The Complete Psammead Trilogy (Illustrated Edition) by Edith Nesbit

Author:Edith Nesbit [Nesbit, Edith]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9788027221974
Publisher: Musaicum Books
Published: 2017-10-08T00:00:00+00:00

And instantly they were. There were the rainbow sands, the tropic glories of leaf and flower, and there, of course, was the cook, crowned with white flowers, and with all the wrinkles of crossness and tiredness and hard work wiped out of her face.

‘Why, cook, you’re quite pretty!’ Anthea said, as soon as she had got her breath after the tumble-rush-whirl of the carpet. The burglar stood rubbing his eyes in the brilliant tropic sunlight, and gazing wildly round him on the vivid hues of the tropic land.

‘Penny plain and tuppence coloured!’ he exclaimed pensively, ‘and well worth any tuppence, however hard-earned.’

The cook was seated on a grassy mound with her court of copper-coloured savages around her. The burglar pointed a grimy finger at these.

‘Are they tame?’ he asked anxiously. ‘Do they bite or scratch, or do anything to yer with poisoned arrows or oyster shells or that?’

‘Don’t you be so timid,’ said the cook. ‘Lookee ’ere, this ’ere’s only a dream what you’ve come into, an’ as it’s only a dream there’s no nonsense about what a young lady like me ought to say or not, so I’ll say you’re the best-looking fellow I’ve seen this many a day. And the dream goes on and on, seemingly, as long as you behaves. The things what you has to eat and drink tastes just as good as real ones, and—’

‘Look ’ere,’ said the burglar, ‘I’ve come ’ere straight outer the pleece station. These ’ere kids’ll tell you it ain’t no blame er mine.’

‘Well, you were a burglar, you know,’ said the truthful Anthea gently.

‘Only because I was druv to it by dishonest blokes, as well you knows, miss,’ rejoined the criminal. ‘Blowed if this ain’t the ’ottest January as I’ve known for years.’

‘Wouldn’t you like a bath?’ asked the queen, ‘and some white clothes like me?’

‘I should only look a juggins in ’em, miss, thanking you all the same,’ was the reply; ‘but a bath I wouldn’t resist, and my shirt was only clean on week before last.’

Cyril and Robert led him to a rocky pool, where he bathed luxuriously. Then, in shirt and trousers he sat on the sand and spoke.

‘That cook, or queen, or whatever you call her – her with the white bokay on her ’ed – she’s my sort. Wonder if she’d keep company!’

‘I should ask her.’

‘I was always a quick hitter,’ the man went on; ‘it’s a word and a blow with me. I will.’

In shirt and trousers, and crowned with a scented flowery wreath which Cyril hastily wove as they returned to the court of the queen, the burglar stood before the cook and spoke.

‘Look ’ere, miss,’ he said. ‘You an’ me bein’ all forlorn-like, both on us, in this ’ere dream, or whatever you calls it, I’d like to tell you straight as I likes yer looks.’

The cook smiled and looked down bashfully.

‘I’m a single man – what you might call a batcheldore. I’m mild in my ’abits, which these kids’ll tell you the same, and I’d like to ’ave the pleasure of walkin’ out with you next Sunday.

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