PETER PIPKINS AND FUNGUS THE FERRYMAN. 79

“We ought to have milk and bread, and something solid of that
sort,” she said, “instead of all these messes.”

“ Messes,” said the old man, darting a quick fiery glance at her.
“ Do you call these delicious puddings and cakes messes? You don’t
deserve to have any.”

He spoke so fiercely and his face changed so completely while he
was speaking that poor Primrose felt alarmed, and wished that she
had not said anything.

“T know the food is very nice,” she murmured; and she slipped
into a chair by Buttercup’s side.

“ Of course, it is quite delicious!” said Buttercup.

His tone of intense approval pleased the old man; he smiled at
him, and telling the children to fall to and help themselves to any-
thing they fancied, sat down at one end of the long table, and drawing
a covered basin towards himself, took the lid off it and began to drink
up the soup which it contained.

That soup smelt delicious, and Primrose could not help looking at
it longingly, but the old man did not offer it to any of the children,
who had to content themselves with the cakes, and fruit, and dainty
little puddings which were scattered about the table.

“Are you going to the Rose Mountains?” asked one of the
strange children of Primrose.

“T am really going to the Blue Mountains,” said Primrose,
“ but i

“Oh, it’s all the same,” interrupted the child—“ so are we going
to the Blue Mountains, but we don’t talk of them much, because the
Rose Mountains are much, much prettier—don’t you think so?”

Before Primrose could reply she was attracted by a sudden noise
at her other side. She turned her head and saw that Buttercup had
fallen fast asleep with a piece of pink cake sticking out of his
mouth.

She felt wonderfully sleepy herself, and looking down the table,
saw that two of the strange boys were also nodding their heads,
and that the little girl who sat near them was yawning.

“You are all tired,” said the old man, who was just lifting the