So much for the true part of the tale—now for the magic. Winnie tells me that she never went to sleep at all! The waits and the cricket and the snapdragon and the kettle were all mixed up in her head, and the snapdragon had turned hungry and was trying to snap up the waits, and the kettle was puffing like a little traction engine, and in between the puffs there was a sad little chirrupy sound which she thought must be the cricket. It seemed only kind then that she should slip out of bed, listen on the landing, and creep down to the kitchen to see how the cricket was getting on. She found him sitting on the hearthstone and watching the people in the fire going to church.
Winnie tells me that She never went to sleep at All!
"I can't attend to you now," he said, "I'm just going out."
Winnie had half expected him to speak, but she was a little frightened all the same, and a little curious too.
"Do take me with you," she said. "Where are you going?"
"Where am I going?" said the Cricket in a surprised tone. "Why, it's Christmas Eve!"
"Yes, isn't it lovely!" said Winnie; "and to-morrow there'll be presents. But where are you going?"
"I'm going to be a wait, of course," said the Cricket. "I've been practising all the evening. Listen!"
He ducked his head and lifted up his wings, and a chirrup fluttered out of them and ran all round the dresser. It was a chirrup! It wriggled in between the plates and dived into the soup-tureen, and climbed the tea-cup handles, and danced upon the saucers, until the sour deal boards, which had had all the softness scrubbed out of them (and were cross-grained to begin with), felt little thrills of pleasure running down their backs. Then it climbed up the wall and rattled the dish-covers, and at last it died away with a little squeak inside the coffee-pot.