The Admiral’s Caravan/Chapter X

Chapter X. The Sizing Tower. As Dorothy walked along, wondering what would happen to her next, she felt something tugging at her frock, and looking around she saw that it was the Highlander running along beside her, quite breathless, and trying very hard to attract her attention. “Oh, it’s you, is it?” she said, stopping short and looking at him pleasantly.

“Yes, it’s me,” said the Highlander, sitting down on the ground as if he were very much fatigued. “I’ve been wanting to speak to you privately for a very long time.”

“What about?” said Dorothy, wondering what was coming now.

“Well,” said the Highlander, blushing violently and appearing to be greatly embarrassed, “you seem to be a very kind-hearted person, and I wanted to show you some poetry I’ve written.”

“Did you compose it?” said Dorothy, kindly.

“No,” said the Highlander; “I only made it up. Would you like to hear it?”

“Oh, yes, indeed,” said Dorothy, as gravely as she could; “I should like to hear it very much.”

“It’s called”—said the Highlander, lowering his voice confidentially and looking cautiously about—”it’s called ‘The Pickle and the Policeman’;” and, taking a little paper out of his pocket, he began:

“There was a little pickle and his name was John—”

“Oh, dear!” exclaimed Dorothy, “I don’t think that will do at all.”

“Suppose I call him George?” said the Highlander, gazing reflectively at his paper. “It’s got to be something short, you know.”

“But you mustn’t call him anything,” said Dorothy, laughing. “Pickles don’t have any names.”

“All right,” said the Highlander; and, taking out a pencil, he began repairing his poetry with great industry. He did a great deal of writing, and a good deal of rubbing out with his thumb, and finally said triumphantly:

“There was a little pickle and he hadn’t any name!”

“Yes, that will do very nicely,” said Dorothy; and the Highlander, clearing his voice, read off his poetry with a great flourish:

“There was a little pickle and he hadn’t any name— In this respect, I’m just informed, all pickles are the same. A large policeman came along, a-swinging of his club, And took that little pickle up and put him in a tub.

“That’s rather good about taking him up,” said the Highlander, chuckling to himself; “so exactly like a policeman, you know.”

“Oh, yes, indeed,” said Dorothy, who was ready to scream with laughter. “What’s the rest of it?”

“There isn’t any more,” said the Highlander, rather confusedly. “There was going to be another verse, but I couldn’t think of anything more to say.” “There isn’t any more,” said the Highlander, rather confusedly “Oh, well, it’s very nice as it is,” said Dorothy, consolingly; and then, as the Highlander put up his paper and went away, she laughed till her eyes were full of tears. “They are all funny,” she said at last, as she walked away through the wood, “but I think he’s funnier than all of ’em put together”—which, by the way, was not a very sensible remark for her to make, as you will see if you’ll take the trouble to think it over.

But presently, as she strolled along, she made a discovery that quite drove the Highlander and his ridiculous poetry out of her head. It was a tower in the wood; not an ordinary tower, of course, for there would have been nothing remarkable about that, but a tower of shining brass, and so high that the top of it was quite out of sight among the branches of the trees. But the strangest thing about it was that there seemed to be no possible way of getting into it, and Dorothy was very cautiously walking around it to see if she could find any door when she came suddenly upon the Caravan standing huddled together, and apparently in a state of great excitement.

“What is it?” asked Dorothy, eagerly.

“Hush!” said the Admiral, in an agitated whisper. “We think it’s where Bob Scarlet changes himself”—and as he said this there was a tremendous flapping of wings, and down came Bob Scarlet through the branches and landed with a thump a little way from where they were standing. He was as big as a goose again, and his appearance was so extremely formidable that the Caravan, as one man, threw themselves flat on their faces in a perfect frenzy of terror, and Dorothy herself hid in the grass, with her heart beating like a little eight-day clock. But Bob Scarlet fortunately paid no more attention to any of them than if they had been so many flies, and, after strutting about for a moment with his usual important air, strolled away in the direction of the toy-shop.

“Now what do you make of that?” said the Admiral, lifting up his head. “He went in at a little door not five minutes ago, and he wasn’t any bigger than an every-day bird.”

“I’m sure I don’t know what to make of it,” said Dorothy. “But where is the door?” she added, running around the tower and looking at it on all sides.

“It went up after him,” said the Admiral, “like a corkscrew.”

“And it’s coming down again, like a gimlet!” shouted the Highlander; and, as they all looked up, sure enough there was the little door slowly coming down, around and around, as if it were descending an invisible staircase on the outside of the tower. They all watched this performance with much interest, and as the door touched the ground it opened, and, to Dorothy’s amazement, out came the little field-mouse.

“What is it?” cried Dorothy, as they all crowded around the little creature. “Do tell us what it all means.”

“It’s a Sizing Tower,” said the Mouse, its little voice trembling with agitation. “You get big at the top, and little at the bottom. I wouldn’t go up there again—not for a bushel of nuts.”

“Were you pretty big?” inquired Sir Walter.

“Monstrous!” said the Mouse, with a little shudder; “I was as big as a squirrel; and while I was up there, Bob Scarlet flew up and came down with the door, and there I was.”

“That was a precious mess!” remarked the Highlander.

“Wasn’t it now!” said the Mouse. “And if he hadn’t taken it into his head to come up again and fly down, I’d ’a’ been there yet.”

“Why, it’s the very thing for us!” cried Dorothy, clapping her hands with delight as a happy thought occurred to her. “Let’s all go up and get back our regular selves.”

“You go first,” said the Admiral, suspiciously, “and call down to us how it feels.” But Dorothy wouldn’t hear of this; and after a great deal of arguing and pushing and saying “You go in first,” the whole party at last got squeezed in through the little doorway. Then the Mouse sat up on its hind legs and waved a little farewell with its paws, and the door softly closed.

“If we begin to grow now,” said the Admiral’s voice in the dark, “we’ll all be squeegeed, sure!”

“What an extraordinary thing!” exclaimed Dorothy; for they had come out into a street full of houses.

“What I want to know is what’s become of the door,” said Sir Walter, indignantly, staring at a high wall where the door had been, and which was now perfectly blank.

“I’m sure I don’t know,” said Dorothy, quite bewildered. “It’s really quite mysterious, isn’t it?”

“It makes my stomach tickle like anything,” said the Highlander, in a quavering voice.

“What shall we do?” said Dorothy, looking about uneasily.

“Run away!” said the Admiral, promptly; and without another word the Caravan took to their heels and disappeared around a corner. Dorothy hurried after them, but by the time she turned the corner they were quite out of sight; and as she stopped and looked about her she discovered that she was once more in the Ferryman’s street, and, to her great delight, quite as large as she had been when she left the Blue Admiral Inn.