"I don't know," said Cyril after a pause, "unless it's because we had them. Nothing about us has changed. Everything's in my pocket all right."
"Then if we had the mutton it would be real," said Robert. "Oh, don't I wish we could find it!"
"But we can't find it. I suppose it isn't ours till we've got it in our mouths."
"Or in our pockets," said Jane, thinking of the biscuits.
"Who puts mutton in their pockets, goose-girl?" said Cyril. "But I know—at any rate, I'll try it!"
He leaned over the table with his face about an inch from it, and kept opening and shutting his mouth as if he were taking bites out of air.
"It's no good," said Robert in deep dejection. "You'll only—— Hullo!"
Cyril stood up with a grin of triumph, holding a square piece of bread in his mouth. It was quite real. Everyone saw it. It is true that, directly he bit a piece off, the rest vanished; but it was all right, because he knew he had it in his hand though he could neither see nor feel it. He took another bite from the air between his fingers, and it turned into bread as he bit. The next moment all the others were following his example, and opening and shutting their mouths an inch or so from the bare-looking table. Robert captured a slice of mutton, and—but I think I will draw a veil over the rest of this painful scene. It is enough to say that they all had enough mutton, and that when Martha came to change the plates she said she had never seen such a mess in all her born days.
The pudding was, fortunately, a plain suet one, and in answer to Martha's questions the children all with one accord said that they would not have molasses on it—nor jam, nor sugar—"Just plain, please," they said. Martha said, "Well, I never—what next, I wonder!" and went away.
Then ensued another scene on which I will not dwell, for nobody looks nice picking up slices of suet pudding from the table in its mouth, like a dog.