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Prisoner in Fairyland, A
CHAPTER IX
Algernon Blackwood
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       _ Wrap thy form in a mantle gray,
       Star-inwrought!
       Blind with thine hair the eyes of Day;
       Kiss her until she be wearied out,
       Then wander o'er city, and sea, and land,
       Touching all with thine opiate wand-
       Come, long sought!
       To _Night_, SHELLEY.
       Now, cats are curious creatures, and not without reason, perhaps, are
       they adored by some, yet regarded with suspicious aversion by others.
       They know so much they never dare to tell, while affecting that they
       know nothing and are innocent. For it is beyond question that several
       hours later, when the village and the Citadelle were lost in slumber,
       Mere Riquette stirred stealthily where she lay upon the hearth, opened
       her big green eyes, and--began to wash.
       But this toilette was pretence in case any one was watching. Really,
       she looked about her all the time. Her sleep also had been that sham
       sleep of cats behind which various plots and plans mature--a
       questionable business altogether. The washing, as soon as she made
       certain no one saw her, gave place to another manoeuvre. She stretched
       as though her bones were of the very best elastic. Gathering herself
       together, she arched her round body till it resembled a toy balloon
       straining to rise against the pull of four thin ropes that held it
       tightly to the ground. Then, unable to float off through the air, as
       she had expected, she slowly again subsided. The balloon deflated. She
       licked her chops, twitched her whiskers, curled her tail neatly round
       her two front paws--and grinned complacently. She waited before that
       extinguished fire of peat as though she had never harboured a single
       evil purpose in all her days. 'A saucer of milk,' she gave the world
       to understand, c is the only thing _I_ care about.' Her smile of
       innocence and her attitude of meek simplicity proclaimed this to the
       universe at large. 'That's me,' she told the darkness, 'and I don't
       care a bit who knows it.' She looked so sleek and modest that a mouse
       need not have feared her. But she did not add, 'That's what I mean the
       world to think,' for this belonged to the secret life cats never talk
       about. Those among humans might divine it who could, and welcome. They
       would be admitted. But the rest of the world were regarded with mere
       tolerant disdain. They bored.
       Then, satisfied that she was unobserved, Mere Riquette abandoned all
       further pretence, and stalked silently about the room. The starlight
       just made visible her gliding shadow, as first she visited the made-up
       sofa-bed where the exhausted mother snored mildly beneath the book-
       shelves, and then, after a moment's keen inspection, turned back and
       went at a quicker pace into the bedroom where the children slept.
       There the night-light made her movements easily visible. The cat was
       excited. Something bigger than any mouse was coming into her life just
       now.
       Riquette then witnessed a wonderful and beautiful thing, yet witnessed
       it obviously not for the first time. Her manner suggested no surprise.
       'It's like a mouse, only bigger,' her expression said. And by this she
       meant that it was natural. She accepted it as right and proper.
       For Monkey got out of herself as out of a case. She slipped from her
       body as a sword slips from its sheath, yet the body went on breathing
       in the bed just as before; the turned-up nose with the little platform
       at its tip did not cease from snoring, and the lids remained fastened
       tightly over the brilliant brown eyes, buttoned down so securely for
       the night. Two plaits of hair lay on the pillow; another rose and fell
       with the regular breathing of her little bosom. But Monkey herself
       stood softly shining on the floor within a paw's length.
       Riquette blinked her eyes and smiled complacently. Jimbo was close
       behind her, even brighter than his sister, with eyes like stars.
       The visions of cats are curious things, no doubt, and few may guess
       their furry, silent pathways as they go winding along their length of
       inconsequent development. For, softer than any mouse, the children
       glided swiftly into the next room where Mother slept beneath the book-
       shelves--two shining little radiant figures, hand in hand. They tried
       for a moment to pull out Mother too, but found her difficult to move.
       Somewhere on the way she stuck. They gave it up.
       Turning towards the window that stood open beyond the head of the
       sofa-bed, they rose up lightly and floated through it out into the
       starry night. Riquette leaped like a silent shadow after them, but
       before she reached the roof of red-brown tiles that sloped down to the
       yard, Jimbo and Monkey were already far away. She strained her big
       green eyes in vain, seeing nothing but the tops of the plane trees,
       thick with tiny coming leaves, the sweep of vines and sky, and the
       tender, mothering night beyond. She pattered softly back again, gave a
       contemptuous glance at Mother in passing, and jumped up at once into
       the warm nest of sheets that gaped invitingly between the shoulder of
       Jimbo's body and the pillow. She shaped the opening to her taste,
       kneading it with both front paws, turned three times round, and then
       lay down. Curled in a ball, her nose buried between her back feet, she
       was asleep in a single moment. Her whiskers ceased to quiver.
       The children were tugging at Daddy now over in the carpenter's house.
       His bed was short, and his body lay in a kind of knot. On the chair
       beside it were books and papers, and a candle that had burnt itself
       out. A pencil poked its nose out among the sheets, and it was clear he
       had fallen asleep while working.
       'Wumbled!' sighed Jimbo, pointing to the scribbled notes. But Monkey
       was busy pulling him out, and did not answer. Then Jimbo helped her.
       And Daddy came out magnificently--as far as the head--then stuck like
       Mother. They pulled in vain. Something in his head prevented complete
       release.
       'En voila un!' laughed Monkey. 'Quel homme!' It was her natural
       speech, the way she talked at school. 'It's a pity,' said Jimbo with a
       little sigh. They gave it up, watching him slide slowly back again.
       The moment he was all in they turned towards the open window. Hand in
       hand they sailed out over the sleeping village. And from almost every
       house they heard a sound of weeping. There were sighs and prayers and
       pleadings. All slept and dreamed--dreamed of their difficulties and
       daily troubles. Released in sleep, their longings rose to heaven
       unconsciously, automatically as it were. Even the cheerful and the
       happy yearned a little, even the well-to-do whom the world judged so
       secure--these, too, had their burdens that found release, and so
       perhaps relief in sleep.
       'Come, and we'll help them,' Jimbo said eagerly. 'We can change all
       that a little. Oh, I say, what a lot we've got to do to-night.'
       'Je crois bien,' laughed Monkey, turning somersaults for joy as she
       followed him. Her tendency to somersaults in this condition was
       irresistible, and a source of worry to Jimbo, who classed it among the
       foolish habits of what he called 'womans and things like that!'
       And the sound came loudest from the huddled little building by the
       Church, the Pension where they had their meals, and where Jinny had
       her bedroom. But Jinny, they found, was already out, off upon
       adventures of her own. A solitary child, she always went her
       independent way in everything. They dived down into the first floor,
       and there, in a narrow bedroom whose windows stood open upon the
       wistaria branches, they found Madame Jequier--'Tante Jeanne,' as they
       knew the sympathetic, generous creature best, sister-in-law of the
       Postmaster--not sleeping like the others, but wide awake and praying
       vehemently in a wicker-chair that creaked with every nervous movement
       that she made. All about her were bits of paper covered with figures,
       bills, calculations, and the rest.
       'We can't get at her,' said Monkey, her laughter hushed for a moment.
       'There's too much sadness. Come on! Let's go somewhere else.'
       But Jimbo held her tight. 'Let's have a try. Listen, you silly, can't
       you!'
       They stood for several minutes, listening together, while the
       brightness of their near approach seemed to change the woman's face a
       little. She looked up and listened as though aware of something near
       her.
       'She's praying for others as well as herself,' explained Jimbo.
       'Ca vaut la peine alors,' said Monkey. And they drew cautiously
       nearer.... But, soon desisting, the children were far away, hovering
       about the mountains. They had no steadiness as yet.
       'Starlight,' Jimbo was singing to himself, 'runs along my mind.'
       'You're all up-jumbled,' Monkey interrupted him with a laugh, turning
       repeated somersaults till she looked like a catherine wheel of
       brightness.
       '... the pattern of my verse or story...' continued Jimbo half aloud,
       '... a little ball of tangled glory....'
       'You must unwind!' cried Monkey. 'Look out, it's the sun! It'll melt
       us into dew!'
       But it was not the sun. Out there beyond them, towards the purple
       woods still sleeping, appeared a draught of starbeams like a broad,
       deep river of gold. The rays, coming from all corners of the sky, wove
       a pattern like a network.
       'Jimbo!' gasped the girl, 'it's like a fishing-net. We've never
       noticed it before.'
       'It _is_ a net,' he answered, standing still as a stone, though he had
       not thought of it himself until she said so. He instantly dressed
       himself, as he always translated _il se dressait_ in his funny Franco-
       English. _Deja_ and _comme ca_, too, appeared everywhere. 'It is a net
       like that. I saw it already before, once.'
       'Monkey,' he added, 'do you know what it really is? Oh, I say!'
       'Of course I do.' She waited nevertheless for him to tell her, and he
       was too gallant just then in his proud excitement for personal
       exultation.
       'It's the Star Cave--it's Daddy's Star Cave. He said it was up here
       "where the Boudry forests dip below the cliffs towards the Areuse."
       ...' He remembered the very words.
       His sister forgot to turn her usual somersaults. Wonder caught them
       both. 'A pair of eyes, then, or a puddle! Quick!' she cried in a
       delighted whisper. She looked about her everywhere at once, making
       confused and rushing little movements of helplessness. 'Quick, quick!'
       'No,' said Jimbo, with a man's calm decision, 'it's when they
       _can't_ find eyes or puddles that they go in there. Don't interfere.'
       She admitted her mistake. This was no time to press a petty advantage.
       'I'll shut my eyes while you sponge up the puddles with a wedge of
       moss,' she began. But her brother cut her short. He was very sure of
       himself. He was leader beyond all question.
       'You follow me,' he commanded firmly, 'and you'll get in somehow.
       We'll get all sticky with it. Then we'll come out again and help those
       crying people like Tante Jeanne and....' A list of names poured out.
       'They'll think us wonderful---'
       'We shall be wonderful,' whispered Monkey, obeying, yet peeping with
       one big brown eye.
       The cataract of starbeams rushed past them in a flood of gold.
       They moved towards an opening in the trees where the limestone cliffs
       ran into rugged shapes with pinnacles and towers. They found the
       entrance in the rocks. Water dripped over it, making little splashes.
       The lime had run into hanging pillars and a fringe of pointed fingers.
       Past this the river of starlight poured its brilliant golden stream.
       Its soft brightness shone yellow as a shower of primrose dust.
       'Look out! The Interfering Sun!' gasped Monkey again, awed and
       confused with wonder. 'We shall melt in dew or fairy cotton. Don't
       you? ... I call it rotten ...!'
       'You'll unwind all right,' he told her, trying hard to keep his head
       and justify his leadership. He, too, remembered phrases here and
       there. 'I'm a bit knotted, looped, and all up-jumbled too, inside. But
       the sun is miles away still. We're both soft-shiny still.'
       They stooped to enter, plunging their bodies to the neck in the silent
       flood of sparkling amber.
       Then happened a strange thing. For how could they know, these two
       adventurous, dreaming children, that Thought makes images which,
       regardless of space, may flash about the world, and reach minds
       anywhere that are sweetly tuned to their acceptance?
       'What's that? Look out! _Gare!_ Hold tight!' In his sudden excitement
       Jimbo mixed questions with commands. He had caught her by the hand.
       There was a new sound in the heavens above them--a roaring, rushing
       sound. Like the thunder of a train, it swept headlong through the sky.
       Voices were audible too.
       'There's something enormous caught in the star-net,' he whispered.
       'It's Mother, then,' said Monkey.
       They both looked up, trembling with anticipation. They saw a big, dark
       body like a thundercloud hovering above their heads. It had a line of
       brilliant eyes. From one end issued a column of white smoke. It
       settled slowly downwards, moving softly yet with a great air of bustle
       and importance. Was this the arrival of a dragon, or Mother coming
       after them? The blood thumped in their ears, their hands felt icy. The
       thing dipped slowly through the trees. It settled, stopped, began to
       purr.
       'It's a railway train,' announced Jimbo finally with authority that
       only just disguised amazement. 'And the passengers are getting out.'
       With a sigh of immense relief he said it. 'You're not in any danger,
       Monkey,' he added.
       He drew his sister back quickly a dozen steps, and they hid behind a
       giant spruce to watch. The scene that followed was like the holiday
       spectacle in a London Terminus, except that the passengers had no
       luggage. The other difference was that they seemed intent upon some
       purpose not wholly for their own advantage. It seemed, too, they had
       expected somebody to meet them, and were accordingly rather confused
       and disappointed. They looked about them anxiously.
       'Last stop; all get out here!' a Guard was crying in a kind of
       pleasant singing voice. 'Return journey begins five minutes before the
       Interfering Sun has risen.'
       Jimbo pinched his sister's arm till she nearly screamed. 'Hear that?'
       he whispered. But Monkey was too absorbed in the doings of the busy
       passengers to listen or reply. For the first passenger that hurried
       past her was no less a person than--Jane Anne! Her face was not
       puzzled now. It was like a little sun. She looked utterly happy and
       contented, as though she had found the place and duties that belonged
       to her.
       'Jinny!' whispered the two in chorus. But Jane Anne did not so much as
       turn her head. She slipped past them like a shaft of light. Her hair
       fell loose to her waist. She went towards the entrance. The flood rose
       to her neck.
       'Oh! there she is!' cried a voice. 'She travelled with us instead of
       coming to meet us.' Monkey smiled. She knew her sister's alien,
       unaccountable ways only too well.
       The train had settled down comfortably enough between the trees, and
       lay there breathing out a peaceable column of white smoke, panting a
       little as it did so. The Guard went down the length of it, turning out
       the lamps; and from the line of open doors descended the stream of
       passengers, all hurrying to the entrance of the cave. Each one stopped
       a moment in front of the Guard, as though to get a ticket clipped, but
       instead of producing a piece of pasteboard, or the Guard a punching
       instrument, they seemed to exchange a look together. Each one stared
       into his face, nodded, and passed on.
       'What blue eyes they've got,' thought Monkey to herself, as she peered
       into each separate face as closely as she dared. 'I wish mine were
       like that!' The wind, sighing through the tree-tops, sent a shower of
       dew about their feet. The children started. 'What a lovely row!' Jimbo
       whispered. It was like footsteps of a multitude on the needles. The
       fact that it was so clearly audible showed how softly all these
       passengers moved about their business.
       The Guard, they noticed then, called out the names of some of them;
       perhaps of all, only in the first excitement they did not catch them
       properly. And each one went on at once towards the entrance of the
       cave and disappeared in the pouring river of gold.
       The light-footed way they moved, their swiftness as of shadows, the
       way they tossed their heads and flung their arms about--all this made
       the children think it was a dance. Monkey felt her own legs twitch to
       join them, but her little brother's will restrained her.
       'If you turn a somersault here,' he said solemnly, 'we're simply
       lost.' He said it in French; the long word had not yet dawned upon his
       English consciousness. They watched with growing wonder then, and
       something like terror seized them as they saw a man go past them with
       a very familiar look about him. He went in a cloud of sparkling, black
       dust that turned instantly into shining gold when it reached the
       yellow river from the stars. His face was very dirty.
       'It's _not_ the _ramoneur_,' whispered Jimbo, uncertain whether the
       shiver he felt was his sister's or his own. 'He's much too springy.'
       Sweeps always had a limp.
       For the figure shot along with a running, dancing leap as though he
       moved on wires. He carried long things over his shoulders. He flashed
       into the stream like a shadow swallowed by a flame. And as he went,
       they caught such merry words, half sung, half chanted:--,
       'I'll mix their smoke with hope and mystery till they see dreams and
       faces in their fires---' and he was gone.
       Behind him came a couple arm in arm, their movements equally light and
       springy, but the one behind dragging a little, as though lazily. They
       wore rags and torn old hats and had no collars to their shirts. The
       lazy one had broken boots through which his toes showed plainly. The
       other who dragged him had a swarthy face like the gypsies who once had
       camped near their house in Essex long, oh, ever so long ago.
       'I'll get some too,' the slow one sang huskily as he stumbled along
       with difficulty 'but there's never any hurry. I'll fill their journeys
       with desire and make adventure call to them with love---'
       'And I,' the first one answered, 'will sprinkle all their days with
       the sweetness of the moors and open fields, till houses choke their
       lungs and they come out to learn the stars by name. Ho, ho!'
       They dipped, with a flying leap, into the rushing flood. Their rags
       and filthy slouched hats flashed radiant as they went, all bathed and
       cleaned in glory.
       Others came after them in a continuous stream, some too outlandish to
       be named or recognised, others half familiar, very quick and earnest,
       but merry at the same time, and all intent upon bringing back
       something for the world. It was not for themselves alone, or for their
       own enjoyment that they hurried in so eagerly.
       'How splendid! What a crew!' gasped Monkey. '_Quel spectacle_!' And
       she began a somersault.
       'Be quiet, will you?' was the rejoinder, as a figure who seemed to
       have a number of lesser faces within his own big one of sunburned
       brown, tumbled by them somewhat heavily and left a smell of earth and
       leaves and potting-sheds about the trees behind him. 'Won't my flowers
       just shine and dazzle 'em? And won't the dead leaves crackle as I burn
       'em up!' he chuckled as he disappeared from view. There was a rush of
       light as an eddy of the star-stream caught him, and something
       certainly went up in flame. A faint odour reached the children that
       was like the odour of burning leaves.
       Then, with a rush, came a woman whose immensely long thin arms reached
       out in front of her and vanished through the entrance a whole minute
       before the rest of her. But they could not see the face. Some one with
       high ringing laughter followed, though they could not see the outline
       at all. It went so fast, they only heard the patter of light footsteps
       on the moss and needles. Jimbo and Monkey felt slightly uncomfortable
       as they watched and listened, and the feeling became positive
       uneasiness the next minute as a sound of cries and banging reached
       them from the woods behind. There was a great commotion going on
       somewhere in the train.
       'I can't get out, I can't get out!' called a voice unhappily. 'And if
       I do, how shall I ever get in again? The entrance is so ridiculously
       small. I shall only stick and fill it up. Why did I ever come? Oh, why
       did I come at all?'
       'Better stay where you are, lady,' the Guard was saying. 'You're good
       ballast. You can keep the train down. That's something. Steady
       thinking's always best, you know.'
       Turning, the children saw a group of figures pushing and tugging at a
       dark mass that appeared to have stuck halfway in the carriage door.
       The pressure of many willing hands gave it a different outline every
       minute. It was like a thing of india-rubber or elastic. The roof
       strained outwards with ominous cracking sounds; the windows threatened
       to smash; the foot-board, supporting the part of her that had emerged,
       groaned with the weight already.
       'Oh, what's the good of _me_?' cried the queer deep voice with
       petulance. 'You couldn't get a wisp of hay in there, much less all of
       me. I should block the whole cave up!'
       'Come out a bit!' a voice cried.
       'I can't.'
       'Go back then!' suggested the Guard.
       'But I can't. Besides I'm upside down!'
       'You haven't got any upside down,' was the answer; 'so that's
       impossible.'
       'Well, anyhow, I'm in a mess and muddle like this,' came the smothered
       voice, as the figures pulled and pushed with increasing energy.' And
       my tarpaulin skirt is all askew. The winds are at it as usual.'
       'Nothing short of a gale can help you now,' was somebody's verdict,
       while Monkey whispered beneath her breath to Jimbo. 'She's even bigger
       than Mother. Quelle masse!'
       Then came a thing of mystery and wonder from the sky. A flying figure,
       scattering points of light through the darkness like grains of shining
       sand, swooped down and stood beside the group.
       'Oh, Dustman,' cried the guard, 'give her of your dust and put her to
       sleep, please. She's making noise enough to bring the Interfering Sun
       above the horizon before his time.'
       Without a word the new arrival passed one hand above the part of her
       that presumably was the face. Something sifted downwards. There was a
       sound of gentle sprinkling through the air; a noise followed that was
       half a groan and half a sigh. Her struggles grew gradually less, then
       ceased. They pushed the bulk of her backwards through the door. Spread
       over many seats the Woman of the Haystack slept.
       'Thank you,' said several voices with relief. 'She'll dream she's been
       in. That's just as good.'
       'Every bit,' the others answered, resuming their interrupted journey
       towards the cavern's mouth.
       'And when I come out she shall have some more,' answered the Dustman
       in a soft, thick voice; 'as much as ever she can use.'
       He flitted in his turn towards the stream of gold. His feet were
       already in it when he paused a moment to shift from one shoulder to
       the other a great sack he carried. And in that moment was heard a low
       voice singing dreamily the Dustman's curious little song. It seemed to
       come from the direction of the train where the Guard stood talking to
       a man the children had not noticed before. Presumably he was the
       engine-driver, since all the passengers were out now. But it may have
       been the old Dustman himself who sang it. They could not tell exactly.
       The voice made them quite drowsy as they listened:--
       The busy Dustman flutters down the lanes,
       He's off to gather star-dust for our dreams.
       He dusts the Constellations for his sack,
       Finding it thickest on the Zodiac,
       But sweetest in the careless meteor's track;
       _That_ he keeps only
       For the old and lonely,
       (And is very strict about it!)
       Who sleep so little that they need the best;
       The rest,--
       The common stuff,--
       Is good enough
       For Fraulein, or for Baby, or for Mother,
       Or any other
       Who likes a bit of dust,
       But yet can do without it
       If they _must_!
       The busy Dustman hurries through the sky
       The kind old Dustman's coming to _your_ eye!
       By the time the song was over he had disappeared through the opening.
       'I'll show 'em the real stuff!' came back a voice--this time certainly
       his own--far inside now.
       'I simply love that man,' exclaimed Monkey. 'Songs are usually such
       twiddly things, but that was real.' She looked as though a somersault
       were imminent. 'If only Daddy knew him, he'd learn how to write
       unwumbled stories. Oh! we _must_ get Daddy out.'
       'It's only the head that sticks,' was her brother's reply. 'We'll
       grease it.'
       They remained silent a moment, not knowing what to do next, when they
       became aware that the big man who had been talking to the Guard was
       coming towards them.
       'They've seen us!' she whispered in alarm. '_He's_ seen us.' An
       inexplicable thrill ran over her.
       'They saw us long ago,' her brother added contemptuously. His voice
       quavered.
       Jimbo turned to face them, getting in front of his sister for
       protection, although she towered above him by a head at least. The
       Guard, who led the way, they saw now, was a girl--a girl not much
       older than Monkey, with big blue eyes. 'There they are,' the Guard
       said loudly, pointing; and the big man, looking about him as though he
       did not see very clearly, stretched out his hands towards him. 'But
       you must be very quick,' she added, 'the Interfering Sun---'
       'I'm glad you came to meet us. I hoped you might. Jane Anne's gone in
       ages ago. Now we'll all go in together,' he said in a deep voice, 'and
       gather star-dust for our dreams...' He groped to find them. His hands
       grew shadowy. He felt the empty air.
       His voice died away even as he said it, and the difficulty he had in
       seeing seemed to affect their own eyes as well. A mist rose. It turned
       to darkness. The river of starlight faded. The net had suddenly big
       holes in it. They were slipping through. Wind whispered in the trees.
       There was a sharp, odd sound like the plop of a water-rat in a
       pond....
       'We must be quick,' his voice came faintly from far away. They just
       had time to see his smile, and noticed the gleam of two gold teeth....
       Then the darkness rushed up and covered them. The stream of tangled,
       pouring beams became a narrow line, so far away it was almost like the
       streak of a meteor in the sky.... Night hid the world and everything
       in it....
       Two radiant little forms slipped past Riquette and slid feet first
       into the sleeping bodies on the beds.
       There came soon after a curious sound from the outer room, as Mother
       turned upon her sofa-bed and woke. The sun was high above the
       Blumlisalp, spreading a sheet of gold and silver on the lake. Birds
       were singing in the plane trees. The roof below the open windows shone
       with dew, and draughts of morning air, sweet and fresh, poured into
       the room. With it came the scent of flowers and forests, of fields and
       peaty smoke from cottage chimneys....
       But there was another perfume too. Far down the sky swept some fleet
       and sparkling thing that made the world look different. It was
       delicate and many-tinted, soft as a swallow's wing, and full of
       butterflies and tiny winds.
       For, with the last stroke of midnight from the old church tower, May
       had waked April; and April had run off into the mountains with the
       dawn. Her final shower of tears still shone upon the ground. Already
       May was busy drying them.
       That afternoon, when school was over, Monkey and Jimbo found
       themselves in the attics underneath the roof together. They had
       abstracted their father's opera-glasses from the case that hung upon
       the door, and were using them as a telescope.
       'What can you see?' asked Jimbo, waiting for his turn, as they looked
       towards the hazy mountains behind the village.
       'Nothing.'
       'That must be the opening, then,' he suggested, 'just air.'
       His sister lowered the glasses and stared at him. 'But it can't be a
       real place?' she said, the doubt in her tone making her words a
       question. 'Daddy's never been there himself, I'm sure--from the way he
       told it. You only dreamed it.' 'Well, anyhow,' was the reply with
       conviction, 'it's there, so there must be _somebody_ who believes in
       it.' And he was evidently going to add that he had been there, when
       Mother's voice was heard calling from the yard below, 'Come down from
       that draughty place. It's dirty, and there are dead rats in it. Come
       out and play in the sunshine. Try and be sensible like Jinny.'
       They smuggled the glasses into their case again, and went off to the
       woods to play. Though their union seemed based on disagreements
       chiefly they were always quite happy together like this, living in a
       world entirely their own. Jinny went her own way apart always--ever
       busy with pots and pans and sewing. She was far too practical and
       domestic for their tastes to amalgamate; yet, though they looked down
       upon her a little, no one in their presence could say a word against
       her. For they recognised the child's unusual selflessness, and rather
       stood in awe of it.
       And this afternoon in the woods they kept coming across places that
       seemed oddly familiar, although they had never visited them before.
       They had one of their curious conversations about the matter--queer
       talks they indulged in sometimes when quite alone. Mother would have
       squelched such talk, and Daddy muddled them with long words, while
       Jane Anne would have looked puzzled to the point of tears.
       'I'm _sure_ I've been here before,' said Monkey, looking across the
       trees to a place where the limestone cliffs dropped in fantastic
       shapes of pointed rock. 'Have you got that feeling too?'
       Jimbo, with his hands in the pockets of his blue reefer overcoat and
       his feet stuck wide apart, stared hard at her a moment. His little
       mind was searching too.
       'It's natural enough, I suppose,' he answered, too honest to pretend,
       too proud, though, to admit he had not got it.
       They were rather breathless with their climb, and sat down on a
       boulder in the shade.
       'I know all this awfully well,' Monkey presently resumed, looking
       about her. 'But certainly we've never come as far as this. I think my
       underneath escapes and comes to places by itself. I feel like that.
       Does yours?'
       He looked up from a bundle of moss he was fingering. This was rather
       beyond him.
       'Oh, I feel all right,' he said, 'just ordinary.' He would have given
       his ten francs in the savings bank, the collection of a year, to have
       answered otherwise. 'You're always getting tummy-aches and things,' he
       added kindly. 'Girls do.' It was pride that made the sharp addition.
       But Monkey was not hurt; she did not even notice what he said. The
       insult thus ignored might seem almost a compliment Jimbo thought with
       quick penitence.
       'Then, perhaps,' she continued, more than a little thrilled by her own
       audacity, 'it's somebody else's thinking. Thinking skips about the
       world like anything, you know. I read it once in one of Daddy's
       books.'
       'Oh, yes--like that---'
       'Thinking hard _does_ make things true, of course,' she insisted.
       'But you can't exactly see them,' he put in, to explain his own
       inexperience. He felt jealous of these privileges she claimed. 'They
       can't last, I mean.' 'But they can't be wiped out either,' she said
       decidedly. 'I'm sure of that.'
       Presently they scrambled higher and found among the rocks an opening
       to a new cave. The Jura mountains are riddled with caves which the
       stalactites turn into palaces and castles. The entrance was rather
       small, and they made no attempt to crawl in, for they knew that coming
       out again was often very difficult. But there was great excitement
       about it, and while Monkey kept repeating that she knew it already, or
       else had seen a picture of it somewhere, Jimbo went so far as to admit
       that they had certainly found it _very_ easily, while suggesting that
       the rare good fortune was due rather to his own leadership and skill.
       But when they came home to tea, full of the glory of their discovery,
       they found that a new excitement made the announcement fall a little
       flat. For in the Den, Daddy read a telegram he had just received from
       England to say that Cousin Henry was coming out to visit them for a
       bit. His room had already been engaged at the carpenter's house. He
       would arrive at the end of the week.
       It was the first of May! _