of going in, nor of anything else but the music, when suddenly she heard a sound that upset the running of the tinkling and spoilt it.
‘Oh, hush!’ said Birdie. ‘Don’t, don’t.’
She tried to listen to the music again, but again came that ugly sound.
‘No!’ said Birdie. ‘Hush. Hush.’
But it came again. Again. Suddenly Birdie, as if she had woken up, knew clearly what it was. It was Darner barking. ‘Prrick,’ came the sound. ‘Prrick! Prrick!
Prrick!’
Clearly, in that instant, Birdie had one thought, and only one. ‘That was Darner,’ thought Birdie clearly, ‘Darner barking. Some-thing is happening to Apple. Apple. Apple is in
danger,’ thought Birdie, and she opened the sitting-room door.
‘Tinkle. Tinkle. Tinkle. Tinkle. Tinkle.’ The sound of the music met her so much more full and clear near the musical box that the sound of it knocked against the sound of
Darner’s barking in her head and confused her. She did not know she had come in; she could not see what was happening to Apple.
For Apple was standing on one of the tapestry chairs, which was dragged up near the table, and he was leaning over the lamp with his darning-wool wig near the candle flame; there was a strong
smell of singeing, and it was just going to send the whole of Apple up in flames.
Marchpane was sitting on the couch, watching him and smiling her china smile.
‘Tinkle. Tinkle,’ went the musical box.
‘Prrick!’ barked Darner. ‘Prrick! Prrick! Prrick! Prrrrrickkkckckckck!’ he barked frantically.
‘Isn’t that Darner?’ asked Tottie in the kitchen.
Marchpane went on watching, watching with her smile.
‘It is Darner,’ said Mr Plantaganet, and he dropped his newspaper.
‘Emily!’ said Charlotte suddenly. ‘Something is happening in the dolls’ house.’
‘Tcha!’ said Emily. She was not liking the dolls’ house at present. They could hear the musical box, ‘Tinkle. Tinkle. Tinkle. Tinkle.’ ‘Nonsense. What could
happen?’ asked Emily.
‘I smell singeing,’ said Charlotte, sniffing. ‘Emily, did you light the birthday candle?’
‘Prrick! Prrick! Prrrrrickkckckckck!’ barked Darner so loudly that Birdie heard him clearly over the music.
‘Darner. Tinkle. Darner. Tinkle,’ fluttered Birdie, while Marchpane smiled. ‘What am I to do?’ cried Birdie. ‘Which is it? Is it which?’
‘P-R-I-C-K!’ barked Darner.
As the candle caught the edge of Apple’s fringe and he screamed, as Tottie and Mr Plantaganet tumbled in at the door, and Emily and Charlotte swung open the dolls’ house front, the
sound of Apple’s scream tore the sound of Darner’s barking and the tinkling music out of Birdie’s head. She had one thought, and she threw herself at the lamp.
‘Birdie! Back! Back! Back!’ cried Mr Plantaganet.
‘Birdie! Let me!’ screamed Tottie. ‘Birdie, you are made of celluloid, remember!’
‘Celluloid!’ said Birdie in her light calm voice, and the lightness of the real candle was in her face. Light as she was, she threw herself between Apple and the lamp, and Apple fell
off the chair face downward on the carpet and put out the spark of fire in his wig.
There was a flash, a bright light, a white flame, and where Birdie had been there was no more Birdie, no sign of Birdie at all, only, sinking gradually down on the carpet beside Apple, floated
Birdie’s clothes, burning, slowly turning brown, and going into holes; last of all, the fire ran up the pink embroidery cotton of her apron strings and they waved up in the air, as they used
to wave on Birdie, and then were burnt right up.
‘Tinkle. Tinkle. Tinkle,’ said the musical box.
Marchpane smiled.
Chapter 21
‘But where did Birdie go?’ asked Charlotte.
‘She was celluloid. That is highly inflammable,’ said Father.
‘What is “highly inflammable”?’
‘It burns up in a flash, leaving nothing behind it.’
‘Birdie left nothing behind,’ said Charlotte sadly.
‘But what happened?
‘Oh, hush!’ said Birdie. ‘Don’t, don’t.’
She tried to listen to the music again, but again came that ugly sound.
‘No!’ said Birdie. ‘Hush. Hush.’
But it came again. Again. Suddenly Birdie, as if she had woken up, knew clearly what it was. It was Darner barking. ‘Prrick,’ came the sound. ‘Prrick! Prrick!
Prrick!’
Clearly, in that instant, Birdie had one thought, and only one. ‘That was Darner,’ thought Birdie clearly, ‘Darner barking. Some-thing is happening to Apple. Apple. Apple is in
danger,’ thought Birdie, and she opened the sitting-room door.
‘Tinkle. Tinkle. Tinkle. Tinkle. Tinkle.’ The sound of the music met her so much more full and clear near the musical box that the sound of it knocked against the sound of
Darner’s barking in her head and confused her. She did not know she had come in; she could not see what was happening to Apple.
For Apple was standing on one of the tapestry chairs, which was dragged up near the table, and he was leaning over the lamp with his darning-wool wig near the candle flame; there was a strong
smell of singeing, and it was just going to send the whole of Apple up in flames.
Marchpane was sitting on the couch, watching him and smiling her china smile.
‘Tinkle. Tinkle,’ went the musical box.
‘Prrick!’ barked Darner. ‘Prrick! Prrick! Prrick! Prrrrrickkkckckckck!’ he barked frantically.
‘Isn’t that Darner?’ asked Tottie in the kitchen.
Marchpane went on watching, watching with her smile.
‘It is Darner,’ said Mr Plantaganet, and he dropped his newspaper.
‘Emily!’ said Charlotte suddenly. ‘Something is happening in the dolls’ house.’
‘Tcha!’ said Emily. She was not liking the dolls’ house at present. They could hear the musical box, ‘Tinkle. Tinkle. Tinkle. Tinkle.’ ‘Nonsense. What could
happen?’ asked Emily.
‘I smell singeing,’ said Charlotte, sniffing. ‘Emily, did you light the birthday candle?’
‘Prrick! Prrick! Prrrrrickkckckckck!’ barked Darner so loudly that Birdie heard him clearly over the music.
‘Darner. Tinkle. Darner. Tinkle,’ fluttered Birdie, while Marchpane smiled. ‘What am I to do?’ cried Birdie. ‘Which is it? Is it which?’
‘P-R-I-C-K!’ barked Darner.
As the candle caught the edge of Apple’s fringe and he screamed, as Tottie and Mr Plantaganet tumbled in at the door, and Emily and Charlotte swung open the dolls’ house front, the
sound of Apple’s scream tore the sound of Darner’s barking and the tinkling music out of Birdie’s head. She had one thought, and she threw herself at the lamp.
‘Birdie! Back! Back! Back!’ cried Mr Plantaganet.
‘Birdie! Let me!’ screamed Tottie. ‘Birdie, you are made of celluloid, remember!’
‘Celluloid!’ said Birdie in her light calm voice, and the lightness of the real candle was in her face. Light as she was, she threw herself between Apple and the lamp, and Apple fell
off the chair face downward on the carpet and put out the spark of fire in his wig.
There was a flash, a bright light, a white flame, and where Birdie had been there was no more Birdie, no sign of Birdie at all, only, sinking gradually down on the carpet beside Apple, floated
Birdie’s clothes, burning, slowly turning brown, and going into holes; last of all, the fire ran up the pink embroidery cotton of her apron strings and they waved up in the air, as they used
to wave on Birdie, and then were burnt right up.
‘Tinkle. Tinkle. Tinkle,’ said the musical box.
Marchpane smiled.
Chapter 21
‘But where did Birdie go?’ asked Charlotte.
‘She was celluloid. That is highly inflammable,’ said Father.
‘What is “highly inflammable”?’
‘It burns up in a flash, leaving nothing behind it.’
‘Birdie left nothing behind,’ said Charlotte sadly.
‘But what happened?
Similar Books
