of the most successful caterers in your world have grasped this great truth.”
“But why,” Lucy asked, “do you have the big silver bowls with nothing in them?”
Mr. Noah sighed. “The bowls are for dessert,” he said.
“But there isn’t any dessert in them,” Lucy objected.
“No,” said Mr. Noah, sighing again, “that’s just it. There is no dessert. There has never been any dessert. Will you have a little more angel pudding?”
It was quite plain to Lucy and Philip that Mr. Noah wished to change the subject, which, for some reason, was a sad one, and with true politeness they both said “Yes, please,” to the angel pudding offer, though they had already had quite as much as they really needed.
After dinner Mr. Noah took them for a walk through the town, “to see the factories,” he said. This surprised Philip, who had been taught not to build factories with his bricks because factories were so ugly, but the factories turned out to be pleasant, long, low houses, with tall French windows opening into gardens of roses, where people of all nations made beautiful and useful things, and loved making them. And all the people who were making them looked clean and happy.
“I wish we had factories like those,” Philip said. “Our factories are so ugly. Helen says so.”
“That’s because all your factories are money factories,” said Mr. Noah, “though they’re called by all sorts of different names. Every one here has to make something that isn’t just money or for money—something useful and beautiful.”
“Even you?” said Lucy.
“Even I,” said Mr. Noah.
“What do you make?” the question was bound to come.
“Laws, of course,” Mr. Noah answered in some surprise. “Didn’t you know I was the Chief Judge?”
“But laws can’t be useful and beautiful, can they?”
“They can certainly be useful,” said Mr. Noah, “and,” he added with modest pride, “my laws are beautiful. What do you think of this? ‘Everybody must try to be kind to everybody else. Any one who has been unkind must be sorry and say so.’”
“It seems all right,” said Philip, “but it’s not exactly beautiful.”
“Oh, don’t you think so?” said Mr. Noah, a little hurt; “it mayn’t sound beautiful perhaps—I never could write poetry—but it’s quite beautiful when people do it.”
“Oh, if you mean your laws are beautiful when they’re kept,” said Philip.
“Beautiful things can’t be beautiful when they’re broken, of course,” Mr. Noah explained. “Not even laws. But ugly laws are only beautiful when they are broken. That’s odd, isn’t it? Laws are very tricky things.”
“I say,” Philip said suddenly, as they climbed one of the steep flights of steps between trees in pots, “couldn’t we do another of the deeds now? I don’t feel as if I’d really done anything today at all. It was Lucy who did the carpet. Do tell us the next deed.”
“The next deed,” Mr. Noah answered, “will probably take some time. There’s no reason why you should not begin it today if you like. It is a deed peculiarly suited to a baronet. I don’t know why,” he added hastily; “it may be that it is the only thing that baronets are good for. I shouldn’t wonder. The existence of baronets,” he added musingly, “has always seemed to the thoughtful to lack justification. Perhaps this deed which you will begin today is the wise end to which baronets were designed.”
“Yes, I daresay,” said Philip; “but what is the end?”
“I don’t know,” Mr. Noah owned, “but I’ll tell you what the deed is. You’ve got to journey to the land of the Dwellers by the Sea and, by any means that may commend itself to you, slay their fear.”
Philip naturally asked what the Dwellers by the Sea were afraid of.
“That you will learn from them,” said Mr. Noah; “but it is a very great fear.”
“Is it something we shall be afraid of too?” Lucy asked. And Philip at once said, “Oh, then she really did mean to come, did she? But she wasn’t to if she was afraid. Girls weren’t expected to be brave.”
“They are, here,” said Mr. Noah, “the girls are expected to be brave and the boys kind.”
“Oh,” said Philip doubtfully. And Lucy said:
“Of course I meant to come. You know you promised.”
So that was settled.
“And now,” said Mr. Noah, rubbing his hands with the cheerful air of one who has a great deal to do and is going to enjoy doing it, “we must fit you out a proper expedition, for the Dwellers by the Sea are a very long way off. What would you like to ride on?”
“A horse,” said Philip, truly pleased. He said horse, because he did not want to ride a donkey, and he had never seen any one ride any animal but these two.
“That’s right,” Mr. Noah said, patting him on the back. “I was so afraid you’d ask for a bicycle. And there’s a dreadful law here—it was made by mistake, but there it is—that if any one asks for machinery they have to have it and keep on using it. But as to a horse. Well, I’m not sure. You see, you have to ride right across the pebbly waste, and it’s a good three days’ journey. But come along to the stables.”
You know the kind of stables they would be? The long shed with stalls such as you had, when you were little, for your little wooden horses and carts? Only there were not only horses here, but every sort of animal that has ever been ridden on. Elephants, camels, donkeys, mules, bulls, goats, zebras, tortoises, ostriches, bisons, and pigs. And in the last stall of all, which was not of common wood but of beaten silver, stood the very Hippogriff himself, with his long, white mane and his long, white tail, and his gentle, beautiful eyes. His long, white wings were folded neatly on his satin-smooth back, and how he and the stall got here was more than Philip could guess. All the others were Noah’s Ark animals, alive, of course, but still Noah’s Arky beyond possibility of mistake. But the Hippogriff was not Noah’s Ark at all.
“He came,” Mr. Noah explained, “out of a book. One of the books you used to build your city with.”
“Can’t we have him?” Lucy said; “he looks such a darling.” And the Hippogriff turned his white velvet nose and nuzzled against her in affectionate acknowledgment of the compliment.
“Not if you both go,” Mr. Noah explained. “He cannot carry more than one person at a time unless one is an Earl. No, if I may advise, I should say go by camel.”
“Can the camel carry two?”
“Of course. He is called the ship of the desert,” Mr. Noah informed them, “and a ship that wouldn’t carry more than one would be simply silly.”
So that was settled. Mr. Noah himself saddled and bridled the camel, which was a very large one, with his own hands.
“Let me see,”
