BOOK III.—TINY AND BABY IN MOONLAND

Tiny came to the Station, Baby on arm.

And there the train was waiting with a white rosette on the puff part.

And they got in, and Tiny leaned out, and shook hands confidentially with the nice old guard, who locked the door in return, though there was nobody else to go, only a milk-can.

For it is a private train that goes once a day loaded with honeymoon couples only, by order of the King, who is very good and kind, although he has to be so strict.

Then Tiny said to the driver,

"Moonland, please!" and came in, and shut all the windows without asking Baby's leave, and turned up his collar, and sat down in the cosiest corner, and after a good big yawn went to sleep: for that is what you do if you are a man even in That Country.

But Baby played with the window-strap in the corner furthest away, and smiled.

And after that the train went till it could go no further, because of no more land to go on.

Then Tiny woke up in a great fuss: for Tiny was always either asleep or in a terrible state; and he poked out and cried,

"Good! here we are. Come along, I say! Come along. Do come along, Ma-bel." And he climbed down with the bag full of luggage, and Baby after him with her cage of canary.

And they stood together on the platform, and looked about them.

And it was about morning by now, and the sky was a sort of grey blank, and the platform quite bare only for a great label across it that said in huge letters,

MOONLAND

And Moonland is a great space with nothing in it only a green hill, a brown moor, and in the middle a blue lake supposed to have a fish in it.

And on the edge of the lake is a stodgy house made of mud and dirt, whitewashed over, where they let lodgings; only nobody takes them.

And when Baby saw that, she stood on one leg, and whistled,

"I say! do look," because she loved it so.

But Tiny, who only really cared about his food, answered,

"Yes, yes, my dear, I know, I know," and fussed off with the bag, and climbed on to the box of the cab, because, he said, he was such friends with the cabman, and began to whip up the horse, and tug at the reins, shouting,

"Gee-woa! Gee-woa!" for it was one of Tiny's things that he thought he was very good at a horse.

But the cabman, who was rusty and crusty in an old top-hat, said,

"Leggo, will ye?" and went into Tiny's wind with his elbow to quiet him.

So they drove across the moor, over the hill, down to the lake, till they came to the house.

And in the window hung a cardboard saying,

Lessons, Singing, and Boxing taught here: for it is a school as well as a lodging; only no pupils come.

And in the porch the landlady was sitting in curls, playing with her thumbs rather dumpily.

But when Tiny bustled down with the bag, yelling,

"Lodgin' fer two, quick, please!" she cheered up, and ran round, and cooked a little cake, and gave it them; only they couldn't eat it, because of too tough.

So they turned their backs, and had sandwiches out of the bag instead; which was rather depressing for the landlady after all her trouble.

And after that Tiny and Baby were alone by themselves together, because they might be now; which is called honeymoon.

ALONE BY THEMSELVES TOGETHER

And it was Autumn, and jolly.

And Baby always said she liked Autumn best, because she did: for Baby always had good reasons for everything.

And the woods were golden, and the moors brown, and the sea grey on the edge of everywhere.

And every morning they went out arm in arm. And when they got outside, Baby let go of Tiny, and bustled along at a great pace with her arms swinging, crying,

"I go one hundred miles to-day. How far d'you?"

Then Tiny caught her up, and passed her, and panted,

"Twice the same."

So Baby said,

"Then go. I sit and watch you," and she sat down plump in a puddle by the edge of the lake.

So Tiny came back, and sat beside her, and said in her ear,

"Why d'you lie so, Baby?"

But Baby only hugged her knees, and giggled,

"Because I don't."

And after that it poured; and they sat all day in a puddle in the rain, by the edge of the lake, and simplee loved it.

And when Baby felt the rain on her face, she cried,

"Isn't rain jolly?—I like it better than anything only fine."

But Tiny only aimed both eyes so they met at the end of his nose, where a raindrop was, and he shot his tongue, and curled it up tight, and took the drop off on the tip.

And when Baby saw that, she threw back, and roared, and said,

"Oh, Tiny! you are a little raskil! pomme-word you are!"

But Tiny only waggled his shoulders, and bubbled his eyes, and did it again to a new drop.

And that is all they said and did, because that is all you've got to say and do.

Only when a pi-looking person squelched by in goloshers, they wound round, and lifted up their faces, and screamed together,

"Two ittle tots
On the spwee-wee-wee,
Out of the
Nurser-wee-wee,
Two and anover
Make thwee-wee-wee,
So come you and join you
With we, we, we."

But the pi person only stopped, and looked through her spectacles, and said pretty severely,

"I thank you—no!"

And she tramped on under her umbrella, with her skirts hitched high.

Then one day it stopped raining. So they set out one behind the other very secretly to explore the moor.

And they found great pools, and tiny fairy water-falls, and water-slides shooting over green rocks. And Baby wanted to take her clothes off and go in, but Tiny said he'd tell if she did.

So in the end Baby went in with her clothes on, and loved it; and Baby called that an accident, which was quite a lie.

And after that they found the two loveliest mountain-ferns there are, called the beech and the oak fern; at least Baby found the ferns, while Tiny steamed on in front in a perspiration, calling,

"Come on! come on! Else we shall never get there."

For Tiny always wanted to get somewhere, he didn't know quite where, only that it was just on in front. But when he got as far as in front, he always found it was a little further, and so on etc.

Then they climbed the hill.

And when they got to the top there was a great wind there, and the sky blown clear, with the sea flashing far away beneath, and white seagulls floating and screaming between them and it.

And Baby was rosy with wind, and her hair splendid in the sun, and little tresses wild about her face, and she bowed and gleamed and yelled,

"I say, Tiny! Isn't it simplee tip-up-top?"

But Tiny only bent, and held her up against the wind into the sun, and looked, and looked.

Then they came down the hill, and home across the moor by the edge of the lake.

And it began to be night. And the wind went down, and the moon rose up. And the moor was black as ink, and the moon white as silver, and the sky shining like a diamond.

And a large great ghost-owl swooped about them on wavy wings, as they tipped along on their toes.

And Baby held Tiny's little finger and whispered,

"Oh, Tiny."

And Tiny held Baby's, and whispered,

"Oh, Baby."

So they crept into the house; and up the stairs in the dark; and to bed by a star; and a little hushaby wind rocked them to sleep.

But Baby and Tiny weren't really so idle as they made out; because all the time Baby taught Tiny.

And she taught Tiny jolly well, although only between ten and twenty.

And really Baby was years and years older than Tiny, though truly she was years and years younger.

And Baby began Tiny from the very beginning and taught him up, because that is best.

And she taught him most of the time without words.

And Tiny was pretty clever when he tried, which he honestly did. And it was wonderful how quick he picked it up.

And really Tiny had learnt it all before from his mother in the nursery, only he thought he'd forgotten it. But when Baby began to teach him, it all came back quick. So that made it easy for Baby to teach, and for Tiny to learn.

Then Baby, when she found how well grounded Tiny had been, sat in a white frock, with chestnut hair, and wrote to Tiny's mother a thank-you-for-my-nice-husband letter, which you do in That Country after the first month, if you find him satisfactory.

And Tiny's mother was so pleased when she got the letter that she cried.

And Tiny's mother lived by the willow near the bridge. And when the wind blew the willow turned white. And Tiny's mother when she lay in bed could just see the top branches black in the moon as they stirred to and fro. And whenever she woke she could hear the wind in the willow tree, like the rustle of angels; and at the back of the rustle was the groaning of ghosts under the bridge.

But the rustle of angels went on always and always; and the groaning of ghosts only at times.

And that is like things as they really are: for Love goes on for ever, but Pain only at times—just enough to remind you.

So Baby taught Tiny. And at last she got him so far that he even learnt to stand on the rug, with his hands behind him, and say,

"Sorry," when he should, which was mostly always.

So that showed a good come on: for Tiny was like a lot more, he never said Sorry when he could say anything else.

But Baby was in the wrong herself sometimes.

And when she was in the wrong, Tiny was in the right. And that pleased Tiny; but it made Baby mad. For Baby wanted to be right all the time always herself, and nobody else; only she couldn't, because you can't: for that's how things aren't.

So she went under a cloud instead; and there was no more sun for Tiny for that time.

Then Tiny nursed Baby to win the sun back. And when he had nursed her till he was about dead, she forgave him for being in the right, and took him back; and the sun came out again.

And after that Baby sat upon him very pleasantly, while they sang the Sorry Song they had made, which goes,

"When you've been naughty, when you've done wrong,
When you've been sulky instead of a song,
When you've been stubbin, and think you've been strong,
Then be a good girl and say Sorry—

I'll be a good girl and say Sorry.

"When you have said something sounds like a swear,
When you have been in a jolly old tear,
When you've behaved like a beast of a bear,
Then be a good boy and say Sorry—

I'll be a good boy and say Sorry.

"When we are sad and yet remain dry,
When we feel sort of we wish we could die,
Perhaps we'd be better, perhaps we could cry,
If we'd only be good and say Sorry—

We'll be good boy-and-girl and say Sorry."

Then Tiny hugged Baby; and Baby squealed; and the landlady ran like a lightning pudding, and looked in.

And when she saw, that pleased the landlady, so that she smiled.

So some time went by.

Then one evening after tea, as Tiny lay flat in a fat chair with his legs out, and slept aloud, which he always did till bedtime, when he woke up very spry and wanted to lecture on his favourite subject, Baby came in with a secret smile and the great picture alphabet-book she had given him for wedding-present under her arm.

But directly Tiny saw the book, he held tight to the chair with his arms, and kicked towards Baby with both feet, and screamed,

"I won't! I won't! I won't!"

But Baby put the book on the table, and a little straight-up thin chair by it, and called very bright and firm,

"Now, Tiny."

Then Tiny pretended asleep louder than ever, and said,

"Wharisit? wharamarrer?"

So Baby said,

"To work up E for promotion."

Then Tiny whimpered through his nose,

"Tiny don't want. Tiny tired," which was quite a lie.

But Baby only smiled and said,

"Tiny must. Else I won't be married to Tiny."

So Tiny climbed out of the fat chair, and lowered himself on the thin one, saying rather tearfully,

"I don't care. I don't think it's fair. I take you on my honey-moon with me, and all you do in return is to make me sit up and swank." And he slammed the book about a bit.

But Baby paid no heed, because it's best not, when they're like that: for when they see you take no notice, they soon get over it.

So she just climbed into her chair instead and ate her bread and milk, and watched Tiny over it, working away at E straight up at the table.

And after about a bit Baby leaned over and took the book away, and said,

"And now try."

AND TOOK THE BOOK AWAY

So Tiny came out of his hands, and shut his eyes, and opened his mouth, and said very slow,

"E was an Elephant ever so Big
Danced on a Beer-barrel jig-a-jig-jig."

Then Baby hammered the table with her spoon, and cried,

"All correct. Well done, Tiny-boy. Very well said indeed, indeed."

But Tiny asked with his eye-brows, and prayed with his hands,

"Enough for one night, Baby?"

So Baby went back to her bread-and-milk, and said,

"Very well, then. Some more to-morrow, though, because of the Commander-in-Chief."

But Tiny answered,

"Good time now; bad time never," which was rather a favourite saying of his.

And he got up from the thin chair, and fainted away in the fat one, murmuring,

"Tiny, sleep a lirel longer,
Till the lirel limbs are stronger,
Sleep, my lirel one, sleep, my prery one,
Sleep."

And about the middle of that very night, Cooey flew in at the window, with a writing under his wing; for the windows have to be open all the time in That Country: for that is one of the rules; and you have to keep the rules everywhere always just the same—else you suffer; which is Law.

Then Tiny sat up in bed, and read the writing by the moon; while Cooey perched on Baby's shoulder, as she slept, and crooned to her.

And the writing ran in a great blob hand like a baby's,

Come back at once. Cowud. Leaving it all to me to do. And I never would have believed it of u. This is one for your snuk. There is Goliuf to pay for yet.

The Hon. St Jack-Assquire.

P.S.—I am getting ready a nice supprize for u and the Redgment.

Then Tiny shut his eyes, and folded his hands very piously, and said a lot of things low to himself.

And after that he scribbled on the back of the writing,

"Charmed, I'm shaw," and gave it Cooey, who splashed out of the window with it.

And when the splashing of Cooey's wings had died away, Tiny got up, and bent over Baby as she slept and whispered in her ear,

"Good-bye, Baby. Now I go home."

Then Baby woke up quick, and stood up on her elbows in bed, and said,

"Why?"

So Tiny answered,

"Because I have had enough for now, thank-you," for he didn't want to frighten Baby; and he sat on the edge of the bed, and got into his sock.

And when that was done, he took up the bag full of luggage, and the canary by the cage, for Baby had taught him how to carry both now, and trotted downstairs with them.

But Baby crept up to the landlady's door on tip-toe, so as not to disturb her—for they had grown to love the landlady, because she was so good and fat—and shoved a note of paper under the crack.

And on it outside was,

With love
from
Baby and Tiny.

And in it inside was a sixpenny, which was a penny more than they owed her, so that she could retire on it if she liked.

Which she did.

Then Tiny and Baby went out of doors into the dusk.

And one moist star was stuck over the top of the hill, which looked like a black tent against a grey sheet: for the sun was going to get up soon.

And on the top of the hill under the star was a little madman waving both arms, which he always did, when he thought he saw the sun, to tell the people time to get up.

Only sometimes he made a mistake, and it was the moon instead.

Then the people all went back to bed, and were cross, and gave it the little madman when he came down from the hill at midday for his bun.

So Tiny and Baby walked away over the moor in the white of the dawn, arm in arm, back to That Country.

Book IV headpiece