Chapter five of the Magic City. This Librivox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Ruth Golding. The Magic City by E. Nesbitt. Chapter five on the carpet. The Princess was just Lucy. It's too bad, said Philip. I do think. Then he stopped short and just looked cross. The Princess and the Champion will now have their teas, said Mr. Noah. Right about face everybody please and quick march. Philip and Lucy found themselves marching side by side through the night made yellow with continuous fireworks. You must picture them marching across a great plain of grass where many coloured flowers grew. You see a good many of Philip's buildings had been made on the drawing-room carpet at home, which was green with pink and blue and yellow and white flowers. And this carpet had turned into grass and growing flowers following that strange law which caused things to change into other things like themselves but larger and really belonging to a living world. No one spoke. Philip said nothing because he was in a bad temper. And if you're in a bad temper nothing is a good thing to say.  And he had other reasons for silence too. And Lucy was silent because she had so much to say that she didn't know where to begin, and besides she could feel how cross Philip was. The crowd did not talk because it was not etiquette to talk when taking part in processions. Mr. Noah did not talk because it made him out of breath to walk and talk at the same time, two things neither of which he had been designed to do. So that it was quite a silent party which at last passed through the gateway of the town and up its streets. Philip wondered where the tea would be, not in the prison of course. It was very late for tea too, quite the middle of the night it seemed. But all the streets were brilliantly lighted, and flags and festoons of flowers hung from all the windows and across all the streets. It was in the front of a big building in one of the great squares of the city that an extra display of coloured lamps disclosed open doors and red carpeted steps. Mr. Noah hurried up them, and turned to receive Philip and Lucy. The city of Polystopolis, he said, whose unworthy representative I am, greets in my person the most noble Sir Philip Knight and slayer of the dragon, also the princess whom he has rescued. Be pleased to enter. They went up the red cloth-covered steps and into a hall very splendid with silver and ivory. Mr. Noah stooped to a confidential question. You'd like a wash, perhaps, he said, and your princess too, and perhaps you'd like to dress up a little before the banquet, you know. Banquet, said Philip, I thought it was tea. Business before pleasure, said Mr. Noah, first the banquet, then the tea. This way to the dressing-rooms. There were two doors side by side. On one door was painted Knight's dressing-room, on the other Princess's dressing-room. Look out, said Mr. Noah, the paint is wet. You see, there wasn't much time. Philip found his dressing-room very interesting. The walls were entirely of looking-glass, and on tables in the middle of the room lay all sorts of clothes of beautiful colours and odd shapes. Shoes, stockings, hats, crowns, armour, swords, cloaks, breeches, waistcoats, jerkins, trunk-hose. An open door showed a marble bathroom. The bath was sunk in the floor, as the baths of luxurious Roman empresses used to be, and as nowadays baths sometimes are in model dwellings. Only I am told that some people keep their coals in the baths, which is quite useless, because coals are always black, however much you wash them. Philip undressed and went into the warm clear water, greenish between the air and the marble. Why is it so pleasant to have a bath, and so tiresome to wash your hands and face in a basin? He put on his shirt and knickerbockers again, and wandered round the room, looking at the clothes laid out there, and wondering which of the wonderful costumes would be really suitable for a night to wear at a banquet. After considerable hesitation, he decided on a little soft shirt of chain mail that made just a double handful of tiny steel links as he held it. But a difficulty arose. I don't know how to put it on, said Philip, and I expect the banquet is waiting. How cross it will be. He stood undecided, holding the chain mail in his hands, when his eyes fell on a bell handle. Above it was an ivory plate, and on it, in black letters, the word valet. Philip rang the bell. Instantly a soft tap at the door heralded the entrance of a person whom Philip at the first glance supposed to be a sandwich man. But the second glance showed that the oblong flat things which he wore were not sandwich boards, but dominos. The person between them bowed low. Oh! said Philip, I rang for the valet. I am not the valet! said the domino-enclosed person, who seemed to be in skin-tight black clothes under his dominos. I am the master of the robes. I only attend on really distinguished persons. Double six at your service, sir. Have you chosen your dress? I'd like to wear the armour, said Philip, holding it out. It seems the right thing for a night, he added. Quite so, sir. I confirm your opinion. He proceeded to dress Philip in a white tunic, and to fasten the coat of mail over this. I've had a great deal of experience, he said. You couldn't have chosen better. You see, I'm master of the subject of dress. I am able to give my whole mind to it. My own dress being fixed by law, and not subject to changes of fashion, leaves me free to think for others, and I think deeply. But I say that you can think for yourself. You have no idea how jolly Philip looked in the mail coat and mailed hood, just like a crusader. At the doorway of the dressing-room he met Lucy in a short white dress, and a coronal of pearls round her head. I always wanted to be a fairy, she said. Did you have anyone to dress you? he asked. Oh, no, said Lucy calmly. I always dress myself. Ladies have the advantage there, said Double Six, bowing and walking backwards. The banquet is spread. It turned out to be spread on three tables, one along each side of a great room, and one across the top of the room, on a dais. Such a table as that high one at which dons and distinguished strangers sit in the halls of colleges. Mr. Noah was already in his place in the middle of the high table, and Lucy and Philip now took their places at each side of him. The table was spread with all sorts of nice-looking foods, and plates of a pink and white pattern very familiar to Philip. They were, in fact, as he soon realised, the painted wooden plates from his sister's old doll's house. There was no food just in front of the children, only a great empty bowl of silver. Philip fingered his knife and fork. The pattern of those also was familiar to him. They were indeed the little leaden ones out of the doll's house knife basket of green and silver filigree. He hungrily waited. Servants in straight yellow dresses and red masks and caps were beginning to handle the dishes. A dish was handed to him. A beautiful jelly, it looked like. He took up his spoon and was just about to help himself when Mr. Noah whispered ardently, Don't! And as Philip looked at him in astonishment, he added, still in a whisper, Pretend, can't you? Have you never had a pretending banquet? But before he had caught the whisper, Philip was in a hurry. When Philip had caught the whisper, Philip had tried to press the edge of the leaden spoon into the shape of jelly. And he felt that the jelly was quite hard. He went through the form of helping himself, but it was just nothing that he put on his plate. And he saw that Mr. Noah and Lucy and all the other guests did the same. Presently another dish was handed to him. There was no changing of plates. Needent, Philip thought bitterly.  And now Philip saw that it was attached to its dish with glue. Then he understood. You know the beautiful but un-eatable feasts which are given you in a white cardboard box with blue binding and fine shavings to pack the dishes and keep them from breaking. I myself, when I was little, had such a banquet in a box. There were twelve dishes. A ham, brown and shapely. A pair of roast chickens, also brown and more anatomical than the ham. A glazed tongue, real tongue shape, none of your tinned round mysteries. A dish of sausages, two handsome fish, a little blue perhaps. A joint of beef, ribs, I think, very red as to the lean and very white in the fat parts. A pork pie, delicately bronzed like a traveller in Central Africa. For sweets I had shapes, shapes of beauty, a jelly and a cream, a Swiss roll too and a plum pudding. Asparagus there was also and a cauliflower. And a dish of the greenest peas in all this grey world. This was my banquet outfit. I remember that the wood-ness of it all depressed us wonderfully. The oneness of dish and food baffled all make-believe. With the point of nurses' scissors we prized the vines from the platters. But their wooden nature was unconquerable. One could not pretend to eat a whole chicken any better when it was detached from its dish, and the sausages were one solid block. And when you licked the jelly it only tasted of glue and paint. And when we tried to re-roast the chickens at the nursery grate they caught fire. And then they smelt of gas-works and India rubber. But I am wondering, when you remember the things that happened when you were a child you could go on writing about them for ever. I will put all this in brackets and then you need not read it if you don't want to. But those painted wooden foods adhering firmly to their dishes were the kind of food of which the banquet now offered to Philip and Lucy was composed. Only they had more dishes than I had. They had as well a turkey, eight raspberry jam tarts, a pineapple, a melon, a dish of oysters in the shell, a piece of boiled bacon, and a leg of mutton. But all were equally wooden and uneatable. Philip and Lucy, growing hungrier and hungrier, pretended with sinking hearts to eat and enjoy the wooden feast. Wine was served in those little goblets which they knew so well, where the double glasses restrained and contained a red fluid which looked like wine. They did not want wine, but they were thirsty as well as hungry. Philip wondered what the waiters were. He had plenty of time to wonder while the long banquet went on. It was not till he saw a group of them standing stiffly together at the end of the hall that he knew they must be the matches with which he had once peopled a city, no other inhabitants being at hand. When all the dishes had been handed, speeches happened. Friends and fellow-citizens, Mr. Noah began, and went on to say how brave and clever Sir Philip was, and how likely it was that he would turn out to be the deliverer. Philip did not hear all this speech. He was thinking of things to eat. Then every one in the hall stood and shouted, and Philip found that he was expected to take his turn at speech-making. He stood up trembling and wretched. Friends and fellow-citizens, he said, Thank you very much. I want to be the deliverer, but I don't know if I can. and sat down again amid rows of applause. Then there was music from a grated gallery, and then I cannot begin to tell you how glad Lucy and Philip were. Mr. Noah said, once more in a whisper, Cheer up! The banquet is over. Now we'll have tea. Tea turned out to be bread and milk, in a very cozy, blue silk-lined room, opening out of the banqueting hall. Only Lucy, Philip, and Mr. Noah were present. Bread and milk is very good, even when you have to eat it with the leadened spoons out of the doll's house basket. When it was much later Mr. Noah suddenly said, Good night! And in a maze of sleepy repletion, look that up in the dicker, will you? The children went to bed. Philip's bed was of gold with yellow satin curtains, and Lucy's was made of silver, with curtains of silk that were white. But the metals and colours made no difference to their deep and dreamless sleep. And in the morning there was bread and milk again, and the two of them had it in the blue room without Mr. Noah. Well, said Lucy, looking up from the bowl of white floating cubes, do you think you're getting to like me any better? No, said Philip, brief and stern, like the skipper in the song. I wish you would, said Lucy. Well, I can't, said Philip, but I do want to say one thing. I'm sorry I bunked and left you, and I did come back. I know you did, said Lucy. I came back to fetch you, said Philip, and now we'd better get along home. You've got to do seven deeds of power before you can get home, said Lucy. Oh, I remember, Perrin told me, said he. Well, Lucy went on, that'll take ages. No one can go out of this place twice, unless he's a king deliverer. You've gone out once, without me. Before you can go again, you've got to do seven noble deeds. I killed the dragon, said Philip, modestly proud. That's only one, she said. There are six more. And she ate bread and milk with firmness. Do you like this adventure? he asked abruptly. It's more interesting than anything that ever happened to me, she said. If you were nice, I should like it awfully, but as it is. I'm sorry you don't think I'm nice, said he. Well, what do you think, she said. Philip reflected. He did not want not to be nice. None of us do. Though you might not think it to see how some of us behave. True politeness, he remembered having been told, consists in showing an interest in other people's affairs. Tell me, he said, very much wishing to be polite and nice. Tell me what happened after you didn't come down the ladder with me.  I thought you were coming just behind me, said Philip, frowning. Well, I wasn't. And then? Well, Ben, you were silly not to stay.  So of course I said I wasn't a destroyer, whatever I was, and then they took me to the palace, and said I could be a princess till the Deliverer King turned up. They said, she giggled giggling, that my hair was the hair of a Deliverer and not of a destroyer, and I've been most awfully happy ever since. Have you? No, said Philip, remembering the miserable feeling of having been a coward and a sneak that had come upon him when he found that he had saved his own skin, and left Lucy alone in an unknown and dangerous world. Not exactly happy, I shouldn't call it. It's beautiful being a princess, said Lucy. I wonder what your next noble deed will be. I wonder whether I could help you with it. She looked wistfully at him. If I'm going to do noble deeds, I'll do them. I don't want any help, thank you, especially from girls, he answered. I wish you did, said Lucy, and finished her bread and milk. Philip's bowl also was empty. He stretched arms and legs and neck. It is rum, he said. Before this began I never thought a thing like this could begin, did you? I don't know, she said. Everything's very wonderful. I've always been expecting things to be more wonderful than they ever have been. You get sort of hints and nudges, you know. Fairy tales, yes, and dreams. You can't help feeling they must mean something. And your sister and my daddy, the two of them being such friends when they were little, and then parted and then getting friends again. That's like a story in a dream, isn't it? And you're building the city and me helping.  Didn't it you? No, said Philip. I mean, yes, he said. And he was, in that moment, nearer to liking Lucy than he had ever been before. Everything's very wonderful, isn't it? Ahem! said a respectful cough behind them. They turned to meet the calm gaze of double six. If you've quite finished breakfast, Sir Philip, he said, Mr Noah would be pleased to see you in his office. Me too, said Lucy, before Philip could say, only me, I suppose. You may come too, if you wish it, your Highness, said double six, bowing stiffly. They found Mr Noah very busy in a little room littered with papers. He was sitting at a table, writing. Good morning, Princess, he said. Good morning, Sir Philip. You see me very busy. I am trying to arrange for your next labour. Do you mean my next deed of valour? Philip asked. We have decided that all your deeds need not be deeds of valour, said Mr Noah, fiddling with a pen. The strange labours of Hercules, you remember, were some of them dangerous, and some merely difficult. I have decided that difficult things shall count. There are several things that really need doing. He went on half to himself. There's the fruit supply, and the dwellers by the sea, and— But that must wait. We try to give you as much variety as possible. Yesterday's was an outdoor adventure. Today's shall be an indoor amusement. I say today's, but I confess that I think it not unlikely that the task I am now about to set the candidate for the post of King Deliverer— the task, I say, which I am now about to set you— may quite possibly occupy some days, if not weeks, of your valuable time. But our people at home, said Philip. It isn't that I'm afraid really and truly it isn't, but they'll go out of their minds not knowing what's become of us. Oh, Mr Noah, do let us go back. It's all right, said Mr Noah. However long you stay here time won't move with them. I thought I'd explained that to you. But you said— I said you'd set our clocks to the time of your world, when you deserted your little friend. But when you had come back for her, and rescued her from the dragon, the clocks went their own time again. There's only just that time missing that happened between your coming here the second time, and your killing the dragon. I see, said Philip, but he didn't. I only hope you do. You can take your time about this new job, said Mr Noah, and you may get any help you like. I shan't consider you've failed till you've been at it three months. After that, the pretenderette would be entitled to her chance. If you're quite sure that the time here doesn't count at home, said Philip, what is it please that we've got to do? The greatest intellects of our country have for many ages occupied themselves with the problem which you are now asked to solve, said Mr Noah. Your late jailer, Mr Bacon Shakespeare, has written no less than twenty-seven volumes all in cipher on this very subject. But as he has forgotten what cipher he used, and no one else ever knew it, his volumes are of but little use to us. I see, said Philip, and again he didn't. Mr Noah rose to his full height, and when he stood up the children looked very small beside him. Now, he said, I will tell you what it is that you must do. I should like to decree that your second labour should be the tidying up of this room. All these papers are prophecies relating to the deliverer. But it is one of our laws that the judge must not use any public matter for his own personal benefit. So I have decided that the next labour shall be the disentangling of the mazy carpet. It is in the pillared hall of public amusements. I will get my hat, and we will go there at once. I can tell you about it as we go. And as they went down streets, and past houses, and palaces, all of which Philip could now dimly remember to have built at some time or other. Mr Noah went on, It is a very beautiful hall, but we have never been able to use it for public amusement or anything else. The giant who originally built this city placed in this hall a carpet so sick that it rises to your knees, and so intricately woven that none can disentangle it. It is far too thick to pass through any of the doors. It is your task to remove it. Why, that's as easy as easy, said Philip. I'll cut it in bits and bring out a bit at a time. That would be most unfortunate for you, said Mr Noah. I filed only this morning a very ancient prophecy. He who shall the carpets sever by fire or flint or steel shall be fed on orange pips forever and dressed in orange peel. You wouldn't like that, you know. No, said Philip grimly, I certainly wouldn't. The carpet must be unravelled, unwoven, so that not a thread is broken. Here is the hall. They went up steps. Philip sometimes wished she had not been so fond of building steps, and threw a dark vestibule to an arched door. Looking through it they saw a great hall, and at its end a raised space, more steps, and two enormous pillars of bronze, wrought in relief with figures of flying birds. Farthest Japanese vases, Lucy whispered. The floor of the room was covered by the carpet. It was loosely but difficultly woven, a very thick, soft rope of a red colour. When I say difficultly, I mean that it wasn't just straightforward in the weaving, but the threads went over and under and round about in such a determined and bewildering way that Philip felt and said that he would rather untie the string of a hundred of the most difficult parcels than tackle this. Well, said Mr. Noah, I leave you to it. Bored and lodging will be provided at the provisional palace where you slept last night. All citizens are bound to assist when called upon. Dinner is at one. Good morning. Philip sat down in the dark archway, and gazed helplessly at the twisted strands of the carpet. After a moment of hesitation Lucy sat down too, clasped her arms round her knees, and she also gazed at the carpet. They had all the appearance of shipwrecked mariners looking out over a great sea and longing for a sail. Said a laugh close behind them. They turned, and it was the motor veiled lady, the hateful pretenderette, who had crept up close behind them and was looking down at them through her veil. What do you want? said Philip severely. I want to laugh, said the motor lady. I want to laugh at you, and I'm going to. Well go and laugh somewhere else then, Philip suggested. Ah, but this is where I want to laugh. You and your carpet. You'll never do it. You don't know how, but I do. Come away! whispered Lucy, and they went. The pretenderette followed slowly. Outside a couple of Dutch dolls in check suits were passing arm in arm. Help! cried Lucy suddenly, and the Dutch dolls paused and took their hats off.  Mr. Noah said all citizens were bound to help us, said Lucy a little breathlessly. But, of course, said the shorter doll, bowing with stiff courtesy. Then said Lucy, will you please take that motor person away, and put her somewhere where she can't bother till we've done the carpet? Delighted! exclaimed the agreeable Dutch strangers, darted up the steps, and next moment emerged with the form of the pretenderette between them, struggling indeed, but struggling vainly. You'll need not have the slightest further anxiety. The taller Dutchman said, dismiss the incident from your mind. We will take her to the Hall of Justice. Her offence is bothering people in pursuit of their duty. The sentence is imprisonment for as long as the botherie chooses. Good morning. Oh, thank you! said both the children together. When they were alone, Philip said, and it was not easy to say it. That was jolly clever of you, Lucy. I should never have thought of it. Oh, that's nothing, said Lucy, looking down. I could do more than that. What? he asked. I could unravel the carpet, said Lucy, with deep solemnity. But it's me that's got to do it, Philip urged. Every citizen is bound to help, if called in. Lucy reminded him. And I suppose a princess is a citizen. Perhaps I can do it by myself, said Philip. Try, said Lucy, and sat down on the steps, her fairy skirt spreading out round her like a white double-hollyhock. He tried. He went back and looked at the great coarse cables of the carpet. He could see no end to the cables, no beginning to his task.  And time went on, and presently became rather urgently dinner time. So he went back to Lucy and said, All right, you can show me how to do it if you like. But Lucy replied, Not much. If you want me to help you with this, you'll have to promise to let me help in all the other things. And you'll have to ask me to help, ask me politely too. I shan't then, said Philip. But in the end he had to, politely also. With pleasure, said Lucy, the moment he asked her, and he could see she had been making up what she should answer while he was making up his mind to ask. I shall be delighted to help you in this and all the other tasks. Say yes. Yes, said Philip, who was very hungry. In this and all the other tasks, say, In this and all the other tasks, he said, Go on, how can we do it? It's crochet, Lucy giggled. It's a little crochet mat I'd made of red wool, and I put it in the hall that night. You've just got to find the end and pull, and it all comes undone. You just want to find the end and pull. It's too heavy for us to pull. Well, said Lucy, who had certainly had time to think everything out, you get one of those twisty round things they pull boats out of the sea with, and I'll find the end while you're getting it. She ran up the steps, and Philip looked round the buildings on the other three sides of the square, to see if any one of them looked like a capstan shop, for he understood, as of course you also have done, that a capstan was what Lucy meant. On a building almost opposite he read, Navel Necessary Supply Company, and he ran across to it. Rather, said the secretary of the company, a plump sailor doll, when Philip had explained his needs, I'll send a dozen men over at once, only too proud to help Sir Philip, the navy is always keen on helping Valor and Beauty. I want to be brave, said Philip, but I'd rather not be beautiful. Of course not, said the secretary, and added surprisingly, I meant the Lady Lucy. Oh! said Philip. So twelve blue jackets and a capstan outside the Hall of Public Amusements were soon the centre of a cheering crowd. Lucy had found the end of the rope, and two sailors dragged it out and attached it to the capstan, and then, round and round, with a will and a breathless shanty, the carpet was swiftly unraveled. Dozens of eager helpers stood on the parts of the carpet which were not being unraveled, to keep it steady while the pulling went on. The news of Philip's success spread like wildfire through the city, and the crowds gathered thicker and thicker. The great doors beyond the pillars with the birds on them were thrown open, and Mr. Noah and the principal citizens stood there to see the end of the unraveling. Bravo! said everyone in tremendous enthusiasm, bravo, Sir Philip! It wasn't me, said Philip, difficulty, when the crowd paused for breath. It was Lucy sort of it. Bravo! Bravo! shouted the crowd louder than ever. Bravo for the Lady Lucy! Bravo for Sir Philip, the modest truth teller! Bravo, my dear! said Mr. Noah, waving his hat and thumping Lucy on the back. I'm awfully glad I thought of it, she said. That makes two deeds, Sir Philip's done, doesn't it? Two out of the seven. Yes, indeed! said Mr. Noah enthusiastically. I must make him a baronet now. His title will grow grander with each deed. There's an old prophecy that the person who finds out how to unravel the carpet must be the first to dance in the hall of public amusements. The clever one, the noble one, who makes the carpet come undone, shall be the first to dance a measure within the hall of public pleasure. I suppose public amusement was too difficult a rhyme, even for these highly skilled poets our astrologers. You, my child, seem to have been well inspired in your choice of a costume. Dance, then, my Lady Lucy, and let the prophecy be fulfilled. So all down the wide clear floor of the hall of public amusement Lucy danced, and the people of the city looked on and applauded. Philip with the rest. Chapter 6 The Lions in the Desert But why? asked Philip at dinner, which was no painted wonder of wooden make-believe but real roast guinea fowl and angel pudding.  Banquets are extremely important occasions, said Mr Noah, and real food, food that you can eat and enjoy, only serves to distract the mind from the serious affairs of life. Many of the most successful caterers in your world have grasped this great truth. But why? Lucy asked. Do you have the big silver bowls with nothing in them? Mr Noah sighed. Oh, the bowls are for dessert, he said. But there isn't any dessert in them, Lucy objected. No, said Mr Noah, sighing again. That's just it. There is no dessert. There has never been any dessert. Will you have a little more angel pudding? It was quite plain to Lucy and Philip that Mr Noah wished to change the subject, which for some reason was a sad one, and with true politeness they both said, Yes, please! to the angel pudding offer, though they had already had quite as much as they really needed. After dinner Mr Noah took them for a walk through the town to see the factories, he said. This surprised Philip, who had been taught not to build factories with his bricks because factories were so ugly. But the factories turned out to be pleasant, long, low houses, with tall French windows opening into gardens of roses, where people of all nations made beautiful and useful things, and loved making them. And all the people who were making them looked clean and happy. I wish we had factories like those, Philip said. Our factories are so ugly, Helen says so. That's because all your factories are money factories, said Mr Noah, though they're called by all sorts of different names. Everyone here has to make something that isn't just money or for money, something useful and beautiful. Even you, said Lucy, even I, said Mr Noah. What do you make? The question was bound to come. Laws, of course, Mr Noah answered in some surprise. Didn't you know I was the chief judge? But laws can't be useful and beautiful, can they? They can certainly be useful, said Mr Noah, and he added with modest pride, mine laws are beautiful. What do you think of this? Everybody must try to be kind to everybody else. Anyone who has been unkind must be sorry and say so. It seems all right, said Philip, but it's not exactly beautiful. Oh, don't you think so? said Mr Noah, a little hurt. It meant sound beautiful, perhaps. I never could write poetry, but it's quite beautiful when people do it. Oh, if you mean your laws are beautiful when they're kept, said Philip. Beautiful things can't be beautiful when they're broken, of course. Mr Noah explained. Not even laws. But ugly laws are only beautiful when they are broken. That's odd, isn't it? Laws are very tricky things. I say, Philip said suddenly as they climbed one of the steep flights of steps between trees in pots. Couldn't we do another of the deeds now? I don't feel as if I'd really done anything to-day at all. It was Lucy who did the carpet. Do tell us the next deed. The next deed, Mr Noah answered, will probably take some time. There's no reason why you should not begin it today, if you like. It is a deed peculiarly suited to a baronet. I don't know why, he added hastily. It may be that it is the only thing that baronets are good for. I shouldn't wonder. The existence of baronets, he added musingly, has always seemed to the thoughtful to lack justification. Perhaps this deed which you will begin today is the wise end to which baronets were designed. Yes, I dare say, said Philip. But what is the end? I don't know, Mr Noah owned, but I'll tell you what the deed is. You've got a journey to the land of the dwellers by the sea, and by any means that may commend itself to you, slay their fear. Philip naturally asked what the dwellers by the sea were afraid of. That you will learn from them, said Mr Noah, but it is a very great fear. Is it something we shall be afraid of too? Lucy asked. And Philip at once said, oh, then she really did mean to come, did she, but she wasn't to if she was afraid girls weren't expected to be brave. They are here, said Mr Noah. The girls are expected to be brave and the boy is kind. Oh, said Philip doubtfully. And Lucy said, of course I meant to come, you know you promised. So that was settled. And now, said Mr Noah, rubbing his hands with the cheerful air of one who has a great deal to do and is going to enjoy doing it, we must fit you out a proper expedition, for the dwellers by the sea are a very long way off. What would you like to ride on? A horse, said Philip truly pleased. He said horse, because he did not want to ride a donkey, and he had never seen anyone ride any animal but these two. That's right, Mr Noah said, patting him on the back. I was so afraid you'd ask for a bicycle. And there's a dreadful law here. It was made by mistake, but there it is, that if anyone asks for machinery they have to have it and to keep on using it. But as to a horse, well I'm not sure. You see you have to ride right across the pebbly waste and it's a good three days journey. But come along to the stables.  The long shed with stalls such as you had when you were little for your little wooden horses and carts. Only there were not only horses here, but every sort of animal that has ever been ridden on. Elephants, camels, donkeys, mules, bulls, goats, zebras, tortoises, ostriches, bisons and pigs.  His long white wings were folded neatly on his satin smooth back and how he and the stall got here was more than Philip could guess. All the others were Noah's Ark animals, alive of course, but still Noah's Arkie beyond possibility of mistake. But the hippogriff was not Noah's Ark at all. He came, Mr. Noah explained, out of a book, one of the books you used to build your city with. Can't we have him? Lucy said. He looks such a darling. And the hippogriff turned his white velvet nose and nuzzled against her in affectionate acknowledgement of the compliment. Not if you both go, Mr. Noah explained, he cannot carry more than one person at a time unless one is an earl. No, if I may advise, I should say go by camel. Can the camel carry two? Of course, he is called the ship of the desert, Mr. Noah informed them, and a ship that wouldn't carry more than one would be simply silly. So that was settled. Mr. Noah himself saddled and bridled the camel, which was a very large one, with his own hands. Let me see, he said, standing thoughtful with the lead rope in his hand. You'll be wanting dogs. I always want dogs, said Philip warmly, to use in emergencies. He whistled, and two Noah's Ark dogs leapt from their kennels to their chains end. They were dachshunds, very long and low, and very alike, except that one was a little bigger and a little browner than the other. This is your master, and that's your mistress. Mr. Noah explained to the dogs, and they fawned round the children. Then you'll want things to eat, and things to drink, and tents, and umbrellas, in case of bad weather, and—but let's turn down this street, just at the corner, we shall find exactly what we want. It was a shop that said outside, universal provider. Expeditions fitted out at a moment's notice, punctuality, and dispatch. The shopkeeper came forward politely. He was so exactly like Mr. Noah, that the children knew who he was, even before, he said, Well, Father. And Mr. Noah said, This is my son. He has had some experience in outfits. What have you got to start with? The son asked, getting to business at once. Two dogs, two children, and a camel. Said Mr. Noah. Yes, I know it's customary to have two of everything, but I assure you, my dear boy, that one camel is as much as Sir Philip can manage. It is indeed. Mr. Noah's son very dutifully supposed that his father knew best, and willingly agreed to provide everything that was needed for the expedition, including one best quality talking parrot. And to deliver all goods carefully packed within half an hour. So now you see Philip and Lucy, who still wore her fairy dress, packed with all their belongings on the top of a very large and wobbly camel. And being led out of the city by the usual procession, with seven bands of music, all playing See the Conquering Hero Goes. Quite a different tune from the one you know, which has a name a little like that. The camel and its load were rather a tight fit for the particular gateway that they happened to go out by, and the children had to stoop to avoid scraping their heads against the top of the arch. But they got through all right, and now they were well on the road, which was really little more than a field path running through the flowery meadow country where the dragon had been killed. They saw the Stonehenge ruins and the big tower far away to the left, and in front lay the vast and interesting expanse of the absolutely unknown. The sun was shining, there was a sun, and Mr. Noah had told the children that it came out of the poetry books, together with rain and flowers and the changing seasons. And in spite of the strange, almost tumble-know-it's-all-right-but-you-better-look-out way in which the camel walked, the two travellers were very happy. The dogs bounded along in the best of spirits, and even the camel seemed less of prey than usual to that proud melancholy which you must have noticed in your visits to the zoo as his most striking quality. It was certainly very grand to ride on a camel, and Lucy tried not to think how difficult it would be to get on and off. The parrot was interesting too, it talked extremely well. Of course you understand that if you can only make a parrot understand, it can tell you everything you want to know about other animals, because it understands their talk quite naturally and without being made. The present parrot declined ordinary conversation, and when questioned, only recited poetry of a rather dull kind that went on and on. It began, and then something about Horty Juno. Its voice was soothing, and riding on the camel was not unlike being rocked in a very bumpety cradle. The children were securely seated in things like padded panniers, and they had had an exciting day. As the sun set, which it did quite soon, the parrot called out to the nearest dog, I say, Max, they're asleep. I don't wonder, said Max, but it's all right, humped in those away.  Can't be crossed, darling, said the other dog, whose name was Brenda. And be sure you stop at a really first class o' eighties for the night, but I know we can trust you, dear. The camel muttered that it was all very well, but his voice was not quite as cross as before. After that the expedition went on in silence through the deepening twilight. A tumbling, shaking, dumping sensation, more like a soft railway accident than anything else, awakened our travellers, and they found that the camel was kneeling down. Off you come, said the parrot, and make the fire and boil the kettle. Polly put the kettle on. Lucy said absently as she slid down to the ground, to which the parrot replied, Certainly not. I wish you wouldn't rake up that old story. It was quite false. I never did put a kettle on, and I never will. Why should I describe to you the adventure of camping at an oasis in a desert? You must all have done it many times, or if you have not done it you have read about it. You know all about the well and the palm trees and the dates and things. They had cocoa for supper. It was great fun, and they slept soundly and awoke in the morning with a heart for any fate, as a respectable poet puts it. The next day was just the same as the first, only instead of going through fresh green fields, the way lay through dry yellow desert. And again the children slept, and again the camel chose an oasis with remarkable taste and judgment. But the second night was not at all the same as the first. For in the middle of it the parrot awakened Philip by biting his ear, and then hopping to a safe distance from his awakening fists, and crying out, Make up the camper, log alive, it's lions. The dogs were whining and barking, and Brenda was earnestly trying to climb a palm tree. Max faced the danger it is true, but he seemed to have no real love of sport. Philip sprang up and heaped dead palm scales and leaves on the dying fire. It blazed up, and something moved beyond the bushes. Philip wondered whether those pairs of shining things, like strayed stars, that he saw in the darkness, could really be the eyes of lions. What a nuisance these lions are, to be sure, said the parrot. No, they won't come near us while the fire's burning, but really they ought to be put down by law.  Lucy asked. She had wakened when Philip did, and after a meditative minute had helped with the palm scales and things. It's not so easy, said the parrot. Nobody knows how to do it.  I don't know, said Philip. But Lucy said, are they Noah's Ark lions? Of course they are, said Polly.  I know how you could kill Noah's Ark lions if you could catch them, Lucy said. It's easy enough to catch them, said Polly, and hour after dawn they go to sleep, but its unsportsman like to kill game when it's asleep. I'm going to think, if you don't mind, Lucy announced, and sat down very near the fire. It's just the opposite of the dragon, she said after a minute. The parrot nodded and there was a long silence. Then suddenly Lucy jumped up. I know, she cried. Oh, I really do know, and it won't hurt them either. I don't mind a bit killing things, but I do hate hurting them. There's plenty of rope, I know. There was. Then when it's dawn, we'll tie them up and then you'll see. I think you might tell me, said Philip, injured. No, they may understand what we say, Polly does. Philip made a natural suggestion, but Lucy replied that it was not manners to whisper, and the parrot said that it should think not indeed. So, sitting by the fire, all faces turned to where those strange twin stars shone, and those strange hidden movements and rustling stirred, the expedition waited for the dawn. Brenda had given up the tree-climbing idea, and was cuddling up as close to Lucy as possible. The camel, who had been trembling with fear all the while, tried to cuddle up to Lucy. Which would have been easier if it had been a smaller kind, instead of being as it was what Mr. Noah's son, the universal provider, had called an outsize in camels. And presently dawn came. Not slow and silvery as dawns come here, but sudden and red with strong level lights, and the shadows of the palm trees stretching all across the desert. In broad daylight it did not seem so hard to have to go and look for the lions. They all went, even the camel pulled himself together to join the lion-hunt, and Brenda herself decided to come, rather than be left alone. The lions were easily found. There were only two of them, of course, and they were lying close together, each on its tawny side, on the sandy desert at the edge of the oasis. Very gently the ropes with slip-knots were fitted over their heads, and the other end of the rope passed round a palm tree. Other ropes round the trees were passed round what would have been the wastes of the lions, if lions had such things as wastes. Now, whispered Lucy, and at once all four ropes were pulled tight. The lions struggled, but only in their sleep, and soon they were still. Then with more and more ropes their legs and tails were made fast. And that's all right, said Lucy, rather out of breath. Where's Polly? Here, replied that bird from a neighbouring bush. I thought I should only be in the way if I kept close to you, but I longed to lend a claw in such good work. Can I help now? Will you please explain to the dogs? said Lucy. It's their turn now.  Polly hastened to explain to the dogs, and then turned again to Lucy. They asked if your sure the ropes will hold, and I've told them of course, so now they're going to begin. I only hope the paint won't make them ill. It never did me, said Lucy.  Tasted of sugar a little, and eucalyptus oil like they give you when you've got a cold. Tell them that, Polly. Polly did, and added, I will recite poetry to them to hearten them to their task. Do, said Philip heartily, it may make them hurry up, but perhaps you'd better tell them that we shall pinch their tails if they happen to go to sleep. Then the children had a cocoa and date breakfast. All expeditions seem to live mostly on cocoa, and when they come back, they often write to the cocoa makers to say how good it was, and they don't know what they would have done without it. And the noble and devoted dogs licked, and licked, and licked, and the paint began to come off the lion's legs like anything. It was heavy work turning the lion's over, so as to get at the other or unlicked side, but the expedition worked with a will, and the lion's resisted, but feebly being still asleep, and besides weak from loss of paint. And the dogs had a drink given them, and were patted and praised, and set to work again. And they licked, and licked, for hours and hours. And in the end all the paint was off the lion's legs, and Philip chopped them off with the explorer's axe, which that experienced provider, Mr. Noah's son, had thoughtfully included in the outfit of the expedition. And as he chopped, the chips flew, and Lucy picked one up, and it was wood, just wood, and nothing else. Though when they had tied it up, it had been real writhing, resisting lion leg, and no mistake. And when all the legs were chopped off, Philip put his hand on a lion body, and that was wood too. So the lions were dead indeed. It seems a pity, he said. Lions are such jolly beasts when they are alive. I never cared for lions myself, said Polly. And Lucy said, Never mind, Phil. It didn't hurt them anyway. And that was the first time she ever called him Phil. All right, Lou, said Philip. It was jolly clever of you to think of it anyhow. And that was the first time he ever called her Lou. They saw the straight pale line of the sea for a long time, before they came to the place of the dwellers by the sea. For these people had built their castle down on the very edge of the sea, and the pebbly waste rose and rose to a mountain that hid their castle from the eyes of the camel riders, who were now drawing near to the scene of their next deed. The pebbly waste was all made of small slippery stones, and the children understood how horrid a horse would have found it. Even the camel went very slowly, and the dogs no longer frisked and bounded, but went at a foot-space with drooping ears and tails. I should call a halt if I were you, said Polly. We shall all be the better for a cup of cocoa, and besides— Polly refused to explain this dark hint, and only added, Look out for surprises! I thought, said Philip, draining the last of his second mug of cocoa. I thought there were no birds in the desert except you. And you're more a person than a bird, but look there! Far away across the desert a moving speck showed high up in the blue air. It grew bigger and bigger, plainly coming towards the camp. It was as big as a moth now, now as big as a teacup, now as big as an eagle, and— But it's got four legs, said Lucy. Yes, said the parrot. It would have, you know. It is the hippogriff. It was indeed that magnificent wonder. Flying through the air with long sweeps of his great white wings, the hippogriff drew nearer and nearer, bearing on his back. What? It's the pretenderette! cried Lucy. And at the same moment Philip said, It's that nasty motor thing! It was. The hippogriff dropped from the sky to the desert below, as softly as a butterfly alighting on a flower, and stood there in all his gracious whiteness. And on his back was the veiled motorlady.  She said in that hateful voice of hers, Now we can go on together. I don't see what you wanted to come at all for, said Philip downrightly. No, don't you? She said, sitting up there on the hippogriff, with her horrid motor veil fluttering in the breeze from the now hidden sea. Why, of course, I have a right to be present at all experiments. There ought to be some responsible grown-up person to see that you really do what you're sure to say you've done. Do you mean that we're liars? Philip asked hotly. I don't mean to say anything about it. The pretenderette answered with an unpleasant giggle, but a grown-up person ought to be present. She added something about a parcel of birds and children, and the parrot ruffled his feathers till he looked twice his proper size. Philip said he didn't see it. Oh, but I do! said the pretenderette. If you fail, then it's my turn, and I might very likely succeed the minute after you'd failed.  Won't that be nice? A speechless despair seemed to have fallen on the party. Nobody spoke. The children looked blank, the dogs whined, the camel put on his haughtiest sneer, and the parrot fidgeted in his fluffed-out feather-dress. Let's be starting, said the motor-lady. A shiver ran through every one present, that a pretenderette should dare to speak so to a hippogriff. Suddenly the parrot spread its wings and flew to perch on Philip's shoulder. It whispered in his ear. Whispering is not manners, I know, it said, but your own generous heart will excuse me. Parcel of birds and children, doesn't your blood boil? Philip thought it did. Well, then, said the bird impatiently, what are we waiting for? You've only got to say the word, and I'll take her back by the ear. I wish you would, said Philip from the heart. Nothing easier, said the parrot, the miserable outsider intruding into our expedition. I advise you to await my return here, or if I'm not back by the morning there will be no objection to your calling about noon on the dwellers. I can rejoin you there. Goodbye. It stroked his ear with a gentle and kindly beak, and flew into the air and circled three times round the detested motorlady's head. Get away! she cried, flapping her hands furiously.  And then she screamed, oh, it's got hold of my ear. Oh, don't hurt her, said Lucy. I will not hurt her. The parrot let the ear go on purpose to say this, and the pretenderette covered both ears with her hands. Your person in the veil, I shall take hold again in a moment, and it will hurt you much less if the hippogriff and I happen to be flying in the same direction. See?  Don't think of getting off. If you do, the dogs will have you. Keep your hands of your ears if you like. I know you can hear me well enough. Now I'm going to take hold of you again. Keep your hands where they are. I'm not particular to an ear or so. A nose will do just as well. The person on the hippogriff put both hands to her nose. Instantly the parrot had her again by the ear. Back the way you came, she cried, but I'll be even with you children yet. The hippogriff did not move. Let go! screamed the lady. You'll have to say please, you know, said Philip. Not to the bird, I don't mean that. That's no good, but to the hippogriff. Please, then! said the lady in a burst of temper, and instantly the white wings parted and spread, and the hippogriff rose in the air. Polly let the ear go for the moment to say, I shan't hurt her so long as she behaves.  What a treasure of a parrot, said Philip. But Lucy said, who is that pretender yet? Why is she so horrid to us when everyone else is so nice? I don't know, said Philip, hateful old thing. I can't help feeling as if I knew her quite well, if I could only remember who she is. Do you? said Philip. I say, let's play noughts and crosses. I've got a notebook and a bit of pencil in my pocket. We might play till it's time to go to sleep. So they played noughts and crosses on the pebbly waist, and behind them the parrot and the hippogriff took away the tiresome one, and in front of them lay the high pebble ridge that was like a mountain, and beyond that was the unknown and the adventure and the dwellers and the deed to be done. End of Chapter 6 Recording by Ruth Golding Chapter 7 of The Magic City This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Ruth Golding The Magic City by E. Nesbitt Chapter 7 The Dwellers by the Sea You soon get used to things. It seemed quite natural and home-like to Philip to be wakened in bright early out-of-doors morning by the gentle beak of the parrot at his ear. You got back all right then? he said sleepily. It was rather a long journey, said the parrot, but I thought it better to come back by wing. The hippogriff offered to bring me. He is the soul of Curtis gentleness, but he was tired too. The pretenderette is in jail for the moment, but I'm afraid she'll get out again. We're so unused to having prisoners, you see, and it's no use putting her on her honor because... Because she hasn't any, Philip finished. I wouldn't say that, said the parrot, of anybody. I'd only say we haven't come across it. What about breakfast? How meals do keep happening, said Lucy yawning. It seems only a few minutes since supper, and yet here we are hungry again. Ah! said the parrot. That's what people always feel when they have to get their meals themselves. When the camel and the dogs had been served with breakfast, the children and the parrot sat down to eat, and there were many questions to ask. The parrot answered some, and some it didn't answer. But there's one thing, said Lucy, I do most awfully want to know about the hippogriff. How did it get out of the book? It's a long story, said the parrot. So I'll tell it shortly. That's a very good rule. Tell short stories longly, and long stories shortly. Many years ago, in repairing one of the buildings, the masons removed the supports of one of the books which are part of the architecture. The book fell, it fell open, and out came the hippogriff. Then they saw something struggling under the next page, and lifted it, and out came a megatherium. So they shut the book and built it into the wall again. But how did the megawatts its name in the hippogriff come to be the proper size? Ah! That's one of the 11 mysteries. Some sages suppose that the country gave itself a sort of shake, and everything settled down into the size it ought to be. I think myself that it's the air. The moment you breathe this enchanted air, you become the right size. You did, you know.  It was a book of beasts. Who knows what might have come out next? A tiger perhaps, and a ravening for its prey as likely as not. I see, said Philip, and of course beasts weren't really needed because of their being all the Noah's Ark ones. Yes, said the parrot.  But the weather came out of books? That was another book, a poetry book. It had only one cover, so everything that was on the last page got out naturally. We got a lot out of that page, rain and sun and sky and clouds, mountains, gardens, roses, lilies, flowers in general. Blossoms of delight, they were called in the book, and trees and the sea and the desert and silver and iron, as much of all of them as anybody could possibly want. There are no limits to poets' imaginations, you know. I see, said Lucy, and took a large bite of cake. And where did you come from, Polly dear? I, said the parrot modestly, came out of the same book as the hippogriff. We were on the same page. My wings entitled me to associate with him, of course. But I sometimes thought they just put me in as a contrast. My smallness, his greatness, my red and green, his white. I see, said Lucy again, and please will you tell us enough of this? said the parrot, business before pleasure. You have begun the day with the pleasures of my conversation. You will have to work very hard to pay for this privilege. So they washed up the breakfast things in warm water, obligingly provided by the camel.  I wonder, Brenda said to Max in an undertone, I wonder whether it wouldn't be best for dear little dogs to lose themselves. We could turn up later and be so very glad to be found. What why? Max asked. I've noticed, said Brenda, sidling up to him with eager affectionateness, that wherever there's fear there's something to be afraid of, even if it's only your fancy. It would be dreadful for dear little dogs to be afraid, Max. Wouldn't it? So undignified. My dear, said Max heavily, I could give seven noble reasons for being faithful to our master, but I will only give you one. There is nothing to eat in the desert and nothing to drink. You always were so noble, dearest, said Brenda, so different from poor little me. I've only my affectionate nature.  So when the camel lurched forward and the parrot took wing, the dogs followed closely. Dear faithful things, said Lucy, Brenda, Max, nice dogs. And the dogs politely responding, bounded enthusiastically. The journey was not long. Quite soon they found a sort of ravine or gully in the cliff, and a path that led through it, and then they were on the beach, very pebbly with small stones, and there was the home of the dwellers by the sea, and beyond it, broad and blue and beautiful, the sea by which they dwelt. The dwelling seemed to be a sort of town of rounded buildings, more like lime kilns than anything else, with arched doors leading to dark insides. They were all built of tiny stones, such as lay on the beach. Beyond the huts or houses towered the castle, a vast rough structure, with towers and arches and buttresses and bastions, and glaciers and bridges, and a great moat all round it. But I never built a city like that, did you?" Lucy asked, as they drew near. No, Philip answered. At least, do you know, I do believe it's the sandcastle Helen and I built last summer at Dimchurch. And those huts are the moulds I made of my pale with the edges worn off, you know. Towards the castle the travellers advanced, the camel lurching like a boat on a rough sea, and the dogs going with cat-like delicacy over the stones. They skirted large pools and tall rocks, seaweed-covered. Along a road broad enough for twelve chariots to have driven on it abreast, slowly they came to the great gate of the castle. And as they got nearer they saw at every window, heads leaning out. Every battlement, every terrace, was crowded with figures. And when they were quite near, by throwing their heads very far back, so that their necks felt quite stiff for a long time afterwards, the children could see that all those people seemed quite young, and seemed to have very odd and delightful clothes. Just a garment from shoulder to knee made as it seemed of dark fur. What lots of them there are, said Philip. Where did they come from? Out of a book, said the parrot. But the authorities were very prompt that time. Only a line and a half got out. Happy troops of gentle islanders. Those are the islanders. Then why, asked Philip, naturally, aren't they on an island? There's only one island, and no one is allowed on that except two people who never go there. But the islanders are happy, even if they don't live on an island. Always happy, except for the great fear. Here the travellers began to cross one of the bridges across the moat. The bridge, in fact, which led to the biggest arch of all. It was a very rough arch, like the entrance to a cave. And from out its dark mouth came a little crowd of people. Their savages, said Lucy, shrinking till she seemed only an extra hump on the camel's back. They were indeed of a dark complexion, sunburnt, in fact, but their faces were handsome and kindly. They waved friendly hands, and smiled in the most agreeable and welcoming way. The tallest islander stepped out from the crowd. He was about as big as Philip. They're not savages, said Philip.  They're just children. Hush, said the parrot. The Lord High Islander is now about to begin the state address of welcome. He was, and this was the address. How jolly of you to come! Do get down off that camel and come indoors and have some grub. Jim, you might take that camel round to the stable and rub him down a bit. You'd like to keep the dogs with you, of course. And what about the parrot? Thanks awfully, Philip responded, and slid off the camel, followed by Lucy. The parrot will make his own mind up. He always does. They all trooped into the hall of the castle, which was more like a cave than a hall, and very dark, for the windows were little and high up. As Lucy's eyes got used to the light, she perceived that the clothes of the islanders were not of skins, but of seaweed. I asked you in, said the Lord High Islander, a jolly-looking boy of about Philip's age, out of politeness, but really it isn't dinner time, and the meat is in half an hour, so unless you're really hungry, the children said, Not at all. You hunt, of course, the Lord High Islander said. It's really the only sport we get here, except fishing. Of course we'd play games and all that. I do hope you won't be dull. We came here on business. The parrot remarked, and the happy islanders crowded round to see him, remarking, These are Philip and Lucy, claimants to the deliverership. They are doing their deeds, you know. The parrot ended. Lucy whispered, It's really Philip who is the claimant, not me. Only the parrot's so polite. The Lord High Islander frowned. We can talk about that afterwards, he said. It's a pity to waste time now. What do you hunt? Philip asked. All the different kinds of grey beastie and the verteo blanks, and the blue grey wee when we can find him, said the Lord High Islander, but he is very scarce. Pink huggers are more common, and much bigger, of course. Well, you'll soon see. If your camel's not quite fresh, I can mount you both. What kind of animal do you prefer? What do you ride? Philip asked. It appeared that the Lord High Islander rode a giraffe, and Philip longed to ride another. But Lucy said she would rather ride what she was used to, thank you. When they got out into the courtyard of the castle, they found it full of a crowd of animals, any of which you may find in the zoo, or in your old Noah's Ark, if it was a sufficiently expensive one to begin with, and if you have not broken or lost too many of the inhabitants. Each animal had its rider, and the party rode out onto the beach. What is it they hunt? Philip asked the parrot, who had perched on his shoulder. All the little animals in the Noah's Ark that haven't any names, the parrot told him. All those are considered fair game. Hello, blue grey wee! It shouted, as a little grey beast with blue spots started from the shelter of a rock, and made for the cover of a patch of giant seaweed. Then all sorts of little animals got up and scurried off into places of security. There goes a verto-blank! said the parrot, pointing to a bright green animal of uncertain shape, whose breast and paws were white. There's a grey beastie! The grey beastie was about as big as a fox, and had rabbit's ears and the unusual distinction of a tail coming out of his back, just half way between one end of him and the other. But there are grey beasties of all sorts and shapes. You know when people are making the animals for Noah's Ark, they make the big ones first, elephants and lions and tigers and so on, and paint them as nearly as they can the right colors. Then they get weary of copying nature, and begin to paint the animals pink and green and chocolate color, which in nature is not the case. These are the chalk monks and verto-blanks and the pinkuggers. And presently the makers get sick of the whole business, and make the animals any sort of shape, and paint them all one grey. These are the grey beasties. And at the very end a guilty feeling of having been slackers comes over the makers of the Noah's Ark's, and they paint blue spots on the last and littlest of the grey beasties to ease their consciences. This is the blue grey wee. Tally-o! Ha! Forad! Yoics! were some of the observations now to be heard on every side as the hunts swept on the blue grey wee well ahead. Dogs yapped, animals galloped, riders shouted, the sun shone, the seas sparkled, and far ahead the blue grey wee ran extended to his full length like a grey straight line. He was killed five miles from the castle after a splendid run.  We only hunt to kill and we only kill for food, the Lord High Islander said. But, said Philip, I thought Noah's Ark animals turned into wood when they were dead. Not if you kill for food, the intention makes all the difference. I had a plum cake intention when we put up the blue grey wee, the pinkugger I made a bread and butter intention about, and the grey beasties I intended for rice pudding and prunes and toffee and ices and all sorts of odd things. So, of course, when we come to cut them up they'll be what I intended. I see, said Philip, jogging along on his camel. I say, he added, you don't mind my asking, how is it your old children here? Well, said the Lord High Islander, it's ancient history so I don't suppose it's true. But they say that when the government had to make sure that we should always be happy troops of gentle islanders, they decided that the only way was for us to be children. And we do have the most ripping time. And we do our own hunting and cooking and wash up our own plates and things. And for heavy work we have the MAs. They're men who've had to work at sums and history and things at college so hard that they want holiday. So they come here and work for us. And if any of us do want to learn anything, the MAs are handy to have about the place. It pleases them to teach anything, poor things. They live in the huts. It's always a long list waiting for their turn. Oh yes, they wear the sea we dress the same as we do. And they hunt on Tuesdays, Thursdays and Saturdays. They hunt big game, the fierce amber grease who is grey with a yellow stomach and the bigger grey beasties. Now we'll have dinner the minute we get in and then we must talk about it. The game was skinned and cut up in the courtyard, and the intentions of the Lord High Islander had certainly been carried out, for the blue-gray we was plum-cake, and the other animals just what was needed. And after dinner the Lord High Islander took Lucy and Philip up onto the top of the highest tower, and the three lay in the sun, eating toffee and gazing out over the sea at the faint distant blue of the island. The island where we aren't allowed to go, as the Lord High Islander sadly pointed out. Now, said Lucy gently, you won't mind telling us what you're afraid of? Don't mind telling us? We're afraid too. We're afraid of all sorts of things quite often. Speak for yourself, said Philip, but not unkindly. I'm not so jolly often afraid, as you seem to think.  You might as well call me Billy, said the Lord High Islander. It's my name. Well, Billy then, what is it you're afraid of? I hate being afraid, said Billy angrily. Of course I know no true boy is afraid of anything except doing wrong. One of the MAs told me that, but the MAs are afraid too. What of? Lucy asked, glancing at the terrace below, where already the shadows were lengthening. It'll be getting dark soon. I'd much rather know what you're afraid of while it's daylight. What we're afraid of, said Billy abruptly, is the sea. Suppose a great wave came and washed away the castle, and the huts, and the MAs, and all of us. But it never has, has it? Lucy asked. No, but everything must have a beginning. I know that's true, because another of the MAs told it me. But why don't you go and live somewhere in land? Because we couldn't live away from the sea. We're islanders, you know. We couldn't bear not to be near the sea, and we'd rather be afraid of it than not have it to be afraid of. But it upsets the government because we ought to be happy troops of gentle islanders, and you can't be quite happy if you're afraid. That's why it's one of your deeds to take away our fear. It sounds jolly difficult, said Philip. I shall have to think, he added desperately. So he lay and thought, with Max and Brenda asleep by his side, and the parrot preening its bright feathers on the parapet of the tower, while Lucy and the Lord High Islander played cat's cradle with a long thread of seaweed. It's supper time, said Billy at last. Have you thought of anything? Not a single thing, said Philip. Well, don't swat over it any more, said Billy. Just stay with us and have a jolly time. You're sure to think of something, or else Lucy will. We'll act charrards tonight. They did. The rest of the islanders were an extremely jolly lot, and all the MAs came out of their huts to be audience. It was a charming evening, and ended up with hide-and-seek all over the castle. To wake next morning on a bed of soft, dry, sweet-smelling seaweed, and to know that the day was to be spent in having a good time with the jolliest set of children she had ever met, was delightful to Lucy. Philip's delight was dashed by the knowledge that he must, sooner or later, think. But the day passed most agreeably. They all bathed in the rock pools, picked up shellfish for dinner, played rounders in the afternoon, and in the evening danced to the music made by the MAs, who most of them carried flutes in their pockets, and who were all very flattered at being asked to play. So the pleasant days went on. Every morning Philip said to himself, Now today I really must think of something. And every night he said, I really ought to have thought of something. But he never could think of anything to take away the fear of the gentle islanders. It was on the sixth night that the storm came. The wind blew, and the sea roared, and the castle shook to its very foundations. And Philip, awakened by the noise and the shaking, sat up in bed, and understood what the fear was that spoiled the happiness of the dwellers by the sea. Suppose the sea did sweep us all away, he said, and they haven't even got a boat. And then, when he was quite far from expecting it, he did think of something. And he went on thinking about it so hard that he couldn't sleep any more. And in the morning he said to the parrot, I've thought of something, and I'm not going to tell the others, but I can't do it all by myself. Do you think you could get Perrin for me? I will try with pleasure," replied the obliging bird, and flew off without further speech. That afternoon, just as a picnic tea was ending, a great shadow fell on the party, and next moment the hippogriff alighted with Mr. Perrin and the parrot on its back. Oh, thank you," said Philip, and led Mr. Perrin away and began to talk to him in whispers. No, sir, Mr. Perrin answered suddenly and allowed, I'm sorry, but I couldn't think of it. Don't you know how? Philip asked. I know everything as is to be known in my trade, said Mr. Perrin, but carpentry's one thing and manners is another. Not but what I know manners too, which is why I won't be a party to know such a thing. But you don't understand," said Philip, trying to keep up with Mr. Perrin's long strides. What I want to do is for you to build a Noah's Ark on the top of the highest tower. Then, when the sea's rough and the wind blows, all the seadwellers can just get into their Ark, and then they'll be quite safe whatever happens. You said all that afore," said Mr. Perrin, and I wonder at you, so I do. I thought it was such a good idea," said poor Philip in gloom. Oh, the idea's all right," said Mr. Perrin. There ain't nothing to complain of about the idea. Then what is wrong? Philip asked impatiently. You've come to the wrong shop," said Mr. Perrin slowly. I ain't the man to take away another chap's job, not if he was to be in the humblest way of business. But when it comes to slapping the government in the face, well there, Master Pip, I wouldn't have thought it of you. It's as much as my place is worth. Look here," said Philip, stopping short in despair. Will you tell me straight out why you won't help me? I'm not going to go building arcs at my time of life," said Mr. Perrin, Mr. Norwood break his old heart, so he would if I was to take on his job over his head. Oh, you mean I ought to ask him? Of course you ought to ask him. I don't mind lending a hand under his directions, acting as forum and like, so as to make a good job of it. But it's him you must give your order to. The parrot and the hippogriff between them managed to get Mr. Noah to the castle by noon of the next day. Would you have minded? Philip immediately asked him, if I'd had an arc built without asking you to do it. Well, said Mr. Noah mildly, I might have been a little hurt. I have had some experience, you know, my lord. Why do you call me that, Philip asked? Because you are, of course.  I congratulate you, lord Leo," said Mr. Noah. He approved of Philip's idea, and he and Perrin were soon busy making plans, calculating strains and selecting materials. Then Philip made a speech to the islanders and explained his idea. There was a great deal of cheering and shouting, and everyone agreed that an arc on the topmost tower would meet a long felt want, and that when once that arc was there, fear would forever be a stranger to every gentle island heart. And now the great work of building began. Mr. Perrin kindly consented to act as foreman, and set to work a whole army of workmen, the MAs, of course. And soon the sound of soar and hammer mingled with the plash of waves and cries of seabirds, and gangs of stalwart MAs in their seaweed tunics, bent themselves to the task of shaping great timbers, and hoisting them to the top of the highest tower, where other gangs under Mr. Noah's own eye reared a scaffolding to support the arc while the building went on. The children were not allowed to help, but they loved looking on, and almost felt that if they looked on earnestly enough, they must in some strange, mysterious way be actually helping. You know the feeling, I dare say. The hippogriff, who was stabled in the castle, flew up to wherever he was wanted to assist in the hauling. Mr. Noah only had to whisper the magic word in his ear, and up he flew. But what that magic word was, the children did not know, though they asked often enough. And now at last the arc was finished, the scaffolding was removed, and there was the great Noah's arc, planted firmly on the topmost tower. It was a perfect example of the arc builder's craft. Its boat part was painted a dull red, its sides and ends were blue with black windows, and its roof was bright scarlet painted in lines to imitate tiles. No least detail was neglected, even to the white bird painted on the roof, which you must have noticed in your own Noah's arc. A great festival was held, speeches were made, and everyone who had lent a hand in the building, even the humblest MA, was crowned with a wreath of fresh pink and green seaweed. Songs were sung, and the laureate of the sea-dwellers, a young MA with pale blue eyes and no chin, recited an ode, beginning, Now that we have our noble arc, no more we tremble in the dark, when the great seas and the winds cry out, for we are safe without a doubt. At undue risings of the tide within our arc we'll safely hide, and bless the names of those who thus have built a painted arc for us. There were three hundred and seventeen more lines, very much like these, and everyone said it was wonderful, and the laureate was a genius, and how did he do it, and what brains, eh, and things like that. And Philip and Lucy had crowns too. The Lord High Islander made a vote of thanks to Philip, who modestly replied that it was nothing really, and anybody could have done it. And a spirit of gladness spread about among the company, so that everyone was smiling and shaking hands with everybody else. And even the MA's were making little polite old jokes, and slapping each other on the back, and calling each other old chap, which was not at all their habit in ordinary life. The whole castle was decorated with garlands of pink and green seaweed, like the wreaths that people were wearing, and the whole scene was the gayest and happiest you can imagine. And then the dreadful thing happened. Philip and Lucy were standing in their seaweed tunics, for of course they had since the first day worn the costume of the country, on the platform in the courtyard. Mr. Noah had just said, Well then, we will enjoy this enjoyable day to the very end, and return to the city tomorrow, when a shadow fell on the group. It was the hippogriff, and on its back was someone. Before anyone could see who that someone was, the hippogriff had flown low enough for that someone to catch Philip by his seaweed tunic, and to swing him off his feet and onto the hippogriff's back. Lucy screamed. Mr. Perrin said, I say none of that. And Mr. Noah said, Dear me. And they all reached out their hands to pull Philip back, but they were all too late. I won't go, put me down. Philip shouted. They all heard that. And also they heard the answer of the person on the hippogriff, the person who had snatched Philip onto its back. Oh, won't you, my lord, we'll soon see about that, the person said. Three people there knew that voice, four counting Philip, six counting the dogs. The dogs barked and growled. Mr. Noah said, Drop it! And Lucy screamed, Oh, not pretendorette! The parrot, with great presence of mind, flew up into the air and attacked the ear of the pretendorette, for as old books say, it was indeed that unprincipled character who had broken from prison, and once more stolen the hippogriff. But the pretendorette was not to be caught twice by the same parrot. She was ready for the bird this time, and as it touched her ear, she caught it in her motor-vail, which she must have loosened beforehand, and thrust it into a wicker cage that hung ready from the saddle of the hippogriff, who hovered on his wide white wings above the crowd of faces upturned. Now we shall see her face, Lucy sought, for she could not get rid of the feeling that if she could only see the pretendorette's face, she would recognise it. But the pretendorette was too wily to look down, unveiled. She turned her face up, and she must have whispered the magic word, for the hippogriff rose in the air, and began to fly away with incredible swiftness across the sea. Oh, what shall I do? cried Lucy, ringing her hands. You have often heard of people ringing their hands. Lucy, I assure you, really did ring hers. Oh, Mr. Noah, what will she do with him? Where will she take him? What shall I do? How can I find him again? I deeply regret, my dear child, said Mr. Noah, that I find myself quite unable to answer any single one of your questions. But can't I go after him? Lucy persisted. I am sorry to say, said Mr. Noah, that we have no boats. The pretendorette has stolen our one and only hippogriff, and none of our camels can fly. But what can I do? Lucy stamped her foot in her agony of impatience. Nothing, my child, Mr. Noah aggravatingly replied. Accept to go to bed and get a good night's rest. Tomorrow we will return to the city and see what can be done. We must consult the oracle. But can't we go now? said Lucy, crying. No oracle is worth consulting till it's had its night's rest, said Mr. Noah. It is a three days journey. If we started now, see it is already dusk. We shall arrive in the middle of the night. We will start early in the morning. But early in the morning there was no starting from the castle of the dwellers by the sea. There was indeed no one to start, and there was no castle to start from. A young blue-gray wee peeping out of its hole after a rather disturbed night to see whether any human beings were yet stirring, or whether it might venture out in search of yellow periwinkles which are its favourite food, started, pricked its spotted ears, looked again, and, disdaining the cover of the rocks, walked boldly out across the beach. For the beach was deserted. There was no one there. No, Mr. Noah, no Lucy, no gentle islanders, no M.A.'s. And what is more, there were no huts, and there was no castle. All was smooth, plain, bare sea-combed beach. For the sea had at last risen. The fear of the dwellers had been justified. Whether the sea had been curious about the ark, no one knows, no one will ever know. At any rate the sea had risen up, and swept away from the beach every trace of the castle, the huts, and the folk who had lived there. A bright parrot with a stream of motor-veiling hanging to one claw, called suddenly from the clear air to the little blue-gray wee. What's up? the parrot asked. Where's everything got to? I don't know, I'm sure, said the little blue-gray wee. These human things are always coming and going. Have some periwinkles? They're very fine this morning after the storm. It's said. End of Chapter 7, Recording by Ruth Golding