by A. A. Milne
* * *
“Marbles, prob’bly,” she remarked, peering over the edge of a basket full of what looked like enormous stone cannon-balls of various colors; “for mastodons, I should say, only I don’t know as they ever play marbles,—grocery shop, full of dear little drawers with real knobs on ’em,—’pothecary’s shop with true pill-boxes,” she went on, examining one delightful thing after another; “and here’s a farm out of a box, and all the same funny old things—trees with green shavings on them and fences with feet so they’ll stand up, and here’s the dear fam’ly, same size as the trees and the houses, of course, and—oh! I beg your pardon,” she exclaimed, for her frock had touched the farmer and knocked him over flat on his back. “And here’s a Noah’s Ark, full of higgledy-piggledy animals—why, what are you doing here?” she cried, for just at that moment she suddenly discovered the Caravan, all huddled together at the door of the ark, and apparently discussing something of vast importance.
* * *
“We’re buying a camel,” said the Admiral, excitedly; “they’ve got just the one we want for the Caravan.”
* * *
“His name is Humphrey,” shouted the Highlander, uproariously, “and he’s got three humps!”
* * *
“Nonsense!” cried Dorothy, bursting into a fit of uncontrollable laughter. “There never was such a thing.”
* * *
“They have ’em in arks,” said the Admiral, very earnestly. “You can find anything in arks if you only go deep enough. I’ve seen ’em with patriarchs in ’em, ’way down at the bottom.”
* * *
“Did they have any humps?” inquired the Highlander with an air of great interest.
* * *
Dorothy went off again into a burst of laughter at this. “He’s really the most ignorant little creature I ever saw,” she said.
* * *
“I thought they was something to ride on,” said the Highlander, sulkily; “otherwise, I say, let ’em keep out of arks!” The rest of the Caravan evidently sided with him in this opinion, and after staring at Dorothy for a moment with great disfavor they all called out “Old Proudie!” and solemnly walked off in a row as before.
* * *
“I believe I shall have a fit if I meet them again,” said Dorothy to herself, laughing till her eyes were full of tears. “They’re certainly the foolishest things I ever saw,” and with this she walked away through the shop, and was just beginning to look at the toys again, when she came suddenly upon an old dame sitting contentedly in the shop in a great arm-chair. She was eating porridge out of a bowl in her lap, and her head was so close to the edge of the shelf that Dorothy almost walked into her cap.
* * *
“Drat the toys!” cried the old dame, starting so violently that her spectacles fell off her nose into the porridge. “Drat the new-fangled things!”—and here she aimed a blow at Dorothy with her spoon. “They’re enough to scare folks out of their senses. Give me the old-fashioned kind—deaf and dumb and blind and stiff”—but by this time Dorothy, almost frightened out of her wits, had run away and was hiding behind a doll’s sofa.
* * *
“She’s a nice person to have charge of a shop,” she exclaimed indignantly, as she listened to the old dame scolding to herself in the distance. “The idea of not knowing human persons when you see them! Of course, being so small is rather unusual, and it’s really quite dangerous, you know,” she went on, giving a little shiver at the thought of what might have happened. “Just fancy being wrapped up in a piece of stiff paper by mistake—shrieking wouldn’t do the least good because, of course, she’s deaf as anything—”
“How much are you a dozen?” said a voice, and Dorothy, looking around, saw that it was a Dancing-Jack in the shop-window speaking to her. He was a gorgeous creature, with bells on the seams of his clothes and with arms and legs of different colors, and he was lounging in an easy attitude with his right leg thrown over the top of a toy livery-stable and his left foot in a large ornamental tea-cup; but as he was fastened to a hook by a loop in the top of his hat, Dorothy didn’t feel in the least afraid of him.
* * *
“Thank you,” she replied with much dignity, “I’m not a dozen at all. I’m a single person. That sounds kind of unmarried,” she thought to herself, “but it’s the exact truth.”
* * *
“No offense, I hope,” said the Jack, looking somewhat abashed.
* * *
“No—not exactly,” said Dorothy rather stiffly.
* * *
“You know, your size does come in dozens—assorted,” continued the Jack, with quite a professional air. “Family of nine, two maids with dusters, and cook with removable apron. Very popular, I believe.”
* * *
“So I should think,” remarked Dorothy, beginning to recover her good nature.
* * *
“But of course singles are much more select,” said the Jack. “We never come in dozens, you know.”
* * *
“I suppose not,” said Dorothy, innocently. “I can’t imagine anybody wanting twelve Dancing-Jacks all at the same time.”
* * *
“It wouldn’t do any good if they did want ’em,” said the Jack. “They couldn’t get ’em,—that is, not in this shop.”
* * *
Now, while this conversation was going on, Dorothy noticed that the various things in the shop-window had a curious way of constantly turning into something else. She discovered this by seeing a little bunch of yellow peg-tops change into a plateful of pears while she chanced to be looking at them; and a moment afterward she caught a doll’s saucepan, that was hanging in one corner of the window, just in the act of quietly turning into a battledore with a red morocco handle. This struck her as being such a remarkable performance that she immediately began looking at one thing after another, and watching the various changes, until she was quite bewildered.
* * *
“It’s something like a Christmas pantomime,” she said to herself; “and it isn’t the slightest use, you know, trying to fancy what anything’s going to be, because everything that happens is so unproblesome. I don’t know where I got that word from,” she went on, “but it seems to express exactly what I mean. F’r instance, there’s a little cradle that’s just been turned into a coal-scuttle, and if that isn’t unproblesome, well then—never mind!” (which, as you know, is a ridiculous way little girls have of finishing their sentences.)
* * *
By this time she had got around again to the toy livery-stable, and she was extremely pleased to find that it had turned into a smart little baronial castle with a turret at each end, and that the ornamental tea-cup was just changing, with a good deal of a flourish, into a small rowboat floating in a little stream that ran by the castle walls.
* * *
“Come, that’s the finest thing yet!” exclaimed Dorothy, looking at all this with great admiration; “and I wish a brazen knight would come out with a trumpet and blow a blast”—you see, she was quite romantic at times—and she was just admiring the clever way in which the boat was getting rid of the handle of the tea-cup, when the Dancing-Jack suddenly stopped talking, and began scrambling over the roof of the castle. He was extremely pale, and, to Dorothy’s alarm, spots of bright colors were coming out all over him, as if he had been made of stained glass, and was being lighted up from the inside.
* * *
“I believe I’m going to turn into something,” he said, glaring wildly about, and speaking in a very agitated voice.
* * *
“Goodness!” exclaimed Dorothy in dismay; “what do you suppose it’s going to be?”
* * *
“I think—” said the Jack, solemnly,—“I think it’s going to be a patchwork quilt,” but just as he was finishing this remark a sort of wriggle passed through him, and, to Dorothy’s amazement, he turned into a slender Harlequin all made up of spangles and shining triangles.
/> * * *
Now this was all very well, and, of course, much better than turning into a quilt of any sort; but as the Dancing-Jack’s last remark went on without stopping, and was taken charge of, so to speak, and finished by the Harlequin, it mixed up the two in a very confusing way. In fact, by the time the remark came to an end, Dorothy didn’t really know which of them was talking to her, and, to make matters worse, the Harlequin vanished for a moment, and then reappeared, about one half of his original size, coming out of the door of the castle with an unconcerned air as if he hadn’t had anything to do with the affair.
* * *
“It’s dreadfully confusing,” said Dorothy to herself, “not to know which of two persons is talking to you, ’specially when there’s really only one of them here”; but she never had a chance to find out anything about the matter, for in the mean time a part of the castle had quietly turned upside down, and was now a little stone bridge with the stream flowing beneath it, and the Harlequin, who was constantly getting smaller and smaller, was standing with one foot in the boat as if he were trying to choose between taking a little excursion on the water and going out of sight altogether.
* * *
“Excuse me—but did you say anything?” said Dorothy, feeling quite sure that there was no time to be lost.
* * *
“All that I said was ‘quilt,’” replied the Harlequin; “I suppose there’s no particular harm in that?”
* * *
“Oh, dear, no!” said Dorothy, hastily; “only it seems a rather queer way of beginning a conversation, you know.”
* * *
“It’s as good as any other way if it’s all you have to say,” said the Harlequin, and by this time he had both feet in the boat, and had evidently decided on the water excursion, for, before Dorothy could think of anything more to say to him, he sailed away under the bridge and disappeared.
The Song in the Dell
“I’m sorry he’s gone,” said Dorothy to herself, gazing with longing eyes after the Harlequin. “He wasn’t much to talk to, but he was awful beautiful to look at”; and, having relieved her mind by this remark, she was just starting to take another walk through the shop when she suddenly caught sight of a small door in one corner. It wasn’t much larger than a rat-hole, but it was big enough for her to go through, and that, of course, was the important thing; and as she never could bear to go by strange doorways until she knew where they led to, she immediately ran through this one, and, quite to her surprise, found herself outside the toy-shop.
* * *
There was a steep bank here sloping down from the wall of the shop, and Dorothy was much interested at discovering that it was completely overgrown with little green rocking-chairs. They were growing about in great confusion, and once or twice, when her frock happened to brush against them, quite an avalanche of them went clattering down the bank and broke up at the bottom into curious little bits of wood like jackstraws. This made climbing down the bank very exciting, but she got safely to the bottom at last, and was just starting off for another journey of discovery when she came suddenly upon the toy farm-house standing quite by itself in the open country. None of the family was present except the Farmer, who was standing in front of the house, staring at it in a bewildered way as if he had never laid eyes on it before. He was a plain-featured man, with a curious little hat something like the lid of a coffee-pot, and with a great number of large yellow buttons arranged on the front of his coat like a row of cream-tarts; and, after the manner of all toy-farmers, he was buried to the ankles in a round piece of wood to keep him from falling over.
* * *
Now Dorothy had always particularly wanted to see the inside of a toy farm-house, and, as this seemed to be an excellent opportunity, she walked up to the Farmer and said, very politely, “Can I see your house?”
* * *
“I should think you could if you looked at it,” said the Farmer, staring first at her and then at the house, as if he were greatly surprised at the question; “I can see it easily enough.”
* * *
“But I mean, can I go over it?” said Dorothy, rather confused by this answer.
* * *
The Farmer rubbed his nose and looked thoughtfully at the roof of the house for a moment and then said, rather sulkily, “Yes, I suppose you can, but you must agree not to knock off the chimbleys.”
* * *
“Dear me,” said Dorothy, beginning to laugh, “that isn’t what I mean at all. I mean, can I go through it?”
* * *
The Farmer, after turning over this proposition in his mind with great deliberation, got down on his hands and knees and took a long look through the little door in the front of the house, and then getting upon his feet again, said, very seriously, “I don’t see anything to prevent it; there’s another door at the back,”—and walked gravely away. He did this in a very peculiar way, by a sort of sidelong roll on his round wooden block like a barrel being worked along on one end; and, as Dorothy stood watching this performance with great interest, he presently fell over one of the little rocking-chairs, and coming down heavily on his back, rolled away on the edge of his block and the rim of his little round hat without making the slightest attempt to get on his feet again.
* * *
“I shall look precisely like a elephant with a pagoda on his back,” said Dorothy, as she got down on her hands and knees and crawled through the little door into the house, “but I’m going to see what it’s like while I have the chance. All hollow, right up to the roof, just as I expected,” she exclaimed. “I s’pose that’s so the fam’ly can stand up when they come inside.” But there was nothing in the house but a lot of old umbrellas tied up in bundles and marked “dangerous,” and as she didn’t think these were very interesting, and as, moreover, her head by this time was out of the door at the back, she crawled through without stopping and scrambled up on to her feet again.
“Oh, lovely!” cried Dorothy, clapping her hands in a rapture of delight; for she found herself in a beautiful wood—not a make-believe affair like the toy-farm, but a real wood with soft grass and pads of dark-green moss growing underfoot, and with ferns and forest flowers springing up on all sides. The wind was rustling pleasantly in the trees, and the sunlight, shining down through the dancing leaves, made little patches of light that chased each other about on the grass, and, as Dorothy walked along, she felt happier than she had at any time since losing the Blue Admiral Inn. To be sure, it wasn’t the easiest matter in the world to get along, for as the trees and the bushes and the blades of grass were all of the natural size and Dorothy was no bigger than a wren, she fell over a good many twigs and other small obstacles, and tumbled down a great many times. Then, too, she found it rather trying to her nerves, at first, to meet with rabbits as big as horses, to come suddenly upon quails whistling like steam-engines, and to be chattered at by squirrels a head taller than she herself was; but she was a very wise little child about such matters, and she said to herself, “Why, of course, they’re only their usual sizes, you know, and they’re sure to be the same scary things they always are,”—and then she stamped her foot at them and said “Shoo!” very boldly, and, after laughing to see the great creatures whisk about and dash into the thicket, she walked along quite contentedly.
* * *
Presently she heard a voice singing. It seemed to come from a thick part of the wood at one side of the path; and, after hesitating a moment, Dorothy stole into the bushes, and, creeping cautiously along until she was quite near the sound, crouched down in the thicket to listen.
* * *
It was a very small voice, and it was singing this song:
* * *
I know a way
Of hearing what the larks and linnets say.
The larks tell of the sunshine and the sky;
The linnets from the hedges make reply,
And boast of hidden nests with mocking lay.
* * *
I know a way
Of keeping near the rabbits at their play.
They tell me of the cool and shady nooks
Where waterfalls disturb the placid brooks
That I may go and frolic in the spray.
* * *
I know a way
Of catching dewdrops on a night in May,
And threading them upon a spear of green,
That through their sides translucent may be seen
The sparkling hue that emeralds display.
* * *
I know a way
Of trapping sunbeams as they nimbly play
At hide-and-seek with meadow-grass and flowers,