by E. Nesbit
CHAPTER I
BEAUTIFUL AS THE DAY
The house was three miles from the station, but, before the dusty hiredhack had rattled along for five minutes, the children began to put theirheads out of the carriage window and say, "Aren't we nearly there?" Andevery time they passed a house, which was not very often, they all said,"Oh, _is_ this it?" But it never was, till they reached the very top ofthe hill, just past the chalk-quarry and before you come to thegravel-pit. And then there was a white house with a green garden and anorchard beyond, and mother said, "Here we are!"
"How white the house is," said Robert.
"And look at the roses," said Anthea.
"And the plums," said Jane.
"It is rather decent," Cyril admitted.
The Baby said, "Wanty go walky;" and the hack stopped with a last rattleand jolt.
Everyone got its legs kicked or its feet trodden on in the scramble toget out of the carriage that very minute, but no one seemed to mind.Mother, curiously enough, was in no hurry to get out; and even when shehad come down slowly and by the step, and with no jump at all, sheseemed to wish to see the boxes carried in, and even to pay the driver,instead of joining in that first glorious rush round the garden andorchard and the thorny, thistly, briery, brambly wilderness beyond thebroken gate and the dry fountain at the side of the house. But thechildren were wiser, for once. It was not really a pretty house at all;it was quite ordinary, and mother thought it was rather inconvenient,and was quite annoyed at there being no shelves, to speak of, and hardlya cupboard in the place. Father used to say that the iron-work on theroof and coping was like an architect's nightmare. But the house wasdeep in the country, with no other house in sight, and the children hadbeen in London for two years, without so much as once going to theseaside even for a day by an excursion train, and so the White Houseseemed to them a sort of Fairy Palace set down in an Earthly Paradise.For London is like prison for children, especially if their relationsare not rich.
That first glorious rush round the garden]
Of course there are the shops and theatres, and entertainments andthings, but if your people are rather poor you don't get taken to thetheatres, and you can't buy things out of the shops; and London has noneof those nice things that children may play with without hurting thethings or themselves--such as trees and sand and woods and waters. Andnearly everything in London is the wrong sort of shape--all straightlines and flat streets, instead of being all sorts of odd shapes, likethings are in the country. Trees are all different, as you know, and Iam sure some tiresome person must have told you that there are no twoblades of grass exactly alike. But in streets, where the blades of grassdon't grow, everything is like everything else. This is why manychildren who live in the towns are so extremely naughty. They do notknow what is the matter with them, and no more do their fathers andmothers, aunts, uncles, cousins, tutors, governesses, and nurses; but Iknow. And so do you, now. Children in the country are naughty sometimes,too, but that is for quite different reasons.
The children had explored the gardens and the outhouses thoroughlybefore they were caught and cleaned for tea, and they saw quite wellthat they were certain to be happy at the White House. They thought sofrom the first moment, but when they found the back of the house coveredwith jasmine, all in white flower, and smelling like a bottle of themost expensive perfume that is ever given for a birthday present; andwhen they had seen the lawn, all green and smooth, and quite differentfrom the brown grass in the gardens at Camden Town; and when they foundthe stable with a loft over it and some old hay still left, they werealmost certain; and when Robert had found the broken swing and tumbledout of it and got a bump on his head the size of an egg, and Cyril hadnipped his finger in the door of a hutch that seemed made to keeprabbits in, if you ever had any, they had no longer any doubtswhatever.
Cyril had nipped his finger in the door of a hutch]
The best part of it all was that there were no rules about not going toplaces and not doing things. In London almost everything is labelled"You mustn't touch," and though the label is invisible it's just as bad,because you know it's there, or if you don't you very soon get told.
The White House was on the edge of a hill, with a wood behind it--andthe chalk-quarry on one side and the gravel-pit on the other. Down atthe bottom of the hill was a level plain, with queer-shaped whitebuildings where people burnt lime, and a big red brewery and otherhouses; and when the big chimneys were smoking and the sun was setting,the valley looked as if it was filled with golden mist, and thelimekilns and hop-drying houses glimmered and glittered till they werelike an enchanted city out of the _Arabian Nights_.
Now that I have begun to tell you about the place, I feel that I couldgo on and make this into a most interesting story about all theordinary things that the children did,--just the kind of things you doyourself, you know, and you would believe every word of it; and when Itold about the children's being tiresome, as you are sometimes, youraunts would perhaps write in the margin of the story with a pencil, "Howtrue!" or "How like life!" and you would see it and would very likely beannoyed. So I will only tell you the really astonishing things thathappened, and you may leave the book about quite safely, for no auntsand uncles either are likely to write "How true!" on the edge of thestory. Grown-up people find it very difficult to believe reallywonderful things, unless they have what they call proof. But childrenwill believe almost anything, and grown-ups know this. That is why theytell you that the earth is round like an orange, when you can seeperfectly well that it is flat and lumpy; and why they say that theearth goes round the sun, when you can see for yourself any day that thesun gets up in the morning and goes to bed at night like a good sun asit is, and the earth knows its place, and lies as still as a mouse. YetI daresay you believe all that about the earth and the sun, and if soyou will find it quite easy to believe that before Anthea and Cyril andthe others had been a week in the country they had found a fairy. Atleast they called it that, because that was what it called itself; andof course it knew best, but it was not at all like any fairy you eversaw or heard of or read about.
It was at the gravel-pits. Father had to go away suddenly on business,and mother had gone away to stay with Granny, who was not very well.They both went in a great hurry, and when they were gone the houseseemed dreadfully quiet and empty, and the children wandered from oneroom to another and looked at the bits of paper and string on the floorsleft over from the packing, and not yet cleared up, and wished they hadsomething to do. It was Cyril who said--
"I say, let's take our spades and dig in the gravel-pits. We can pretendit's seaside."
"Father says it was once," Anthea said; "he says there are shells therethousands of years old."
So they went. Of course they had been to the edge of the gravel-pit andlooked over, but they had not gone down into it for fear father shouldsay they mustn't play there, and it was the same with the chalk-quarry.The gravel-pit is not really dangerous if you don't try to climb downthe edges, but go the slow safe way round by the road, as if you were acart.
Each of the children carried its own spade, and took it in turns tocarry the Lamb. He was the baby, and they called him that because "Baa"was the first thing he ever said. They called Anthea "Panther," whichseems silly when you read it, but when you say it it sounds a littlelike her name.
The gravel-pit is very large and wide, with grass growing round theedges at the top, and dry stringy wildflowers, purple and yellow. It islike a giant's washbowl. And there are mounds of gravel, and holes inthe sides of the bowl where gravel has been taken out, and high up inthe steep sides there are the little holes that are the little frontdoors of the little bank-martins' little houses.
The children built a castle, of course, but castle-building is ratherpoor fun when you have no hope of the swishing tide ever coming in tofill up the moat and wash away the drawbridge, and, at the happy last,to wet everybody up to the waist at least.
Cyril wanted to dig out a cave to play smugglers in, but the
othersthought it might bury them alive, so it ended in all spades going towork to dig a hole through the castle to Australia. These children, yousee, believed that the world was round, and that on the other side thelittle Australian boys and girls were really walking wrong way up, likeflies on the ceiling, with their heads hanging down into the air.
The children dug and they dug and they dug, and their hands got sandyand hot and red, and their faces got damp and shiny. The Lamb had triedto eat the sand, and had cried so hard when he found that it was not,as he had supposed, brown sugar, that he was now tired out, and waslying asleep in a warm fat bunch in the middle of the half-finishedcastle. This left his brothers and sisters free to work really hard, andthe hole that was to come out in Australia soon grew so deep that Jane,who was called Pussy for short, begged the others to stop.
"Suppose the bottom of the hole gave way suddenly," said she, "and youtumbled out among the little Australians, all the sand would get intheir eyes."
"Yes," said Robert; "and they would hate us, and throw stones at us, andnot let us see the kangaroos, or opossums, or bluegums, or Emu Brandbirds, or anything."
Cyril and Anthea knew that Australia was not quite so near as all that,but they agreed to stop using the spades and to go on with their hands.This was quite easy, because the sand at the bottom of the hole was verysoft and fine and dry, like sea-sand. And there were little shells init.
"Fancy it having been wet sea here once, all sloppy and shiny," saidJane, "with fishes and conger-eels and coral and mermaids."
"And masts of ships and wrecked Spanish treasure. I wish we could find agold doubloon, or something," Cyril said.
"How did the sea get carried away?" Robert asked.
"Not in a pail, silly," said his brother.
"Father says the earth got too hot underneath, as you do in bedsometimes, so it just hunched up its shoulders, and the sea had to slipoff, like the blankets do us, and the shoulder was left sticking out,and turned into dry land. Let's go and look for shells; I think thatlittle cave looks likely, and I see something sticking out there like abit of wrecked ship's anchor, and it's beastly hot in the Australianhole."
The others agreed, but Anthea went on digging. She always liked tofinish a thing when she had once begun it. She felt it would be adisgrace to leave that hole without getting through to Australia.
The cave was disappointing, because there were no shells, and thewrecked ship's anchor turned out to be only the broken end of a pick-axehandle, and the cave party were just making up their minds that sandmakes you thirstier when it is not by the seaside, and someone hadsuggested that they all go home for lemonade, when Anthea suddenlyscreamed--
"Cyril! Come here! Oh, come quick--It's alive! It'll get away! Quick!"
They all hurried back.
"It's a rat, I shouldn't wonder," said Robert. "Father says they infestold places--and this must be pretty old if the sea was here thousands ofyears ago"--
"Perhaps it is a snake," said Jane, shuddering.
"Let's look," said Cyril, jumping into the hole. "I'm not afraid ofsnakes. I like them. If it is a snake I'll tame it, and it will followme everywhere, and I'll let it sleep round my neck at night."
"No, you won't," said Robert firmly. He shared Cyril's bedroom. "Butyou may if it's a rat."
Anthea suddenly screamed, "It's alive!"]
"Oh, don't be silly!" said Anthea; "it's not a rat, it's _much_ bigger.And it's not a snake. It's got feet; I saw them; and fur! No--not thespade. You'll hurt it! Dig with your hands."
"And let _it_ hurt _me_ instead! That's so likely, isn't it?" saidCyril, seizing a spade.
"Oh, don't!" said Anthea. "Squirrel, _don't_. I--it sounds silly, but itsaid something. It really and truly did"--
"What?"
"It said, 'You let me alone.'"
But Cyril merely observed that his sister must have gone off her head,and he and Robert dug with spades while Anthea sat on the edge of thehole, jumping up and down with hotness and anxiety. They dug carefully,and presently everyone could see that there really was something movingin the bottom of the Australian hole.
Then Anthea cried out, "_I'm_ not afraid. Let me dig," and fell on herknees and began to scratch like a dog does when he has suddenlyremembered where it was that he buried his bone.
"Oh, I felt fur," she cried, half laughing and half crying. "I didindeed! I did!" when suddenly a dry husky voice in the sand made themall jump back, and their hearts jumped nearly as fast as they did.
"Let me alone," it said. And now everyone heard the voice and looked atthe others to see if they had heard it too.
"But we want to see you," said Robert bravely.
"I wish you'd come out," said Anthea, also taking courage.
"Oh, well--if that's your wish," the voice said, and the sand stirredand spun and scattered, and something brown and furry and fat camerolling out into the hole, and the sand fell off it, and it sat thereyawning and rubbing the ends of its eyes with its hands.
"I believe I must have dropped asleep," it said, stretching itself.
The children stood round the hole in a ring, looking at the creaturethey had found. It was worth looking at. Its eyes were on long hornslike a snail's eyes, and it could move them in and out like telescopes;it had ears like a bat's ears, and its tubby body was shaped like aspider's and covered with thick soft fur; its legs and arms were furrytoo, and it had hands and feet like a monkey's.
"What on earth is it?" Jane said. "Shall we take it home?"
The thing turned its long eyes to look at her, and said--
"Does she always talk nonsense, or is it only the rubbish on her headthat makes her silly?"
It looked scornfully at Jane's hat as it spoke.
"She doesn't mean to be silly," Anthea said gently; "we none of us do,whatever you may think! Don't be frightened; we don't want to hurt you,you know."
"Hurt _me_!" it said. "_Me_ frightened? Upon my word! Why, you talk asif I were nobody in particular." All its fur stood out like a cat's whenit is going to fight.
"Well," said Anthea, still kindly, "perhaps if we knew who you are inparticular we could think of something to say that wouldn't make youangry. Everything we've said so far seems to have done so. Who are you?And don't get angry! Because really we don't know."
"You don't know?" it said. "Well, I knew the world hadchanged--but--well, really--Do you mean to tell me seriously you don'tknow a Psammead when you see one?"
"A Sammyadd? That's Greek to me."
"So it is to everyone," said the creature sharply. "Well, in plainEnglish, then, a _Sand-fairy_. Don't you know a Sand-fairy when you seeone?"
It looked so grieved and hurt that Jane hastened to say, "Of course Isee you are, _now_. It's quite plain now one comes to look at you."
"You came to look at me, several sentences ago," it said crossly,beginning to curl up again in the sand.
"Oh--don't go away again! Do talk some more," Robert cried. "I didn'tknow you were a Sand-fairy, but I knew directly I saw you that you weremuch the wonderfullest thing I'd ever seen."
The Sand-fairy seemed a shade less disagreeable after this.
"It isn't talking I mind," it said, "as long as you're reasonably civil.But I'm not going to make polite conversation for you. If you talknicely to me, perhaps I'll answer you, and perhaps I won't. Now saysomething."
Of course no one could think of anything to say, but at last Robertthought of "How long have you lived here?" and he said it at once.
"Oh, ages--several thousand years," replied the Psammead.
"Tell us about it. Do."
"It's all in books."
"_You_ aren't!" Jane said. "Oh, tell us everything you can aboutyourself! We don't know anything about you, and you _are_ so nice."
The Sand-fairy smoothed his long rat-like whiskers and smiled betweenthem.
"Do please tell!" said the children all together.
It is wonderful how quickly you get used to things, even the mostastonishing. Five minutes
before, the children had had no more idea thanyou had that there was such a thing as a Sand-fairy in the world, andnow they were talking to it as though they had known it all their lives.
It drew its eyes in and said--
"How very sunny it is--quite like old times! Where do you get yourMegatheriums from now?"
"What?" said the children all at once. It is very difficult always toremember that "what" is not polite, especially in moments of surprise oragitation.
"Are Pterodactyls plentiful now?" the Sand-fairy went on.
The children were unable to reply.
"What do you have for breakfast?" the Fairy said impatiently, "and whogives it to you?"
"Eggs and bacon, and bread and milk, and porridge and things.Mother gives it to us. What are Mega-what's-its-names andPtero-what-do-you-call-thems? And does anyone have them for breakfast?"
"Why, almost everyone had Pterodactyl for breakfast in my time!Pterodactyls were something like crocodiles and something like birds--Ibelieve they were very good grilled. You see, it was like this: ofcourse there were heaps of Sand-fairies then, and in the morning earlyyou went out and hunted for them, and when you'd found one it gave youyour wish. People used to send their little boys down to the seashore inthe morning before breakfast to get the day's wishes, and very often theeldest boy in the family would be told to wish for a Megatherium, readyjointed for cooking. It was as big as an elephant, you see, so there wasa good deal of meat on it. And if they wanted fish, the Ichthyosauruswas asked for,--he was twenty to forty feet long, so there was plenty ofhim. And for poultry there was the Plesiosaurus; there were nicepickings on that too. Then the other children could wish for otherthings. But when people had dinner-parties it was nearly alwaysMegatheriums; and Ichthyosaurus, because his fins were a great delicacyand his tail made soup."
"There must have been heaps and heaps of cold meat left over," saidAnthea, who meant to be a good housekeeper some day.
"Oh no," said the Psammead, "that would never have done. Why, of courseat sunset what was left over turned into stone. You find the stone bonesof the Megatherium and things all over the place even now, they tellme."
"Who tell you?" asked Cyril; but the Sand-fairy frowned and began to digvery fast with its furry hands.
"Oh, don't go!" they all cried; "tell us more about when it wasMegatheriums for breakfast! Was the world like this then?"
It stopped digging.
"Not a bit," it said; "it was nearly all sand where I lived, and coalgrew on trees, and the periwinkles were as big as tea-trays--you findthem now; they're turned into stone. We Sand-fairies used to live on theseashore, and the children used to come with their little flint-spadesand flint-pails and make castles for us to live in. That's thousands ofyears ago, but I hear that children still build castles on the sand.It's difficult to break yourself of a habit."
"But why did you stop living in the castles?" asked Robert.
"It's a sad story," said the Psammead gloomily. "It was because they_would_ build moats to the castles, and the nasty wet bubbling sea usedto come in, and of course as soon as a Sand-fairy got wet it caughtcold, and generally died. And so there got to be fewer and fewer, and,whenever you found a fairy and had a wish, you used to wish for aMegatherium, and eat twice as much as you wanted, because it might beweeks before you got another wish."
"And did _you_ get wet?" Robert inquired.
The Sand-fairy shuddered. "Only once," it said; "the end of the twelfthhair of my top left whisker--I feel the place still in damp weather. Itwas only once, but it was quite enough for me. I went away as soon asthe sun had dried my poor dear whisker. I scurried away to the back ofthe beach, and dug myself a house deep in warm dry sand, and there I'vebeen ever since. And the sea changed its lodgings afterwards. And nowI'm not going to tell you another thing."
"Just one more, please," said the children. "Can you give wishes now?"
"Of course," said it; "didn't I give you yours a few minutes ago? Yousaid, 'I wish you'd come out,' and I did."
"Oh, please, mayn't we have another?"
"Yes, but be quick about it. I'm tired of you."
I daresay you have often thought what you would do if you had threewishes given you, and have despised the old man and his wife in theblack-pudding story, and felt certain that if you had the chance youcould think of three really useful wishes without a moment's hesitation.These children had often talked this matter over, but, now the chancehad suddenly come to them, they could not make up their minds.
"Quick," said the Sand-fairy crossly. No one could think of anything,only Anthea did manage to remember a private wish of her own and Jane'swhich they had never told the boys. She knew the boys would not careabout it--but still it was better than nothing.
"I wish we were all as beautiful as the day," she said in a great hurry.
The children looked at each other, but each could see that the otherswere not any better-looking than usual. The Psammead pushed out his longeyes, and seemed to be holding its breath and swelling itself out tillit was twice as fat and furry as before. Suddenly it let its breath goin a long sigh.
"I'm really afraid I can't manage it," it said apologetically; "I mustbe out of practice."
The children were horribly disappointed.
"Oh, _do_ try again!" they said.
"Well," said the Sand-fairy, "the fact is, I was keeping back a littlestrength to give the rest of you your wishes with. If you'll becontented with one wish a day among the lot of you I daresay I canscrew myself up to it. Do you agree to that?"
"Yes, oh yes!" said Jane and Anthea. The boys nodded. They did notbelieve the Sand-fairy could do it. You can always make girls believethings much easier than you can boys.
It stretched out its eyes farther than ever, and swelled and swelled andswelled.
"I do hope it won't hurt itself," said Anthea.
"Or crack its skin," Robert said anxiously.
Everyone was very much relieved when the Sand-fairy, after getting sobig that it almost filled up the hole in the sand, suddenly let out itsbreath and went back to its proper size.
"That's all right," it said, panting heavily. "It'll come easierto-morrow."
"Did it hurt much?" said Anthea.
"Only my poor whisker, thank you," said he, "but you're a kind andthoughtful child. Good day."
It scratched suddenly and fiercely with its hands and feet, anddisappeared in the sand.
Then the children looked at each other, and each child suddenly founditself alone with three perfect strangers, all radiantly beautiful.
They stood for some moments in silence. Each thought that its brothersand sisters had wandered off, and that these strange children had stolenup unnoticed while it was watching the swelling form of the Sand-fairy.Anthea spoke first--
"Excuse me," she said very politely to Jane, who now had enormous blueeyes and a cloud of russet hair, "but have you seen two little boys anda little girl anywhere about?"
"I was just going to ask you that," said Jane. And then Cyril cried--
"Why, it's _you_! I know the hole in your pinafore! You _are_ Jane,aren't you? And you're the Panther; I can see your dirty handkerchiefthat you forgot to change after you'd cut your thumb! The wish _has_come off, after all. I say, am I as handsome as you are?"
"If you're Cyril, I liked you much better as you were before," saidAnthea decidedly. "You look like the picture of the young chorister,with your golden hair; you'll die young, I shouldn't wonder. And ifthat's Robert, he's like an Italian organ-grinder. His hair's allblack."
"You two girls are like Christmas cards, then--that's all--sillyChristmas cards," said Robert angrily. "And Jane's hair is simplycarrots."
It was indeed of that Venetian tint so much admired by artists.
"Well, it's no use finding fault with each other," said Anthea; "let'sget the Lamb and lug it home to dinner. The servants will admire us mostawfully, you'll see."
Baby was just waking up when they got to him, and not one of thechildren but
was relieved to find that he at least was not as beautifulas the day, but just the same as usual.
"I suppose he's too young to have wishes naturally," said Jane. "Weshall have to mention him specially next time."
Anthea ran forward and held out her arms.
"Come, then," she said.
The Baby looked at her disapprovingly, and put a sandy pink thumb in hismouth. Anthea was his favourite sister.
"Come, then," she said.
"G'way 'long!" said the Baby.
"Come to own Pussy," said Jane.
"Wants my Panty," said the Lamb dismally, and his lip trembled.
"Here, come on, Veteran," said Robert, "come and have a yidey on Yobby'sback."
"Yah, narky narky boy," howled the Baby, giving way altogether. Then thechildren knew the worst. _The Baby did not know them!_
The baby did not know them!]
They looked at each other in despair, and it was terrible to each, inthis dire emergency, to meet only the beautiful eyes of perfectstrangers, instead of the merry, friendly, commonplace, twinkling, jollylittle eyes of its own brothers and sisters.
"This is most truly awful," said Cyril when he had tried to lift up theLamb, and the Lamb had scratched like a cat and bellowed like a bull!"We've got to _make friends_ with him! I can't carry him home screaminglike that. Fancy having to make friends with our own baby!--it's toosilly."
That, however, was exactly what they had to do. It took over an hour,and the task was not rendered any easier by the fact that the Lamb wasby this time as hungry as a lion and as thirsty as a desert.
At last he consented to allow these strangers to carry him home byturns, but as he refused to hold on to such new acquaintances he was adead weight, and most exhausting.
"Thank goodness, we're home!" said Jane, staggering through the irongate to where Martha, the nursemaid, stood at the front door shading hereyes with her hand and looking out anxiously. "Here! Do take Baby!"
Martha snatched the Baby from her arms.
"Thanks be, _he's_ safe back," she said. "Where are the others, andwhoever to goodness gracious are all of you?"
"We're _us_, of course," said Robert.
"And who's Us, when you're at home?" asked Martha scornfully.
"I tell you it's _us_, only we're beautiful as the day," said Cyril."I'm Cyril, and these are the others, and we're jolly hungry. Let us in,and don't be a silly idiot."
Martha merely dratted Cyril's impudence and tried to shut the door inhis face.
"I know we _look_ different, but I'm Anthea, and we're so tired, andit's long past dinner-time."
"Then go home to your dinners, whoever you are; and if our children putyou up to this play-acting you can tell them from me they'll catch it,so they know what to expect!" With that she did bang the door. Cyrilrang the bell violently. No answer. Presently cook put her head out of abedroom window and said--
"If you don't take yourselves off, and that precious sharp, I'll go andfetch the police." And she slammed down the window.
"It's no good," said Anthea. "Oh, do, do come away before we get sent toprison!"
The boys said it was nonsense, and the law of England couldn't put youin prison for just being as beautiful as the day, but all the same theyfollowed the others out into the lane.
"We shall be our proper selves after sunset, I suppose," said Jane.
"I don't know," Cyril said sadly; "it mayn't be like that now--thingshave changed a good deal since Megatherium times."
"Oh," cried Anthea suddenly, "perhaps we shall turn into stone atsunset, like the Megatheriums did, so that there mayn't be any of usleft over for the next day."
She began to cry, so did Jane. Even the boys turned pale. No one had theheart to say anything.
It was a horrible afternoon. There was no house near where the childrencould beg a crust of bread or even a glass of water. They were afraid togo to the village, because they had seen Martha go down there with abasket, and there was a local constable. True, they were all asbeautiful as the day, but that is a poor comfort when you are as hungryas a hunter and as thirsty as a sponge.
Three times they tried in vain to get the servants in the White House tolet them in and listen to their tale. And then Robert went alone, hopingto be able to climb in at one of the back windows and so open the doorto the others. But all the windows were out of reach, and Martha emptieda toilet-jug of cold water over him from a top window, and said--
"Go along with you, you nasty little Eye-talian monkey."
It came at last to their sitting down in a row under the hedge, withtheir feet in a dry ditch, waiting for sunset, and wondering whether,when the sun _did_ set, they would turn into stone, or only into theirown old natural selves; and each of them still felt lonely and amongstrangers, and tried not to look at the others, for, though their voiceswere their own, their faces were so radiantly beautiful as to be quiteirritating to look at.
"I don't believe we _shall_ turn to stone," said Robert, breaking a longmiserable silence, "because the Sand-fairy said he'd give us anotherwish to-morrow, and he couldn't if we were stone, could he?"
The others said "No," but they weren't at all comforted.
Another silence, longer and more miserable, was broken by Cyril'ssuddenly saying, "I don't want to frighten you girls, but I believe it'sbeginning with me already. My foot's quite dead. I'm turning to stone, Iknow I am, and so will you in a minute."
"Never mind," said Robert kindly, "perhaps you'll be the only stone one,and the rest of us will be all right, and we'll cherish your statue andhang garlands on it."
But when it turned out that Cyril's foot had only gone to sleep throughhis sitting too long with it under him, and when it came to life in anagony of pins and needles, the others were quite cross.
"Giving us such a fright for nothing!" said Anthea.
Martha emptied a toilet-jug of cold water over him]
The third and miserablest silence of all was broken by Jane. Shesaid--
"If we _do_ come out of this all right, we'll ask the Sammyadd to makeit so that the servants don't notice anything different, no matter whatwishes we have."
The others only grunted. They were too wretched even to make goodresolutions.
At last hunger and fright and crossness and tiredness--four very nastythings--all joined together to bring one nice thing, and that was sleep.The children lay asleep in a row, with their beautiful eyes shut andtheir beautiful mouths open. Anthea woke first. The sun had set, and thetwilight was coming on.
Anthea pinched herself very hard, to make sure, and when she found shecould still feel pinching she decided that she was not stone, and thenshe pinched the others. They, also, were soft.
"Wake up," she said, almost in tears for joy; "it's all right, we're notstone. And oh, Cyril, how nice and ugly you do look, with your oldfreckles and your brown hair and your little eyes. And so do you all!"she added, so that they might not feel jealous.
When they got home they were very much scolded by Martha, who told themabout the strange children.
"A good-looking lot, I must say, but that impudent."
"I know," said Robert, who knew by experience how hopeless it would beto try to explain things to Martha.
"And where on earth have you been all this time, you naughty littlethings, you?"
"In the lane."
"Why didn't you come home hours ago?"
"We couldn't because of _them_," said Anthea.
"Who?"
"The children who were as beautiful as the day. They kept us there tillafter sunset. We couldn't come back till they'd gone. You don't know howwe hated them! Oh, do, do give us some supper--we are so hungry."
"Hungry! I should think so," said Martha angrily; "out all day likethis. Well, I hope it'll be a lesson to you not to go picking up withstrange children--down here after measles, as likely as not! Now mind,if you see them again, don't you speak to them--not one word nor somuch as a look--but come straight away and tell me. I'll spoil theirbeauty for t
hem!"
"If ever we _do_ see them again we'll tell you," Anthea said; andRobert, fixing his eyes fondly on the cold beef that was being broughtin on a tray by cook, added in heartfelt undertones--
"And we'll take jolly good care we never _do_ see them again."
And they never have.