'_You had better go now._'
What would you have done? Rubbed your eyes and thought you were
dreaming? Well, if you had, nothing more would have happened. Nothing
ever does when you behave like that. Amabel was wiser. She went straight
to the Big Wardrobe and turned its glass handle.
'I expect it's only shelves and people's best hats,' she said. But she
only said it. People often say what they don't mean, so that if things
turn out as they don't expect, they can say 'I told you so,' but this is
most dishonest to one's self, and being dishonest to one's self is
almost worse than being dishonest to other people. Amabel would never
have done it if she had been herself. But she was out of herself with
anger and unhappiness.
Of course it wasn't hats. It was, most amazingly, a crystal cave, very
oddly shaped like a railway station. It seemed to be lighted by stars,
which is, of course, unusual in a booking office, and over the station
clock was a full moon. The clock had no figures, only _Now_ in shining
letters all round it, twelve times, and the _Nows_ touched, so the clock
was bound to be always right. How different from the clock you go to
school by!
A porter in white satin hurried forward to take Amabel's luggage. Her
luggage was the A.B.C. which she still held in her hand.
'Lots of time, Miss,' he said, grinning in a most friendly way, 'I _am_
glad you're going. You _will_ enjoy yourself! What a nice little girl
you are!'
This was cheering. Amabel smiled.
At the pigeon-hole that tickets come out of, another person, also in
white satin, was ready with a mother-of-pearl ticket, round, like a card
counter.
'Here you are, Miss,' he said with the kindest smile, 'price nothing,
and refreshments free all the way. It's a pleasure,' he added, 'to issue
a ticket to a nice little lady like you.' The train was entirely of
crystal, too, and the cushions were of white satin. There were little
buttons such as you have for electric bells, and on them
'_Whatyouwantoeat_,' '_Whatyouwantodrink_,' '_Whatyouwantoread_,' in
silver letters.
Amabel pressed all the buttons at once, and instantly felt obliged to
blink. The blink over, she saw on the cushion by her side a silver tray
with vanilla ice, boiled chicken and white sauce, almonds (blanched),
peppermint creams, and mashed potatoes, and a long glass of
lemonade--beside the tray was a book. It was Mrs. Ewing's _Bad-tempered
Family_, and it was bound in white vellum.
There is nothing more luxurious than eating while you read--unless it be
reading while you eat. Amabel did both: they are not the same thing, as
you will see if you think the matter over.
And just as the last thrill of the last spoonful of ice died away, and
the last full stop of the _Bad-tempered Family_ met Amabel's eye, the
train stopped, and hundreds of railway officials in white velvet
shouted, '_Whereyouwantogoto!_ Get out!'
A velvety porter, who was somehow like a silkworm as well as like a
wedding handkerchief sachet, opened the door.
'Now!' he said, 'come on out, Miss Amabel, unless you want to go to
_Whereyoudon'twantogoto_.'
She hurried out, on to an ivory platform.
'Not on the ivory, if you please,' said the porter, 'the white Axminster
carpet--it's laid down expressly for you.'
Amabel walked along it and saw ahead of her a crowd, all in white.
'What's all that?' she asked the friendly porter.
'It's the Mayor, dear Miss Amabel,' he said, 'with your address.'
'My address is The Old Cottage, Amberley,' she said, 'at least it used
to be'--and found herself face to face with the Mayor. He was very like
Uncle George, but he bowed low to her, which was not Uncle George's
habit, and said:
'Welcome, dear little Amabel. Please accept this admiring address from
the Mayor and burgesses and apprentices and all the rest of it, of
Whereyouwantogoto.'
The address was in silver letters, on white silk, and it said:
'Welcome, dear Amabel. We know you meant to please your aunt. It was
very clever of you to think of putting the greenhouse flowers in the
bare flower-bed. You couldn't be expected to know that you ought to ask
leave before you touch other people's things.'
'Oh, but,' said Amabel quite confused. 'I did....'
But the band struck up, and drowned her words. The instruments of the
band were all of silver, and the bandsmen's clothes of white leather.
The tune they played was 'Cheero!'
Then Amabel found that she was taking part in a procession, hand in hand
with the Mayor, and the band playing like mad all the time. The Mayor
was dressed entirely in cloth of silver, and as they went along he kept
saying, close to her ear.
'You have our sympathy, you have our sympathy,' till she felt quite
giddy.
There was a flower show--all the flowers were white. There was a
concert--all the tunes were old ones. There was a play called _Put
yourself in her place_. And there was a banquet, with Amabel in the
place of honour.
They drank her health in white wine whey, and then through the Crystal
Hall of a thousand gleaming pillars, where thousands of guests, all in
white, were met to do honour to Amabel, the shout went up--'Speech,
speech!'
I cannot explain to you what had been going on in Amabel's mind. Perhaps
you know. Whatever it was it began like a very tiny butterfly in a box,
that could not keep quiet, but fluttered, and fluttered, and fluttered.
And when the Mayor rose and said:
'Dear Amabel, you whom we all love and understand; dear Amabel, you who
were so unjustly punished for trying to give pleasure to an unresponsive
aunt; poor, ill-used, ill-treated, innocent Amabel; blameless, suffering
Amabel, we await your words,' that fluttering, tiresome butterfly-thing
inside her seemed suddenly to swell to the size and strength of a
fluttering albatross, and Amabel got up from her seat of honour on the
throne of ivory and silver and pearl, and said, choking a little, and
extremely red about the ears--
'Ladies and gentlemen, I don't want to make a speech, I just want to
say, "Thank you," and to say--to say--to say....'
She stopped, and all the white crowd cheered.
'To say,' she went on as the cheers died down, 'that I wasn't blameless,
and innocent, and all those nice things. I ought to have thought. And
they _were_ Auntie's flowers. But I did want to please her. It's all so
mixed. Oh, I wish Auntie was here!'
And instantly Auntie _was_ there, very tall and quite nice-looking, in a
white velvet dress and an ermine cloak.
'Speech,' cried the crowd. 'Speech from Auntie!'
Auntie stood on the step of the throne beside Amabel, and said:
'I think, perhaps, I was hasty. And I think Amabel meant to please me.
But all the flowers that were meant for the winter ... well--I was
annoyed. I'm sorry.'
'Oh, Auntie, so am I--so am I,' cried Amabel, and the two began to hug
each other on the ivory step, while the crowd cheered like mad, and the
band struck up that well-known air, 'If you only understood!'
'Oh, Auntie,' said Amabel among hugs, 'This is such a lovely place, come
and see everything, we may, mayn't we?' she asked the Mayor.
'The place is yours,' he said, 'and now you can see many things that
you couldn't see before. We are The People who Understand. And now you
are one of Us. And your aunt is another.'
I must not tell you all that they saw because these things are secrets
only known to The People who Understand, and perhaps you do not yet
belong to that happy nation. And if you do, you will know without my
telling you.
And when it grew late, and the stars were drawn down, somehow, to hang
among the trees, Amabel fell asleep in her aunt's arms beside a white
foaming fountain on a marble terrace, where white peacocks came to
drink.
* * * * *
She awoke on the big bed in the spare room, but her aunt's arms were
still round her.
'Amabel,' she was saying, 'Amabel!'
'Oh, Auntie,' said Amabel sleepily, 'I am so sorry. It _was_ stupid of
me. And I did mean to please you.'
'It _was_ stupid of you,' said the aunt, 'but I am sure you meant to
please me. Come down to supper.' And Amabel has a confused recollection
of her aunt's saying that she was sorry, adding, 'Poor little Amabel.'
If the aunt really did say it, it was fine of her. And Amabel is quite
sure that she did say it.
* * * * *
Amabel and her great-aunt are now the best of friends. But neither of
them has ever spoken to the other of the beautiful city called
'_Whereyouwantogoto._' Amabel is too shy to be the first to mention it,
and no doubt the aunt has her own reasons for not broaching the subject.
But of course they both know that they have been there together, and it
is easy to get on with people when you and they alike belong to the
_Peoplewhounderstand_.
* * * * *
If you look in the A.B.C. that your people have you will not find
'_Whereyouwantogoto._' It is only in the red velvet bound copy that
Amabel found in her aunt's best bedroom.