 This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to find out how you can volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. The Enchanted Castle by E. Nesbitt. Recorded by Peter Eastman. Chapter 8. It was but too plain. The unfortunate bailiff must have opened the door before the spell had faded, while yet the ugly wugglies were something more than mere coats and hats and sticks. They had rushed out upon him and had done this. He lay there insensible. Was it a golf club or a hockey stick that had made that horrible cut on his forehead, Gerald wondered? The girls had rushed to the sufferer. Already his head was in Mabel's lap. Kathleen had tried to get it onto hers, but Mabel was too quick for her. Jimmy and Gerald both knew what was the first thing needed by the unconscious, even before Mabel impatiently said, Water! Water! What in? Jimmy asked, looking doubtfully at his hands, and then down the green slope to the marble bordered pool where the water lilies were. Your hat! Anything! said Mabel. The two boys turned away. Suppose they come after us, said Jimmy. What come after us? Gerald snapped rather than asked. The ugly wugglies, Jimmy whispered. Who's afraid? Gerald inquired. But he looked to left and right very carefully and chose the way that did not lead near the bushes. He scooped water up in his straw hat and returned to Flora's temple, carrying it carefully in both hands. When he saw how quickly it ran through the straw, he pulled his handkerchief from his breast pocket with his teeth and dropped it into the hat. It was with this that the girls wiped the blood from the bailiff's brow. We ought to have smelling salts, said Kathleen, half in tears. I know we ought. They would be good. Mabel owned. Hasn't your aunt any? Yes, but... Don't be a coward, said Gerald. Think of last night. They wouldn't hurt you. He must have insulted them or something. Look here. You run. We'll see that nothing runs after you. There was no choice but to relinquish the head of the interesting invalid to Kathleen. So Mabel did it, cast one glaring glance round the rhododendron bordered slope, and fled towards the castle. The other three bent over the still unconscious bailiff. He's not dead, is he? Asked Jimmy anxiously. No, Kathleen reassured him, his heart speeding. Mabel and I felt it in his wrist, where doctors do. How frightfully good-looking he is. Not so dusty, Gerald admitted. I never know what you mean by good-looking, said Jimmy. And suddenly a shadow fell on the marble beside them, and a fourth voice spoke. Not Mabel's. Her hurrying figure, though still in sight, was far away. Quite a personable young man, it said. The children looked up, into the face of the eldest of the ugly wugglies, the respectable one. Jimmy and Kathleen screamed. I am sorry, but they did. Hush, said Gerald savagely. He was still wearing the ring. Hold your tongues, I'll get him away. He added in a whisper. Very sad affair this, said the respectable ugly wuggly. He spoke with a curious accent. There was something odd about his oars, and his M's and N's were those of a person laboring under an almost intolerable cold in the head. But it was not the dreadful ooh and ah voice of the night before. Kathleen and Jimmy stooped over the bailiff. In that prostrate form, being human, seemed some little protection. But Gerald, strong in the fearlessness that the ring gave to its wearer, looked full into the face of the ugly wuggly, and started. For though the face was almost the same as the face he had himself painted on the school drawing paper, it was not the same. For it was no longer paper. It was a real face, and the hands, lean and almost transparent as they were, were real hands. As it moved a little to get a better view of the bailiff, it was plain that it had legs, arms, live legs and arms, and a self-supporting backbone. It was a live indeed, with a vengeance. How did it happen? Gerald asked, with an effort of calmness, a successful effort. Most regrettable, said the ugly wuggly. The others must have missed the way last night in the passage. They never found the hotel. Did you? Asked Gerald blankly. Of course, said the ugly wuggly. Most respectable, exactly as you said. Then when I came away, I didn't come the front way, because I wanted to revisit the silven scene by daylight, and the hotel people didn't seem to know how to direct me to it. I found the others all at the store very angry. They'd been here all night, trying to get out. Then the door opened. This gentleman must have opened it, and before I could protect him that underbred man in the high hat, you remember. Gerald remembered. Hit him on the head, and he fell where you see him. The others dispersed, and I myself was just going for assistance when I saw you. Here Jimmy was discovered to be in tears, and Kathleen White as any drawing paper. What's the matter, my little man? Said the respectable ugly wuggly kindly. Jimmy passed instantly from tears to yells. Here, take the ring! Said Gerald in a furious whisper, and thrust it onto Jimmy's hot, damp, resisting finger. Jimmy's voice stopped short in the middle of a howl, and Gerald in a cold flash realized what it was that Mabel had gone through the night before. Said it was daylight, and Gerald was not a coward. We must find the others, he said. I imagine, said the elderly ugly wuggly, that they have gone to bathe. Their clothes are in the wood. He pointed stiffly. You two go and see, said Gerald, I'll go on dabbing this chap's head. In the wood, Jimmy, now fearless as any lion, discovered four heaps of clothing, with broomsticks, hockey sticks, and masks complete. All that had gone to make up the gentlemen ugly wugglies of the night before. On a stone seat well in the sun sat the two lady ugly wugglies, and Kathleen approached them gingerly. Another is easier in the sunshine than at night, as we all know. When she and Jimmy came close to the bench, they saw that the ugly wugglies were only ugly wugglies, such as they had often made. There was no life in them. Jimmy shook them to pieces, and a sigh of relief burst from Kathleen. The spell's broken, you see, she said, and that old gentleman, he's real. He only happens to be like the ugly wuggly we made. He's got the coat that hung in the hall on anyway, said Jimmy. No, it's only like it. Let's get back to the unconscious stranger. They did, and Gerald begged the elderly ugly wuggly to retire among the bushes with Jimmy. Because, said he, I think the poor bailiff's coming round, and it might upset him to see strangers. And Jimmy'll keep you company. He's the best one of us to go with you, he added hastily. And this, since Jimmy had the ring, was certainly true. So the two disappeared behind the rhododendrons. Mabel came back with assaults, just as the bailiff opened his eyes. It's just like life, she said, I might just as well not have gone. However. She knelt down at once, and held the bottle under the sufferer's nose, till he sneezed, and feebly pushed her hand away with the faint question, What's up now? You've hurt your head, said Gerald, lie still. No more smelling bottle, he said weakly, and lay. Quite soon he sat up and looked round him. There was an anxious silence. Here was a grown-up who knew last night's secret, and none of the children were at all sure what the utmost rigor of the law might be, in a case where people, no matter how young, made ugly wugglies and brought them to life. Dangerous, fighting, angry life. What would he say? What would he do? He said, What an odd thing, have I been insensible long? Ours, said Mabel earnestly, Not long, said Kathleen. We don't know, we found you like it, said Gerald. I'm all right now, said the bailiff, and his eye fell on the blood-stained handkerchief. I say, I did give my head a bang, and you've been giving me first aid. Thank you most awfully, but it is rum. What's rum, politeness obliged Gerald to ask? Well, I suppose it isn't really rum. I expect I saw you just before I fainted, or whatever it was. But I've dreamed the most extraordinary dream while I've been insensible, and you were in it. Nothing but us? Asked Mabel breathlessly. Oh, lots of things, impossible things, but you were real enough. Everyone breathed deeply in relief. It was, as they agreed later, a lucky let-off. Are you sure you're all right? They all asked, as he got on his feet. Perfectly, thank you. He glanced behind Flora's statue as he spoke. Do you know I dreamed there was a door there? But of course there isn't. I don't know how to thank you, he added, looking at them with what the girls called his beautiful, kind eyes. It's lucky for me you came along. You come here whenever you like, you know, he added, I give you the freedom of the place. You're the new bailiff, aren't you? Said Mabel. Yes. How did you know? He asked quickly. But they did not tell him how they knew. Instead they found out which way he was going, and went the other way, after warm handshakes, and hopes on both sides that they would meet again soon. I'll tell you what, said Gerald, as they watched the tall broad figure of the bailiff grow smaller across the hot green of the grass slope. Have you got any idea of how we're going to spend the day? Because I have. The others hadn't. We'll get rid of that ugly wugly. We'll find a way right enough, and directly we've done it, we'll go home and seal up the ring in an envelope so that its teeth will be drawn and it'll be powerless to have unforeseen larks with us. Then we'll get out on the roof and have a quiet day, books and apples. I'm about fed up with adventures, so I tell you. The others told him the same thing. Now, think, said he, think as you've never thought before, how to get rid of that ugly wugly. Unthought. But their brains were tired with anxiety and distress. And the thoughts they thought were, as Mabel said, not worth thinking, let alone saying, I suppose Jimmy's all right, said Kathleen anxiously. Oh, he's all right. He's got the ring, said Gerald. I hope he won't go wishing anything rotten, said Mabel. But Gerald urged her to shut up and let him think. I think I think best sitting down, he said, and sat. And sometimes you can think best aloud. The ugly wugly's real. Don't make any mistake about that. And he got made real inside that passage. If we could get him back there he might get changed again, and then we could take the coats and things back. Isn't there any other way? Kathleen asked. And Mabel, more candid, said bluntly, I'm not going into that passage so there. Afraid in broad daylight, Gerald sneered. It wouldn't be broad daylight in there, said Mabel. And Kathleen shivered. If we went to him and suddenly tore his coat off, said she, he is only coats. He couldn't go on being real then. Couldn't he? said Gerald. You don't know what he's like under the coat. Kathleen shivered again. And all this time the sun was shining gaily, and the white statues and the green trees and the fountains and terraces looked as cheerfully romantic as a scene in a play. Anyway, said Gerald, we'll try to get him back and shut the door. That's the most we can hope for. And then Apples and Robinson Crusoe, or the Swiss family, or any book you like that's got no magic in it. Now we've just got to do it. And he's not horrid now, really he isn't. He's real, you see. I suppose that makes all the difference, said Mabel. And tried to feel that perhaps it did. And it's broad daylight. Just look at the sun, Gerald insisted. Come on. He took a hand of each and they walked resolutely towards the bank of rhododendrons behind which Jimmy and the ugly wugly had been told to wait. And as they went Gerald said, he's real, the sun shining, it'll all be over in a minute. And he said these things again and again, so that there should be no mistake about them. As they neared the bushes, the shining leaves rustled, shivered, and parted. And before the girls had time to begin to hang back, Jimmy came blinking out into the sunlight. The bows closed behind him, and they did not stir or rustle for the appearance of anyone else. Jimmy was alone. Where is it?" asked the girls in one breath. Walking up and down in a fur walk, said Jimmy, doing sums in a book. He says he's most frightfully rich, and he's got to get up to town to the stocks or something. Where they change papers into gold if they're clever, he says. I should like to go to the stocks change, wouldn't you? I don't seem to care very much about changes, said Gerald. I've had enough. Show us where he is. We must get rid of him. He's got a motor car, Jimmy went on, parting the warm, varnished-looking rhododendron leaves, and a garden with a tennis court, and a lake and a carrage and pear, and he goes to Athens for his holiday sometimes, just like other people go to Margate. The best thing, said Gerald, following through the bushes, will be to tell him the shortest way out is through that hotel that he thinks he found last night. Then we get him into the passage, give him a push, fly back and shut the door. He'll starve to death in there, said Kathleen, if he's really real. I expect it doesn't last long. The ring-magics don't. Anyway, it's the only thing I can think of. He's frightfully rich, Jimmy went on, unheeding amid the cracking of the bushes. He's building a public library for the people where he lives and having his portrait painted to put in it. He thinks the like that. The belt of rhododendrons was passed, and the children had reached a smooth grass walk bordered by tall pines and furs of strange different kinds. He's just round that corner, said Jimmy. He's simply rolling in money. He doesn't know what to do with it. He's been building a horse trough and drinking fountain with a bust of himself on top. Why doesn't he build a private swimming bath close to his bed so that he can just roll off into it of a morning? I wish I was rich, I'd soon show him. That's a sensible wish, said Gerald. I wonder if we didn't think of doing that. Oh, crikey, he added, and with reason. For there, in the green shadows of the pine walk, in the woodland silence, broken only by rustling leaves and the agitated breathing of the three unhappy others, Jimmy got his wish. By quick but perfectly plain to be seen degrees, Jimmy became rich. And the horrible thing was that, though they could see it happening, they did not know what was happening and could not have stopped it if they had. All they could see was Jimmy, their own Jimmy whom they had larked with and quarrelled with and made it up with ever since they could remember. Jimmy continuously and horribly growing old. The whole thing was over in a few seconds. But in those few seconds they saw him grow to a youth, a young man, a middle-aged man, and then with a sort of shivering shock, unspeakably horrible and definite, he seemed to settle down into an elderly gentleman, handsomely but rather doubly dressed, who was looking down at them through spectacles and asking them the nearest way to the railway station. If they had not seen the change take place in all its awful details, they would never have guessed that the stout, prosperous, elderly gentleman with the high hat, the frock coat, and the large red seal dangling from the curve of a portly wasket was their own Jimmy. But as they had seen it, they knew the dreadful truth. Oh, Jimmy, don't! cried Mabel desperately. Gerald said, This is perfectly beastly. And Kathleen broke into wild weeping. Don't cry, little girl, said that which had been Jimmy. And you, boy, can't you give a civil answer to a civil question? He doesn't know us! wailed Kathleen. Who doesn't know you? said that which had been, impatiently. You don't! Kathleen sobbed. I certainly don't! returned that which, but surely that need not distress you so deeply. Oh, Jimmy, Jimmy, Jimmy! Kathleen sobbed louder than before. He doesn't know us, Gerald owned. Or look here, Jimmy, you aren't kidding, are you? Because if you are, it's simply abject rot. My name is Mr. said that which had been Jimmy and gave the name correctly. By the way, it will perhaps be shorter to call this elderly stout person who is Jimmy grown rich by some simpler name than I have just used. Let us call him that, short for that which had been Jimmy. What are we to do? whispered Mabel, awestruck. And allowed, she said, oh, Mr. James, or whatever you call yourself, do give me the ring. For on that sphanger the fatal ring showed plain. Certainly not, said that firmly, you appear to be a very grasping child. But what are you going to do? Gerald asked, in the flat tones of complete hopelessness. Your interest is very flattering, said that, will you tell me or won't you the way to the nearest railway station? No, said Gerald, we won't. Then, said that, still politely, though quite plainly furious, perhaps you'll tell me the way to the nearest lunatic asylum. Oh, no, no, no, cried Kathleen, you're not so bad as that. Perhaps not, but you are, that retorted, if you're not lunatics, you're idiots. However, I see a gentleman ahead who is perhaps sane. In fact, I seem to recognize him. A gentleman, indeed, was now to be seen approaching. It was the elderly, ugly, wugly. Oh, don't you remember, Jerry? Kathleen cried. And Kathy, your own Kathy Puscat, dear, dear Jimmy, don't be so silly. Little girl, said that, looking at her crossly through his spectacles. I am sorry you have not been better brought up. And he walked stiffly towards the ugly, wugly. Two hats were raised, a few words were exchanged, and two elderly figures walked side by side, down the green pine walk, followed by three miserable children. Horrified, bewildered, alarmed, and what is really worse than anything, quite at their wit's end. He wished to be rich, so of course he is, said Gerald, he'll have money for tickets and everything. And when the spell breaks, it's sure to break, isn't it? He'll find himself somewhere awful, perhaps in a really good hotel, and not know how he got there. I wonder how long the ugly wuglies lasted, said Mabel. Yes, Gerald answered, that reminds me, you two must collect the coats and things, hide them anywhere you like, and we'll carry them home tomorrow. If there is any tomorrow, he added darkly. Oh, don't! said Kathleen, once more breathing heavily on the verge of tears. You wouldn't think everything could be so awful, and the sun shining like it does. Look here, said Gerald. Of course I must stick to Jimmy. You two must go home to Mademoiselle, and tell her Jimmy and I have gone off in the train with a gentleman. Say, he looked like an uncle. He does, some kind of uncle. There'll be a beastly row afterwards, but it's got to be done. It all seems thick with lies, said Kathleen. You don't seem to be able to get a word of truth and edgewise hardly. Don't you worry, said her brother. They aren't lies. They're as true as anything else in this magic rot we've got mixed up in. It's like telling lies in a dream. You can't help it. Well, all I know is I wish it would stop. Lot of use you're wishing that is, said Gerald, exasperated. So long, I've got to go, and you've got to stay. If it's any comfort to you, I don't believe any of it's real. It can't be. It's too thick. Tell Mademoiselle Jimmy and I will be back to tea. If we don't happen to be, I can't help it. I can't help anything, except perhaps Jimmy. He started to run, for the girls had lagged, and the ugly wugly and that, late Jimmy, had quickened their pace. The girls were left looking after them. We've got to find these clothes, said Mabel. Simply got to. I used to want to be a heroine. It's different when it really comes to being, isn't it? Yes, very, said Kathleen. Where shall we hide the clothes when we've got them? Not that passage. Never, said Mabel firmly. We'll hide them inside the great stone dinosaurus. He's hollow. He comes alive, in a stone, said Kathleen. Not in the sunshine, he doesn't, Mabel told her confidently, and not without the ring. There won't be any apples and books today, said Kathleen. No, but we'll do the babyest thing we can do the minute we get home. We'll have a doll's tea party. That'll make us feel as if there wasn't really any magic. It'll have to be a very strong tea party, then, said Kathleen doubtfully. And now we see Gerald, a small but quite determined figure, paddling along in the soft white dust of the sunny road, in the wake of two elderly gentlemen. His hand, in his trouser's pocket, buries itself with the feeling of satisfaction in the heavy mixed coinage that is his share of the profits of his conjuring at the fair. His noiseless tennis shoes bared him to the station, where, unobserved, he listens at the ticket office to the voice of that which was James. One first London, it says, and Gerald, waiting till that and the ugly wugly have strolled onto the platform, politely conversing of politics in the Cafier Market, takes a third return to London. The train strides in, squeaking and puffing. The watched take their seats in a carriage blue-lined. The watcher springs into a yellow wooden compartment. A whistle sounds, a flag is waved. The train pulls itself together, strains, jerks, and starts. I don't understand, says Gerald, alone in his third-class carriage, how railway trains and magic can go on at the same time. And yet they do. Mabel and Kathleen, nervously peering among the rhododendron bushes and the bracken and the fancy fir trees, find six several heaps of coats, hats, skirts, gloves, golf clubs, hockey sticks, room handles. They carry them, panting and damp, for the midday sun is pitiless, up the hill to where the stone dinosaur looms immense among the forest of larches. The dinosaur has a hole in his stomach. Kathleen shows Mabel how to make a back and climbs up on it into the cold, stony inside of the monster. Mabel hands up the clothes and the sticks. There's lots of room, says Kathleen. Its tail goes down into the ground. It's like a secret passage. Suppose something comes out of it and jumps out at you, says Mabel, and Kathleen hurriedly descends. The explanations to Mademoiselle promise to be difficult, but, as Kathleen said afterwards, any little thing is enough to take a grown-up's attention off. A figure passes the window, just as they are explaining, that it really did look exactly like an uncle that the boys have gone to London with. Who's that, says Mademoiselle suddenly, pointing to, which everyone knows is not manners. It is the bailiff coming back from the doctors, with antiseptic plaster on that nasty cut that took so long abathing this morning. They tell her it is the bailiff at Yalding Towers, and she says, s'yell, sky, and asks no more awkward questions about the boys. Lunch, very late, is a silent meal. After lunch Mademoiselle goes out, in a hat with many pink roses, carrying a rose-lined parasol. The girls, in dense silence, organize a doll's tea-party with real tea. At the second cup Kathleen bursts into tears. Mabel, also weeping, embraces her. I wish! Sobs Kathleen. Oh, I too wish I knew where the boys were. It would be such a comfort. Gerald knew where the boys were, and it was no comfort to him at all. If you come to think of it, he was the only person who could know where they were. Because Jimmy didn't know that he was a boy, and indeed he wasn't really. And the ugly wugly couldn't be expected to know anything real, such as where boys were. At the moment when the second cup of doll's tea, very strong, but not strong enough to drown Karen, was being poured out by the trembling hand of Kathleen, Gerald was lurking. There really is no other word for it. On the staircase of Aldermanbury building's old Broad Street. On the floor below him was a door bearing the legend. Mr. U. W. Ugly, stock and sharebroker, and at the stock exchange. And on the floor above was another door, on which was the name of Gerald's little brother, now grown suddenly rich in so magic and tragic a way. There were no explaining words under Jimmy's name. Gerald could not guess what walk in life it was to which that, which had been Jimmy, owed its affluence. He had seen, when the door opened, to admit his brother, a kangal of clerks and mahogany desks. Evidently that had a large business. What was Gerald to do? What could he do? It is almost impossible, especially for one so young as Gerald, to enter a large London office and explain that the elderly and respected head of it is not what he seems, but is really your little brother who has been suddenly advanced to age and wealth by a tricky wishing-ring. If you think it's a possible thing, try it, that's all. Nor could he knock at the door of Mr. UW Ugly, stock and sharebroker, and at the stock exchange, and inform his clerks that their chief was really nothing but old clothes that had accidentally come alive. And by some magic which he couldn't attempt to explain, become real during a night spent at a really good hotel which had no existence. The situation bristled, as you see, with difficulties. And it was so long past Gerald's proper dinnertime that his increasing hunger was rapidly growing to seem the most important difficulty of all. It is quite possible to starve to death on the staircase of a London building if the people you are watching for only stay long enough in their offices. The truth of this came home to Gerald more and more painfully. A boy with hair like a new front-door mat came whistling up the stairs. He had a dark blue bag in his hands. I'll give you a tanner for yourself if you'll get me a tanner's worth of buns, said Gerald, with that prompt decision common to all great commanders. Show us your tanners. The boy rejoined with at least equal promptness. Gerald showed them. All right, hand over. Payment on delivery, said Gerald, using words from the drapers which he had never thought to use. The boy grinned admiringly. No, this is why about, he said, ain't no flies on him. Not many, Gerald owned with modest pride. Cut along, there's a good chap. I've got to wait here. I'll take care of your bag if you like. Nor yet there ain't no flies on me neither, remarked the boy, shouldering it. I've been up to the confidence trick for years, ever since I was your age. With this parting shot he went and returned in due course, bun laden. Gerald gave the sixpence and took the buns. When the boy, a minute later, emerged from the door of Mr. UW Ugly Stock and Sharebroker, and at the stock exchange, Gerald stopped him. What sort of chaps that, he asked, pointing the question with a jerk of an explaining thumb. Awful big pot, said the boy, up to his eyes in oof, motor and all that. Know anything about the one on the next landing? He's bigger than what this one is, very old firm, special seller in the Bank of England to put his chink in, calling bins like against the wall of the corn chandlers. Jiminy, I wouldn't mind half an hour in there, and the doors open and the police away at a bino. Not much, neither. You'll bust if you eat all them buns. Half one, Gerald responded, and held out the bag. They say in our office, said the boy, paying for the bun honorably, with unasked information. As these two is all for cutting each other's throats, only in the way of business, been at it for years. Gerald wildly wondered what magic and how much had been needed to give history and a past to these two things of yesterday, the rich Jimmy and the ugly wugly. If he could get them away, would all memory of them fade? In this boy's mind, for instance, in the minds of all the people who did business with them in the city? Would the mahogany and clerk furnished offices fade away? Were the clerks real? Was the mahogany? Was he himself real? Was the boy? Can you keep a secret? He asked the other boy. Are you on for a lark? I ought to be getting back to the office, said the boy. Get then, said Gerald. Don't you get stuffy, said the boy. I was just going to say it didn't matter. I know how to make my nose bleed if I'm a bit late. Gerald congratulated him on this accomplishment, at once so useful and so graceful. And then said, Look here, I'll give you five bob, honest. What for? was the boy's natural question. If you'll help me. Fire ahead. I'm a private inquiry, said Gerald. Tech, you don't look it. What's the good of being one if you look it? Gerald asked impatiently, beginning on another bun. That old chap on the floor above, he's wanted. Police, asked the boy with fine carelessness. No, sorrowing relations. Return to, said the boy, all forgotten and forgiven, I see. And I've got to get him to them somehow. Now, if you could go in and give them a message from someone who wanted to meet him on business. Hold on, said the boy, I know a trick worth two of that. You go in and see old ugly. He'd give his ears to have the old boy out of the way for a day or two. They were saying so in our office only this morning. Let me think, said Gerald, laying down the last bun on his knee expressly to hold his head in his hands. Don't you forget to think about my five bob, said the boy. Then there was a silence on the stairs, broken only by the cough of a clerk in that's office and the clickety-clack of a typewriter in the office of Mr. UW Ugly. Then Gerald rose up and finished the bun. You're right, he said. I'll chance it. Here's your five bob. He brushed the bun crumbs from his front, cleared his throat, and knocked at the door of Mr. UW Ugly. It opened, and he entered. The doormat boy lingered, secure in his power to account for his long absence by means of his well-trained nose, and his waiting was rewarded. He went down a few steps round the bend of the stairs and heard the voice of Mr. UW Ugly, so well-known on that staircase, and on the stock exchange, say, in soft, cautious accents. Then I'll ask him to let me look at the ring, and I'll drop it. You pick it up. But remember, it's a pure accident, and you don't know me. I can't have my name mixed up in a thing like this. You're sure he's really unhinged? Quite, said Gerald. He's quite mad about that ring. He'll follow it anywhere. I know he will. And think of his sorrowing relations. I do, I do, said Mr. UW Ugly kindly. That's all I do think of, of course. He went up the stairs to the other office, and Gerald heard the voice of that, telling his clerks that he was going out to lunch. Then the horrible UW Ugly and Jimmy, hardly less horrible in the eyes of Gerald, passed down the stairs, and were in the dusk of the lower landing. Two boys were making themselves as undistinguishable as possible, and so out into the street, talking of stocks and shares, bears and bowls. The two boys followed. I say, the doormat-headed boy whispered admiringly, whatever are you up to? You'll see, said Gerald recklessly, come on. You tell me, I must be getting back. Well, I'll tell you, but you won't believe me. That old gentleman's not really old at all. He's my young brother, suddenly turned into what you see. The other's not real at all. He's only just old clothes and nothing inside. He looks at, I must say, the boy admitted, but I say, you do stick it on, don't you? Well, my brother was turned like that by a magic ring. There ain't no such thing as magic, said the boy. I learned that at school. All right, said Gerald, goodbye. Oh, go ahead, said the boy. You do stick it on, though. Well, that magic ring. If I can get hold of it, I shall just wish we were all in a certain place, and we shall be. And then I can deal with both of them. Deal? Yes, the ring won't unwish anything you've wished. That undoes itself with time, like a spring and coiling. But it'll give you a brand new wish. I'm almost certain of it. Anyhow, I'm going to chance it. You are a robber, aren't you? said the boy respectfully. You wait and see, Gerald repeated. I say you aren't going into this swell place. You can't! The boy paused, appalled at the majesty of Pims. Yes, I am. They can't turn us out as long as we behave. You come along, too. I'll stand lunch. I don't know why Gerald clung so to this boy. He wasn't a very nice boy. Perhaps it was because he was the only person Gerald knew in London to speak to, except that which had been Jimmy and the ugly wugly. And he did not want to talk to either of them. What happened next happened so quickly that, as Gerald said later, it was just like magic. The restaurant was crowded. Busy men were hastily bolting the food hurriedly brought by busy waitresses. There was a clink of forks and plates, the gurgle of beer from bottles, the hum of talk, and the smell of many good things to eat. Two chops, please, Gerald had just said, playing with a plainly shown handful of money so as to leave no doubt of his honourable intentions. Then at the next table he heard the words, Ah yes, curious old family heirloom! The ring was drawn off the finger of that, and Mr. UW ugly, murmuring something about a unique curio, reached his impossible hand out for it. The doormat headed boy was watching breathlessly. There's a ring right enough, he owned. And then the ring slipped from the hand of Mr. UW ugly and skidded along the floor. Gerald pounced on it like a greyhound on a hair. He thrust the dull circlet on his finger and cried out aloud in that crowded place. I wish Jimmy and I were inside that door behind the statue of Laura. It was the only safe place he could think of. The lights and sounds and scents of the restaurant died away, as a wax drop dies in fire, a raindrop in water. I don't know, and Gerald never knew, what happened in that restaurant. There was nothing about it in the papers, though Gerald looked anxiously for extraordinary disappearance of well-known city man. But the doormat headed boy did or thought I don't know either. No more does Gerald. But he would like to know, whereas I don't care tuppence. The world went on all right anyhow, whatever he thought or did. The lights and the sounds and the scents of pims died out. In place of the light there was darkness. In place of the sounds there was silence. And in place of the scent of beef, pork, mudden, fish, veal, cabbage, onions, carrots, beer, and tobacco, there was the musty damp scent of a place underground that has been long shut up. Gerald felt sick and giddy, and there was something at the back of his mind that he knew would make him feel sicker and giddier as soon as he should have the sense to remember what it was. Meantime it was important to think of proper words to soothe the city man that had once been Jimmy, to keep him quiet till time, like a spring uncoiling, should bring the reversal of the spell, make all things as they were and as they ought to be. But he fought in vain for words. There were none. Nor were they needed. For through the deep darkness came a voice, and it was not the voice of that city man who had been Jimmy, but the voice of that very Jimmy, who was Gerald's little brother, and who had wished that unlucky wish for riches that could only be answered by changing all that was Jimmy, young and poor, to all that Jimmy, rich and old, would have been. Another voice said, Jerry, Jerry, are you awake? I've had such a run dream. And then there was a moment when nothing was said or done. Gerald felt through the thick darkness and the thick silence and the thick scent of old earth shut up, and he got hold of Jimmy's hand. It's all right, Jimmy, old chap, he said. It's not a dream now. It's that beastly ring again. I had to wish us here to get you back at all out of your dream. Wish us where? Jimmy held on to the hand in a way that in the daylight of life he would have been the first to call baby-ish. Inside the passage, behind the florist at you, said Gerald, adding, It's all right, really. Oh, I daresay it's all right. Jimmy answered through the dark with an irritation not strong enough to make him loosen his hold of his brother's hand. But how are we going to get out? Then Gerald knew what it was that was waiting to make him feel more giddy than the lightning flight from Cheapside to Yalding Towers had been able to make him. But he said stoutly, I'll wish us out, of course. Though all the time he knew that the ring would not undo its given wishes. It didn't. Gerald wished. He handed the ring carefully to Jimmy through the thick darkness, and Jimmy wished. And there they still were in that black passage behind Flora that had led, in the case of one ugly wugly at least, to a good hotel. And the stone door was shut, and they did not know even which way to turn to it. If I only had some matches, said Gerald. Why didn't you leave me in the dream? Jimmy almost whimpered. It was light there, and I was just going to have salmon and cucumber. I, rejoined Gerald in gloom, was just going to have steak and fried potatoes. The silence and the darkness and the earth he sent were all they had now. I always wondered what it would be like, said Jimmy in low, even tones, to be buried alive. And now I know, oh! His voice suddenly rose to a shriek. It isn't true. It isn't. It's a dream. That's what it is. There was a pause while you could have counted ten. Then, Yes, said Gerald bravely, through the scent and the silence and the darkness. It's just a dream, Jimmy, old chap. We'll just hold on and call out now and then just for the lark of the thing. But it's really only a dream, of course. Of course, said Jimmy, in the silence and the darkness and the scent of old earth. End of chapter 8 This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information, or to find out how you can volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. The Enchanted Castle by E. Nesbitt. Recorded by Peter Eastman. Chapter 9 There is a curtain, thin as gossamer, clear as glass, strong as iron, that hangs forever between the world of magic and the world that seems to us to be real. And when once people have found one of the little weak spots in that curtain, which are marked by magic rings and amulets and the like, almost anything may happen. Thus it is not surprising that Mabel and Kathleen, conscientiously conducting one of the dullest dolls tea parties at which either had ever assisted, should suddenly, and both at once, have felt a strange, unreasonable, but quite irresistible desire to return instantly to the Temple of Flora, even at the cost of leaving the dolls tea service in an unwashed state and only half the raisins eaten. They went, as one has to go when the magic impulse drives one, against their better judgment, against their wills almost, and the nearer they came to the Temple of Flora in the golden hush of the afternoon, the more certain each was that they could not possibly have done otherwise. And this explains exactly how it was that when Gerald and Jimmy, holding hands in the darkness of the passage, uttered their first concerted yell just for the lark of the thing, that yell was instantly answered from outside. A crack of light showed in that part of the passage where they had least expected the door to be. The stone door itself swung slowly open and they were out of it, in the Temple of Flora, blinking in the good daylight, an unresisting pray to Kathleen's embraces and the questionings of Mabel. And you left that ugly walk lead loose in London, Mabel pointed out. You might have wished it to be with you, too. It's all right where it is, said Gerald. I couldn't think of everything. And besides, no thank you. Now we'll go home and seal up the ring in an envelope. I haven't done anything with the ring yet, said Kathleen. I shouldn't think you'd want to when you see the sort of things it does with you, said Gerald. It wouldn't do things like that if I was wishing with it, Kathleen protested. Look here, said Mabel. Let's just put it back in the treasure room and have done with it. I oughtn't ever to have taken it away, really. It's a sort of stealing. It's quite as bad, really, as Eliza borrowing it to astonish her gentlemen friend with. I don't mind putting it back if you'd like, said Gerald. Only if any of us do think of a sensible wish, you'll let us have it out again, of course. Of course, of course, Mabel agreed. So they trooped up to the castle. And Mabel once more worked the spring that let down the paneling and showed the jewels. And the ring was put back among the odd doll ornaments that Mabel had once said were magic. How innocent it looks, said Gerald. You wouldn't think there was any magic about it. It's just like an old, silly ring. I wonder if what Mabel said about the other things is true. Suppose we try. Don't, said Kathleen. I think magic things are spiteful. They just enjoy getting you into tight places. I'd like to try, said Mabel. Only, well, everything's been rather upsetting, and I've forgotten what I said anything was. So had the others. Perhaps that was why, when Gerald said that a bronze buckle laid on the foot would have the effect of seven league boots, it didn't. When Jimmy, a little of the city man he had been clinging to him still, said that the steel collar would ensure you're always having money in your pockets, his own remained empty. And when Mabel and Kathleen invented qualities of the most delightful nature for various rings and chains and brooches, nothing at all happened. It's only the ring that's magic, said Mabel at last, and I say, she added in quite a different voice. What? Suppose even the ring isn't? But we know it is. I don't, said Mabel. I believe it's not today at all. I believe it's the other day. We've just dreamed all these things. It's the day I made up that nonsense about the ring. No, it isn't, said Gerald. You were in your princess clothes then. What princess clothes, said Mabel, opening her dark eyes very wide. Oh, don't be silly, said Gerald wearily. I'm not silly, said Mabel. I think it's time you went. I'm sure Jimmy wants his tea. Of course I do, said Jimmy, but you had got the princess clothes that day. Come along, let's shut up the shutters and leave the ring in its long home. What ring, said Mabel? Don't take any notice of her, said Gerald. She's only trying to be funny. No, I'm not, said Mabel. But I'm inspired, like a python or a sibling lady. What ring? The wishing ring, said Kathleen. The invisibility ring. Don't you see now, said Mabel, her eyes wider than ever. The ring's what you say it is. That's how it came to make us invisible. I just said it. Oh, we can't leave it here, if that's what it is. It isn't stealing, really, when it's as valuable as that, you see. Say what it is. It's a wishing ring, said Jimmy. We've had that before, and you had your silly wish, said Mabel, more and more excited. I say it isn't a wishing ring. I say it's a ring that makes the wearer four yards high. She had caught up the ring as she spoke. And even as she spoke, the ring showed high above the children's heads, on the finger of an impossible Mabel who was, indeed, twelve feet high. Now you've done it, said Gerald, and he was right. It was in vain that Mabel asserted that the ring was a wishing ring. It quite clearly wasn't. It was what she had said it was. And you can't tell at all how long the effect will last, said Gerald. Look at the invisibleness. This is difficult to do, but the others understood him. It may last for days, said Kathleen. Oh, Mabel, it was silly of you. That's right, rub it in, said Mabel bitterly. You should have believed me when I said it was what I said it was. Then I shouldn't have had to show you and I shouldn't be the silly size. What am I to do now I should like to know? We must conceal you till you get your right size again. That's all, said Gerald practically. Yes, but where? said Mabel, stamping a foot twenty-four inches long. In one of the empty rooms you wouldn't be afraid. Of course not, said Mabel. Oh, I do wish we just put the ring back and left it. Well, it wasn't us that didn't, said Jimmy, with more truth than grammar. I shall put it back now, said Mabel, tugging at it. I wouldn't if I were you, said Gerald thoughtfully. You don't want to stay that length, do you? And unless the rings on your finger went the times up I daresay it wouldn't act. The exalted Mabel sullenly touched the spring. The panel slowly slid into place and all the bright jewels were hidden. Once more the room was merely eight-sided, paneled, sunlit, and unfurnished. Said Mabel, where am I to hide? It's a good thing Auntie gave me leave to stay the night with you. As it is one of you will have to stay the night with me. I'm not going to be left alone the silly height I am. Height was the right word. Mabel had said four yards high. And she was four yards high. But she was hardly any thicker than when her height was four feet seven. And the effect was, as Gerald remarked, wonderfully worm-like. Her clothes had, of course, grown with her. And she looked like a little girl reflected in one of those long bent mirrors at Rocherville Gardens that make stout people look so happily slender and slender people so sadly scraggy. She sat down suddenly on the floor and it was like a four-fold foot rule folding itself up. It's no use sitting there, girl, said Gerald. I'm not sitting here, retorted Mabel. I only got down so as to be able to get through the door. It'll have to be hands and knees through most places for me now, I suppose. Aren't you hungry? Jimmy asked suddenly. I don't know, said Mabel desolately. It's such a long way off. Well, I'll scout, said Gerald, if the coast's clear. Look here, said Mabel. I think I'd rather be out of doors till it gets dark. You can't. Someone's certain to see you. Not if I go through the U-Hedge, said Mabel. There's a U-Hedge with a passage along its inside, like the Box-Hedge and the Luck of the Veils. In what? The Luck of the Veils. It's a ripping book. It was that book first set me on to hunt for hidden doors and panels and things. If I crept along that on my front, like a serpent, it comes out amongst the road of dendrons, close by the dinosaurus, we could camp there. There's tea, said Gerald, who had had no dinner. That's just what there isn't, said Jimmy, who had had none either. Oh, you won't desert me, said Mabel. Look here, I'll write to Auntie. She'll give you the things for a picnic if she's there at awake, if she isn't one of the maids will. So she wrote on a leaf of Gerald's invaluable pocketbook. Dearest Auntie, please may we have some things for a picnic. Gerald will bring them. I would come myself, but I am a little tired. I think I have been growing rather fast. Your loving niece, Mabel. P.S., lots, please, because some of us are very hungry. It was found difficult, but possible, for Mabel to creep along the tunnel in the U-Hedge. Possible, but slow, so that the three had hardly had time to settle themselves among the road of dendrons, and to wonder bitterly what on Earth Gerald was up to, to be such a time gone. When he returned, panting under the weight of a covered basket. He dumped it down on the fine grass carpet, groaned and added, But it's worth it. Where's our Mabel? The long, pale face of Mabel, peered out from roaded engine-leaves very near the ground. I look just like anybody else like this, don't I? She asked anxiously, All the rest of me's miles away under different bushes. We've covered up the bits between the bushes with bracken and leaves, said Kathleen, avoiding the question. Don't wriggle, Mabel, or you'll waggle them off. Jimmy was eagerly unpacking the basket. It was a generous tea, a long loaf, butter in a cabbage leaf, a bottle of milk, a bottle of water, cake, and large, smooth, yellow gooseberries, in a box that had once held an extra-sized bottle of somebody's matchless something for the hair and moustache. Mabel cautiously advanced her incredible arms from the roaded engine, and leaned on one of her spindly elbows. Gerald cut bread and butter while Kathleen, obligingly ran round, had Mabel's request to see that the green coverings had not dropped from any of the remotor parts of Mabel's person. Then there was a happy, hungry silence, broken only by those brief, impassioned suggestions, natural to such an occasion. More cake, please. Milk ahoy there. Check out the goose gogs. Everyone grew calmer, more contented with their lot. A pleasant feeling, half tiredness, and half restfulness crept to the extremities of the party. Even the unfortunate Mabel was conscious of it in her remote feet, that lay crossed under the third roaded engine to the north-northwest of the tea-party. Gerald did but voice the feelings of the others when he said, not without regret, well, I'm a new man, but I couldn't eat so much as another goose-gog if you paid me. I could, said Mabel. Yes, I know they're all gone, and I've had my share, but I could. It's me being so long, I suppose. A delicious after-food piece filled the summer air. At a little distance, the green-likened gray of the vast stone dinosaurus showed through the shrubs. He, too, seemed peaceful and happy. Gerald caught his stone eye through a gap in the foliage. His glance seemed somehow sympathetic. I daresay he liked a good meal in his day, said Gerald, stretching luxuriously. Who did? The dino wets his name, said Gerald. He had a meal today, said Kathleen, and giggled. Yes, didn't he? said Mabel, giggling also. You mustn't laugh lower than your chest, said Kathleen anxiously, where your green stuff will juggle off. What do you mean, a meal? Jimmy asked suspiciously. What are you snickering about? He had a meal, things to put in his inside, said Kathleen, still giggling. Oh, be funny if you want to, said Jimmy, suddenly cross. We don't want to know, do we, Jerry? I do, said Gerald witherably. I'm dying to know. Wake me, you girls, when you've finished pretending you're not going to tell. He tilted his hat over his eyes, and lay back in the attitude of slumber. Oh, don't be stupid, said Kathleen hastily. It's only that we fed the dinosaurs through the hole in his stomach with the clothes the ugly wanklies were made of. We can take them home with us then, said Gerald, chewing the white end of a grass stalk. So that's all right. Look here, said Kathleen suddenly. I've got an idea. Let me have the ring a bit. I won't say what the idea is in case it doesn't come off, and then you say I was silly. I'll give it back before we go. Oh, but you aren't going yet, said Mabel, pleading. She pulled off the ring. Of course, she added earnestly, I'm only too glad for you to try any idea, however silly it is. Now Kathleen's idea was quite simple. It was only that perhaps the ring would change its powers if someone else renamed it, someone who was not under the power of its enchantment. So the moment it had passed from the long, pale hand of Mabel to the one of her own fat, warm, red paws, she jumped up, crying, Let's go and empty the dinosaurs now! and started to run swiftly towards that prehistoric monster. She had a good start. She wanted to say aloud, yet so that the others could not hear her. This is a wishing-ring. It gives you any wish you choose. And she did say it. And no one heard her, except the birds and a squirrel or two, and perhaps a stone fawn, whose pretty face seemed to turn a laugh and glook on her as she raced past its pedestal. The way was uphill. It was sunny, and Kathleen had run her hardest, though her brothers caught her up before she reached the great black shadow of the dinosaurs. So that when she did reach that shadow she was very hot indeed, and not in any state to decide calmly on the best wish to ask for. I'll get up and move the things down because I know exactly where I put them, she said. Gerald made a back. Jimmy assisted her to climb up, and she disappeared through the hole into the dark inside of the monster. In a moment a shower began to descend from the opening. A shower of empty baskets, trousers with wildly waving legs, and coats with sleeves uncontrolled. "'Heads below,' called Kathleen, and down came walking sticks and golf sticks and hockey sticks and broomsticks, rattling and chattering to each other as they came. "'Come on,' said Jimmy. "'Hold on a bit,' said Gerald. "'I'm coming up.' He caught the edge of the hole above in his hands and jumped. Just as he got his shoulders through the opening and his knees on the edge, he heard Kathleen's boots on the floor of the dinosaurs' inside, and Kathleen's voice saying, "'Isn't it jolly cool in here?' "'I suppose statues are always cool. "'I do wish I was a statue.' "'Oh!' The oh was a cry of horror and anguish. And it seemed to be cut off very short by a dreadful, stony silence. "'What's up?' Gerald asked. But in his heart he knew. He climbed up into the great hollow. In the little light that came up through the hole he could see something white against the gray of the creature's sides. He felt in his pockets still kneeling, struck a match. And when the blue of its flame changed to clear yellow, he looked up to see what he had known he would see. The face of Kathleen, white, stony, and lifeless. Her hair was white too, and her hands, clothes, shoes, everything was white with the hard, cold whiteness of marble. Kathleen had her wish. She was a statue. There was a long moment of perfect stillness in the inside of the dinosaurus. Gerald could not speak. It was too sudden, too terrible. It was worse than anything that had happened yet. Then he turned and spoke down out of that cold, stony silence to Jimmy in the green, sunny, rustling, live world outside. Jimmy, he said, intones perfectly ordinary and matter of fact. Kathleen's gone and said that ring was a wishing ring, and so it was, of course. I see now what she was up to running like that. And then the young duffer went and wished she was a statue. And is she? Asked Jimmy below. Come up and have a look, said Gerald. And Jimmy came, partly with a pole from Gerald, and partly with a jump of his own. She's a statue, right enough, he said in awestruck tones. Isn't it awful? Not at all, said Gerald firmly. Come on, let's go and tell Mabel. To Mabel, therefore, who had discreetly remained with her long length screened by rhododendrons, the two boys returned and broke the news. They broke it as one breaks a bottle with a pistol shot. Oh, my goodness, said Mabel, and writhed through her long length so that the leaves and fern tumbled off in little showers, and she felt the sun suddenly hot on the backs of her legs. What next? Oh, my goodness! She'll come all right, said Gerald, without word calm. Yes, but what about me? Mabel urged, I haven't got the ring, and my time will be up before hers is. Couldn't you get it back? Can't you get it off her hand? I put it back on her hand the very minute I was my right size again, faithfully I would. Well, it's nothing to blub about, said Jimmy, answering the sniffs that had served her in the speech for commas and full stops. Not for you, anyway. Ah, you don't know, said Mabel. You don't know what it is to be as long as I am. Do try and get the ring. After all, it is my ring, more than any of the rest of yours anyhow, because I did find it, and I did say it was magic. The sense of justice always present in the breast of Gerald awoke to this appeal. I expect the rings turned to stone, her boots half and all her clothes, but I'll go and see. Only if I can't, I can't, and it's no use you're making a silly fuss. The first match, lighted inside the dinosaurus, showed the ring, dark on the white hand of the statuesque Kathleen. The fingers were stretched straight out. Gerald took hold of the ring, and to his surprise it slipped easily off the cold, smooth marble finger. I say, Kathy, old girl, I am sorry, he said, and gave the marble hand a squeeze. Then it came to him that perhaps she could hear him. So he told the statue exactly what he and the others meant to do. This helped to clear up his ideas as to what he and the others did mean to do. So that when, after thumping the statue hardeningly on its marble back, he returned to the roaded entrance, he was able to give his orders with the clear precision of a born leader, as he later said. And since the others had, neither of them thought of any plans, his plan was accepted, as the plans of born leaders are apt to be. Here is your precious ring, he said to Mabel. Now, you're not frightened of anything, are you? No, said Mabel, in surprise. I'd forgotten that. Look here, I'll stay here, we're farther up in the wood if you'll leave me all the coats so that I shan't be cold in the night. Then I shall be here when Kathleen comes out of the stone again. Yes, said Gerald, that was exactly the born leader's idea. You two go home and tell Mademoiselle that Kathleen is staying at the towers. She is. Yes, said Jimmy, she certainly is. The magic goes in seven hour lots, said Gerald. Your invisibility was twenty-one hours, mine fourteen, Eliza's seven. When it was a wishing ring it began with seven. But there's no knowing what number it will be really, so there's no knowing which of you will come right first. Anyhow, we'll sneak out by the cistern window and come down the trellis after we've said good night to Mademoiselle and come and have a look at you before we go to bed. I think you'd better come close up to the dinosaurus and we'll leave you over before we go. Mabel crawled into cover of the taller trees and there stood up, looking as slender as a poplar as unreal as the wrong answer to a sum in long division. It was to her an easy matter to crouch beneath the dinosaurus, to put her head up through the opening and thus to behold the white form of Kathleen. It's all right, dear, she told the stone image. I shall be quite close to you. You call me as soon as you feel you're coming right again. The statue remained motionless. A statue's usually do. And Mabel withdrew her head again, lay down, was covered up, and left. The boys went home. It was the only reasonable thing to do. It would never have done for Mademoiselle to become anxious and set the police on their track. Everyone felt that. The shock of discovering the missing Kathleen not only in a dinosaurus's stomach but further in a stone statue of herself might well have unhinged the mind of any constable to say nothing of the mind of Mademoiselle, which being foreign would necessarily be a mind more light and easy to upset, while as for Mabel. Well, to look at her as she is now, said Gerald, why it would send anyone off their chump, except us. We're different, said Jimmy. Our chumps have had to jolly well get used to things. It would take a lot to upset us now. Poor old Kathy, all the same, said Gerald. Yes, of course, said Jimmy. The sun had died away behind the black trees, and the moon was rising. Mabel, her preposterous length covered with coats, whiskets, and trousers laid along it, slept peacefully in the chill of the evening. Inside the dinosaurus, Kathleen, alive in her marble, slept too. She had heard Gerald's words, had seen the lighted matches. She was Kathleen, just the same as ever. Only she was Kathleen in a case of marble that would not let her move. It would not have let her cry, even if she wanted to. But she had not wanted to cry. Inside the marble was not cold or hard. It seemed somehow to be softly lined with warmth and pleasantness and safety. Her back did not ache with stooping. Her limbs were not stiff with the hours that they had stayed moveless. Everything was well, better than well. One had only to wait quietly and quite comfortably, and one would come out of the stone case, and once more be the Kathleen one had always been used to being. So she waited happily and calmly, and presently waiting changed to not waiting, to not anything, and close held in the soft inwardness of the marble she slept as peacefully and calmly as though she had been lying in her own bed. She was awakened by the fact that she was not lying in her own bed, was not indeed lying at all, by the fact that she was standing, and that her feet had pins and needles in them. Her arms, too, held out in that odd way or stiff and tired. She rubbed her eyes, yawned, and remembered. She had been a statue, a statue inside the stone dinosaurus. Now I'm alive again, was her instant conclusion, and I'll get out of it. She sat down, put her feet through the hole that showed faintly gray in the stone beast's underside, and as she did so a long, slow lurch threw her sideways on the stone where she sat. The dinosaurus was moving. Oh! said Kathleen inside it. How dreadful! It must be moonlight, and has come alive like Gerald said. It was indeed moving. She could see through the hole the changing surface of grass and bracken and moss as it waddled heavily along as it waddled heavily along. She dared not drop through the hole while it moved for fear it should crush her to death with its gigantic feet. And with that thought came another. Where was Mabel? Somewhere? Somewhere near? Suppose one of the great feet planted itself on some part of Mabel's inconvenient length. Mabel being the size she was now, it would be quite difficult not to step on some part or other of her if she should happen to be in one's way. Quite difficult, however much one tried. And the dinosaurus would not try. Why should it? Kathleen hung in an agony over the round opening. The huge beast swung from side to side. It was going faster. It was no good. She dared not jump out. Anyhow, they must be quite away from Mabel by now. Faster and faster went the dinosaurus. The floor of its stomach sloped. They were going downhill. Twigs cracked and broke as it pushed through a belt of evergreen oaks. Gravel crunched, ground beneath its stony feet. Then stone met stone. There was a pause. A splash! They were close to water. The lake where by moonlight Hermes fluttered and Janus and the dinosaurus swam together. Kathleen dropped swiftly through the hole onto the flat marble that edged the basin, rushed sideways, and stood panting in the shadow of a statues pedestal. Not a moment too soon for even as she crouched the monster lizard slipped into the water, drowning a thousand smooth shining lily-pads and swam away towards the central island. Be still, little lady! I leap! The voice came from the pedestal and next moment Phoebus had jumped from the pedestal in his little temple, clearing the steps and landing a couple of yards away. You are new, I should not have forgotten you if once I had seen you. I am, said Kathleen, quite, quite new and I didn't know you could talk. Why not? Phoebus laughed, you can talk. But I'm alive. I'm not I, he asked. Oh yes, I suppose so, said Kathleen, distracted but not afraid. Only I thought you had to have the ring on before one could even see you move. Phoebus seemed to understand her, which was rather to his credit for she had certainly not expressed herself with clearness. Ah, that's for mortals, he said. We can hear and see each other in the few moments when life is ours. That is a part of the beautiful enchantment. That I am a mortal, said Kathleen. You are as modest as you are charming, said Phoebus Apollo absently. The white water calls me. I go. And the next moment rings of liquid silver spread across the lake. Widening and widening from the spot where the white joined hands of the sun god had struck the water as he dived. Kathleen turned and went up the hill towards the roaded entrance bushes. They had to find Mabel and they must go home at once. If only Mabel was of a size that one could conveniently take home with one. Most likely at this hour of enchantments she was. Kathleen hardened by the thought hurried on. She passed through the roaded entrance bushes, remembered the pointed, painted paper face that had looked out from the glossy leaves, tended to be frightened and wasn't. She found Mabel easily enough and much more easily than she would have done had Mabel been as she wished to find her. For quite a long way off in the moonlight she could see that long and worm-like form extended to its full twelve feet and covered with coats and trousers and weskets. Mabel looked like a drain pipe but it has been covered in sacks and frosty weather. Kathleen touched her long cheek gently and she woke. What's up? She said sleepily. It's only me. Kathleen explained. How cold your hands are, said Mabel. Wake up! said Kathleen and let's talk. Can't we go home now? I'm awfully tired since tea time. You're too long to go home yet, said Kathleen sadly and then Mabel remembered. She lay with closed eyes then suddenly she stirred and cried out, Oh, Kathy, I feel so funny like one of those horn snakes when you make it go short to get it into its box. I am, yes, I know I am. She was and Kathleen, watching her, agreed that it was exactly like the shortening of a horn spiral snake between the closing hands of a child. Mabel's distant feet drew near. Mabel's long, lean arms grew shorter. Mabel's face was no longer half a yard long. You're coming right, you are. Oh, I am so glad, cried Kathleen. I know I am, said Mabel. And as she said it she became once more Mabel. Not only in herself which of course she had been all the time but in her outward appearance. You are all right. Oh, hooray, hooray, I am so glad, said Kathleen kindly and now we'll go home at once, dear. Go home, said Mabel slowly sitting up and staring at Kathleen with her big, dark eyes. Go home, like that? Like what? Kathleen asked impatiently. Why, you was Mabel's odd reply. I'm all right, said Kathleen. Come on. Do you mean to say you don't know? Said Mabel. Look at yourself, your hands, your dress, everything. Kathleen looked at her hands. They were of marble whiteness. Her dress too. Her shoes, her stockings even the ends of her hair. She was white as new fallen snow. What is it? She asked beginning to tremble. What am I all this horrid color for? Don't you see? Oh, Kathy, don't you see? You've not come right. You're a statue still. I'm not. I'm alive. I'm talking to you. I know you are, darling. Said Mabel. Soothing her as one soothes a fractious child. That's because it's moonlight. But you can see I'm alive. Of course I can. I've got the ring. But I'm all right. I know I am. Don't you see? Said Mabel gently, taking her white marble hand. You're not all right. It's moonlight, and you're a statue. And you've just come alive with all the other statues. And when the moon goes down, you'll just be a statue again. That's the difficulty, dear, about her going home again. You're just a statue still. Only you've come alive with the other marble things. Where's the dinosaurus? In his bath, said Kathleen, and so are all the other stone beasts. Well, said Mabel, trying to look on the bright side of things. Then we've got one thing at any rate to be thankful for. End of Chapter 9