HERE begins the never-to-be-too-much-studied account of the
nine-hundred-and-ninety-ninth part of the wonderful things which Tom saw
on his journey to the Other-end-of-Nowhere; which all good little
children are requested to read; that, if ever they get to the
Other-end-of-Nowhere, as they may very probably do, they may not burst
out laughing, or try to run away, or do any other silly vulgar thing
which may offend Mrs. Bedonebyasyoudid.
Now, as soon as Tom had left Peacepool, he came to the white lap of the
great sea-mother, ten thousand fathoms deep; where she makes world-pap
all day long, for the steam-giants to knead, and the fire-giants to
bake, till it has risen and hardened into mountain-loaves and
island-cakes.
And there Tom was very near being kneaded up in the world-pap, and
turned into a fossil water-baby; which would have astonished the
Geological Society of New Zealand some hundreds of thousands of years
hence.
For, as he walked along in the silence of the sea-twilight, on the soft
white ocean floor, he was aware of a hissing, and a roaring, and a
thumping, and a pumping, as of all the steam-engines in the world at
once. And, when he came near, the water grew boiling-hot; not that that
hurt him in the least: but it also grew as foul as gruel; and every
moment he stumbled over dead shells, and fish, and sharks, and seals,
and whales, which had been killed by the hot water.
And at last he came to the great sea-serpent himself, lying dead at the
bottom; and as he was too thick to scramble over, Tom had to walk round
him three-quarters of a mile and more, which put him out of his path
sadly; and, when he had got round, he came to the place called Stop. And
there he stopped, and just in time.
For he was on the edge of a vast hole in the bottom of the sea, up which
was rushing and roaring clear steam enough to work all the engines in
the world at once; so clear, indeed, that it was quite light at moments;
and Tom could see almost up to the top of the water above, and down
below into the pit for nobody knows how far.
But, as soon as he bent his head over the edge, he got such a rap on the
nose from pebbles, that he jumped back again; for the steam, as it
rushed up, rasped away the sides of the hole, and hurled it up into the
sea in a shower of mud and gravel and ashes; and then it spread all
around, and sank again, and covered in the dead fish so fast, that
before Tom had stood there five minutes he was buried in silt up to his
ankles, and began to be afraid that he should have been buried alive.
And perhaps he would have been, but that while he was thinking, the
whole piece of ground on which he stood was torn off and blown upwards,
and away flew Tom a mile up through the sea, wondering what was coming
next.
At last he stopped--thump! and found himself tight in the legs of the
most wonderful bogy which he had ever seen.
It had I don't know how many wings, as big as the sails of a windmill,
and spread out in a ring like them; and with them it hovered over the
steam which rushed up, as a ball hovers over the top of a fountain. And
for every wing above it had a leg below, with a claw like a comb at the
tip, and a nostril at the root; and in the middle it had no stomach and
one eye; and as for its mouth, that was all on one side, as the
madreporiform tubercle in a star-fish is. Well, it was a very strange
beast; but no stranger than some dozens which you may see.
"What do you want here," it cried quite peevishly, "getting in my way?"
and it tried to drop Tom: but he held on tight to its claws, thinking
himself safer where he was.
So Tom told him who he was, and what his errand was. And the thing
winked its one eye, and sneered:
"I am too old to be taken in in that way. You are come after gold--I
know you are."
"Gold! What is gold?" And really Tom did not know; but: the suspicious
old bogy would not believe him.
But after a while Tom began to understand a little. For, as the vapours
came up out of the hole, the bogy smelt them with his nostrils, and
combed them and sorted them with his combs; and then, when they steamed
up through them against his wings, they were changed into showers and
streams of metal. From one wing fell gold-dust, and from another silver,
and from another copper, and from another tin, and from another lead,
and so on, and sank into the soft mud, into veins and cracks, and
hardened there. Whereby it comes to pass that the rocks are full of
metal.
But, all of a sudden, somebody shut off the steam below, and the hole
was left empty in an instant: and then down rushed the water into the
hole, in such a whirlpool that the bogy spun round and round as fast as
a teetotum. But that was all in his day's work, like a fair fall with
the hounds; so all he did was to say to Tom--
"Now is your time, youngster, to get down, if you are in earnest, which
I don't believe."
"You'll soon see," said Tom; and away he went, as bold as Baron
Munchausen, and shot down the rushing cataract like a salmon at
Ballisodare.
And, when he got to the bottom, he swam till he was washed on shore safe
upon the Other-end-of-Nowhere; and he found it, to his surprise, as most
other people do, much more like This-End-of-Somewhere than he had been
in the habit of expecting.
And first he went through Waste-paper-land, where all the stupid books
lie in heaps, up hill and down dale, like leaves in a winter wood; and
there he saw people digging and grubbing among them, to make worse books
out of bad ones, and thrashing chaff to save the dust of it; and a very
good trade they drove thereby, especially among children.
Then he went by the sea of slops, to the mountain of messes, and the
territory of tuck, where the ground was very sticky, for it was all made
of bad toffee (not Everton toffee, of course), and full of deep cracks
and holes choked with wind-fallen fruit, and green gooseberries, and
sloes, and crabs, and whinberries, and hips and haws, and all the nasty
things which little children will eat, if they can get them. But the
fairies hide them out of the way in that country as fast as they can,
and very hard work they have, and of very little use it is. For as fast
as they hide away the old trash, foolish and wicked people make fresh
trash full of lime and poisonous paints, and actually go and steal
receipts out of old Madame Science's big book to invent poisons for
little children, and sell them at wakes and fairs and tuck-shops. Very
well. Let them go on. Dr. Letheby and Dr. Hassall cannot catch them,
though they are setting traps for them all day long. But the Fairy with
the birch-rod will catch them all in time, and make them begin at one
corner of their shops, and eat their way out at the other: by which time
they will have got such stomach-aches as will cure them of poisoning
little children.
Next he saw all the little people in the world, writing all the little
books in the world, about all the other little people in the world;
probably because they had no great people to write about: and if the
names of the books were not Squeeky, nor the Pump-lighter, nor the
Narrow Narrow World, nor the Hills of the Chattermuch, nor the
Children's Twaddeday, why then they were something else. And all the
rest of the little people in the world read the books, and thought
themselves each as good as the President; and perhaps they were right,
for every one knows his own business best. But Tom thought he would
sooner have a jolly good fairy tale, about Jack the Giant-killer or
Beauty and the Beast, which taught him something that he didn't know
already.
And next he came to the centre of Creation (the hub, they call it
there), which lies in latitude 42.21° south, and longitude 108.56° east.
And there he found all the wise people instructing mankind in the
science of spirit-rapping, while their house was burning over their
heads: and when Tom told them of the fire, they held an indignation
meeting forthwith, and unanimously determined to hang Tom's dog for
coming into their country with gunpowder in his mouth. Tom couldn't help
saying that though they did fancy they had carried all the wit away with
them out of Lincolnshire two hundred years ago, yet if they had had one
such Lincolnshire nobleman among them as good old Lord Yarborough, he
would have called for the fire-engines before he hanged other people's
dogs. But it was of no use, and the dog was hanged: and Tom couldn't
even have his carcase; for they had abolished the have-his-carcase act
in that country, for fear lest when rogues fell out, honest men should
come by their own. And so they would have succeeded perfectly, as they
always do, only that (as they also always do) they failed in one little
particular, viz. that the dog would not die, being a water-dog, but bit
their fingers so abominably that they were forced to let him go, and Tom
likewise, as British subjects. Whereon they recommenced rapping for the
spirits of their fathers; and very much astonished the poor old spirits
were when they came, and saw how, according to the laws of Mrs.
Bedonebyasyoudid, their descendants had weakened their constitution by
hard living.
Then came Tom to the Island of Polupragmosyne (which some call Rogues'
Harbour; but they are wrong; for that is in the middle of Bramshill
Bushes, and the county police have cleared it out long ago). There every
one knows his neighbour's business better than his own; and a very noisy
place it is, as might be expected, considering that all the inhabitants
are _ex officio_ on the wrong side of the house in the "Parliament of
Man, and the Federation of the World"; and are always making wry mouths,
and crying that the fairies' grapes were sour.
There Tom saw ploughs drawing horses, nails driving hammers, birds'
nests taking boys, books making authors, bulls keeping china-shops,
monkeys shaving cats, dead dogs drilling live lions, blind brigadiers
shelfed as principals of colleges, play-actors not in the least shelfed
as popular preachers; and, in short, every one set to do something which
he had not learnt, because in what he had learnt, or pretended to learn,
he had failed.
There stands the Pantheon of the Great Unsuccessful, from the builders
of the Tower of Babel to those of the Trafalgar Fountains; in which
politicians lecture on the constitutions which ought to have marched,
conspirators on the revolutions which ought to have succeeded,
economists on the schemes which ought to have made every one's fortune,
and projectors on the discoveries which ought to have set the Thames on
fire. There cobblers lecture on orthopedy (whatsoever that may be)
because they cannot sell their shoes; and poets on Æsthetics (whatsoever
that may be) because they cannot sell their poetry. There philosophers
demonstrate that England would be the freest and richest country in the
world, if she would only turn Papist again; penny-a-liners abuse the
_Times_, because they have not wit enough to get on its staff; and young
ladies walk about with lockets of Charles the First's hair (or of
somebody else's, when the Jews' genuine stock is used up), inscribed
with the neat and appropriate legend--which indeed is popular through
all that land, and which, I hope, you will learn to translate in due
time and to perpend likewise:--
"_Victrix causa diis placuit, sed victa puellis._"
When he got into the middle of the town, they all set on him at once,
to show him his way; or rather, to show him that he did not know his
way; for as for asking him what way he wanted to go, no one ever thought
of that.
But one pulled him hither, and another poked him thither, and a third
cried--
"You mustn't go west, I tell you; it is destruction to go west."
"But I am not going west, as you may see," said Tom.
And another, "The east lies here, my dear; I assure you this is the
east."
"But I don't want to go east," said Tom.
"Well, then, at all events, whichever way you are going, you are going
wrong," cried they all with one voice--which was the only thing which
they ever agreed about; and all pointed at once to all the
thirty-and-two points of the compass, till Tom thought all the
sign-posts in England had got together, and fallen fighting.
And whether he would have ever escaped out of the town, it is hard to
say, if the dog had not taken it into his head that they were going to
pull his master in pieces, and tackled them so sharply about the
gastrocnemius muscle, that he gave them some business of their own to
think of at last; and while they were rubbing their bitten calves, Tom
and the dog got safe away.
On the borders of that island he found Gotham, where the wise men live;
the same who dragged the pond because the moon had fallen into it, and
planted a hedge round the cuckoo, to keep spring all the year. And he
found them bricking up the town gate, because it was so wide that little
folks could not get through. And, when he asked why, they told him they
were expanding their liturgy. So he went on; for it was no business of
his: only he could not help saying that in his country, if the kitten
could not get in at the same hole as the cat, she might stay outside and
mew.
But he saw the end of such fellows, when he came to the island of the
Golden Asses, where nothing but thistles grow. For there they were all
turned into mokes with ears a yard long, for meddling with matters which
they do not understand, as Lucius did in the story. And like him, mokes
they must remain, till, by the laws of development, the thistles develop
into roses. Till then, they must comfort themselves with the thought,
that the longer their ears are, the thicker their hides; and so a good
beating don't hurt them.
Then came Tom to the great land of Hearsay, in which are no less than
thirty and odd kings, beside half a dozen Republics, and perhaps more by
next mail.
And there he fell in with a deep, dark, deadly, and destructive war,
waged by the princes and potentates of those parts, both spiritual and
temporal, against what do you think? One thing I am sure of. That unless
I told you, you would never know; nor how they waged that war either;
for all their strategy and art military consisted in the safe and easy
process of stopping their ears and screaming, "Oh, don't tell us!" and
then running away.
So when Tom came into that land, he found them all, high and low, man,
woman, and child, running for their lives day and night continually, and
entreating not to be told they didn't know what: only the land being an
island, and they having a dislike to the water (being a musty lot for
the most part), they ran round and round the shore for ever, which (as
the island was exactly of the same circumference as the planet on which
we have the honour of living) was hard work, especially to those who had
business to look after. But before them, as bandmaster and fugleman, ran
a gentleman shearing a pig; the melodious strains of which animal led
them for ever, if not to conquest, still to flight; and kept up their
spirits mightily with the thought that they would at least have the
pig's wool for their pains.
And running after them, day and night, came such a poor, lean, seedy,
hard-worked old giant, as ought to have been cockered up, and had a good
dinner given him, and a good wife found him, and been set to play with
little children; and then he would have been a very presentable old
fellow after all; for he had a heart, though it was considerably
overgrown with brains.
He was made up principally of fish bones and parchment, put together
with wire and Canada balsam; and smelt strongly of spirits, though he
never drank anything but water: but spirits he used somehow, there was
no denying. He had a great pair of spectacles on his nose, and a
butterfly-net in one hand, and a geological hammer in the other; and
was hung all over with pockets, full of collecting boxes, bottles,
microscopes, telescopes, barometers, ordnance maps, scalpels, forceps,
photographic apparatus, and all other tackle for finding out everything
about everything, and a little more too. And, most strange of all, he
was running not forwards but backwards, as fast as he could.
Away all the good folks ran from him, except Tom, who stood his ground
and dodged between his legs; and the giant, when he had passed him,
looked down, and cried, as if he was quite pleased and comforted,--
"What? who are you? And you actually don't run away, like all the rest?"
But he had to take his spectacles off, Tom remarked, in order to see him
plainly.
Tom told him who he was; and the giant pulled out a bottle and a cork
instantly, to collect him with.
But Tom was too sharp for that, and dodged between his legs and in front
of him; and then the giant could not see him at all.
"No, no, no!" said Tom, "I've not been round the world, and through the
world, and up to Mother Carey's haven, beside being caught in a net and
called a Holothurian and a Cephalopod, to be bottled up by any old giant
like you."
And when the giant understood what a great traveller Tom had been, he
made a truce with him at once, and would have kept him there to this day
to pick his brains, so delighted was he at finding any one to tell him
what he did not know before.
"Ah, you lucky little dog!" said he at last, quite simply--for he was
the simplest, pleasantest, honestest, kindliest old Dominie Sampson of a
giant that ever turned the world upside down without intending it--"ah,
you lucky little dog! If I had only been where you have been, to see
what you have seen!"
"Well," said Tom, "if you want to do that, you had best put your head
under water for a few hours, as I did, and turn into a water-baby, or
some other baby, and then you might have a chance."
"Turn into a baby, eh? If I could do that, and know what was happening
to me for but one hour, I should know everything then, and be at rest.
But I can't; I can't be a little child again; and I suppose if I could,
it would be no use, because then I should know nothing about what was
happening to me. Ah, you lucky little dog!" said the poor old giant.
"But why do you run after all these poor people?" said Tom, who liked
the giant very much.
"My dear, it's they that have been running after me, father and son, for
hundreds and hundreds of years, throwing stones at me till they have
knocked off my spectacles fifty times, and calling me a malignant and a
turbaned Turk, who beat a Venetian and traduced the State--goodness only
knows what they mean, for I never read poetry--and hunting me round and
round--though catch me they can't, for every time I go over the same
ground, I go the faster, and grow the bigger. While all I want is to be
friends with them, and to tell them something to their advantage, like
Mr. Joseph Ady: only somehow they are so strangely afraid of hearing it.
But, I suppose I am not a man of the world, and have no tact."
"But why don't you turn round and tell them so?"
"Because I can't. You see, I am one of the sons of Epimetheus, and must
go backwards, if I am to go at all."
"But why don't you stop, and let them come up to you?"
"Why, my dear, only think. If I did, all the butterflies and
cockyolybirds would fly past me, and then I should catch no more new
species, and should grow rusty and mouldy, and die. And I don't intend
to do that, my dear; for I have a destiny before me, they say: though
what it is I don't know, and don't care."
"Don't care?" said Tom.
"No. Do the duty which lies nearest you, and catch the first beetle you
come across, is my motto; and I have thriven by it for some hundred
years. Now I must go on. Dear me, while I have been talking to you, at
least nine new species have escaped me."
And on went the giant, behind before, like a bull in a china-shop, till
he ran into the steeple of the great idol temple (for they are all
idolaters in those parts, of course, else they would never be afraid of
giants), and knocked the upper half clean off, hurting himself horribly
about the small of the back.
But little he cared; for as soon as the ruins of the steeple were well
between his legs, he poked and peered among the falling stones, and
shifted his spectacles, and pulled out his pocket-magnifier, and cried--
"An entirely new Oniscus, and three obscure Podurellæ! Besides a moth
which M. le Roi des Papillons (though he, like all Frenchmen, is given
to hasty inductions) says is confined to the limits of the Glacial
Drift. This is most important!"
And down he sat on the nave of the temple (not being a man of the world)
to examine his Podurellæ. Whereon (as was to be expected) the roof caved
in bodily, smashing the idols, and sending the priests flying out of
doors and windows, like rabbits out of a burrow when a ferret goes in.
But he never heeded; for out of the dust flew a bat, and the giant had
him in a moment.
"Dear me! This is even more important! Here is a cognate species to that
which Macgilliwaukie Brown insists is confined to the Buddhist temples
of Little Thibet; and now when I look at it, it may be only a variety
produced by difference of climate!"
And having bagged his bat, up he got, and on he went; while all the
people ran, being in none the better humour for having their temple
smashed for the sake of three obscure species of Podurella, and a
Buddhist bat.
"Well," thought Tom, "this is a very pretty quarrel, with a good deal to
be said on both sides. But it is no business of mine."
And no more it was, because he was a water-baby, and had the original
sow by the right ear; which you will never have, unless you be a baby,
whether of the water, the land, or the air, matters not, provided you
can only keep on continually being a baby.
So the giant ran round after the people, and the people ran round after
the giant, and they are running unto this day for aught I know, or do
not know; and will run till either he, or they, or both, turn into
little children. And then, as Shakespeare says (and therefore it must be
true)--
"_Jack shall have Gill
Nought shall go ill
The man shall have his mare again, and all go well._"
Then Tom came to a very famous island, which was called, in the days of
the great traveller Captain Gulliver, the Isle of Laputa. But Mrs.
Bedonebyasyoudid has named it over again the Isle of Tomtoddies, all
heads and no bodies.
And when Tom came near it, he heard such a grumbling and grunting and
growling and wailing and weeping and whining that he thought people must
be ringing little pigs, or cropping puppies' ears, or drowning kittens:
but when he came nearer still, he began to hear words among the noise;
which was the Tomtoddies' song which they sing morning and evening, and
all night too, to their great idol Examination--
"_I can't learn my lesson: the examiner's coming!_"
And that was the only song which they knew.
And when Tom got on shore the first thing he saw was a great pillar, on
one side of which was inscribed, "Playthings not allowed here"; at which
he was so shocked that he would not stay to see what was written on the
other side. Then he looked round for the people of the island: but
instead of men, women, and children, he found nothing but turnips and
radishes, beet and mangold wurzel, without a single green leaf among
them, and half of them burst and decayed, with toadstools growing out of
them. Those which were left began crying to Tom, in half a dozen
different languages at once, and all of them badly spoken, "I can't
learn my lesson; do come and help me!" And one cried, "Can you show me
how to extract this square root?"
And another, "Can you tell me the distance between [Greek: a] Lyræ and
[Greek: b] Camelopardis?"
And another, "What is the latitude and longitude of Snooksville, in
Noman's County, Oregon, U.S.?"
And another, "What was the name of Mutius Scævola's thirteenth cousin's
grandmother's maid's cat?"
And another, "How long would it take a school-inspector of average
activity to tumble head over heels from London to York?"
And another, "Can you tell me the name of a place that nobody ever heard
of, where nothing ever happened, in a country which has not been
discovered yet?"
And another, "Can you show me how to correct this hopelessly corrupt
passage of Graidiocolosyrtus Tabenniticus, on the cause why crocodiles
have no tongues?"
And so on, and so on, and so on, till one would have thought they were
all trying for tide-waiters' places, or cornetcies in the heavy
dragoons.
"And what good on earth will it do you if I did tell you?" quoth Tom.
Well, they didn't know that: all they knew was the examiner was coming.
Then Tom stumbled on the hugest and softest nimblecomequick turnip you
ever saw filling a hole in a crop of swedes, and it cried to him, "Can
you tell me anything at all about anything you like?"
"About what?" says Tom.
"About anything you like; for as fast as I learn things I forget them
again. So my mamma says that my intellect is not adapted for methodic
science, and says that I must go in for general information."
Tom told him that he did not know general information, nor any officers
in the army; only he had a friend once that went for a drummer: but he
could tell him a great many strange things which he had seen in his
travels.
So he told him prettily enough, while the poor turnip listened very
carefully; and the more he listened, the more he forgot, and the more
water ran out of him.
Tom thought he was crying: but it was only his poor brains running away,
from being worked so hard; and as Tom talked, the unhappy turnip
streamed down all over with juice, and split and shrank till nothing was
left of him but rind and water; whereat Tom ran away in a fright, for he
thought he might be taken up for killing the turnip.
But, on the contrary, the turnip's parents were highly delighted, and
considered him a saint and a martyr, and put up a long inscription over
his tomb about his wonderful talents, early development, and
unparalleled precocity. Were they not a foolish couple? But there was a
still more foolish couple next to them, who were beating a wretched
little radish, no bigger than my thumb, for sullenness and obstinacy and
wilful stupidity, and never knew that the reason why it couldn't learn
or hardly even speak was, that there was a great worm inside it eating
out all its brains. But even they are no foolisher than some hundred
score of papas and mammas, who fetch the rod when they ought to fetch a
new toy, and send to the dark cupboard instead of to the doctor.
Tom was so puzzled and frightened with all he saw, that he was longing
to ask the meaning of it; and at last he stumbled over a respectable
old stick lying half covered with earth. But a very stout and worthy
stick it was, for it belonged to good Roger Ascham in old time, and had
carved on its head King Edward the Sixth, with the Bible in his hand.
"You see," said the stick, "there were as pretty little children once as
you could wish to see, and might have been so still if they had been
only left to grow up like human beings, and then handed over to me; but
their foolish fathers and mothers, instead of letting them pick flowers,
and make dirt-pies, and get birds' nests, and dance round the gooseberry
bush, as little children should, kept them always at lessons, working,
working, working, learning week-day lessons all week-days, and Sunday
lessons all Sunday, and weekly examinations every Saturday, and monthly
examinations every month, and yearly examinations every year, everything
seven times over, as if once was not enough, and enough as good as a
feast--till their brains grew big, and their bodies grew small, and they
were all changed into turnips, with little but water inside; and still
their foolish parents actually pick the leaves off them as fast as they
grow, lest they should have anything green about them."
"Ah!" said Tom, "if dear Mrs. Doasyouwouldbedoneby knew of it she would
send them a lot of tops, and balls, and marbles, and ninepins, and make
them all as jolly as sand-boys."
"It would be no use," said the stick. "They can't play now, if they
tried. Don't you see how their legs have turned to roots and grown into
the ground, by never taking any exercise, but sapping and moping always
in the same place? But here comes the Examiner-of-all-Examiners. So you
had better get away, I warn you, or he will examine you and your dog
into the bargain, and set him to examine all the other dogs, and you to
examine all the other water-babies. There is no escaping out of his
hands, for his nose is nine thousand miles long, and can go down
chimneys, and through keyholes, upstairs, downstairs, in my lady's
chamber, examining all little boys, and the little boys' tutors
likewise. But when he is thrashed--so Mrs. Bedonebyasyoudid has promised
me--I shall have the thrashing of him: and if I don't lay it on with a
will it's a pity."
Tom went off: but rather slowly and surlily; for he was somewhat minded
to face this same Examiner-of-all-Examiners, who came striding among the
poor turnips, binding heavy burdens and grievous to be borne, and laying
them on little children's shoulders, like the Scribes and Pharisees of
old, and not touching the same with one of his fingers; for he had
plenty of money, and a fine house to live in, and so forth; which was
more than the poor little turnips had.
But when he got near, he looked so big and burly and dictatorial, and
shouted so loud to Tom, to come and be examined, that Tom ran for his
life, and the dog too. And really it was time; for the poor turnips, in
their hurry and fright, crammed themselves so fast to be ready for the
Examiner, that they burst and popped by dozens all round him, till the
place sounded like Aldershot on a field-day, and Tom thought he should
be blown into the air, dog and all.
As he went down to the shore he passed the poor turnip's new tomb. But
Mrs. Bedonebyasyoudid had taken away the epitaph about talents and
precocity and development, and put up one of her own instead which Tom
thought much more sensible:--
"_Instruction sore long time I bore,
And cramming was in vain;
Till heaven did please my woes to ease
With water on the brain._"
So Tom jumped into the sea, and swam on his way, singing:--
"_Farewell, Tomtoddies all; I thank my stars
That nought I know save those three royal r's:
Reading and riting sure, with rithmetick,
Will help a lad of sense through thin and thick._"
Whereby you may see that Tom was no poet: but no more was John Bunyan,
though he was as wise a man as you will meet in a month of Sundays.
And next he came to Oldwivesfabledom, where the folks were all heathens,
and worshipped a howling ape.
And there he found a little boy sitting in the middle of the road, and
crying bitterly.
"What are you crying for?" said Tom.
"Because I am not as frightened as I could wish to be."
"Not frightened? You are a queer little chap: but, if you want to be
frightened, here goes--Boo!"
"Ah," said the little boy, "that is very kind of you; but I don't feel
that it has made any impression."
Tom offered to upset him, punch him, stamp on him, fettle him over the
head with a brick, or anything else whatsoever which would give him the
slightest comfort.
But he only thanked Tom very civilly, in fine long words which he had
heard other folk use, and which, therefore, he thought were fit and
proper to use himself; and cried on till his papa and mamma came, and
sent off for the Powwow man immediately. And a very good-natured
gentleman and lady they were, though they were heathens; and talked
quite pleasantly to Tom about his travels, till the Powwow man arrived,
with his thunderbox under his arm.
And a well-fed, ill-favoured gentleman he was, as ever served Her
Majesty at Portland. Tom was a little frightened at first; for he
thought it was Grimes. But he soon saw his mistake: for Grimes always
looked a man in the face; and this fellow never did. And when he spoke,
it was fire and smoke; and when he sneezed, it was squibs and crackers;
and when he cried (which he did whenever it paid him), it was boiling
pitch; and some of it was sure to stick.
"Here we are again!" cried he, like the clown in a pantomime. "So you
can't feel frightened, my little dear--eh? I'll do that for you. I'll
make an impression on you! Yah! Boo! Whirroo! Hullabaloo!"
And he rattled, thumped, brandished his thunderbox, yelled, shouted,
raved, roared, stamped, and danced corrobory like any black fellow; and
then he touched a spring in the thunderbox, and out popped turnip-ghosts
and magic-lanthorns and pasteboard bogies and spring-heeled Jacks, and
sallaballas, with such a horrid din, clatter, clank, roll, rattle, and
roar, that the little boy turned up the whites of his eyes, and fainted
right away.
And at that his poor heathen papa and mamma were as much delighted as if
they had found a gold mine; and fell down upon their knees before the
Powwow man, and gave him a palanquin with a pole of solid silver and
curtains of cloth of gold; and carried him about in it on their own
backs: but as soon as they had taken him up, the pole stuck to their
shoulders, and they could not set him down any more, but carried him on
willynilly, as Sinbad carried the old man of the sea: which was a
pitiable sight to see; for the father was a very brave officer, and wore
two swords and a blue button; and the mother was as pretty a lady as
ever had pinched feet like a Chinese. But you see, they had chosen to do
a foolish thing just once too often; so, by the laws of Mrs.
Bedonebyasyoudid, they had to go on doing it whether they chose or not,
till the coming of the Cocqcigrues.
Ah! don't you wish that some one would go and convert those poor
heathens, and teach them not to frighten their little children into
fits?
"Now, then," said the Powwow man to Tom, "wouldn't you like to be
frightened, my little dear? For I can see plainly that you are a very
wicked, naughty, graceless, reprobate boy."
"You're another," quoth Tom, very sturdily. And when the man ran at him,
and cried "Boo!" Tom ran at him in return, and cried "Boo!" likewise,
right in his face, and set the little dog upon him; and at his legs the
dog went.
At which, if you will believe it, the fellow turned tail, thunderbox and
all, with a "Woof!" like an old sow on the common; and ran for his life,
screaming, "Help! thieves! murder! fire! He is going to kill me! I am a
ruined man! He will murder me; and break, burn, and destroy my precious
and invaluable thunderbox; and then you will have no more
thunder-showers in the land. Help! help! help!"
At which the papa and mamma and all the people of Oldwivesfabledom flew
at Tom, shouting, "Oh, the wicked, impudent, hard-hearted, graceless
boy! Beat him, kick him, shoot him, drown him, hang him, burn him!" and
so forth: but luckily they had nothing to shoot, hang, or burn him with,
for the fairies had hid all the killing-tackle out of the way a little
while before; so they could only pelt him with stones; and some of the
stones went clean through him, and came out the other side. But he did
not mind that a bit; for the holes closed up again as fast as they were
made, because he was a water-baby. However, he was very glad when he was
safe out of the country, for the noise there made him all but deaf.
Then he came to a very quiet place, called Leaveheavenalone. And there
the sun was drawing water out of the sea to make steam-threads, and the
wind was twisting them up to make cloud-patterns, till they had worked
between them the loveliest wedding veil of Chantilly lace, and hung it
up in their own Crystal Palace for any one to buy who could afford it;
while the good old sea never grudged, for she knew they would pay her
back honestly. So the sun span, and the wind wove, and all went well
with the great steam-loom; as is likely, considering--and
considering--and considering--
And at last, after innumerable adventures, each more wonderful than the
last, he saw before him a huge building, much bigger, and--what is most
surprising--a little uglier than a certain new lunatic asylum, but not
built quite of the same materials. None of it, at least--or, indeed, for
aught that I ever saw, any part of any other building whatsoever--is
cased with nine-inch brick inside and out, and filled up with rubble
between the walls, in order that any gentleman who has been confined
during Her Majesty's pleasure may be unconfined during his own pleasure,
and take a walk in the neighbouring park to improve his spirits, after
an hour's light and wholesome labour with his dinner-fork or one of the
legs of his iron bedstead. No. The walls of this building were built on
an entirely different principle, which need not be described, as it has
not yet been discovered.
Tom walked towards this great building, wondering what it was, and
having a strange fancy that he might find Mr. Grimes inside it, till he
saw running toward him, and shouting "Stop!" three or four people, who,
when they came nearer, were nothing else than policemen's truncheons,
running along without legs or arms.
Tom was not astonished. He was long past that. Besides, he had seen the
naviculæ in the water move nobody knows how, a hundred times, without
arms, or legs, or anything to stand in their stead. Neither was he
frightened; for he had been doing no harm.
So he stopped; and, when the foremost truncheon came up and asked his
business, he showed Mother Carey's pass; and the truncheon looked at it
in the oddest fashion; for he had one eye in the middle of his upper
end, so that when he looked at anything, being quite stiff, he had to
slope himself, and poke himself, till it was a wonder why he did not
tumble over; but, being quite full of the spirit of justice (as all
policemen, and their truncheons, ought to be), he was always in a
position of stable equilibrium, whichever way he put himself.
"All right--pass on," said he at last. And then he added: "I had better
go with you, young man." And Tom had no objection, for such company was
both respectable and safe; so the truncheon coiled its thong neatly
round its handle, to prevent tripping itself up--for the thong had got
loose in running--and marched on by Tom's side.
"Why have you no policeman to carry you?" asked Tom, after a while.
"Because we are not like those clumsy-made truncheons in the land-world,
which cannot go without having a whole man to carry them about. We do
our own work for ourselves; and do it very well, though I say it who
should not."
"Then why have you a thong to your handle?" asked Tom.
"To hang ourselves up by, of course, when we are off duty."
Tom had got his answer, and had no more to say, till they came up to the
great iron door of the prison. And there the truncheon knocked twice,
with its own head.
A wicket in the door opened, and out looked a tremendous old brass
blunderbuss charged up to the muzzle with slugs, who was the porter; and
Tom started back a little at the sight of him.
"What case is this?" he asked in a deep voice, out of his broad bell
mouth.
"If you please, sir, it is no case; only a young gentleman from her
ladyship, who wants to see Grimes, the master-sweep."
"Grimes?" said the blunderbuss. And he pulled in his muzzle, perhaps to
look over his prison-lists.
"Grimes is up chimney No. 345," he said from inside. "So the young
gentleman had better go on to the roof."
Tom looked up at the enormous wall, which seemed at least ninety miles
high, and wondered how he should ever get up: but, when he hinted that
to the truncheon, it settled the matter in a moment. For it whisked
round, and gave him such a shove behind as sent him up to the roof in no
time, with his little dog under his arm.
And there he walked along the leads, till he met another truncheon, and
told him his errand.
"Very good," it said. "Come along: but it will be of no use. He is the
most unremorseful, hard-hearted, foul-mouthed fellow I have in charge;
and thinks about nothing but beer and pipes, which are not allowed here,
of course."
So they walked along over the leads, and very sooty they were, and Tom
thought the chimneys must want sweeping very much. But he was surprised
to see that the soot did not stick to his feet, or dirty them in the
least. Neither did the live coals, which were lying about in plenty,
burn him; for, being a water-baby, his radical humours were of a moist
and cold nature, as you may read at large in Lemnius, Cardan, Van
Helmont, and other gentlemen, who knew as much as they could, and no man
can know more.
And at last they came to chimney No. 345. Out of the top of it, his head
and shoulders just showing, stuck poor Mr. Grimes, so sooty, and
bleared, and ugly, that Tom could hardly bear to look at him. And in his
mouth was a pipe; but it was not a-light; though he was pulling at it
with all his might.
"Attention, Mr. Grimes," said the truncheon; "here is a gentleman come
to see you."
But Mr. Grimes only said bad words; and kept grumbling, "My pipe won't
draw. My pipe won't draw."
"Keep a civil tongue, and attend!" said the truncheon; and popped up
just like Punch, hitting Grimes such a crack over the head with itself,
that his brains rattled inside like a dried walnut in its shell. He
tried to get his hands out, and rub the place: but he could not, for
they were stuck fast in the chimney. Now he was forced to attend.
"Hey!" he said, "why, it's Tom! I suppose you have come here to laugh at
me, you spiteful little atomy?"
Tom assured him he had not, but only wanted to help him.
"I don't want anything except beer, and that I can't get; and a light to
this bothering pipe, and that I can't get either."
"I'll get you one," said Tom; and he took up a live coal (there were
plenty lying about) and put it to Grimes' pipe: but it went out
instantly.
"It's no use," said the truncheon, leaning itself up against the chimney
and looking on. "I tell you, it is no use. His heart is so cold that it
freezes everything that comes near him. You will see that presently,
plain enough."
"Oh, of course, it's my fault. Everything's always my fault," said
Grimes. "Now don't go to hit me again" (for the truncheon started
upright, and looked very wicked); "you know, if my arms were only free,
you daren't hit me then."
The truncheon leant back against the chimney, and took no notice of the
personal insult, like a well-trained policeman as it was, though he was
ready enough to avenge any transgression against morality or order.
"But can't I help you in any other way? Can't I help you to get out of
this chimney?" said Tom.
"No," interposed the truncheon; "he has come to the place where
everybody must help themselves; and he will find it out, I hope, before
he has done with me."
"Oh, yes," said Grimes, "of course it's me. Did I ask to be brought here
into the prison? Did I ask to be set to sweep your foul chimneys? Did I
ask to have lighted straw put under me to make me go up? Did I ask to
stick fast in the very first chimney of all, because it was so
shamefully clogged up with soot? Did I ask to stay here--I don't know
how long--a hundred years, I do believe, and never get my pipe, nor my
beer, nor nothing fit for a beast, let alone a man?"
"No," answered a solemn voice behind. "No more did Tom, when you behaved
to him in the very same way."
It was Mrs. Bedonebyasyoudid. And, when the truncheon saw her, it
started bolt upright--Attention!--and made such a low bow, that if it
had not been full of the spirit of justice, it must have tumbled on its
end, and probably hurt its one eye. And Tom made his bow too.
"Oh, ma'am," he said, "don't think about me; that's all past and gone,
and good times and bad times and all times pass over. But may not I help
poor Mr. Grimes? Mayn't I try and get some of these bricks away, that he
may move his arms?"
"You may try, of course," she said.
So Tom pulled and tugged at the bricks: but he could not move one. And
then he tried to wipe Mr. Grimes' face: but the soot would not come off.
"Oh, dear!" he said. "I have come all this way, through all these
terrible places, to help you, and now I am of no use at all."
"You had best leave me alone," said Grimes; "you are a good-natured
forgiving little chap, and that's truth; but you'd best be off. The
hail's coming on soon, and it will beat the eyes out of your little
head."
"What hail?"
"Why, hail that falls every evening here; and, till it comes close to
me, it's like so much warm rain: but then it turns to hail over my head,
and knocks me about like small shot."
"That hail will never come any more," said the strange lady. "I have
told you before what it was. It was your mother's tears, those which
she shed when she prayed for you by her bedside; but your cold heart
froze it into hail. But she is gone to heaven now, and will weep no more
for her graceless son."
Then Grimes was silent awhile; and then he looked very sad.
"So my old mother's gone, and I never there to speak to her! Ah! a good
woman she was, and might have been a happy one, in her little school
there in Vendale, if it hadn't been for me and my bad ways."
"Did she keep the school in Vendale?" asked Tom. And then he told Grimes
all the story of his going to her house, and how she could not abide the
sight of a chimney-sweep, and then how kind she was, and how he turned
into a water-baby.
"Ah!" said Grimes, "good reason she had to hate the sight of a
chimney-sweep. I ran away from her and took up with the sweeps, and
never let her know where I was, nor sent her a penny to help her, and
now it's too late--too late!" said Mr. Grimes.
And he began crying and blubbering like a great baby, till his pipe
dropped out of his mouth, and broke all to bits.
"Oh, dear, if I was but a little chap in Vendale again, to see the clear
beck, and the apple-orchard, and the yew-hedge, how different I would go
on! But it's too late now. So you go along, you kind little chap, and
don't stand to look at a man crying, that's old enough to be your
father, and never feared the face of man, nor of worse neither. But I'm
beat now, and beat I must be. I've made my bed, and I must lie on it.
Foul I would be, and foul I am, as an Irishwoman said to me once; and
little I heeded it. It's all my own fault: but it's too late." And he
cried so bitterly that Tom began crying too.
"Never too late," said the fairy, in such a strange soft new voice that
Tom looked up at her; and she was so beautiful for the moment, that Tom
half fancied she was her sister.
No more was it too late. For, as poor Grimes cried and blubbered on, his
own tears did what his mother's could not do, and Tom's could not do,
and nobody's on earth could do for him; for they washed the soot off his
face and off his clothes; and then they washed the mortar away from
between the bricks; and the chimney crumbled down; and Grimes began to
get out of it.
Up jumped the truncheon, and was going to hit him on the crown a
tremendous thump, and drive him down again like a cork into a bottle.
But the strange lady put it aside.
"Will you obey me if I give you a chance?"
"As you please, ma'am. You're stronger than me--that I know too well,
and wiser than me, I know too well also. And, as for being my own
master, I've fared ill enough with that as yet. So whatever your
ladyship pleases to order me; for I'm beat, and that's the truth."
"Be it so then--you may come out. But remember, disobey me again, and
into a worse place still you go."
"I beg pardon, ma'am, but I never disobeyed you that I know of. I never
had the honour of setting eyes upon you till I came to these ugly
quarters."
"Never saw me? Who said to you, Those that will be foul, foul they will
be?"
Grimes looked up; and Tom looked up too; for the voice was that of the
Irishwoman who met them the day that they went out together to
Harthover. "I gave you your warning then: but you gave it yourself a
thousand times before and since. Every bad word that you said--every
cruel and mean thing that you did--every time that you got tipsy--every
day that you went dirty--you were disobeying me, whether you knew it or
not."
"If I'd only known, ma'am----"
"You knew well enough that you were disobeying something, though you did
not know it was me. But come out and take your chance. Perhaps it may be
your last."
So Grimes stepped out of the chimney, and really, if it had not been for
the scars on his face, he looked as clean and respectable as a
master-sweep need look.
"Take him away," said she to the truncheon, "and give him his
ticket-of-leave."
"And what is he to do, ma'am?"
"Get him to sweep out the crater of Etna; he will find some very steady
men working out their time there, who will teach him his business: but
mind, if that crater gets choked again, and there is an earthquake in
consequence, bring them all to me, and I shall investigate the case very
severely."
So the truncheon marched off Mr. Grimes, looking as meek as a drowned
worm.
And for aught I know, or do not know, he is sweeping the crater of Etna
to this very day.
"And now," said the fairy to Tom, "your work here is done. You may as
well go back again."
"I should be glad enough to go," said Tom, "but how am I to get up that
great hole again, now the steam has stopped blowing?"
"I will take you up the backstairs: but I must bandage your eyes first;
for I never allow anybody to see those backstairs of mine."
"I am sure I shall not tell anybody about them, ma'am, if you bid me
not."
"Aha! So you think, my little man. But you would soon forget your
promise if you got back into the land-world. For, if people only once
found out that you had been up my backstairs, you would have all the
fine ladies kneeling to you, and the rich men emptying their purses
before you, and statesmen offering you place and power; and young and
old, rich and poor, crying to you, 'Only tell us the great backstairs
secret, and we will be your slaves; we will make you lord, king,
emperor, bishop, archbishop, pope, if you like--only tell us the secret
of the backstairs. For thousands of years we have been paying, and
petting, and obeying, and worshipping quacks who told us they had the
key of the backstairs, and could smuggle us up them; and in spite of all
our disappointments, we will honour, and glorify, and adore, and
beatify, and translate, and apotheotise you likewise, on the chance of
your knowing something about the backstairs, that we may all go on
pilgrimage to it; and, even if we cannot get up it, lie at the foot of
it, and cry--
'_Oh, backstairs_,
_precious backstairs_, _comfortable backstairs_,
_invaluable backstairs_, _humane backstairs_,
_requisite backstairs_, _reasonable backstairs_,
_necessary backstairs_, _long-sought backstairs_,
_good-natured backstairs_, _coveted backstairs_,
_cosmopolitan backstairs_, _aristocratic backstairs_,
_comprehensive backstairs_, _respectable backstairs_,
_accommodating backstairs_, _gentlemanlike backstairs_,
_well-bred backstairs_, _ladylike backstairs_,
_commercial backstairs_, _orthodox backstairs_,
_economical backstairs_, _probable backstairs_,
_practical backstairs_, _credible backstairs_,
_logical backstairs_, _demonstrable backstairs_,
_deductive backstairs_, _irrefragable backstairs_,
_potent backstairs_,
_all-but-omnipotent backstairs_,
_&c._
Save us from the consequences of our own actions, and from the cruel
fairy, Mrs. Bedonebyasyoudid!' Do not you think that you would be a
little tempted then to tell what you know, laddie?"
Tom thought so certainly. "But why do they want so to know about the
backstairs?" asked he, being a little frightened at the long words, and
not understanding them the least; as, indeed, he was not meant to do, or
you either.
"That I shall not tell you. I never put things into little folks' heads
which are but too likely to come there of themselves. So come--now I
must bandage your eyes." So she tied the bandage on his eyes with one
hand, and with the other she took it off.
"Now," she said, "you are safe up the stairs." Tom opened his eyes very
wide, and his mouth too; for he had not, as he thought, moved a single
step. But, when he looked round him, there could be no doubt that he was
safe up the backstairs, whatsoever they may be, which no man is going to
tell you, for the plain reason that no man knows.
The first thing which Tom saw was the black cedars, high and sharp
against the rosy dawn; and St. Brandan's Isle reflected double in the
still broad silver sea. The wind sang softly in the cedars, and the
water sang among the caves: the sea-birds sang as they streamed out into
the ocean, and the land-birds as they built among the boughs; and the
air was so full of song that it stirred St. Brandan and his hermits, as
they slumbered in the shade; and they moved their good old lips, and
sang their morning hymn amid their dreams. But among all the songs one
came across the water more sweet and clear than all; for it was the song
of a young girl's voice.
And what was the song which she sang? Ah, my little man, I am too old to
sing that song, and you too young to understand it. But have patience,
and keep your eye single, and your hands clean, and you will learn some
day to sing it yourself, without needing any man to teach you.
And as Tom neared the island, there sat upon a rock the most graceful
creature that ever was seen, looking down, with her chin upon her hand,
and paddling with her feet in the water. And when they came to her she
looked up, and behold it was Ellie.
"Oh, Miss Ellie," said he, "how you are grown!"
"Oh, Tom," said she, "how you are grown too!"
And no wonder; they were both quite grown up--he into a tall man, and
she into a beautiful woman.
"Perhaps I may be grown," she said. "I have had time enough; for I have
been sitting here waiting for you many a hundred years, till I thought
you were never coming."
"Many a hundred years?" thought Tom; but he had seen so much in his
travels that he had quite given up being astonished; and, indeed, he
could think of nothing but Ellie. So he stood and looked at Ellie, and
Ellie looked at him; and they liked the employment so much that they
stood and looked for seven years more, and neither spoke nor stirred.
At last they heard the fairy say: "Attention, children. Are you never
going to look at me again?"
"We have been looking at you all this while," they said. And so they
thought they had been.
"Then look at me once more," said she.
They looked--and both of them cried out at once, "Oh, who are you, after
all?"
"You are our dear Mrs. Doasyouwouldbedoneby."
"No, you are good Mrs. Bedonebyasyoudid; but you are grown quite
beautiful now!"
"To you," said the fairy. "But look again."
"You are Mother Carey," said Tom, in a very low, solemn voice; for he
had found out something which made him very happy, and yet frightened
him more than all that he had ever seen.
"But you are grown quite young again."
"To you," said the fairy. "Look again."
"You are the Irishwoman who met me the day I went to Harthover!"
And when they looked she was neither of them, and yet all of them at
once.
"My name is written in my eyes, if you have eyes to see it there."
And they looked into her great, deep, soft eyes, and they changed again
and again into every hue, as the light changes in a diamond.
"Now read my name," said she, at last.
And her eyes flashed, for one moment, clear, white, blazing light: but
the children could not read her name; for they were dazzled, and hid
their faces in their hands.
"Not yet, young things, not yet," said she, smiling; and then she turned
to Ellie.
"You may take him home with you now on Sundays, Ellie. He has won his
spurs in the great battle, and become fit to go with you and be a man;
because he has done the thing he did not like."
So Tom went home with Ellie on Sundays, and sometimes on week-days, too;
and he is now a great man of science, and can plan railroads, and
steam-engines, and electric telegraphs, and rifled guns, and so forth;
and knows everything about everything, except why a hen's egg don't turn
into a crocodile, and two or three other little things which no one will
know till the coming of the Cocqcigrues. And all this from what he
learnt when he was a water-baby, underneath the sea.
"And of course Tom married Ellie?"
My dear child, what a silly notion! Don't you know that no one ever
marries in a fairy tale, under the rank of a prince or a princess?
"And Tom's dog?"
Oh, you may see him any clear night in July; for the old dog-star was so
worn out by the last three hot summers that there have been no dog-days
since; so that they had to take him down and put Tom's dog up in his
place. Therefore, as new brooms sweep clean, we may hope for some warm
weather this year. And that is the end of my story.
MORAL
_And now, my dear little man, what should we learn from this parable?_
_We should learn thirty-seven or thirty-nine things, I am not exactly
sure which: but one thing, at least, we may learn, and that is
this--when we see efts in the pond, never to throw stones at them, or
catch them with crooked pins, or put them into vivariums with
sticklebacks, that the sticklebacks may prick them in their poor little
stomachs, and make them jump out of the glass into somebody's work-box,
and so come to a bad end. For these efts are nothing else but the
water-babies who are stupid and dirty, and will not learn their lessons
and keep themselves clean; and, therefore (as comparative anatomists
will tell you fifty years hence, though they are not learned enough to
tell you now), their skulls grow flat, their jaws grow out, and their
brains grow small, and their tails grow long, and they lose all their
ribs (which I am sure you would not like to do), and their skins grow
dirty and spotted, and they never get into the clear rivers, much less
into the great wide sea, but hang about in dirty ponds, and live in the
mud, and eat worms, as they deserve to do._
_But that is no reason why you should ill-use them: but only why you
should pity them, and be kind to them, and hope that some day they will
wake up, and be ashamed of their nasty, dirty, lazy, stupid life, and
try to amend, and become something better once more. For, perhaps, if
they do so, then after 379,423 years, nine months, thirteen days, two
hours, and twenty-one minutes (for aught that appears to the contrary),
if they work very hard and wash very hard all that time, their brains
may grow bigger, and their jaws grow smaller, and their ribs come back,
and their tails wither off, and they will turn into water-babies again,
and perhaps after that into land-babies; and after that perhaps into
grown men._
_You know they won't? Very well, I daresay you know best. But you see,
some folks have a great liking for those poor little efts. They never
did anybody any harm, or could if they tried; and their only fault is,
that they do no good--any more than some thousands of their betters. But
what with ducks, and what with pike, and what with sticklebacks, and
what with water-beetles, and what with naughty boys, they are "sae sair
hadden doun," as the Scotsmen say, that it is a wonder how they live;
and some folks can't help hoping, with good Bishop Butler, that they may
have another chance, to make things fair and even, somewhere, somewhen,
somehow._
_Meanwhile, do you learn your lessons, and thank God that you have
plenty of cold water to wash in; and wash in it too, like a true
Englishman. And then, if my story is not true, something better is; and
if I am not quite right, still you will be, as long as you stick to hard
work and cold water._
_But remember always, as I told you at first, that this is all a fairy
tale, and only fun and pretence: and, therefore, you are not to believe
a word of it, even if it is true._
THE END
_Printed in Great Britain by R. & R. CLARK, LIMITED, Edinburgh._
* * * * *
Transcriber's Notes:
Obvious punctuation errors repaired.
Page 6, "piert" was retained as a spelling for "pert".