Sambo and Snitch

I It was boiling hot in the garden and the twelve o’clock bell had been ringing for a whole minute when Sambo, aged six, popped his head out of the cow-shed door and said, “Oh, bother!” The bell meant that it was time for him to go indoors and rest till lunch. Topsy, his younger sister, had already heard it and gone in; he could see her fat, round figure waddling past the drawing-room windows in the distance. She liked going in to lie down, he remembered. That was because she was so round and fat probably; it was easier for her to lie down than stand up. Anyhow, he didn’t want to flop on a bed and rest. He wanted to stay and watch the calf, to stroke its head, give it hay, talk to it. He loved all animals. He understood what they felt and thought. And he was sure they understood him, too, when he talked to them. The bell had stopped ringing now. Nannie’s voice was shouting for him instead. Sambo sighed⁠—oh, such a deep sigh. Then he said good-bye to the young calf, who blinked back at him understandingly, and walked slowly down the path towards the house. He heard Nannie shouting and shouting, but he did not answer. He just mopped his face. “Why ever does Nannie go on shouting like that?” he said to himself. “I heard the bell long ago!” And at that instant a large brown lizard darted across the path in front of him, so close to his feet that he almost stepped on it. There were pretty black spots on its back. Sambo loved these lizards, but he could never catch one. They went such an awful pace. He stood still with excitement. “Oh, I say!” he cried. “Here’s a lizard! Look at it, just!” Now, as a rule, these lizards flickered down a crack in the stones as quick as light and vanished. But this one didn’t. It stopped. It might have been made of stone. It made no movement. Its brown back shimmered in the heat. One brilliant eye peeped up at him. He had never seen such behaviour before. There was something unusual about this lizard. “If only I could catch it!” thought Sambo, and began to bend down very cautiously⁠—then stopped in amazement and stared. For at this moment the lizard spoke. “Something’s pricked my tail,” said the squeaky voice like a slate-pencil. Sambo felt such a thrill run over his body that, in spite of the hot sun, he shivered. He didn’t know what to do or say. He kept perfectly still and waited. “A hawk dropped on me,” continued the tiny thin voice. “I was down a crack in a twinkle, but I didn’t twinkle fast enough.” The voice became indignant. “Its beak pricked my tail!” Sambo just stared and stared. Nannie and bells were all forgotten. His whole life was centred on the lizard. He felt an enormous surprise, yet at the same time it seemed quite natural that a lizard should talk⁠—talk to him, at least. “Well, why don’t you say something?” squeaked the lizard. “I opened the conversation. It’s your turn now.” But Sambo’s tongue refused to move. The only things he could think of to say were? “How do you do?” or “Did it hurt?” and neither of these seemed quite right, he felt. Besides, the lizard sounded a bit angry now, and that rather frightened him. Lizards couldn’t bite, could they? He wasn’t quite sure. “Pricked my tail, I told you,” repeated the lizard, its body still motionless, its bright eyes still peeping up at him. “The hawk did.” Then suddenly he found his voice. His surprise left him. “It didn’t,” he said, rather bluntly. “It did,” said the lizard fiercely. “It didn’t,” repeated the boy, and straightened up to his full height. “How do you know?” squeaked the other. “You can’t see up there anyhow!” “It didn’t,” Sambo said again, trying not to be rude. “Prove it,” the lizard snapped in a voice of keen annoyance. “Because you haven’t got one!” said Sambo flatly. This seemed to upset the lizard dreadfully. Its voice rose to a still shriller note. “What d’you mean?” it screamed. “It’s gone!” was the answer. At this the lizard moved for the first time. An extraordinary expression came into its pointed face. It turned its head to see. As its head turned, its body turned too, and of course the tail turned with the rest of it. It went faster and faster, till it looked like a brown wheel whirling. But it couldn’t catch up. It couldn’t see its own tail. “I can’t see my own tail,” it panted presently, pausing a moment in its whirl. Its voice sounded rather disappointed, almost sad. “Because it isn’t there,” explained Sambo sympathetically. “I told you once.” He was getting cross with it. “You’ve only got a stump left.” Now, hardly had Sambo said this when he realized he had said an awful thing. He had. But it was too late to change it now. “That’s rude,” said the lizard quietly. It was not angry, only hurt. “Worse than rude, it’s unkind. It’s like telling your mother she’s lost her looks, or her hair, or that she squints⁠—something unpleasant that she knows, but doesn’t want to be told about.” Sambo felt unhappy. Already he liked this lizard immensely. “I’m awfully, awfully sorry,” he said, mopping his perspiring forehead. “Thanks!” squeaked the other instantly. “Now we’re friends again.” It was the way his own mother forgave him always. He liked it. “Are you a mother then?” he asked politely. “Of course. I’m a female. All females with us are mothers.” “Oh,” he exclaimed, remembering his Natural History lessons. “And you’re a reptile, aren’t you, too?” “That’s our family, yes,” replied the lizard proudly. “I belong to the great reptile family, like the snakes and crocodiles. Oh, rather! I’m glad you know that at least.” “⁠—You lay eggs, don’t you?” “⁠—I should think I do. Little beauties!” “⁠—And may I have one, please, for my collection?” “When I’ve got any,” was the reply, “you certainly may.” The lizard kept silent then for a bit. It didn’t move. The boy kept silent too. He just watched it. It was still panting from its violent whirling after its own tail. He could see its little sides puffing in and out like tiny bellows. The brown skin rose and fell, the black spots with it. How amazingly still it kept! It might have been a stuffed one, except for its heaving sides. Sambo waited for it to speak again, but as it said nothing, he presently made a remark himself. “The hawk took it,” he explained kindly, referring to the lost tail. “I didn’t twinkle fast enough down the crack, I suppose,” came the reply in a gentle voice. “That part of you didn’t,” Sambo suggested. “The rest of you was like lightning. It always is.” He heard the lizard laugh. It was like the queer sounds Father got on the wireless machine and called “Berlin” or “Madrid.” “Oh, I know,” it said, when it had finished laughing. “You’ve often tried to catch me, haven’t you? But you can’t. I can always twinkle fast enough to get away from you. A hawk’s different. You don’t hear it coming, for one thing. It drops like a cannon ball, for another. Hawks like us very much, you see.” “I see,” agreed Sambo politely. The lizard thought for a moment. “Now, will you please show me where I end?” it asked. “There,” said Sambo, pointing. He was delighted to be of use to his new friend. “Oh, you may touch me. Pointing’s no good. Touch the end of my body, please.” It was exactly what Sambo had been longing to do. He bent down and put his hand out cautiously. He touched the dry little body on the stump of the tail. It felt like the ginger he got from dessert sometimes, only smoother and more slippery. “Thank you,” said the lizard, with evident pleasure. “Now I know exactly where I end. Where I begin is easy, of course, but where I end is more important. My head may be safe down a crack, but my tail still in danger outside. Now I can twinkle again properly.” “I’m awfully sorry it happened,” remarked Sambo, who now began really to love the little creature, “for you look all wrong without a tail.” The same instant he felt he had said something rude again, but the lizard wasn’t angry. “I look what I am,” it said cheerily. “And I feel all right. Besides, I can grow another. Only it takes time, and I haven’t been very well lately. You can see that for yourself, can’t you?” Sambo couldn’t see, but he didn’t say so. He asked instead what was the matter with it. “I’ve felt cold,” announced the lizard in a weaker voice, as though that proved it. Sambo, who was perspiring in the blazing heat, gave a gasp. Was it pretending, he wondered? “Cold!” he exclaimed. “Why, it’s simply hotter than anything. I’m boiling. I’m all wet!” “Snitch!” said the lizard. “Snitch! Snitch!” it repeated, keeping one bright eye fixed upon the boy’s face. He jumped. It was a most peculiar sound. It startled him. “What does ‘snitch’ mean?” he asked politely. “⁠—It means nothing,” was the reply. “Just nothing at all.” “Then why did you say it?” the boy insisted pluckily. “I didn’t,” observed the lizard with a touch of impatience. This was really too much. He wasn’t going to be humbugged like that. “But⁠—I heard you!” he exclaimed with vigour. “Look out!” squeaked the little reptile. “I’m going to do it again in a second!” It lifted its sharp head a quarter of an inch into the air, paused, shut both its eyes tight, and then suddenly repeated the peculiar sound twice over very rapidly: “Snitch! Snitch!” it went. It gave a little laugh and looked up into his face. “That’s a sneeze,” it explained. “I told you I was cold.” What Sambo might have said, will never be known, for at this moment his attention was distracted. Something fell with a click on to the path between them. The lizard remained motionless as a bit of stone, but Sambo lowered his head to find out what it was that had fallen from the sky. At first he thought it might have been a drop of perspiration from his face, but he soon saw his mistake. It was a little brown pointed thing. He stooped and picked it up. II “I say,” cried Sambo in amazement. “It’s your tail, I do believe!” He looked up quickly into the sky. “And there’s the hawk that dropped it!” The added. “Well, I never did!” A big hawk, sure enough, was circling slowly in the air far above his head as if nothing had happened. “Didn’t like the taste, I suppose,” he went on, his head still turned upwards. “It’s the best part of me really,” said the lizard down at his feet. Its voice sounded rather faint and muffled. But Sambo was too excited to look down. He was a wee bit frightened too. What if the hawk suddenly dropped like a cannon ball on his head? He could never twinkle as fast as the lizard did! He watched it for a minute or two, holding the tail in his perspiring hand, and thinking of the sharp claws and dreadful beak far up in the blue sky. But the great fierce bird showed no signs of dropping on him. It just circled round and round lazily, hardly moving its big wings at all. “Can’t you do something to frighten it away?” inquired the muffled little voice below. Sambo bravely clapped his hands. “Has it gone?” squeaked the faint voice. “It’s going,” Sambo said, encouragingly. “ One of us must go, you see,” came the rather nervous comment. “Yes,” agreed Sambo, “but please not you ! There, it’s gone now⁠—gone away over the woods by the Church. You’re quite safe again!” He looked down to give the tail back to its owner. But the path was empty. He looked everywhere. The lizard was gone! Oh, dear! This was very disappointing. Wherever had it gone? He looked and looked, but there was no sign of it. He missed it dreadfully. Already he was tremendously fond of this strange, friendly little lizard. He really loved it. He could have cried⁠—when suddenly he caught its little voice again close beside him somewhere. It was faint and muffled. Where on earth was it? “Is that you, Snitch?” he called out. The name came naturally. “Of course. I’m down here. Why don’t you use your eyes?” It sounded offended rather, he fancied. The squeak seemed between his feet. “Bend down,” it went on, “and you’ll see. I told you one of us had to go.” Sambo knelt down and put his face close to the flat stones that paved the middle of the path. Something in the crack glittered, reflecting the sunlight like a tiny mirror. It was the lizard’s brilliant peeping eye. “⁠—Hooray!” he cried. “Hooray! I was afraid I’d lost you!” “That’s what the hawk would say if he could see me. But he can’t.” “The hawk’s quite gone now,” whispered Sambo. “There are only a few swallows about. You can come up again. Anyhow,” he added proudly, “with me here, it would never dare to drop!” “I thank you,” squeaked the faint voice. “It’s cold as a cellar down here, anyhow.” Sambo bent lower, formed his hands into a cup, and put them against the crack. “Crawl in here,” he whispered. “Please do.” “I wish you wouldn’t whisper,” mentioned the reptile. “It sounds like running water. And I don’t like water.” “Crawl in,” repeated Sambo in his ordinary voice. “It’s quite safe. Warm too.” He put his hands in the easiest position he could, leaving a tiny opening between his thumbs. “I’ve got the tail in my pocket all right,” he added. Would the lizard trust him? He waited a few moments. Nothing happened. “Oh, but I say, do squiggle in, dear Snitch,” he urged. “My back’s aching so!” “All right,” came the squeak. “You needn’t cry about it. I’m coming. I thought I was going to sneeze, that’s all. Now⁠—one⁠—two⁠—three⁠—Go!” Sambo felt a warm, tickly sensation on his palms. Four tiny feet clutched his hot skin. “I’m in. Thank you!” piped the little voice happily⁠ ⁠… And at that minute the bell began again. It was ringing furiously. It rang as though the house was on fire. “My gracious!” exclaimed Sambo. “I forgot all about it! Oh, what a row there’ll be!” He straightened up as though he had been shot up by a spring. “I’m awfully late,” he explained. “I’ve got to go indoors and rest, you see. Topsy went ages ago. I must run. Ill take you to my room.” And he ran as hard as ever he could towards the back door, keeping his hands tightly closed in front of him. “Hold tight!” he whispered as he ran. “Hold on. I won’t drop you.” The lizard laughed inside his hands. “That’s nothing,” it squeaked. “I can hold on to anything! The faster the better! But I’d like a little more air, please. I’m suffocating. Besides, I’m going to sneeze in a second!” Sambo opened his fingers a tiny bit. “Snitch! Snitch!” went the lizard, as the boy kicked open the back door and ran panting up the back stairs into his bedroom. Now, at first, Sambo had meant to tell all about the lizard. He meant to tell everybody that a lizard could talk. It was such a very wonderful thing to happen. It was far too marvellous to keep to himself. Nannie and Topsy must hear all about it at once. But when he entered the room, he changed his mind. He was hot and breathless. The green blinds were drawn. It was rather dark. Topsy, he saw, lay on her bed in the corner, looking like a boiled pudding in its cloth. She was asleep. There was an unpleasant silence. He heard nothing but a fly buzzing up and down the windowpane behind the green blind. And⁠—he saw Nannie! Nannie stood in the middle of the room, staring at him. Her arms were akimbo, and he knew what that meant. She was going to scold. She was waiting for him with what he called “a string of words.” And Sambo, knowing quite well he had been disobedient, felt afraid. He decided to say nothing. He would keep it all a secret. He held his hands in front of him as naturally is he could. If only the lizard wouldn’t sneeze! Would Nannie ask him for an explanation? Would she want to know why he was so late? What in the world should he say? He never told lies. “Didn’t you hear the bell, Master Sambo?” Nannie began at once. “It rang loud enough. Where were you? What have you been doing all this time?” He just stood and gazed at her. He said nothing. He kept his hands pressed against his “tummy,” hoping it looked natural. The lizard never moved foot. “The cow-shed,” he mumbled. “I’m sorry, Nannie.” But he knew by Nannie’s tone that she did not really expect an answer to her questions. She was just scolding. He was really very fond of her. She was talking in a whisper too, and that meant she wasn’t frightfully cross. He felt tremendously relieved. “Well, another time you must come quicker⁠—the moment you hear the bell,” her whisper continued across the still room. “It’s very naughty of you. Your sister came in long ago. Now, be quiet. Don’t wake her. And lie down at once and get your rest. You naughty little boy, you!” She hadn’t noticed his hands then after all! The perspiration was trickling down his nose, but he couldn’t wipe it away. It trickled cold against his back as well, but he couldn’t scratch there either. Oh, dear! If only Nannie would go out of the room for a moment. He couldn’t possibly lie down with his hands held like that in front of him. Nannie would discover everything. He stood without moving, waiting for an inspiration. Then a terrible thing happened. The lizard sneezed. “Snitch! Snitch! Snitch!” it went inside his hot hands. Sambo remained stock still. He thought the end of the world would come. But the next instant he saw that Nannie hadn’t heard. His heart had stopped beating; it now began to bang against his ribs. And with the sneeze came a brilliant inspiration! “Nannie,” he whispered, “I wonder⁠—if I’ve got a cold. Can I have some of that sweet medicine, please? I’m shivery. I feel shivery.” It was quite true. He did feel shivery. “A cold!” exclaimed Nannie, still whispering. “However can you have a cold on a broiling hot day like this?” “I believe I have,” repeated Sambo. He sniffled as well as he could. Nannie stared at him. He sniffled louder. Oh, if only he could have sneezed! But he didn’t know how to. He knew anyhow what a fuss Nannie made when there was any sign of a cold, or even when there wasn’t. He also knew that the sweet medicine was kept on a shelf in the bathroom⁠—across the passage! He sat down on the edge of his bed. There was a moment or two of terrible uncertainty. To his immense relief, then, Nannie moved slowly towards the door. She was going to fetch the medicine! “Oh, you’d better have a dose, perhaps,” she whispered impatiently. “It can’t do you any harm, I suppose. But mind I find you in bed when I get back.” And she went out. Quick as a flash Sambo whispered to his four-legged friend: “I’ll slip you into my tumbler, Snitch,” and he was across the room in a jiffy, opened his hands, and saw the lizard dart into the empty tumbler on the washhand-stand. “Put my tail in with me,” it squeaked nervously. And Sambo just had time to find the little fragment in his pocket and obey, when he heard Nannie’s footstep outside the door again. He gave an enormous sigh of relief⁠—but for an instant only. A new horror seized him. Nannie might want his tumbler for the medicine! Oh, it was awful! He stood hesitating for a second. If Nannie found him still out of bed, she would scold. But if she found the lizard⁠—she would throw it away⁠ ⁠… ! What was he to do? Oh, how difficult life was when you had secrets! “Take me with you⁠—quick!” he heard a faint, hurried squeak. And a second later he was lying on his bed, with the tumbler just below the edge of his pillow, and well out of sight. Snitch had saved the situation just in the nick of time. Oh, he loved his lizard more than ever now. Faithful, clever little reptile! Then Nannie came in. She brought another tumbler with her after all! He drank the sweet medicine, nearly choking in his excitement, so that some of it ran down his neck and on to the pillow. But Nannie didn’t notice this. The room was too dark. “⁠—Now go to sleep at once,” she ordered, and tiptoed out of the room. III Sambo pretended to sleep. The only sound for some minutes was that tiresome fly buzzing up and down the windowpane.⁠ ⁠… The room lay dark and warm, for the green blinds only let in a narrow line of sunlight round the edges. Topsy lay sound asleep, more like a boiled pudding, he thought, than ever. The fly buzzed on and on. From the garden, sizzling in the midday heat, came the murmur of bees. The leaves were still. The whole house lay silent. Sambo presently sat up on his bed and listened. Nannie’s footsteps had now died away down the passage. There was no sound. The servants had strict orders to keep quiet in this part of the old house while the children slept. Sambo gave a sigh of relief. He glanced over at Topsy. He always told her everything; they shared all their adventures; and he had meant to tell her this. But now he hesitated. At any rate, he couldn’t wake her at the moment. She’d make such an awful noise, for one thing. Yet, if she didn’t see the lizard herself, and hear it talk, she never would believe him. What should he do? The familiar squeak interrupted his thoughts: “More air, please, Mithter!” It sounded rather thick. He lifted the pillow’s edge and took out the tumbler. The lizard, he saw, held the bit of broken tail in its mouth. That explained the indistinctness. “Thank you,” it said, dropping the tail and running swiftly along the edge of the sheet to where the sweet medicine had been spilled. Its tiny tongue shot out and licked it. “What’s good for your cold is good for mine,” it said, evidently enjoying the taste. Sambo watched it. “You are a funny lizard,” he said in a low voice. “⁠—And you are a funny boy,” remarked the lizard. The same instant it picked up the tail and wriggled with great swiftness over the bolster and dropped on to the floor. “I mutht be off,” it squeaked. “Oh, oh!” cried Sambo, bitterly disappointed, “you’re not going, are you? Please don’t go!” “Yeth, Mithter, I mutht,” it said thickly. “Thank you all the thame!” “But I was going to stick the tail on,” pleaded the boy. “I’ve got secotine, you know.” The lizard evidently dropped the tail from its mouth, for its next words were clear again. “I’ve got something better still. I can grow a new one. And I want the broken bit as a model.” Sambo leaned over and tried to see it, but against the dark carpet it was invisible. He only knew by its voice whereabouts it was. The disappointment was more than he could bear. He simply couldn’t let his wonderful little new friend go out of his life like that. It would be too dreadful! “But you’re not going for good, are you?” he asked, and there were almost tears in his voice. “Do you like me as much as all that?” inquired the voice from the carpet. “I like you more than that. I love you,” Sambo implored. “I do really.” “Oh, all right,” piped the lizard, with a happy little laugh. “I like you too. So I’ll come back.” Sambo felt happier. Only he still had so many questions he wanted to ask that he didn’t know which to begin with. “⁠—Where are you going to?” he began quickly. “Out,” was the short reply. The voice was farther away now. “The door’s shut⁠—” said the boy. “The window isn’t,” came the answer. And the squeak was still farther away this time, quite near the window in fact, where the fly went on buzzing up and down still. “I can run down any wall that was ever built. Up it too, for that matter.” “Then you’ll come back that way. I’ll always keep it open for you,” Sambo said quickly. The time was short, he felt. “Can’t promise,” came the answer from a new position now. It was climbing up to the windowsill already. “Down the chimney’s just as good a way⁠—in summer. In winter, of course, I hardly come out at all.” “How shall I know, please?” the boy asked next. “Oh, I’ll make a sign. And I shall call you Mister. I’m carrying my tail in my paw now,” it added. “That’s why I’m going so slowly.” Sambo felt dreadfully sorry it was going, but there was nothing he could do to stop it. It had promised to come back. He liked the name of “Mister” too. “Well, dear Snitch, good-bye,” he said in rather a sad voice. “I’m awfully glad I saved your”⁠—he nearly said “life,” but changed it in the nick of time to “tail,” It was true anyhow. He had saved its tail. “Though am I,” piped the tiny voice, much farther away now. “I thall never forget that.” Ah, it had picked up its tail again. Sambo had been just going to ask for something in return, but was too proud. The next thing the lizard said made him glad he hadn’t shown that he expected a reward. “And I’ll do thomething for you thome day,” it added gratefully. “Good-bye, Mithter!” Sambo just had time to call quickly, “What sign will you give?” and to hear its answer “Snitch!” when he caught a flash of shimmering brown across the narrow line of dazzling sunlight beneath the blind⁠—and the lizard was gone. Now Sambo was a very observant little boy. As the lizard twinkled out, he noticed two things. First, that it had pronounced the S in its name distinctly, and therefore had opened its mouth; and, secondly, that the buzzing fly no longer buzzed! That meant, he felt sure, that the buzzing fly had gone out with it⁠—but inside it⁠—gobbled up with a lightning thrust of the pointed little mouth. The broken bit of tail, therefore, might be now lying on the windowsill. He crawled off his bed to look. Yes, there it lay. He picked it up and put it carefully away in an empty box of tooth-powder. Then he put the box away in a drawer where he kept his treasures. Then he crept back on tiptoe to bed. Then, in due course, he fell asleep. Sambo woke up next morning expecting to see Snitch looking at him from the windowsill. Not a bit of it. There was no sign of the dear little lizard. It was probably having its breakfast somewhere, he decided. What did it eat for breakfast? He didn’t know. Not porridge and eggs and marmalade anyhow. It drank water and ate a fly most likely. Sambo kept his eyes and ears wide open all that morning, but Snitch did not appear. In his pocket was the little box with the tip of its tail. He often took it out and looked at it when nobody was about. Sometimes he rattled it, thinking it might hear and answer. But nothing happened. The whole day passed without a sign of it. But Snitch had promised to come back. Sambo knew it would keep its promise. “It’s gone hunting perhaps,” he decided. But female lizards didn’t hunt. “Or having some babies,” he changed his explanation. Anyhow it was busy. Meanwhile, he kept his secret to himself. He told no one, not even Topsy. “Females divulge,” he once heard a man saying to his father. He didn’t know quite what it meant, but it had something to do with telling. Topsy, being a female, might divulge. It meant telling secrets anyhow. The next day it rained, and lizards stayed at home when it rained, Nannie told him. She also answered lots of other questions he asked, though she had to look at a big book first. Lizards, she read out, were reptiles; they belonged to the great family of crocodiles, snakes and that sort of creature, and snakes were simply lizards that had lost their legs. A slow-worm, which they sometimes found on the road, was a legless lizard. They laid eggs, lived on insects, and slept through the winter in some little hole or crack, because in the winter there were no insects for them to eat. There were only two kinds of lizards in England, one called the Sand Lizard, because it lived in sandpits; the other called⁠—but Nannie couldn’t pronounce the name, so she stopped reading out a minute from the big book. “It’s about seven inches long,” she went on presently⁠ ⁠… “⁠hat’s mine!” he exclaimed excitedly. Sambo seized his opportunity at once. “Thank you very much, Nannie,” he added. “I’ve heard enough.” And he was out of the room like a flash, for the rain had stopped, the sun was blazing, and he had a feeling that Snitch might be about. IV Sambo stood in the hot paved sunken garden, where the flowers smelt sweet after the rain, and there were lots of cracks between the stones. He stared about him. “Snitch!” he called softly. “Snitch, dear, where are you? I’m all alone. Which way have you gone?” No answer came, but the words ran on in his mind into a little rhyme. He began to sing this little rhyme to himself in a low voice:  “Dear little Snitch, I’m all alone! I wonder which Way you have gone?” He sang it over again, and only stopped because a fly kept settling on his neck and tickling him. Once he thought he heard a tiny laugh. But nothing stirred: he saw no movement on the stones. Besides, Snitch had promised to give a sign. He would hear it say “Snitch!” when it was there. Was it angry with him because he had asked so many questions? He had been rather rude, he remembered, and it was certainly a little annoyed. But he had a thousand more questions to ask now. Bother! There was that fly tickling him again! He smacked his hand down on the back of his neck, but instead of catching the fly, he only hurt himself. Now, if Snitch had been there it would have caught that fly in a second, thought Sambo. Snitch was quicker than lightning. The fly tickled him again, and he smacked his hand down again. “ Snitch! ” he heard suddenly. “It isn’t a fly at all! It’s me!” Sambo turned round so sharply that he nearly fell down. He was so excited he could hardly believe his ears. “Where are you?” he cried. “Quick! Tell me!” For at the same instant he heard Nannie’s voice coming round the corner of the house. And Topsy was with her. “Oh, let me see you! Where are you? Please, please!” “Here!” was the reply in a tiny squeak. “On your shoulder, of course. I’ve been tickling your neck with my nose for a long time.” “ You were the fly!” gasped Sambo. “I might have hit you!” He twisted his head and neck, and there, sure enough, was his little friend perched on his shoulder, his pointed face peeping up with tiny sparkling eyes. “ I was the lizard,” it snapped. “Please be accurate. And another thing⁠—you couldn’t hit me if you tried all day. Even the hawk only nipped my tail. You’re not a quarter as fast as a hawk.” It giggled close beside his ear. “Oh, you are a little beauty!” exclaimed Sambo. “I knew you’d turn up. You promised, didn’t you?” Nannie and Topsy came into view as he spoke, round the corner of the house. “Oh, be quick, be quick! Hide, or they’ll see you!” Snitch giggled, as he gave the boy a tiny nip with his little mouth in the neck, but so gently, it was almost like a kiss. “I am a beauty,” it squeaked. “I did promise. I have turned up. And I am quick ⁠—so quick that you’ll never hit me, and they’ll never see me!” And the same instant, quick as a lightning flash, it darted down his shoulder, scuttled along his back, ran with the speed of flight along his arm, and settled finally into the hollow of his hot hand, where Sambo felt at once the queer little tickle of its tiny paws. “Close your paw,” Sambo heard, “and remember⁠—no one but you can hear my voice. The others can’t. You hear me because you love me.” Sambo closed his hand immediately, but only just in time, for Nannie at that moment reached him, stared at him, put on an expression as though he was doing something he had no right to do, and said in a rather cross voice: “What’s that you’ve got in your hand, Sambo? You’ve been picking up something dirty as usual I suppose, and you’ll make your clothes in a mess. Open your hand. What is it you’ve got there?” Topsy, who was beside her, leaned forward to see what it was. She wished she had picked it up, whatever it was. Sambo always had all the fun and excitement. Sambo, always obedient, held out his hand. But at first he didn’t open it. If Nannie saw the lizard, she would make him throw it away. She would probably scream as well. He would never be allowed to touch a lizard again. So, obedient but very cautious, he just held out his hand and did not answer. He felt hot and cold all over. He was fairly caught now. He shut his lips tight. Then, suddenly, and before Nannie had time to say anything more, he heard a faint squeaky voice that sounded far away and muffled: “Turn your hand downwards with the palm to the ground. Then, when I sneeze⁠—open it!” Sambo obeyed, “Sambo,” said Nannie, certain now that he had picked up something horrible, and speaking more sternly, “Sambo, I told you to open your hand. Open it at once and let me see what you’ve got there. Some nastiness, I’ll be bound.” “ Snitch! ” came the signal agreed upon, but so faintly that no one heard it except the boy. His closed hand was held downwards with its back uppermost. He opened his thumb and four fingers and held them spread out for Nannie to see. “Turn your hand over,” Nannie told him. “Show me your palm.” Sambo did so. His heart sank. But before his hand was round he felt a tiny sensation in his palm, then on his wrist, then along his arm, as far as the elbow, and next over the skin of his back and shoulder till it reached his neck, where it stopped. It took only a second or two to turn his hand over as Nannie told him to do, but when his palm lay open before her eyes⁠—there was nothing in it. Quicker than a flash of light, the wonderful little lizard had darted up his sleeve and inside his shirt. It had escaped. The open palm Nannie examined was quite empty. “There’s nothing there,” said Sambo in a faint voice, looking very innocent. Nannie looked rather foolish, and Topsy gurgled disappointedly like an echo of her brother: “But there’s nothing there! Oh, Nannie, what a sell!” They moved off slowly towards the mulberry tree, where Nannie then sat down in a wicker chair, while Topsy went to hunt up the tortoise, Percy. The hot sun had dried the grass. The whole garden steamed. Red Admirals and Peacocks came fluttering over the pinks and roses⁠ ⁠… But Sambo, bursting with admiration of his wonderful little friend, stood stock still and waited. Snitch had saved him marvellously. He stood and waited, breathing hard, his hands hanging down beside him. Then, suddenly, his palm tickled. He lifted his hand. Snitch lay there cosily between the thumb and little finger. It was laughing. “You see, I can always save you,” it squeaked, “if you do what I tell you.” “Thanks awfully,” the boy stammered. “I always will. But⁠—how on earth could you go at such a rate?” The lizard ran up his arm, across his shoulder and coat, and settled on his blue sailor tie: “That’s not the only question you want to ask,” it said, peeping up into his face over his chin. “You’ve got a hundred others, I know, because I heard Nannie reading out from the book about my family. I was in the chimney all the time. I like the chimney when it’s raining. Well now, get along with it. Hurry up and ask your questions.” “You were in the chimney!” gasped Sambo, too surprised at first to ask the hundreds of questions that seethed inside his brain. “I’ve been watching you,” went on the lizard, “ever since we first met. I wanted to be sure you were worth knowing. I’ve never been far away. I heard you singing. I’ve watched you awake and asleep. I had to make sure, you see, that you were worth it⁠—worth being my friend, I mean.” Sambo felt very uncomfortable. He was usually naughty, he knew. “And⁠—am I?” he asked faintly. By way of answer, Snitch darted up over his chin, reached his lips, and gave him a tiny kiss. The next second it was back again on his blue tie, as though it had never moved. “Let’s sit down now and talk,” it squeaked, as though nothing had happened. “Then Nannie won’t think you’re up to mischief⁠—eh?” V Sambo was too pleased and surprised to argue; he was too excited as well; he ran over to the wooden bench in front of the morning-room window and sat down. On the iron table, where his father and mother had drunk their coffee after lunch, lay the newspapers. Snitch shot down upon the page giving the theatrical news. Having settled itself, it glanced up at him sideways: “Now,” it piped, “go ahead. I’m ready.” But Sambo, wanting to ask a hundred things, found himself suddenly dumb. He remembered all that Nannie had read out, and he wanted to ask what time lizards got up in the morning, what they ate and drank, how they lived together and what their houses were like, what sort of eggs they laid, how they managed all the winter without food, how they made their tails grow again⁠—oh, and a thousand other things as well. But the only thing he could think of at this moment was the funny bit Nannie had read out about lizards losing their legs and turning eventually into snakes. Snakes, she had read out, were simply lizards that had decided they could get on better in life without legs, and so had given up using them till they finally disappeared. This was the only thing in his mind at the moment, but somehow he didn’t quite like to ask it. He hesitated. “It’s quite right to think before you speak,” snapped Snitch, “but time is passing, you know. Nannie’ll be yelling for you in a minute. Hurry up!” Sambo took a deep breath and clenched his hands. “I only wanted to ask,” he said in a low voice, “whether you⁠—that is if you expect⁠—to lose your legs⁠—someday?” There! He had said it! He wondered what would happen. Would Snitch be offended, perhaps hurt as well? Would it snap at him⁠ ⁠… ? Instead it burst out laughing. Oh, how it laughed! Its laughter rang out like the tinkling of silver bells. Its music floated across the sunlit garden like tiny falling drops of water, so that the swallows hovered a moment to listen, and even the Red Admirals and Peacocks looked up a moment where they were drinking honey from the clematis and seemed to wink at one another. “Bless the boy!” cried the lizard in its highest squeak, “what a question!” Its sides were panting with its merriment. It was not a bit offended. “Yes, yes,” it went on jerkily, wriggling from side to side on the newspaper paragraph about Shakespeare and Bernard Shaw. “Yes, yes, of course I shall⁠—in time. Only, not today or tomorrow. It takes thousands of years to make a change like that. The slow-worm you saw last week in the road⁠—the poor little thing that frightened you because you thought it was a snake and would poison you⁠—that old harmless slow-worm, a hundred thousand years ago, was a lizard, just as I am now. Then it found it could manage better without legs, and so gradually its legs, from want of use, disappeared, you see. Only it took a hundred thousand years for that to happen. I shan’t lose my legs today or tomorrow!” It laughed so that Sambo thought it was going to burst. He began to laugh with it, though he hardly knew exactly why he laughed. “Why, a million years ago,” piped the lizard between its bursts of laughter, “you men⁠—you human beings⁠—all had tails! You lived in trees. Yes, you did really. Then, gradually, you began to live on the ground more. So you didn’t need your tails to hang from the branches by. You learned to walk upright. And your tails, slowly, after thousands of years, disappeared!” The lizard stopped. It had laughed so hard that tears had run from its eyes, tiny little drops of silver that smudged the print of the theatrical paragraph about Bernard Shaw and Shakespeare. It raised a paw and quickly dried each eye. Then it glanced up and said: “So there! Now you know something you didn’t know before, eh?” But Sambo was not a silly little boy. He liked being told things he didn’t know. It all puzzled him a bit, but still he felt it was probably quite true. His father had told him that animals and plants were always changing, only he didn’t know they took so long to change. But the idea that men had once lived in trees appealed to him. He wished he still had a tail. “So that’s why I like climbing trees, Snitch, is it?” he asked. “You still just remember the old days, yes,” came the answer, “when you lived like monkeys. You wear clothes now instead of hair, and you cook your dinner instead of eating it raw, and you live in an expensive house with ten rooms instead of in a cosy little hole or crack with one room⁠—but⁠—” it began to laugh again like a shower of silver bells⁠—“but your human world isn’t so very far apart from ours, you know, after all,” it went on, “and you needn’t feel so superior about it⁠—” Sambo could think of nothing to say. He felt bursting with ideas. His mind seemed splitting. Then, not quite knowing why, he suddenly asked: “Snitch, dear, why do you tell me all this?” In a flash the lizard left the newspaper and seemed to disappear. The same second almost it was across his shoulder and perched beside his ear. It was half inside his ear. He felt its breath tickling his skin. “I’ll tell you,” it whispered, “because I like you and trust you, and because I know you like me.” “I do, indeed, dear Snitch,” the boy said quickly. “I really love you.” “Exactly,” replied the lizard in its tickly whisper. “Well, the truth is that I’ve always wanted to know more about the world you humans live in, only I never found anybody I could trust enough to ask. You’re the first that hasn’t thrown stones at me, or tried to hit me with a stick, or wanted to put me in a cage. So, if you’ll let me, I’ll come with you sometimes into your funny human world, and see how you all behave, and what you do. And I’ll tell you about my world in return. Is that a bargain?” “Yes, rather,” began Sambo⁠—but before he could say any more, he felt that tickling sensation down his neck, then along his bare leg, then⁠—well, he just heard a tiny squeak somewhere on the ground, but when he looked down there was nothing to be seen. Snitch had vanished like lightning. He was alone. And Nannie was calling to him across the lawn. The lizard came a great deal into the house during that summer. It was full of tricks. Sambo never knew what it would do next. One day it would wake him up early by biting his toe in bed, another it would pop its muzzle over the edge of the blackboard and say “Hallo, Mister!” while the children were making their letters with the chalk. Once it lay along a black note on the piano when Sambo’s mother was teaching him his notes, and there was a wet afternoon in the Nursery when he heard it saying “Here I am, Mister!” dozens of times before he discovered it finally on the top of the brown clock, looking exactly like an ornament⁠—a metal lizard. It had been there for half an hour without moving. No one ever saw it but Sambo. “That’s the way to hide,” it explained. “Keep quite still and no one notices you. Choose a background of the same colour as your clothes and you’re very hard to see⁠—almost invisible.” “But I’m rather big for that,” the boy objected. “All human beings are too big,” grumbled the lizard. “If you were the same size as us you’d be much happier. There’s no sense in being so big. If you were small like me you’d need less food, you could live in smaller houses, use much less stuff to clothe you, and life would be much easier altogether⁠—” Instead of finishing its remarks, it suddenly shot up the curtain by the window and hung motionless. It was some minutes before even Sambo could pick it out, for the curtain was brown and the lizard’s body did not show against it. “What’s up?” the boy asked in surprise. “I am,” replied Snitch. “Just in time too!” Before Sambo could say anything else, the door opened and his sister, Topsy, came in. But it wasn’t Topsy that had frightened the lizard. It was something else that came in with her⁠— Mrs. Tompkyns, the yellow cat. Snitch had heard the cat’s soft tread in the passage! Topsy had come to fetch something. She blundered about the room a moment, upset a pile of books, knocked a chair over, banged against the fender and made the tongs fall down with a clatter, tripped over the carpet and fell down herself, found the pencil she was looking for under the table, picked herself up again and went out, slamming the door behind her. “That’s that!” remarked the lizard from its perch, looking down sideways at the cat. For Mrs. Tompkyns had not gone out. It sat licking itself in front of the fireplace, one leg stuck in the air like a ship’s mast. Apparently it was interested in nothing except cleaning itself. But the lizard knew better. “And that’s you !” added Snitch, keeping its keen eyes fixed on the great yellow Mrs. Tompkyns. “I see you! And⁠— you see me !” “You can’t fool a hawk or a cat,” it went on, talking to Sambo in its slate-pencil little squeak. “They see everything. Dogs are slower, and you human beings slowest of all. But hawks and cats⁠—” it gave a shiver, “are almost as sharp as we are. So I take no chances. It can see me up here, but it can’t get at me⁠— she, I mean⁠—and she’ll never make a sign. She’ll just go on washing, and pretend she doesn’t see me. But the instant I come down⁠—pop! she’ll make a dart and a pounce⁠—and good-bye Snitch!” At this moment Mrs. Tompkyns turned her head sideways. She had heard something. She left her leg sticking up in the air, but she was listening. She seemed to be admiring the wallpaper. “You can hear me, and you can see me,” piped Snitch, “but you can’t get at me.” Mrs. Tompkyns turned her head towards the door, her back to the curtain. Apparently it was the closed door she found so interesting. “That’s all humbug,” piped the lizard from its safe place. “You’re just pretending. I know your little game.” The cat’s whiskers twitched, but she made no other sign. “Little tiger, that’s what you are,” went on Snitch. “I heard your step in the passage in spite of Topsy’s thumping feet. So I popped up here for a change of air. Now, I tell you what you’d better do⁠—go and catch that mouse I hear nibbling in Nannie’s room across the landing. Because you’ll never catch me, you know.” Sambo, who loved Mrs. Tompkyns, had crossed over to stroke her yellow back. She was purring. She looked as innocent as a baby. “Open the door and put her out,” went on Snitch. “You’ll see I’m right. I can hear the mouse.” Sambo obeyed. He opened the door, lifted the big cat with an effort and put it in the passage. Mrs. Tompkyns, pretending this was just what she wanted, paused a moment, then walked majestically down the passage towards Nannie’s door which stood ajar. There she sat down and began to wash her cheeks with a wet paw, as though nothing else in the whole world concerned her. “Just pretending again,” piped Snitch against the boy’s ear, for the lizard had darted across the floor and climbed up him. Sambo turned his head in amazement. “Now, look again!” whispered Snitch. And, sure enough, in that instant while he turned his head, Mrs. Tompkyns had vanished. Carrying the lizard safely on his shoulder, he peeped into Nannie’s room. There was the great yellow Mrs. Tompkyns crouched down over a tiny hole in the boards where a mouse had been nibbling, no doubt, a moment before! “Now we’ll go back, thank you,” said Snitch, “and don’t forget to shut the door, please.” VI Sambo shut the door tight and then went back to the Nursery, Snitch still perched safely on his shoulder. “Well, I never⁠ ⁠… !” he exclaimed, full of wonder and admiration, for the lizard’s skill amazed him. “What d’you mean?” inquired Snitch. “You never what ? But shut the door first, please,” Sambo banged it. “Now you can tell me what you mean,” Snitch added. It had climbed down his back, run across the carpet, shot up the leg of the table, and was curled round the inkpot on the brown tablecloth, so that he could hardly see it at all. It was quite motionless. “What d’you mean by ‘Well, I never!’?” it asked. Sambo fidgeted. He tried to collect his thoughts. “I meant,” he mumbled at length, “that I never knew anything like it.⁠ ⁠…” “Like what?” snapped Snitch. It seemed annoyed. “The pace you go, and the way you keep so still, and the way you hear everything, and the way you hide, and⁠—” “That’s enough,” interrupted the little reptile, now mollified. “But all that only surprises you because you can’t do it yourself. It’s natural to us. My life’s a danger from the moment I’m born. If I wasn’t quick and couldn’t hide, I’d be caught and eaten; but nothing wants to pounce and eat you. You’d taste horrid, anyhow.” “Lions and tigers would,” objected Sambo, wondering a moment how he would really taste, but not referring to it. “Only, of course, there aren’t any here.” “And they couldn’t get into houses if there were,” the reptile said, shortly. “You’re safe in houses. Besides, even outside, you’d hear them coming. They roar. But cats and owls and hawks and snakes don’t make much noise before they pounce. If I hadn’t such sharp hearing, I’d be caught before I was a week old.” Sambo listened with keen attention, deeply interested. “I see,” he put in. “But I see better still,” went on Snitch, rather annoyed at the interruption. “Thousands of years ago we had a third eye, you know. It was on the top of our heads, so that we could see above us into the sky. It’s gone out of use now because there are very few hawks left⁠—there used to be millions⁠—and we don’t need it. Two eyes are all we want now. Besides, the things that pounce on us are pretty big, and we easily see them coming. Mrs.  Tompkyns, remember, seems as huge to me as an elephant does to you.” “ You pounce on things too,” said Sambo suddenly. “To a fly you must seem enormous⁠—” He stopped dead. He had said something he oughtn’t to have said, evidently, for the lizard suddenly left the ink-pot and was behaving in an extraordinary way. He had been watching it with his elbows on the table and his chin in his hands. Snitch now crawled over the cloth and stopped just beneath his face. It then rose slowly on its hind legs, balanced itself carefully with the help of its stumpy tail and began to swing sedately to and fro. Its head turned up, pointing the sharp muzzle into his face. It closed one eye. The tiny mouth opened. A faint sound came out like “Madrid” on the wireless. It was singing:  “To mention size Is very rude. I pounce on flies Because they’re food.” There was no tune, but just a sort of queer little sing-song, and as it swayed to and fro it waved its front paws in the air, it sang the verse over and over again. It was very odd indeed, thought Sambo. It wasn’t really angry, he decided. “I’ll get you some flies, shall I, Snitch?” he asked, hoping to make up for his mistake, and looking at the window where a blue-bottle was buzzing up and down the pane. The lizard stopped singing. “I wish you wouldn’t interrupt,” it spat at him. “I can get flies myself when I want them. I want one now. That’s why I sing. I always sing when I’m hungry and on the hunt. When you’re hungry, you cry. That’s the difference between us.” It began its monotonous song again, swaying to and fro rather more violently now. The sight fascinated Sambo. He stared and stared. At the same time he noticed that the big fly had stopped buzzing on the glass. How many times Snitch sang that verse over and over again, Sambo could not say. It may have been a hundred times. He only knew that it made him feel drowsy as he listened. The queer, swaying dance had the effect of making him heavy in the head. His eyes began to close. Snitch swung and swung like the pendulum of a clock. It never stopped. The boy grew heavier and heavier, drowsier and drowsier. He vaguely realized that the same thing was happening to the fly.⁠ ⁠… The fly was getting drowsy. Suddenly there came a pop, a bang, a splash! The sound stopped dead, the singing ended. There was silence in the room. For a second Sambo couldn’t make out what had happened. He rubbed his eyes. Then he felt that his nose and forehead were sore. His cheeks were wet too. He passed his hand quickly over his face⁠—black! He had dropped asleep and his face had fallen forwards into the ink-pot. The ink was spilt all over the table, over his shirt and cheeks and nose and forehead. It was on his lips and in his mouth. He was a sight! He wiped the ink out of his eyes and stared about him in a state of fright and bewilderment. The lizard, he noticed, had gone. The fly had also gone. The room was empty. He was quite alone. He was covered with ink. What could he do? To upset the ink-pot was an awful crime and Nannie would be very angry. He would be punished. He wanted to cry. But instead of crying he suddenly thought he would try and sing, as the lizard had done. So he stood in the middle of the floor and began to pipe up:  “Dear little Snitch, I wonder which Way you have gone? I’m all alone⁠ ⁠… !” He sang the verse over and over again, but just as he was singing “I’m all alone” for the fifth time, he heard a noise behind him. The door had opened. The room seemed full of people. First of all he saw Topsy, standing against Nannie’s skirts and giggling. Then he saw his mother. Last of all, he saw Mrs. Tompkyns, rubbing against his mother’s dress. He wasn’t “all alone” after all! Covered with ink, he stood in the middle of the room, while all these people stared at him in amazement with their mouths wide open. There was going to be an awful row. He knew that. He could think of nothing to say. He just stood there and stared back at them all. If only he knew how to hide as the lizard did! But he was too big. Also it was too late. “Sambo!” said his mother in a solemn voice, “What is the meaning of this? How did you get all over ink like that?” At this moment, while Sambo was wondering what in the world he was going to say, a tiny voice piped in his ear: “Don’t be frightened. Just tell the truth and you’ll make them all laugh. You needn’t mention me, of course.” “I fell asleep,” mumbled Sambo, “and my head banged down against the ink-pot and upset it.” There was a moment’s silence. Then Topsy’s giggle became audible. Nannie, too, was grinning, her handkerchief stuffed into her mouth. The next moment his mother began to smile. It was really impossible to be angry. Sambo looked too funny to be scolded. And so the laughter became general, and even Mrs. Tompkyns had a twinkle in her bright green eyes. Sambo laughed too. “Nannie,” said his mother, “take this Black Sambo away and wash him white, and put the ink-pot out of reach for the future.” But while Sambo was being scrubbed hard in the bathroom by Nannie, who puffed and blew like a grampus as she lathered his black face with soap, he heard a funny little squeaky voice over by the open window. It was the lizard at its tricks again. It had run round outside the house, climbed the wall, and was now perched on the windowsill, looking like a bit of dark wood:  “When you want to cry, The very best thing Is to shut one eye And begin to sing!” “Oh, Nannie, listen!” cried Sambo, his mouth half full of soap. “That’s Snitch singing to me!” He said it without thinking in his excitement. He had betrayed his friend. But Nannie, luckily, didn’t understand. Evidently she heard nothing of the tiny little voice. “Keep your head over the bath,” she cried, laughing, “or I’ll never get you white. And don’t talk nonsense about snitches, or whatever you call ’em!” This made Sambo laugh so that he swallowed a good deal of soap and water, and nearly choked. He felt very happy anyhow. The lizard evidently felt happy, too, for he heard it piping away while Nannie dried his head:  “She’ll get you white, Don’t be afraid! I’ll come tonight When you’re in bed. I had my fly, You had your fun, You didn’t cry: Sambo⁠—well done!” And a couple of hours later when he lay between the sheets, the little box with the broken tail in it under his pillow, he kept his ears wide open for a sign of the voice he expected to hear in the darkness. VII To tell the truth, Sambo never understood quite what happened that night. The whole experience was too wonderful. He knew Snitch would come because it promised, but he couldn’t know exactly when it would come. It seemed ages before Nannie left the room, and still more ages before Topsy fell asleep. But at last the door was closed, Nannie was gone, and he was alone with Topsy and the night-light. Now Topsy was full of questions. She would not go to sleep. She had somehow guessed that something was up. She noticed Sambo’s excitement, probably because he could not hide it altogether. She wanted to share it with him. “What’s on, Sambo? You’re waiting for something, I know. Can’t I do it with you?” Sambo was very fond of his fat little sister. They always played together. The lizard was the first thing he hadn’t shared with her. And tonight he suddenly wanted her to know it all. It would be twice as much fun if Topsy knew. Only Snitch, he felt, didn’t want her. She was a female, and females, Snitch had warned him, divulge. He did not dare to tell his sister without first asking permission. So he decided, the moment Snitch appeared, he would ask if Topsy could be in the secret too. Meanwhile the minutes passed, the house grew stiller and stiller, the night darker and darker, the candle burned lower and lower, and Topsy got sleepier and sleepier. Nannie opened the door softly once and peeped in, but hearing no voices, thought the children were safely asleep. The door closed again. The footsteps died away. “Won’t you tell me, Sambo?” came Topsy’s last drowsy whisper. And Sambo answered in another whisper, “All right; I’ll try, Topsy. When you’re asleep, I’ll ask about it. Will that do?” A very faint “Yes” was heard, and the next second Topsy was in the land of dreams. She always went to sleep like that⁠—all of a sudden. The room became quite still now. Nothing stirred. The candle flickered, the shadows danced, the curtains hung motionless. There wasn’t a sound except Topsy’s breathing. She made a noise just like a kettle boiling. Sambo watched and waited and listened. His eyes were all over the room, his ears were strained to their sharpest. He thought of nothing but the lizard, but as he waited he began to get very sleepy too. The minutes passed. “I wonder when it will come⁠ ⁠… ?” he said to himself for the hundredth time, in a very low voice. Then a faint noise startled him, so that he sat bolt upright in bed and stared about him. “I’m not it. I’m she ,” he heard distinctly. “Please be more respectful.” It was Snitch. He knew the jolly little voice at once. But he couldn’t see the speaker, stare as he would. “Oh, hooray! You’ve come! But where are you, please? I’m very sorry for calling you it. I won’t do it again. And, please, I want to talk about Topsy.” Sambo said all this in one breath, speaking in a whisper. But before Snitch could answer, he saw her⁠—lying along the dark iron rail at the foot of the bed. “I’ve been here all the time,” piped the lizard. “I saw you both say your prayers and get into bed. I look just like a bit of the iron rail, don’t I?” she added proudly. “Nannie almost touched me once.” “Exactly,” said Sambo with admiration. “You’re simply wonderful.” “Thank you,” replied Snitch, and ran along the counterpane towards him. “It was a bit risky, but I always keep my promise. So here I am.” There was a pause. Sambo glanced over at his sleeping sister. He longed to get her into the secret, but he was afraid Snitch would refuse. For a moment he said nothing, Snitch said nothing either. Topsy snored, more like a boiling kettle than ever. “Get on with it,” remarked the lizard presently. “I heard your conversation, remember.” Sambo drew a deep breath, but still was a little afraid to ask. Then he made a great effort: “Please, Mrs. Snitch, may I tell Topsy that I know you? We usually do everything together, you see. I feel such a pig, leaving her out.” There! It was done. Snitch hesitated and cocked an eye. “I like you for asking,” she observed. “Most little boys, of course, are pigs,” she added. “Oh, I’d love it so if Topsy knew,” put in Sambo quickly. He didn’t mind being called a little pig a bit, for he felt it was rather true. “She’s a female,” objected Snitch, cautiously turning a sharp muzzle towards the other bed. “But so are you,” said Sambo, sticking up for his sister. “Aren’t you?” “Yes, but I can balance,” came the odd reply, not a bit offended. “Balance!” repeated Sambo. He didn’t understand. “You see, tonight I’m taking you on an adventure. We’re going out. And to go out safely, I’ve got to make you my size⁠—as small as I am. I don’t often go out at night, of course, but this is an exception. I feel like an adventure. You do, too. Now, you see⁠—your sister⁠—is⁠—rather round and fat. When I’ve made her small enough she’ll be nothing but a little ball on legs. We shall go in some funny places. She might lose her balance⁠—and roll.” This information excited Sambo to such a point that he felt he was going to burst. An adventure! Going out! Out into the night, out into funny places! And to be made small first! The same size as Snitch! It sounded all too wonderful to be true. For a moment he could think of nothing to say, though he really wanted to yell with delight and excitement. So many questions came rushing into his head that he asked none of them. All he could manage was: “Oh, Snitch, dear, wonderful Mrs.  Snitch!” “Thank you,” squeaked the lizard, wagging her tiny head with pleasure, for evidently she liked being called “ Mrs. ” “But the point just now is⁠—your fat little sister. She’ll be rather a risk. She might roll off a wall, or slip into a hole, where we’d never get her out again, or⁠—” “I’ll look after her,” interrupted Sambo proudly. “Like I always do.” Snitch ran up his sleeve and settled on his elbow. “Now, that’s right,” she piped. “I like you for sticking up for her. Do you mean that you don’t want to come unless she comes too?” Snitch waited for his answer several minutes. The temptation was very severe. Sambo longed to go out on the adventure with all his might. At the same time he felt he would be really a little pig to leave Topsy behind. And, oh! she would enjoy coming so much! Yet, if he insisted on her coming, Snitch would probably refuse to go at all. “Thank you very much, Mrs.  Snitch,” he said at last in a rather faint voice, “but I don’t want to come⁠—unless⁠—Topsy⁠—comes too.” For a few moments there was silence in the room, broken only by the snoring of Topsy in the corner. Then Snitch popped up suddenly on to Sambo’s shoulder, raised her mouth, gave him a tiny nip in the neck with her wee teeth, and whispered into his ear: “I hoped you would say that, Sambo. Now I know I can trust you. You’re true to Topsy, so you’ll be true to me. I’ll take her. We’ll go together, all three!” At this, Sambo felt so happy that he picked up the lizard in his fingers and gave it a kiss. “Thank you,” piped Snitch, when he put it down on the bed, “but you needn’t waste time doing that. We’ve a lot to do before we’re ready to start. I’ve got to make you both small first. We must all be the same size or we shan’t be able to get into the same places. Besides, you can’t see in the dark as well as I can, and you’d soon lose me. Have you got my tail?” she asked in a whisper. “Rather!” Sambo hopped out of bed so quickly to get the box that his foot caught in the sheet and he fell full length on the floor. “There! You might have squashed me!” squeaked the lizard. “Lucky I’m so quick, isn’t it! Now you understand why we’ve got to be the same size!” “I hope Nannie didn’t hear,” the boy gasped, as he picked himself up and ran to get the box. “Oh, she’s having her supper in the kitchen,” explained the lizard. “But it’s lucky you didn’t wake your sister. She’s got to be made small after you. And in the dark too. We must put the night-light out first.” And with a sudden whisk of her whole body, Snitch darted up the saucer, raced across the burning little wick and squashed it down into the soft wax before the flame had time to burn her. The room was now in complete darkness. “There!” she squeaked, running almost the same instant along Sambo’s arm, till she reached his hand that held the box. “Now, open it and I’ll take the tail out. I can’t make you smaller without the bit of my tail, only I must do it in the dark, because it’s a secret, and you mustn’t see how I do it.” Trembling with excitement, Sambo had now opened the box. He felt the lizard run past his fingers. The same instant he felt it run out again. “Thank you, Mithter!” he heard. Snitch already had the bit of broken tail in her mouth. VIII For several minutes nothing happened. Oh, how still it was! The blackness of night covered all. Nothing stirred. The deep silence was broken only by the knocking of Sambo’s heart against his ribs. He tried to hold his breath. Bang! Bang! went his beating heart. Suddenly he became aware that the kettle had stopped boiling. Topsy, that is, no longer snored. She was waking up. Probably she’d make an awful fuss, he thought⁠—bubble and squeak with excitement and ask a hundred questions. As a matter of fact, when the time came, she did nothing of the sort. She took the whole affair as calmly as though it happened every day. And this, Sambo decided next day, when he thought it all over, was very queer. At the moment, anyhow, he heard the little bubbling grunt she always made in the morning when she opened her eyes. But he heard something else as well that was not his fat, round sister. A tiny voice was speaking⁠—singing rather. He listened intently. He recognised the voice. Mrs. Snitch, the broken tail still in her mouth evidently, was chanting the spell in the darkness that was to make their bodies small. It went to the tune of “Now we go round the Mulberry Bush:”  “Make me though thmall That I can crawl Along a wall Without a fall. Make me though neat That hands and feet May flash along like lightning!” The words floated through the darkness like the faint buzzing of a bee. “Thay it after me,” came the order in a whisper close beside his ear. “And touch my tail⁠—the broken bit⁠—at the thame time. Ith in my mouth, ath you can hear.” And Snitch darted up the boy’s finger so that he could feel in the darkness where its mouth was. Sambo obeyed. His finger ran along the cold scaly back till he felt the pointed head and muzzle. Very gently, using his little finger, he found the broken bit and touched it. At the same time he sang the words: <blockquote epub:type="z3998:verse"> “Make me so small That I may crawl Along a wall And never fall,” etc. And as he sang, repeating the verse over and over again, this strange thing happened. He felt himself shrinking, shrinking, shrinking. It was too dark to see anything, of course, but he knew he was shrinking because he presently felt the long hair of the bearskin rug beside the bed tickling his cheeks. The queer bitter smell he noticed too. He had smelt it before, of course, when playing bears with his father, the rug all over his face, but the smell had never been so strong as this. He was, evidently, close to the ground, the long coarse hair about him like a forest. While all this was happening in the pitch black room, Snitch was attending to his sister. The lizard had long ago left his hand and darted across to Topsy. She was fully awake now. Sambo already heard her gurgling voice, very low but quite distinct, singing the words with him. She, too, was being made small. It was a powerful spell. It worked quickly. The next minute he felt something touch him in the darkness. It was a hand. Topsy was feeling for him. He put out his own. They found each other’s fingers. They shook hands. “Now, all together,” came the voice of Snitch, close beside them on the ground. “Only, instead of ‘ make ’ the word is changed to ‘ keep .’” Sambo noticed that Snitch pronounced the <i epub:type="z3998:grapheme">s</i>. The tail had been dropped. “Take my paws,” added Snitch, “my front paws, and beat time by swinging your hands up and down while we sing.” There, in the darkness, the three of them holding hands, they sang together, keeping their voices very low, the wonderful spell that was to keep them small: <blockquote epub:type="z3998:verse"> “Keep me so small That I may crawl Along a wall Without a fall.” “Keep me so neat That hands and feet Along a wall May flash along like lightning!” Their hands⁠—and paws⁠—swung up and down to keep time. They sang the little song three times. “That’s enough,” interrupted Snitch, just as they were beginning it again. “Each time means an hour. You’re small for three hours now. Hooray!” “I’m as small as a ball,” announced Topsy, speaking for the first time. “But I can’t see anything. How small are you, Sambo?” She felt no surprise, apparently; it was all natural enough. And Sambo felt the same. He saw no reason why he shouldn’t be small like his companions. Everything in the world was either small or big compared with something else. He was big compared to an ant anyhow, occurred to him. “Oh, I’m all right,” he replied. “Bigger than a beetle anyhow. I feel all darty. I could flash away like lightning⁠—if only I could see.” “I only hope I shan’t roll,” said Topsy. “I’m awfully round⁠—rather hedge-hoggy⁠—” A shrill noise stopped her. It was Snitch screaming. “Hush!” cried the lizard. “You mustn’t use that word. Hedgehogs and snakes eat us⁠—sometimes. We never mention them. It’s bad language. Like swearing with you.” “Sorry,” said Topsy quickly. “I didn’t mean to be rude.” Then, as the lizard’s front left paw stroked her hand to show forgiveness, she added “Thank you.” “Forgiven and forgotten,” squeaked the lizard briskly. “And now listen to me, please. Listen carefully. I’ll give you the programme for tonight. We’ve got just three hours for our Adventure, and I think it would be more fun to go out than to stay indoors. Don’t you?” “Rather!” exclaimed both children in the same breath, while Topsy added: “If you’re sure nothing can catch us and eat us!” Her hand stole into her brother’s and held it tightly. “And if we can see our way,” put in Sambo, gripping his sister’s fingers to comfort her. “It’s frightfully dark.” Snitch burst out laughing. “You’re much too fast for anything to catch you,” she explained, “for you can dart away now as quick as I can. You’ll be safe under any stone. I’ve arranged about light too. Wait here a moment while I run and see. I’ll be back in a second. Don’t move, remember.” And she was gone. They heard her rapid feet across the carpet, but they made more noise than usual. Their ears picked up all sorts of sounds⁠—sounds they never could have heard three feet up in the air. They lay among the thick hair of the bearskin rug, waiting in the darkness for the lizard’s return. They could see nothing. “Sambo,” whispered Topsy, “I’m awfully excited. Aren’t you?” “Oh, yes,” replied the boy, as though adventures like this were no new thing to him. “I thought you’d like to come too. Mind you don’t say anything to hurt her feelings. You won’t, will you?” he repeated. “But what ought I to say to a lizard?” Topsy asked, greatly impressed. “What sort of things?” Sambo, of course, didn’t really know. Only he mustn’t let her see that he didn’t know. “Oh, just be polite,” he whispered back; “very polite is best.” “Say I’m sorry, you mean?” she enquired. Her brother hesitated. “I beg your pardon would be better, I expect,” he told her. “It’s what Mummy says. And you might add <abbr epub:type="z3998:initialism">R.S.V.P. ” A sound interrupted their whispered conversation, and Topsy snuggled in closer to her brother’s side. But it was only Snitch coming back. They heard the hair on the rug swishing and rustling like leaves of a tree as the creature came darting through it to their side. Snitch felt them over with her front paws to see where they were. “I wasn’t long, was I?” she said, a little breathlessly. “Well, everything’s ready. I’ve got the Lights. They’re coming. And we’ll go by the window instead of the stairs and hall.” “Window!” gasped Topsy. “The window and the wall, yes,” replied Snitch. “It’s safer. The window’s open at the top, and it’s a good wall with lots of cracks and niches. We’ll slip down it. The Lights will follow us. Are you ready? Come along then!” Sambo was bursting with questions, but he had no time to ask them. He felt Snitch pulling him along through the thick hair of the rug, across the carpet, whose roughness tickled his tummy, then up the leg of the table, which he knew stood close by the window, and next, with a flying leap through the air, on to the windowsill itself. It was all so swift, so breathless, so extraordinarily light and easy that he simply hadn’t time to think. He had shot and darted along like lightning. Yet all the time he held on to Topsy’s hand. He never for a moment let her go. She came after him like a ball from a ping-pong racquet, rolling, bouncing, tumbling along, her feet twinkling like a fly’s wings, while she grunted, panted, gurgled and puffed. Whew! What a flying race it was! The way they flashed up the table leg, then shot through the air from the table to the windowsill was marvellous. How their feet had clung to the polished surface of the table leg he couldn’t understand. He only knew that there was no difficulty about it. Why, he could have run up a smooth wall, he felt. “We’ll rest a second now,” he heard Snitch saying. “Then we go up the window, out through the crack at the top, down the wall, and into the garden. The Lights will be here in a moment.” Sambo and Topsy stood panting and breathless beside their guide. They hadn’t enough breath to speak at first. “I’d better prepare you,” Snitch went on, “for what you’ll see when the Lights come. You’ll see me, for instance. It needn’t frighten you. I shall look rather⁠—er⁠—big, perhaps.” But already Sambo had become aware of something beside him with enormous bulk. He just made out this huge shadowy mass, for here on the windowsill the starlight gave a faint glimmer, and the outlines of things were clearer than when he was on the floor. It was as big as himself, as big as⁠—as a crocodile. Yet Snitch’s voice came out of this immense dim outline. It moved then. Good heavens! It was Snitch, but Snitch as big as a⁠—crocodile! “Don’t be frightened,” the lizard said quickly. “Of course I’m big now. I seem big like this because you’ve grown small. You’ve come down to my size, you see. I’m just the same as I was before, really, only you’ve got smaller. I haven’t changed at all.” Sambo gasped. He wasn’t frightened, but he was too amazed to speak at first. So this crocodile beside him was Snitch! His own head stood level with its huge scaly back. Its eyes were as big as his own. Its tail ran away into space. Its paws were tremendous. He looked down at himself then. Well, he couldn’t tell how big he was, or whether he was big or small. He only knew that he and Snitch were about the same size. Next he looked at Topsy. She was the same size as himself. She was lying on her back resting after their fierce rush to the window. She looked like an egg with two short legs poking out below and two short arms above. The starlight was too dim to show more than her oval outline. Then, suddenly, she began to grow clearer. Something was happening. The light grew stronger. “Sit up,” Sambo called to her. “Sit up and look. It’s all right. Nothing to be frightened about.” He stretched his hand out to help her. She took it and began to roll over and over, till finally she found her feet and stood up. She stared about her in the growing light. Then she gasped too. But what made Topsy gasp with amazement was not, as with Sambo, the great size of the lizard. This didn’t seem to strike her so much as the size the room had grown to. The furniture, the window, the table and chairs, the height of the ceiling⁠—this was what struck her more than anything else. She realized the changes differently from the way Sambo realized them. She realized, for instance, that she and her brother had become very small, rather than that Snitch had become very large. She opened her mouth to ask a hundred questions, when Snitch stopped her quickly. “Don’t ask questions,” the lizard said. “Everything will explain itself as we go along. Besides, here are the glowworms. We can go ahead now, if you’re rested. We’ll go fast this time,” she added, as though the pace before had been nothing. Glowworms! So that explained the increasing light! Outside the window gathered a flock of moving lights, faint and beautiful. There were about twenty of them, and they gave out a dim, gentle glow. They danced and hovered in the air outside the glass. “The glowworms,” explained Snitch. “They’ll come with us⁠—ten in front and ten behind⁠—to light the way. And when there’s danger, they go out.” “What sort of danger?” whispered Topsy, snuggling closer to her brother and feeling for his hand. “Oh, the night creatures,” replied the lizard: “owls, nightjars, perhaps a cat that hasn’t gone to sleep, or a wandering rat⁠—anything like that on the look out for food. But there’s nothing to be afraid of. At the least hint of danger I give the sign, and the glowworms put their lights out. In the darkness, of course, we can’t be seen. We’re safe, provided you keep still. Now, watch,” added the lizard. “I’ll give the sign to show you.” “What is the sign?” asked Topsy. “A sneeze,” was the reply. And the lizard, raising itself on its front paws, which seemed gigantic now, suddenly sneezed. “ Snitch! ” it went. And instantly all the Lights went out. It was so dark that the children couldn’t see each other. Topsy and Sambo held hands very tightly, waiting. Then the lizard repeated the sneeze, doing it twice this time, very rapidly: “ Snitch! Snitch! ” it went. And instantly the Lights came on again. “There!” said their guide, “now you see! Only remember that when the Lights go out you must keep still⁠— absolutely still. You mustn’t move a muscle till they come on again. If you do that you’ll be perfectly safe. Understand?” “Yes,” whispered the children. “We understand.” “Good,” said Snitch. “Then we can start. Come along!” It was up the side of the window like a flash, and Sambo, seizing his sister’s hand, was after it. They raced up, darted along the top of the open sash, perched on the dizzy edge a second, then scuttled headfirst down the framework between the panes and landed safely on the stone ledge outside. It was a breathless business. Topsy fairly bounced along. She was very surefooted for a ball! “Now,” said Snitch in a low voice, “the quicker the better⁠—in case we’ve been seen. Something may be watching us; you never know. The Rule is, When Lights are on, move fast; when Lights are out, keep still. Got it? Better say it after me to make sure.” The children repeated the Safety Rule together: “When Lights are on, move fast. When Lights are out, keep still.” “That’s right,” whispered Snitch approvingly. “I’ll go first now, and you follow. Join me on the lawn. The Lights will go down with you.” There was a flicker of the great tail, a chuckling laugh, a swift rattling scuttle of four marvellous feet⁠—and it was gone into empty space. Sambo and Topsy peered over the edge into the gulf of darkness. How smooth the wall looked! What a height it seemed! The garden lay below them far away, looking like a dim map spread out. They could smell the earth and flowers. “Don’t hesitate,” rose up a tiny voice out of the gulf. “Head first. Use hands and feet. Now⁠—one⁠ ⁠… two⁠ ⁠… three⁠ ⁠… go !” <h3 epub:type="ordinal z3998:roman">IX With his heart in his mouth, Sambo moved towards the dizzy edge. The floating Lights moved with him, so that he could see every detail, every crack and niche. The glowworms grouped themselves in the air close about him. He was very frightened, to tell the truth. But he didn’t forget his sister. Even in his moment of fear before the terrible descent, he remembered Topsy. He must help her, if he could. “Give me your hand, Topsy,” he whispered, “or your foot, if that’s easier.” His sentence was hardly finished when, to his amazement, Topsy slipped past him without a sound, and disappeared over the edge alone. She rolled into space. Ten of the Lights instantly detached themselves and followed her down. “I’m all right, young Sambo!” her voice floated up to him with a gurgle. “It’s quite easy. Come on!” She was already halfway down, and Sambo was ashamed to hesitate any longer. He crawled to the edge, put a leg over, found a crack for his foot⁠—and was off. The Lights floated down with him, helping him to find the niches and rough bits he could cling to. It seemed a long way, but he got down at last and felt his feet on the gravel path that skirted the lawn. He drew a deep breath, thanked his stars he hadn’t slipped, and looked about him to find his sister and the lizard. A few feet beyond him he saw the group of glowworms that had accompanied Topsy down the wall, and he was in the act of running across to join them, when there came a sound that set every nerve tingling in his body. “ Snitch! ” he heard, close in the grass beside him. It was the warning, and it rang out sharp and clear. There was danger somewhere. The same instant every Light went out, as though an electric switch had turned them off. Sambo stood stock still in the darkness, holding his breath. He remembered the Rule: When Lights are on, move fast; when Lights are out, keep still! He kept as still as a mouse. What was the danger, he wondered, and how had the lizard discovered it? Where was it? From what side would it come? Was it an owl, a snake, a rat? He stared as hard as he could. He could see nothing but the gigantic house, the towering cedars on the lawn, the huge rhododendron bushes. All these, of course, now seemed enormous compared with his own tiny body. The blades of grass all round him rose to his shoulder, for he could feel them touching his cheeks, but the house and trees looked like mountains reaching to the sky. He saw the house clearest, because its walls were painted pale yellow, and glimmered through the darkness. Against this pale yellow wall he now became aware that something was moving. Its bulk was great. It seemed as large as a cow. It was alive. It moved slowly, stealthily. What in the world was it? Sambo was frightened. Shivers ran down his back. Although the big thing moved so delicately, he could just hear the soft thud of its feet on the gravel path by the wall. It stalked along. No stone was disturbed. It planted its feet most carefully. Frightened though he was, however, he again remembered his sister, for if he was frightened, she must be simply terrified. And though the Rule warned him not to move, he could not help trying to see if he could find her with his hand and comfort her. Very cautiously he stretched an arm out between the blades of grass surrounding him. Against his hand he could feel the rough edges of a dandelion leaf. He could actually hear the sound as it scraped along his skin. He trembled as he heard it. Tiny though it was, it seemed quite loud now that he was so close to the ground. At the same moment he felt a warm soft thing clutching his fingers. Only by a miracle did he keep back a scream. And then he knew⁠—it was Topsy’s hand. She, too, had been groping for him in the darkness. The two hands clasped one another tightly, and Sambo heaved a deep sigh of relief. His hand, he knew, would comfort her. But that sigh, quiet as it was, had been heard. The scraping of the dandelion leaf had probably been heard too. For the Stalking Outline stopped instantly. For a second it kept as still as though it were a stone. Then the great mass moved forwards. The whole black bulk of it moved towards him⁠—slowly, stealthily, silently⁠—nearer and nearer, till it stood within a foot of Sambo and his sister. Large as a cow, it towered over them, and in the upper part of its great body were two large round discs that flashed with a queer greenish light. These great discs were turned straight upon the two cowering children. They were discovered. The monster stood glaring down at them. Then, suddenly, Sambo knew. The discs were eyes. The monster, of course, was Mrs. Tompkyns. Now, both children were brave. Topsy was brave, because she had no imagination and never dreamed anything would hurt her; and Sambo was braver still, because he had imagination⁠—he realised how a thing might hurt him, yet faced it just the same. Anyhow, it was Topsy now, in this terrible moment, who acted first. Any moment, of course, the great cat might pounce on them, thinking they were mice because of their size. But Topsy never thought of that. She loved and trusted Mrs. Tompkyns. The cat’s gigantic body didn’t frighten her. “It’s old Mrs. Tompkyns,” she whispered with a gurgling little laugh. “Let’s get on her back, Sambo! We’ll climb up by the tail⁠—” She never finished her sentence. What happened, happened so quickly, and with such appalling noise, that Sambo hardly knew what it was. Afterwards he knew, but at the moment it just seemed as if the house had fallen, or the great cedars had come crashing down about them. One thing he heard clearly, but only one⁠—the voice of the lizard. Its shrill squeak penetrated in that instant above all else: “Run for your lives! Go in opposite directions. Hide under different stones!” Immediately following the words came a queer whistling sort of sound, a great shaking movement among the blades of grass, a scuttling of flying feet⁠—and the lizard had darted past the children towards the cat. It was all like a hurricane that strikes a forest of trees, for the blades of grass bent this way and that, scraping their rough edges noisily together, while the thud of feet on the lawn was like thunder. There was a tremendous roar and scuffle, and the only thing Sambo knew was that, while he seized Topsy’s hand more tightly than before, and tore away with her to hide in the darkness beneath a stone on the path, he caught sight of Mrs. Tompkyns flying through the air above his head. He could see the whole black mass of her rushing past against the stars. It was followed by a crash that shook the ground. Then came silence again, a silence of the grave. Sambo felt about for his sister, for he had lost hold of her hand in that wild dash for safety. The big stone now covered them nicely. No one could see them. “Here I am,” whispered Topsy. “Old Tompkyns made a bad shot, didn’t she?” And she giggled happily beside her brother. She snuggled up close to him again. “I’m glad we came to the same stone,” she added. “Aren’t you, Sambo?” Sambo was still too excited to think clearly, or realize quite what had happened. He was still panting. “Has she disappeared?” he asked breathlessly. “The cat, I mean.” “Rather,” Topsy told him. “Snitch did it on purpose, I think.” “Of course,” Sambo agreed, though he didn’t quite know what she meant yet, nor what the explanation of everything was. “She’s in the middle of the rhododendron clump, where old Tompkyns can’t follow her,” added Topsy, gurgling her delight. And then at last it dawned upon Sambo what had happened. Snitch had realized their danger, had guessed that the cat might take them for mice and pounce upon them, and so had deliberately drawn attention upon herself. She had made a noise on purpose. Mrs. Tompkyns had suddenly caught sight of her⁠—and jumped to catch her. The cat, of course, had jumped right over their heads, clearing them easily. The crash and noise and scuffle were now explained. But Snitch, laughing in her sleeve, had flashed away like lightning, and Mrs. Tompkyns had just landed upon an empty patch of grass where there was no lizard at all! “Snitch risked her life for us,” declared Sambo, proud and pleased that at last he understood the whole business properly. “We should have been a bit squashed, you know, if the cat had fallen on us. You would, at least,” he added. “Hark! What’s that!” Topsy interrupted him. They listened. A queer, wailing noise was audible in the distance. It came from the direction of the stables behind the house. It sounded at first, they thought, like a human voice, but the next moment they recognised it for what it was⁠—a cat. It was caterwauling. “It’s old Tompkyns cat-a-walling on the stable walls,” announced Sambo, using the long word as he believed it was really meant. “She’s given up. We’re safe again. Snitch will be back any minute now.” “I hope so,” replied Topsy, crawling out from beneath their stone. Sambo followed her. “Look!” he cried. “Look, Topsy! The Lights are on again!” Topsy clapped her tiny hands with delight when she saw the group of floating pale green Lights dancing about over their heads. “That means the lizard will be back any minute now,” she laughed, as she rolled her way towards the lawn again, Sambo leading the way. “The old thing’s as quick as lightning⁠—” “Quicker, you mean,” snapped a shrill voice. “And if you speak of me again like that, I shall make you bigger and send you back to bed!” It was Snitch, who had darted up across the lawn. She was, of course, offended. For a moment an awkward silence fell on them all. Sambo was horrified at the way his sister had spoken. He felt ashamed of her. Naturally the lizard’s feelings were hurt at hearing herself called “old thing.” And he was just going to talk severely to Topsy, when he saw her rolling quickly up to Snitch’s side and holding out her two hands. “I’m very sorry, Mrs. Snitch,” she said in a whisper. “I beg your pardon.” Then she added “<abbr epub:type="z3998:initialism">R.S.V.P., <abbr epub:type="z3998:initialism">R.S.V.P. ,” twice over. “Forgiven and forgotten,” Snitch answered at once, to Sambo’s great surprise and happiness. He had expected a row. “You’re a female. All females have sharp tongues. I’m one myself.” “Thank you, Mrs.  Snitch,” whispered Topsy, “and I won’t do it again.” Snitch laughed. “Perhaps not,” she snapped. “But you’ll do something worse. Anyhow, forgiven and forgotten. So let’s get on. The Lights are burning again. We’ll move fast.” “Thank you for saving our lives,” put in Sambo quickly. “You did save them, you know. It was wonderful.” “Oh, that’s nothing,” said the lizard. “I can always fool a cat.” “If that was nothing,” exclaimed Sambo, “what’ll something be like, I wonder?” “You’ll see,” was the reply. “Now give the ball a push, and let’s move fast.” Sambo caught Topsy by the hand, knowing she was the ball referred to, and that Snitch was making fun of his sister by way of a little revenge, and followed Snitch across the lawn. The dew was heavy. The big drops on the grass half soused them. But they puffed and panted along, following Snitch’s ever-vanishing tail, and so presently reached the gate into the field. Here Snitch paused. The two children paused beside her, trying to recover their breath. They looked about them. The Lights had scattered, so as to be less noticeable. In a group they might draw the attention of some hunting owl, but separate like this there was nothing to attract any night-creatures that might be on the prowl. Beyond them, in the field, Sambo saw that the grass was much thicker and taller than on the lawn. It looked so high, indeed, that he felt sure he would never be able to get through it, much less help Topsy rolling at his heels. The lawn was tiring enough, but this huge grass, rising like a forest, alarmed him. “ Mrs.  Snitch,” he whispered, “we⁠—we feel rather small, I think, to⁠—to go fast through that .” Snitch, motionless beside them, made no sign that she had heard. There was no reply, at any rate. Sambo nudged his sister. “You say something too,” he whispered in her ear. “Something polite⁠—very polite, mind.” The ball rolled over, for Sambo had nudged her harder than he knew. Topsy, now lying on her back, rose to the occasion and did her best. “Please, Mrs. Snitch,” she gurgled, “I beg your pardon, but couldn’t you make us a little bigger? <abbr epub:type="z3998:initialism">R.S.V.P. ” Still there was no reply, nor did Snitch stir a muscle. Her great back lay like a log in the deep grass; her tail stretched away into the gloom of the thick stems; her eyes stared straight in front of her. Holding hands, the children waited for what seemed a long time. Then the lizard slowly turned her great head and looked at them. They saw that the bit of broken tail stuck in her big jaws. “Thay after me,” she said, “thith verth. And touch my broken tail at the thame time: <blockquote epub:type="z3998:verse"> “Pleathe make my figure A little bigger⁠— About enough To clear the rough.” Sambo and Topsy obeyed at once. Raising their hands, they touched the bit of tail and repeated the words of the spell. But nothing happened. “Thut your eyeth,” said Snitch severely. They shut their eyes tightly. Everything was black. “⁠—Now try again,” they heard. Again they repeated the spell: <blockquote epub:type="z3998:verse"> “Please make my figure A little bigger⁠— Just big enough To clear the rough!” There was a curious swelling sensation inside them. Sambo felt his sister pushing against him as she expanded. He felt his own head scraping past the grass-stems as he rose. He seemed to be rising in the air. “Open your eyes,” ordered Snitch. And when they obeyed, they found that they were just tall enough to look over the tops of the rough grass. They had doubled their size and height. Snitch, too, had grown bigger with them. They now looked across the surface of what seemed a gigantic hayfield, and in the distance they could just make out dark masses that looked like hills. “Cows,” said the lizard briefly. “If you’re ready, we’ll climb up one. The Lights are on. Follow me!” <h3 epub:type="ordinal z3998:roman">X Climb up a sleeping cow! What an adventure! The lizard’s body made a trail through the thick grass, but in spite of this the children had difficulty in keeping up. Topsy was puffing and grunting, while Sambo, holding her hand, dragged her along behind him. Great drops of dew splashed their faces. The grass was stiff. They stumbled and tripped as they went. Beetles and insects watched them pass but did not interfere. There was only the starry sky to light them, for Snitch had dismissed the glowworms for safety’s sake. As they drew nearer, the body of the cow grew bigger. Like a little hill it loomed before them, blocking half the stars. It looked enormous. It did not move. But they could hear a curious deep sound coming from it. A few feet from the monster Snitch stopped. “We must find the best way up,” she whispered. “I’ll go and scout, while you wait here.” And, without a sound, she vanished. Alone in this forest of grass beneath the stars, the crouching monster only a few feet away, Sambo felt less comfortable. Whether his legs trembled or not is hard to say, but at any rate he suddenly sat down. “We’re safer out of sight,” he whispered, pulling Topsy down beside him, “and remember the Rule: ‘When lights are out, keep still!’ ” Topsy, landing beside him with a bump, snuggled in close. Sambo could feel her heart beating against his ribs. His own heart was going like a drum, but he knew it was a man’s business to protect a female. “Don’t be frightened,” he whispered. “I’m here, Topsy.” “I’m not frightened,” she whispered back. “But I don’t like that noise so near us. What is it?” She drew in closer still. There was this curious roaring sound that came at regular intervals like a gust of wind, making the grass shake and rattle. It was very close. Trees in a storm made that kind of roar. But Sambo had guessed what it was. “It’s only the cow breathing,” he said below a whisper. “She’s asleep. We mustn’t wake her⁠—” “In front of her mouth we should be blown away,” began Topsy⁠—when suddenly the danger signal sounded. “Snitch! Snitch!” The warning sneeze made them jump, for it was in their very ears. The lizard had come back. She had made no sound, but was just suddenly there. “There’s a mole on the other side,” came her squeaky voice. “I’ve been all round. The cow’s asleep. But a mole came up to the surface against her ribs. And it tickled her. She may wake. We must wait a moment. When the breathing gets quiet again it’ll mean she’s safely asleep.” They waited some time till the roaring noise grew less and less, and presently the lizard began to stir again. “Now,” she whispered. “Are you ready for the climb? Come on!” “Which end?” asked Topsy breathlessly. “The far end, of course,” snapped the reply. “Away from the mouth and horns.” “By the tail?” exclaimed Topsy, bursting with curiosity and excitement. “Hind leg,” Snitch answered. “It’s less steep than the ribs.” And she led the way through the tangled grass towards the sleeping monster. It was a creepy, stealthy business, stalking round the great sleeping cow whose body rose like a small hill against the stars. They kept close to her huge bulk where the shadow was deepest. Stretching out their hands, the children could feel her thick stiff hair, the warmth of her body too. If the animal rolled over, they would be squashed flat. But she didn’t roll over. Only the gentle rise and fall of her great sloping sides was visible as they crawled along. Mrs. Snitch knew a thing or two about cows, asleep or awake. No danger signal sounded. “Here’s the hind hoof!” she warned them, stopping at last in front of a dark object as large as a football. “Now, follow me! Take a running jump!” And she scuttled up the hard smooth hoof, leaving her tail dangling for the children to climb up by. “It’s a bit slippery,” she called from the top. There was a good deal of puffing and blowing, but a moment later Sambo and Topsy stood beside her. “My!” exclaimed Sambo, who still held his sister by the hand. “It’s a risky business, this being a man!” He puffed himself out. “Follow me,” replied Snitch, “and don’t boast. It’ll get steeper and steeper as we go.” And she began to scuttle swiftly up the great hind leg. The children followed more slowly, Sambo first, pulling his fat sister after him with his left hand. His right hand clutched the long hair of the great flank. They mounted slowly; it was a laborious business; the body lay soft and warm beneath their feet. Higher and higher they rose towards the stars, and steeper and steeper grew the slope. “Tread lightly,” came the lizard’s warning from above, “and if you feel the body move, catch hold of the hair and stop dead. The tail may come flicking round. You never know! She may think flies are tickling her in her dream.” This was an awful thought. The children had often watched the long tail flicking and lashing about. If it caught them it would sweep them off into space. They moved as softly as they could, and at last they felt the slope become less steep, the hair less thick and matted, and harder ground beneath their feet. They stood on a kind of solid ridge. Snitch had stopped and was waiting for them. “We’re on the spine,” she explained in a whisper. “We go on the level now for a bit, till we reach the neck.” “Where do we go after that?” asked Sambo, as soon as he had got his breath, Topsy being too winded to speak at all. The lizard did not answer for a moment. She was thinking, evidently. “Between the flicking ears and up the horns would be the most interesting,” she said presently. “They’re slippery, and you could slide down them like banisters. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Sambo felt his sister’s hand tighten on his own. He remembered that he was a man. “Are they easy to get up?” he asked in a faint little voice. “Not very,” answered Snitch, “but I’ll help you. Sliding down is the real difficulty. If you slide the wrong side you may land on the nose and mouth and the cow might snort. And that’s risky rather. A good snort would blow you halfway across the field!” Sambo wasn’t quite sure he liked cows when he heard that. It was Topsy, finding her breath at last and speaking for the first time, who brought his courage back. “I’ll race you, Sambo,” she said with a thick gurgle, “and I’ll give you choice of horns.” She was actually laughing! The boy conquered his nervousness. “I’ll give you a start,” he answered loudly. “You can have half a horn, and I’ll beat you easily.” The lizard interrupted them. “Come on, now,” she told them. “We’ve only got two hours, remember, and it’s a longish way down the spine. You’ll feel the body moving probably, but that’s nothing. It rises and falls with the breath, of course, just like your bodies.” She led the way again at a fair speed, and the children wriggled along behind her. The hair was shorter and less plentiful on the spine. There was not so much to cling to, but it was harder under foot, and they made good speed. On either side the great sides sloped down and away into the darkness of the field far below, but the ridge was broad and nearly level, and Sambo felt very brave until suddenly the upward slope of the neck was reached and the hair became much longer and thicker, entangling their feet in matted, twisted patches. Here Snitch stopped dead. Beyond her, in the air, rose the broad flat plateau of the head. The twitching ears, fringed with great webs of hair, spread sideways. Farther, again, the long curve of the slippery horns swept up to the stars like immense toboggan runs. “The ears,” observed Snitch calmly, “aren’t flicking much. She’s too sound asleep. But the horns look extra slippery tonight. That’s the dew, you see.” She turned her head down to examine the two children. “How do you feel?” she inquired kindly. Sambo was the first to find his voice. “Quite well, thanks,” he said faintly. “Only⁠—my legs ache a bit.” “And you, Topsy? All right, eh?” asked Snitch. “Same as Sambo,” came the answer, brief for want of breath. “Then choose your horns quickly,” said the lizard. “I think the cow’s going to wake in a minute. She’s rumbling a bit inside. It’s probably a cough coming.” The noise was like the rumbling of an underground train, but though the great body shook and trembled a bit, the cough did not come, and presently the rumbling and the shaking ceased. “Now, choose your horns and shin up them,” squeaked Snitch. “There’s no time to lose.” “Ladies first,” suggested Sambo, relieved that it was the correct thing for a man to say. “I’ll take the left one,” whispered Topsy, without a sign of nervousness, and almost before her sentence was finished, the lizard had scuttled up to the top and hung her tail down for the children to climb up by. How Topsy managed it was a mystery, but while Sambo pushed and heaved her from below, the fat little body somehow found a footing on the smooth horn and swarmed slowly up it, and a few minutes later her gurgling laughter was heard high up in the air. “I’m up!” she cried, waving an arm. “On the very top. Hurry up, Sambo! You give me half a horn’s start, remember, for the race!” It was now Sambo’s turn. But Snitch did not come down to help him. She stayed by Topsy. “You’ll do it easily,” she piped. “You’re a man.” He had to do it alone. Sambo examined the gleaming slippery horn that curved so steeply upwards. He knew the difficulties. He clenched his fists and faced them. He was not a coward, but all the same his heart was quaking as he began the perilous swarm. It was a terrible job. His muscles ached, the perspiration poured down his face, his breath gave out, but he clasped the horn with arms and legs, and after a tremendous struggle he reached the top. Holding tightly to the tip of the horn, he looked about him, while the others shouted “Well done, Sambo!” at him across the gulf between them. It was wonderful, but giddy. The stars were nearer; the field far, far below; he was perched high up in the air, and the great body of the cow lay beneath him like a cliff running out into the sea. The wind blew past him sharply. He glanced down nervously into the empty space below. Would he find the courage to slide full speed down that awful slope? It was so narrow! If he swung round too much he would land on the nose and be blown off into the night! He shuddered. “Are you ready?” Topsy’s call floated across to him. “I’ll count One, Two, Three⁠—and away.” She slid down a little way for her promised start. “Ready!” he answered, his voice trembling rather. “One⁠—two⁠—three⁠—” he heard. But before the “Away” was uttered, something happened⁠—the last thing in the world he expected. It was the warning sneeze. “ Snitch! Snitch! ” came the sharp danger signal. “An owl! We’ve been seen!” <h3 epub:type="ordinal z3998:roman">XI Sambo, balanced precariously on his narrow tip, had a sort of convulsion. His first instinct, to protect Topsy, was useless, because he couldn’t reach her. His second instinct, to protect himself, was also useless, because he didn’t know what to do. He remembered the rule and kept still. It was the only possible thing to do, anyhow. Perhaps he wouldn’t be noticed. He clung as tight and still as ivy to the horn⁠—while the swooping owl shot past him through the air. He saw the big dark body, he heard the wings, he felt the wind they made, and the shrill hunting cry shrieked in his very ears. It was an awful moment, though it seemed more like ten minutes. “It’s missed me!” he heard Topsy call. “It’s missed me, too!” he shouted back. And the next moment he heard the owl’s wild scream far away among the trees across the road. They were saved. But someone else besides themselves had heard that owl’s loud shriek. The cow had heard it. It had disturbed her slumbers. The cow began to wake up. She stirred in her sleep. She moved. Slowly⁠—her body rose. She began to get up, rolling to one side as she gathered her legs under her, then to the other side, as she found her feet and prepared for the final effort. “Hold tight!” cried Snitch. “You’re quite safe if you just hold on!” Sambo held on for grim life, as the vast body heaved itself up into the air. Mercifully, no tail came slashing round, but the twitching ears made a wind that blew him sideways, and the cow’s final effort, as she found her four feet, swung him first down, then up, then sideways at such a pace that he almost lost his hold altogether. How he still kept his hold was a mystery. The cow at last was fully up. She stood motionless. “Hold tight!” piped Snitch. “She’s going to shake her head, I think. They usually do when they’re up.” And this cow did. Sambo shut his eyes. Why he wasn’t shaken off into the stars he never knew. It was an appalling shake. The whole earth seemed to shake. Every bone in his body rattled. His head nearly fell off. He bit his tongue. His teeth clicked. But, at last, the shaking grew less and stopped⁠—and the cow began to walk across the field. Sambo found his breath and opened his eyes. “Are you all right, Topsy?” he called out. “<abbr epub:type="z3998:initialism">R.S.V.P. ,” she cried back in a shaky voice. “<abbr epub:type="z3998:initialism">S.O.S. ” yelled Sambo. “A.B.C.,” his sister answered. It seemed all they could think of to say in this amazing moment, as the cow, carrying a child perched on the tip of each horn, went walking beneath the stars across the field. “I’ll guide her to the gate,” piped the lizard, and then did a wonderful and clever thing. She slid down the horn, scuttled over the head between the twitching ears, slipped along the wet nose and muzzle, and by tickling the cow’s mouth first on one side and then on the other, she persuaded the animal to turn right or left as she wanted. In this way, after a long time, they reached the gate in the hedge. The road, with the house just across it, lay below them. The cow stopped dead. “Now, get ready,” called the lizard. “I’ll tickle her between the eyes and she’ll lower her head. Then you must slide down and land on the top bar of the gate. Watch me!” This happened, too. Snitch flicked her tail about between the cow’s eyes, making the great animal lower her head, till it almost rested on the wooden bar. “⁠—Slide!” piped the lizard. Sambo shut his eyes, flung legs and arms round the slippery horn, and⁠—slid. He landed head over heels among the thick, soft hair of the head, ran forward towards the nose and, just avoiding the dangerous puffs of breath from the great mouth, he found himself at last standing on the top bar of the gate. Beside him stood Topsy. “I won,” she chuckled happily, not one bit upset or frightened. “I got down first!” “Moo! Moo!” boomed the cow, drowning their voices with a roar like thunder, and making them scuttle down into the road as quick as lightning. They found the lizard waiting for them. “Well,” she squeaked, “we’ve had our adventure, and you both came through it very well. You know now what sort of life we lizards lead. Day and night we live with adventure, risk and danger. So you’ve learned something! You’ve learned to move quickly too! The way you scuttled off the gate was very good. Also you’ve learned to keep still. I hope you’ve enjoyed yourselves, anyhow!” she added finally. “Thank you very much, Mrs. Snitch,” murmured Sambo with respectful and admiring gratitude. “X.Y.Z.,” whispered Topsy, using her politest voice, for she, too, was filled with admiration. Snitch uttered a peculiar squeak, and the glowworms came flocking round them with their pleasant light. The cow, the children saw, had moved away. “The three hours are up,” mentioned Snitch, “You must get small again and climb up the wall into your beds: <blockquote epub:type="z3998:verse"> Make me though thmall That I can crawl Thtraight up the wall And never fall!” There was a dwindling sensation; the ground came nearer; both children became as small as they had been when they started on the adventure. Accompanied by the Lights, they climbed easily up the wall and through the open window. The glowworms faded out. Sambo tumbled down on to the carpet. Somehow or other, he lost sight of Topsy, but when he picked himself up he saw that she was already in bed. He could see the lump of her round body beneath the clothes. He climbed into his own bed. “Good night!” he heard Snitch call from the windowsill outside. “Good night, Mrs. Snitch,” he called back sleepily as he turned over beneath the bedclothes, buried his nose in the pillow, and went off into another dreamland.

It was late when he opened his eyes again. Topsy’s bed, he saw, was already empty; the sun was pouring into the room. He had overslept. Nannie poked her head in at the door: “I’ve called you four times,” she said crossly. “If I have to call again you’ll have no honey for your breakfast. The bath water’s nearly cold!” He crawled out of bed, wondering why he was his natural size again. Snitch hadn’t made him bigger; the last thing he remembered was the difficulty of climbing on to the mattress. He rubbed his eyes as he trotted into the bathroom. His head still felt sleepy. “Have you seen a lizard about anywhere, Nannie?” he asked. “Lizard!” exclaimed Nannie, astonished at the question. “I should hope not, indeed! What’s the boy talking about! You’ve been dreaming.” And she popped him bodily into the bath and began to sponge him vigorously. The cool water chased the sleep from his head, and he remembered that he must not say anything to Nannie about the adventure. He would wait for Topsy. Topsy would be able to explain what had happened. When at last he was dressed and ready, he went in to breakfast and saw his sister with a large plate of bread and honey, already eating hard. He caught her eye. She looked at him innocently, as though honey was the only thing she knew about in the whole world. “You’re late, Sambo,” she said cheekily. He winked hard at her. “<abbr epub:type="z3998:initialism">R.S.V.P. ,” he whispered, splashing in his plate of porridge. Then, as Topsy made no answering wink, he added: “<abbr epub:type="z3998:initialism">S.O.S. ” But Topsy said nothing to this either and looked as though she didn’t understand what he was talking about. Her face was as blank as a cushion. “<abbr epub:type="z3998:initialism">P.T.O. and X.Y.Z.,” Sambo tried again, winking with both eyes this time, then adding under his breath: “Did Snitch make you big again? What happened after she left us⁠—?” Topsy stared at him with her mouth wide open. “Don’t eat with your mouth open, Topsy,” Nannie pounced on her at once. “And you get on with your porridge, Sambo. I can’t think why you’re so naughty this morning.” Recognizing from her voice that she was serious, the children glanced sideways at her, and went on with their breakfast; but as soon as Nannie was out of the room again, Topsy began full blast: “Sambo, why were you so sleepy this morning? And what did you mean by all those letters you said to me? And who’s Snitch, or whatever you called it? And how can I be made big again? You are naughty, you know. I believe Nannie’ll smack you or something if you go on.” She stopped for breath and Sambo stared at her. A queer feeling came over him. Was his sister joking, or had she really forgotten? “Topsy,” he asked solemnly, “don’t you remember a lizard and a cow and an owl and a tremendous cat and a lot of glowworms flying about to light us⁠—?” “Glowworms don’t fly,” exclaimed Nannie, bursting into the room, “they crawl on the ground, for one thing. And, for another, you’d better finish your breakfast instead of talking nonsense. I spoke to you once.” It was quite clear that Topsy remembered nothing of the adventure, nothing at all. Sambo could tell from her face now. It was full of questions, but not of memory. He felt dreadfully puzzled, but he gobbled up his bread and honey before Nannie could tell him he wasn’t to have any. Topsy, he saw, was now busy with a picture book. She had forgotten all about the things she asked. She changed from one interest to another very quickly always. “I say, Nannie,” the boy asked a few minutes later when he was alone with her, “is that really true about glowworms?” “That they can’t fly?” replied Nannie. “Of course it is. I read all about them in a book. They’re beetles. The female gives the light and it crawls on the ground. Now, run and get your boots on.” She said a lot of other things about going for a walk, what he was to wear, and where they were going, but Sambo heard none of it. He was more puzzled than ever. Had the whole Adventure been a dream then, he wondered? It had been grand and marvellous anyhow, and the world was a finer place because of it, and far more exciting than before. Whether Topsy remembered or not made no difference really. He would ask the lizard. The lizard, however, remained in hiding. She was resting after her wild night, Sambo decided. He also decided that he would not ask his sister any more direct questions. He would just test her instead with a few remarks to see how she would answer. So, when they started for their walk, and Mrs. Tomkyns accompanied them down the drive with her tail in the air like a ramrod, he said: “If you were as small as a mouse, Topsy, Mrs. Tomkyns would look as big as an elephant.” To which Topsy replied: “But I’m not”⁠—with nothing more. And when they passed the field where the cows were lying down, he said: “If you wanted to climb up that cow and ride on her back, which leg would you get up by?” To which Topsy replied: “But I don’t,”⁠—with nothing more. Once again he tested her: “If you had to climb out of a window and down the wall, would you go head first or feet first, Topsy?” To which the answer came: “Neither. I’d stay inside,”⁠—with nothing more. “Then I don’t believe you really came at all!” Sambo blurted out⁠—to which his sister made no reply of any kind, because clearly she had no idea what he was talking about. Then he added under his breath, saying it to himself: “It doesn’t matter a bit. I went anyhow! And that’s certain!” “I went, too,” squeaked a tiny voice close to his ear. It was Snitch’s voice. It startled him. “I’ve been on your coat collar ever since you left the house,” the voice went on. It ran up and tickled his neck to prove it, then ran back again into hiding. “Drop behind,” added the lizard, “so that we can talk without being heard.” Sambo instantly stooped down to tie his bootlace, while Nannie and Topsy walked on ahead. “Dear Snitch,” he began at once, “I want to ask you something very important, please.” “Unimportant things, anyhow, aren’t worth asking,” mentioned the lizard. “Quick, now, for I want my dinner.” “Did Topsy come with us last night?” asked the boy. Snitch laughed. “If she did,” came the answer, “she’d never stop talking about it. She’d tell everybody in the house. Females always divulge, as I’ve already warned you.” “Oh!” cried Sambo, “then you’ve made her forget it on purpose!” Snitch made no comment. “But I went, didn’t I?” he went on excitedly. “I didn’t just dream it all, I mean?” For a moment there was no reply. He felt Snitch run up over his neck and wriggle into the hollow of his ear. The tiny feet and forked tongue tickled him. “You enjoyed yourself, didn’t you?” the little creature whispered. “Rather!” shouted the boy⁠—so loud that Nannie turned and came towards him. “Then just remember it and be glad,” Snitch told him. “That’s quite enough. Never bother happiness with questions. Now, good-bye, I’m off to catch my dinner.” And a second later, when Nannie came up, the lizard had vanished into thin air. <h3 epub:type="ordinal z3998:roman">XII One result of Sambo’s strange friendship with his little saurian was that he showed signs of changing. He began to notice things for himself. Topsy was still too young to alter. Balls may look rounder some days than others, but they’re really always the same until someone pricks them, when they become just pieces of flattened india-rubber. No one pricked Topsy, however, so she remained the tight round little ball she always had been. With Sambo it was different. His parents sat in the garden one day and talked about him. They little guessed that all they said was overheard. “The boy’s developing fast,” remarked Father in a pleased voice, as though the improvement were due to himself. “He’s beginning to notice things out of doors⁠—” “What sort of things?” interrupted Mother, a little alarmed. “Oh, insects and things⁠—bees, spiders, flies and all that. He’s always asking me questions I can’t answer, especially about lizards. He knows a lot about lizards already. I can’t think where he picks it up.” “Probably he just makes it up,” suggested Mother. But Father disagreed. “No,” he said emphatically, “because it’s accurate. Besides, he never wants to kill a thing now the moment he sees it. He’d rather watch it.” “Yes,” agreed Mother, “that is queer. So unlike a boy. I hope Nannie isn’t filling his head with nonsense!” “No fear,” laughed Father. “Why, Nannie doesn’t know the difference between a tortoise and a turtle. She certainly knows nothing about lizards.” “She understands children,” Mother defended her. “Children, my dear, are not insects or reptiles⁠—at least, our children aren’t.” And then he added: “I’m glad to see this in the boy. It may mean he’s going to be a naturalist. And that’s a healthy out-of-door life, I always think.” This conversation took place on the seat in the rose-garden, and Snitch, who was always where you least expected her, was lying comfortably along the leg of Father’s chair. She knew quite well that the improvement in Sambo was due largely to herself, so she felt flattered and thought it might be nice to show herself. Dropping down, she shot across the ground in front of the speakers, as much as to say, “Here I am! Now look at me!” And very nice indeed she certainly looked, so neatly dressed, her new tail nearly grown, her bright eyes shining. But instead of the cry of admiration she expected, there came a shrill squeal of fear. “Oh! Oh!” screamed Mother. “There’s a snake! Or a mouse! Or something horrid! It’ll run up my skirts and bite me!” And, quick as a flash, she climbed upon the garden seat, jiggling her feet about as if she were trying to dance. “It’s only a lizard,” Father calmed her. “It won’t hurt you. Nice, friendly little things, lizards. Look, it’s got a forked tongue, and it’s moving its eyelids,” he went on. “Snakes haven’t got movable eyelids, you know, like lizards.” But Mother, having climbed still higher, had all she could do to balance and wasn’t listening. “And, by Jove, it’s growing a new tip to its tail. It’s a little beauty,” he cried. “I’ll pick it up and show it to you.” “Will you, indeed!” squeaked Snitch, though the big man couldn’t hear the voice as Sambo could have heard it had he been there. Father stepped forward very cautiously; he stooped; he slowly advanced his hand; then suddenly darted out a finger and thumb and grabbed⁠—nothing! “Why, I do declare⁠—it’s gone!” he cried in amazement. “And yet I never saw it move! It’s disappeared completely.” And he stood up straight again and helped Mother down from her dangerous perch. “Gone into its hole, I suppose. I never knew anything so fast in my life!” Snitch had certainly disappeared, but as a matter of fact she had hardly moved at all. She had merely shifted her body at incredible speed an inch or two, so that she now lay against a dry twig. She lay absolutely still, looking like a bit of wood herself. The big man’s eye could not distinguish her from the ground. He no longer saw her. “I do believe it’s the very lizard Sambo’s been watching,” Father remarked. “The boy told me it moved like lightning. Come along, dear,” he added, taking Mother’s arm and walking away. “You’ve nothing to fear. It’s gone.” “I only hope he doesn’t touch it,” replied Mother nervously, giving a little shiver. “I’m sure it bites. And I hope it doesn’t mean we’re going to have thousands of them about. They have enormous families, I believe, like rabbits.⁠ ⁠…” and their voices died away as they went into the house, so that Father’s comment was not heard. Snitch, smiling to herself, also went into the house just behind them. She flashed up the banisters and along the corridor into the schoolroom, where Sambo sat alone poring over a book about Insects and Animals that Live in your Garden⁠—a present from his father. She ran on to the open page, cocked an eye, and told him what had happened. “I could play with your Father,” she observed, when the tale was ended, “because he’s friendly and likes me. But your Mother’s afraid of me and thinks I bite.” She flicked her tail and laughed. “I could never do anything with her. Besides,” she added in a hurt tone, “I eat the flies that tickle her face, so she ought to feel grateful. And we don’t have enormous families either. Twelve eggs is the most I’ve ever had, and usually it’s only six or seven.” Sambo, however, was not listening very attentively. He was more interested in the way Snitch had made herself invisible to his father. “I wish you’d teach me how to do that ,” he begged, adding quickly “Thank you very much indeed.” It was a good plan to give thanks beforehand, he had discovered. Snitch cocked both eyes this time. There was a pause. The lizard was thinking it over. “It’s not easy,” she announced at last. “You humans are so big and lumpy. I’m only seven inches long. You’re over sixty. Besides, we lizards have been practising it for millions of years. Have to, you see. Otherwise we should be seen and eaten.” “I see,” remarked Sambo sympathetically. “Do you?” piped the little voice with a chuckle. But its owner had vanished. The slim body which a moment before had sprawled over the page of the open book was no longer there. “You hear me, but you can’t see me,” the voice continued. “Now, if you were a hawk or a hedgehog or a snake, I’d be safe here where I am; but as you’re only a little boy, and rather a slow one too, I’ll show you my hiding-place. Look closely now!” And Sambo saw a pointed muzzle pushed suddenly into view over the edge of the white page. Two bright eyes winked at him. Snitch lay along the binding of the book, her colour merging with the colour of the binding so that she was practically invisible. Unless she moved, it was impossible to see her. Her outline was lost against the dark background. “Another thing you can’t do as we do it,” she went on to explain, darting back upon the white page again, “is⁠— keep absolutely still. Boys⁠—grownups too for that matter⁠—make unnecessary movements all the time. No human can keep quite still for more than a few seconds: you flick your eyelids, bite your lips, twitch your fingers, wiggle your toes, wrinkle your nose, twist your neck, and breathe so heavily that your ribs heave up and down like a storm at sea. Your eyes, too, are never still. All those silly movements betray you.” “Yes,” replied the boy, “that’s true, I expect. But the people looking for me wouldn’t notice most of those movements, would they? A hawk or a snake might, but a person⁠—” “Sambo!” cried the lizard, with a shrill squeak of pleasure, “you’re worth teaching. People only see big movements. I’m delighted with you! You might almost be one of us. So I’ll show you how to do it. Quick, now! Your father’s coming. Get ready!” Sambo just stared. “How do you know?” he asked in amazement. “I hear his step on the stairs,” explained Snitch. “He’s coming up from the hall and I know his tread. Besides, the boards of the floor are shaking. I can feel the table trembling. You forget he’s seventy-two inches long and weighs nearly 200 pounds.” “But I hear nothing,” objected Sambo. “I can’t feel anything shaking.’ Do what I tell you,” squeaked the lizard sharply, “if you want to learn. Quick, or you’ll be too late, and he’ll catch you.” And hardly had she spoken when Father’s voice, calling “Sambo! Sambo!” was heard booming in the passage. The thump of his feet was heard too, striding down towards the room. “Take that brown and red tablecloth,” ordered Snitch, “and wrap it round your shoulders. That’s right,” she added, as the boy obeyed. “Now sit down on the floor against the bookshelves, bend your head forwards as if you were looking at the books. Hide your white hands and tuck your feet under you. Quick! Now, don’t move. Don’t stir a muscle. The tablecloth and the browny-green covers of the books melt into the colours of the cloth. You are difficult to see. There’s no outline visible. Keep quite still and you’re safe!” “Sambo! Sambo, boy! Where are you?” called his Father’s voice just outside the door. The next minute he was in the room. “Sambo!” he shouted, “are you here? Topsy told me you were reading in the schoolroom. I don’t see you anywhere!” And he began to search with his eyes. Then he moved forward and picked up the book. Next he looked under the table, behind the folded curtains, at the back of the sofa, and even in the cupboard. “Bother the boy!” he exclaimed to himself. “Why, he’s disappeared just as that little lizard did! My wig! What a streak of lightning he is!” And he passed so close to the bookshelves that his leg brushed Sambo’s shoulder. But the big man never saw him, though more than once he must have looked straight at him. The colours were too perfectly matched. No outline of his crouching body was visible to an unpractised human eye. He marched heavily over to the open window and looked out into the garden. “Sambo!” he bawled at the top of his voice, “are you out there?” “Now show yourself,” whispered the lizard, perched on a brown bookbinding beneath his nose. “You kept still grandly⁠—for a first time. Now, get up and show yourself.” Sambo obeyed. “Here I am, Father,” he announced himself, standing just behind his parent’s back and pulling his coat-sleeve. The big man turned. “Bless the boy, I never heard you come in!” he exclaimed, picking him up in his arms. “Wherever were you all the time?” “Here,” answered Sambo. “Why, you touched me once. I was down there,” he explained, pointing to the floor beside the bookshelves. “I had the tablecloth over me, you see.” His father stared, tremendously surprised. “Show me how you did it,” he exclaimed. And Sambo repeated his performance. He crouched down, covered with the cloth, so that it was very difficult indeed to see him. Knowing exactly where to look this time, however, his father of course could distinguish the outline of his body. “Well, I never!” he cried. “That’s what they call camouflage ! And who taught you that, I should like to know!” “Promise you won’t tell anyone?” the boy made his condition. “Yes, I promise,” agreed the man, picking him up bodily. “A lizard,” Sambo whispered into his ear. <h3 epub:type="ordinal z3998:roman">XIII Sambo had now learned a lesson the lizard perhaps had intended him to learn. He realised that Topsy didn’t need Adventures as he needed them. That was why she had forgotten all about the Night Out, even if she had ever taken part in it at all. Their natures were different. He also realised, after the talk with his father, that if he talked too much, he would have to grow up into a Naturalist, whereas what he meant to grow up into was an engineer⁠—a man who drove tremendous engines, built bridges, and dammed up great torrents. Henceforth, therefore, he kept his Adventures to himself. He enjoyed them in his own way. <blockquote epub:type="z3998:verse"> For Sambo was a merry lad, His heart was light as air, About the things he didn’t know He really didn’t care! “That’s very pretty, but rather silly, I think,” squeaked the familiar voice. “It isn’t a good tune, either.” Sambo turned his head and saw his tiny friend sprawling on a stone in front of him. He was alone in the garden. “You’re always listening,” he objected. “You turn up everywhere. I thought I was alone. Topsy’s gone out with Nannie. I’m supposed to have a headache. Too much cake or something, they said.” “Because I like you,” replied Snitch. “That’s why I’m here now.” And she wriggled closer. “I’ve got something to propose to you.” Her bright eyes sparkled. “What is it?” asked the boy, all eagerness at once. “Oh, just the garden,” said Snitch vaguely, “and how we lizards read it.” “Oh, the garden,” repeated Sambo, disappointed a little. “How do you mean⁠—‘read it’?” “You read books,” replied the lizard. “But books only give what other people have seen. We,” she added proudly, “don’t want secondhand stuff. We read it first.” “Oh!” remarked the boy, feeling rather stupid. He didn’t understand. “Your letters and printing,” explained Snitch, “are only signs on paper. You know what they mean because you’ve learned them with a lot of trouble. Well, the whole world is covered with signs that you can read direct, if you know how. I’ll teach you a little, if you like.” “Thanks awfully,” replied the boy in his politest voice, and he turned his head and stared all over the garden, hoping to see signs he had never noticed before. But he saw nothing new. “You must learn the alphabet first,” mentioned the lizard, watching him. “How do you think we should know all we do if we couldn’t read the writing all over the fields and sky and trees? D’you think we just guess it?” Her voice turned very scornful. “Bah!” she added, “your book-writing is nothing compared to ours!” And she drew her tail up. Sambo felt ashamed. “I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I see now what you mean. And you certainly do know an awful lot, I must say.” “Thank you,” Snitch said, in a forgiving voice. “Now, we’ll begin with the Night Garden.” “The Night Garden!” exclaimed Sambo. “Do you mean the Garden at Night?” “It’s easier to read,” explained the lizard. “There’s more going on. You’re all out of the way, for one thing!” “Oh!” gasped Sambo, beginning to understand. “You,” went on the lizard rather contemptuously, “think everything goes to sleep when you do and because you do. You think only owls and bats are awake at night.” She twitched her head and gave a little laugh. “Now, be ready tonight when Topsy’s asleep. I’ll come for you.” “I’ll be ready,” the boy agreed eagerly. “Shall I be made small again?” he asked. “ Bah! ” snapped Snitch contemptuously. “We never repeat things. We think of something new. Now, remember, don’t ask questions afterwards, don’t talk to people who can’t understand, and⁠—be ready when I come.” And she disappeared so fast that Sambo never saw her go. That night Topsy fell asleep, luckily, the moment her head touched the pillow, and Sambo lay staring at the night-light and waiting for the sign. The door, as usual, stood ajar, and Nannie poked her head in once or twice. But no signal came. The minutes passed. The house grew very still. The boy’s eyes grew rather heavy. Then suddenly the familiar little voice sounded behind him: “Dress,” it said. And he was out of bed and dressed faster than ever in his life before. As he buttoned his coat the light was put out. “Take thith,” he heard, “and follow me,” and he felt something put into his fingers in the dark. “I’ve got the other end in my mouth. Itth a pieth of thtring.” Already he felt it tighten. A moment later he was out in the passage, down the deserted stairs, through the empty hall, along the corridor to the pantry⁠—and the side-door clicked behind him. Snitch, by means of the piece of string had led him straight into the garden. He felt the cool night air. He saw the stars. Still feeling the pull of the string, he followed his invisible guide down the long gravel drive, along the path that crossed the Farm Meadow, and so to the edge of the belt of trees that lay between this meadow and the big hayfield. Here, half a mile from the house, they stopped. The lizard spoke for the first time since leaving the room. “You can’t see me,” she said, “so you must just listen instead. You can’t see anything, for that matter, because you haven’t got our night-eyes. But you can hear and feel. Just hear and feel as keenly as ever you can. Now, which way is the wind? Tell me that first.” Sambo, eager to obey, listened and felt as hard as ever he could. But there was no wind. Not a tree rustled, the grass lay silent, no air stirred. He wetted his finger and held it up, but with no result. Not a breath! “There isn’t any,” he said, proud to feel he was right. “Wrong,” squeaked the lizard. “There’s always some, even on the stillest night. A draught, a current, a movement in the air. Now,” she added, like a teacher giving a lesson to a stupid child, “try again.” This time, remembering his instructions, Sambo just listened, and after a few minutes, though he had thought it was a dead silence, he began to hear all manner of queer, gentle, little noises creeping upon him from the left. He hadn’t noticed these before. From his right side he heard nothing. “The wind’s blowing from my left to my right,” he announced, though it was partly a guess, perhaps. “Right!” exclaimed Snitch, in a pleased voice. “And what do you hear?” she asked him next. “Listen hard a moment, and then tell me.” Sambo listened so hard that he nearly lost his balance, and leaned against a larch tree to steady himself. The blood made a rumbling noise in his head at first, but presently he began to distinguish other sounds behind this rumble: creakings, rustlings, sharp tiny clicks as though a leaf or small twig snapped, odd little hissing noises too, while other, fainter sounds⁠—and they were deeper, these⁠—seemed to come from underground. There were odd tappings too. And the harder he listened, the louder grew the volume of noises, though this may have been because he already was hearing better. “They all come from my left,” he whispered, and his whisper seemed like a roar compared to the softness of these other sounds. “Nothing from the right.” “That proves the wind,” replied Snitch. “Describe what you hear.” And the boy did so, as well as he could. “Not bad,” remarked the lizard judicially, “not so bad for a boy who has never learned how to listen, and whose ears are full of wax. Now, I’ll tell you what it all is, but first I’ll get on your shoulder.” She ran up and perched below his ear. “I’m safer here. Something might make a dart at me on the ground⁠—from the right side, where we can’t hear. I can whisper too.” She gave him then a rapid analysis of all the jumble of sounds, though he couldn’t distinguish all the differences that she evidently could. He felt rather frightened to know there were so many living creatures all about him, but she explained to him that most of them were friendly, more afraid of him than he was of them, and that only one or two were hostile⁠—“to me, not to you,” she added. “They’d gobble me up if they could. They know I’m here, right enough. That’s why I’m on your shoulder.” “The whole wood’s alive,” she told him, “for everything moves at night. There’s just as much noise coming from our right, too, only we can’t hear it because the wind’s the other way. The things on our right can hear and smell us, but all those we hear to our left, though they know someone’s about, don’t know exactly what or where.” “Smell?” asked Sambo, sniffing hard. “Why, I can’t smell anything at all.” “I’ll tell you about smell later,” replied Snitch. “For the moment let’s deal with hearing. That rustling you hear is made up of a good many things, all moving stealthily. Several field-mice are flitting in and out of the grass, hunting for food; beetles, and all manner of insects, are scratching; and that soft, silken noise like water is something nasty sliding along on a very smooth tummy. It never stops, you notice. It’s ahem! we won’t refer to it again, if you don’t mind⁠—a grass-snake. I have a poor opinion of such things⁠—” “So have I,” agreed Sambo, “though they’re not poisonous.” “Things that swallow me can be poisonous or not,” replied Snitch. “I disapprove of them. But, before we leave the hostile things, I’ll mention one other. That clicking, jerky noise⁠—d’you hear it? It goes by fits and starts. Well, that’s⁠—ahem!⁠—a hedgehog. If it saw you, it would just roll up in a ball and pretend to be dead; but if it saw me, it would open its ugly mouth, run at me much faster than you have ever seen a hedgehog run, and⁠—I’ll omit the rest, I think, if you don’t mind.” Something fell with a little sharp tap beside them on to the ground. “And that,” Snitch continued more calmly, “is something harmless. A squirrel perched high on a branch above our heads is eating its nuts. It dropped that bit just to let us know it’s seen us. Friendly little things, squirrels, but rather conceited about their sparkling eyes and bushy tails.” Snitch gave a subdued yet shrill squeak, and the squirrel answered with a similar noise. More things dropped. The lizard gave a sudden start. “That’s a warning,” she whispered. “Something’s moving towards us from the side we can’t hear⁠—the right. Let’s get into the field a bit. It’s safer.” And the boy obeyed as quick as lightning, carrying his friend with him on his shoulder. “What was the deeper noise we heard?” he asked, as soon as they were safely in the open field. “Underground, it sounded.” “It was underground,” Snitch told him, “but you’d never guess. In the deep ditch, a dozen yards from where we stood, is a hole that goes down into the soft earth⁠—a badger’s hole. What you heard was old Father Badger moving about among his family. He’s got two young ones. And he was shuffling about and grunting because he heard some rats sniffing at the mouth of his hole as they scampered past towards the farm-buildings in the field beyond. He’s a great friend of mine, but dreadfully shy, and he hates human beings because⁠—well, because they badger him to death whenever they can.” A dozen questions came into Sambo’s head, but before he could ask one of them, Snitch was talking again. “Now, lean down and put your ear to the ground, and you’ll hear something else, if you keep still enough.” The boy knelt down and put his ear to the earth, while Snitch wriggled round on to his back as he did so. “Listen hard and keep still as a mouse. You must hardly breathe.” After listening intently for several minutes, Sambo caught a queer faint murmur in the earth, but below the surface. It was a soft, grating sound, rather as if he rubbed sand between finger and thumb close to his ear. “Earth worms,” Snitch told him. “Hundreds of them. They pass the soft earth through the whole length of their bodies. You see the casts on the lawn in the morning usually. A bird can hear that noise. Then it taps on the lawn with its feet to make the worm come up⁠—and be gobbled for its breakfast. The moles aren’t moving yet; they start about dawn.” Sambo held his ear to the ground and listened for a long time. It all fascinated him. “That’s enough now for one night,” exclaimed Snitch presently. “Up you get and back to bed. I want to get some sleep too. You’ve read a few lines of the Night Garden anyhow⁠—just the beginning of a chapter. Next time we’ll try smell, after that trees and flowers and bushes, after that perhaps the sky⁠—oh, and dozens of other chapters as well.” “It’s most awfully kind of you, Snitch,” the boy thanked her, as he got on his feet again. “I’ve enjoyed it enormously. Next time I’d like to⁠—” But before he could finish the sentence there came a queer rushing past his ears, he seemed to rise, then drop through space, he turned over and over.⁠ ⁠… He opened his eyes a little and found he was in bed. The night-light had burned very low, and in the other bed across the room Topsy was snoring and blowing like a small grampus that had somehow got into a kettle on the kitchen stove. He closed his eyes again and remembered no more. <h3 epub:type="ordinal z3998:roman">XIV Sambo was just beginning to learn the Garden-Writing of sound, smell and sign, when something happened to interrupt the fascinating lessons. September had passed and October, with its shortening days, had come. In the early morning mist lay along the fields, and the leaves, turning red and gold, were already fluttering to the ground like gorgeous, tired butterflies. Along one of these golden leaves, dropped from the horse-chestnut tree, lay Snitch one afternoon. This time she had not chosen a background to hide against. The gold showed the outline of her slender little body very vividly. “Pick me up, please,” squeaked the lizard. “I don’t feel like darting or scuttling today.” The voice had a rather tired sound. Sambo obeyed. He picked up the big leaf and laid it on the palm of his hand. Snitch did not move. She lay like a dead twig, motionless. The boy wondered what was the matter. Her voice, he noticed, was not quite as clear and sharp as usual, her eyes seemed less bright. They had less flash in them. She seemed altogether listless and uninterested in life. Never before had she asked to be picked up, for as a rule she darted up his arm or back before he could think. He feared his little friend must be out of sorts, or even ill; and this made him feel uncomfortable, because he knew nothing about illness and could not think of anything, to say for some time. He gazed down at the motionless little creature in silence. She made no sound. “Have you got a headache, or something?” he asked gently, after a long pause. “Never have headaches,” replied the lizard, still without moving, “because I never overeat.” After a moment she added: “That’s my trouble.” Sambo was puzzled; he did not understand this mood. “What trouble?” he asked, bending his face down a little closer so as to watch her better. “Eating,” replied Snitch briefly. “My food’s getting scarce.” “Oh, if you’re hungry,” cried Sambo, “I’ll get you something from the kitchen in a jiffy!” and he almost turned to go into the house. The lizard stopped him. “ My food, not yours,” she explained, then fell into silence again. “I’m awfully sorry,” Sambo put in, and really meant it. “It’s horrid being hungry.” He longed to help, but didn’t know quite what to suggest. He was far too clumsy to catch her food in the way she managed it. “Insects are getting scarce now,” the small voice went on presently. “And there’s less heat in the sun. You might move out of the shade, please, and put me near a wall, where it’s warmer. I feel cold.” Sambo quickly ran down the Drive and stood against the old stone wall. The sunlight was reflected here. Flies and bees were buzzing in the ivy. “That’s better,” said the lizard, and showed signs of reviving a little. Her voice was already brisker. She cocked her head round and looked up into the sky a moment. “The swallows are going too,” she observed. “They can’t get enough insects to eat either. They’ll all be gone to Africa in a week, where there’s lots of food. When they go, I go.” Sambo felt his heart sink. “You’re not going to leave me!” he cried. “I should miss you terribly. I love you so. We’ve had such fun⁠—” “Thank you,” Snitch interrupted, and ran slowly off the leaf on to his palm, which she tickled softly with her tiny forefeet by way of showing her affection. “Your hand is nice and warm,” she added, snuggling in against the curve of his thumb. “I feel tired, cold, hungry and sleepy.” Her tail curled round a little as if she were going to sleep. “So, when the swallows go, I go too,” she said again, half closing her eyes. “But you’ll feel ever so much better after something to eat and a good sleep,” said the boy eagerly. “I wish you wouldn’t talk about going. I hate it.” “When the swallows go, I go too,” repeated the lizard gently. “I must.” “Where to ?” asked Sambo, his mind already made up to take the journey with her, wherever it might be. “You can’t go to Africa!” “I don’t,” came the reply in a lower voice. “I go⁠—to sleep.” “Oh, that’s all right!” cried Sambo more cheerfully. “Then I shall see you again when you wake up.” The lizard was silent for a moment. “When I go to sleep,” she resumed, presently, “it’s rather a long sleep.” “Like me,” agreed the boy. “I sleep all night through. I hate getting out of bed in the morning. How long are you going to sleep for this time?” Again Snitch kept silent for several minutes. “This time,” she said in a still lower voice, “I’m going to sleep for about six months, I’m afraid.” Sambo caught his breath. “Six months!” he exclaimed. He thought at first his friend was teasing him. “Why, you’d die if you did that.” And he laughed a little. But his laughter stopped as he heard the lizard’s next words: “Oh, no,” she explained, “I shan’t die. Every autumn, when the insects get scarce, and the sun grows cold, we lizards just crawl into a shelter and go to sleep. We sleep till our food comes back and the days are warm again. We should never live through the cold winter if we didn’t do this.” Sambo at first could hardly believe his ears. Then he remembered having heard that snakes and tortoises and bears and a few other creatures hibernated, and so realised that the lizard was not teasing him, but was telling him the truth. And as this dawned upon him, he felt very sad. “Oh, Snitch, dear,” he said, bending his face towards her, “I shall miss you terribly. I shall come and put flowers on your grave⁠—” “My bed, you mean,” Snitch corrected him sharply. “I shall only be asleep. It’s rather a long sleep, I know, but it suits us lizards.” “Will there be a lot of you all asleep together?” asked Sambo. “About five or six,” was the reply. “And will you show me where it is, please?” The lizard’s voice was growing fainter and fainter. “It’s that heap of stones and leaves and turf on the edge of the wood,” she whispered. “The one near the gate, you know.” “Yes, I know.” “You might carry me over there now, perhaps,” the tired little voice went on. “I’m getting drowsier and drowsier every minute. I’ve had nothing much to eat lately, you see, and the sun really has so little heat left.” With a sinking heart Sambo walked across the lawn, carrying the tired lizard in his hand. He climbed the iron railing and reached the heap of stones. It was an untidy looking sort of place that nobody was likely to disturb. He stopped and stared down at the piled up stones and bits of turf. “Are the others already in there?” he asked, and Snitch told him in a murmur that they had gone in the day before and were already sound asleep, lying curled against one another. “We shan’t wake till April,” she added. “The first thing I do when I’m out will be to come and find you. I promise.” “That’s a real promise,” the boy repeated, feeling a lump rise in his throat. Snitch gave his skin a tiny nip by way of reply. She was evidently very sleepy and tired now. “You might put me down on the stones,” she whispered, so faintly he could hardly catch the sound. And Sambo did so. She moved slowly, as though it cost her great effort, from his palm on to a piece of turf among the leaves. “I’m glad about the flowers,” he just heard, “I shan’t feel nigglelected now.” She had not enough energy left even to pronounce her words properly, but the boy knew what she meant. “Every week I’ll come,” he promised. “On Mondays.” “Good-bye, then, dear Sambo, and goodnight,” murmured the fading voice. And when he looked closer to see if she had moved, he saw the place was empty. Snitch had disappeared for her long winter sleep. “April⁠ ⁠…” he just caught the tiny sound of her whisper rise up through the stones and leaves. “Next April,” he repeated in a shaky little voice. “And I’ll come every Monday. I promise⁠ ⁠…” He listened, but there was no reply. He had the tip of her broken tail in his little box in the house, but he would not see his friend, Snitch, again till the swallows and the insects came back in April with the flowers and the warmer sun. For some minutes he stood beside the pile of stones, feeling sad and lonely, and repeating to himself the little song he had made up many weeks before, when he first met her: <blockquote epub:type="z3998:verse"> “Dear little Snitch, I’m all alone; I wonder which Way you have gone!” But after a bit he stopped doing this, because he knew quite well where his friend was, and that she was now happy and comfortably asleep. She had taught him ever so many things worth knowing, and he would never forget her. Every Monday he would go to the pile of stones and keep his promise. Then, in the spring, he would see her crawl out again, and they would have a lot of new adventures together. So Sambo ran off to play with Topsy quite happily, knowing that in the little lizard he had a true friend he would meet again, because a true friend is never lost. (While Snitch slept through the winter, the adventures, of course, came to an end. But one day she may come back to Sambo and to us again. Who knows?)