Enchanted Castle and Five Children and It (Barnes & Noble Classics Series) (52 page)

“Heads below!” called Kathleen, and down came walking-sticks and golf-sticks and hockey-sticks and broom-sticks, rattling and chattering to each other as they came.

“Come on,” said Jimmy.

“Hold on a bit,” said Gerald. “I’m coming up.” He caught the edge of the hole above in his hands and jumped. Just as he got his shoulders through the opening and his knees on the edge he heard Kathleen’s boots on the floor of the dinosaurus’s inside, and Kathleen’s voice saying:

“Isn’t it jolly cool in here? I suppose statues are always cool. I do wish I was a statue. Oh! ”

The “oh” was a cry of horror and anguish. And it seemed to be cut off very short by a dreadful stony silence.

“What’s up?” Gerald asked. But in his heart he knew. He climbed up into the great hollow. In the little light that came up through the hole he could see something white against the grey of the creature’s sides. He felt in his pockets, still kneeling, struck a match, and when the blue of its flame changed to clear yellow he looked up to see what he had known he would see—the face of Kathleen, white, stony, and lifeless. Her hair was white, too, and her hands, clothes, shoes—everything was white, with the hard, cold whiteness of marble. Kathleen had her wish: she was a statue. There was a long moment of perfect stillness in the inside of the dinosaurus. Gerald could not speak. It was too sudden, too terrible. It was worse than anything that had happened yet. Then he turned and spoke down out of that cold, stony silence to Jimmy, in the green, sunny, rustling, live world outside.

 

Kathleen had her wish: she was a statue

“Jimmy,” he said, in tones perfectly ordinary and matter of fact, “Kathleen’s gone and said that ring was a wishing-ring. And so it was, of course. I see now what she was up to, running like that. And then the young duffer went and wished she was a statue.”

“And she is?” asked Jimmy, below.

“Come up and have a look,” said Gerald. And Jimmy came, partly with a pull from Gerald and partly with a jump of his own.

“She’s a statue, right enough,” he said, in awestruck tones. “Isn’t it awful!”

“Not at all,” said Gerald firmly. “Come on—let’s go and tell Mabel.”

To Mabel, therefore, who had discreetly remained with her long length screened by rhododendrons, the two boys returned and broke the news. They broke it as one breaks a bottle with a pistol-shot.

“Oh, my goodness!” said Mabel, and writhed through her long length so that the leaves and fern tumbled off in little showers, and she felt the sun suddenly hot on the backs of her legs. “What next? Oh, my goodness!”

“She’ll come all right,” said Gerald, with outward calm.

“Yes; but what about me?” Mabel urged. “I haven’t got the ring. And my time will be up before hers is. Couldn’t you get it back? Can’t you get it off her hand? I’d put it back on her hand the very minute I was my right size again—faithfully I would.”

“Well, it’s nothing to blub about,” said Jimmy, answering the sniffs that had served her in this speech for commas and full-stops; “not for you, anyway.”

“Ah! you don’t know,” said Mabel; “you don’t know what it is to be as long as I am. Do—do try and get the ring. After all, it is my ring more than any of the rest of yours, anyhow, because I did find it, and I did say it was magic.”

The sense of justice always present in the breast of Gerald awoke to this appeal.

“I expect the ring’s turned to stone—her boots have, and all her clothes. But I’ll go and see. Only if I can‘t, I can’t, and it’s no use your making a silly fuss.”

The first match lighted inside the dinosaurus showed the ring dark on the white hand of the Statuesque Kathleen.

The fingers were stretched straight out. Gerald took hold of the ring, and, to his surprise, it slipped easily off the cold, smooth marble finger.

“I say, Cathy, old girl, I am sorry,” he said, and gave the marble hand a squeeze. Then it came to him that perhaps she could hear him. So he told the statue exactly what he and the others meant to do. This helped to clear up his ideas as to what he and the others did mean to do. So that when, after thumping the statue hearteningly on its marble back, he returned to the rhododendrons, he was able to give his orders with the clear precision of a born leader, as he later said. And since the others had, neither of them, thought of any plan, his plan was accepted, as the plans of born leaders are apt to be.

“Here’s your precious ring,” he said to Mabel. “Now you’re not frightened of anything, are you?”

“No,” said Mabel, in surprise. “I’d forgotten that. Look here, I’ll stay here or farther up in the wood if you’ll leave me all the coats, so that I sha’n’t be cold in the night. Then I shall be here when Kathleen comes out of the stone again.”

“Yes,” said Gerald, “that was exactly the born leader’s idea.” “You two go home and tell Mademoiselle that Kathleen’s staying at the Towers. She is.”

“Yes,” said Jimmy, “she certainly is.”

“The magic goes in seven-hour lots,” said Gerald; “your invisibility was twenty-one hours, mine fourteen, Eliza’s seven. When it was a wishing-ring it began with seven. But there’s no knowing what number it will be really. So there’s no knowing which of you will come right first. Anyhow, we’ll sneak out by the cistern window and come down the trellis, after we’ve said good night to Mademoiselle, and come and have a look at you before we go to bed. I think you’d better come close up to the dinosaurus and we’ll leaf you over before we go. ”

Mabel crawled into cover of the taller trees, and there stood up looking as slender as a poplar and as unreal as the wrong answer to a sum in long division. It was to her an easy matter to crouch beneath the dinosaurus, to put her head up through the opening, and thus to behold the white form of Kathleen.

“It’s all right, dear,” she told the stone image; “I shall be quite close to you. You call me as soon as you feel you’re coming right again.”

The statue remained motionless, as statues usually do, and Mabel withdrew her head, lay down, was covered up, and left. The boys went home. It was the only reasonable thing to do. It would never have done for Mademoiselle to become anxious and set the police on their track. Everyone felt that. The shock of discovering the missing Kathleen, not only in a dinosaurus’s stomach, but, further, in a stone statue of herself, might well have unhinged the mind of any constable, to say nothing of the mind of Mademoiselle, which, being foreign, would necessarily be a mind more light and easy to upset. While as for Mabel—

“Well, to look at her as she is now,” said Gerald, “why, it would send any one off their chump
^er
except us.”

“We’re different,” said Jimmy; “our chumps have had to jolly well get used to things. It would take a lot to upset us now.”

“Poor old Cathy! all the same,” said Gerald.

“Yes, of course,” said Jimmy.

 

The sun had died away behind the black trees and the moon was rising. Mabel, her preposterous length covered with coats, waistcoats, and trousers laid along it, slept peacefully in the chill of the evening. Inside the dinosaurus Kathleen, alive in her marble, slept too. She had heard Gerald’s words—had seen the lighted matches. She was Kathleen just the same as ever only she was Kathleen in a case of marble that would not let her move. It would not have let her cry, even if she wanted to. But she had not wanted to cry. Inside, the marble was not cold or hard. It seemed, somehow, to be softly lined with warmth and pleasantness and safety. Her back did not ache with stooping. Her limbs were not stiff with the hours that they had stayed moveless. Everything was well—better than well. One had only to wait quietly and quite comfortably and one would come out of this stone case, and once more be the Kathleen one had always been used to being. So she waited happily and calmly, and presently waiting changed to not waiting—to not anything; and, close held in the soft inwardness of the marble, she slept as peacefully and calmly as though she had been lying in her own bed.

 

Mabel lay down, was covered up, and left

She was awakened by the fact that she was not lying in her own bed—was not, indeed, lying at all—by the fact that she was standing and that her feet had pins and needles in them. Her arms, too, held out in that odd way, were stiff and tired. She rubbed her eyes, yawned, and remembered. She had been a statue, a statue inside the stone dinosaurus.

“Now I’m alive again,” was her instant conclusion, “and I’ll get out of it.”

She sat down, put her feet through the hole that showed faintly grey in the stone beast’s underside, and as she did so a long, slow lurch threw her sideways on the stone where she sat.
The
dinosaurus
was moving!

“Oh!”
said Kathleen inside it, “how dreadful! It must be moonlight, and it’s come alive, like Gerald said.”

It was indeed moving. She could see through the hole the changing surface of grass and bracken and moss as it waddled heavily along. She dared not drop through the hole while it moved, for fear it should crush her to death with its gigantic feet. And with that thought came another: where was Mabel? Somewhere—somewhere
near?
Suppose one of the great feet planted itself on some part of Mabel’s inconvenient length? Mabel being the size she was now it would be quite difficult not to step on some part or other of her, if she should happen to be in one’s way—quite difficult, however much one tried. And the dinosaurus would not try: Why should it? Kathleen hung in an agony over the round opening. The huge beast swung from side to side. It was going faster; it was no good, she dared not jump out. Anyhow, they must be quite away from Mabel by now. Faster and faster went the dinosaurus. The floor of its stomach sloped. They were going downhill. Twigs cracked and broke as it pushed through a belt of evergreen oaks; gravel crunched, ground beneath its stony feet. Then stone met stone. There was a pause. A splash! They were close to water—the lake where by moonlight Hermes fluttered and Janus
^es
and the dinosaurus swam together. Kathleen dropped swiftly through the hole on to the flat marble that edged the basin, rushed sideways, and stood panting in the shadow of a statue’s pedestal. Not a moment too soon, for even as she crouched the monster lizard slipped heavily into the water, drowning a thousand smooth, shining lily pads, and swam away towards the central island.

“Be still, little lady. I leap!” The voice came from the pedestal, and next moment Phoebus had jumped from the pedestal in his little temple, clearing the steps, and landing a couple of yards away.

“You are new,” said Phoebus over his graceful shoulder. “I should not have forgotten you if once I had seen you.”

 

The monster lizard slipped heavily into the water

“I am,” said Kathleen, “quite, quite new. And I didn’t know you could talk.”

“Why not?” Phoebus laughed. “You can talk.”

“But I’m alive.”

“Am not I?” he asked.