.
they asked often enough.
And now at last the ark was finished, the scaffolding was removed, and there was the great Noah’s ark, firmly planted on the topmost tower. It was a perfect example of the ark-builder’s craft. Its boat part was painted a dull red, its sides and ends were blue with black windows, and its roof was bright scarlet, painted in lines to imitate tiles. No least detail was neglected. Even to the white bird painted on the roof, which you must have noticed in your own Noah’s ark.
A great festival was held, speeches were made, and every one who had lent a hand in the building, even the humblest M.A., was crowned with a wreath of fresh pink and green seaweed. Songs were sung, and the laureate of the Sea-Dwellers, a young M.A. with pale blue eyes and no chin, recited an ode beginning—
Now that we have our Noble Ark
No more we tremble in the dark
When the great seas and the winds cry out,
For we are safe without a doubt.
At undue risings of the tide
Within our Ark we’ll safely hide,
And bless the names of those who thus
Have built a painted Ark for us.
There were three hundred and seventeen more lines, very much like these, and every one said it was wonderful, and the laureate was a genius, and how did he do it, and what brains, eh? and things like that.
And Philip and Lucy had crowns too. The Lord High Islander made a vote of thanks to Philip, who modestly replied that it was nothing, really, and anybody could have done it. And a spirit of gladness spread about among the company so that every one was smiling and shaking hands with everybody else, and even the M.A.’s were making little polite old jokes, and slapping each other on the back and calling each other “old chap,” which was not at all their habit in ordinary life. The whole castle was decorated with garlands of pink and green seaweed like the wreaths that people were wearing, and the whole scene was the gayest and happiest you can imagine.
And then the dreadful thing happened.
Philip and Lucy were standing in their seaweed tunics, for of course they had, since the first day, worn the costume of the country, on the platform in the courtyard. Mr. Noah had just said, “Well, then, we will enjoy this enjoyable day to the very end and return to the city tomorrow,” when a shadow fell on the group. It was the Hippogriff, and on its back was—some one. Before any one could see who that some one was, the Hippogriff had flown low enough for that some one to catch Philip by his seaweed tunic and to swing him off his feet and on to the Hippogriff’s back. Lucy screamed, Mr. Perrin said, “Here, I say, none of that,” and Mr. Noah said, “Dear me!” And they all reached out their hands to pull Philip back. But they were all too late.
“I won’t go. Put me down,” Philip shouted. They all heard that. And also they heard the answer of the person on the Hippogriff—the person who had snatched Philip on to its back.
“Oh, won’t you, my Lord? We’ll soon see about that,” the person said.
Three people there knew that voice, four counting Philip, six counting the dogs. The dogs barked and growled, Mr. Noah said “Drop it;” and Lucy screamed, “Oh no! oh no! it’s that Pretenderette.” The parrot, with great presence of mind, flew up into the air and attacked the ear of the Pretenderette, for, as old books say, it was indeed that unprincipled character who had broken from prison and once more stolen the Hippogriff. But the Pretenderette was not to be caught twice by the same parrot. She was ready for the bird this time, and as it touched her ear she caught it in her motor veil which she must have loosened beforehand, and thrust it into a wicker cage that hung ready from the saddle of the Hippogriff who hovered on his wide white wings above the crowd of faces upturned.
“Now we shall see her face,” Lucy thought, for she could not get rid of the feeling that if she could only see the Pretenderette’s face she would recognise it. But the Pretenderette was too wily to look down unveiled. She turned her face up, and she must have whispered the magic word, for the Hippogriff rose in the air and began to fly away with incredible swiftness across the sea.
“Oh, what shall I do?” cried Lucy, wringing her hands. You have often heard of people wringing their hands. Lucy, I assure you, really did wring hers. “Oh! Mr. Noah, what will she do with him? Where will she take him? What shall I do? How can I find him again?”
“I deeply regret, my dear child,” said Mr. Noah, “that I find myself quite unable to answer any single one of your questions.”
“But can’t I go after him?” Lucy persisted.
“I am sorry to say,” said Mr. Noah, “that we have no boats; the Pretenderette has stolen our one and only Hippogriff, and none of our camels can fly.”
“But what can I do?” Lucy stamped her foot in her agony of impatience.
“Nothing, my child,” Mr. Noah aggravatingly replied, “except to go to bed and get a good night’s rest. Tomorrow we will return to the city and see what can be done. We must consult the oracle.”
“But can’t we go now,” said Lucy, crying.
“No oracle is worth consulting till it’s had its night’s rest,” said Mr. Noah. “It is a three days’ journey. If we started now—see it is already dusk—we should arrive in the middle of the night. We will start early in the morning.”
But early in the morning there was no starting from the castle of the Dwellers by the Sea. There was indeed no one to start, and there was no castle to start from.
A young blugraiwee, peeping out of its hole after a rather disturbed night to see whether any human beings were yet stirring or whether it might venture out in search of yellow periwinkles, which are its favourite food, started, pricked its spotted ears, looked again, and, disdaining the cover of the rocks, walked boldly out across the beach. For the beach was deserted. There was no one there. No Mr. Noah, no Lucy, no gentle islanders, no M.A.’s—and what is more there were no huts and there was no castle. All was smooth, plain, bare sea-combed beach.
For the sea had at last risen. The fear of the Dwellers had been justified. Whether the sea had been curious about the ark no one knows, no one will ever know. At any rate the sea had risen up and swept away from the beach every trace of the castle, the huts and the folk who had lived there.
A bright parrot, with a streamer of motor veiling hanging to one claw, called suddenly from the clear air to the little blugraiwee.
“What’s up?” the parrot asked; “where’s everything got to?”
“I don’t know, I’m sure,” said the little blugraiwee; “these human things are always coming and going. Have some periwinkles? They’re very fine this morning after the storm,” it said.
CHAPTER VIII
UPS AND DOWNS
We left Lucy in tears and Philip in the grasp of the hateful Pretenderette, who, seated on the Hippogriff, was bearing him away across the smooth blueness of the wide sea.
“Oh, Mr. Noah,” said Lucy, between sniffs and sobs, “how can she! You did say the Hippogriff could only carry one!”
“One ordinary human being,” said Mr. Noah gently; “you forget that dear Philip is now an earl.”
“But do you really think he’s safe?” Lucy asked.
“Yes,” said Mr. Noah. “And now, dear Lucy, no more questions. Since your arrival on our shores I have been gradually growing more accustomed to being questioned, but I still find it unpleasant and fatiguing. Desist, I entreat.”
So Lucy desisted and every one went to bed, and, for crying is very tiring, to sleep. But not for long.
Lucy was awakened in her bed of soft dry seaweed by the sound of the castle alarm bell, and by the blaring of trumpets and the shouting of many voices. A bright light shone in at the window of her room. She jumped up and ran