"So was the poetry," said the Admiral. "It had to be composed, you know, or there wouldn't have been any."
"That would have been fine!" remarked the Highlander.
The Admiral got so red in the face at this, that Dorothy thought he was going into some kind of a fit; but just at this moment there was a sharp rap at the door, and Sir Walter exclaimed, "That's Bob Scarlet, and here we are in his flower-bed!"
"Jibs and jiggers!" said the Admiral, "I never thought of that. What do you suppose he'll do?"
"Pick us!" said the Highlander, with remarkable presence of mind.
"Then tell him we're all out," said the Admiral to Dorothy in extreme agitation, and with this, the whole Caravan disappeared under the bed with all possible despatch.
"We are out, you know," said Dorothy to herself, "because there's no in for us to be in"; and then she called out in a very loud voice, "We're all out in here!" which wasn't exactly what she meant to say, after all.
But there was no answer, and she was just stooping down to call through the keyhole when she saw that the wall-paper was nothing but a vine growing on a trellis, and the door only a little rustic gate leading through it. "And, dear me!—where has the furniture gone to?" she exclaimed, for the curly chairs had changed into flower-pot stands, and the bed into a great mound of waving lilies, and she found herself standing in a beautiful garden.