Ch. 4 - Lock-out Time - Page 2

adventure. They were a
girls' school out for a walk with the governess, and all wearing
hyacinth gowns, when she suddenly put her finger to her mouth, and
then they all stood still on an empty bed and pretended to be
hyacinths. Unfortunately, what the governess had heard was two
gardeners coming to plant new flowers in that very bed. They were
wheeling a handcart with flowers in it, and were quite surprised to
find the bed occupied. "Pity to lift them hyacinths," said the one
man. "Duke's orders," replied the other, and, having emptied the
cart, they dug up the boarding-school and put the poor, terrified
things in it in five rows. Of course, neither the governess nor the
girls dare let on that they were fairies, so they were carted far away
to a potting-shed, out of which they escaped in the night without
their shoes, but there was a great row about it among the parents, and
the school was ruined.

As for their houses, it is no use looking for them, because they are
the exact opposite of our houses. You can see our houses by day but
you can't see them by dark. Well, you can see their houses by dark,
but you can't see them by day, for they are the colour of night, and I
never heard of anyone yet who could see night in the daytime. This
does not mean that they are black, for night has its colours just as
day has, but ever so much brighter. Their blues and reds and greens
are like ours with a light behind them. The palace is entirely built
of many-coloured glasses, and is quite the loveliest of all royal
residences, but the queen sometimes complains because the common
people will peep in to see what she is doing. They are very
inquisitive folk, and press quite hard against the glass, and that is
why their noses are mostly snubby. The streets are miles long and
very twisty, and have paths on each side made of bright worsted. The
birds used to steal the worsted for their nests, but a policeman has
been appointed to hold on at the other end.

One of the great differences between the fairies and us is that they
never do anything useful. When the first baby laughed for the first
time, his laugh broke into a million pieces, and they all went
skipping about. That was the beginning of fairies. They look
tremendously busy, you know, as if they had not a moment to spare, but
if you were to ask them what they are doing, they could not tell you
in the least. They are frightfully ignorant, and everything they do
is make-believe. They have a postman, but he never calls except at
Christmas with his little box, and though they have beautiful schools,
nothing is taught in them; the youngest child being chief person is
always elected mistress, and when she has called the roll, they all go