



Produced by Greg Weeks and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net










NINE UNLIKELY TALES

  _By_
  E. NESBIT


  _Illustrated by_

  H. R. MILLAR
  AND
  CLAUDE A. SHEPPERSON


  ERNEST BENN LIMITED
  LONDON

  COWARD-McCANN INC
  NEW YORK




  IRIDI MEAE
  HOC ET COR MEUM




CONTENTS


     I  THE COCKATOUCAN                                   _page_ 1

    II  WHEREYOUWANTOGOTO                                       49

   III  THE BLUE MOUNTAIN                                       85

    IV  THE PRINCE, TWO MICE, AND SOME KITCHEN-MAIDS           129

     V  MELISANDE: OR LONG AND SHORT DIVISION                  159

    VI  FORTUNATUS REX AND CO                                  193

   VII  THE SUMS THAT CAME RIGHT                               223

  VIII  THE TOWN IN THE LIBRARY, IN THE TOWN IN THE LIBRARY    243

    IX  THE PLUSH USURPER                                      267




LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS


  _Matilda swung her legs miserably_                       _page_ 5

  _He waved away the eightpence_                                  11

  _The top part of Pridmore turned into painted iron
         and glass_                                               17

  _The Princess was like a yard and a half of white tape_         21

  _The King sent his army, and the enemy were crushed_            31

  _The King had turned into a villa residence_                    37

  _Four men came wheeling a great red thing on a barrow_          43

  _They bounced through the suburbs_                              59

  _The seal was very kind and convenient_                         63

  _Suddenly, out of nothing and nowhere, appeared a large,
        stern housemaid_                                          69

  _A long, pointed thing came slowly up out of the sand_          73

  _It is difficult to play when any one is watching you,
        especially a policeman_                                   79

  _The people of Antioch were always in a hurry and
        generally angry_                                          89

  _Off they all went, King, court, and men-at-arms_               99

  _Tony was stamped on by the great seal, who was very
        fierce_                                                  103

  _The giant-little-girl_                                        107

  _Tony among the rocks in the bread-and-milk basin_             115

  _“Everything you say will be used against you” said the
        public persecutor_                                       121

  _He was growing, growing, growing_                             125

  _Malevola’s dress was not at all the thing for a
        christening_                                             135

  _There stood up a Prince and a Princess_                       155

  _Trains of Princes bringing nasty things in bottles and
        round wooden boxes_                                      173

  _The Princess grew so big that she had to go and sit on
        the common_                                              181

  _The Princess in one scale and her hair in the other_          189

  “_Welcome! Welcome!_”                                          273

  “_Poor benighted, oppressed people, follow me!_”               279




NINE UNLIKELY TALES




_THE COCKATOUCAN_

_OR GREAT AUNT WILLOUGHBY_


MATILDA’S ears were red and shiny. So were her cheeks. Her hands were
red too. This was because Pridmore had washed her. It was not the usual
washing, which makes you clean and comfortable, but the “thorough good
wash,” which makes you burn and smart till you wish you could be like
the poor little savages who do not know anything, and run about bare in
the sun, and only go into the water when they are hot.

Matilda wished she could have been born in a savage tribe instead of at
Brixton.

“Little savages,” she said, “don’t have their ears washed thoroughly,
and they don’t have new dresses that are prickly in the insides round
their arms, and cut them round the neck. Do they, Pridmore?”

But Pridmore only said, “Stuff and nonsense,” and then she said, “don’t
wriggle so, child, for goodness’ sake.”

Pridmore was Matilda’s nursemaid. Matilda sometimes found her trying.
Matilda was quite right in believing that savage children do not
wear frocks that hurt. It is also true that savage children are not
over-washed, over-brushed, over-combed, gloved, booted, and hatted and
taken in an omnibus to Streatham to see their Great-aunt Willoughby.
This was intended to be Matilda’s fate. Her mother had arranged it.
Pridmore had prepared her for it. Matilda, knowing resistance to be
vain, had submitted to it.

But Destiny had not been consulted, and Destiny had plans of its own
for Matilda.

When the last button of Matilda’s boots had been fastened (the
button-hook always had a nasty temper, especially when it was hurried,
and that day it bit a little piece of Matilda’s leg quite spitefully)
the wretched child was taken downstairs and put on a chair in the hall
to wait while Pridmore popped her own things on.

“I shan’t be a minute,” said Pridmore. Matilda knew better. She
seated herself to wait, and swung her legs miserably. She had been
to her Great-aunt Willoughby’s before, and she knew exactly what to
expect. She would be asked about her lessons, and how many marks she
had, and whether she had been a good girl. I can’t think why grown-up
people don’t see how impertinent these questions are. Suppose you were
to answer, “I’m top of my class, Auntie, thank you, and I’m very good.
And now let’s have a little talk about you. Aunt, dear, how much money
have you got, and have you been scolding the servants again, or have
you tried to be good and patient as a properly brought up aunt should
be, eh, dear?”

[Illustration: MATILDA SWUNG HER LEGS MISERABLY.]

Try this method with one of your aunts next time she begins asking you
questions, and write and tell me what she says.

Matilda knew exactly what the Aunt Willoughby’s questions would be,
and she knew how, when they were answered, her aunt would give her a
small biscuit with carraway seeds in it, and then tell her to go with
Pridmore and have her hands and face washed again.

Then she would be sent to walk in the garden—the garden had a gritty
path, and geraniums and calceolarias and lobelias in the beds. You
might not pick anything. There would be minced veal at dinner, with
three-cornered bits of toast round the dish, and a tapioca pudding.
Then the long afternoon with a book, a bound volume of the “Potterer’s
Saturday Night”—nasty small print—and all the stories about children
who died young because they were too good for this world.

Matilda wriggled wretchedly. If she had been a little less
uncomfortable she would have cried, but her new frock was too tight and
prickly to let her forget it for a moment, even in tears.

When Pridmore came down at last, she said, “Fie, for shame! What a
sulky face!”

And Matilda said, “I’m not.”

“Oh, yes you are,” said Pridmore, “you know you are, you don’t
appreciate your blessings.”

“I wish it was your Aunt Willoughby,” said Matilda.

“Nasty, spiteful little thing!” said Pridmore, and she shook Matilda.

Then Matilda tried to slap Pridmore, and the two went down the steps
not at all pleased with each other. They went down the dull road to
the dull omnibus, and Matilda was crying a little.

Now Pridmore was a very careful person, though cross, but even the
most careful persons make mistakes sometimes—and she must have taken
the wrong omnibus, or this story could never have happened, and where
should we all have been then? This shows you that even mistakes are
sometimes valuable, so do not be hard on grown-up people if they are
wrong sometimes. You know after all, it hardly ever happens.

It was a very bright green and gold omnibus, and inside the cushions
were green and very soft. Matilda and her nursemaid had it all to
themselves, and Matilda began to feel more comfortable, especially as
she had wriggled till she had burst one of her shoulder-seams and got
more room for herself inside her frock.

So she said, “I’m sorry I was cross, Priddy dear.”

Pridmore said, “So you ought to be.” But she never said _she_ was sorry
for being cross. But you must not expect grown-up people to say that.

It was certainly the wrong omnibus because instead of jolting slowly
along dusty streets, it went quickly and smoothly down a green lane,
with flowers in the hedges, and green trees overhead. Matilda was
so delighted that she sat quite still, a very rare thing with her.
Pridmore was reading a penny story called “The Vengeance of the Lady
Constantia,” so she did not notice anything.

“I don’t care. I shan’t tell her,” said Matilda, “she’d stop the ’bus
as likely as not.”

At last the ’bus stopped of its own accord. Pridmore put her story in
her pocket and began to get out.

“Well, I never!” she said, and got out very quickly and ran round to
where the horses were. They were white horses with green harness, and
their tails were very long indeed.

“Hi, young man!” said Pridmore to the omnibus driver, “you’ve brought
us to the wrong place. This isn’t Streatham Common, this isn’t.”

The driver was the most beautiful omnibus driver you ever saw, and his
clothes were like him in beauty. He had white silk stockings and a
ruffled silk shirt of white, and his coat and breeches were green and
gold. So was the three-cornered hat which he lifted very politely when
Pridmore spoke to him.

[Illustration: HE WAVED AWAY THE EIGHTPENCE.]

“I fear,” he said kindly, “that you must have taken, by some
unfortunate misunderstanding, the wrong omnibus.”

“When does the next go back?”

“The omnibus does not go back. It runs from Brixton here once a month,
but it doesn’t go back.”

“But how does it get to Brixton again, to start again, I mean,” asked
Matilda.

“We start a new one every time,” said the driver, raising his
three-cornered hat once more.

“And what becomes of the old ones?” Matilda asked.

“Ah,” said the driver, smiling, “that depends. One never knows
beforehand, things change so nowadays. Good morning. Thank you so much
for your patronage. No, on no account, Madam.”

He waved away the eightpence which Pridmore was trying to offer him for
the fare from Brixton, and drove quickly off.

When they looked round them, no, this was certainly not Streatham
Common. The wrong omnibus had brought them to a strange village—the
neatest, sweetest, reddest, greenest, cleanest, prettiest village in
the world. The houses were grouped round a village green, on which
children in pretty loose frocks or smocks were playing happily.

Not a tight armhole was to be seen, or even imagined in that happy
spot. Matilda swelled herself out and burst three hooks and a bit more
of the shoulder seam.

The shops seemed a little queer, Matilda thought. The names somehow did
not match the things that were to be sold. For instance, where it said
“Elias Groves, Tinsmith,” there were loaves and buns in the window, and
the shop that had “Baker” over the door, was full of perambulators—the
grocer and the wheelwright seemed to have changed names, or shops, or
something—and Miss Skimpling, Dressmaker or Milliner, had her shop
window full of pork and sausage meat.

“What a funny, nice place,” said Matilda. “I am glad we took the wrong
omnibus.”

A little boy in a yellow smock had come up close to them.

“I beg your pardon,” he said very politely, “but all strangers are
brought before the king at once. Please follow me.”

“Well, of all the impudence,” said Pridmore. “Strangers, indeed! And
who may you be, I should like to know?”

“I,” said the little boy, bowing very low, “am the Prime Minister. I
know I do not look it, but appearances are deceitful. It’s only for a
short time. I shall probably be myself again by to-morrow.”

Pridmore muttered something which the little boy did not hear. Matilda
caught a few words. “Smacked,” “bed,” “bread and water”—familiar words
all of them.

“If it’s a game,” said Matilda to the boy, “I should like to play.”

He frowned.

“I advise you to come at once,” he said, so sternly that even Pridmore
was a little frightened. “His Majesty’s Palace is in this direction.”
He walked away, and Matilda made a sudden jump, dragged her hand out
of Pridmore’s, and ran after him. So Pridmore had to follow, still
grumbling.

The Palace stood in a great green park dotted with white-flowered
may-bushes. It was not at all like an English palace, St. James’s or
Buckingham Palace, for instance, because it was very beautiful and very
clean. When they got in they saw that the Palace was hung with green
silk. The footmen had green and gold liveries, and all the courtiers’
clothes were the same colours.

Matilda and Pridmore had to wait a few moments while the King changed
his sceptre and put on a clean crown, and then they were shown into the
Audience Chamber. The King came to meet them.

“It is kind of you to have come so far,” he said. “Of _course_ you’ll
stay at the Palace?” He looked anxiously at Matilda.

“Are you _quite_ comfortable, my dear?” he asked doubtfully.

Matilda was very truthful—for a girl.

“No,” she said, “my frock cuts me round the arms——”

“Ah,” said he, “and you brought no luggage—some of the Princess’s
frocks—her old ones perhaps—yes—yes—this person—your maid, no doubt?”

A loud laugh rang suddenly through the hall. The King looked uneasily
round, as though he expected something to happen. But nothing seemed
likely to occur.

“Yes,” said Matilda, “Pridmore is—Oh, dear!”

For before her eyes she saw an awful change taking place in Pridmore.
In an instant all that was left of the original Pridmore were the boots
and the hem of her skirt—the top part of her had changed into painted
iron and glass, and even as Matilda looked the bit of skirt that was
left got flat and hard and square. The two feet turned into four feet,
and they were iron feet, and there was no more Pridmore.

[Illustration: THE TOP PART OF PRIDMORE TURNED INTO PAINTED IRON AND
GLASS.]

“Oh, my poor child,” said the King, “your maid has turned into an
Automatic Machine.”

It was too true. The maid had turned into a machine such as those which
you see in a railway station—greedy, gras