The passage into which the blue door opened was very like the nursery
passage at home, and it was certainly night, because the flame-cats were
dancing on the walls, which only happened after dark. Yet there was no
fire burning anywhere, which was rather puzzling, but soon David saw
that these were real cats, not just the sort of unreal ones which
demanded a fire to make them dance at all. Some were red, some were
yellow, some were emerald green with purple patches, and instead of
having a band or a piano to dance to, they all squealed and purred and
growled, making such a noise that David could not hear himself speak. So
he stamped his foot and said ‘Shoo!’ at which the dance suddenly came to
an end, and all the cats sat down, put one hind-leg in the air, and
began licking themselves.
‘If you please,’ said David, ‘will you tell me where to go next?’
Every cat stopped licking itself, and looked at him. Some cat behind him
said:
‘Lor! it’s the boy from the nursery.’
David turned round. All the cats had begun licking themselves again,
except a large tabby, only instead of being black and brown, it was the
colour of apricot jam and poppies.
‘Was it you who spoke?’ said David.
‘Set to partners!’ said the tabby, and they all began dancing again.
‘Shoo, you silly things,’ said David, stamping again. ‘I don’t want to
stop your dancing, except just to be told where I’m to go, and what I’m
to do if I’m hungry.’
The dancing stopped again.
‘There is a pot of mouse-marmalade somewhere,’ said the tabby, ‘only you
mustn’t take more than a very little bit. It’s got to last till
February.’
‘But I don’t like mouse-marmalade,’ said David.
‘I never said you did,’ said the tabby. ‘Where’s the cook?’
‘Gone to buy some new whiskers,’ said another. ‘She put them too close
to the fire, which accounts for the smell of burning.’
‘Then all that can be done is to set to partners, and hope for the
best,’ said the tabby.
‘If any one dances again,’ said David, ‘before you tell me the way, and
where I shall find a shop with some proper food in it, not mousey, I
shall turn on the electric light.’
‘Fiddle-de-dee!’ said the tabby, and they all began singing
‘Hey diddle-diddle
The cat and the fiddle.’
at the top of their voices.
David was getting vexed with them all, and he looked about for the
electric light. But there were no switches by the door, as there ought
to have been, but only a row of bottles which he knew came out of his
father’s laboratory. But the stopper in one of them was loose, and a
fizzing noise came out of it. He listened to it a minute, with his ear
close to it, and heard it whispering, ‘_It’s me! it’s me! it’s me!_’
‘And when he’s got, it, he doesn’t know what to do with it!’ said the
tabby contemptuously.
David hadn’t the slightest idea. He was only sure that the bottle had
something to do with the electric light, and he took it up and began
shaking it, as Nannie did to his medicine bottle. To his great delight,
he saw that, as he shook it, the cats grew fainter and fainter, and the
passage lighter and lighter.
The tabby spoke to him in a tremulous voice.
‘You’re shocking us frightfully,’ she said. ‘Please, don’t. You may have
all the mouse-marmalade as soon as the cook comes back with her
whiskers. She’s been gone a long time. And if you don’t like it, you
really know where everything else is. There’s the garden outside, and
then the lake, and then the village. It’s all just as usual, except that
everything is real here. But whatever you do, don’t shock us any more.’
[Illustration: David shakes the bottle at the cats]
The passage had grown quite bright by now, and there were only a few of
the very strongest cats left. So, as he was a kind boy, he put down the
bottle again, which began fizzing and whispering:
‘_Pleased to have met you: pleased to have met you: pleased to have met
you._’
‘I don’t know why you couldn’t have told me that at first,’ said David
to the tabby.
‘Nor do I. It was my poor head. The dancing gets into it, and makes it
turn round and square, one after the other. May we go on?’
The cats began to recover as he stopped shaking the bottle, and he
walked on round the corner where the game cupboard stood against the
wall. All the games were kept there, the Noah’s Ark, and the spillikins,
and the Badminton, and the Happy Families, and the oak-bricks, and the
lead soldiers; and, as usual, the door of it was slightly open, because,
when all the games were put away, even Nannie could not shut it tight.
To-night there was an extraordinary stir going on in it, everything was
slipping about inside, and, as David paused to see what was happening, a
couple of marbles rolled out. But, instead of stopping on the carpet,
they continued rolling faster and faster, and he heard them hopping
downstairs in the direction of the garden door.
‘I don’t want to play games just yet,’ he said to himself, ‘when there
is so much to explore, but I must see what they are doing.’
He opened the door a little wider, and heard an encouraging voice, which
he knew must be Noah’s, come from inside.
‘That’s right,’ it said; ‘now we can see what we’re doing. Is my ulster
buttoned properly this time, missus? Last night, when you buttoned it
for me, you did it wrong, you did, and I caught cold in my ankle, I did.
It’s been sneezing all day, it has.’
‘I never saw such trouble as you men are,’ said Mrs. Noah. ‘Get up, you
silly, and don’t sit on Shem’s hat. I’ve been looking for it
everywhere.’
David stooped down and looked in. He had a sort of idea that he was
invisible, and wouldn’t disturb anybody. There was the ark, with all its
windows open, and the family were dressing. It consisted of two
compartments, in the second of which lived the animals, one on the top
of each other right up to the roof. There was no door in it, but the
roof lifted off. At present it was tightly closed and latched, and
confused noises of lions roaring and elephants trumpeting and cows
mooing, dogs barking, and birds singing came from inside. Sometimes
there was ordinary talk too, for the animals had all learned English
from David as well as knowing their own animal tongue, and the Indian
elephant spoke Hindustanee in addition. He was slim and light blue, and
was known as the ‘Elegant Elephant,’ in contrast to a stout black one
who never spoke at all. All this David thought that he and Nannie had
made up, but now he knew that it was perfectly true. And he stood
waiting to see what would happen next.
The hubbub increased.
‘If that great lamb would get off my chest,’ said the elegant elephant,
‘I should be able to get up. Why don’t they come and open the roof?’
‘Not time yet,’ said the cow. ‘The family are still dressing. But it’s a
tight fit to-night. I’m glad the pin-partridge isn’t here scratching us
all.’
‘Where’s it gone?’ said the elephant.
‘David took it to bed; more fool he,’ said the cow.
‘He couldn’t be much more of a fool than he is,’ grunted the pig. ‘He
knows nothing about us really.’
At this moment David heard an irregular kind of hopping noise coming
down the passage, and, just as he turned to look, the pin-partridge ran
between his legs. It flew on to the roof of the ark, and began pecking
at it.
‘Let me in,’ it shouted. ‘I believe it’s the first of September. What
cads you fellows are not to let me in!’
‘You always think it’s the first of September,’ said the cow. ‘Now look
at me; I’m milked every day, which must hurt me much more than being
shot once.’
‘Not if it’s properly done,’ said the partridge. ‘I know lots of cows
who like it.’
‘But it’s improperly done,’ said the cow. ‘David knows less about
milking than anybody since the flood. You wait till I catch him alone,
and see if I can’t teach him something about tossing.’
This sounded a very awful threat, and David, who knew that it was best
to take cows as well as bulls by the horns, determined on a bold policy.
‘If I hear one word more about tossing, I shan’t let any of you out,’ he
said.
There was dead silence.
‘Who’s that?’ said the cow in a trembling voice, for she was a coward as
well as a cow.
‘It’s me!’ said David.
There was a confused whispering within.
‘We can’t stop here all night.’
‘Say you won’t toss him.’
‘You can’t anyhow, because your horns are both broken.’
‘Less noise in there,’ said Noah suddenly, from the next compartment.
The cow began whimpering.
‘I’m a poor old woman,’ she said, ‘and everybody’s very hard on me,
considering the milk and butter I’ve given you.’
‘Chalk and water and margarine,’ said the pin-partridge, who had been
listening with his ear to the roof. ‘Do say you won’t toss him. I can’t
see him, but he’s somewhere close to me.’
‘Very well. I won’t toss him. Open the roof, boy.’
David was not sure that Noah would like this, as he was the ark-master,
but he felt that his having said that he would keep the roof shut unless
the cow promised, meant that he would open it if she did, and so he
lifted the roof about an inch.
At that moment Noah’s head appeared. He was standing on Shem’s head, who
was standing on Ham’s head, who was standing on Japheth’s head, who was
standing on his mother’s head. They always came out of their room in
this way, partly in order to get plenty of practice in case of fire, and
partly because they couldn’t be certain that the flood had gone down,
and were afraid that if they opened the door, which is the usual way of
leaving a room, the water might come in. When Noah had climbed on to the
top of the wall, he pulled Shem after him, who pulled Ham, who pulled
Japheth, who pulled Mrs. Noah, and there they all stood like a row of
sparrows on a telegraph wire, balancing themselves with great,
difficulty.
‘Who’s been meddling with my roof?’ asked Noah, in an angry voice. ‘I
believe it’s that pin-partridge.’
The pin-partridge trembled so violently at this that he fell off the
roof altogether, quite forgetting that he could fly. But the moment he
touched the ground, he became a full-sized partridge.
‘No, I didn’t,’ he said. ‘There’s that boy somewhere about, but I can’t
see him. He got through the blue door to-night.’
David now knew that he was invisible, but though it had always seemed to
him that it must be the most delicious thing in the world to be able to
be visible or invisible whenever you chose, he found that it was not
quite so jolly to have become invisible without choosing, and not to
have the slightest idea how to become visible again. It gave him an
empty kind of feeling like when he was hungry long before the proper
time.
‘The cats saw me,’ he said, joining in, for he knew if he couldn’t be
seen, he could be heard.
‘Of course they did,’ said Noah, ‘because they can see in the dark when
everything is invisible. That’s why they saw you. You needn’t think that
you’re the only thing that is invisible. I suppose you think it’s grand
to be invisible.’
‘When I was a little boy,’ said Ham, ‘I was told that little boys should
be seen and not heard. This one is heard and not seen. I call that a
very poor imitation of a boy. I dare say he isn’t a real one.’
‘I’ve been quite ordinary up to now,’ said David. ‘It seems to have come
on all of a sudden. And I don’t think it’s at all grand to be invisible.
I would be visible this minute if I knew how.’
‘I want to get down,’ said Mrs. Noah, swaying backwards and forwards
because her stand was broken.
‘You’ll get down whether you want to or not, ma,’ said Shem irritably,
‘if you go swaying about like that. Don’t catch hold of me now. I’ve got
quite enough to do with keeping my balance myself.’
‘Why don’t you get down?’ asked David, who wanted to see what would
happen next.
‘I haven’t seen the crow fly yet,’ said Noah. ‘We can’t get down till
the crow has flown.’
‘What did the crow do?’ asked David.
‘It didn’t. That’s why we’re still here,’ said Japheth.
‘Some people,’ said Noah, ‘want everything explained to them. When the
cock crows it shows it’s morning, and when the crow flies it shows it’s
night. We can’t get down until.’
‘But what would happen if you did get down?’ said David.
‘Nobody knows,’ said Noah. ‘I knew once, and tied a knot in my
handkerchief about it, so that I could remember, but the handkerchief
went to the wash, and they took out the knot. So I forgot.’
‘If you tied another knot in another handkerchief, wouldn’t you remember
again?’ asked David.
‘No. That would not be the same knot. I should remember something quite
different, which I might not like at all. That would never do.’
‘One, two, three,’ said Mrs. Noah, beating time, and they all began to
sing:
‘Never do, never do,
Never, never, never do.’
Most of the animals in the ark joined in, and they sang it to a quantity
of different tunes. David found himself singing too, but the only tune
he could remember was ‘Rule Britannia,’ which didn’t fit the words very
well. By degrees the others stopped singing, and David was left quite
alone to finish his verse feeling rather shy, but knowing that he had to
finish it whatever happened. When he had done, Noah heaved a deep sigh.
‘That is the loveliest thing I ever heard in my life,’ he said. ‘Are you
open to an engagement to sing in the ark every evening? Matinées of
course, as well, for which you would have to pay extra.’
This was a very gratifying proposal, but David did not quite understand
about the paying.
‘I should have to pay?’ he asked.
‘Why, of course. You’d have to pay a great deal for a voice like that.
You mustn’t dream of singing like that for nothing. It would fill the
ark.’
‘I should say it would empty it,’ said Mrs. Noah snappishly.
‘I don’t know if I’m rich enough,’ said David, not taking any notice of
this rude woman.
‘Go away at once then,’ said Mrs. Noah. ‘I never give to beggars.’
Just then there was a tremendous rattle from the ark, as if somebody was
shaking it.
‘It’s the crow,’ shouted Ham. ‘The crow’s just going to fly. Get out of
the way, boy.’
The crow forced its way through the other animals, balanced itself for a
moment on the edge of the ark, and flew off down the passage, squawking.
The moment it left the ark it became ordinary crow-size again, and at
the same moment David suddenly saw his one hand still holding up the lid
of the ark, and knew that he had become visible. That was a great
relief, but he had no time to think about it now, for so many
interesting things began happening all at once. The Noah family jumped
from the edge of the ark, and the moment their stands touched the
ground, they shot up into full-sized human beings, with hats and ulsters
on, and large flat faces with two dots for eyes, one dot for a nose, and
a line for a mouth. They glided swiftly about on their stands, like
people skating, and seemed to be rather bad at guiding themselves, for
they kept running into each other with loud wooden crashes, and into the
animals that were pouring out of the ark in such numbers that it really
was difficult to avoid everybody. Occasionally they were knocked down,
and then lay on their backs with their eyes winking very quickly, and
their mouths opening and shutting, like fish out of water, till somebody
picked them up.
[Illustration: The game-cupboard comes to life]
David got behind the cupboard door to be out of the way of the animals
and all the other things that came trooping from the shelves. Luckily
the nursery passage seemed to have grown much bigger, or it could never
have held everybody, for the animals also shot up to their full size as
soon as they left the ark. But they kept their colours and their varnish
and though David had been several times to the Zoological Gardens, there
was nothing there half so remarkable as the pale blue elephant or the
spotted pigs, to take only a few examples. Every animal here was so much
brighter in colour, and of course their conversation made them more
interesting. On they trooped with the Noahs whirling in and out, towards
the steps to the garden door, and when they were finished with, the
‘Happy Families,’ all life-size, too, followed them. There were Mrs.
Dose, the doctor’s wife, with her bottle, and Miss Bones, the butcher’s
daughter, gnawing her bone in a very greedy manner, and Master Chip, the
carpenter’s son, with his head supported in the pincers. He had no body,
you will remember, and walked in a twisty manner, very upright and
soldier-like, on the handles of them. The lead soldiers followed them
with the band playing, and the cannons shooting peas in all directions,
only the peas were as big as cannon-balls, and shot down whole regiments
of their own men, and many of the hindmost of the happy families. But
nobody seemed to mind, but picked themselves up again at once. Often the
whole band was lying on their backs together, but they never ceased
playing for a moment. The battledores and shuttlecocks came next, the
shuttlecocks hitting the battledores in front of them, which flew down
the passage high over the heads of the soldiers, and waited there,
standing on their handles till the shuttlecocks came up and hit them
again. After this came David’s clockwork train, which charged into
everything that was in its way, and cut a lane for itself through
soldiers, happy families, and animals alike. It had a cow-catcher in
front of the engine, which occasionally picked people up, instead of
running over them, and when David saw it last, before it plunged down
the stairs, it had Mr. Soot, the chimney-sweep, and the Duke of
Wellington, and the llama all lying on it, jumbled up together, and
kicking furiously.
While he was watching this extraordinary scene, the cupboard doors
banged to again, and he saw that there was a large label on one of
them:—
NO ADMITTANCE EXCEPT BY PRESENTING
YOUR CALLING-CARD AND VERY LITTLE THEN.
And on the other was this:
NO BOTTLES OR FOLLOWERS OR ANYTHING ELSE.
RING ALSO.
David studied this for a minute or two. He did not want to go in, but he
wanted to know how. He hadn’t got a calling-card—at least he never had
before he came through the blue door, but so many odd things had
happened since, that he was not in the least surprised when he put his
hand in his pocket to find it quite full of calling-cards, on which was
printed his name, only it was upside down. So he naturally turned the
card upside down to get the name un-upside-down, but, however he turned
it, his name was still upside down. If he looked at it very closely as
he turned it, he could see the letters spin round like wheels, and it
always remained like this:
[Illustration]
The other trouser-pocket was also quite full of something, and he drew
out of it hundreds of other calling-cards. On one was printed ‘The
Elegant Elephant, R.S.V.P.,’ on another ‘Master Ham, P.P.C.,’ on another
‘The Duke of Wellington, W.P.,’ on another ‘The Engine Driver,
R.A.M.C.,’ on another ‘Miss Battledore, W.A.A.C.’ Everybody had been
calling on him.
‘Whatever am I to do?’ thought David. ‘Shall I have to return all these
calls? It will take me all my time, and I shall see nothing.
Besides’—and he looked round and saw that the passage was completely
empty, and had shrunk to its usual size again—‘Besides, I don’t know
where they’ve all gone.’
He looked at the cupboard doors again, and found that they had changed
while he had been looking at the cards. They were now exactly like the
big front door at home, which opened in the middle, and had a hinge at
each side. In front of it was a doormat, in the bristles of which was
written
GO AWAY.
Now David was the sort of boy who often wanted to do something, chiefly
because he was told not to, in order to see what happened, and this
doormat made him quite determined to go in. It was no use trying the
left-hand side of the door, partly because neither bottles nor followers
nor anything was admitted, and partly because you had to ring also, and
there wasn’t any bell. But there seemed just a chance of getting in by
the right-hand part of the door, and he went up to it and knocked. To
his great surprise he heard a bell ring inside as soon as he had
knocked, which seemed to explain ‘ring also.’ The bell did not sound
like an electric bell, but was like the servants’ dinner bell. As soon
as it had stopped, he heard a voice inside the door say very angrily:
‘Give me my tuffet at once.’
There was a pause, and David heard the noise of some furniture being
moved, and the door flew open.
‘What’s your name?’ said the butler. ‘And have you got a calling-card?’
David gave him one of his cards, and he looked at it and turned it
upside down.
‘It’s one of them dratted upside-downers,’ he said, ‘and it sends the
blood to the head something awful.’
He gave a heavy sigh, and bent down and stood on his head.
‘Now I can read it,’ he said. ‘Are you David or Blaize? If David,
where’s Blaize, and if Blaize, where’s David?’
‘I’m both,’ said David.
‘You can’t be both of them,’ said the butler. ‘And I expect you’re
neither of them. And why didn’t you go away?’
‘You’ve given me too much curds,’ said a voice behind the door. ‘I’ve
told you before to find some way to weigh the whey. It’s a curd before.
Take it away!’
‘That must be Miss Muffet,’ thought David. ‘There’s a girl creeping into
it after all. I wonder if she makes puns all the time. I wish I hadn’t
knocked.’
‘No, I’m rationed about puns,’ said Miss Muffet, as if he had spoken
aloud, ‘and I’ve had my week’s allowance now. But a margin’s allowed for
margarine. Butter—margarine,’ she said in explanation.
‘I saw that, said David.
‘No, you didn’t: you heard it. Now, come in and shut the door, because
the tuffet’s blowing about. And the moment you’ve shut the door, shut
your eyes too, because I’m not quite ready. I’ll sing to you my last
ballad while you’re waiting. I shall make it up as I go along.’
Accordingly David shut the door, and then his eyes, and Miss Muffet
began to sing in a thin cracked voice:
‘As it fell out upon a day
When margarine was cheap,
It filled up all the grocers’ shops
In buckets wide and deep.
Ah, well-a-day! ah, ill-a-day!
Matilda bought a heap.
And it fell out upon a day
When margarine was dear,
Matilda bought a little more
And made it into beer.
Ah, well-a-day! ah, ill-a-day!
It tasted rather queer.
As it fell out upon a day
There wasn’t any more;
Matilda took her bottled beer
And poured it on the floor.
Ah, well-a-day! ah, ill-a-day!
And that was all I saw.’
‘Poor thing!’ said Miss Muffet. ‘Such a brief and mysterious career. Now
you may open your eyes.’
David did so, and found himself in a large room, with all the furniture
covered up as if the family was away. The butler was still standing on
his head, squinting horribly at David’s card, and muttering to himself,
‘He can’t be both, and he may be neither. He may be either, but he can’t
be both.’ In the middle of the room was a big round seat, covered with
ribands which were still blowing about in the wind, and on it was seated
a little old lady with horn spectacles, eating curds and whey out of a
bowl that she held on her knees.
‘Come and sit on the tuffet at once,’ she said, ‘and then we’ll pretend
that there isn’t room for the spider. Won’t that be a good joke? I like
a bit of chaff with my spider. I expect the tuffet will bear, won’t it?
But I can’t promise you any curds.’
‘Thank you very much,’ said David politely, ‘but I don’t like curds.’
‘No more do I,’ said Miss Muffet. ‘I knew we should agree.’
‘Then why do you eat them?’ asked David.
‘For fear the spider should get them. Don’t you adore my tuffet? It’s
the only indoor tuffet in the world. All others are out-door tuffets.
But they gave me this one because most spiders are out-of-door spiders.
By the way, we haven’t been introduced yet. Where’s that silly butler?’
‘Here,’ said the butler. He was lying down on the floor now, and staring
at the ceiling.
‘Introduce us,’ said Miss Muffet. ‘Say Miss Muffet, David Blaize—David
Blaize, Miss Muffet. Then whichever way about it happens, you’re as
comfortable as it is possible to be under the circumstances, or even
above them, where it would naturally be colder.’
‘I don’t quite see,’ said David.
‘Poor Mr. Blaize. Put a little curds and whey in your eyes. That’s the
way. Dear me, there’s another pun.’
[Illustration: David calls on Miss Muffet]
‘You made it before,’ said David.
‘I know. It counts double this time. But as I was saying, a little curds
and whey—oh! it’s tipped up again. What restless things curds are!’
She had not been looking at her bowl, and for several minutes now a
perfect stream of curds and whey had been pouring from it over her knees
and along the floor, to where the butler lay. He was still repeating,
‘Miss Muffet, David Blaize—David Blaize, Miss Muffet.’ Sometimes, by
way of variety, he said, ‘Miss Blaize—David Muffet,’ but as nobody
attended, it made no difference what he said.
‘It always happens when I get talking,’ she said. ‘And now we know each
other, I may be permitted to express a hope that you didn’t expect to
find me a little girl?’
‘No, I like you best as you are,’ said David quickly.
‘It isn’t for want of being asked that I’ve remained Miss Muffet,’ said
she. ‘And it isn’t from want of being answered. But give me a little
pleasant conversation now and then, and one good frightening away every
night, and I’m sure I’ll have no quarrel with anybody; and I hope nobody
hasn’t got none with me. How interesting it must be for you to meet me,
when you’ve read about me so often. It’s not nearly so interesting for
me, of course, because you’re not a public character.’
‘Does the spider come every night, or every day, whatever it is down
here?’ asked David.
‘Yes, sooner or later,’ said Miss Muffet cheerfully, ‘but the sooner he
comes, the sooner I get back again, and the later he comes the longer I
have before he comes. So there we are.’
She stopped suddenly, and looked at the ceiling.
‘Do my eyes deceive me?’ she whispered, ‘or is that the s——? No; my
eyes deceive me, and I thought they would scorn the action, the naughty
things. Perhaps you would like to peep at my furniture underneath the
sheets. It will pass the time for you, but be ready to run back to the
tuffet, when you hear the spider coming. Really, it’s very tiresome of
him to be so late.’
David thought he had never seen such an odd lot of furniture. Covered up
in one sheet was a stuffed horse, in another a beehive, in another a
mowing-machine. They were all priced in plain figures, and the prices
seemed to him equally extraordinary, for while the horse was labelled
‘Two shillings a dozen,’ and the mowing-machine ‘Half a crown a pair,’
the beehive cost ninety-four pounds empty, and eleven and sixpence full.
David supposed the reason for this was that if the beehive was full,
there would be bees buzzing about everywhere, which would be a
disadvantage.
‘When I give a party,’ said Miss Muffet, ‘as I shall do pretty soon if
the spider doesn’t come, and take all the coverings off my furniture,
the effect is quite stupendous. Dazzling in fact, my dear. You must
remember to put on your smoked spectacles.’
David was peering into the sheet that covered the biggest piece of
furniture of all. He could only make out that it was like an enormous
box on wheels, and cost ninepence. Then the door in it swung open, and
he saw that it was a bathing-machine. On the floor of it was sitting an
enormous spider.
‘Does she expect me?’ said the spider hoarsely. ‘I’m not feeling very
well.’
David remembered that he had to run back to the tuffet, but it seemed
impolite not to ask the spider what was the matter with it. It had a
smooth kind face, and was rather bald.
‘My web caught cold,’ said the spider. ‘But I’ll come if she expects
me.’
David ran back to the tuffet.
‘He’s not very well,’ he said, ‘but he’ll come if you expect him.’
‘The kind good thing!’ said Miss Muffet. ‘Now I must begin to get
frightened. Will you help me? Say “Bo!” and make faces with me in the
looking-glass, and tell me a ghost story. Bring me the looking-glass,
silly,’ she shouted to the butler.
He took one down from over the chimney-piece, and held it in front of
them, while David and Miss Muffet made the most awful faces into it.
‘That’s a beauty,’ said Miss Muffet, as David squinted, screwed up his
nose, and put his tongue out. ‘Thank you for that one, my dear. It gave
me quite a start. You are really remarkably ugly. Will you feel my
pulse, and see how I am getting on. Make another face: I’m used to that
one. Oh, I got a beauty then: it terrified me. And begin your ghost
story quickly.’
David had no idea where anybody’s pulse was, so he began his ghost
story.
‘Once upon a time,’ he said, ‘there was a ghost that lived in the
hot-water tap.’
‘Gracious, how dreadful!’ said Miss Muffet. ‘What was it the ghost of?’
‘It wasn’t the ghost of anything,’ said David. ‘It was just a ghost.’
‘But it must have been “of” something,’ said Miss Muffet. ‘The King is
the King of England, and I’m Miss Muffet of nothing at all. But you must
have an “of.”’
‘This one hadn’t,’ said David firmly. ‘It was just a ghost. It groaned
when you turned the hot water on, and it squealed when you turned it
off.’
‘This will never do,’ said Miss Muffet. ‘I’m getting quite calm again,
like a kettle going off the boil. Make another face. Oh, now it’s too
late!’
There came a tremendous cantering sound behind them, and Miss Muffet
opened her mouth and screamed so loud that her horn spectacles broke
into fragments.
‘Here he comes!’ she said. ‘O-oh, how frightened I am!’
[Illustration: The spider chases Miss Muffet]
She gave one more wild shriek as the spider leaped on to the tuffet, and
began running about the room with the most amazing speed, the spider
cantering after her. They upset the bathing-machine, and knocked the
stuffed horse down, they dodged behind the butler, and sent the beehive
spinning, and splashed through the curds and whey, which formed a puddle
on the floor. Then the door through which David had entered flew open,
and out darted Miss Muffet with the spider in hot pursuit. Her
screaming, which never stopped for a moment, grew fainter and fainter.
The butler gave an enormous yawn.
‘Cleaning up time,’ he said, and took a mop from behind the door, and
dipped it into the pool of curds and whey. When it was quite soaked, he
twisted it rapidly round and round, and a shower of curds and whey
deluged David. As it fell on him, it seemed to turn to snow. It was
snowing heavily from the roof too, and snow was blowing in through the
door. Then he saw that it wasn’t a door at all, but the opening of a
street, and that the walls were the walls of houses. It was difficult to
see distinctly through the snowstorm, but he felt as if he knew where he
was.