The cloud of dust spread itself out through the air, as if it were alive, forming curious shapes that were for ever changing into others.
“It makes letters! It makes words!” Bruno whispered, as he clung, half-frightened, to Sylvie. “Only I ca’n’t make them out! Read them, Sylvie!”
“I’ll try,” Sylvie gravely replied. “Wait a minute—if only I could see that word——”
“I should be very ill!” a discordant voice yelled in our ears.
“‘Were I to swallow this,’ he said,
‘I should be very ill!’”
CHAPTER IX.
A JESTER AND A BEAR.
Yes, we were in the garden once more: and, to escape that horrid discordant voice, we hurried indoors, and found ourselves in the library—Uggug blubbering, the Professor standing by with a bewildered air, and my Lady, with her arms clasped round her son’s neck, repeating, over and over again, “and did they give him nasty lessons to learn? My own pretty pet!”
“What’s all this noise about?” the Vice-Warden angrily enquired, as he strode into the room. “And who put the hat-stand here?” And he hung his hat up on Bruno, who was standing in the middle of the room, too much astonished by the sudden change of scene to make any attempt at removing it, though it came down to his shoulders, making him look something like a small candle with a large extinguisher over it.
The Professor mildly explained that His Highness had been graciously pleased to say he wouldn’t do his lessons.