bear popped his head right out of his mother’s pouch and blinked very hard.

“If you are so particular, I’ll send along a friend of mine who will suit you very well.” And saying this Mrs Magpie gave the tree a savage peck and flew off.

Imagine Mrs Koala’s surprise when she peeped down the tree later on and saw Mrs Snake slowly wriggling her way upwards. Oh, she was frightened!

“Go away, Mrs Snake!” she called in a loud voice.

“I’ve come to nurse the baby; Mrs Magpie sent me.” And Mrs Snake wriggled higher up the tree. Right on to the branch where Mrs Koala sat she came, and coiled herself round the fork.

“I don’t want a nurse.” And poor frightened Mrs Bear tried to push the baby’s head back in the pouch. But he would peep out.

“He’s a nice little fellow, and like his daddy,” said Mrs Snake slyly. “I can take him along on my back for such lovely rides up and down trees and in and out big black holes.”

Hearing this Mrs Bear nearly fell off the tree with fright, and began to cry.

Now Mr Koala had been listening to Mrs Snake as he sat on a branch just round the corner. Slowly he climbed over to Mrs Snake and caught her in his claws. Before anyone had time to see what was happening he pushed her off the branch and she went tumbling to the ground below. Two very frightened bears peeped down from the tree, and there they saw Mrs Snake slowly crawling away in the grass.

They were just beginning to recover from this fright when a thump, thump, thump, was heard on the ground at the foot of the tree.

“Who’s there?” called Mrs Bear in a very frightened voice.

“It’s just me!” came the reply.

“Who’s me?” growled Mr Bear.

“Angelina Wallaby,” called a very soft voice.

“Come up, come up,” Mrs Bear replied.

“I can’t climb; my tail is all wrong,” said Angelina.

“Well, I’ll come down, if Mrs Snake is nowhere about,” said Mrs Bear. And she slowly started to scramble down the tree. Very carefully she went, always grasping the tree with her strong claws, her back showing all the time, while she cleverly looked over her shoulder now and then to see that all was safe below. It took her quite a time to reach the ground and she felt very nervous.

Angelina Wallaby hopped over to her and gazed in wonderment at the baby.

“What a dear little fellow!” she said, her great brown eyes rounding with excitement. At the same time she put out her paws to touch him.

“Oh, don’t!” cried Mrs Bear. “He is so small and your nails might hurt him.”

“I’ve been all the morning blunting them on a stone so that I could pat him,” said Angelina in a disappointed voice.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” said Mrs Bear. “I did not mean to be rude, but Mrs Snake gave me such a fright.”

“I’ll be ever so gentle,” said Angelina, “if you let me pat him just this once.”

“Very well,” smiled Mrs Bear as she opened her pouch.

Angelina Wallaby patted him twice, then sniffed him all over with her soft muzzly nose. Now her eyelashes caught in his little toes: but Angelina did not mind, as she had had babies herself and knew just what to do.

“I wish I could mind him for you sometimes, Mrs Bear. I’d be so gentle with him.”

“I’m sure you would be the very kindest nurse,” replied Mrs Bear. “But what could you do for him?”

“I would come along in the evenings, and take him out for a walk. I’ve got a pouch just like yours, and I’d tuck him in it and hop along very gently, so he wouldn’t feel the bumps.”

“I think that is a good idea,” said Mrs Bear.

So it was arranged that Mrs Bear should climb down the tree every evening and meet Angelina Wallaby who would take the baby for a walk in the bush.

Imagine how proud Angelina felt! She hopped home very quickly that evening to tell her friends the news.

Next day, just as the sun was setting, she came to the foot of the gum-tree and thumped three times on the ground with her tail. Mrs Bear peeped around the corner of her home and, seeing Angelina at the foot of the tree, called out:

“I’m coming down with the baby, so watch for Mrs Snake.” Then she carefully and slowly climbed to the bottom of the tree.

“Is the coast clear?” she anxiously asked.

“Yes, Mrs Bear. I passed Mrs Snake on the road a mile away.”

“Well, do be careful, Angelina; and bring him back before the day breaks. Is your pouch warm?” And Mrs Bear inspected Angelina’s pouch.

“Yes, Mrs Bear. It may be a trifle large, so I padded it well with grass; but it’s very warm and not a bit draughty.”

So the baby was carefully taken from his mother’s pouch and gently placed in Angelina’s.

Waving a paw to Mrs Bear she took a hop and then peeped down at the baby to see what he thought of it. Taking several more hops she soon started away for the bush track and in no time came to Mrs Rabbit’s home. Thumping her tail on the ground, she waited a moment. Mrs Rabbit popped her head out of the burrow.

“Good evening, Mrs Rab. I’ve brought the baby to show you.”

“Good gracious, how lovely!” said Mrs Rabbit as Angelina gently drew the baby bear from her pouch. Several more bunnies came round to inspect the new arrival.

“Just look at his ears!” cried Mrs Rabbit. “I’m sure I’d never hear with those furry things. And, oh dear, no tail!—Well, well! Take care he does not catch cold. I really think he should have a tail to keep him warm. I have a spare one hanging on the wall of the burrow. Poor Mr Rabbit was shot, and I found his skin near by; but I managed to bite off the tail and bring it home.”

Here poor Mrs Rabbit burst into tears.

“Never mind, my dear,” said Angelina soothingly. “If it will please you, we will tie it on the baby.”

Mrs Rabbit dried her eyes with her paw and went sniffling down into the burrow.

“I won’t be a moment,” she called from somewhere down under the ground.

Up she came in a very short time carrying the tail in her two front paws.

“What can we sew it on with?” inquired Angelina.

“We’ll tie it on with a piece of grass.” And Mrs Rabbit hopped round until she found a nice long piece.

“Here’s just the thing!” she cried, and came hopping back with it in her teeth.

Angelina excitedly pulled the baby out of her pouch, and together they fastened the tail on. It did look funny, as it was almost as long as the baby; but it certainly would keep him warm.

Bidding her friend good night she hopped on her way. The moon was now shining brightly and all the bush was hushed, except for the sound of those little animals who are always busy at night-time. Angelina sniffed the night air with delight and felt very happy as she thought of the baby in her pouch. Hopping along between the great grey gum-trees she was suddenly startled to see Mrs Snake lying right across her pathway.

“Ha, ha, Mrs Wallaby,” called the wicked Mrs Snake, “so you’re the baby’s nurse. Well, I want to have a look at him.”

“Oh, you can’t!” cried Angelina. “He’ll catch cold if I take him out of my pouch.”

“No, he won’t, the night is warm,” said Mrs Snake. “Show him to me at once.”

Angelina thought very quickly, and darting her paws into her pouch she untied the rabbit’s tail and pulled it out.

“There you are, Mrs Snake,” she cried. “Isn’t he beautiful?”

Mrs Snake did not stop to look. She sprang at the tail and bit it savagely.

“Ha, ha, ha,” she laughed, “there will be no baby to take home now.”

Poor Angelina got such a fright she did not waste a moment, but hopped away as fast as her legs could carry her. On and on she went, breathless with fear, not daring to look behind. She reached the foot of the gum-tree and thumped wildly with her tail. Mrs Bear came scurrying down the tree and listened to the story. Then grabbing her baby she quickly climbed to safety. Angelina waited at the foot of the tree until she saw Mrs Bear safely home, then hopped away to the bushland.

After that, Mrs Koala decided to keep her baby at home.

Every day he grew bigger and stronger, until he was six months old. Then his mother thought it quite time he learnt to ride on her back, as the pouch was getting too small to hold such a big baby. So with Mr Bear’s help they taught the baby to cling to the long fur of her back and only during the cold nights was he allowed to climb into her pouch.

He was now growing very big. When eight months old he could no longer crawl into the snug pouch at all. So his baby days were over. He became very cunning too. When his mother was feeding, he learnt to stretch out his arms and pull the tenderest leaves into his mouth. He soon reached the age of one year, and measured ten inches, while his weight was about three pounds.

Strange as it may seem, Mrs Koala had not thought of a name for her baby. Now, she thought it quite time he was christened; so one day she talked the matter over with his father. “Shall we call him ‘Walter’ or ‘Bluegum’?” she inquired.

“No,” grunted Mr Koala. “Let’s call him ‘Blinky Bill’.” So Blinky Bill he became from that moment.

“Well, my dear, I’ll arrange about the christening,” said Mrs Koala. “My cousin the Reverend Fluffy Ears will perform the ceremony. And, of course, we must choose his godfather and godmother.”

“Jacko Kookaburra will be his godfather,” said Mr Bear. “We will send him a message over the wireless, as he is so well known; and Angelina Wallaby would be sure to jump with joy if we asked her to be godmother.”

So that night when all was quiet Mr Koala tapped out a message on the gum-leaves calling the Gippsland bush folk.

“Will Mr Jacko Kookaburra speak, please—Koala senior is calling.”

Rat-a-tat-tat—came the reply on the leaves.

“Jacko here. What can I do for you?”

“Will you be Blinky Bill’s godfather?” Mr Koala tapped back.

“Only too pleased,” came the quick reply.

“I’ll be along next week. Sorry I’m broadcasting every night this week.”

Angelina, who seldom uttered a sound, purred with pleasure when she was asked to be godmother, and hurried home to make a present for the christening.

The great day arrived. In a quiet corner of the bush, down by a little stream surrounded with bells and flannel flowers, everyone came from far and near to see young Bill christened.

The Reverend Fluffy Ears looked very important with a white collar made from the bark of the paper-tree. He also held in his paws a book of gum-leaves, from which he read.

Mr and Mrs Koala smiled at everyone, and everyone smiled at Blinky Bill. Jacko looked spick and span, and of course, being a widely travelled gentleman, he took things very quietly. At the same time, he gave a dig in the ground with his beak every now and then and swallowed a fat worm. Angelina looked sweet in her nut-brown coat, and her large eyes watched Blinky Bill all the time. She had made a ball of fur for him to play with, and he cuddled and hugged it closely all the time.

Mrs Rabbit rang the bells and everyone sat down or perched.

The Reverend Fluffy Ears spoke as he took Blinky Bill in his arms.

“What shall I name this young bear?” he asked.

“Blinky Bill,” said Mr Koala.

At once the bush was filled with laughter. Wild kookaburras who were no relation to Jacko had flown into a nearby tree, and they made a terrible din, chuckling and laughing at the top of their voices. Nobody could speak for the noise.

“Silence!” roared the Reverend Fluffy Ears. But it was useless. They took no notice.

“I’ll speak to the young larrikins,” said Jacko, and he gave the call for all to listen.

Immediately the laughter ceased.

“I’m Jacko,” he said, “and if you birds up in that tree don’t keep quiet I’ll tell everyone over the radio what rude kookaburras you are and that you are no relation to me.”

Hearing this, the wild kookaburras became very quiet, as they wanted everyone to think they were related to Jacko. He was such a wonderful bird that if they were asked in turn who was their cousin or uncle all would reply—”Jacko”. So you see, they had good reason to keep quiet.

Blinky Bill had water from the stream sprinkled on his head, much to his surprise, and the ceremony ended without any more interruptions. He was carried home again on his mother’s back, feeling very important after all the fuss and petting. That night up in the fork of the white gum-tree Mrs Koala told him that he was now a youth and that if he were a human being he would be put in Knickerbockers.

Chapter Two – A Tragedy

The Koala family lived so happily; never thinking of harm, or that anything could happen to disturb their little home, as all they asked for were plenty of fresh gum-leaves and the warm sun. They had no idea such things as guns were in the world or that a human being had a heart so cruel that he would take a pleasure in seeing a poor little body riddled with bullets hanging helplessly from the tree-top. And they had no idea this same being would walk away, after shooting a bear, content to see him dead, no matter if he fell to the ground or not. That same being might just as well take his gun and shoot baby kookaburras, so helpless were they all and so trusting.

Poor Mr Koala one day was curled up asleep in his favourite corner, when the terrible thing happened. Bang! He opened his eyes in wonder. What was that? Did the limb of the tree snap where that young cub of his was skylarking? He moved very slowly to take a look and, bang! again. This time he felt a stinging pain in his leg. What could it be? And peering over the bough of the tree he saw a man on the ground with something long and black in his arms. He gazed down in wonderment. Whatever was that, and how his little leg hurt. Another bang and his ear began to hurt. Suddenly a great fear seized him, he slowly turned and tried to hide round the tree, peering at the ground as he did so. Bang! again, and now his poor little body was stinging all over. He grunted loudly and slowly climbed up the tree, calling Mrs Koala and Blinky as he went. He managed to reach the topmost branch and now turned to see where his family were. Tears were pouring down his poor little face. He brushed them away with his front paws and cried just like a baby. Fortunately Mrs Koala and Blinky Bill were hiding in the leaves, quite motionless, and the shadows of the tree made them appear as part of it. The man with the gun stood and waited a long time, then walked away, whistling as he went—the only sound to be heard in the bush except the cries of a little bear far up in the tree.

All that day and night the little family lay huddled together, not daring to move, or to think of the sweet gum-leaves that hung from the tree inviting them to supper. As the sun rose the birds woke with a great chattering, the earth stirred with the feet of small animals running backwards and forwards; but up in the gum-tree a mother bear and her baby sat staring in surprise at another bear who did not move. They grunted and cried, and even felt him with their soft paws, but he still did not move. All that day and the next night they sat patiently waiting for him to wake, then at last Mrs Bear seemed to understand that her husband was dead. She climbed down the tree, with Blinky following close behind, and went to another tree where they had a good meal of young leaves and tender shoots.

“Why are we eating so much?” Blinky inquired.

“We are going away, dear,” Mrs Bear replied. “We must find a tree farther in the bush where those men with guns can’t come, and as we may be a long time in finding a suitable home, these leaves will keep us from feeling hungry.”

Together the mother and her cub slowly climbed down the tree, and great was their surprise to find Angelina Wallaby waiting for them.

“Where are you going, Mrs Bear?” she asked.

“Far into the bush with Blinky, away from the man with his gun,” Mrs Bear replied.

“What will I do?” asked Angelina. “I shall miss Blinky terribly.” And her big eyes filled with tears.

“Come with us,” grunted Blinky.

“Oh, that will be splendid,” said Angelina. “I know a gum-tree far away with a baby in it just like Blinky. Blinky can crawl up on to my back when his legs are tired, and I’ll carry him along—you too, Mrs Bear, if you feel the journey too long.”

Thanking her the three started away. Mrs Bear turned and gave one sorrowful look at the tree that had been their home for so long. It had been a kind tree, sheltering them through all weathers and feeding them every day of the year, but not strong enough to protect them from tragedy.

After travelling for a mile or more the bears began to feel very tired, as they were not used to walking along the ground. Very rarely they leave the branches of the trees; occasionally one will climb down to feed on some vegetation in the grass; but they feel very strange having to use their four legs to walk with. It is so different to sitting on a limb of a tree, hind paws firmly grasping the branch while the two front paws are busily pulling down tender leaves to their mouths. So it was no wonder when Mrs Koala and Blinky began to limp.

“Let us rest here under this bush,” said Angelina, hopping up to a thick scrubby tree. “We can have a sleep, and when the moon is up we will go on.”

“I think you are wonderful,” said Mrs Koala, and all three lay at the foot of the bush, the two little Koalas glad to rest sore little toes and tired little legs.

In the cool shade they slept until the sun went down, then waking up, and feeling very hungry, Mrs Koala and Blinky climbed a sapling. Blinky rushed ahead as they neared the top and stuffed his mouth as full as full.

“Don’t gobble,” said Mrs Bear, cuffing his ear.

“They’re so juicy,” said young Blinky, as he peered over the branch and threw a few leaves down to Angelina.

“They are nice,” said Angelina, as she munched them ever so gently, “I have never tasted these leaves before; but we must not stop here any longer. This is strange country, and we have a long way to go.”

“I don’t want to go,” wailed Blinky, “I’m tired.”

“Both of you hop on my back and we’ll be there in no time. I can leap along in the moonlight like a kangaroo.”

After some arguing over the matter, Mrs Bear and Blinky climbed on her back, and away they went. It was great fun. Flop, flop, flop, through the grass, ducking their heads to miss the branches and twigs of low-growing trees, and then racing along through open country.

Many a rabbit looked up in surprise from his supper-table to see the strange sight, and possums screeched in the branches as they looked down at some new kind of wallaby, as they thought. At last, breathless and tired Angelina stopped at the foot of a tall, straight gum-tree. Silver white it stood in the moonlight with branches spread far up in the sky.

“Here is your new home,” said Angelina.

“How beautiful,” murmured Mrs Bear, as she and Blinky crawled down from their friend’s back.

“It is safe, and you will be very happy here, and Blinky will have a playmate.” Angelina flopped on the grass, her long legs sprawled out, and she panted loudly.

“Where are you going to live?” Mrs Bear inquired. “We want you near us, please.”

“I’m going to live just round the corner,” said Angelina. “I have a friend who is waiting for me.”

“Is she a relation?” asked Mrs Bear kindly. “No!” replied Angelina. “She is a he!” And, blushing, she looked very slowly down at her paws; then suddenly turned and hopped away.

“Dear, dear,” grunted Mrs Bear, “the world is full of surprises.”

“Now, you young scamp, come here and climb this tree with me,” and Blinky scrambled on to his mother’s back.

“I think it’s quite time you used your own legs,” said Mrs Bear. But she made no attempt to shake him off.

Slowly she crawled up. A new tree was no joke, and this one was ever so high and straight. With many grunts she eventually reached a fork in the branches and stopped to take in her surroundings.

Everything seemed very quiet, but her eyes glistened as she looked at the young gum-tips. A young cub to feed was a matter of no light concern, and he was so particular. Only the youngest leaves he ate.

Blinky was the first to discover other tenants in the tree. “Look, mother,” he whispered. “There’s a little bear, just like me.”

Sure enough, peeping at them from between leaves above their heads, two funny eyes and a small black nose could be seen.

“Now, no quarrelling!” said Mrs Bear sternly. “I’ve had enough for one day, and I want peace.”

Another climb and they came to a branch where sat Master Bear.

“Hulloa,” called Blinky.

“Hullo,” replied the other.

“Where’s your mother?” Mrs Bear asked. “Tell her I would like to speak with her.”

He crawled up the tree slowly. Then many grunts were heard to come from that direction until Mother Bear looked down and called in high-pitched grunts:

“Come up, and bring your son to tea.”

It did not take Mrs Koala and Blinky long to find the way, and there all night the little bears ate and gossiped. Mrs Koala told her story, and it was agreed that she and Blinky should have the branch two limbs higher up for their new home. Very carefully she told Blinky he must behave as a good little cub should: “Don’t rush about; lift your feet when you walk; don’t slide down the boughs; and don’t drop your food over the side of the tree as Mrs Bear below us might object.”

“I’ll be a good cub,” said Blinky very seriously, and straightaway started to nibble some young leaves.

During the evening Mrs Koala’s friend came up to see how she and Blinky liked their new home. She brought her young son, Snubby, with her, and a dear little chap he was. About the same age as Blinky, and in fact so like him that it was hard to tell the two apart.

“Now you two young eucalyptus pots, run off and have a game,” said Snubby’s mother. “I want to talk to Mrs Koala.”

Blinky and Snubby needed no second bidding, and were up the branches playing and climbing in the most dangerous corners in no time.

“You have not told me your name,” said Mrs Koala to her friend.

“My name is Mrs Grunty.”

“Oh, what a nice name. I’m sure you must be proud of it,” said Mrs Koala.

“Well, no—not exactly,” said Mrs Grunty. “I got the name while I was in Queensland.”

“Good gracious! Where is that?” asked Mrs Koala.

“Have you never heard of it? Is it possible?” said Mrs Grunty. And she looked more surprised than ever. “Well, I must tell you my experiences. I was taken from my mother when I was about six months old, by a man who was trapping bears. I don’t know how I escaped from being killed like all my relations; but I heard the man say to his friend as he caught me and popped me in a sack: ‘This little fellow’s a pretty one and I’ve been promised a ten-bob note for a baby’. The sack was very dark inside and I felt very frightened as I was slung over a horse’s side and carried for many miles in this manner. I knew when we left the bush track, because the smell of the gum-trees faded away; and all I could smell for many miles after seemed to be horse. Sometimes he snorted and I could have jumped out of the sack with fright if there had been a hole to jump through. After many hours we stopped, and I was taken out of the sack and handed to a lady and a little girl who were waiting outside a big house by the roadside.”

“Isn’t he a darling!” said the little girl as she patted me. “None of them seemed to think I might be a little girl. They all called me ‘he’. I was squeezed and hugged and petted; and needless to tell you Mrs Koala, I scrambled up her arm and on to her shoulder. It was the nearest thing to a gum-tree I could see; but, alas, no gum-leaves grew there—only funny stuff all round me called hair. The little girl’s mother and father said I looked ‘so surprised’. Well now, Mrs Koala, wouldn’t any bear be surprised to find herself up a gum-tree that talked?”

Mrs Koala was too amazed to reply. She just grunted.

“The next thing that happened,” continued Mrs Grunty, “was to place me on a thing they called a cushion. It certainly was soft and cosy—but where was my snug tree-corner I wondered, and I also felt very hungry.”

“Oh, I forgot to ask the trapper for leaves for the pet,” said the lady.

“Give him some cake” said the man.

“They offered me some dreadful looking stuff, and of course I could not eat it, and I began to cry for my gum-tips. Then the little girl said perhaps I would like bread and milk, and she ran away to get it. I was so hungry that I ate a little and then fell asleep, as the jogging about on the horse had made my body ache and I felt very tired. They placed me in a box with a bear just like me, only he didn’t breathe and his eyes didn’t blink, and he had no smell of eucalyptus; but he was soft and cuddly like my mother. I woke in the morning, and what do you think they brought me for breakfast? Bananas!”

“How shocking!” gasped Mrs Koala. “And still no leaves?”

“No leaves,” sighed Mrs Grunty. “And as the day went by they became concerned about me. They offered me cheese, lollies, and even pudding to add to my sorrowful plight. I heard the little girl’s father talking about something he read in a paper in which it said: ‘During the year 1920 to 1921, two hundred and five thousand six hundred and seventy-nine koalas were killed and their skins sold to the fur market, under the name of wombat’.”

Hearing this Mrs Koala gave a jump with fright and nearly fell off her perch.

“Oh! how dreadful! It is only a short time ago that my husband was shot. And we are supposed to be protected and allowed to live. What will I do if Blinky is killed?”

“You need not worry,” said Mrs Grunty, patting her paw in a comforting way. “We are safe here. No man ever comes into this part of the bush. But I must tell you the rest of my story. These people were really trying to be kind to me. They did not wish to lose me, but it was the worst kind of kindness. As you know, I would die very quickly if I had no gum-leaves to feed on. After two more days of tempting me with everything they could think of, they became alarmed and decided I must go back to the bush.”

“We would never forgive ourselves, if the dear wee thing died,” the mother and father said. “But the little girl began to cry. She brought me her best dolly and put it in my arms to try and comfort me, but I felt too sick and hungry to take any notice of it.”

“That night when she was asleep, her father put me in the sack again and once more I was on a horse’s back, but he rode with me this time and rode all through the night. Just as day was breaking I smelled the bush and, oh, the gum-trees! Already I felt better, for I knew I was home again. Very soon the horse stopped and once more I was taken from the sack. I blinked my eyes, scarcely able to believe that I was in my own world again.”

“The little girl’s father put me down on the ground at the foot of a tall gum.”

“‘There you are, little fellow!’ he said. ‘I hope you are happy now. And I’ll do my best to see no more of you are trapped. So long!’ And staying just long enough to see me on my way up the tree, he turned on his horse and rode through the bush.”

“And how did you find your way home?” asked Mrs Koala.

“It took me a long time, as I was very weak,” said Mrs Grunty, “and I had to find our own white gum-tree, as you know. But I travelled gradually, at night-time, and went on travelling until I found this very tree, which I liked so much that I stayed here. And besides,” she gave a little giggle, “Mr Grunty happened to be in the branches.”

Chapter Three – Naughty Escapades

Mrs. Grunty’s story was interrupted by a sharp whack on the nose.

“Good heavens! What’s that?” she cried, rubbing the sore spot with her paw.

“Those young imps are fighting already,” said Mrs Koala, peering up above at the branches.

But Mrs Koala was wrong. Blinky and Snubby were having a lovely game, dodging in and out the leaves, and pelting everything visible with gum-nuts.

“Let’s have a shot at mother,” whispered Blinky, his beady eyes twinkling with mischief.

“You go first,” said Snubby under his breath.

“I’ll hit her right on the nose,” whispered Blinky as he took aim; but he was giggling so much, his shot went wide, and hit Mrs Grunty’s nose instead.

“O-o-h!” he whispered. “I’ve hit the wrong nose.”

“Chew leaves quickly,” advised Snubby. So when Mrs Koala eventually spied the naughty cubs, they looked the picture of innocence, quietly perched on a limb chewing like two little cherubs.

“Must have been a stray nut falling,” said Mrs Grunty. “They do sometimes.”

“The bush seems to be very quiet here,” Mrs Koala said as she looked around.

“Pretty quiet,” said Mrs Grunty, “except when the possums give a party. Their screeching makes me sick sometimes, such a lot of jabbering and rushing about. What for, I don’t know. They are not nearly so rare as we are. Do you know, we are the only bears in this bush for miles around?”

“Can it be true?” Mrs Koala murmured in surprise. “You see, I’ve never been one to travel. I am content to stay in the same tree for a very long time.”

“I’ve lived in the district for ten years,” said Mrs Grunty, “and you and Blinky are the only bears I’ve seen during that time. I remember well the little girl’s father telling her when they first saw me that not so many years ago the bush was alive with us bears from Queensland to the south of Victoria. Now, we are so rare that we have become a curiosity, something to be put in zoos, for children to see; and actually in museums. I believe our grandparents sit there in glass cases, stuffed with something inside to make them appear alive, and, oh dear, glass eyes. In New South Wales, I think we could wander for miles from one corner to another and never meet a bear. I don’t know why we were all killed. As you know, we don’t eat the farmers’ crops or ruin their orchards. All we asked for were our own gum-trees.”

Mrs Koala moved nervously. “I hope we are safe here,” she whimpered. “How are we to know when a man may come along with a gun?”

“I know we are safe,” said Mrs Grunty contentedly. “The nearest human being to us is a lady who keeps a store a good many miles away. Sometimes I have ventured out to peep at the motor cars as they rush along the road, and I’ve heard men asking her: ‘Are there any possums or bears in this bush?'”

“‘No!’ she says in a snappy voice. ‘Only snakes!'”

“Snakes!” cried Mrs Koala. “Where?”

“Oh, they are quite harmless, if left alone. But of course, if animals and humans go poking about them, they naturally become very angry. I’ve passed many in the bush; but I mind my own business, and they take no notice of me.”

The days and nights came and went, and Blinky grew into a strong bear. Always up to some mischief, he kept the older bears in a constant state of watchfulness. He was very venturesome and scrambled up to the highest twig on the tree, or out to the farthest branch, scrapping and hugging his playmate or grabbing a nice tender leaf from him just as it was about to pop into Snubby’s mouth.

One night Mrs Koala and Mrs Grunty decided to go for a walk. They gathered their cubs together and in a stern voice Mrs Koala gave her orders.

“I’m going for a walk over the hill, Blinky, and don’t you move out of this tree. No skylarking and romping while I’m away; and be good to Snubby.”

“Yes, mother,” said Blinky demurely, “I’ll mind Snubby till you come back.”

So Mrs Koala and Mrs Grunty climbed down the tree and, after ambling along the ground in a comical way, they disappeared over the rise of the hill.

Blinky had been watching their progress and he also had heard Mrs Grunty telling his mother about the store on the road where the motor cars went past, and he had a great longing to see these things.

“Stuck in a tree all the time!” he grunted. “I’m for adventure, snakes or no snakes. I’m not afraid.”

“What are you saying?” inquired Snubby in a tone of wonder.

“I’m going to see those motor cars and the store,” said Blinky in a bold voice.

“Oh! you can’t,” said Snubby, quite frightened at the idea. “Our mothers will be very angry, and besides you’ll get lost!”

“I’m going!” said naughty Blinky in a bold voice, “and you may come too if you like.”

“No! I couldn’t,” said Snubby in a terrified whisper. “Mrs Snake might chase us.”

“If we don’t poke faces at her, she won’t,” said Blinky. “I’m going.”

“Please don’t go, Blinky,” implored Snubby.

“Cry-baby,” mocked Blinky. “Just show me which way the road lies.”

“Over there,” said little Snubby, pointing his paw to the direction.

“I’ll be back in no time; and while I’m away, don’t fall out of the tree.” And Blinky started down the tree with a very brave look in his eye.

At the foot of the tree some of the braveness left him. Everything was so strange and the world seemed so large. Even the bushes appeared to look like big trees, and he fancied he could see all kinds of strange faces looking at him round the corners and through the grass. A cricket popped up, just at his feet. Blinky stood still with fright, his heart going pit-a-pat at a great rate.

“Good evening, young bear, and where do you think you’re going?” the cricket inquired.

“To see the motor cars and the store,” Blinky replied in a very subdued tone.

“Great hoppers!” said the cricket. “A very bold lad, that’s what I think you are.”

“A fellow can’t stay at home all the time,” replied Blinky.

“Well, take care you don’t come to harm!” And the cricket hopped on its way.

“Cheek,” muttered Blinky to himself. “Why can’t a bear go and see motor cars?”

On he went, sometimes stopping to nibble at a plant that looked extra sweet. It was a great adventure to taste something new and see and smell the bush flowers. After travelling many miles he began to feel tired, so looked around for a gum-tree where a little bear could have a nap in safety.

Finding just the kind he wanted, up he climbed, and there, in a cosy fork between two large branches, he cuddled up and went to sleep, his head snuggled down on his tummy, and his two front paws folded over his ears. He looked just like a ball of fur, but to anyone trying to spy him in that tree—well, it was impossible. Towards daylight he opened his eyes, and was a little surprised to find himself in a strange land. He had to think quite hard for a time to find out where he really was, then remembering he was on an adventure, he snatched a few leaves and gobbled them up in a great haste, for he wanted to travel before the sun rose too high in the sky. Very carefully he climbed down the tree, as a slip would mean a broken leg or arm, and Mr Blinky knew how to use those strong claws of his. He spread them out in a masterful way, not losing his grip with one leg until he was sure of the other. Once on the ground, he gambolled along just like a toy bear on being wound up with a key.

As the sun climbed higher in the sky he found the tall trees growing thinner, farther apart, and more open ground, also the bush tracks branched off into other tracks. It was puzzling to know which to take, but he kept in mind the direction Snubby had pointed. Another rest during the midday and he felt that his journey must be nearing its end. He could now hear strange noises, and smell the dust.

“I must be near the motor cars and store,” he thought as slowly he crawled up a tree to see what was in view.

There just ahead of him was the road, and that surely must be the store.

“What a funny place,” thought Blinky.

Down he came, out of the tree, and toddled to the edge of the bush. There he lay in the scrub, waiting to see all the wonders of the outside world. The sun was setting and something came rushing along the road with two bright lights twinkling. Astonished, Blinky gazed at it. Bu-r-r-r and it was gone, leaving behind a cloud of red dust that nearly blinded him.

“If that’s a motor car, I’m sorry I came,” said Blinky slowly, as he brushed the dust from his nose.

Peeping through the bushes again he saw lights in the store and some strange being moving about inside. Waiting until all was quiet, he walked across the roadway. Here was adventure indeed, and just the smallest quake of fear ran through him. Glancing over his shoulder he looked to see how far the bush lay behind, in case he needed to run back at any moment, and then walked right on to the veranda. Over the door were large letters that looked like this:

MISS PIMM

REFRESHMENTS

Puzzled, he gazed at everything, never once thinking of his home that lay many miles behind him. He poked his little nose round the doorway. No one was about, and what a lovely lot of new things to see. Rows and rows of strange things in tins and jars.

Bottles on a shelf filled with pretty colours. Some marked “Raspberry” and others “Orange”. And good gracious! there were some gum-tips in a bottle standing on the counter.

“I must eat those,” said Blinky to himself, “they look very juicy.”

Softly he scrambled on to a box, and then another climb, and he stood on the counter.

Looking round all the time to see that no one came unawares, he tiptoed to the gum-tips. From his position behind the bottle he could see Miss Pimm moving about in her kitchen, and judging by the smells that reached his nose she was cooking her dinner. He ate and ate and ate those gum-tips. Such a wonderful “tuck-in” he had. His tummy grew very round until at last he found he could see Miss Pimm very clearly, as only a few stalks stuck out of the neck of the bottle. They looked very strange standing there, without a leaf to show, and a fat little bear gazing through them all the while. Next to him stood some big jars of sweets. All labelled in the same strange writing: “Boiled Lollies”, “Ginger”, “Chocolates”, “Caramels”, “Peppermints”.

“They look nice,” thought Blinky, as he touched the jar with his paws. “P-e-p-p-e-r-m-i-n-t-s. Perhaps they are really gum-leaves,” he thought, and very quietly lifted the lid. His claws were handy for more things than climbing gum-trees.

He scooped a pawful out of the jar, and cautiously tasted one. Finding it hot and very like some plants he had tasted in the bush, he ate more. He went on eating Miss Pimm’s peppermints and put in his paw to gather more from the jar. Just as he did so, the lid on which he had been standing slipped from under him, and down it rolled with a terrible thump and bang.

Miss Pimm came rushing through the house.

“What a smell of eucalyptus! I must have upset a bottle,” she cried to someone in the kitchen.

Blinky got a dreadful fright. He was too frightened to move and just sat there and blinked, one paw in the peppermint jar and the other in his mouth.

“Oh, you robber!” shrieked Miss Pimm, as she caught sight of him. “Stealing my peppermints. I’ll teach you—you young cub,” and she grasped a ruler that lay on the shelf.

“It’s life or death,” thought Blinky very quickly, and made a dart off the counter and round the corner, right into a large tin of biscuits. Fortunately the tin was nearly empty, so there was plenty of room to hide.

“You young scallawag,” cried Miss Pimm, “wait until I catch you. All my gum-tips gone as well.” This seemed to put new vigour into her actions and she fairly flew round the shop. To Blinky, hiding away in the biscuit tin she sounded more like an elephant rushing round than anything else. Round the corner she came and then, catching sight of Blinky in the tin, she banged the lid down with an awful crash.

“I’ve got you now, you young thief,” she called out triumphantly. “You won’t get out of there in a hurry, and to make sure of you, I’ll get a box to put you in.”

Blinky was breathless. Whatever was going to happen? Would he be killed or taken to one of those zoos that Mrs Grunty spoke about?

I must get out of here, he thought, and waste no time about it.

Listening with his ear to the side of the tin, he heard Miss Pimm’s footsteps going towards the kitchen, then pushing open the lid a little way with his head he peeped out. Everything was safe. She was still away, but he could hear her talking and rummaging about outside. Quickly he climbed out of the tin and was walking round the back of the counter looking for a good place to hide when he heard Miss Pimm’s footsteps coming back again.

“Oh dear, what shall I do?” he panted. “She’ll catch me for sure this time.” He dived into a sack of potatoes just as she came through the doorway.

“You’ll stay in this box now, young man,” said Miss Pimm, “and I’ll sell you to the first person who wants a young thief.” She tramped round to the biscuit tin. Imagine her rage when she found the tin open and no bear there.

“He’s the devil himself,” she cried, and started to open every tin she could find. Next she looked round the boxes of fruit, and under the counter, then sniffing loudly, she came to the sack of potatoes. “So you’d make all my potatoes taste of eucalyptus. Well, we’ll see about that. Where’s my box?” She rushed over to the door to get the box, and at the same moment Blinky jumped out of the sack of potatoes. But she saw him. Round the counter she came, the box under her arm, and round the other way rushed Blinky.

“Stop! Stop! I tell you,” she screamed. But Blinky had no idea of stopping. He popped in and out of corners, over tins, under bags, and Miss Pimm after him. It was a terrible scuttle and the whole shop seemed to shake. Bottles and tins rattled on the shelves, the door banged, papers flew everywhere, and in the middle of all the din Miss Pimm tripped over a broom that was standing against the counter. Down she fell, box and all. The clatter was dreadful and her cries were worse. Blinky was terrified. How he wished a gum-tree would spring up through the floor. Suddenly, all in a twinkling, he saw a big bin standing open beside him and without any thought of what might be inside, he climbed up the side and flopped in. It was half full of oatmeal.

Using both paws as quickly as he could, he scratched a hole in the oatmeal, wriggled and wriggled down as far as he could until he was quite hidden: all that could be seen was a little black nose breathing very quickly. He kept his eyes closed very tightly, and felt very uncomfortable all over: but he was safe at last.

Miss Pimm slowly picked herself up. Her side was hurt and her leg was bruised. The box was broken and also the broom handle. She seemed quite dazed and felt her head. Then, holding on to the counter with one hand she limped round the back of it once more.

“You’ll die this time, when I get you,” and she seemed to choke the words out.

Every tin, every sack, and every box was moved and examined, but no bear was to be found. She didn’t stop to have her tea, but went on searching, hour after hour, and all the store had to be tidied up again. After a very long time she locked the door leading on to the roadway, and Blinky, feeling the benefit of his rest and becoming bolder each minute, peeped over the top of the oatmeal bin. He saw Miss Pimm taking a little packet from a case marked “A.S.P.R.O.” He popped down again as he felt quite safe in the bin, but he listened with his large ears to any sound she made.

Presently the lights went out, and after mumbling to herself about the “young cub”, she went through to the kitchen. Blinky could see the moon shining through the window-panes and he very, very quietly and gently crawled out of the bin. A shower of oatmeal flew over the floor as he landed on his feet and shook his coat and ears, so that oatmeal was everywhere. Right on to the window-ledge he climbed, trod all over the apples in the window that Miss Pimm had so carefully polished, and sat down for a few minutes on a box of chocolates, then noticing more peppermints in the window he pushed a pawful into his mouth and munched away in great content. The window was open half way up so he climbed up the side and sat on the open sill, feeling very brave and happy. What a tale he would have to tell Snubby when he reached home.

“Click!” The light in the store was on.

Blinky wasted no more time on thoughts. He was off that window-ledge and across the road in a few seconds. He reached the edge of the bush safely and turned round to see what was happening. Miss Pimm stood in front of the store with a big policeman, pointing to the open window, and then they looked across the roadway to the bush where Blinky lay hidden behind a tree.

“Well, it’s a pity he got away,” Blinky heard the policeman say, “as the Zoo would have paid you well to have had that young bear. I didn’t know there were any about here; and I’ve lived in the district for thirty years.”

“I’d have given him gladly to the Zoo and no payment in return,” said Miss Pimm savagely, “if they had offered to replace the peppermints and oatmeal.”

The next day when some motorists stopped at Miss Pimm’s store and bought some biscuits, they wondered why the biscuits had such a strong taste of eucalyptus.

Blinky now felt a “man of the world”; but he thought it wise to go home before any more adventures came his way. So walking along and running sometimes as fast as his funny little legs would take him, he came to the tall tree where he had rested the night before.

Climbing up to the same branch he was asleep in no time and slept all through the night until the birds woke him at dawn, with their chattering. Two kookaburras flew into the tree where he lay and laughed very loudly as they saw Blinky curled up in the corner.

“I’ll tell Jacko, if you laugh at me,” he said, in a loud voice. “He’s my godfather.”

“We were only laughing at the white stuff on your nose,” the kookaburras explained. “It looks so funny.” Blinky rubbed his nose with his paw, and found it still covered with oatmeal, then grunting angrily he stood up and gave himself a shake. “I must be going,” he said. And down the tree he climbed and on to the ground again.

He wondered if he had been away from home very long, and began to feel a little uncomfortable about his greeting when he did arrive. Would mother be very angry? Perhaps she was still away with Mrs Grunty. But his fears did not last very long, as a bee flew across his pathway, and he became very curious about that bee. It flew to a flower to gather the pollen. Blinky trotted along to see what it was doing and watched very closely as the bee buzzed about dipping its small head into the heart of the flower. Something warned him not to touch it; but being a little boy bear, he just couldn’t watch any longer without giving a poke. So out came his paw, and he reached to pat it. He tried to play with it; but the bee objected, and with a loud buzz stung him right on the nose. Oh, how he cried, and danced about, rubbing his nose with his paws. He ran on blindly, not looking to see where he was going, and after some minutes, when the pain stopped, he found he had lost his way. He had taken a wrong turning on the bush track, and now—what would happen?

Blinky sat down to think things over. While he was puzzling his brain, and wondering which way to turn, a kind little green lizard peeped through the grass and said in a very small voice:

“What’s the matter, Blinky? You look very sorry for yourself!”

“I’m lost,” replied Blinky, “and I don’t know how to find my way home.”

“I know where you live,” said the lizard joyfully. “You follow me, and I’ll lead the way.”

“I know where you live,” said the lizard joyfully.
“I’m so glad I met you,” Blinky replied. And, as the lizard walked ahead, he followed, never taking his eyes off her. In and out of the grass and under bushes she ran at an amazing speed, until they reached the path again.

“You’re safe now,” she said, turning to Blinky, “keep straight ahead and your gum-tree is not far away.”

“Thank you, Miss Lizard,” said Blinky politely. “I must hurry as my mother is waiting for me.”

On he ran. It seemed a long way to him, and how he wished Angelina would hop along and take him on her back.

As he came to the top of the hill, he saw his home down in the hollow, and he was quite sure he could hear his mother calling for him.

Hurrying along, faster than ever, he now heard grunts and cries, and his heart went pit-a-pat as though it would jump out of his skin.

Suddenly his mother saw him. She grunted loudly with joy, and Mrs Grunty and Snubby joined in the chorus.

“I’m here, mother,” Blinky called. “I’m at the foot of the tree.”

“Oh, you naughty cub. Where have you been? Just wait until you climb up the tree—”

“Don’t smack me, mother,” Blinky whimpered. “I’ll never run away again.”

Bit by bit he climbed the tree, all the time imploring his mother not to spank him. He was so long in reaching the branch where Mrs Koala and Mrs Grunty and Snubby were waiting, and they were so pleased to see him safely home, that Mrs Koala forgot to spank him. She hugged him and petted him and Snubby laughed and danced on the branch. It was good to be home, but Blinky still wondered if his mother would remember to punish him. But she didn’t. She did not forget. Mother’s don’t do those things, but she wanted Blinky to think she did.

“Where have you been all this time?” she inquired.

“I saw Miss Pimm and a big policeman,” Blinky said in a loud voice. “And I ate Miss Pimm’s peppermints.”

“Wonder it did not kill the young lubber,” said Mrs Grunty.

Snubby’s eyes nearly fell out of his head as he listened to Blinky’s story, when later on in the evening they sat together in the fork of the tree whispering and giggling as Blinky told him all about his adventures. When at last he cuddled up and went to sleep, close to his mother, Mrs Koala could be seen rubbing a gum-leaf over a very swollen little nose.

Chapter Four – The Adventures of Blinky Bill

Now a good little bear would have been quite contented to live for ever quietly and safely up in his tree, after exciting adventures like those of Blinky’s—but not he! As the weeks went past he became tired of climbing and playing on the same branches, and even grew tired of Snubby. He quarrelled, and kicked, and sometimes, I’m sorry to say, actually bit his playmate’s nose. Of course Snubby immediately cried, and Blinky teased him all the more.

Poor Mrs Koala had a very trying time in keeping the peace. Sometimes Mrs Grunty got quite snappy and wouldn’t speak, which upset Mrs Koala very much, as she knew it was all Blinky’s fault.

“That boy of yours will come to no good!” said Mrs Grunty one day. “If he was mine, I’d try a little of the stick around his hind parts.”

“What am I to do?” sighed Mrs Koala. “I can’t smack him all the time. Where he gets this wild manner of his from I don’t know. I believe his great-grandfather was very wild—on his father’s side of course. My people were always very quiet.”

“Well, most probably he’ll grow out of it, if he doesn’t fall out of it,” said Mrs Grunty. “Have one of these leaves and forget all about it.” So the mother bears patched up their little differences, until naughty Blinky did something extra bad and mischievous; then all the trouble started again. Mrs Grunty loved to have her noonday snooze, and became very irritable if she did not get it, or was disturbed during that time.

“A mother must have a few minutes to herself, otherwise she becomes old and wrinkled, and goodness knows my nose is funny enough without lines round it,” she mumbled away, as she crawled to her favourite corner.

Sometimes just as she got to sleep, all nicely curled up, and was dreaming of peaceful things, Mr Blinky would creep along the branch, and nip her ear, or poke her side with his paw.

“Go away, go away, or I’ll eat you!” Mrs Grunty would growl as she reached out to cuff his ear, but Blinky was always too quick for her and would dodge behind the tree.

“Impertinent young fellow,” Mrs Grunty would mumble as she dozed off again.

One day, never to be forgotten, she was awakened from her snooze by muffled giggles and grunts. Cautiously she opened one eye slowly and peeped around. What was that peculiar feeling in her ears? Brushing her head quickly with her paws she found a bunch of gum-tips poking out from each ear. It was too much for Mrs Grunty, and she decided to take action quickly. Blinky by this time was far up on a topmost branch, safely away from angry mothers.

“Come down at once,” commanded Mrs Grunty and Mrs Koala together.

But Blinky pretended he was deaf and took no notice of their angry calls.

“Blinky, come down this minute!” Mrs Koala demanded.

“I’ll go up and get him,” said Mrs Grunty in a determined voice. “No bear of that age will get the better of me.” And she stamped a hind leg on the tree to show that she really meant it.

Blinky began to feel things were getting a little uncomfortable, and he really didn’t want to go on eating so many leaves all at once, so he decided to face the enemy.

“Are you looking for some nice young leaves, Mrs Grunty?” he inquired in a polite voice.

“No!” snapped Mrs Grunty, “I’m looking for a bad young bear!”

“Snubby’s not up here,” Blinky replied in an innocent tone.

“Now, no cheek,” grunted Mrs Grunty, “you’re bad enough as it is; come down out of that branch!”

“Just wait a minute,” Blinky replied, “and I’ll bring you some beautiful juicy leaves.”

“Where are they?” Mrs Grunty asked excitedly, quite forgetting her anger.

“Up here,” said Blinky. “Would you like a few?”

“Yes, I would,” replied Mrs Grunty. “And bring some for your mother; she has a bad headache.”

Blinky gathered the very freshest tips he could find and, chatting gaily all the while (for he was a cunning young bear), he came down the tree and held them out to Mrs Grunty.

“You’re a dear little bear!” said Mrs Grunty as she nibbled the leaves. “I’d be proud to have a son like you.”

Naughty Blinky stood behind her back and screwed up his nose at her, and Snubby, who was watching from a branch close by, gave a loud, squealing grunt.

“Well, well, how kind of Blinky!” said Mrs Koala, as she munched the leaves with her friend. “He is a thoughtful son.”

But life seemed very monotonous to Blinky. He knew every branch, twig, and leaf of that tree off by heart, and Snubby never seemed to think of any new games, so he decided to start on another adventure. The more he thought of it, the braver he grew, until one evening, when the moon shone extra brightly, and the leaves looked silvery-green, he decided the time had come to make a start. His mother and Mrs Grunty and Snubby were sitting together away out on a distant branch, quite out of view, so stealthily and quickly Blinky slid down the tree and on to the ground. “Ha, ha, it’s good to be away again,” he said to himself as he looked around. How pretty everything looked in the moonlight, and the dew on the grass and leaves sparkled so brightly.

“I love mother and Snubby very much,” Blinky murmured; “but they don’t seem to think I’m grown up and want to see things. And what a funny bear Snubby is. I’m beginning to think he must be a girl, as he never wants to go adventuring.”

“Hi, there!” called a loud voice from somewhere in the bushes. “What do you think you’re doing down here?”

“Who are you?” panted Blinky with fright, for certainly he didn’t expect anything to happen so soon.

“Who am I? Come over here and see,” came the reply in a gruff voice.

“You won’t eat me, will you?” Blinky asked in a frightened voice.

“Eat a bear. Ha, ha! Well I’ve never tasted one, and I’m not going to start now. I’m not too fond of swallowing fur and eucalyptus in one mouthful.”

And just as he said those words Mr Wombat shuffled out of the bushes.

“Oh!” gasped Blinky, “what a big fellow you are! What’s your name?”

“The cheeky young rabs call me ‘Womby’; but to a stranger like you I am Mr Wombat.”

“Where do you live?” Blinky inquired, still just a little nervous at seeing so large an animal standing right in front of him.

“That’s a secret,” replied Mr Wombat. “But if you know how to keep quiet about those things I’ll take you to see my home.”

“I won’t tell a soul, Mr Wombat,” Blinky whispered.

“Very good! Well, come this way,” said Mr Wombat. He led Blinky through the thick undergrowth, crashing the bracken down with his sturdy legs, and grunting loudly as he went. It was rather difficult for Blinky to keep pace with him, as he went at such a rate; but he paused now and then to give a glance over his shoulder and waited for his little friend to catch up with his steps.

The bush grew thicker, but presently Blinky noticed the ground had a “dug-up” look about it. Roots of bushes had been undermined, plants eaten down to the ground, and altogether everything looked very untidy.

Right ahead a very large tree grew up to the sky, and Blinky thought he had never seen such a big gum. The trunk was enormous and the roots spread out in all directions.

“This is my home,” said Mr Wombat proudly. “Don’t you think it fine?”

“Yes,” replied Blinky. “It’s a very grand place. But how do you climb that huge trunk?”

“Climb!” said Mr Wombat scornfully, “I’ve no need to do any stunts here. I live under the roots.”

“Oh!” gasped Blinky, “not in that big black hole?”

“Yes! That’s my home,” replied Mr Wombat. “And the rain can come down as hard as it likes and the wind blow and shake the tree as long as it likes; but I just lie here underneath, safer than all the bears up in the trees.”

“Come in and have a look round.”

“Everything’s lovely and dark; and there’s a very nice muddy smell inside.”

“I don’t think I’ll come in, Mr Wombat,” said Blinky in a quiet voice. “I’m in rather a hurry. But if you don’t mind I’ll sit down on the ground for a few minutes to rest my legs.”

“Please yourself,” said Mr Wombat rather gruffly. But seeing Blinky’s startled eyes, he felt sorry for the little bear and offered to hunt round for a few shoots of plants to eat.

“I’m not hungry,” Blinky said. “But I wish you would tell me all about that big black hole,” pointing to Mr Wombat’s home.

Mr Wombat at once came and sat down beside Blinky and started to tell him the story.

“Well,” he began, “I’ve lived here for many years now. Long ago I lived out in the open near Farmer Brown’s house; but it became too dangerous. He was a bad-tempered man, and had no time for a wombat. He sowed his fields full of potatoes and peas, and juicy carrots and turnips, then expected a wombat to look at them and not come near.”

“How silly!” interrupted Blinky. “I’d have eaten all his peas up in one mouthful.”

Mr Wombat turned suddenly to have a look at Blinky’s mouth, then shrugged his shoulders and went on with his story.

“Yes, he was silly. He even fenced his paddocks with very strong wire, and didn’t I laugh to myself as I lay behind an old tree-stump hearing men digging in the hot sunshine, then ramming down posts and nailing wire all round them.”

“What did you do?” Blinky inquired.

“I waited until the night came, as I’m as blind as a bat during the day, then I crept silently over to the new fence, and had a look at it. Poof! I burrowed under it in a few minutes and had a great supper of potato roots; then just to show Farmer Brown how strong I was, I burrowed another hole from the inside of the fence to get out again. In the morning as I lay in bed I heard Farmer Brown and his men shouting loudly and using very strange words.”

“One night I had a narrow escape. Carefully treading over the ground, I had just reached my favourite roots, when, snap! something caught the tip of my toe. I howled with pain and rage. What new trick was this of Farmer Brown’s? Then to make matters worse men came running from all directions, shouting and calling at the top of their voices. Dear me, how excited they were—and all over a wombat in a potato patch!”

“What did you do?” asked Blinky breathlessly.

“Huh! I just gave a tug at my paw, and out it came. I lost a toenail—but what’s that! Then the excitement rose. Guns began to crack and a bullet flew past me very close to my ear—too close for my liking. Fortunately for me it was a dark night, with only the stars overhead, and luckily I remembered just where my burrow was under the fence. I raced along, wild calls coming behind me and heavy boots thudding the ground. But I won! Under the fence I rushed; out the other side, and into the bush I raced. I did not stop at my home; but kept running for miles, as far away from Farmer Brown as I could manage. When I finally fell down exhausted, my foot was causing me a great deal of pain, so I licked it for a long time and then fell asleep. After that adventure I decided to look for a new home, and here I am.”

“Well, you’re safe here, Mr Wombat,” said Blinky. “And if I were you I’d stay here and never wander again.”

“I’m safe enough,” replied Mr Wombat. “But the food is not up to much, and pretty dry in the summer; but I manage to scrape along. I’m not in fear of my life like my grandparents were.”

“Why, what happened to them?” Blinky asked anxiously. “They lived up in the north-west,” said Mr Wombat, “a wild place if you like! The black people there used to hunt them with yam-sticks. Poor grandad and grandma were in constant danger of being killed.”

“How?” asked Blinky.

“Well,” continued Mr Wombat, “the black people would go out in hunting parties and when a wombat-hole was found a boy was usually chosen to go down feet first. As he wriggled his way down the burrow he tapped on the roof of the tunnel with his hands. Those above the ground were listening and followed the taps as he went, until at last when the boy’s feet touched a wombat, he would give a signal and then the men above would quickly dig down into the earth and right on to the wombat. A few moments and he was dead. No chance of escape at all——”

“It’s just as well for you, Mr Wombat, there are no black fellows here,” said Blinky.

“And just as well for you too!” replied his new friend. “But where are you going, anyway? You haven’t told me yet.”

“Well, I don’t know,” Blinky said in a doubtful tone. “Do you know of any adventures round here?”

“Adventures! What do you mean exactly?” Mr Wombat asked.

“Oh, you know—things to see—not gum-leaves all the time,” replied Blinky.

“Ho, ho,” laughed Mr Wombat. “So you’re looking for new sights, are you? Well, now I come to think of it, there’s Mrs Spotty’s school down in the hollow.”

.
“Who is Mrs Spotty?” Blinky asked.

“Mrs Spotty Frog. She has a boarding-school for young frogs and tadpoles. A very select school, so I’m told, and there’s lots to be seen if you happen to pass that way.”

“I’ll go that way, Mr Wombat,” said Blinky with a smile. “Is it down this track?”

“Yes, follow your nose, and you can’t miss the place. You’ll hear it long before you come to it.” And Mr Wombat grunted with disapproval.

So bidding him good-bye, Blinky started down the track towards Frog Hollow.

It was not a great distance, and before very long sounds of croaking and gurgling reached his ears. Scrambling along, he came to a clearing in the bush, and what a sight met his eyes! He held his breath in astonishment. There, right in front of him was a large pool, surrounded with bells and every bush flower he had ever seen. It was a green pool with water-lilies floating on the surface and round the edges brown and green rushes stood very erect: but strangest of all—hundreds and hundreds of frogs. All sizes, from the babies upwards, were squatting on the lily-leaves, or poking their heads just through the green water. The noise was deafening. Every frog croaked. Big frogs with deep throaty croaks, smaller ones with a shrill note, and baby frogs piping in unison. On a large leaf in the centre of the pool Mrs Spotty waved her leg. Every frog watched her with the greatest attention.

“One, two, three,” she called, and waved her leg in a downward motion. The croaks came loud and long.

“Stop!” she called in a shrill voice. Instantly the frogs were silent.

“Miss Greenlegs, fourth from the left in the back row, you’re flat. Flat as a lily-leaf. Take your note and try it alone.”

Turning to a large frog that sat a little to the right of her, she waved her leg.

He drew a straw across a blade of grass and listened intently, his head bent sideways against the grass. A tiny note floated across the pool and, reaching Miss Greenlegs’s ears, she puffed out her throat and gave a beautiful croak. It was clearness itself.

“Excellent,” exclaimed Mrs Spotty. “Now, all together please.” And again she waved her leg.

“Croak, croak, croak,” every frog puffed and rolled his eyes in a wonderful way.

Blinky was spellbound. Slowly he tiptoed nearer to the pool. But a twig snapped under his feet. Instantly every frog dived into the water. Not a sound was heard, and only a few ripples and bubbles broke the surface of the pool. Blinky gazed and gazed. Where have they gone? he thought, and ran down as fast as his legs would carry him to the reedy bank. Not a frog was in sight. But he felt that somewhere down in that pool eyes were watching him very closely. He kept perfectly still, hardly daring to breathe, watching a few bubbles floating to the surface only to burst and leave nothing at all. It seemed hours to Blinky before he saw a green body silently lift itself out of the water and slide on to a lily-leaf where Mrs Spotty had stood. The big frog eyed Blinky curiously, never moving and ready to slip back again into the water at a moment’s notice.

“Are you Mrs Spotty?” Blinky quietly inquired.

“Yes, that’s me,” came the reply. “What do you want?”

“I came to see your school and hear the frogs sing, and I wish you’d let me come to school too,” said Blinky plaintively.

“We don’t have bears in our school as a rule,” said Mrs Spotty; “but I’ve no objection to you joining the class if you behave yourself. Have you been to school before?”

“No, Mrs Spotty,” Blinky replied, “but I’ve travelled quite a long way.”

“Can you play leap-frog and swim?” asked Mrs Spotty. “No, I can’t do any of those things,” Blinky replied, “but I can climb gum-trees.”

Mrs Spotty’s eyes looked more like those motor-car lights down by Miss Pimm’s store than anything else he had ever seen, Blinky thought; and they were such poppy ones too.

“Can you jump?” she asked.

“Yes,” said Blinky joyfully, “I can jump very high.”

“How high?” asked Mrs Spotty.

“Oh, as high as a tree,” Blinky replied.

“Well, I think you may be of assistance to me in teaching the tadpoles how to jump. Come over to me, while I have a good look at you. But stop!” and Mrs Spotty turned three shades paler in green. Balancing herself on the edge of the leaf she looked at Blinky and said in a very slow voice:

“DO YOU EAT FROGS?”

“I’ve never tasted them, so I don’t know,” Blinky replied.

“Well, don’t start,” Mrs Spotty said in a cross voice. “Now you may come over and sit on the leaf beside me.”

“I can’t swim. I told you I couldn’t,” Blinky wailed.

“Oh, well, sit on the bank and watch me put the class through their paces. By the way, what’s that funny looking thing in the middle of your face?”

“That’s my nose,” Blinky replied, trying to look very unconcerned.

“A queer looking nose,” said Mrs Spotty rudely. “But never mind, I’ll call the class for the swimming lessons.”

She gave three loud croaks, and at once dozens and dozens of frogs popped up from beneath the water and out from the rushes. They eyed Blinky nervously, until Mrs Spotty told them he did not eat frogs.

“Now, you young gentlemen with the slender legs, take your places ready for the diving.”

“Don’t push and crowd, it’s very rude and if I find any frog standing on another’s tail or causing an unprepared-for jump, I’ll punish him severely.”

The frogs arranged themselves on the leaves and waited for the word to start. A great commotion was taking place up in the shallow end of the pool, and Mrs Spotty looked sternly in that direction.

“Tadpoles!” she cried, “stop that mud-larking and pay attention to your lesson.”

“Now! One, two, three—Dive!” she called at the top of her voice, and dozens of green slippery legs flew through the air and into the pool.

“Too much splashing!” Mrs Spotty declared. “Again: one, two, three—Dive!” And once more the green legs and bodies sprang into the pool.

“That’s better. Now for a swim.” And leaning over the leaf she called her directions to the frogs.

“Scissors! Scissors! Scissors!” she cried as they swam round her leaf, and back again to the starting-point.

“Now for the Tads.” And Mrs Spotty lined them up in a row, the fattest ones to the front and the tiny ones at the back.

They behaved like young outlaws—pushing and wriggling and flipping about in a very bold way.

“Not so much of that tail waggling; and, Jimmy Tadpole, don’t use your tummy for pushing. Oh! dear, I’m sure I’ll never make ladies and gentlemen of you,” sighed Mrs Spotty. “You’re the most brazen lot of Tads I’ve ever had in my school.”

But the tadpoles didn’t care, all they thought about was swimming.

Mrs Spotty gave them their lesson and sent them back again to their own end of the pool, much to the relief of the frogs, as no self-respecting gentleman could swim in the same place as a tadpole.

Blinky by this time had come right to the edge of the pond, and was enjoying himself immensely, until an extra large frog suddenly leaped right on his back.

“Oh, oh, you gave me such a fright!” Blinky cried. “Get down please. I’m not a log!”

The frog took no notice whatever, but hopped on his head instead. Blinky touched him with his paw, and jumped with fright. He was so cold and slippery—not a scrap like touching Snubby.

“Get down at once!” called Mrs Spotty in a stern voice. And to Blinky’s further surprise the frog went helter skelter down his nose and into the water.

“Let’s use his nose for a spring-board,” the frog called out at the top of his voice.

The very thought of such a thing sent shudders down Blinky’s back. Just imagine hundreds of frogs sliding down his nose, one after the other!

“You’ll do no such thing!” retorted Blinky indignantly.

“Well let’s use his back for leap-frog,” another cried. “I don’t mind that,” said Blinky, “as long as I have a turn too. I could jump over one of your backs.”

“That is a fair thing,” said Mrs Spotty. “Now get in places, please.”

One after the other the frogs lined up behind Blinky croaking and hopping about, treading on one another’s toes and goggling their eyes with excitement.

“Bend down, please,” Mrs Spotty called to Blinky. He bent over, making sure his nose was well out of the way.

“Flip—flop—” and the frogs started, one behind the other, jump after jump; and the highest hops were greeted with croaks from the onlookers.

“I wish you’d warm your toes first,” said Blinky. But still they came. Flip-flop-flip-flop.

When the last frog had jumped over his back, Blinky raised his head.

“It’s my turn now,” he cried. “And I want to jump over the biggest frog of all.”

Mrs Spotty’s pupils looked rather nervous and eyed one another to see which was the largest.

“Go on, Fatty,” they called to one big fellow. “You know, you had more mosquitoes for tea than anyone else.”

Fatty looked very uncomfortable and glanced at his tummy.

“It’s not mosquitoes,” he said crossly, “it’s muscles——”

“All the better,” called Mrs Spotty. “Stand over here and be ready.”

Fatty frog hopped beside Mrs Spotty and stood there quaking. What if he slipped! That bear on top of him would be nothing to laugh about.

Blinky stood ready, and Mrs Spotty, who was standing in front of Fatty, called out in a loud croak:

“Ready! Go!”

Blinky made a funny little run, then a few stumbles and with a grunt he flopped over Fatty, and plonk! right on top of Mrs Spotty. She fell with a dreadful thud, and tried to croak; but she was smothered in fur.

Blinky rolled over and over with laughter. When he managed to stand up—there he saw a very flat looking frog that had once been Mrs Spotty.

“Oh, I’ve killed her!” he cried in a frightened voice. “Come and pick her up!”

All the pupils hopped to Mrs Spotty’s assistance. She certainly did look flat; but her throat was puffing and one eye moved a little.

“Water! water!” the big frogs called as they dragged her to the edge of the pool.

“Push her in!” cried naughty Blinky, and before any frog had time to think, he gave her a push with his paw, and in she went, head first.

“Now you’ve done it!” called the frogs in cries of horror. “We’ll tell the policeman.”

“Policeman,” thought Blinky, “where have I heard that name?” And then he remembered Miss Pimm’s store.

In the excitement, while the frogs were hopping about and trying to rescue Mrs Spotty, he hurried away to the edge of the bush. Peeping behind a log he saw the frogs hunting everywhere for him; under leaves, behind the rushes and even down in the pool.

Chapter Five – A Tragedy

“I think I’d better be going home,” thought Blinky. “Anyway I’m not sorry for Mrs Spotty, she had such googly eyes.”

He glanced at the sky and noticed the moon was sinking, so thought it time to make haste, as perhaps his mother may be looking for him by now. Past the gum-trees and thick bushes he scrambled, and just as he reached a clearing in the trees he paused to listen.

“The crickets are busy to-night,” he thought as their chirruping came through the bush. “I’ll just see what they’re up to.”

Quietly he tiptoed into the grass, and suddenly stood quite still. In front of him, not many yards away the crickets were holding a cricket match.

Blinky chuckled as he looked at them. The batsman had a leaf for his bat, while the bowler had a spider’s cocoon for a ball. They were too interested in their game to notice Blinky; but he missed nothing. A deafening chirruping rent the air. Most of the spectators were perched on the blades of grass, as high up as they could climb, and were waving their legs in the air, and shaking the grass they stood on.

The batsman had a leaf for a bat.

“He’s bumping the ball!” they shrieked in cricket voices. “Pull him out! Pull him out,” they shouted, and at once the umpire hopped over to the bowler and soundly boxed his ears with his front leg.

The bowler lost his temper, and jumped on the cricket ball, breaking it in pieces.

“Shame! Shame!” shouted the crickets. And in the next instant they surged on to the ground. Springing in the air they pounced on him and gave him a terrible kicking; and as Blinky turned to walk away he saw them piling earth on top of the bowler.

“I must hurry now, as I’m sure it’s getting late,” he thought, and he was beginning to feel very shaky. What if his mother found he was missing. That Mrs Grunty could be very cross at times, and she might persuade his mother to use a stick round his hind parts, as she once suggested. In his haste he stumbled over a stone and hurt his foot, so sat down to wait until the pain left him. Just behind the stump he was sitting on, a rabbit had made her home, and as she came scurrying through the grass she did not notice Blinky sitting so quietly. Between her teeth she carried some flannel flowers and a sprig of boronia.

“Good evening,” said Blinky.

“Oh! What a fright you gave me!” whispered the rabbit. “I know who you are all the same.”

“Who?” asked Blinky.

“You’re Blinky Bill, and my mother knows your mother,” said the rabbit.

“Then you are only a bunny,” said Blinky gladly. “How old are you and where do you live?”

“I’m one year old, and I live in that burrow right behind this log.”

“What’s your name?” Blinky asked.

“Bobbin!” the bunny replied.

“That’s a silly name,” said Blinky quite rudely.

“That’s my christened name, and my mother says it is very suitable for me.”

“What does suitable mean?” Blinky asked.

“Well, mother says I’m always bobbin’ about, and never still. I make her quite nervy at times.”

“What does she do when you run away?” Blinky asked rather anxiously.

“Run away!” said Bobbin, looking very surprised. “I never run away. Only bad children do that!”

“Well, where have you been, and why have you those flowers? You look very stupid carrying them in your mouth,” Blinky remarked.

“I’ve been gathering flowers for the birthday party,” replied Bobbin; “and how can I carry them without breaking their petals, if I don’t hold them between my teeth?”

“Haven’t you a pouch or a pocket somewhere?” Blinky retorted. “But am I mistaken? Did you mention a birthday party?”

“Yes,” said Bobbin excitedly. “It’s my brother’s party, and ever so many friends are coming, and there’s lots and lots to eat. Thistle cakes, with the prickles all over the tops; dandelion milk, lovely and frothy, that’s to be drunk through a grass straw; daisy creams with pink edges; and, oh! best of all, buttercups, full of butter. And I nearly forgot—gum-leaves to chew, for those who like chewing-gum. Then last of all, there’s grass salad for the mothers and fathers.”

Bobbin hopped about with glee and twitched her ears in a most surprising manner, while Blinky’s eyes bulged with excitement.

“Could I come to the party?” he inquired breathlessly.

“You haven’t a present to bring!” Bobbin answered.

“I know that,” replied Blinky sorrowfully; “but I’ll let them play with my ears if they like.”

Bobbin looked at his ears and considered the matter for a moment.

“Well, perhaps that will do,” she replied. “We could hide the peanut in them when we play ‘hunt the slipper’.”

It sounded rather a muddle to Blinky; but he was prepared to take any risks if only he could get to the party.

“Could we go now?” he inquired anxiously.

“Yes, but wipe your feet on the grass, before we go inside, as mother’s been cleaning all night long,” Bobbin advised.

Blinky did as he was told, and followed Bobbin through the doorway. Fortunately for him the burrow was a large one, so he had no difficulty in crawling along.

“Isn’t it dark!” he said in a frightened voice.

“You’ll soon get used to that,” Bobbin replied cheerfully, as she padded ahead. “Do you hear the scraping and thumping? That’s the party,” she said excitedly.

“What are they doing?” Blinky asked.

“Dancing!” Bobbin replied. “Let’s hurry …”

In and out of passages they ran, round corners, up and down, and at last came to a large cave. The floor and the walls were bare earth, but over the ground a carpet of grass was spread, and the ceiling was bright with flowers. From the centre a bunch of Christmas bells hung, and directly underneath, the table was spread with all the party cakes and drinks. In the middle of the table a birthday cake stood, glittering with dewdrops that fell from the flowers surrounding it. It was made from corn husks and thistledown, so you can imagine how crunchy it must have tasted.

As Blinky and Bobbin appeared the guests stood and gazed in wonderment; their large brown eyes opened very widely and nervous noses sniffed the air.

“Here’s Blinky Bill,” Bobbin called as she hopped to the middle of the cave, “and he’s come to see the party.”

“You’re very welcome, I’m sure,” kind Mrs Rabbit said, as she took Blinky’s paw. “Come along and meet my friends. This is Madam Hare; shake paws with her. She is very shy, but is an old friend of mine; and this is Brer Rabbit, my husband, who is a great hunter; and here is Bunchy, my son, whose birthday it is.” Each one shook paws with Blinky, and he wondered if it would ever come to an end, and the party start, as he was feeling very hungry and wanted to taste those gum-tips. Bunchy thought it great fun to have a bear at his party and followed Blinky wherever he went.

“You’ve lost your tail!” he said in surprise as he hopped round him.

“Don’t wear a tail,” Blinky mumbled.

“Why does everyone pass remarks about my tail or my nose,” he wondered.

“Tea’s ready,” Mrs Rabbit called. And everyone made a rush for the table.

“Don’t rush, and don’t grab,” Brer Rabbit thundered in a loud voice.

Madam Hare may have been shy, but Blinky noticed she reached the table as soon as he, and rather rudely pushed her way right beside Brer Rabbit.

“The bold hussy,” someone whispered and gave her tail a nip. She gave a little scream and spitefully bit the ear of the rabbit who sat next to her; but it wasn’t Brer Rabbit’s ear.

“Order! Order!” Brer Rabbit commanded. “This is a party, and no fighting, please. If your tails are in the way, sit on them.”

The party went on pleasantly after that command. Everyone nibbled and munched, except Blinky who forgot his manners completely and gobbled the gum-leaves as fast as he could. It was just as well nobody else liked them, for in a very short time they had all vanished. The cake was a great success and Bunchy handed a piece to each guest, quickly taking a nibble from one or two when nobody was looking.

His mother gave him a sharp nip on the ear when she found him poking his paw in the dandelion milk, and slyly sucking it when he thought he was safely hidden from view.

“You naughty young rab!” she exclaimed. “Didn’t I tell you a dozen times to behave yourself, and not to poke the cakes and things, and not to put your paws on the table? And while I think of it, eat with your mouth closed, and don’t lick your whiskers. Now take that dandelion milk that you’ve had your paws in round to Madam Hare; only don’t tell her what you did.”

“No, mother,” said Bunchy obediently, and he hopped to Madam Hare and handed her the milk.

“You dear little rab!” she cried in a very high voice. “I do like dandelion milk.”

“So do I,” remarked Bunchy as he hopped away.

“What’s that? What’s that?” said Brer Rabbit in between mouthfuls of grass salad.

“Father, you’re speaking with your mouth full; and it’s so bad for the children to see,” gently reprimanded Mrs Rabbit, much to Blinky’s amusement, as his mother had often corrected him for exactly the same thing.

“Can’t we have games, Mrs Rabbit?” he asked when at last he sat before an empty plate.

“Games and dancing—that’s the idea,” roared Brer Rabbit. “Clear the floor.”

Everyone helped, and Blinky gave Madam Hare’s tail another pull as he passed her with an armful of grass.

“Dear, dear, I think there are rats about,” she said in an injured tone. “My poor tail has been pulled again, and you all know it’s moulting time. I’ll catch a dreadful cold is I lose any more fur.”

Nobody seemed to take any notice of Madam Hare’s complaints, and Blinky and Bunchy both agreed to give it another pull later on in the evening.

When the last piece of grass was cleaned from the floor Mrs Rabbit clapped her paws three times and a dozen large locusts appeared out of the ground. It was a surprise, as nobody expected anything like that to happen.

“Who are they?” Blinky whispered to Bobbin.

“That’s the orchestra,” she cried jumping up and down excitedly.

Each locust walked to a corner of the cave and quietly sat down with an expectant look on his face. The conductor, who was a “double drummer”, scraped his hind legs on his wings. “Gurra-gurra-gurra” Came the vibrating notes. That was the signal, and instantly all the other locusts started scraping their legs.

Girr!!
Girr!!
Girr!!
Gurra!!
Gurra!!
Gurra!!

“Girr—girr—girr—gurra—gurra—gurra.” The cave echoed with the drumming noise and beads of perspiration rolled down the conductor’s face as he worked himself up (or down, to be correct) to a slow deep “Gurra”. The air throbbed with the music. It was really inspiring, and soft furry rabbit feet began to thump the ground. Lady rabbits looked coyly at the gentlemen, and odd little twitches of the ears and twinks of the whiskers were to be noticed.

“Take your partners for ‘The Bunny Hug’,” Brer Rabbit called in a deep voice.

There was a scampering and rushing, as each rabbit grabbed a partner. Madam Hare didn’t even wait to be asked to dance, but seized Brer Rabbit in her arms and began rolling from one side to the other, also jerking her arms up and down in a forward manner.

“That Madam Hare is not as shy as I thought she was,” murmured Mrs Rabbit as she was led away by an elderly partner.

Blinky was delighted. His very first dance. Now he would have something to tell Snubby when he reached home. Taking Bobbin in his paws he rolled from one side to the other, just like Madam Hare, whom he kept watching closely.

“You’re treading on my toes,” whimpered Bobbin.

Blinky looked down at her paws quite alarmed.

“Your toe-nails are too long,” he said rudely.

“They’re not!” Bobbin replied indignantly. “How could I dig burrows with short toe-nails?”

“I forgot,” said Blinky politely. “But look out, here comes Madam Hare, and I’m going to pull her tail again.”

Bobbin began to giggle, as she did not like Madam Hare a bit. She “showed off” such a lot.

As the dancers neared Blinky he cautiously grabbed Madam Hare’s tail and gave it a very hard pull, so hard in fact that a pawful of fur flew into the air.

Before Madam Hare knew what she was doing, she boxed Brer Rabbit’s ears. He was astonished, and looked very pained.

“Did you pull my tail?” Madam Hare demanded in an angry voice.

“Certainly not!” Brer Rabbit replied. “And I’m not going to dance any longer with you.”

That was the end of everything for Madam Hare. She hopped right into the middle of the floor and kicked every one as they passed in their dance. It was the beginning of a wild fight. Fur flew through the air, teeth gnashed. And, oh, the savage kicks! Everyone kicked, and the dust began to make them sneeze and cough. The orchestra made a gallant attempt to soothe the ruffled dancers, and dinned louder than ever; but the scuffle grew worse.

Bobbin thought it time to tell her father who it really was that had caused all the trouble. When Brer Rabbit heard her story he at once made for the culprit.

Blinky saw him coming and tried to hide; but Brer Rabbit never moved his eyes from that young bear. Tapping another big rabbit on the shoulder he asked for his assistance and together they grabbed Blinky, firmly holding his front paws. Blinky kicked with his hind legs as hard as he could, but he was handicapped.

“Let go!” he screamed. “You’re hurting me.”

“You young trouble maker!” Brer Rabbit cried, as he gave Blinky’s arm a pinch. “Out you go!”

By this time all the other rabbits had ceased fighting and stood watching the excitement. The orchestra kept playing and an angry note crept into their drumming.

“I’ve a good mind to take the young bounder to old Mother Ferrit,” Brer Rabbit exclaimed.

“No, don’t do that,” called out Madam Hare. “Let me punish the young rascal.”

Blinky shivered with fear. Madam Hare had such big feet and could give a very big kick. How he wished he had a tail round his hind parts. Scowling and showing her teeth Madam Hare pounced on Blinky.

“You little wretch!” she screamed, “you’ve ruined my tail, and its moulting time. I’ll have none for a long time now.”

“You’re a bully, and I’m glad I did it,” roared Blinky trying to kick her.

“Hold his arms!” Madam Hare commanded, as she turned her back to Blinky; then quickly looking over her shoulder she measured her distance.

Blinky waited for the kick. His eyes screwed up tightly and he tried to tuck in the part where his tail should have been.

“Thud! Thud! Thud!” Madam Hare certainly forgot to be shy.

“Oh! Oh!” wailed Blinky, “Stop! Stop!”

Roars of laughter came from all the rabbits.

“Throw him out! Throw him out!” they called loudly.

Blinky was pushed towards the opening of the cave and Madam Hare gave him a parting kick as he shot through the doorway.

He landed on his paws quite ten feet away. But thank goodness he was safe from the angry rabbits and Madam Hare.

He shook himself and gently patted the place where the kicks had struck.

“Savage animal!” he called at the top of his voice; and at once a head appeared in the opening.

“Chase him! Chase him!” the rabbits cried; but Blinky did not wait to be chased. He was running as fast as he could, colliding with corners, bumping his head and snubbing his nose.

Panting, he reached the entrance of the burrow; but oh! horror of horrors, Madam Hare’s large feet came thudding behind him.

“I’ll catch you; I’ll catch you!” she called. “And off to Mrs Ferrit you’ll go!”

Blinky nearly fainted with fright. He felt quite giddy, and his breath seemed to catch in his throat.

His heart pounded and thumped and his legs would not go fast enough.

Out into the moonlight he raced, crying and whimpering, stopping just a moment to look behind to see where that Madam Hare was.

Now her head came through the burrow and on she raced.

“Save me! Save me!” Blinky called at the top of his voice; but he hadn’t the faintest idea who could rescue him.

Suddenly the branches cracked and a brown form came hurriedly hopping through the undergrowth. It was Angelina Wallaby.

“Quick! Quick! Angelina,” Blinky called. “Madam Hare’s going to take me to Mrs Ferrit.”

“Is she? Well, she’s not,” said Angelina in a determined voice. “Here! hop on my back as quickly as you can. Hurry up. She’s coming!”

Blinky scrambled on to Angelina’s back as quick as winking, and before he’d settled down safely she gave a hop and away they went.

Madam Hare was stupid enough to think she could hop as quickly as Angelina and she plunged through the bushes calling wildly; but Angelina’s hops were too long for her, and very soon Madam Hare gave up the chase.

She looked a sorry sight with her stumpy tail showing bone, where only a few hours ago a beautiful white tuft reposed, her whiskers were bent and broken, and her ears hung limply sideways. Her coat, that had taken hours to polish and brush, was covered with dust and tiny twigs, and her eyes were blood-shot.

She flung herself on the ground and kicked the dust in temper. If only she could have seen Blinky at that moment, she would have eaten anything that chanced to pass her by, for he was having a beautiful ride, flying along on Angelina’s back—not caring tuppence for Madam Hare and her tail.

“Lucky for you, Master Blinky, I happened to be out looking for supper,” said Angelina in between hops.

“I’m so glad, dear Angelina, you came along. That Madam Hare has a very nasty temper.”

“And what about your mother’s when you arrive home?” chuckled Angelina.

“Do you think she’ll be very angry?” Blinky inquired, quite frightened at the thought of it now.

“She’s ramping,” exclaimed Angelina, “and so is Mrs Grunty.”

“What will I do?” asked Blinky in a whisper.

“Oh, tell the truth!” said Angelina. “If she spanks you, well—you know you really deserve it.”

Things must be pretty bad at home thought Blinky when Angelina speaks like that. However, if he was to have a spanking, the sooner it was over the better. Very soon Angelina hopped to the bottom of the tree where Blinky lived. The moon had sunk behind the hill, and the first kookaburra’s chuckle could be heard. A galah screeched in the tree as she looked at Blinky and Angelina.

“Stop that noise!” Blinky grunted as he shook his paw at her.

Everything was extraordinarily still. No Mrs Koala was to be seen, no Mrs Grunty and no Snubby.

“They must be asleep!” Angelina whispered in a low voice. “Climb up to your bed quickly and don’t make a noise.”

“All right, Angelina,” Blinky replied. “Good night, and thank you for saving me.”

“Good night,” Angelina purred. “Keep sitting if your mother spanks you.” After giving this good advice she hopped away into the bush.

Blinky climbed quietly—ever so quietly up the tree. He peeped over the branch where his mother usually slept. There she was, and Mrs Grunty with Snubby too, all curled up together, sound asleep, with their noses snuggly tucked down on their tummies.

Up past them Blinky climbed, hardly daring to breathe, and he kept climbing until he reached the highest branch, then, too tired to think any more about a spanking, he fell asleep.

Mrs Koala awoke when the sun peeped over the hill. “Oh, dear,” she sighed, “that naughty Blinky! I wonder where he is. Now I’ll have to start hunting for him, and when I do find the young cub he’ll know all about it.”

Peering up among the branches to see if any leaves would tempt her for breakfast, she was astonished to see a furry body that looked very much like her son.

“Blinky!” she called in a stern voice, “is that you?”

“Yes, mother,” came a meek little reply.

“Come down here!” she ordered.

Blinky thought it wise to do as he was told, so slowly climbed down to his mother.

“Where have you been?” Mrs Koala demanded.

Not Mrs Spotty’s? Blinky asked in a frightened voice.
“Looking for some leaves,” Blinky replied, his nose quivering with fright.

“Now, no stories, my son, where have you been?”

Blinky had never seen his mother look so angry, so he decided to tell the truth.

By this time Mrs Grunty and Snubby were awake and sat staring with eyes of amazement.

“Smack him!” Mrs Grunty exclaimed.

“Wait till I hear his story,” Mrs Koala replied, and she felt rather annoyed with Mrs Grunty, as it was not her business to tell her what to do with her own son.

Blinky told his story, keeping several parts to himself, about pushing Mrs Spotty in the pool, and grabbing Madam Hare’s tail.

“Very well, Blinky,” Mrs Koala said when he had finished his tale, “you are going to boarding-school after this.”

“Not Mrs Spotty’s?” Blinky asked in a frightened voice.

“No!” Mrs Koala replied, “you’ll go to Mrs Magpie’s!”

Australian Bedtime Story for Kids Written and Illustrated by Dorothy Wall

Let’s Chat About The Stories ~ Ideas for Talking With Kids

Kindness

1. This story speaks often about the need to be kind to animals. Why do you think children and adults ought to be kind to animals?

Conversation

1. What do you think of Blinky Bill? Do you like him? What did you think of his adventures?

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