Benjy stared about him for a bit, and then he began to feel uncomfortable.
“Where is the man in the moon?” he inquired.
“Gone to Norwich,” said the tell-tale-tit.
“And have you anything to say against that?” asked the crow. “Caw, caw, caw! pluck me, if you dare!”
“It’s very odd,” thought Benjy; “but I’ll go on.”
The black dog growled, but let him pass; the bee buzzed about, and the cat in the cradle swung and slept serenely through it all.
“I should get on quicker if I rode instead of walking,” thought Benjy; so he went up to the nightmare and asked if she would carry him a few miles.
“You must be the victim of a very singular delusion,” said the nightmare, coolly. “It is for me to be carried by you, not for you to ride on me.” And as Benjy looked, her nose grew longer and longer, and her eyes were so hideous, they took Benjy’s breath away; and he fled as fast as his legs would carry him. And so he got deep, deep into Beastland.
Oh! it was a beautiful place. There were many more beasts than there are in the Zoölogical Garden; and they were all free. They did not devour each other, for a peculiar kind of short grass grew all over Beastland, which was eaten by all alike.
If by chance there were any quarrelling, or symptoms of misbehavior, the man in the moon would cry “Manners!” and all was quiet at once.