The Wonderful Bed | Page 4

he added hastily, "I rather like it, only don't let's lie still and--and--listen for things. Let's play something."
"Shall we try who can keep their eyes shut longest," suggested Ann.
"Oh, that's a stupid game! Beside Peter would beat anyway, for he's half asleep now. Shake him up, Ann."
When shaken up Peter refused to admit that, he was even sleepy. He was very cross, and immediately began to accuse Rudolf of having taken his cat. This Rudolf--and also Ann--denied. They had seen Peter smuggle Mittens into bed the second time, but had supposed he must have escaped and followed Betsy out.
"No, he didn't neither," Peter insisted. "I had him after she went. He was 'most tamed."
"Then," said Ann, "he must be in the room and we might as well have him to play with. Rudolf, I dare you to get up and look for him!"
And Rudolf got up--just to show he was not afraid. Before stepping into those dark shadows, however, he armed himself with his tin sword, a weapon he was in the habit of taking to bed with him in case of burglars, and with this he poked bravely under the bed and in all the dark corners, calling and coaxing Mittens to come forth. At last both he and Ann felt sure the cat could not be in the room.
"He must have got out somehow," said Rudolf. "Anyway, I sha'n't bother any more looking for him." Still grasping his sword, he climbed back into the big bed between his brother and sister. Peter was still cross and grumbly. He kept insisting that Mittens might have disappeared inside the bed--which was a piece of nonsense neither of the others would listen to.
After some discussion Rudolf and Ann agreed that the very nicest thing to do would be to make a tent out of the bedclothes, and seeing Peter was again inclined to nod, they shook him awake and sternly insisted on his joining in the game. By tying the two upper corners of the covers to the posts at the head of the great bed a splendid tent was quickly made, bigger than any the children had ever played in before, so big that Rudolf, who was to lead the procession into its white depths, began to feel just the least little bit afraid,--of what he hardly knew. How high the white walls rose! Not like a snuggly bed-tent, but like--like a real white-walled cave. Being a brave boy, he quickly put these unpleasant thoughts out of his mind, and grasping his sword, crawled on his hands and knees into the dark opening. Behind him came Ann, and behind Ann, Peter.
"Are you ready?" asked Rudolf. "Then in we go!"
[Illustration]

[Illustration]

CHAPTER II
THE ANGRY WARMING-PAN
It was not surprising that the big bed should be different from any other bed the children had ever played in, yet it was certainly taking them a long, long time to crawl to the foot!
"It must have a foot," thought the brave captain of the band, as he plunged farther and farther into the depths of the white cave. "All beds have." Then he stopped suddenly as a loud squeal of mingled surprise and terror came from just behind him.
"Oh, Rudolf," Ann cried, "I don't want to play this game any longer--let's go back!" In the half-darkness Rudolf felt her turn round on Peter, who was close behind her. "Go back, Peter," she ordered.
"I can't," came a little voice out of the gloom.
"You must--oh, Peter, hurry!"
"I can't go back," said Peter calmly, "because there isn't any back. Put your hand behind me and feel."
It was true. Just how or when it had happened none of them could tell, but the soft drooping bedcovers had suddenly, mysteriously risen and spread into firm white walls behind and on either side, leaving only a narrow passageway open in front. It was nonsense to go on their hands and knees any longer, for even Rudolf, who was tallest, could not touch the arched white roof when he stood up and stretched his arm above his head. He could not see Ann's face clearly, but he could hear her beginning to sniff.
"Now, Ann," said he sternly, though in rather a weak voice, "don't you know what this is? This is an adventure."
"I don't care," sniffed Ann, "I don't want an adventure. I want to go back--back to Aunt Jane!" And the sniff developed into a flood of tears.
"Peter is not crying, and he is only six."
This rebuke told on Ann, for she was almost eight. "But what are we go--going to do?" she asked, her sobs decreasing into sniffs again.
"We'll just have to go on, I suppose, and see what happens."
"Well, I think--I think Aunt Jane ought to be ashamed of herself to put us in such a big bed we could get