"Dear me, I never heard that before," said the Confectioner. "I wonder if you can be right. Then if I am Reckybecky I suppose I am not an architect at all," and he covered his face to try and think more clearly.
The two little people watched him timidly, wondering what was going on in that bent head. Suddenly the Confectioner raised his head and flung his pots and pans, his spoons and his knives, on to the ground on either side of him.
Most of the pots broke and fragrant streams of beautifully coloured preserves spread here and there over the uneven ground. Immediately dozens of Wigs pounced upon the wreckage, and while the jams trickled hither and thither amongst the grass these creatures tried to scrape it up again into jugs and basins, and even into their caps, with the spoon which every Wig carries hung from his belt.
With the Spoon which every Wig carries hung from his Belt
At some distance off a procession had been passing which had hitherto paid no attention to the crowd round the gate, but now this broke up and various persons quitted its ranks to try and scrape up some of the precious preserves. These creatures did not resemble anything that Redy and Smaly had seen up to then. At first sight they all appeared to be riding little horses; horses draped like those which we see in old pictures of tournaments.
These horses, however, were made of sugar, and very soon Redy and Smaly perceived that they were simply worn round the waists of the Wigs, whose two feet ran along the ground beneath the draperies where the four feet of the horses should have been.
These Horses, however, were made of Sugar
Smaly could not help thinking that to have a horse like that would be rather fine if you could not afford a real horse of your own; but Redy was occupied in admiring the fine costumes of the Wigs who owned the horses.