THE ANGRY WARMING-PAN
It was not surprising that the big bed should be different from any
other bed the children had ever played in, yet it was certainly taking
them a long, long time to crawl to the foot!
"It must have a foot," thought the brave captain of the band, as he
plunged farther and farther into the depths of the white cave. "All
beds have." Then he stopped suddenly as a loud squeal of mingled
surprise and terror came from just behind him.
"Oh, Rudolf," Ann cried, "I don't want to play this game any
longer--let's go back!" In the half-darkness Rudolf felt her turn
round on Peter, who was close behind her. "Go back, Peter," she
ordered.
"I can't," came a little voice out of the gloom.
"You must--oh, Peter, hurry!"
"I can't go back," said Peter calmly, "because there isn't any back.
Put your hand behind me and feel."
It was true. Just how or when it had happened none of them could tell,
but the soft drooping bedcovers had suddenly, mysteriously risen and
spread into firm white walls behind and on either side, leaving only a
narrow passageway open in front. It was nonsense to go on their hands
and knees any longer, for even Rudolf, who was tallest, could not
touch the arched white roof when he stood up and stretched his arm
above his head. He could not see Ann's face clearly, but he could hear
her beginning to sniff.
"Now, Ann," said he sternly, though in rather a weak voice, "don't you
know what this is? This is an adventure."
"I don't care," sniffed Ann, "I don't want an adventure. I want to go
back--back to Aunt Jane!" And the sniff developed into a flood of
tears.
"Peter is not crying, and he is only six."
This rebuke told on Ann, for she was almost eight. "But what are we
go--going to do?" she asked, her sobs decreasing into sniffs again.
"We'll just have to go on, I suppose, and see what happens."
"Well, I think--I think Aunt Jane ought to be ashamed of herself to
put us in such a big bed we could get lost in it!"
"Maybe"--came the voice of Peter cheerfully from behind them--"maybe
she _wanted_ to lose us, like bad people does kittens."
"Peter, don't be silly," ordered Rudolf sternly. "There isn't really
anything that can happen to us," he went on, speaking slowly and
thoughtfully, "because we all know that we really are in bed. We know
we didn't get _out_, so of course we must be _in_."
This was good sense, yet somehow it was not so comforting as it ought
to have been, not even to Rudolf himself who now began to be troubled
by a disagreeable kind of lump in his throat. Luckily he remembered,
in time to save himself from the disgrace of tears, how his father had
once told him that whistling was an excellent remedy for boys who did
not feel quite happy in their minds. He began to whistle now, a poor,
weak, little whistle at first, but growing stronger as he began to
feel more cheerful. Grasping his sword, he started ahead, calling to
the others to follow him.
The white passage was so narrow that the children had to walk along it
one behind another in Indian file. The floor was no longer soft and
yielding but firm and hard under their feet, and by stretching out
their hands they could almost touch the smooth white walls on either
side of them. At first the way was perfectly straight ahead, but after
they had walked what seemed to them a long, long time, the passage
curved sharply and widened a little. The children noticed, much to
their relief, that it was growing lighter around them.
"I'm getting tired," Ann announced at last. "See, Ruddy, there is a
nice flat black rock. Let's sit down and rest on it."
There was room for them all on the large flat rock, and when they were
settled on it, Peter remarked: "I'm hungry!" Now this was a thing
Peter was used to saying at all times and on all occasions, so it was
just like him to bring it out now as cheerfully and confidently as if
Betsy had been at his elbow with a plate of bread and butter.
"Oh, dear," Ann exclaimed, "what a long, long while it seems since we
had our tea! I suppose it will soon be time to think about starving."
And she took her little handkerchief out of the pocket of her nighty
and began to wipe her eyes with it.
"Not yet," said Rudolf hastily. "I put some candy into my pajamas
pocket when I went to bed, because the time I like to eat it best is
just before breakfast--if people only wouldn't row so about my doing
it. Let me see--it was two chocolate mice I had--I hope they didn't
get squashed when we were playing! No, here they are." The chocolate
mice were a little the worse for wear, in fact there were white
streaks on them where the chocolate had rubbed off on the inside of
Rudolf's pocket, but the children didn't mind that. They thought they
had never seen anything that looked more delicious.
"I will cut them in three pieces with my sword," said Rudolf. "You may
have the heads, Ann, and me the middle parts, and Peter the tails
because he is the youngest."
This arrangement did not suit Peter. "I will _not_ eat the tails," he
screamed, kicking his heels angrily against the rock,--"the tails is
made out of nassy old string!" And, I am sorry to say, Peter made a
snatch at both chocolate mice and knocked them out of Rudolf's hand.
This, of course, made it necessary for Rudolf to box Peter's ears, and
a tussle quickly followed, in the middle of which something dreadful
happened. The large flat rock they were sitting on gave several queer
shakes and heaves and then suddenly rose right up under the three
children and threw them head over heels into the air. They were not a
bit hurt, but they were very, very much surprised when they scrambled
to their feet and saw the rock erect on a long kind of tail it had,
glaring at them out of one red angry eye.
Ann was the first to recognize it. "Oh, oh," she cried, "it's not a
rock at all--it's Betsy's Warming-pan!"
The Pan, giving a deep throaty kind of growl, began to shuffle toward
them. "I'd like to have the warming of _you_ three," he snarled. "I'll
teach you to come sitting on top of me playing your tricks on my
rheumatic bones--waking me out of the first good nap I've had in
weeks!--I'll fix you--"
"We're really very sorry," Ann began. "We didn't mean to sit on you,
we thought--"
But the Warming-pan did not want to hear what Ann thought. He turned
round on her fiercely. "_You're_ the young person," he snapped, "who
made the polite remarks about my figure this evening? Eh, didn't you?
Can you deny it? Called me old-fashioned and 'country'--said nobody
ever used _me_ any more!--I'll teach you to talk about hot-water
bottles when _I'm_ through with you!" As he spoke he came closer and
closer to Ann, snorting and puffing and glaring at her out of his one
terrible eye. Although he was so round and waddled so clumsily,
dragging his long tail behind him, his appearance was quite dreadful.
He reminded Rudolf of the dragon in Peter's picture-book, and he
hastily tried to imagine how Saint George must have felt when
defending his princess. Clutching his sword, he thrust himself in
front of Ann and bravely faced the Warming-pan. "Run!" he called to
the others, "Fly!--and I will fight this monster to the death."
Ann, dragging Peter by the hand, made off as fast as she could go, and
the Pan tried his best to dodge Rudolf and rush after her. Again and
again Rudolf's sword struck him, but it only rattled on his
brassiness, and making a horrible face, he popped three live coals out
of his mouth which rolled on the ground unpleasantly close to Rudolf's
bare toes. Then they had it hot and heavy until at last the knight
managed to get his blade entangled with the dragon's long tail, and
tripped the creature up. Then, without waiting for his enemy to get
himself together again and heartily tired of playing Saint George,
Rudolf turned and ran after Ann and Peter. Long before he caught up to
them, however, he heard the Pan behind him, snorting and scolding.
Luckily it did not seem able to stop talking, so that it lost what
little breath it had and was soon obliged to halt. For some time
Rudolf caught snatches of its unpleasant remarks, such as--"Children
nowadays--wish he had 'em--he'd show 'em--bread and water--good thick
stick!--" Rudolf was obliged to run with his fingers in his ears
before that disagreeable voice died away in the distance.
At last he saw Peter and Ann waiting for him at a turn in the passage
just ahead, and in another moment he flung himself panting on the
ground beside them. "What a beast he was!" Rudolf exclaimed.
"Dreadful!" said Ann. "I shall tell Aunt Jane never, never to let
Betsy put him in our bed again." And then, after she had thanked
Rudolf very prettily for saving her life, and that hero had recovered
his breath and rested a little after the excitement of the battle,
they all felt ready to start on their way again.
No sooner had they turned the corner ahead of them than they found
themselves in broad daylight. The passage was now so wide that all
three could walk abreast, holding hands; a moment more and they stood
at the mouth of the long white cave or tunnel they had been walking
through. There was open country beyond them, and just opposite to
where the children stood was the queerest little house that they had
ever seen. It was long and very low, hardly more than one story high,
and was painted blue and white in stripes running lengthwise. In the
middle was a little front door with a window on either side of it and
three square blue and white striped steps leading up to it. From the
chimney a trail of thick white smoke poured out. As the three children
stood staring at the house, Peter cried out: "It's snowing!"
Sure enough the air was full of thick white flakes.
"Oh, dear, oh, dear!" Ann wailed, "what shall we do now? We can't go
back in the cave because the Warming-pan might catch us, and if we
stay here Peter will catch his death of cold out in the snow in his
night drawers--and so will we all. Oh, what _would_ mother say!"
"But we are not out in the snow, Ann," began Rudolf in his arguing
voice. "We are _in_ in the snow."
"And it is not wet," added Peter who was trying to roll a snowball out
of the white flakes that were piling themselves on the ground with
amazing quickness.
"I don't care," said Ann. "I know mother wouldn't like us to be in in
it or out in it. I'm going to knock at the door of that house this
minute and ask if they won't let us stay there till the storm's over."
"All right," said Rudolf, "only I hope the people who live there don't
happen to be any relation of the Warming-pan."
It was a dreadful thought. The three children looked at the house and
hesitated. Then Rudolf laughed, drew his precious sword, which he had
fastened into the belt of his pajamas, and mounted the steps, the
others following behind him.
"You be all ready to run," he whispered, "if you don't like the looks
of the person who comes. Now!" And he knocked long and loud upon the
blue and white striped door.
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