Tuppenny fell asleep at once, and slept for many hours. He awoke
in the dark, and he bumped his head against the lid of the hamper.
The tilt-cart was jolting and rumbling. “Don’t be frightened,” said
a pleasant little voice from a neighbouring nest-box, “we are only
moving camp. Sleep again—sleep—” said the dormouse. Tuppenny
stopped twittering. Presently there was a still more violent lurch;
Tuppenny squeaked loudly. The cart stopped, and the black pig pushed
back the canvas curtain of the hood. “What? what? what? squeaking!
twittering? at 3 o’clock in the morning? You will wake the dormouse!”
“Please—please, Mr. Paddy Pig, I dreamed I was in a ship.” “What?
what? a ship? Sea-sick, sea-sick? It’s only me pulling the cart. Go
to sleep again directly, little guinea-pig man!” Tuppenny obediently
curled himself up in his hay bed.
When he woke again, it was broad daylight, and a bright windy morning.
The caravan company was snugly encamped on a green level sward near
an old stone quarry. There was a semi-circle of high gray rocks;
topped with broom bushes, that swayed and bobbed in the rushing east
wind. White clouds raced overhead; and Jenny Ferret’s fire puffed and
sputtered, in spite of comparative calm down below in the quarry. At
the foot of the rocks for many years the Big Folk had been tipping
rubbish; old pots and pans, fruit tins, jam pots, and broken bottles.
Jenny Ferret had built a stone fireplace; she was cooking with an
old frying pan, and some sardine tins; in fact, she was trying which
tins would hold water with a view to carrying off a stock of cooking
utensils. Paddy Pig was stirring the porridge for breakfast. Pony Billy
grazed on the rough grass on the quarry bank. Sandy was nowhere to be
seen.
“Wake up! wake up! Xarifa!” whistled the starling, “wake up, new
long-haired animal! My! what a mop of hair; it’s full of hay seeds.”
“What, what! you meddlesome bird! His hair is beautiful! It will draw
crowds when he is dressed up,” said Paddy Pig, stirring vigorously.
[Illustration]
“If I had hair like that, I could play ‘Sleeping Beauty,’” said the
dormouse. She sat on the step of the caravan washing her face and hands
rapidly, and cleaning her sleek chestnut coat. She had black beady
eyes, very long whiskers, and a long furry tail with a white tip. Her
nose and eyebrows were turning gray; she was a most sweet person, but
slumberous. “Madam, you sleep, and you are beautiful!” said Paddy Pig,
turning round and bowing low, with the wooden thivel in his hand. The
little fat old dormouse laughed till she shook like jelly. “Never mind,
Tuppenny; I will brush it for you. Where is Sandy?” “Gone to buy a
fiddle string, gone to buy fine clothes for Tuppenny!” whistled the
starling. “I trust he will remember hairpins. Have you a pocket-comb,
Tuppenny?” “I have no pocket, no comb, no comb, pocket-comb I
forgot.” “You appear to have forgotten most things, Tuppenny,” said
Pony Billy, “you may borrow my curry comb if it is not too large.” “I
fear it would scrape him, Pony William; but we are obliged to you. Come
Tuppenny, fetch a porridge saucer and sit beside me,” said Xarifa.
Tuppenny was rather silent during breakfast. He kept looking at the
large print letters on the caravan. He pointed at them with his wooden
spoon. “Xarifa,” he whispered, “is it full of polecats?” Paddy Pig
rolled on the ground with laughing. “Where is the Pigmy Elephant?”
“That’s a secret,” said Jenny Ferret. “Here, Iky Shepster, help me to
tidy up. Xarifa will be busy all morning combing out those tangles.”
So then began the brushing of the hair of Tuppenny, which became a
daily task. At first there were pulls and twitches and squeaks; even
some hopeless tangles which had to be snipped out with Xarifa’s small
scissors. But after it was combed through it was easily kept in order.
The brushing became a pleasure to the two little barbers. Tuppenny
combed in front, and Xarifa brushed behind. Whenever the brushing
stopped, Tuppenny looked over his shoulder, and discovered that Xarifa
had fallen fast asleep.
She told him stories to keep herself awake; and she answered his many
questions. “Who plays the fiddle, Xarifa?” “Paddy Pig; Sandy plays the
bagpipes; and each of them does step dancing. Paddy Pig dances jigs,
and Sandy dances reels; and all of us do country dances. No, no, I am
not too old and fat!” said Xarifa, laughing. “I can dance ‘Hunsdon
House,’ and I can dance a minuet with Belinda Woodmouse. Perhaps we may
be dancing this evening; but there is not much room in the quarry. We
will soon be moving on again.” “Do we always move in the night, Xarifa?
Oh! oh! that hurts!” “I shall have to snip it Tuppenny, give me my
scissors. When we travel along the high roads we usually move in the
dark; because the roads are deserted at night; very few of the Big Folk
are stirring.” “Would they chase us Xarifa?” “No, indeed! they cannot
see us, while we carry fern seed in our pockets.” “I have not got a
pocket.” “It will be easy to plait a little packet of fern seed into
your hair, like Pony Billy’s. He carries one in his mane, in a plait
that we call a witch’s stirrup. But he once had an adventure when he
lost his fern seed.” “I did not lose it. It was stolen for mischief,”
said Pony William with a snort; he was grazing near them. “Anyway he
was not invisible; he had no fern seed; so the Big Folk could see him.
Now Tuppenny sit still, while I finish brushing your hair, and you
shall hear the story. Only you must understand that I did not see it
happen. I do not travel with the circus in winter weather. I go to live
with the Oakmen.” “Who are they, Xarifa?” “One thing at a time. Hold
your head still and listen.”
[Illustration]
[Illustration]