“They are going to dance for you,” he said to Laurie, and seven pigeons stepped into the centre of the room. They began with a faint flutter of their wings, turning their heads from side to side, gradually growing swifter in their motion, until their brilliant colors blended and intermingled in a beautiful prismatic effect. It was like a wonderful rainbow dance, only the colors changed as the pigeons moved about, and they opened and closed their wings in such a way, that they seemed to ripple and flow as water does over the stones.
Their cooing gradually sounded more and more like water gurgling, and Laurie listened and listened, until he found his head nodding—he was almost asleep—no, he was not asleep, he opened his eyes wide, there was the pigeon still, with the ring about his ankle, but the dancing pigeons were no longer there; the blue sky shone between trunks of trees, and a real brook sparkled over the stones—somehow or other they were walking through a wood, the same wood on the edge of the fields, that they had driven past on their way to the farm: how quiet it was and how deliciously soft the moss underfoot, while a gentle breeze swayed the trees overhead.
“Now we will stop at the squirrel house,” said the Pigeon.
“Now we will stop at the squirrel’s house,” said the pigeon, as they stopped at an old tree. “Rap-tap-rap” with his beak on a knot-hole in the trunk, and a fat squirrel opened the door. What a lot of chattering! he was inviting them to enter. “How delightful,” thought Laurie as they stepped inside, “now I shall see what a squirrel’s house is really like.”
And indeed it was very different from what he had supposed an old tree to be like inside; instead, there was a real little staircase, carpeted with green moss, winding up through the hollow trunk, there were landings at the different branches, with tiny doors opening off them, and the branches themselves were all little rooms with knot-holes for windows, across which green leaves were hung for curtains.
The walls were papered with the most beautiful paper in the world; in one room it was all blossoms with the most delicate odor; in another the walls were hung with green leaves; in another room great red and yellow autumn leaves festooned the walls. “You see this is the inside out or rather the outside in of the tree,” explained the squirrel; “this is where the blossoms and leaves are kept when not in use.”
It was all a little confusing at first to Laurie, for the squirrels seemed to be in such haste, but they were so friendly, and chattered so pleasantly to him that somehow or other he understood everything they were saying, though they talked in squirrel language, and so by-and-by he felt more at home, and sat down while they brought him some refreshments.
