into safer quarters.
The False Paul, that is, was within an ace of running away with all his elaborate armour, and leaving the True Paul dancing on the floor, a child among children, a spirit of impulse, enthusiasm and imagination, laughing with the sheer happiness of his perpetual youth.
It was a dangerous moment; he was within measurable distance of revealing himself. For a moment his clothes felt far too large for him; and only just in time did he remember his 'attitude,' and the danger of being young when he really was old, and the absurdity of being anything else than a large, sedate man of forty-five. Only he wished that Nixie would not watch him so appealingly with those starry eyes of hers . . . and look so strangely like the forms that haunted his own wild forests and streams on the other side of the Atlantic.
He stiffened quickly, drew himself up, and turned to give his elderly attention to the chorus of explanation and introduction that was already rising about him with the sound and murmur of the sea.
Something was happening.
For the floor of the room, he now perceived, had become suddenly full of movement, as though the carpet had turned alive. He felt a rubbing against his legs and ankles; with a soft thud something leaped upon the table and covered his hand with smooth, warm fur, uttering little sounds of pleasure at the same time. On the top of the piano, a thing he had taken for a heap of toys rose and stretched itself into an odd shape of straight lines and arching curves. From the window-sill, where the sun poured in, a round grey substance dropped noiselessly down upon the carpet and advanced with measured and calculated step towards him; while, from holes and hiding-places undivined, three or four little fluffy things, with padded feet and stiff pointing tails, shot out like shadows and headed straight for a row of saucers that he now noticed for the first time against the farther wall. The whole room seemed to fill with soft and graceful movement; and, mingled with the voices of the children, he caught a fine composite murmur that was soothing as the sound of flowing wind and water.
It was the sound and the movement of many animals.
'Here they are,' said a voice—'some of them. The others are lost, or out hunting.'
For the moment Paul did not stop to ask how many 'others' there were. He stood rigidly still for fear that if he moved he might tread on something living.
There came a scratching sound at the door, and Toby dashed forward to open it.
'Silly, naughty babies!' she cried, nearly tumbling over the fender in her attempt to seize two round bouncing things that came tearing into the room like a couple of yellow puddings. 'Uncle Paul has come to see you all the way from America! And then you're late like this! For shame!'
With a series of thuds and bangs that must have bruised anything not unusually well padded, the new arrivals, who looked for all the world like small fat bears, or sable muffs on short brown legs with feet of black velvet, dashed round the room in a mad chase after nothing at all. A hissing and spitting issued from dark corners and from beneath various pieces of furniture, but the two balls confined their attentions almost at once to the honoured guest. They charged up against his legs as though determined to upset his balance—this mountain of a man—and then careered clumsily round the room, knocking over anything small enough that came in their way, and behaving generally as though they wanted to clear the whole place in the shortest possible time for their own particular and immediate benefit.
Next, lifting his eyes for a moment from this impetuous attack, he saw a brilliantly coloured thing behind bars, standing apparently on its head and looking upside-down at him with an expression of undisguised and scornful amusement; while not far from it, in a cage hanging by the cuckoo clock, some one with a tail as large as his body, shot round and round on a swinging trapeze that made Paul think of a midget practising in a miniature gymnasium.
'These are our animals, you see, Uncle Paul,' Jonah announced proudly from his position by the door. There was a trace of condescension in his tone.
'We have lots of out-of-door animals as well, though,' Toby hastened to explain, lest her uncle should be disappointed.
'I suppose they're out of doors?' said Paul lamely. 'Of course they are,' replied Jonah; 'in the stables and all about.' He turned to Nixie, who stood quietly by her uncle's side in a protective way, superintending. Nixie nodded corroboration.
'Now, we'll introduce you—gradgilly,' announced Toby, stooping down and lifting with immense effort the large grey Persian that had been sleeping on the window-sill when they came in,' She held it with great difficulty in her arms and' hands, but in spite of her best efforts only a portion of it found actual support, the rest straggling away like a loosely stuffed bolster she could not encompass.
It was evidently accustomed to being dealt with thus in sections, for it continued to purr sleepily, blinking its large eyes with the usual cat-smile, and letting its head fall backwards as though it suddenly desired to examine the ceiling from an entirely fresh point of view. None of its real attention, of course, was given to the actual proceeding. It merely suffered the absurd affair—absent-mindedly and with condescension. Its whiskers moved gently.
'What's its name?' he asked kindly.
'Her name,' whispered Nixie.
'We call her Mrs. Tompkyns, because it's old now,' Toby explained, ignoring genders.
'After the head-gardener's gra'mother,' Nixie explained hastily in his ear; 'but we might change it to Uncle Paul in honour of you now, mightn't we?' 'Mrs. Uncle Paul,' corrected Jonah, looking on with slight disapproval, and anxious to get to the white mice and the squirrel.
'It would be a pity to change the name, I think,' Paul said, straightening himself up dizzily from the introduction, and watching the splendid creature fall upon its head from Toby's weakening grasp, and then march away with unperturbed dignity to its former throne upon the window-sill. 'I feel rather afraid of Mrs. Tompkyns,' he added; 'she's so very majestic.'
'Oh, you needn't be,' they cried in chorus. 'It's all put on, you know, that sort of grand manner. We knew her when she was a kitten.'
The object-lesson was not lost upon him. Of all creatures in the world, he reflected as he watched her, cats have the truest dignity. They absolutely refuse to be laughed at. No cat would ever betray its real self, yet here was he, a grown-up, intelligent man, vacillating, and on the verge already of hopeless capitulation.
'And what's the name of these persons?' he asked quickly, turning for safety to Nixie, who had her arms full of a writhing heap she had been diligently collecting from the corners of the room.
'Oh, that's only Mrs. Tompkyns' family,' exclaimed Jonah impatiently; 'the last family, I mean. She's had lots of others.'
'The last family before this was only two,' Nixie told him. 'We called them Ping and Pong. They live in the stables now. But these we call Pouf, Sambo, Spritey, Zezette, and Dumps—'
'And the next ones,' Toby broke in excitedly, 'we're going to call with the names on the engines when we go up to London to see the dentist.'
'Or the names of the Atlantic steamers wouldn't be bad,' said Paul.
'Not bad,' Jonah said, with lukewarm approval; 'only the engines would be much better.'
'There may not be any next ones,' opined Toby, emerging from beneath a sofa after a frantic, but vain, attempt to catch something alive.
Jonah snorted with contempt. 'Of course there will. They come in bunches all the time, just
