The Wonderful Bed | Page 7

who was trying to roll a snowball out
of the white flakes that were piling themselves on the ground with
amazing quickness.
"I don't care," said Ann. "I know mother wouldn't like us to be in in it
or out in it. I'm going to knock at the door of that house this minute and
ask if they won't let us stay there till the storm's over."
"All right," said Rudolf, "only I hope the people who live there don't
happen to be any relation of the Warming-pan."
It was a dreadful thought. The three children looked at the house and
hesitated. Then Rudolf laughed, drew his precious sword, which he had
fastened into the belt of his pajamas, and mounted the steps, the others
following behind him.
"You be all ready to run," he whispered, "if you don't like the looks of
the person who comes. Now!" And he knocked long and loud upon the
blue and white striped door.
[Illustration]

[Illustration]

CHAPTER III
A VISIT TO THE GOOSE
The door flew open almost before Rudolf had stopped knocking, but
there was nothing very alarming about the person who stood on the
threshold. Ann said afterward she had thought at first it was a Miss
Spriggins who came sometimes to sew for her mother, but it was not; it
was only a very large gray goose neatly dressed in blue and white
bed-ticking, with a large white apron tied round her waist and wearing
big spectacles with black rims to them.
"Nothing to-day, thank you," said the Goose.
"But please--" began Rudolf.
"No soap, no baking powder, no lightning rods, no hearth-brooms, no
cake tins, no life insurance--" rattled the Goose so rapidly that the
children could hardly understand her--"nothing at all to-day, thank
you!"
"But we want something," Ann cried, "we want to come in!"
"I never let in peddlers," said the Goose, and she slammed the door in
their faces. As she slammed it one of her broad apron-strings caught in
the crack, and Rudolf seized the end of it. When the Goose opened the
door an inch or so to free herself he held on firmly and said:
"Tell us, please, are you the Warming-pan's aunt?"
The Gray Goose looked immensely pleased, but shook her head.
"Nothing so simple," said she, "nor, so to speak, commonplace, since
the relationship or connection if you will have it, is, though perfectly to

be distinguished, not always, as it were, entirely clear, through his
great-grandfather who, as I hope you are aware, was a Dutch-Oven,
having run away with a cousin of my mother's uncle's stepfather, who
was three times married, numbers one, two and three all having
children but none of 'em resembling one another in the slightest, which,
as you may have perceived, is only the beginning of the story, but if
you will now come in, not forgetting to wipe your feet, and try to
follow me very carefully, I'll be delighted to explain all particulars."
The children were glad to follow the Lady Goose into the house,
though they thought she had been quite particular enough. They found
it impossible to wipe their feet upon the mat because it was thick with
snow, and when the door was closed behind them, they were surprised
to feel that it was snowing even harder inside the house than it was out.
For a moment they stood half blinded by the storm, unable to see
clearly what kind of room they were in or to tell whose were the voices
they heard so plainly. A great fluttering, cackling, and complaining was
going on close to them, and a hoarse voice cried out:
"One hundred and seventeen and three-quarters feathers to be
multiplied by two-sevenths of a pound. That's a sweet one! Do that if
you can, Squealer."
"You can't do it yourself," a whining voice replied. "I've tried the back
and the corners and the edges--there's no more room--"
Then came the sound of a sudden smack, as if some one's ears had been
boxed when he least expected it, and this was followed by a loud angry
squawk. Now the flakes, which had been gradually thinning, died away
entirely, and the children suddenly discovered that they had not been
snowflakes at all but only a cloud of white feathers sent whirling
through the house, out of the windows, and up the chimney by some
disturbance in the midst of a great heap in one corner of the room as
high as a haystack. From the middle of this heap of feathers stuck up
two very thin yellow legs with shabby boots that gave one last
despairing kick and then were still. Near by at a counter a Gentleman
Goose in a long apron was weighing feathers on a